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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Dim Lantern, by Temple Bailey,
+Illustrated by Coles Phillips
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions 
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at 
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Dim Lantern
+
+
+Author: Temple Bailey
+
+
+
+Release Date: August 11, 2019  [eBook #60090]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIM LANTERN***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustration.
+      See 60090-h.htm or 60090-h.zip:
+      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/60090/60090-h/60090-h.htm)
+      or
+      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/60090/60090-h.zip)
+
+
+Transcriber’s note:
+
+      Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: IN HER ORANGE CLOAK SHE SHONE THROUGH THE VEIL OF MIST,
+LUMINOUS]
+
+
+THE DIM LANTERN
+
+by
+
+TEMPLE BAILEY
+
+Author of “The Gay Cockade,”
+“The Trumpeter Swan,”
+“The Tin Soldier,” etc.
+
+Illustrated by Coles Phillips
+
+
+
+
+
+
+The Penn Publishing
+Company Philadelphia
+1923
+
+Copyright
+1922 by
+the Penn
+Publishing
+Company
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The Dim Lantern
+
+Made in the U. S. A.
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+
+       I. IN WHICH PHILOMEL SINGS                 7
+
+      II. A PRINCESS PASSES                      24
+
+     III. JANE KNITS                             34
+
+      IV. BEAUTY WAITS                           44
+
+       V. THE UGLY DUCKLING                      60
+
+      VI. “STAY IN THE FIELD, OH, WARRIOR!”      70
+
+     VII. A FAMISHED PILGRIM                     81
+
+    VIII. JANE AS DEPUTY                         97
+
+      IX. THE SCARECROW                         105
+
+       X. BALDY AS AMBASSADOR                   119
+
+      XI. THE DIM LANTERN                       134
+
+     XII. THE ICE PALACE                        155
+
+    XIII. JANE POURS TEA                        170
+
+     XIV. A TELEGRAM                            183
+
+      XV. EVANS PLAYS THE GAME                  192
+
+     XVI. THE COSTUME BALL                      204
+
+    XVII. NEWS FOR THE TOWN-CRIER               214
+
+   XVIII. AN INTERLUDE                          227
+
+     XIX. SURRENDER                             240
+
+      XX. PAPER LACE                            248
+
+     XXI. VOICES IN THE DARK                    258
+
+    XXII. AT THE OLD INN                        268
+
+   XXIII. SPRING COMES TO SHERWOOD              278
+
+    XXIV. HAUNTED                               297
+
+     XXV. AGAIN THE LANTERN                     304
+
+    XXVI. THE DISCORDANT NOTE                   316
+
+   XXVII. FLIGHT                                327
+
+  XXVIII. IN THE PINE GROVE                     335
+
+    XXIX. JANE DREAMS                           340
+
+
+
+
+The Dim Lantern
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+IN WHICH PHILOMEL SINGS
+
+
+Sherwood Park is twelve miles from Washington. Starting as a somewhat
+pretentious suburb on the main line of a railroad, it was blessed
+with easy accessibility until encroaching trolleys swept the tide of
+settlement away from it, and left it high and dry--its train service,
+unable to compete with modern motor vehicles, increasingly inefficient.
+
+Property values, inevitably, decreased. The little suburb degenerated,
+grew less fashionable. People who might have added social luster to its
+gatherings moved away. The frame houses, which at first had made such
+a brave showing, became a bit down at the heel. Most of them, built
+before the revival of good taste in architecture, seemed top-heavy
+and dull with their imitation towers, their fretted balconies, their
+gray and brown coloring, their bands of contrasting shingles tied like
+sashes around their middles.
+
+The Barnes cottage was saved from the universal lack of loveliness by
+its simple lines, its white paint and green blinds. Yet the paint had
+peeled in places, and the concrete steps which followed the line of
+the two terraces were cracked and worn.
+
+Old Baldwin Barnes had bought his house on the instalment plan, and his
+children were still paying for it. Old Baldwin had succumbed to the
+deadly monotony of writing the same inscription on red slips through
+thirty years of faithful service in the Pension Office, and had left
+the world with his debts behind him.
+
+He had the artistic temperament which his son inherited. Julia was like
+her mother who had died two years before her husband. Mrs. Barnes had
+been unimaginative and capable. It was because of her that Julia had
+married an architect, and was living in a snug apartment in Chicago,
+that Baldwin Junior had gone through college and had some months at an
+art school before the war came on, and that Jane, the youngest, had a
+sense of thrift, and an intensive experience in domestic economy.
+
+As for the rest of her, Jane was twenty, slender as a Florentine page,
+and fairly pretty. She was in love with life and liked to talk about
+it. Young Baldwin said, indeed, with the frankness of a brother, that
+Jane ran on like a babbling brook.
+
+She was “running on” this November morning, as she and young Baldwin
+ate breakfast together. Jane always got the breakfast. Sophy, a capable
+negro woman, came over later to help with the housework, and to put
+the six o’clock dinner on the table. But it was Jane who started the
+percolator, poached the eggs, and made the toast on the electric
+toaster, while young Baldwin read the _Washington Post_. He read bits
+out loud when he was in the mood. He was not always in the mood, and
+then Jane talked to him. He did not always listen, but that made no
+difference.
+
+Jane had named the percolator “Philomel,” because of its purling
+harmonies.
+
+“Don’t you love it, Baldy?”
+
+Her brother, with one eye on the paper, was eating his grapefruit.
+
+“Love what?”
+
+“Philomel.”
+
+“Silly stuff----”
+
+“It isn’t. I like to hear it sing.”
+
+“In my present mood I prefer a hymn of hate.”
+
+She buttered a slice of toast for him. “Well, of course, you’d feel
+like that.”
+
+“Who wouldn’t?” He took the toast from her, and buried himself in
+his paper, so Jane buttered another slice for herself and ate it in
+protesting silence--plus a poached egg, and a cup of coffee rich with
+yellow cream and much sugar. Jane’s thinness made such indulgence
+possible. She enjoyed good food as she enjoyed a new frock, violets in
+the spring, the vista from the west front of the Capitol, free verse,
+and the book of Job. There were really no limits to Jane’s enthusiasms.
+She spoke again of the percolator. “It’s as nice as a kettle on the
+hob, isn’t it?”
+
+Young Baldwin read on.
+
+“I simply _love_ breakfast,” she continued.
+
+“Is there anything you don’t love, Janey?” with a touch of irritation.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“You.”
+
+He stared at her over the top of the sheet. “I like that!”
+
+“Well, you won’t talk to me, Baldy. It isn’t my fault if you hate the
+world.”
+
+“No, it isn’t.” He laid down the paper. “But I’ll tell you this, Janey,
+I’m about _through_.”
+
+She caught her breath, then flung out, “Oh, you’re not. Be a good
+sport, Baldy. Things are bound to come your way if you wait.”
+
+He gave a short laugh and rose. “I wish I had your optimism.”
+
+“I wish you had.”
+
+They faced each other, looking for the moment rather like two young
+cockerels. Jane’s bobbed hair emphasized the boyish effect of her
+straight, slim figure. Baldy towered above her, his black hair matching
+hers, his eyes, too, matching--gray and lighted-up.
+
+Jane was the first to turn her eyes away. She looked at the clock.
+“You’ll be late.”
+
+He got his hat and coat and came back to her. “I’m a blamed sorehead.
+Give me a kiss, Janey.”
+
+She gave it to him, and clung to him for a moment. “Don’t forget to
+bring a steak home for dinner,” was all she said, but he was aware of
+the caress of those clinging fingers.
+
+It was one of his grievances that he had to do the marketing--one could
+not depend on Sherwood’s single small store--so Baldy with dreams in
+his head drove twice a week to the butcher’s stall in the old Center
+Market to bring back chops, or a porterhouse, or a festive small roast.
+
+He had no time for it in the mornings, however. His little Ford took
+him over the country roads and through the city streets and landed him
+at the Patent Office at a quarter of nine. There, with a half hour
+for lunch, he worked until five--it was a dog’s life and he had other
+aspirations.
+
+Jane, left to herself, read the paper. One headline was sensational.
+The bride of a fashionable wedding had been deserted at the altar.
+The bridegroom had failed to appear at the church. The guests waiting
+impatiently in the pews had been informed, finally, that the ceremony
+would be postponed.
+
+Newspaper men hunting for the bridegroom learned that he had left a
+note for his best man--and that he was on his way to southern waters.
+The bride could not be seen. Her uncle, who was also her guardian, and
+with whom she lived, had stated that there was nothing to be said. That
+was all. But society was on tiptoe. Delafield Simms was the son of a
+rich New Yorker. He and his bride were to have spent their honeymoon
+on his yacht. Edith Towne had a fortune to match his. Both of them
+belonged to old and aristocratic families. No wonder people were
+talking.
+
+There was a picture of Miss Towne, a tall, fair girl, in real lace,
+orange blossoms, seed pearls----.
+
+Pride was in every line of her. Jane’s tender fancy carried her to that
+first breathless moment when the bride had donned that gracious gown
+and had surveyed herself in the mirror. “How happy she must have been.”
+Then the final shuddering catastrophe.
+
+Sophy arrived at this moment, and Jane told her about it. “She’ll never
+dare trust anybody, will she?”
+
+Sophy was wise, and she weighed the question out of her wide experience
+of human nature. She could not read or write, and she was dependent on
+those around her for daily bulletins of the way the big world went. But
+she had worked in many families and had had a family of her own. So she
+knew life, which is a bigger thing sometimes than books.
+
+“Yo’ kain’t ever tell whut a woman will do, Miss Janey. Effen she a
+trustin’ nature, she’ll trus’ and trus’, and effen she ain’ a trustin’
+nature, she won’t trus’ nohow.”
+
+“But what do you suppose made him do it?”
+
+“Nobody knows whut a man’s gwine do, w’en it comes to gittin’ married.”
+
+“But to leave her like that, Sophy. I should think she’d die.”
+
+“Effen the good Lord let women die w’en men ’ceived them,” Sophy
+proclaimed with a chuckle, “dere wouldn’ be a female lef’ w’en the
+trump sounded.” Her tray was piled high with dishes, as she stood in
+the dining-room door. “Does you-all want rice puddin’ fo’ dinnah, Miss
+Janey?”
+
+And there the subject dropped. But Jane thought a great deal about it
+as she went on with her work.
+
+She told her sister, Julia, about it when, late that afternoon, she
+wrote her weekly letter.
+
+  “The worst of it must have been to lose her faith in things. I’d
+  rather be Jane Barnes without any love affair than Edith Towne with
+  a love affair like that. Baldy told me the other day that I am not
+  unattractive! Can’t you see him saying it? And he doesn’t think me
+  pretty. Perhaps I’m not. But there are moments, Judy, when I like
+  myself----!
+
+  “Baldy nearly had a fit when I bobbed my hair. But I did it and took
+  the consequences, and it’s no end comfortable. Baldy at the present
+  moment is mid-Victorian. It is his reaction from the war. He says
+  he is dead sick of flappers. That they are all alike--and make no
+  appeal to the imagination! He came home the other night from a dance
+  and read Tennyson--can you fancy that after the way he used to fling
+  Amy Lowell at us and Carl Sandburg? He says he is so tired of short
+  skirts and knees and proposals and cigarettes that he is going to
+  hunt with a gun, if he ever decides to marry, for an Elaine or a
+  Griselda! But the worst of it is, he takes it out on me! I wish you’d
+  see the way he censors my clothes and my manners, and I sit here like
+  a prisoner in a tower with not a man in sight but Evans Follette, and
+  he is just a heartache, Judy.
+
+  “Baldy has had three proposals; he said that the first was
+  stimulating, but repetition ‘staled the interest’! Of course he
+  didn’t tell me the names of the girls. Baldy’s not a cad.
+
+  “But he is discouraged and desperately depressed. He has such a big
+  talent, Judy, and he just slaves away at that old office. He says
+  that after those years in France, it seems like a cage. I sometimes
+  wonder what civilization is, anyhow, that we clip the wings of our
+  young eagles. We take our boys and shut them up, and they pant for
+  freedom. Is that all that life is going to mean for Baldy--eight
+  hours a day--behind bars?
+
+  “Yet I am trying to keep him at it until the house is paid for. I
+  don’t know whether I am right--but it’s all we have--and both of us
+  love it. He hasn’t been able lately to work much at night, he’s dead
+  tired. But there’s a prize offer of a magazine cover design, and I
+  want him to compete. He says there isn’t any use of his trying to do
+  _anything_ unless he can give all of his time to it.
+
+  “Of course you’ve heard all this before, but I hear it every day. And
+  I like to talk things out. I must not write another line, dearest.
+  And don’t worry, Baldy will work like mad if the mood strikes him.
+
+  “Did I tell you that Evans Follette and his mother are to dine with
+  us on Thanksgiving Day? We ought to have six guests to make things
+  go. But nobody will fit in with the Follettes. You know why, so I
+  needn’t explain.
+
+  “Kiss both of the babies for me. Failing other young things, I am
+  going to have a Christmas tree for the kitten. It’s a gay life,
+  darling.
+
+                                                    “Ever your own,
+                                                                 “JANE.”
+
+The darkness had come by the time she had finished her letter. She
+changed her frock for a thinner one, wrapped herself in an old cape of
+orange-hued cloth, and went out to lock up her chickens. She had fed
+them before she wrote her letter, but she always took this last look to
+be sure they were safe.
+
+She passed through the still kitchen, where old Sophy sat by the warm,
+bright range. There were potatoes baking, and Sophy’s famous pudding.
+“How good everything smells,” said Jane.
+
+She smiled at Sophy and went on. The wind was blowing and the sky was
+clear. There had been no snow, but there were little pools of ice
+about, and Jane took each one with a slide. She felt a tingling sense
+of youth and excitation. Back of the garage was a shadowy grove of tall
+pines which sang and sighed as the wind swept them. There was a young
+moon above the pines. It seemed to Jane that her soul was lifted to it.
+She flung up her arms to the moon, and the yellow cape billowed about
+her.
+
+The shed where the chickens were kept was back of the garage. When
+Jane opened the door, her old Persian cat, Merrymaid, came out to
+her, and a puff-ball of a kitten. Jane snapped on the lights in the
+chicken-house and the biddies stirred. When she snapped them off again,
+she heard them settle back to sheltered slumber.
+
+The kitten danced ahead of her, and the old cat danced too, as the wind
+whirled her great tail about. “We won’t go in the house--we won’t go
+in the house,” said Jane, in a sort of conversational chant, as the
+pussies followed her down a path which led through the pines. She often
+walked at this hour--and she loved it best on nights like this.
+
+She felt poignantly the beauty of it--the dark pines and the little
+moon above them--the tug of the wind at her cloak like a riotous
+playmate.
+
+Baldy was not the only poet in the family, but Jane’s love of beauty
+was inarticulate. She would never be able to write it on paper or draw
+it with a pencil.
+
+Down the path she went, the two pussy-cats like small shadows in her
+wake, until suddenly a voice came out of the dark.
+
+“I believe it is little Jane Barnes.”
+
+She stopped. “Oh, is that you, Evans? Isn’t it a heavenly night?”
+
+“I’m not sure.”
+
+“Don’t talk that way.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Because an evening like this is like wine--it goes to my head.”
+
+“You are like wine,” he told her. “Jane, how do you do it?”
+
+“Do what?”
+
+“Hold the pose of youth and joy and happiness?”
+
+“You know it isn’t a pose. I just feel that way, Evans.”
+
+“My dear, I believe you do.”
+
+He limped a little as he walked beside her. He was tall and gaunt.
+Almost grotesquely tall. Yet when he had gone to war he had not seemed
+in the least grotesque. He had been tall but not thin, and he had gone
+in all the glory of his splendid youth.
+
+There was no glory left. He was twenty-seven. He had fought and he
+would fight again for the same cause. But his youth was dead, except
+when he was with Jane. She revived him, as he said, like wine.
+
+“I was coming over,” he began, and broke off as a sibilant sound
+interrupted him.
+
+“Oh, are the cats with you? Well, Rusty must take the road,” he laughed
+as the little old dog trotted to neutral ground at the edge of the
+grove. Rusty was friends with Merrymaid, except when there were kittens
+about. He knew enough to avoid her in days of anxious motherhood.
+
+Jane picked up the kitten. “They would come.”
+
+“All animals follow you. You’re sort of a domestic Circe--with your
+dogs and chickens and pussy-cats in the place of tigers and lions and
+leopards.”
+
+“I’d love to have lived in Eden,” said Jane, unexpectedly, “before Eve
+and Adam sinned. What it must have meant to have all those great beasts
+mild-mannered and purring under your hand like this kitten. What a
+dreadful thing happened, Evans, when fear came into the world.”
+
+“What makes you say that now, Jane?” His voice was sharp.
+
+“Shouldn’t I have said it? Oh, Evans, you can’t think I had you in
+mind----”
+
+“No,” with a touch of weariness, “but you are the only one, really, who
+knows what a coward I am----”
+
+“Evans, you’re not.”
+
+“You’re good to say it, but that’s what I came over for. I am up
+against it again, Jane. Some cousins are on from New York--they’re
+at the New Willard--and Mother and I went in to see them last night.
+They have invited us to go back with them. They’ve a big house east of
+Fifth Avenue, and they want us as their guests indefinitely. They think
+it will do me a lot of good--get me out of myself, they call it. But
+I can’t see it. Since I came home--every time I think of facing mobs
+of people”--again his voice grew sharp--“I’m clutched by something I
+can’t describe. It is perfectly unreasonable, but I can’t help it.”
+
+For a moment they walked in silence, then he went on--“Mother’s very
+keen about it. She thinks it will set me up. But I want to stay
+here--and I thought if you’d talk to her, she’ll listen to you,
+Jane--she always does.”
+
+“Does she know how you feel about it?”
+
+“No, I think not. I’ve never told her. I’ve only spilled over to you
+now and then. It would hurt Mother, no end, to know how changed I am.”
+
+Jane laid her hand on his arm. “You’re not. Brace up, old dear. You
+aren’t dead yet.” As she lifted her head to look up at him, the hood of
+her cape slipped back, and the wind blew her soft, thick hair against
+his cheek. “But I’ll talk to your mother if you want me to. She is a
+great darling.”
+
+Jane meant what she said; she was really very fond of Mrs. Follette.
+And in this she was unlike the rest of the folk in Sherwood. Mrs.
+Follette was extremely unpopular in the Park.
+
+They had reached the kitchen door. “Won’t you come in?” Jane said.
+
+“No, I’ve got to get back. I only ran over for a moment. I have to have
+a daily sip of you, Jane.”
+
+“Baldy’s bringing a steak for dinner. Help us eat it.”
+
+“Sorry, but Mother would be alone.”
+
+“When shall I talk to her?”
+
+“There’s no hurry. The cousins are staying on for the opening of
+Congress. Jane dear, don’t despise me----” His voice broke.
+
+“Evans, as if I could.”
+
+Again her hand was on his arm. He laid his own over it. “You’re the
+best ever, Janey,” he said, huskily--and presently he went away.
+
+Jane, going in, found that Baldy had telephoned. “He kain’t git here
+until seven,” Sophy told her.
+
+“You had better run along home,” Jane told her. “I’ll cook the steak
+when it comes.”
+
+Sophy was old and she was tired. Life hadn’t been easy. The son who was
+to have been the prop of her old age had been killed in France. There
+was a daughter’s daughter who had gone north and who now and then sent
+money. Old Sophy did not know where her granddaughter got the money,
+but it was good to have it when it came. But it was not enough, so old
+Sophy worked.
+
+“I hates to leave you here alone, Miss Janey.”
+
+“Oh, run along, Sophy. Baldy will come before I know it.”
+
+So Sophy went and Jane waited. Seven o’clock arrived, with the dinner
+showing signs of deterioration. Jane sat at the front window and
+watched. The old cat watched, too, perched on the sill, and gazing out
+into the dark with round, mysterious eyes. The kitten slept on the
+hearth. Jane grew restless and stood up, peering out. Then all at once
+two round moons arose above the horizon, were lost as the road dipped
+down, showed again on the rise of the hill, and lighted the lawn as
+Baldy’s car made a half circle and swept into the garage.
+
+Jane went through the kitchen to the back door, throwing an appraising
+glance at the things in the warming oven, and stood waiting on the
+threshold, hugging herself in the keenness of the wind.
+
+Presently her brother’s tall form was silhouetted against the silvery
+gray of the night.
+
+“I thought you were never coming,” she said to him.
+
+“I thought so, too.” He bent and kissed her; his cheek was cold as it
+touched hers.
+
+“Aren’t you nearly frozen?”
+
+“No. Sorry to be late, honey. Get dinner on the table and I’ll be
+ready----”
+
+“I’m afraid things won’t be very appetizing,” she told him; “they’ve
+waited so long. But I’ll cook the steak----”
+
+He had gone on, and was beyond the sound of her voice. She opened the
+fat parcel which he had deposited on the kitchen table. She wondered
+a bit at its size. But Baldy had a way of bringing home unexpected
+bargains--a dozen boxes of crackers--unwieldy pounds of coffee.
+
+But this was neither crackers nor coffee. The box which was revealed
+bore the name of a fashionable florist. Within were violets--single
+ones--set off by one perfect rose and tied with a silver ribbon.
+
+Jane gasped--then she went to the door and called:
+
+“Baldy, where’s the steak?”
+
+He came to the top of the stairs. “Great guns,” he said, “I forgot it!”
+
+Then he saw the violets in her hands, laughed and came down a step or
+two. “I sold a loaf of bread and bought--white hyacinths----”
+
+“They’re heavenly!” Her glance swept up to him. “Peace offering?”
+
+There were gay sparks in his eyes. “We’ll call it that.”
+
+She blew a kiss to him from the tips of her fingers. “They are
+perfectly sweet. And we can have an omelette. Only if we eat any more
+eggs, we’ll be flapping our wings.”
+
+“I don’t care what we have. I am so hungry I could eat a house.” He
+went back up the stairs, laughing.
+
+Jane, breaking eggs into a bowl, meditated on the nonchalance of men.
+She meditated, too, on the mystery of Baldy’s mood. The flowers were
+evidence of high exaltation. He did not often lend himself to such
+extravagance.
+
+He came down presently and helped carry in the belated dinner. The
+potatoes lay like withered leaves in a silver dish, the cornbread was
+a wrinkled wreck, the pudding a travesty. Only Jane’s omelette and a
+lettuce salad had escaped the blight of delay.
+
+Then, too, there was Philomel, singing. Jane drew a cup of coffee, hot
+and strong, and set it at her brother’s place. The violets were in the
+center of the table, the cats purring on the hearth.
+
+Jane loved her little home with almost passionate intensity. She loved
+to have Baldy in a mood like this--things right once more with his
+world.
+
+She knew it was so by the ring of his voice, the cock of his
+head--hence she was not in the least surprised when he leaned forward
+under the old-fashioned spreading dome which drenched him with light,
+and said, “I’ve such a lot to tell you, Jane; the most amazing thing
+has happened.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+A PRINCESS PASSES
+
+
+When young Baldwin Barnes had ridden out of Sherwood that morning on
+his way to Washington, his car had swept by fields which were crisp and
+frozen; by clumps of trees whose pointed tops cut into the clear blue
+of the sky; over ice-bound streams, all shining silver in the early
+sunlight.
+
+It was very cold, and his little car was open to the weather. But he
+felt no chill. He wore the mustard-colored top-coat which had been his
+lieutenant’s garb in the army. The collar was turned up to protect his
+ears. His face showed pink and wedge-shaped between his soft hat and
+his collar.
+
+He had the eye of an artist, and he liked the ride. Even in winter the
+countryside was attractive--and as the road slipped away, there came a
+few big houses surrounded by wide grounds, with glimpses through their
+high hedges of white statues, of spired cedars, of sun-dials set in the
+midst of dead gardens.
+
+Beyond these there was an arid stretch until the Lake was reached, then
+the links of one country club, the old buildings of another, and at
+last on the crest of a hill, a view of the city--sweeping on the right
+towards Arlington and on the left towards Soldiers’ Home.
+
+Turning into Sixteenth Street, he crossed a bridge with its buttresses
+guarded by stone panthers--and it was on this bridge that his car
+stopped.
+
+Climbing out, he blamed Fate furiously. Years afterward, however, he
+dared not think of the difference it might have made if his little
+flivver had not failed him.
+
+He raised the hood and tapped and tinkered. Now and then he stopped to
+stamp his feet or beat his hands together. And he said things under
+his breath. He would be late at the office--life was just one--darned
+thing--after another!
+
+Once when he stopped, a woman passed him. She was tall and slender and
+wrapped up to her ears in moleskin. Her small hat was blue, from her
+hand swung a gray suede bag, her feet were in gray shoes with cut-steel
+buckles.
+
+Baldy’s quick eyes took in the details of her costume. He reflected
+as he went back to work that women were fools to court death in that
+fashion, with thin slippers and silk stockings, in this bitter weather.
+
+He found the trouble, fixed it, jumped into his car and started his
+motor. And it was just as he was moving that his eye was caught by a
+spot of blue bobbing down the hill below the bridge. The woman who had
+passed him was making her way slowly along the slippery path. On each
+side of her the trees were brown and bare. At the foot of the hill was
+a thread of frozen water.
+
+It was not usual at this time to see pedestrians in that place. Now
+and then a workman took a short cut--or on warm days there were picnic
+parties--but to follow the rough paths in winter was a bleak and
+arduous adventure.
+
+He stayed for a moment to watch her, then suddenly left his car and
+ran. The girl in the blue hat had caught her high heels in a root, had
+stumbled and fallen.
+
+When he reached her, she was struggling to her feet. He helped her, and
+picked up the bag which she had dropped.
+
+“Thank you so much.” Her voice was low and pleasing. He saw that she
+was young, that her skin was very fair, and that the hair which swept
+over her ears was pale gold, but most of all, he saw that her eyes were
+burning blue. He had never seen eyes quite like them. The old poets
+would have called them sapphire, but sapphires do not flame.
+
+“It was so silly of me to try to do it,” she was protesting, “but I
+thought it might be a short cut----”
+
+He wondered what her destination might be that this remote path should
+lead to it. But all he said was, “High heels aren’t made for--mountain
+climbing----”
+
+“They aren’t made for anything,” she said, looking down at the
+steel-buckled slippers, “useful.”
+
+“Let me help you up the hill.”
+
+“I don’t want to go up.”
+
+He surveyed the steep incline. “I am perfectly sure you don’t want to
+go down.”
+
+“I do,” she hesitated, “but I suppose I can’t.”
+
+He had a sudden inspiration. “Can I take you anywhere? My little
+flivver is up there on the bridge. Would you mind that?”
+
+“Would I mind if a life-line were thrown to me in mid-ocean?” She said
+it lightly, but he fancied there was a note of high hope.
+
+They went up the hill together. “I want to get an Alexandria car,” she
+told him.
+
+“But you are miles away from it.”
+
+“Am I?” She showed momentary confusion. “I--hoped I might reach it
+through the Park----”
+
+“You might. But you might also freeze to death in the attempt like a
+babe in the wood, without any robins to perform the last melancholy
+rites. What made you think of such a thing?”
+
+He saw at once his mistake. Her voice had a touch of frigidity. “I
+can’t tell you.”
+
+“Sorry,” he said abruptly. “You must forgive me.”
+
+She melted. “No, it is I who should be forgiven. It must look strange
+to you--but I’d rather not--explain----”
+
+On the last steep rise of the hill he lifted her over a slippery pool,
+and as his hand sank into the soft fur of her wrap, he was conscious
+of its luxury. It seemed to him that his mustard-colored coat fairly
+shouted incongruity. His imagination swept on to Raleigh, and the
+velvet cloak which might do the situation justice. He smiled at himself
+and smiling, too, at her, felt a tingling sense of coming circumstance.
+
+It was because of that smile, and the candid, boyish quality of it,
+that she trusted him. “Do you know,” she said, “I haven’t had a thing
+to eat this morning, and I’m frightfully hungry. Is there any place
+that I could have a cup of coffee--where you could bring it out to me
+in the car?”
+
+“Could I?” the morning stars sang. “There’s a corking place in
+Georgetown.”
+
+“Without the world looking on?”
+
+“Without _your_ world looking on,” boldly.
+
+She hesitated, then told the truth. “I’m running away----”
+
+He was eager. “May I help?”
+
+“Perhaps you wouldn’t if you knew.”
+
+“Try me.”
+
+He helped her into his car, tucked the rug about her, and put up the
+curtains. “No one can see you on the back seat,” he said, and drove to
+Georgetown on the wings of the wind.
+
+He brought coffee out to her from a neat shop where milk was sold,
+and buns, and hot drinks, to motormen and conductors. It was a clean
+little place, fresh as paint, and the buttered rolls were brown and
+crisp.
+
+“I never tasted anything so good,” the runaway told Baldy. “And now I
+am going to ask you to drive me over the Virginia side--I’ll get the
+trolley there.”
+
+When at last he drew up at a little way station, and unfastened the
+curtain, he was aware that she had opened the suede bag and had a roll
+of bills in her hand. For a moment his heart failed him. Was she going
+to offer him money?
+
+But what she said, with cheeks flaming, was: “I haven’t anything less
+than ten dollars. Do you think they will take it?”
+
+“It’s doubtful. I have oodles of change.” He held out a handful of
+silver.
+
+“Thank you so much, and--you must let me have your card----”
+
+“Oh, please----”
+
+Her voice had an edge of sharpness. “Of course it must be a loan.”
+
+He handed her his card in silence. She read the name. “Mr. Barnes, you
+have been very kind. I am tremendously grateful.”
+
+“It was not kindness--but now and then a princess passes.”
+
+For a breathless moment her amazed glance met his--then the clang of a
+bell heralded an approaching car.
+
+As he helped her out hurriedly she stumbled over the rug. He caught
+her up, lifted her to the ground, and motioned to the motorman.
+
+The car stopped and she mounted the steps. “Good-bye, and thank you so
+much.” He stood back and she waved to him while he watched her out of
+sight.
+
+His work at the office that morning had dreams for an accompaniment.
+He went out at lunch-time but ate nothing. It was at lunch-time that
+he bought the violets--paying an unthinkable price for them, and not
+caring.
+
+He had wild thoughts of following the road to Alexandria--of finding
+his Juliet on some balcony and climbing up to her. Or of sending the
+flowers forth addressed largely to “A Princess who passed.” One could
+not, however, be sure of an uncomprehending mail service. He would need
+more definite appellation.
+
+He had not, indeed, bought the flowers for Jane. He had had no thought
+of his sister as he passed the florist’s window. He had been drawn into
+the shop by the association of ideas--when he entered all the scent and
+sweetness seemed to belong to a garden in which his lady walked.
+
+He did not eat any lunch, and he took the box of violets back with him
+to the office, wrapped to prodigious size to protect it from the cold.
+It was an object of much curiosity to his fellow-clerks as it sat on
+the window-sill. They all wanted to know who it was for, and one of the
+abhorred flappers, who, at times, took Baldy’s dictation, tried to
+peep between the covers.
+
+He felt that her glance would be desecration. What did she know of
+delicate fragrances? Her perfumes were oriental, and she used a
+lipstick!
+
+He managed, however, to carry the thing off lightly. He was, in the
+opinion of the office, a gay and companionable chap. They knew nothing
+of his reactions. And he was popular.
+
+So now he said to the girl, “If you’ll let that alone, I’ll bring a box
+of chocolates for the crowd.”
+
+“Why can’t I look at it?”
+
+“Because curiosity is a deadly sin. You know what happened to
+Bluebeard’s wife?”
+
+“Oh, Bluebeard.” She had read of him, she thought, in the Paris papers.
+He had killed a lot of wives. She giggled a little in deference to
+the spiciness of the subject. Then pinned him down to his promise of
+sweets. “You know the kind we like?”
+
+“This week?”
+
+“Yes. Butter creams.”
+
+“Last week it was the nut kind. One never knows. I should think you
+ought to standardize your tastes.”
+
+“That would be stupid, wouldn’t it? It’s much more exciting to change.”
+
+He went back to his work and forgot her. She was one of the butterflies
+who had flitted to Washington during the war, and had set that
+conservative city by the ears in defiance of tradition.
+
+It was these young women who had eaten their lunches within the sacred
+precincts of Lafayette Square, draping themselves on its statues at
+noon-time, and strewing its immaculate sward with broken boxes and
+bags, who had worn sheer and insufficient clothing, had motored under
+the moon and without a moon, unchaperoned, until morning, and had come
+through it all a little damaged, perhaps, as to ideals, but having
+made a definite impress on the life of the capital. The days of the
+cave-dwellers were dead. For better, for worse, the war-worker and the
+women of old Washington had been swept out together from a safe and
+snug harbor into the raging seas of social readjustment.
+
+It was after office that Baldy carried the flowers to his car. He set
+the box on the back seat. In the hurry of the morning he had forgotten
+the rug which still lay where his fair passenger had stumbled over it.
+He picked it up and something dropped from its folds. It was the gray
+suede bag, half open, and showing the roll of bills. Beneath the roll
+of bills was a small sheer handkerchief, a vanity case with a pinch of
+powder and a wee puff, a new check-book--and, negligently at the very
+bottom, a ring--a ring of such enchantment that as it lay in Baldy’s
+hand, he doubted its reality. The hoop was of platinum, slender, yet
+strong enough to bear up a carved moonstone in a circle of diamonds.
+The carving showed a delicate Psyche--with a butterfly on her shoulder.
+The diamonds blazed like small suns.
+
+Inside the ring was an inscription--“Del to Edith--Forever.”
+
+_Del to Edith?_ Where had he seen those names? With a sudden flash of
+illumination, he dropped the ring back into the bag, stuffed the bag in
+his pocket, and made his way to a newsboy at the corner.
+
+There it was in startling headlines: _Edith Towne Disappears. Delafield
+Simms’ Yacht Said to Have Been Sighted Near Norfolk!_
+
+So his passenger had been the much-talked-about Edith Towne--deserted
+at the moment of her marriage!
+
+He thought of her eyes of burning blue,--the fairness of her skin and
+hair--the touch of haughtiness. Simms was a cur, of course! He should
+have knelt at her feet!
+
+The thing to do was to get the bag back to her. He must advertise at
+once. On the wings of this decision, his car whirled down the Avenue.
+The lines which, after much deliberation, he pushed across the counter
+of the newspaper office, would be ambiguous to others, but clear to
+her. “Will passenger who left bag with valuable contents in Ford car
+call up Sherwood Park 49.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+JANE KNITS
+
+
+“Is she really as beautiful as that?” Jane demanded.
+
+“As what?”
+
+“Her picture in the paper.”
+
+“Haven’t I said enough for you to know it?”
+
+Jane nodded. “Yes. But it doesn’t sound real to me. Are you sure you
+didn’t dream it?”
+
+“I’ll say I didn’t. Isn’t that the proof?” The gray bag lay on the
+table in front of them, the ring was on Jane’s finger.
+
+She turned it to catch the light. “Baldy,” she said, “it’s beyond
+imagination.”
+
+“I told you----”
+
+“Think of having a ring like this----”
+
+“Think,” fiercely, “of having a lover who ran away.”
+
+“Well,” said Jane, “there are some advantages in being--unsought. I’m
+like the Miller-ess of Dee--
+
+  “I care for nobody--
+  No, not I,
+  Since nobody
+  Cares--
+  For me----!”
+
+She sang it with a light boyish swing of her body. Her voice was
+girlish and sweet, with a touch of huskiness.
+
+Baldy flung his scorn at her. “Jane, aren’t you ever in earnest?”
+
+“Intermittently,” she smiled at him, came over and tucked her arm in
+his. “Baldy,” she coaxed, “aren’t you going to tell her uncle?”
+
+He stared at her. “Her uncle? Tell him what?”
+
+“That you’ve found the bag.”
+
+He flung off her arm. “Would you have me turn traitor?”
+
+“Heavens, Baldy, this isn’t melodrama. It’s common sense. You can’t
+keep that bag.”
+
+“I can keep it until she answers my advertisement.”
+
+“She may never see your advertisement, and the money isn’t yours, and
+the ring isn’t.”
+
+He was troubled. “But she trusted me. I can’t do it.”
+
+Jane shrugged her shoulders, and began to clear away the dinner things.
+Baldy helped her. Old Merrymaid mewed to go out, and Jane opened the
+door.
+
+“It’s snowing hard,” she said.
+
+The wind drove the flakes across the threshold. Old Merrymaid danced
+back into the house, bright-eyed and round as a muff. The air was
+freezing.
+
+“It is going to be a dreadful night,” young Baldwin, heavy with gloom,
+prophesied. He thought of Edith, in the storm in her buckled shoes.
+Had she found shelter? Was she frightened and alone somewhere in the
+dark?
+
+He went into the living-room, whence Jane presently followed him. Jane
+was knitting a sweater and she worked while Baldy read to her. He read
+the full account of Edith Towne’s flight. She had gone away early in
+the morning. The maid, taking her breakfast up to her, had found the
+room empty. She had left a note for her uncle. But he had not permitted
+its publication. He was, they said, wild with anxiety.
+
+“I’ll bet he’s an old tyrant,” was Baldy’s comment.
+
+Frederick Towne’s picture was in the paper. “I like his face,” said
+Jane, “and he doesn’t seem so frightfully old.”
+
+“Why should she run away from him, if he wasn’t a tyrant?” he demanded
+furiously.
+
+“Well, don’t scold me.” Jane was as vivid as an oriole in the midst of
+her orange wools.
+
+She loved color. The living-room was an expression of it. Its furniture
+was old-fashioned but not old-fashioned enough to be lovely. Jane
+had, however, modified its lack of grace and its dull monotonies by
+covers of chintz--tropical birds against black and white stripes--and
+there was a lamp of dull blue pottery with a Chinese shade. A fire in
+the coal grate, with the glow of the lamp, gave the room a look of
+burnished brightness. The kitten, curled up in Jane’s lap, played
+cozily with the tawny threads.
+
+“Don’t scold me,” said Jane, “it isn’t my fault.”
+
+“I’m not scolding, but I’m worried to death. And you aren’t any help,
+are you?”
+
+She looked at him in astonishment. “I’ve tried to help. I told you to
+call up.”
+
+Young Baldwin walked the floor.
+
+“She trusted me.”
+
+“You won’t get anywhere with that,” said Jane with decision. “The thing
+to do is to tell Mr. Towne that you have news of her, and that you’ll
+give it only under promise that he won’t do anything until he has
+talked it over with you.”
+
+“That sounds better,” said young Baldwin; “how did you happen to think
+of it?”
+
+“Now and then,” said Jane, “I have ideas.”
+
+Baldy went to the telephone. When he came back his eyes were like gray
+moons. “He promised everything, and he’s coming out----”
+
+“Here?”
+
+“Yes, he wouldn’t wait until to-morrow. He’s wild about her----”
+
+“Well, he would be.” Jane mentally surveyed the situation. “Baldy, I’m
+going to make some coffee, and have some cheese and crackers.”
+
+“He may not want them.”
+
+“On a cold night like this, I’ll say he will; anybody would.”
+
+Baldy helped Jane get out the round-bellied silver pot, the pitchers
+and tray. The young people had a sense of complacency as they
+handled the old silver. Frederick Towne could have nothing of more
+distinguished history. It had belonged to their great-grandmother,
+Dabney, who was really D’Aubigne, and it had graced an Emperor’s table.
+Each piece had a monogram set in an engraved wreath. The big tray was
+so heavy that Jane lifted it with difficulty, so Baldy set it for her
+on the little mahogany table which they drew up in front of the fire.
+There was no wealth now in the Barnes family, but the old silver spoke
+of a time when a young hostess as black-haired as Jane had dispensed
+lavish hospitality.
+
+Frederick Towne had not expected what he found--the little house set
+high on its terraces seemed to give from its golden-lighted window
+squares a welcome in the dark. “I shan’t be long, Briggs,” he said to
+his chauffeur.
+
+“Very good, sir,” said Briggs, and led the way up the terrace.
+
+Baldy ushered Towne into the living-room, and Frederick, standing on
+the threshold, surveyed a coziness which reminded him of nothing so
+much as a color illustration in some old English magazine. There was
+the coal grate, the table drawn up to the fire, the twinkling silver
+on its massive tray, violets in a low vase--and rising to meet him a
+slender, glowing child, with a banner of orange wool behind her.
+
+“Jane,” said young Barnes, “may I present Mr. Towne?” and Jane held out
+her hand and said, “This is very good of you.”
+
+He found himself unexpectedly gracious. He was not always gracious. He
+had felt that he couldn’t be. A man with money and position had to shut
+himself up sometimes in a shell of reserve, lest he be imposed upon.
+
+But in this warmth and fragrance he expanded. “What a charming room,”
+he said, and smiled at her.
+
+Her first view of him confirmed the opinion she formed from his
+picture. He was apparently not over forty, a stocky, well-built, ruddy
+man, with fair hair that waved crisply, and with clear blue eyes,
+lighter, she learned afterward, than Edith’s, but with just a hint of
+that burning blue. He had the air of indefinable finish which speaks of
+a life spent in the right school and the right college, and the right
+clubs, of a background of generations of good blood and good breeding.
+He wore evening clothes, and one knew somehow that dinner never found
+him without them.
+
+Yet in spite of these evidences of pomp and circumstance, Jane felt
+perfectly at ease with him. He was, after all, she reflected, only
+a gentleman, and Baldy was that. The only difference lay in their
+divergent incomes. So, as the two men talked, she knitted on, with the
+outward effect of placidity.
+
+“Do you want me to go?” she had asked them, and Towne had replied
+promptly, “Certainly not. There’s nothing we have to say that you can’t
+hear.”
+
+So Jane listened with all her ears, and modified the opinion she had
+formed of Frederick Towne from his picture and from her first glimpse
+of him. He was nice to talk to, but he might be hard to live with. He
+had obstinacy and egotism.
+
+“Why Edith should have done it amazes me.”
+
+Jane, naughtily remembering the Admiral’s song from Pinafore which
+had been her father’s favorite, found it beating in her head--_My
+amazement, my surprise, you may learn from the expression of my
+eyes----_
+
+But no hint of this showed in her manner.
+
+“She was hurt,” she said, “and she wanted to hide.”
+
+“But people seem to think that in some way it is my fault. I don’t like
+that. It isn’t fair. We’ve always been the best of friends--more like
+brother and sister than niece and uncle.”
+
+“But not like Baldy and me,” said Jane to herself, “not in the least
+like Baldy and me.”
+
+“Of course Simms ought to be shot,” Towne told them heatedly.
+
+“He ought to be hanged,” was Baldy’s amendment.
+
+Jane’s needles clicked, but she said nothing. She was dying to tell
+these bloodthirsty males what she thought of them. What good would it
+do to shoot Delafield Simms? A woman’s hurt pride isn’t to be healed
+by the thought of a man’s dead body.
+
+Young Baldwin brought out the bag. “It is one that Delafield gave her,”
+Frederick stated, “and I cashed a check for her at the bank the day
+before the wedding. I can’t imagine why she took the ring with her.”
+
+“She probably forgot to take it off; her mind wasn’t on _rings_.”
+Jane’s voice was warm with feeling.
+
+He looked at her with some curiosity. “What was it on?”
+
+“Oh, her heart was broken. Nothing else mattered. Can’t you see?”
+
+He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. “I don’t believe it was
+broken. I hardly think she loved him.”
+
+Baldy blazed, “But why should she marry him?”
+
+“Oh, well, it was a good match. A very good match. And Edith’s not in
+the least emotional----”
+
+“Really?” said Jane pleasantly.
+
+Baldy was silent. Was Frederick Towne blind to the wonders that lay
+behind those eyes of burning blue?
+
+Jane swept them back to the matter of the bag. “We thought you ought
+to have it, Mr. Towne, but Baldy had scruples about revealing anything
+he knows about Miss Towne’s hiding-place. He feels that she trusted
+him.”
+
+“You said you had advertised, Mr. Barnes?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, the one thing is to get her home. Tell her that if she calls you
+up.” Frederick looked suddenly tired and old.
+
+Baldy, leaning against the mantel, gazed down at him. “It’s hard to
+decide what I ought to do. But I feel that I’m right in giving her a
+chance first to answer the advertisement.”
+
+Towne’s tone showed a touch of irritation. “Of course you’ll have to
+act as you think best.”
+
+And now Jane took things in her own hands. “Mr. Towne, I’m going to
+make you a cup of coffee.”
+
+“I shall be very grateful,” he smiled at her. What a charming child she
+was! He was soothed and refreshed by the atmosphere they created. This
+boy and girl were a friendly pair and he loved his ease. His own house,
+since Edith’s departure, had been funereal, and his friends had been
+divided in their championship between himself and Edith. But the young
+Barneses were so pleasantly responsive with their lighted-up eyes and
+their little air of making him one with them. Edith had always seemed
+to put him quite definitely on the shelf. With little Jane and her
+brother he had a feeling of equality of age.
+
+“Look here,” he spoke impulsively, “may I tell you all about it? It
+would relieve my mind immensely.”
+
+To Jane it was a thrilling moment. Having poured the coffee, she came
+out from behind her battlement of silver and sat in her chintz chair.
+She did not knit; she was enchanted by the tale that Towne was telling.
+She sat very still, her hands folded, the tropical birds about her. To
+Frederick she seemed like a bird herself--slim and lovely, and with a
+voice that sang!
+
+Towne was not an impressionable man. His years of bachelorhood had
+hardened him to feminine arts. But here was no artfulness. Jane assumed
+nothing. She was herself. As he talked to her, he became aware of some
+stirred emotion. An almost youthful eagerness to shine as the hero of
+his tale. If he embroidered the theme, it was for her benefit. What he
+told was as he saw it. But what he told was not the truth, nor even
+half of it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+BEAUTY WAITS
+
+
+Edith Towne had lived with her Uncle Frederick nearly four years when
+she became engaged to Delafield Simms. Her mother was dead, as was her
+father. Frederick was her father’s only brother, and had a big house
+to himself, after his mother’s death. It seemed the only haven for his
+niece, so he asked her, and asked also his father’s cousin, Annabel
+Towne, to keep house for him, and chaperone Edith.
+
+Annabel was over sixty, and rather indefinite, but she served to play
+propriety, and there was nothing else demanded of her in Frederick’s
+household of six servants. She was a dried-up and desiccated person,
+with fixed ideas of what one owed to society. Frederick’s mother had
+been like that, so he did not mind. He rather liked to think that the
+woman of his family kept to old ideals. It gave to things an air of
+dignity.
+
+Edith, when she came, was different. So different that Frederick was
+glad that she had three more years at college before she would spend
+the winters with him. The summers were not hard to arrange. Edith and
+Annabel adjourned to the Towne cottage on an island in Maine--and
+Frederick went up for week-ends and for the month of August. Edith
+spent much time out-of-doors with her young friends. She was rather
+fond of her Uncle Fred, but he did not loom large on the horizon of her
+youthful occupations.
+
+Then came her winter at home, and her consequent engagement to
+Delafield Simms. It was because of Uncle Fred that she became engaged.
+She simply didn’t want to live with him any more. She felt that Uncle
+Fred would be glad to have her go, and the feeling was mutual. She
+was an elephant on his hands. Naturally. He was a great old dear, but
+he was a Turk. He didn’t know it, of course. But his ideas of being
+master of his own house were perfectly archaic. Cousin Annabel and the
+servants, and everybody in his office simply hung on his words, and
+Edith wouldn’t hang. She came into his bachelor Paradise like a rather
+troublesome Eve, and demanded her share of the universe. He didn’t like
+it, and there you were.
+
+It was really Uncle Fred who wanted her to marry Delafield Simms. He
+talked about it a lot. At first Edith wouldn’t listen. But Delafield
+was persistent and patient. He came gradually to be as much of a part
+of her everyday life as the meals she ate or the car she drove. Uncle
+Fred was always inviting him. He was forever on hand, and when he
+wasn’t she missed him.
+
+They felt for each other, she decided, the thing called “love.” It was
+not, perhaps, the romance which one found in books. But she had been
+taught carefully at college to distrust romance. The emphasis had been
+laid on the transient quality of adolescent emotion. One married for
+the sake of the race, and one chose, quite logically, with one’s head
+instead, as in the old days, with the heart.
+
+So there you had it. Delafield was eligible. He was healthy, had brains
+enough, an acceptable code of morals--and was willing to let her have
+her own way. If there were moments when Edith wondered if this program
+was adequate to wedded bliss, she put the thought aside. She and
+Delafield liked each other no end. Why worry?
+
+And really at times Uncle Fred was impossible. His mother had lived
+until he was thirty-five, she had adored him, and had passed on to
+Cousin Annabel and to the old servants in the house the formula by
+which she had made her son happy. Her one fear had been that he might
+marry. He was extremely popular, much sought after. But he had kept his
+heart at home. His sweetheart, he had often said, was silver-haired and
+over sixty. He basked in her approbation; was soothed and sustained by
+it.
+
+Then she had died, and Edith had come, and things had been different.
+
+The difference had been demonstrated in a dozen ways. Edith was
+pleasantly affectionate, but she didn’t yield an inch. “Dear Uncle
+Fred,” she would ask, when they disagreed on matters of manners or
+morals, or art or athletics, or religion or the lack of it, “isn’t my
+opinion as good as yours?”
+
+“Apparently my opinion isn’t worth anything.”
+
+“Oh, yes it is--but you must let me have mine.”
+
+Her independence met his rules and broke them. Her frankness of speech
+came up against his polite reticences and they both said things.
+
+Frederick, of course, blamed Edith when she made him forget his
+manners. They had, he held, been considered perfect. Edith retorted
+that they had, perhaps, never been challenged. “It is easy enough, of
+course, when everybody gives in to you.”
+
+She had brought into his house an atmosphere of modernity which
+appalled him. She went and came as she pleased, would not be bound by
+old standards.
+
+“Oh, Uncle Fred,” she would say when he protested, “the war changed
+things. Women of to-day aren’t sheep.”
+
+“The women of our family,” her uncle would begin, to be stopped by
+the scornful retort, “Why do you want the women of your family to be
+different from the others you go with?”
+
+She had him there. His sophistication matched that of the others of
+his set. Socially he was neither a Puritan nor a Pharisee. It was only
+under his own roof that he became patriarchal.
+
+Yet, as time went on, he learned that Edith’s faults were tempered
+by her fastidiousness. She did not confuse liberty and license. She
+neither smoked nor drank. There was about her dancing a fine and
+stately quality which saved it from sensuousness. Yet when he told her
+things, there was always that irritating shrug of the shoulders. “Oh,
+well, I’m not a rowdy,--you know that. But I like to play around.”
+
+His pride in her grew--in her burnished hair, the burning blue of her
+eyes, her great beauty, the fineness of her spirit, the integrity of
+her character.
+
+Yet he sighed with relief when she told him of her engagement to
+Delafield Simms. He loved her, but none the less he felt the strain of
+her presence in his establishment. It would be like sinking back into
+the luxury of a feather bed, to take up the old life where she had
+entered it.
+
+And Edith, too, welcomed her emancipation. “When I marry you,” she told
+Delafield, “I am going to break all the rules. In Uncle Fred’s house
+everything runs by clockwork, and it is he who winds the clock.”
+
+Delafield laughed and kissed her. He was like the rest of the men of
+his generation, apparently acquiescent. Yet the chances were that when
+Edith was his wife, he, too, would wind the clock!
+
+Their engagement was one of mutual freedom. Edith did as she pleased,
+Delafield did as he pleased. They rarely clashed. And as the wedding
+day approached, they were pleasantly complacent.
+
+Delafield, dictating a letter one day to Frederick Towne’s
+stenographer, spoke of his complacency. He was writing to Bob Sterling,
+who was to be his best man, and who shared his apartment in New York.
+Delafield was an orphan, and had big money interests. He felt that
+Washington was tame compared to the metropolis. He and Edith were to
+live one block east of Fifth Avenue, in a house that he had bought for
+her.
+
+When he was in Washington he occupied a desk in Frederick’s office.
+Lucy Logan took his dictation. She had been for several years with
+Towne. She was twenty-three, well-groomed, and self-possessed. She had
+slender, flexible fingers, and Delafield liked to look at them. She
+had soft brown hair, and her profile, as she bent over her book, was
+clear-cut and composed.
+
+  “Edith and I are great pals,” he dictated. “I rather think we are
+  going to hit it off famously. I’d hate to have a woman hang around my
+  neck. And I want you for my best man. I know it is asking a lot, but
+  it’s just once in a lifetime, old chap.”
+
+Lucy wrote that and waited with her pencil poised.
+
+“That’s about all,” said Delafield.
+
+Lucy shut up her book and rose.
+
+“Wait a minute,” Delafield decided. “I want to add a postscript.”
+
+Lucy sat down.
+
+  “By the way,” Delafield dictated, “I wish you’d order the flowers at
+  Tolley’s. White orchids for Edith of course. He’ll know the right
+  thing for the bridesmaids--I’ll get Edith to send him the color
+  scheme----”
+
+Lucy’s pencil dashed and dotted. She looked up, hesitated. “Miss Towne
+doesn’t care for orchids.”
+
+“How do you know?” he demanded.
+
+She fluttered the leaves of her notebook and found an order from Towne
+to a local florist. “He says here, ‘Anything but orchids--she doesn’t
+like them.’”
+
+“But I’ve been sending her orchids every week.”
+
+“Perhaps she didn’t want to tell you----”
+
+“And you think I should have something else for the wedding bouquet?”
+
+“I think she might like it better.” There was a faint flush on her
+cheek.
+
+“What would you suggest?”
+
+“I can’t be sure what Miss Towne would like.”
+
+“What would you like?” intently.
+
+She considered it seriously--her slender fingers clasped on her book.
+“I think,” she told him, finally, “that if I were going to marry a man
+I should want what he wanted.”
+
+He laughed and leaned forward. “Good heavens, are there any women like
+that left in the world?”
+
+Her flush deepened, she rose and went towards the door. “Perhaps I
+shouldn’t have said anything.”
+
+His voice changed. “Indeed, I am glad you did.” He had risen and now
+held the door open for her. “We men are stupid creatures. I should
+never have found it out for myself.”
+
+She went away, and he sat there thinking about her. Her impersonal
+manner had always been perfect, and he had found her little flush
+charming.
+
+It was because of Lucy Logan, therefore, that Edith had white violets
+instead of orchids in her wedding bouquet. And it was because, too, of
+Lucy Logan, that other things happened. Three of Edith’s bridesmaids
+were house-guests. Their names were Rosalind, Helen and Margaret. They
+had, of course, last names, but these have nothing to do with the
+story. They had been Edith’s classmates at college, and she had been
+somewhat democratic in her selection of them.
+
+“They are perfect dears, Uncle Fred. I’ll have three cave-dwellers
+to balance them. Socially, I suppose, it will be a case of sheep and
+goats, but the goats are--darling.”
+
+They were, however, the six of them, what Delafield called a bunch
+of beauties. Their bridesmaid gowns were exquisite--but unobtrusive.
+The color scheme was blue and silver--and the flowers, forget-me-nots
+and sweet peas. “It’s a bit old-fashioned,” Edith said, “but I hate
+sensational effects.”
+
+Neither the sheep nor the goats agreed with her. Their ideas were
+different--the goats holding out for something impressionistic, the
+sheep for ceremonial splendor.
+
+There was to be a wedding breakfast at the house. Things were therefore
+given over early to the decorators and caterers, and coffee and rolls
+were served in everybody’s room. Belated wedding presents kept coming,
+and Edith and her bridal attendants might be seen at all times on the
+stairs or in the hall in silken morning coats and delicious caps.
+
+When the wedding bouquet arrived Edith sought out her uncle in his
+study on the second floor.
+
+“Look at this,” she said; “how in the world did it happen that he sent
+white violets? Did you tell him, Uncle Fred?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Sure?”
+
+“Cross my heart.”
+
+They had had their joke about Del’s orchids. “If he knew how I hated
+them,” Edith would say, and Uncle Fred would answer, “Why don’t you
+tell him?”
+
+But she had never told, because after all it didn’t much matter, and if
+Delafield felt that orchids were the proper thing, why muddle up his
+mind with her preferences?
+
+“Anyhow,” she said now, “I am glad my wedding bouquet is different.” As
+she stood there, lovely in her sheer draperies, the fragrant mass of
+flowers in her arms, her eyes looked at him over the top, wistfully.
+“Uncle Fred,” she asked, unexpectedly, “do you love me?”
+
+“Of course----”
+
+“Please don’t say it that way----” Her voice caught.
+
+“How shall I say it?”
+
+“As if you--cared.”
+
+He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. “My dear child,” he
+said, “I do.”
+
+“You’ve been no end good to me,” she said, and dropped the bouquet on a
+chair and clung to him, sobbing.
+
+He held her in his arms and soothed her. “Being a bride is a bit
+nerve-racking.”
+
+She nodded. “And I mustn’t let my eyes get red.”
+
+She kissed him shyly on the cheek. They had never indulged much in
+kisses. He felt if she had always been as sweetly feminine, he should
+have been sorry to have her marry.
+
+He did not see her again until she was in her wedding gown, composed
+and smiling.
+
+“Has Del called you up?” he asked her.
+
+“No, why should he?”
+
+He laughed. “Oh, well, you’ll have plenty to say to each other
+afterward.” But the thought intruded that with such a bride a man might
+show himself, on this day of days, ardent and eager.
+
+Rosalind and Helen and Margaret, shimmering, opalescent, their young
+eyes radiant under their wide hats, joined the other bridesmaids in the
+great limousine which was to take them to the church. Cousin Annabel
+went with other cousins. Edith and her uncle were alone in their car.
+Frederick’s man, Briggs, who had been the family coachman in the days
+of horses, drove them.
+
+Washington was shining under the winter sun as they whirled through the
+streets to the old church. “Happy is the bride the sun shines on,” said
+Frederick, feeling rather foolish. It was somewhat difficult to talk
+naturally to this smiling beauty in her bridal white. She seemed miles
+removed from the aggressive maiden with whom he had fought and made up
+and fought again.
+
+The wedding party was assembled in one of the side rooms. Belated
+guests trickled in a thin stream towards the great doors that opened
+and shut to admit them to the main auditorium. A group of servants,
+laden with wraps, stood at the foot of the stairs. As soon as the
+procession started they would go up into the gallery to view the
+ceremony.
+
+In the small room was almost overpowering fragrance. The bridesmaids,
+in the filtered light, were a blur of rose and blue and white. There
+was much laughter, the sound of the organ through the thick walls.
+
+Then the ushers came in.
+
+“Where’s Del?”
+
+The bridegroom was, it seemed, delayed. They waited.
+
+“Shall we telephone, Mr. Towne?” someone asked at last.
+
+Frederick nodded. He and his niece stood apart from the rest. Edith was
+smiling but had little to say. She seemed separated from the others by
+the fact of the approaching mystery.
+
+The laughter had ceased; above the whispers came the tremulous echo of
+the organ.
+
+The usher who had gone to the telephone returned and drew Towne aside.
+
+“There’s something queer about it. I can’t get Del or Bob. They may be
+on the way. But the clerk seemed reticent.”
+
+“I’ll go to the ’phone myself,” said Frederick. “Where is it?”
+
+But he was saved the effort, for someone, watching at the door, said,
+“Here they come,” and the room seemed to sigh with relief as Bob
+Sterling entered.
+
+No one was with him, and he wore a worried frown.
+
+“May I speak to you, Mr. Towne?” he asked.
+
+Edith was standing by the window looking out at the old churchyard. The
+uneasiness which had infected the others had not touched her. Slender
+and white she stood waiting. In a few minutes Del would walk up the
+aisle with her and they would be married. In her mind that program was
+as fixed as the stars.
+
+And now her uncle approached and said something. “Edith, Del isn’t
+coming----”
+
+“Is he ill?”
+
+“I wish to Heaven he were dead.”
+
+“What do you mean, Uncle Fred?”
+
+“I’ll tell you--presently. But we must get away from this----”
+
+His glance took in the changed scene. A blight had swept over those
+high young heads. Two of the bridesmaids were crying. The ushers had
+withdrawn into a huddled group. The servants were staring--uncertain
+what to do.
+
+Somebody got Briggs and the big car to the door.
+
+Shut into it, Towne told Edith:
+
+“He’s backed out of it. He left--this.” He had a note in his hand. “It
+was written to Bob Sterling. Bob was with him at breakfast time, and
+when he came back, this was on Del’s dresser.”
+
+She read it, her blue eyes hot:
+
+  “I can’t go through with it, Bob. I know it’s a rotten trick, but
+  time will prove that I am right. And Edith will thank me.
+
+                                                                  “DEL.”
+
+She crushed it in her hand. “Where has he gone?”
+
+“South, probably, on his yacht.”
+
+“Wasn’t there any word for me?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Is there any other--woman?”
+
+“It looks like it. Bob is utterly at sea. So is everybody else.”
+
+All of her but her eyes seemed frozen. The great bouquet lay at her
+feet where she had dropped it. Her hands were clenched.
+
+Towne laid his hand on hers. “My dear--it’s dreadful.”
+
+“Don’t----”
+
+“Don’t what?”
+
+“Be sorry.”
+
+“But he’s a cur----”
+
+“It doesn’t do any good to call him names, Uncle Fred.”
+
+“I think you must look upon it as a great escape, Edith.”
+
+“Escape from what?”
+
+“Unhappiness.”
+
+“Do you think I can ever escape from the thought of this?” The strong
+sweep of her arm seemed to indicate her bridal finery.
+
+He sat in unhappy silence, and suddenly she laughed. “I might have
+known when he kept sending me orchids. When a man loves a woman he
+knows the things she likes.”
+
+It was then that Towne made his mistake. “You ought to thank your lucky
+stars----”
+
+She blazed out at him, “Uncle Fred, if you say anything more like
+that,--it’s utterly idiotic. But you won’t face _facts_. Your
+generation never does. I’m not in the least thankful. I’m simply
+furious.”
+
+There was an hysterical note in her voice, but he was unconscious of
+the tension. She was not taking it in the least as he wished she might.
+She should have wept on his shoulder. Melted to tears he might have
+soothed her. But there were no tears in those blue eyes.
+
+She trod on her flowers as she left the car. Looking straight ahead
+of her she ascended the steps. Within everything was in readiness for
+the wedding festivities. The stairway was terraced with hydrangeas,
+pink and white and blue. In the drawing-room were rose garlands with
+floating ribbons. And there was a vista of the dining-room--with the
+caterer’s men already at their posts.
+
+Except for these men, a maid or two--and a detective to keep his eye
+on things, the house was empty. Everybody had gone to the wedding, and
+presently everybody would come back. The house would be stripped, the
+flowers would fade, the caterers would carry away the wasted food.
+
+Edith stopped at the foot of the stairs. “How did they announce it at
+the church?”
+
+“That it had been postponed. It was the only thing to do at the
+moment. Of course there will be newspaper men. We’ll have to make up a
+story----”
+
+“We’ll do nothing of the kind. Tell them the truth, Uncle Fred. That
+I’m not--wanted. That I was kept--waiting--at the church. Like the
+heroine in a movie.”
+
+She stood on the steps above him, looking down. She was as white as her
+dress.
+
+“I don’t want to see anybody. I don’t mind losing Del. He doesn’t
+count. He isn’t worth it. But can you imagine that any man--_any_ man,
+Uncle Fred, could have kept _me_--waiting?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE UGLY DUCKLING
+
+
+The thing that Frederick Towne got out of his niece’s flight was this.
+“She wouldn’t let anybody sympathize with her. Simply locked the door
+of her room, and in the morning she was gone. It has added immeasurably
+to the gossip.”
+
+His listeners had, however, weighed him in the balance of understanding
+and sympathy, and had found him wanting. The youth in them sided with
+Edith. But none of this showed in their manner. They were polite and
+hospitable to the last. Frederick, ushered out into the storm by Baldy,
+still saw Jane like a bird, warm in her nest.
+
+“You see,” Baldy said to his sister, when he came back, “how he messed
+things up.”
+
+Jane nodded. “He doesn’t know----”
+
+“_Unemotional_”--Baldy’s voice seemed to call on all the gods to
+listen, “you should see her eyes----”
+
+“Well, he’s rather an old dear,” said Jane, and having thus disposed
+airily of the great Frederick Towne, she went about the house setting
+things to right for the night.
+
+“Merrymaid’s out,” she told her brother; “you’d better get her.”
+
+He opened the door and the storm seemed to whirl in upon him. He called
+the old cat and was presently aware, as he stood on the porch, that she
+danced about him in the dark. He chased her blindly, and at last got
+his hands on her. She was wet to the thighs, where she had waded in the
+drifts, but galvanized like a small electric motor by the intense chill
+of the night.
+
+The wind shrieked and seemed to shake the world. Before Baldy entered
+the house he turned and faced the night--“_Edith_” was his voiceless
+cry, “_Edith--Edith----_”
+
+By morning the violence of the storm had spent itself. But it was
+still bitterly cold. The snow was blue beneath the leaden sky. The
+chickens, denied their accustomed promenade, ate and drank and went
+to sleep again in the strange dusk. Merrymaid and the kitten having
+poked their noses into the frigid atmosphere withdrew to the snug
+haven of a basket beneath the kitchen stove. Sophy sent word that her
+rheumatism was worse, and that she could not come over. Jane, surveying
+the accumulated piles of dishes, felt a sense of unusual depression.
+While Frederick Towne had talked last night she had caught a glimpse
+of his world--the great house--six servants--gay girls in the glamour
+of good clothes, young men who matched the girls, money to meet every
+emergency--a world in which nobody had to wash dishes--or make soup out
+of Sunday’s roast.
+
+She was cheered a bit, however, by the announcement that her brother
+had decided to stay home from the office.
+
+“I’ll have a try at that magazine cover----”
+
+Her spirits rose. “Wouldn’t it be utterly perfect if you got the
+prize----?”
+
+“Not much chance. The thing I need is a good model----”
+
+“And I won’t do?” with some wistfulness.
+
+They had talked of it before. Baldy refused to see possibilities in
+Jane. “Since you bobbed your hair, you’re too modern----” She was,
+rather, medieval, with her straight-cut frocks and her straight-cut
+locks. But she was a figure so familiar that she failed to appeal to
+his imagination.
+
+“Editors like ’em modern, don’t they?”
+
+But his thoughts had winged themselves to that other woman whom his
+fancy painted in a thousand poses.
+
+“If Edith Towne were here--I’d put her on a marble bench beside a
+sapphire sea.”
+
+“I’ll bet you couldn’t get an editor in the world to look at it.
+Sapphire seas and classic ladies are a million years behind the
+times----”
+
+“They are never behind the times----”
+
+Jane shrugged, and changed the subject. “Darling--if you’ll put your
+mind to mundane things for a moment. To-morrow is Thanksgiving Day, the
+Follettes are to dine with us, and we haven’t any turkey.”
+
+“Why haven’t we?”
+
+“You were to get it when you went to town, and now you’re not going----”
+
+“I am _not_--not for all the turkeys in the world. We can have roast
+chickens. That’s simple enough, Janey.”
+
+“It may seem simple to you. But who’s going to cut off their heads?”
+
+“Sophy,” said Baldy. Having killed Germans in France he refused further
+slaughter.
+
+“Sophy has the rheumatism----”
+
+“Oh, well, we can feast our souls----” Young Baldwin’s mood was one of
+exaltation.
+
+Jane leaned back in her chair and looked at him. “Your perfectly poetic
+solution may satisfy you, but it won’t feed the Follettes.”
+
+With some irritation, therefore, he promised, if all else failed, to
+himself decapitate the fowls. “But your mind, Jane, never soars above
+food----”
+
+Jane, with her chin in her hands, considered this. “A woman,” she said,
+“who keeps house for a poet--must anchor herself to--something. Perhaps
+I’m like a captive balloon--if you cut the cable, I’ll shoot straight
+up to the skies----”
+
+She liked that thought of herself, and smiled over it, after Baldy had
+left her. She wondered if the cable would ever be cut. If the captive
+balloon would ever soar.
+
+So she went about her simple tasks, putting the bone on to boil for
+soup, preparing the vegetables for it--wondering what she would have
+for dessert--with all his scorn of domestic details, Baldy was apt to
+be fastidious about his sweets--and coming finally to her sweeping and
+dusting in the front part of the house.
+
+The telephone rang and she answered it. Evans was at the other end of
+the wire.
+
+“Mother wants to speak to you.”
+
+Mrs. Follette asked if she might change her plans for Thanksgiving.
+“Will you and your brother dine with us, instead of our coming to you?
+Our New York cousins find that they have the day free, unexpectedly.
+They had been asked to a house party in Virginia, but their hostess has
+had to postpone it on account of illness.”
+
+“Is it going to be very grand? I haven’t a thing to wear.”
+
+“Don’t be foolish, Jane. You always look like a lady.”
+
+“Thank you, Mrs. Follette.” Jane hoped that she didn’t look as some
+ladies look. But there were, of course, others. It was well for her at
+the moment, that Mrs. Follette could not see her eyes.
+
+“And I thought,” went on the unconscious matron, “that if you were not
+too busy, you might go with Evans to the grove and get some greens. I’d
+like the house to look attractive. Is the snow too deep?”
+
+“Not a bit. When will he come?”
+
+“You’d better arrange with him. Here he is.”
+
+Evans’ voice was the only unchanged thing about him. The sound of it at
+long distance always brought the old days back to Jane.
+
+“After lunch?” he asked.
+
+“Give me time to dress.”
+
+“Three?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+When luncheon was over, Jane went up-stairs to get into out-of-door
+clothes. At the foot of the stairs she had a glimpse of herself in the
+hall mirror. She wore a one-piece lilac cotton frock--with a small
+square apron, and an infinitesimal bib. It was a nice-looking little
+frock, but she had had it for a million years. That was the way with
+all her clothes. The suit she was going to put on had been dyed. It had
+been white in its first incarnation. It was now brown. There was no
+telling its chromatic future.
+
+She heard steps on the porch, and turned to open the door for Evans.
+
+But it was not Evans. Briggs, Frederick Towne’s chauffeur, stood there
+with a box in his arms. “Mr. Towne’s compliments,” he said, “and shall
+I set it in the hall?”
+
+“Oh, yes, thank you.” Her surprise brought the quick color to her
+cheeks. She watched him go back down the terrace, and enter the car,
+then she opened the box.
+
+Beneath clouds of white tissue paper she came upon a long, low basket,
+heaped with grapes and tangerines, peaches and pomegranates. Tucked in
+between the fruits were shelled nuts in fluted paper cases, gleaming
+sweets in small glass jars, candied pineapples and cherries, bunches of
+fat raisins, stuffed dates and prunes.
+
+Jane talked to the empty air. “How dear of him----”
+
+The white tissue paper fell in drifts about her as she lifted the
+basket from the box.
+
+There was a little note tied to the handle. Towne’s personal paper was
+thick and white. Jane was aware of its expensiveness and it thrilled
+her. His script was heavy and black--the note had, unquestionably, an
+air.
+
+  “DEAR MISS BARNES:
+
+  “I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed your hospitality last night--and
+  you were good to listen to me with so much sympathy. I am hoping that
+  you’ll let me come again and talk about Edith. May I? And here’s a
+  bit of color for your Thanksgiving feast.
+
+                                       “Gratefully always,
+                                                      “FREDERICK TOWNE.”
+
+Jane stood staring down at the friendly words. It didn’t seem within
+reason that Frederick Towne meant that he wanted to come--to see her.
+And she really hadn’t listened with sympathy. But--oh, of course, he
+could come. And it was heavenly to have a thing like this happen on a
+day like this.
+
+As she straightened up with the basket in her hands, she saw herself
+again in the long mirror--a slender figure in green--bobbed black
+hair--golden and purple fruits. She gasped and gazed again. There was
+Baldy’s picture ready to his hand--November! Against a background of
+gray--that glowing figure--Baldy could idealize her--make the wind blow
+her skirts a bit--give her a fluttering ribbon or two, a glorified
+loveliness.
+
+She sought him in his studio. “I’ve got something to show you,
+darling-dear.”
+
+He was moody. “Don’t interrupt me, Jane.”
+
+She rumpled up his hair, which he hated. “Mr. Towne sent us some fruit,
+Baldy, and this.” She held out the note to him.
+
+He read it. “He doesn’t say a word about me.”
+
+“No, he doesn’t,” her eyes were dancing; “Baldy, it’s your little
+sister, Jane.”
+
+“You didn’t do a thing but sit there and knit----”
+
+“Perhaps he liked to see me--knitting----”
+
+Baldy passed this over in puzzled silence.
+
+“Where’s the fruit?”
+
+“In the house.”
+
+He rose. “I’ll go in with you----” He felt out of sorts, discouraged.
+The morning had been spent in sketching vague outlines--a sweep of fair
+hair under a blue hat--detached feet in shoes with shining buckles--a
+bag that hung in the air without hands. At intervals he had stood up
+and looked out at the blank snow and the dull sky. The room was warm
+enough, but he shivered. He suffered vicariously for Edith Towne. He
+had hoped that she might telephone. He had stayed home really for that.
+
+His studio was in the garage and was heated by a little round stove.
+Jane said the garage reminded her of the Boffins’ parlor--a dead line
+was drawn between art and utility. Baldy’s rug and old couch and paints
+and brushes flung a challenge as it were to the little Ford, the lawn
+mower, the garden hose and the gasoline cans.
+
+“I have spent three hours doing nothing,” he said, as he shut the door
+behind him; “not much encouragement in that.”
+
+“I have a model for you.”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“I’ll show you.”
+
+He followed her in, full of curiosity.
+
+She showed him the fruit, then picked up the basket. “Look in the
+mirror, not at me,” she commanded.
+
+Reflected there in the clear glass, so still that she seemed fixed in
+paint, Baldy really gave for the first time an artist’s eye to the
+possibilities of his little sister. In the midst of all that crashing
+color----!
+
+“Gosh,” he cried, “you’re good-looking!”
+
+His air of utter astonishment was too much for Jane. She set the basket
+on the steps, and laughed until she cried.
+
+“I don’t see anything funny,” he told her.
+
+“Well, you wouldn’t, darling.”
+
+She wiped her eyes with her little handkerchief, and sat up. “I am just
+dropping a tear for the ugly duckling.”
+
+“Have I made you feel like that?”
+
+“Sometimes.”
+
+Their lighted-up eyes met, and suddenly he leaned down and touched her
+cheek--a swift caress. “You’re a little bit of all right, Janey,” which
+was great praise from Baldy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+“STAY IN THE FIELD, OH, WARRIOR!”
+
+
+Mrs. Follette had been born in Maryland with a tradition of
+aristocratic blood. It was this tradition which had upheld her through
+years of poverty after the Civil War. A close scanning of the family
+tree might have disclosed ancestors who had worked with their hands.
+But these, Mrs. Follette’s family had chosen to ignore in favor of
+one grandfather who had held Colonial office, and who had since been
+magnified into a personage.
+
+On such slight foundation, Mrs. Follette had erected high towers of
+social importance. As a wife of a government clerk, her income was
+limited, but she lived on a farm, back of Sherwood Park, which she had
+inherited from her father. The farm was called Castle Manor, which
+dignified it in the eyes of the county. Mrs. Follette’s friends were
+among the old families who had occupied the land for many generations.
+She would have nothing to do with the people of Sherwood Park. She held
+that all suburbs are negligible socially. People came to them from
+anywhere and went from them to be swallowed up in obscurity. There was
+no stability. She made an exception, only, of the Baldwin Barneses.
+There was good Maryland blood back of them, and more than that, a
+Virginia Governor. To be sure they did not care for these things; old
+Baldwin’s democracy had been almost appalling. But they were, none the
+less, worth while.
+
+Mr. Follette, during his lifetime, had walked a mile each morning to
+take the train at Sherwood Park, and had walked back a mile each night,
+until at last he had tired of two peripatetic miles a day, and of eight
+hours at his desk, and of eternally putting on his dinner coat when
+there was no one to see, and like old Baldwin Barnes, he had laid him
+down with a will.
+
+At his death all income stopped, and Mrs. Follette had found herself
+on a somewhat lonely peak of exclusiveness. She could not afford to
+go with her richer neighbors, and she refused to consider Sherwood
+seriously. Now and then, however, she accepted invitations from old
+friends, and in return offered such simple hospitality as she could
+afford without self-consciousness. She might be a snob, but she was,
+to those whom she permitted to cross her threshold, an incomparable
+hostess. She gave what she had without apology.
+
+She had, too, a sort of admirable courage. Her ambitions had been
+wrapped up in her son. What her father might have been, Evans was to
+be. They had scrimped and saved that he might go to college and study
+law. Then, at that first dreadful cry from across the seas, he had
+gone. There had been long months of fighting. He had left her in the
+flower of his youth, a wonder-lad, with none to match him among his
+friends. He had come back crushed and broken. He, whose career lay
+so close to his heart--could do now no sustained work. Mentally and
+physically he must rest. He might be years in getting back. He would
+never get back to gay and gallant boyhood. That was gone forever.
+
+Yet if Mrs. Follette’s heart had failed her at times, she had never
+shown it. She was making the farm pay for itself. She supplied the
+people of Sherwood Park and surrounding estates with milk. But she
+never was in any sense--a milkwoman. It was, rather, as if in selling
+her milk she distributed favors. It was on this income that she
+subsisted, she and her son.
+
+It was because of Mrs. Follette’s social complexes that Jane had been
+forced to limit her invitations for the Thanksgiving dinner. She would
+have preferred more people to liven things up for Evans and Baldy, but
+Mrs. Follette’s prejudices had to be considered.
+
+Evans, democratic, like his father, laughed at his mother’s
+assumptions. But he rarely in these days set himself against her. It
+involved always a contest, and he was tired of fighting.
+
+That was why he had asked Jane to help him in the stand he had taken
+against the New York trip. He felt that he could never hold out against
+his mother’s arguments.
+
+“She’d keep eternally at it, and I’d have to give in,” he told himself
+with the irritability which was so new to him and so surprising. As a
+boy he had been good-tempered even in moments of disagreement with his
+mother.
+
+Going down to luncheon, he hoped the subject would not come up. The
+afternoon was before him, and Jane. He wanted no cloud to mar it.
+
+On the steps he passed Mary, his mother’s maid, making the house
+immaculate for the guests of to-morrow. She was singing an old song,
+linking herself musically with the black men of generations back. Mary
+was over sixty, and her voice was thin and piping. Yet there was, after
+all, a sort of fierce power in that thin and piping voice.
+
+  “Stay in the fiel’,
+  Stay in the fiel’, oh, wah-yah--
+  Stay in the fiel’
+  Till the wah is ended.”
+
+Again Evans felt that sense of unaccountable irritation. He wished that
+Mary wouldn’t sing....
+
+Later as he and Jane swung along together in the clear cold Jane said:
+
+“I’ve such a lot to tell you----”
+
+She told it in her whimsical way--Baldy’s adventure, Frederick Towne’s
+visit, the basket of fruit.
+
+“Baldy is simply mad about Edith Towne. He hasn’t been able to talk
+of anything else. Of course, he’ll have to get over it but he isn’t
+looking ahead.”
+
+“Why should he get over it?”
+
+Her chin went up. “He’s a clerk in the departments, and she
+a--plutocrat----”
+
+“Perhaps she won’t look at it like that.”
+
+“Oh, but she has _men_ at her feet. And Baldy’s a boy. Evans, if I had
+lovely dresses ’n’ everything, I’d have men at my feet.”
+
+“Why should you want them at your feet?”
+
+“Every woman does. We want to grind ’em under our heels,” she stamped
+in the snow to show him; “but Baldy and I are a pair of Cinderellas,
+minus--godmothers----”
+
+She was in a gay mood. She was wrapped in her old orange cape, and the
+sun, breaking the bank of sullen clouds in the west, seemed to turn her
+lithe young body into flame.
+
+“Don’t you _love_ a day like this, Evans?” She pressed forward up the
+hill with all her strength. Evans followed, panting. At the top they
+sat down for a moment on an old log--which faced the long aisles of
+snow between thin black trees. The vista was clear-cut and almost
+artificial in its restraint of color and its wide bare spaces.
+
+Evans’ little dog, Rusty, ran back and forth--following this trail and
+that. Finally in pursuit of a rabbit, he was led far afield. They
+heard him barking madly in the distance. It was the only sound in the
+stillness.
+
+“Jane,” Evans said, “do you remember the last time we were here?”
+
+“Yes.” The light went out of her eyes.
+
+“As I look back it was heaven, Jane. I’d give anything on God’s earth
+if I was where I was then.”
+
+All the blood was drained from her face. “Evans, you wouldn’t,”
+passionately, “you wouldn’t give up those three years in France----”
+
+He sat very still. Then he said tensely, “No, I wouldn’t, even though
+it has made me lose you--Jane----”
+
+“You mustn’t say such things----”
+
+“I must. Don’t I know? You were such an unawakened little thing, my
+dear. But I could have--waked you. And I can’t wake you now. That’s my
+tragedy. You’ll never wake up--for me----”
+
+“Don’t----”
+
+“Well, it’s true. Why not say it? I’ve come back a--scarecrow, the
+shadow of a man. And you’re just where I left you--only lovelier--more
+of a woman--more to be worshipped--Jane----”
+
+As he caught her hand up in his, she had a sudden flashing vision of
+him as he had been when he last sat with her in the grove--the swing
+of his strong figure, his bare head borrowing gold from the sun--the
+touch of assurance which had been so compelling.
+
+“I never knew that you cared----”
+
+“I knew it, but not as I did after your wonderful letters to me over
+there. I felt, if I ever came back, I’d move heaven and earth.” He
+stopped. “But I came back--different. And I haven’t any right to say
+these things to you. I’m not going to say them--Jane. It might spoil
+our--friendship.”
+
+“Nothing can spoil our friendship, Evans----”
+
+He laid his hand on hers. “Then you are mine--until somebody comes
+along and claims you?”
+
+“There isn’t anybody else,” she turned her fingers up to meet his, “so
+don’t worry, old dear,” she smiled at him but her lashes were wet. Her
+hand was warm in his and she let it stay there, and after a while she
+said, “I have sometimes thought that if it would make you happy, I
+might----”
+
+“Might--love me?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+He shook his head. “I didn’t say it for that. I just had to have the
+truth between us. And I don’t want--pity. If--if I ever get back--I’ll
+make you love me, Jane.” There was a hint of his old masterfulness--and
+she was thrilled by it.
+
+She withdrew her hand and stood up. “Then I’ll--pray--that you--get
+back----”
+
+“Do you mean it, Janey?”
+
+“I mean it, Evans.”
+
+“Then pray good and hard, my dear, for I’m going to do it.”
+
+They smiled at each other, but it was a sacred moment.
+
+The things they did after that were rendered unimportant by the haze of
+enchantment which hung over Evans’ revelation. No man can tell a woman
+that he loves her, no woman can listen, without a throbbing sense of
+the magnitude of the thing which has happened. From such beginnings is
+written the history of humanity.
+
+Deep in a hollow where the wind had swept up the snow, and left the
+ground bare they found crowfoot in an emerald carpet--there were holly
+branches dripping red berries like blood on the white drifts. They
+filled their arms, and at last they were ready to go.
+
+Evans whistled for Rusty but the little dog did not come. “He’ll find
+us; he knows every inch of the way.”
+
+But Rusty did not find them, and they were on the ridge when that first
+awful cry came to them.
+
+Jane clutched Evans. “What is it--oh, what _is_ it?”
+
+He swallowed twice before he could speak. “It’s--Rusty--one of those
+steel traps”--he was panting now--his forehead wet--“the negroes
+put them around for rabbits----” Again that frenzied cry broke the
+stillness. “They’re hellish things----”
+
+Jane began to run in the direction of the sound. “Come on, Evans--oh,
+come quick----”
+
+He stumbled after her. At last he caught at her dress and held her. “If
+he’s hurt I can’t stand it.”
+
+It was dreadful to see him. Jane felt as if clutched by a nightmare.
+“Stay here, and don’t worry. I’ll get him out----”
+
+It was a cruel thing to face. There was blood and that little trembling
+body. The cry reduced now to an agonized whimpering. How she opened
+the trap she never knew, but she did open it, and made a bandage from
+her blouse which she tore from her shoulders regardless of the cold.
+And after what seemed to be ages, she staggered back to Evans with
+her dreadful burden wrapped in her cape. “We’ve got to get him to a
+veterinary. Run down to the road and see if there’s a car in sight.”
+
+There was a car, and when Evans stopped it, two men came charging up
+the bank. Jane gave the dog into the arms of one of them. “You’ll have
+to go with them, Evans,” she said and wrapped herself more closely in
+her cape. “There are several doctors at Rockville. You’d better ask the
+station-master about the veterinary.”
+
+After they had gone, she stood there on the ridge and watched the car
+out of sight. She felt stunned and hysterical. It had been awful to see
+Rusty, but the most awful thing was that vision of Evans stumbling
+through the snow. A broken body is for tears--a broken spirit is beyond
+tears.
+
+She shuddered and pressed her hands against her eyes. Then she went
+down the hill and across the road in the darkening twilight. She crept
+into the house. Baldy must not see her; there was blood on her cape and
+her clothes were torn, and Baldy would ask questions, and he would call
+Evans a--coward....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was late when Evans came to Castle Manor with his dog in his arms.
+Rusty was comfortable and he had wagged a grateful tail. The pain had
+gone out of his eyes and the veterinary had said that in a few days the
+wound would heal. There were no vital parts affected--and he would give
+some medicine which would prevent further suffering.
+
+Mrs. Follette was out, and old Mary was in the kitchen, singing. She
+stopped her song as Evans came through. He asked her to help him and
+she brought a square, deep basket and made Rusty a bed.
+
+“You-all jes’ put him heah by the fiah, and I’ll look atter him.”
+
+Evans shook his head. “I want him in my room. I’ll take care of him in
+the night.”
+
+He carried the dog up-stairs with him, knelt beside him, drew hard deep
+breaths as the little fellow licked his hand.
+
+“What kind of a man am I?” Evans said sharply in the silence. “God,
+what kind of a man?”
+
+Through the still house came old Mary’s thin and piping song:
+
+  “Stay in the fiel’,
+  Stay in the fiel’, oh, wah-yah--
+  Stay in the fiel’
+  Till the wah is ended.”
+
+Evans got up and shut the door....
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+A FAMISHED PILGRIM
+
+
+Jane was waked usually by the hoarse crow of an audacious little
+rooster, who sent his challenge to the rising sun.
+
+But on Thanksgiving morning, she found herself sitting up in bed in the
+deep darkness--slim and white and shivering--oppressed by some phantom
+of the night.
+
+She came to it gradually. The strange events of yesterday. Evans. Her
+own share in his future.
+
+Her room was icy. She climbed out of bed, and closed the windows,
+lighted the lamp on her little table, wrapped herself in a warm robe,
+and sat up among her pillows, to think the thing out.
+
+The lamp had a yellow shade, and shone like a full moon among the
+shadows. Jane, just beyond the circle of light, was a spectral figure
+with her black hair and the faint blue of her gown.
+
+Her own share in Evans’ future? Had she really linked her life with
+his? She had promised to pray that he might get back--she had pledged
+youth, hope and constancy to his cause. And she had promised before she
+had seen that stumbling figure in the snow!
+
+In the matters of romance, Jane’s thoughts had always ventured. She had
+dreamed of a gallant lover, a composite hero, one who should combine
+the reckless courage of a Robin Hood with the high moralities of a
+Galahad. With such a lover one might gallop through life to a piping
+tune. Or if the Galahad predominated in her hero, to an inspiring
+processional!
+
+And here was Evans, gray and gaunt, shaken by tremors, fitting himself
+into the background of her future. And she didn’t want him there. Oh,
+not as he had been out there in the snow!
+
+Yet she was sorry for him with a sympathy that wrung her heart. She
+couldn’t hurt him. She wouldn’t. Was there no way out of it?
+
+Her hands went up to her face. She had a simple and childlike faith.
+“Oh, God,” she prayed, “make us all--happy----”
+
+Her cheeks were wet as she lay back on her pillows. And a certain
+serenity followed her little prayer. Things would work together in some
+way for good.... She would let it rest at that.
+
+When at last the rooster crowed, Jane cast off the covers and went to
+the windows, drawing back the curtains. There was a faint whiteness in
+the eastern sky--amethyst and pearl, aquamarine, the day had dawned!
+
+Well, after all, wasn’t every day a new world? And this day of all
+days. One must think about the thankful things!
+
+She discussed that with Baldy at the breakfast table.
+
+Baldy scoffed. “I’m not a hypocrite. It has been a rotten year.”
+
+“Well, money isn’t everything, and we have each other.”
+
+“Money is a lot. And just because we haven’t all been killed off is no
+special reason why we should thank the Lord.”
+
+“Baldy, I want to thank him for the little things. Our little house,
+and warmth and light, and you, coming home at night----”
+
+“My dear child, we don’t own the house, and I’m really not much when I
+get here.”
+
+“That isn’t true, Baldy. And aren’t you thankful that you have me?”
+
+There was a quaver in her voice, and he was not hard-hearted. Neither
+was he in a mood for sentiment.
+
+“What’s the matter, old dear? Want me to throw bouquets at you?”
+
+“Yes, I do. I’m low in my mind this morning.”
+
+He saw that she meant it. “Anything happened, Janey?” he asked in a
+different tone.
+
+“Oh, nothing to talk about. But--I wish I had a shoulder to weep on,
+Baldy.”
+
+“Weep on mine.”
+
+She shook her head. “No. You’d be about as comforting as a wooden
+Indian.”
+
+“I like that,” hotly.
+
+“Your intentions are good. But your mind isn’t on me. It’s on Edith
+Towne.”
+
+“What makes you think that?”
+
+“Oh, you’ve one ear cocked towards the telephone----”
+
+He flushed. “Well, who wouldn’t? I want to hear from her.”
+
+He wanted to hear so much that he did not go to church lest he miss her
+call. But Jane went, and sat in the Barnes’ pew, and was thankful, as
+she had said, for love and warmth and light.
+
+Throughout the sermon, she stared at the stained glass window which was
+just above the Follette pew. It was a memorial to two lads who had lost
+their lives in France. The window showed the young heroes as shining
+knights--and that was the way people thought about them. They had
+been, really, rather commonplace fellows. But death had transfigured
+them. They would remain always in the eyes of this world as young and
+splendid.
+
+And there beneath them sat this morning a man who had, too, been young
+and splendid. But who was wrapped in no shining armor of illusion. He
+had come back a hero, but had been among them long enough to lose his
+halo. It was manifestly unfair. Jane resolved that she would keep in
+her heart always that vision of Evans as a shining knight. Whoever else
+forgot, she would not forget.
+
+Evans, with his mother in the pew, looked straight ahead of him. He
+seemed worn and weary --a dark shadow set against the brightness of
+those comrades on the glowing glass.
+
+After church, he waited in the aisle for Jane. “I’ll walk down with
+you. Mother is going to ride with Dr. Hallam.”
+
+They walked a little way in silence, then he said, “Rusty is
+comfortable this morning.”
+
+“Your mother told me over the telephone.”
+
+He limped along at her side. “Jane, I didn’t sleep last night--thinking
+about it. It is a thing I can’t understand. A dreadful thing.”
+
+“I understand. You love Rusty. It was because you love him so much----”
+
+“But to let a woman do it. Jane, do you remember--years ago? That mad
+dog?”
+
+She did remember. Evans had killed it in the road to save a child. It
+had been a horrible experience, but not for a moment had he hesitated.
+
+“I wasn’t afraid then, Janey.”
+
+“This was different. You couldn’t see the thing you loved hurt. It
+wasn’t fear. It was affection.”
+
+“Oh, don’t gloss it over. I know what you felt. I saw it in your eyes.”
+
+“Saw what?”
+
+“Contempt.”
+
+She turned on him. “You didn’t. Perhaps, just at first. I didn’t
+understand....” She fought for self-control, but in spite of it, the
+tears rolled down her cheeks.
+
+“Don’t, Janey, don’t.” He was in an agony of remorse. “I’ve made you
+cry.”
+
+She blinked away the tears. “It wasn’t contempt, Evans.”
+
+“Well, it should have been. Why not? No man who calls himself a man
+would have let you do it.”
+
+They had come to the path under the pines, and were alone in that still
+world. Jane tucked her hand in the crook of Evans’ arm. “Dear boy, stop
+thinking about it.”
+
+“I shall never stop.”
+
+“I want you to promise me that you’ll try. Evans, you know we are going
+to fight it out together....”
+
+His eyes did not meet hers. “Do you think I’d let you? Well, you think
+wrong.” He began to walk rapidly, so that it was hard to keep pace with
+him. “I’m not worth it.”
+
+And now quite as suddenly as she had cried, she laughed, and the laugh
+had a break in it. “You’re worth everything that America has to give
+you.” She told him of the things she had thought of in church. “You are
+as much of a hero as any of them.”
+
+He shook his head. “All that hero stuff is dead and gone, my dear. We
+idealize the dead, but not the living.”
+
+It was true and she knew it. But she did not want to admit it. “Evans,”
+she said, and laid her cheek for a moment against the rough sleeve of
+his coat, “don’t make me unhappy. Let me help.”
+
+“You don’t know what you are asking. You’d grow tired of it. Any woman
+would.”
+
+“Why look ahead? Can’t we live for each day?”
+
+She had lighted a flame of hope in him. “If I might----” eagerly.
+
+“Why not? Begin right now. What are you thankful for, Evans?”
+
+“Not much,” uneasily.
+
+“Well, I’ll tell you three things. Books and your mother and me. Say
+that over--out loud.”
+
+He tried to enter into her mood. “Books and my mother and Jane.”
+
+She caught at another thought. “It almost rhymes with Stevenson’s
+‘books and food and summer rain,’ doesn’t it?”
+
+“Yes. What a man he was--cheerful in the face of death. Jane, I believe
+I could face death more cheerfully than life----”
+
+“Don’t say such things”--they had come to the little house on the
+terrace, “don’t say such things. Don’t think them.”
+
+“As a man thinks---- Do you believe it?”
+
+“I believe some of it.”
+
+“We’ll talk about it to-night. No, I can’t come in. Dinner is at
+seven.” He lingered a moment longer. “Do you know what a darling you
+are, Jane?”
+
+She stood watching him as he limped away. Once he turned and waved.
+She waved back and her eyes were blurred with tears.
+
+In Jane’s next letter to Judy she told about the dinner.
+
+  “I didn’t know what to wear. But Baldy insisted on my old white. In
+  his present mid-Victorian mood he would like me in ‘book-muslin,’ if
+  things were made of it. It is a wispy rag of chiffon, and I was hard
+  up for slippers, so Baldy painted a pair of gray suede with silver
+  paint, and I made a flat band of silver leaves for my hair.
+
+  “The effect wasn’t bad, even Baldy admitted it, and Evans quoted
+  Shelley--something about ‘an orbed maiden with white fire laden.’
+  Evans and Baldy are having a perfect orgy of Keats and Shelley. They
+  soar over our heads. They hate realism and pessimism--they say it is
+  a canker at the heart of civilization. That all healthy nations are
+  idealistic and optimistic. It is only when countries are senile that
+  they grow cynical and sour. You should hear them.
+
+  “We had a delicious dinner. It seems to me, Judy, that my mind dwells
+  a great deal on things to eat. But, after all, why shouldn’t I?
+  Housekeeping is my job.
+
+  “Mrs. Follette doesn’t attempt to do anything that she can’t do well,
+  and it was all so simple and satisfying. In the center of the table
+  was some of the fruit that Mr. Towne sent in a silver epergne, and
+  there were four Sheffield candlesticks with white candles.
+
+  “Mrs. Follette carved the turkey. Evans can’t do things like
+  that--she wore her perennial black lace and pearls, and in spite of
+  everything, Judy, I can’t help liking her, though she is such a
+  beggar on horseback. They haven’t a cent, except what she makes from
+  the milk, but she looks absolutely the lady of the manor.
+
+  “The cousins are very fashionable. One of them, Muriel Follette,
+  knows Edith Towne intimately. She told us all about the wedding,
+  and how people are blaming Edith for running away and are feeling
+  terribly sorry for Mr. Towne. Of course they didn’t know that Baldy
+  and I had ever laid eyes on either of them. But you should have seen
+  Baldy’s eyes, when Muriel said things about Edith. I was scared stiff
+  for fear he’d say something. You know how his temper flares.
+
+  “Well, Muriel said some catty things. That everybody is sure that
+  Delafield Simms is in love with someone else, and that they are
+  saying Edith might have known it if she hadn’t always looked upon
+  herself as the center of the universe. And they feel that if her
+  heart is broken, the decent thing would be to mourn in the bosom of
+  her family. Of course I’m not quoting her exact words, but you’ll get
+  the idea.
+
+  “And Baldy thinks his queen can do no wrong, and was almost
+  _bursting_. Judy, he walks in a dream. I don’t know what good it is
+  going to do him to feel like that. He will have to always worship at
+  a distance like Dante. Or was it Abelard? I always get those _grande
+  passions_ mixed.
+
+  “Anyhow, there you have it. Edith Towne rode in Baldy’s Ford, and he
+  has hitched that little wagon to a star!
+
+  “Well, after dinner, we set the victrola going and Baldy had to
+  dance with Muriel. She dances extremely well, and I know he enjoyed
+  it, though he wouldn’t admit it. And Muriel enjoyed it. There’s no
+  denying that Baldy has a way with him.
+
+  “After they had danced a while everybody played bridge, except Evans
+  and me. You know how I hate it, and it makes Evans nervous. So we
+  went in the library and talked. Evans is dreadfully discouraged about
+  himself. I wish that you were here and that we could talk it over.
+  But it is hard to do it at long distance. There ought to be some way
+  to help him. Sometimes it seems that I can’t stand it when I remember
+  what he used to be.”
+
+Evans had carried Jane off to the library high-handedly. “I want you,”
+was all the reason he vouchsafed as they came into the shabby room with
+its leaping flames in the fireplace, its book-lined walls, its imposing
+portrait above the mantel.
+
+The portrait showed Evans’ grandfather, and beneath it was a photograph
+of Evans himself. The likeness between the two men was striking--there
+was the same square set of the shoulders, the same bright, waved hair,
+the same air of youth and high spirits. The grandfather in the portrait
+wore a blue uniform, the grandson was in khaki, but they were, without
+a question, two of a kind.
+
+“You belong here, Jane,” said Evans, “on one side of the fireplace,
+with me on the other. That’s the way I always see you when I shut my
+eyes.”
+
+“You see me now with your eyes wide open----”
+
+“Yes. Jane, I told Mother this afternoon that I wouldn’t go to New
+York. So that’s settled, without your saying anything.”
+
+“How does she feel about it?”
+
+“Oh, she still thinks that I should go. But I’ll stay here,” he moved
+his head restlessly. “I want to be where you are, Jane. And now, my
+dear, we’re going to talk things out. You know that yesterday you made
+a sort of--promise. That you’d pray for me to get back--and that if I
+got back--well, you’d give me a chance. Jane, I want your prayers, but
+not your promise.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“I am not fit to think of any woman. When I am--well--if I ever am--you
+can do as you think best. But you mustn’t be bound.”
+
+She sat silent, looking into the fire.
+
+“You know that I’m right, don’t you, dear?”
+
+“Yes, I do, Evans. I thought of it, too, last night. And it seems like
+this to me. If we can just be friends--without bothering with--anything
+else--it will be easier, won’t it?”
+
+“I can’t tell you how gladly I’d bother, as you call it. But it
+wouldn’t be fair. You are young, and you have a right to happiness. I’d
+be a shadow on your--future----”
+
+“Please don’t----”
+
+He dropped on the rug at her feet. “Well, we’ll leave it at that. We’re
+friends, forever,” he reached up and took her hands in his, “forever?”
+
+“Always, Evans----”
+
+“For better, for worse--for richer, for poorer?”
+
+“Of course----”
+
+They stared into the fire, and then he said softly, “Well, that’s
+enough for me, my dear, that’s enough for me----” and after a while he
+began to speak in broken sentences. “‘Ah, silver shrine, here will I
+take my rest.... After so many hours of toil and quest.... A famished
+pilgrim....’ That’s Keats, my dear. Jane, do you know that you are food
+and drink?”
+
+“Am I?” unsteadily.
+
+“Yes, dear little thing, if I had you always by my fire I could fight
+the world.”
+
+When Jane and Baldy reached home that night, Baldy stamped up and down
+the house, saying things about Muriel Follette. “A girl like that to
+criticise.”
+
+“She danced well,” said Jane, who had taken off the silver wreath, and
+had kicked off the silver slippers, and was curled up in a big chair as
+comfortable as a white cat.
+
+“What right had she to say things?”
+
+“People are saying them.”
+
+“Did she have to repeat them?”
+
+“Darling Baldy, she didn’t know.”
+
+“Know what?”
+
+“How you felt about it.”
+
+He stopped and stood in front of her. “How do you know what I feel?”
+
+“Oh, well, you seem to have made yourself Miss Towne’s champion.”
+
+“I’ve done nothing of the kind, Jane. But I have a human interest in a
+fellow creature.”
+
+“Well,” said Jane, “I have a human interest, too.”
+
+“Aren’t you ever serious, Janey?”
+
+“It’s better to laugh than to cry.” There was a little catch in her
+voice.
+
+Baldy wound the clock, and she watched him.
+
+“What time is it?”
+
+“Twelve-thirty.”
+
+She yawned. “I’m going to bed.”
+
+The telephone rang, and Baldy was off like a shot. Jane uncurled
+herself from her chair and lent a listening ear. It was a moment of
+exciting interest. Edith Towne was at the other end of the wire!
+
+Jane knew it by Baldy’s singing voice. He didn’t talk like that to
+commonplace folk who called him up. She was devoured with curiosity.
+
+He came in, at last, literally walking on air. And just as Jane had
+felt that his voice sang, so she felt now that his feet danced.
+
+“Janey, it was Edith Towne.”
+
+“What did she say?”
+
+“Just saw my advertisement. Paper delayed----”
+
+“Where is she?”
+
+“Beyond Alexandria. But we’re not to give it away.”
+
+“Not even to Mr. Towne?”
+
+“No. She’s asked me to bring her bag, and some other things.”
+
+He threw himself into a chair opposite Jane, one leg over the arm of
+it. He was a careless and picturesque figure. Even Jane was aware of
+his youth and good looks.
+
+Edith had, as it seemed, asked him to have Towne send the ring back to
+Delafield--to have her wedding presents sent back, to have a bag packed
+with her belongings.
+
+“I am going to take it to her on my car----”
+
+“And you a perfect stranger. I think it’s utterly mad, Baldy.”
+
+“Why mad? And she doesn’t feel that I’m a perfect stranger.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“And it is because I am a perfectly disinterested person.”
+
+“You’re not disinterested.”
+
+“What makes you say that?”
+
+“Oh, you know, Baldy. You’re terribly smitten.”
+
+For a moment his eyes blazed, then he swaggered. “If I am, what then?
+I’d rather worship a woman like that for the rest of my life than marry
+anybody I’ve ever seen----”
+
+“You don’t know a thing about her except that she has lovely eyes.”
+
+She had risen, and as she stood in front of him there was again that
+effect of two young cockerels on the edge of an encounter. Then they
+were saved by their sense of humor. “Oh, go to bed,” young Baldwin told
+her; “you’re jealous, Janey.”
+
+She started up the stairs but before she had reached the landing he
+called after her. “Jane, what have you on hand for to-morrow?”
+
+She leaned over the rail and looked down at him. “Friday? Feed the
+chickens. Feed the cats. Help Sophy clean the silver. Drink tea at four
+with Mrs. Allison, and three other young things of eighty.”
+
+“Well, look here. I don’t want to face Towne. He’ll say things about
+Edith--and insist on her coming back--she says he will, and that’s why
+she won’t call him up. And you’ve got more diplomacy than I have. You
+might make it all seem--reasonable. Will you do it, Jane?”
+
+“Do you mean that you want me to call on him at his office?”
+
+“Yes. Go in with me in the morning.”
+
+“Baldy, are you shirking? Or do you really think me as wonderful as
+your words seem to imply?”
+
+“Oh, if you’re going to put it like that.”
+
+She smiled down at him. “Let’s leave it then that I am--wonderful. But
+suppose Mr. Towne doesn’t fall for your plan? Perhaps he won’t let her
+have the bag or a check-book or money or--anything----”
+
+Jane saw then a sudden and passionate change in her brother. “If he
+doesn’t let her have it, I will. I may be poor but I’ll beg or borrow
+rather than have her brought back to face those--cats--until she wants
+to come.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+JANE AS DEPUTY
+
+
+Frederick Towne never arrived in his office until ten o’clock. So Jane
+was ahead of him. She sat in a luxurious outer room, waiting.
+
+To the right was a great open space--with desks boxed in by glass
+partitions. The wall paper was green, so that the people at the desks
+had the effect of fish in an aquarium. There was the constant staccato
+tap of typewriters, and now and then a girl got up, swam as it were,
+out of one of the glass boxes and into another.
+
+The girls were most of them well dressed. Much better dressed than Jane
+who had on a cheap gray suit and a soft little hat of the same color.
+One of the girls, fair-haired and slender, was in the nearest glass
+box. She wore a black serge frock and a string of ivory beads. She
+looked to Jane much more distinguished than any of the others.
+
+When Frederick came in he saw Jane at once, and held out his hand
+smiling. “You’ve heard from Edith?”
+
+“Yes. Last night. Too late to let you know.”
+
+“Good. We’ll go into my room.” He led the way, and Jane was at once
+aware of the effect of his cordial manner upon the fish who had been
+swimming in and out of the aquarium. Between the time of Frederick’s
+entrance and the moment when he closed the door upon them, they seemed
+to hang suspended. She supposed that after that they swam again.
+
+If the outer room had resembled an aquarium, Frederick’s was like a
+forest--there was a plant or two and more green paper--the shine of old
+mahogany--and in one of the shadowy corners a bronze elephant.
+
+Jane was thrilled by a sense of things happening. Outwardly calm, she
+was inwardly stirred by excitement.
+
+She sat in a big leather chair which nearly swallowed her up, and
+stated her errand.
+
+“Baldy thought I’d better come, he’s so busy, and anyhow he thinks I
+have more tact.” She tilted her chin at him and smiled.
+
+“And you thought it needed tact.”
+
+“Well, don’t you, Mr. Towne? We really haven’t a thing to do with it,
+and I’m sure you think so. Only now we’re in it, we want to do the best
+we can.”
+
+“I see. Since Edith has chosen you and your brother as ambassadors,
+you’ve got to use diplomacy.”
+
+“She didn’t choose me, she chose Baldy.”
+
+“But why can’t she deal directly with me?”
+
+“She ran away from you. And she isn’t ready to come back.”
+
+“She ought to come back.”
+
+“She doesn’t think so. And she’s afraid you’ll insist.”
+
+“What does she want me to do?”
+
+“Send her the bag with the money and the check-book, and let Baldy
+take out a lot of things. She gave him a list; there’s everything from
+toilet water to talcum.”
+
+“Suppose I refuse to send them?”
+
+“You can, of course. But you won’t, will you?”
+
+“No, I suppose not. I shan’t coerce her. But it’s rather a strange
+thing for her to be willing to trust all this to your brother. She has
+seen him only once.”
+
+“Well,” said Jane, with some spirit, “you’ve seen Baldy only once, and
+wouldn’t you trust him?”
+
+She flung the challenge at him, and quite surprisingly he found himself
+saying, “Yes, I would.”
+
+“Well,” said Jane, “of course.”
+
+He leaned back in his chair and looked at her. Again he was aware
+of quickened emotions. She revived half-forgotten ardors. Gave
+him back his youth. She used none of the cut and dried methods of
+sophistication. She was fearless, absolutely alive, and in spite of her
+cheap gray suit, altogether lovely.
+
+So it was with an air of almost romantic challenge that he said, “What
+would you advise?”
+
+“I’d let her alone, like little Bo-Peep. She’ll come home before you
+know it, Mr. Towne.”
+
+“I wish that I could think it--however, it’s a great comfort to know
+that she’s safe. I shall give it out that she is visiting friends, and
+that I’ve heard from her. And now, about the things she wants. It seems
+absolutely silly to send them.”
+
+“I don’t think it’s silly.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Oh, clothes make such a lot of difference to a woman. I can absolutely
+change my feelings by changing my frock.”
+
+“What kind of feelings do you have when you wear gray?”
+
+“Cool and comfortable ones--do you know the delightful things that are
+gray? Pussy-willows, and sea-gulls, and rainy days--and oh, a lot of
+things”--she surveyed him thoughtfully, “and old Sheffield, and--well,
+I can’t think of everything.” She rose. “I’ll leave the list with you
+and you can telephone Baldy when to come for them.”
+
+“Don’t go. I want to talk to you.”
+
+“But you’re busy.”
+
+“Not unless I want to be.”
+
+“But I am. I have to go to market----”
+
+“Briggs can take you over. I’ll call up the garage.”
+
+“Briggs! Can you imagine Briggs driving through the streets of
+Washington with a pound of sausage and a three-rib roast?”
+
+“Do you mean that you are going to take your parcels back with you?”
+
+“Yes. There aren’t any deliveries in Sherwood.”
+
+He hesitated for a moment, then touched her shoulder lightly with his
+forefinger. “Look here. Let Briggs take you to market, then come back
+here, and we’ll run up to the house, get the things for lunch at Chevy
+Chase, and put you down, sausages, bags and all, at your own door in
+Sherwood.”
+
+“Really?” She was all shining radiance.
+
+“Really. You’ll do it then? Sit down a moment while I call up Briggs.”
+
+He called the garage and turned again to Jane. “I’ll dictate some
+important letters, and be ready for you when you get back.”
+
+Jane, being shown out finally by the elegant Frederick, was again aware
+of the interest displayed by the fish in the aquarium. She was also
+aware that the girl in black serge with the white beads had risen, and
+that Towne was saying, “When I come back you can take my letters, Miss
+Logan.”
+
+He went all the way down to the first floor of the big building, and
+Jane and her cheap gray suit were once more under observation, this
+time by people on the sidewalk, as Briggs and Towne got her into the
+car. She rode away in great state and elegance. She was not quite sure
+whether she was really Jane Barnes. It seemed much more likely that she
+was Cinderella in a coach made out of a pumpkin, and that Briggs had
+been metamorphosed from a rat. She leaned against the luxury of the
+fawn-colored cushions, and overlooked the outside world of pedestrians.
+Until to-day she had been one of them, but now she rode above them--the
+limousine was like some stately galleon breasting the tides of
+traffic. Jane’s imagination carried her far. Even when she came to the
+market the enchantment persisted, especially when Briggs proved to be
+perfectly human and helpful instead of the automaton she had thought
+him. “If you don’t mind my going in with you, Miss,” he said, “I’d like
+it.”
+
+So Jane went through the fine old market, with its long aisles
+brilliant with the bounty of field and garden, river, and bay and
+sea. There were red meats and red tomatoes and red apples, oranges
+that were yellow, and pumpkins a deeper orange. There were shrimps
+that were pink, and red-snappers a deeper rose. There was the gold of
+butter and the gold of honey--the green of spinach, the green of olives
+and the green of pickles in bowls of brine, there was the brown of
+potatoes overflowing in burlap bags, and the brown of bread baked to
+crustiness--the brown of the plumage of dead ducks--the white of onions
+and the white of roses.
+
+Jane bought modestly and Briggs carried her parcels. He even made a
+suggestion as to the cut of the steak. His father, it seemed, had been
+a butcher.
+
+They drove back then for Frederick. Briggs went up for him, and
+returned to say that Mr. Towne would be down in a moment.
+
+Frederick was, as a matter of fact, finishing a letter to Delafield
+Simms:
+
+  “I am assuming that you will get your mail at the Poinciana, but I
+  shall also send a copy to your New York office. Edith has asked me to
+  return the ring to you. I shall hold it until I learn where it may be
+  delivered into your hands.
+
+  “As for myself, I can only say this--that my first impulse was to
+  kill you. But perhaps I am too civilized to believe that your death
+  would make things better. You must understand, of course, that you’ve
+  put yourself beyond the pale of decent people.”
+
+Lucy’s pencil wavered--a flush stained her throat and cheeks--then she
+wrote steadily, as Frederick’s voice continued:
+
+  “You will find yourself blackballed by several of the clubs. Whatever
+  your motive, the world sees no excuse.”
+
+He stopped. “Will you read that over again, Miss Logan?”
+
+So Lucy read it--still with that hot flush on her cheeks, and when she
+had finished Frederick said, “You can lock the ring in the safe until I
+give you further instructions.”
+
+A clerk came in to say that the car was waiting, and presently
+Frederick Towne went away and Lucy was left alone in the great room,
+which was not to her a forest of adventure, as it had seemed to Jane,
+but a great prison where she tugged at her chains.
+
+She thought of Delafield Simms sailing fast to southern waters. Of
+those purple seas--the blazing stars in the splendid nights. Delafield
+had told her of them. They had often talked together.
+
+She turned the ring around on her finger, studying the carved figure.
+The woman with the butterfly wings was exquisite--but she did not know
+her name. She slipped the ring on the third finger of her left hand.
+Its diamonds blazed.
+
+She locked it presently in the safe--then came back and read the letter
+which Towne had signed. She sealed it and stamped the envelope. Then
+she wrote a letter of her own. She made a little ring of her hair, and
+fastened it to the page. Beneath it she wrote, “Lucy to Del--forever.”
+She kissed the words, held the crackling sheet against her heart. Her
+eyes were shining. The great room was no longer a prison. She saw
+beyond captivity to the open sea.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE SCARECROW
+
+
+Mrs. Allison and the three old ladies with whom Jane was to drink tea,
+were neighbors. Mrs. Allison lived alone, and the other three lived
+in the homes of their several sons and daughters. They played cards
+every Friday afternoon, and Jane always came over when Mrs. Allison
+entertained and helped her with the refreshments. They were very simple
+and pleasant old ladies with a nice sense of their own dignity. They
+resented deeply the fact of Mrs. Follette’s social condescensions. The
+lady of the manor spoke to them when she met them on the street or in
+church, but she never invited them to her house. She was, in effect,
+the chatelaine, while they were merely Smith and Brown and Robinson!
+
+Well, at any rate, they had Jane. Some of the other young people
+scorned these elderly tea-parties, and if they came, were apt to show
+it in their manner. But Jane was never scornful. She always had the
+time of her life, and the old ladies felt particularly joyous and
+juvenile when she was one of them.
+
+But this afternoon Jane was late. Tea was always served promptly at
+four. And it happened that there were popovers. So, of course, they
+couldn’t wait.
+
+“I telephoned to Sophy,” said Mrs. Allison, “and Jane has gone to town.
+I suppose something has kept her. Anyhow we’ll start in.”
+
+So the old ladies ate the popovers and drank hot sweet chocolate, and
+found them not as delectable as when Jane was there to share them.
+
+Things were, indeed, a bit dull. They discussed Mrs. Follette, whose
+faults furnished a perpetual topic. Mrs. Allison told them that the
+young Baldwins had dined at Castle Manor on Thanksgiving. And that
+there had been other guests.
+
+“How can she afford it,” was the unanimous opinion, “with that poor boy
+on her hands?”
+
+“He’s hanging around now, waiting for Jane’s train,” said Mrs. Allison,
+bringing in hot supplies from the kitchen. “He met the noon train, too.”
+
+The old ladies knew that Evans was in love with Jane. He showed it,
+unmistakably. But they hoped that Jane wouldn’t look at him. He was
+dear and good, and had been wonderful once upon a time. But that time
+had passed, and it was impossible to consider Mrs. Follette as Jane’s
+mother-in-law!
+
+“He’s sitting up there on the terrace,” Mrs. Allison further informed
+them. “Do you think I’d better ask him to come over?”
+
+They thought she might, but her hospitable purpose was never
+fulfilled, for as she stepped out on the porch, a long, low limousine
+stopped in front of the house, and out of it came Jane in all the glory
+of a great bunch of orchids, and with a man by her side, whose elegance
+measured up to the limousine and the lovely flowers.
+
+They came up the path and Jane said, “Mrs. Allison, may I present Mr.
+Towne, and will you give him a cup of tea?”
+
+“Indeed, I will,” Mrs. Allison seemed to rise on wings of
+gratification, “only it is chocolate and not tea.”
+
+And Frederick said that he adored chocolate, and presently Mrs.
+Allison’s little living-room was all in a pleasant flutter; and over on
+Jane’s terrace, Evans Follette sat, a lonely sentinel, and pondered on
+the limousine, and the elegance of Jane’s escort.
+
+Once old Sophy called to him, “You’ll ketch your death, Mr. Evans.”
+
+He shook his head and smiled at her. A man who had lived through a
+winter in the trenches thought nothing of this. Physical cold was easy
+to endure. The cold that clutched at his heart was the thing that
+frightened him.
+
+The early night came on. There were lights now in Mrs. Allison’s house,
+and within was warmth and laughter. The old ladies, excited and eager,
+told each other in flashing asides that Mr. Towne was the _great_
+Frederick Towne. The one whose name was so often in the papers, and his
+niece, Edith, had been deserted at the altar. “You know, my dear, the
+one who ran away.”
+
+When Jane said that she must be getting home, they pressed around her,
+sniffing her flowers, saying pleasant things of her prettiness--hinting
+of Towne’s absorption in her.
+
+She laughed and sparkled. It was a joyous experience. Mr. Towne had a
+way of making her feel important. And the adulation of the old ladies
+added to her elation.
+
+As Frederick and Jane walked across the street towards the little house
+on the terrace, a gaunt figure rose from the top step and greeted them.
+
+“Evans,” Jane scolded, “you need a guardian. Don’t you know that you
+shouldn’t sit out in such weather as this?”
+
+“I’m not cold.”
+
+She presented him to Frederick. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Towne?”
+
+But he would not. He would call her up. Jane stood on the porch and
+watched him go down the steps. He waved to her when he reached his car.
+
+“Oh, Evans,” she said, “I’ve had such a day.”
+
+They went into the house together. Jane lighted the lamp. “Can’t you
+dine with us?”
+
+“I hoped you might ask me. Mother is staying with a sick friend. If I
+go home, I shall sup on bread and milk.”
+
+“Sophy’s chops will be much better.” She held her flowers up to him.
+“Isn’t the fragrance heavenly?”
+
+“Towne gave them to you?”
+
+She nodded. “Oh, I’ve been very grand and gorgeous--lunch at the Chevy
+Chase club--a long drive afterward----” she broke off. “Evans, you look
+half-frozen. Sit here by the fire and get warm.”
+
+“I met both trains.”
+
+“_Evans_--why will you do such things?”
+
+“I wanted to see you.”
+
+“But you can see me any time----”
+
+“I cannot. Not when you are lunching with fashionable gentlemen with
+gold-lined pocket-books.” He held out his hands to the blaze. “Do you
+like him?”
+
+“Mr. Towne? Yes, and I like the things he does for me. I had to pinch
+myself to be sure it was true.”
+
+“If what was true?”
+
+“That I was really playing around with the great Frederick Towne.”
+
+“You talk as if he were conferring a favor.”
+
+She had her coat off now and her hat. She came and sat down in the
+chair opposite him. “Evans,” she said, “you’re jealous.” She was still
+vivid with the excitement of the afternoon, lighted up by it, her skin
+warmed into color by the swift flowing blood beneath.
+
+“Well, I am jealous,” he tried to smile at her, then went on with
+a touch of bitterness, “Do you know what I thought about as I sat
+watching the lights at Mrs. Allison’s? Well, as I came over to-day I
+passed a snowy field--and there was a scarecrow in the midst of it,
+fluttering his rags, a lonely thing, an ugly thing. Well, we’re two of
+a kind, Jane, that scarecrow and I.”
+
+Her shocked glance stopped him. “Evans, you don’t know what you are
+saying.”
+
+He went on recklessly. “Well, after all, Jane, the thing is this. It’s
+a man’s looks and his money that count. I’m the same man inside of me
+that I was when I went away. You know that. You might have loved me.
+The thing that is left you don’t love. Yet I am the same man----”
+
+As he flung the words at her, her eyes met his steadily. “No,” she
+said, “you are not the same man.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“The man of yesterday did not think--dark thoughts----”
+
+The light had gone out of her as if he had blown it with a breath.
+“Jane,” he said, unsteadily, “I am sorry----”
+
+She melted at once and began to scold him, almost with tenderness.
+“What made you _look_ at the scarecrow? Why didn’t you turn your back
+on him, or if you _had_ to look, why didn’t you wave and say, ‘Cheer
+up, old chap, summer’s coming, and you’ll be on the job again’? To me
+there’s something debonair in a scarecrow in summer--he dances in the
+breeze and seems to fling defiance to the crows.”
+
+He fell in with her mood. “But his defiance is all bluff.”
+
+“How do you know? If he keeps away a crow, and adds an ear of corn to a
+farmer’s store--hasn’t he fulfilled his destiny?”
+
+“Oh, if you want to put it that way. I suppose you are hinting that I
+can keep away a crow or two----”
+
+“I’m not hinting, I am telling it straight out.”
+
+They heard Baldy’s step in the hall. Jane, rising, gave Evans’ head a
+pat as she passed him. “You are thinking about yourself too much, old
+dear; stop it.”
+
+Baldy, ramping in, demanded a detailed account of Jane’s adventure.
+
+“And I took Briggs to market,” she told him gleefully, midway of her
+recital; “you should have seen him. He carried my parcels--and offered
+advice----”
+
+Baldy had no ears for Briggs’ attractions. “Did you get the things Miss
+Towne wanted?”
+
+“We did. We went to the house and I waited in the car while Mr. Towne
+had the bags packed. He wanted me to go in but I wouldn’t. We brought
+her bags out with us.”
+
+“Who’s we?”
+
+“Mr. Towne and I, myself,” she added the spectacular details.
+
+“Do you mean that you’ve been playing around with him all day?”
+
+“Not all day, Baldy. Part of it.”
+
+“I’m not sure that I like it.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“A man like that. He might fill your head with ideas.”
+
+“I hope my head is filled with ideas, Baldy.”
+
+“You know what I mean.”
+
+“You mean that I might think he would fall in love with me. Well, I
+don’t. But he likes to play and so do I. I hope he’ll do it some more.
+And you and Evans are a pair of croakers. Here, I’ve been having the
+time of my life, and you’re both trying to take the joy out of it.”
+
+They began to protest. She flung off their apologies. “Oh, let’s eat
+dinner. Between the two of you you’ve spoiled my day.”
+
+But she was too light-hearted to hold resentment, and by the time the
+coffee came she was herself again. After dinner, Baldy telephoned
+Edith, and came back to set the victrola going to a most riotous tune
+and danced with Jane. It was an outlet for his emotions. _Edith ...
+Edith ... Edith_ ... was the tune to which he danced.
+
+Then he made Jane play his accompaniment and sang the passionate lines
+of a poet much derided by the moderns:
+
+  “She is coming, my own, my sweet,
+  Were it ever so airy a tread,
+  My heart would hear her and beat,
+  Had it lain for a century dead,
+  Would start and tremble under her feet,
+  And blossom in purple and red.”
+
+The waves of lovely sound rose higher and higher, seemed to break over
+and engulf them:
+
+  “My heart would hear her and beat....
+  Would start and tremble under her feet,
+  And blossom in purple and red.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Evans, walking home an hour later, took the path which led beneath the
+pines. The old trees showed thin and black against the moon-bright sky.
+Beyond the pines was the field with the scarecrow. Evans might have
+avoided it by following the road, but he was drawn to it by a sort of
+sinister attraction, and by the memory of the things he had said to
+Jane.
+
+Under the moon the scarecrow took on more than ever the semblance of
+a man. Lightly clad in straw hat and pajamas, it seemed to shiver and
+shake in the bleak and bitter night.
+
+Evans leaned on a fence post and surveyed his fantastic prototype. The
+air was very still--no sound but the faint whistle of the wind.
+
+Then out of the stillness--clear as a bell--Jane’s husky voice. “_The
+man of yesterday did not think dark thoughts._”
+
+He seemed to answer her. “Why shouldn’t I think them? My dreams are
+dead. And oh, my dear, what have you to do with dead dreams?”
+
+He had thought he would be satisfied just to have her near him. But
+he knew now that he would not be satisfied. He had known it from the
+moment he had seen her with Towne. Always hereafter there would be the
+fear that she might be taken from him. And it was Frederick Towne who
+might take her. He had everything to offer. Any girl’s head might be
+turned.
+
+Towne’s infatuation was evident. And Jane was exquisite--in mind and
+soul as well as body. It wasn’t a thing for a man to miss.
+
+He was chilled to the bone when at last he took leave of the ghostly
+figure in the straw hat. The old scarecrow seemed to lean towards him
+wistfully as he went away.... Oh, the thing was so human--he wanted to
+offer it shelter, a warm hearth.... He flung back at it as the best he
+could do, Jane’s words, “Cheer up, old chap, summer’s coming.”
+
+When he reached home, Evans went at once to the library. Rusty was in
+his basket by the fire. He lifted himself stiffly and whined. Evans
+knelt beside the basket, and held up a saucer of milk that the old dog
+might drink. Then he took a book from the shelf and sat down to read.
+His mother had not returned. She had telephoned to him at Jane’s that
+she might be late.
+
+But he could not read. He sat with his book in his hand, and looked up
+at the portrait of his grandfather, and at the photograph of himself.
+After a while he rose and took the photograph from the shelf, observing
+it at close range.
+
+What a gallant young chap he had been, and what a pair he and Jane
+would have made! There was no vanity in that--he would have matched his
+youth with hers in those days. Oh, the man in the picture was a fit
+mate for Jane!
+
+The man who held the picture in his hand was a mate for--nobody!
+
+With a sudden furious gesture, he flung it from him--the glass broke
+against the wall when it struck.
+
+Rusty whined in his basket, his nose over the edge of it. His master
+stood as still as a statue in the center of the hearth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Mrs. Follette returned, her son met her at the door. If he was
+pale, she did not speak of it. “I am half-frozen, Evans; we came in an
+open car.”
+
+“Sit down by the fire, and I’ll get you some hot milk.”
+
+“I wish you would. I must not risk a cold.”
+
+It was a fact that she could not. She was up early every morning,
+directing the men who worked for her, and superintending the careful
+handling of the milk. Evans had offered, repeatedly, to help her,
+but she liked to do it herself. She was very competent, and she had
+built up her own business while her son was in the war. It seemed
+best to carry it on without him. She did not like to think of Evans
+as a milkman. A woman did not so easily lose caste--distinguished
+Englishwomen had gone into all kinds of occupations. The thing was to
+do it with an air. She had decided shrewdly that she must in some way
+differentiate her product from that of the ordinary dairyman, so she
+had called it GOLD SEAL milk, and each bottle was closed with a small
+gold seal bearing her family crest. Evans had laughed at her, but her
+shrewdness had been justified. She kept her cows in fine condition and
+sent her cards to doctors. The cards, too, bore the gold seal. And
+soon her reputation was established. Big cars stopped at her door, and
+people who came expecting to find a crude countrywoman were ushered
+into the old library with its portraits and an imposing background
+of books. There Mrs. Follette, in quiet black with white cuffs and
+collars, her gray hair high, received them. Her customers went away
+impressed and told others.
+
+Outwardly calm on such occasions, Mrs. Follette was inwardly excited.
+She had a feeling that the situation smacked of Marie Antoinette at
+Little Trianon. She was glad she had thought of selling milk--it seemed
+to link her subtly with royalty.
+
+She had a royal air now as she sat before the fire. She always dressed
+for dinner. Her shabby black gown showed a round of white neck. She
+wore a string of jet beads and her satin slippers were adorned with jet
+buckles. She had pretty feet--and she surveyed them complacently. Then
+her eyes traveled beyond them to something that lay in a far corner.
+
+She went over to it and picked it up. It was the photograph of Evans
+which had always stood on the mantel. The broken glass fell from it
+with a tinkling sound. She had it in her hand when Evans came in.
+
+“How in the world did it happen?”
+
+He set the small tray carefully on the table. “I threw it.”
+
+“But--my dear boy, why?”
+
+He stood looking at her. She saw his paleness. “Oh, well, for a moment
+I was a--fool.”
+
+She was not an imaginative woman. But she knew what he meant. And her
+chin quivered. She was no longer royal. She was the mother of a hurt
+child. “I hoped things might--grow easier----”
+
+“They grow harder----”
+
+He sat down on the rug at her feet as he had sat through the years of
+little boyhood. Her left hand with its old-fashioned diamond rings hung
+by her side. He took it in his. “Don’t worry, Mumsie, I told you I was
+a--fool. And it was all over in a second----”
+
+She knew it was not over, but she drank her milk. Then she drew his
+head against her knees, and told him about her visit and her sick
+friend. Nothing more was said of the picture, but all through her
+recital he clung to her hand.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+BALDY AS AMBASSADOR
+
+
+Baldy Barnes faring forth to find Edith Towne on Sunday morning was a
+figure as old as the ages--youth in quest of romance.
+
+It was very cold and the clouds were heavy with wind. But neither cold
+nor clouds could damp his ardor--at his journey’s end was a lady with
+eyes of burning blue.
+
+People were going to church as he came into the city and bells were
+ringing, but presently he rode again in country silences. He crossed
+the long bridge into Virginia and followed the road to the south.
+
+It was early and he met few cars. Yet had the way been packed with
+motors, he would have still been alone in that world of imagination
+where he saw Edith Towne and that first wonderful moment of meeting.
+
+So he entered Alexandria, passing through the narrow streets that speak
+so eloquently of history. Beyond the town was another stretch of road
+parallel to the broad stream, and at last an ancient roadside inn,
+of red brick, with a garden at the back, barren now, but in summer a
+tangle of bloom, with an expanse of reeds and water plants, extending
+out into the river, and a low spidery boat-landing, which showed black
+at this season above the ice.
+
+For years the old inn had been deserted, until motor cars had brought
+back its vanished glories. Once more its wide doors were open. There
+was nothing pretentious about it. But Baldy knew its reputation for
+genuine hospitality.
+
+He wondered how Edith had kept herself hidden in such a place. It was
+amazing that no one had discovered her. That some hint of her presence
+had not been given to the newspapers.
+
+He found her in a quaint sitting-room up-stairs. “I think,” she said to
+him, as he came in, “that you are very good-natured to take all this
+trouble for me----”
+
+“It isn’t any trouble.” His assurance was gone. With her hat off she
+was doubly wonderful. He felt his youth and inexperience, yet words
+came to him, “And I didn’t do it for you, I did it for myself.”
+
+She laughed. “Do you always say such nice things?”
+
+“I shall always say them to you. And you mustn’t mind. Really,” Jane
+would have recognized returning confidence in that cock of the head,
+“I’m just a page--twanging a lyre.”
+
+They laughed together. He was great fun, she decided, different.
+
+“You are wondering, I fancy, how I happened to come here,” she said,
+leaning back in her chair, her burnished hair against its faded
+cushions. “Well, an old cook of Mother’s, Martha Burns, is the wife
+of the landlord. She will do anything for me. I have had all my meals
+up-stairs. I might be a thousand miles away for all my world knows of
+me.”
+
+“I was worried to death when I thought of you out in the storm.”
+
+“And all the while I was sitting with my feet on the fender, reading
+about myself in the evening papers.”
+
+“And what you read was a-plenty,” said Baldy, slangily. “Some of those
+reporters deserve to be shot.”
+
+“Oh, they had to do it,” indifferently, “and what they have said is
+nothing to what my friends are saying. It’s a choice morsel. Every girl
+who ever wanted Del’s millions is crowing over the way he treated me.”
+
+The look in his eyes disconcerted her. “Do you really think that?”
+
+“Of course. We’re a greedy bunch.”
+
+“I don’t like to hear you say such things.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Because--you aren’t greedy. You know it. It wasn’t his millions you
+were after.”
+
+“What was I after? I wish you’d tell me. I don’t know.”
+
+“Well, I think you just followed the flock. Other girls got married. So
+you would marry. You didn’t know anything about love--or you wouldn’t
+have done it.”
+
+“How do you know I’ve never been in love?”
+
+“Isn’t it true?”
+
+“I suppose it is. I don’t know, really.”
+
+“You’ll know some day. And you mustn’t ever think of yourself as
+mercenary. You’re too wonderful for that--too--too fine----”
+
+She realized in that moment that the boy was in earnest. That he was
+not saying pretty things to her for the sake of saying them. He was
+saying them all in sincerity. “It is nice of you to believe in me. But
+you don’t know me. I am like the little girl with the curl. I can be
+very, very good, but sometimes I am ‘horrid.’”
+
+“You can’t make me think it.” He handed her a packet of letters. “Your
+uncle sent these. There’s one from Simms on top.”
+
+“I think I won’t read it. I won’t read any of them. It has been
+heavenly to be away from things. I feel like a disembodied spirit,
+looking on but having nothing to do with the world I have left.”
+
+They were smiling now. “I can believe that,” Baldy said, “but I think
+you ought to read Simms’ letter. You needn’t tell me you haven’t any
+curiosity.”
+
+“Well, I have,” she broke the envelope. “More than that I am madly
+curious. I wouldn’t confess it though to anyone--but you.”
+
+“They can cut me up in little pieces--before I break my silence.”
+
+Again they laughed together. Then she broke the seal of the letter.
+Read it through to herself, then read it a second time aloud.
+
+  “Now that it is all over, Edith, I want to tell you how it happened.
+  I know you think it is a rotten thing I did. But it would have been
+  worse if I had married you. I am in love with another woman, and I
+  did not find it out until the day of our wedding.
+
+  “She isn’t in the least to blame, and somehow I can’t feel that I
+  am quite the cad that everybody is calling me. Things are bigger
+  sometimes than ourselves. Fate just took me that morning--and swept
+  me away from you.
+
+  “It isn’t her fault. She wouldn’t go away with me, although I begged
+  her to do it. And she was right of course.
+
+  “She is poor, but she isn’t marrying me for my money. The world will
+  say she is--but the world doesn’t recognize the _real thing_. It has
+  come to me, and if it ever comes to you, you’re going to thank me
+  for this--but now you’ll hate me, and I’m sorry. You’re a beautiful,
+  wonderful woman--and I find no excuse for myself, except the one that
+  it would have been a crime under the circumstances to tie us to each
+  other.
+
+  “In spite of everything,
+
+                                                        “Faithfully,
+                                                                  “DEL.”
+
+There was a moment’s silence, as she finished. Then Edith said, “So
+that’s that,” and tore the letter into little shreds. Her blue eyes
+were like bits of steel.
+
+“He’s right,” said Baldy. “I’d like to kill him for making you
+unhappy--but the thing was bigger than himself.”
+
+She shrugged her shoulders. “Of course if you are going to
+condone--dishonor----”
+
+He was leaning forward hugging his knees. “I am not condoning anything.
+But--I know this--that some day if you ever fall in love, you’ll
+forgive----”
+
+“I am not likely to fall in love,” coldly, “I’m too sensible----”
+
+He studied her with his bright gray eyes. “Oh, no, you’re not. You’re
+not in the least--sensible. You think you are because the men you’ve
+met have been poor sticks who couldn’t make you care----”
+
+“I’ve met some of the most distinguished men in America--and a few of
+them have fallen in love with me----”
+
+“Oh, I know. You’ve had strings of lovers--you’re too tremendously
+lovely not to have. But they’ve all been afraid of you. No caveman
+stuff--or anything like that. Isn’t that the truth?”
+
+“I should hate a caveman.”
+
+“Of course, but you wouldn’t be indifferent, and you’d end by
+caring----”
+
+“I dislike brutal types--intensely----”
+
+He sat with his chin in his hand, his shoulders hunched up like a faun
+or Pan at his pipes. “All cavemen aren’t brutal types. Some day I’m
+going to paint a picture of a man carrying off a woman. And I’m going
+to make him a slender young god--and she shall be a rather substantial
+goddess--but she’ll go with him--his spirit shall conquer her----”
+
+She looked at him in surprise. “Then you paint?”
+
+“I’ll say I do. Terrible things--magazine covers. But in the back of my
+mind there are masterpieces----”
+
+He was a whimsical youngster, she decided. But no end interesting.
+“I don’t believe your things are terrible. And I shall want to see
+them----”
+
+“You are going to see them. I have a studio in our garage. I sometimes
+wonder what happens at night when my little Ford is left alone with my
+fantasies. It must feel that it is fighting devils----”
+
+He broke off to say, “I’m as garrulous as Jane. Please don’t let me
+talk any more about myself.”
+
+“Is Jane your sister?”
+
+“Yes. And now let’s get down to realities. Your uncle wants you to come
+home.”
+
+“I’m not going. I know Uncle Fred. He’ll make me feel like a returned
+prodigal. He’ll kill the fatted calf, but I’ll always know that there
+were husks----”
+
+“And hogs,” Baldy supplemented, dreamily. “Some people are like that.”
+
+“He’s always been worshipped by women. And I didn’t fall at his feet.
+That’s why we didn’t get on. He ruled his mother and his servants--and
+he couldn’t rule me. And he’d run away to his affinities to be
+comforted, and they’d tell him what a cat I was----”
+
+“Affinities?”
+
+“Oh, I call them that, because there has always been a procession of
+them. Women he adores for the moment. But it never lasts, and they
+spoil him to death--and I won’t spoil him. I like my own way, too,
+sometimes, and I fight for it. And I am the only person in the world
+who makes Uncle Frederick lose his temper. And he hates that. His
+manners are lovely as a rule, but he simply blows up when we get into
+an argument.”
+
+She was not a goddess--she was intensely human--a soul fighting to be
+free, and he wanted to help her fight.
+
+“Look here,” he said suddenly, “if I were you I’d go back.”
+
+“I will not.”
+
+“I think you ought. Face things out. Let your uncle understand that
+there are to be no postmortems. It is the only thing to do. You can’t
+stay here forever.”
+
+“Did Uncle Fred make you his ambassador?” coldly.
+
+“He did not. When I came, I felt that I would do anything to keep you
+away from home as long as you liked. But I don’t feel that way now.
+You’ll just sit here and grow bitter about it--instead of thanking God
+on your knees.”
+
+He flung it at her, unexpectedly. There was a moment’s intense silence.
+Then he said, “Oh, I hope you don’t think I am preaching----”
+
+“No--no----” and suddenly her head went down on her arm, that beautiful
+burnished head.
+
+She was crying!
+
+“I’m sorry,” he told her, huskily.
+
+And again there was silence.
+
+She hunted for her handkerchief, and he handed her his. “You needn’t
+be sorry,” she said; “it seems--rather refreshing to have someone
+say things like that. Oh, I wonder if you know how hard we are--and
+cynical--the people of my set. And I don’t believe any of us
+ever--thank God.”
+
+She wiped her eyes, found her own handkerchief, and handed his back to
+him. She did not know how he treasured it--afterward--a chalice for her
+tears. She found it many years later--shut away in a box with a sprig
+of heliotrope.
+
+They talked for an hour after that. “There is no reason why you should
+hurry back,” Baldy said, “but I’d let your uncle tell people where you
+are. Then the papers will drop it, don’t you see?”
+
+“I see. Of course I’ve been silly--but you can’t think how I suffered.”
+
+She would not have admitted it to anyone else. But she met his
+sincerity with her own.
+
+“I was going to have our lunch served up here,” she said, “but I think
+I won’t. The dining-room down-stairs is charming--and if anyone comes
+in that I know--I shan’t care--as long as I’m going back.”
+
+The mammoth fireplace in the old dining-room had been restored to
+ancient uses. Martha and her husband had recognized its value as a
+background, so meat was roasted on the spit--a turkey to-day as it
+happened. The tables were lighted by high white candles--and there were
+old hunting prints on the walls.
+
+The food was delicious, and having settled her problems, Edith showed
+herself delightfully gay and girlish. There was heliotrope in a
+Sheffield bowl on their table. “Martha grows old-fashioned flowers in
+pots,” Edith said. She picked out a spray for him and he put it in
+his coat. “It’s my favorite.” She told him about Delafield’s orchids.
+“Think of all those months,” she said, “and he never knew the flowers I
+like.”
+
+There were other people in the room, but it was not until the end of
+the meal that anyone came whom Edith recognized.
+
+“Eloise Harper--and she sees me,” was her sudden remark. “Now watch me
+carry it off.”
+
+She stood up and waved to a party of four people, two men and two
+women, who stood in the door.
+
+They saw her at once, and the effect of their coming was a stampede.
+
+“Blessed child,” said the girl who was in the lead, “have you eloped?
+And is this the man?”
+
+“This is Mr. Barnes,” said Edith, “who comes from my uncle. I am to go
+back. But I have had a corking adventure.”
+
+Only Baldy knew what was in her heart, and how hard it was to face
+them. But on the surface she was as sparkling as the rest of them. “I
+shall probably be in the papers again to-morrow morning. You know you
+won’t be able to keep it, Eloise.”
+
+Eloise, red-haired and vivid in a cloak and turban of wood-brown,
+seemed to stand mentally on tiptoe. “I wouldn’t miss the talk I am
+going to have with the reporters to-night.”
+
+One of the men of the party protested. “Don’t be an idiot, Eloise.”
+
+“Well, I owe Edith something. Don’t I, darling?”
+
+“You do.” There was a flame in back of Edith’s eyes. “She liked
+Delafield before I did.”
+
+“Cat,” said Eloise lightly. “I liked his yacht, but Benny’s is bigger,
+isn’t it, Benny?” She turned to the younger man of the party who had
+not spoken.
+
+“I’ll say it is,” Benny agreed, cheerfully, “and it isn’t just my yacht
+that she’s after. She has a real little case on me.”
+
+The second woman, older than Eloise, tall and fair-haired in
+smoke-gray with a sweep of dull blue wing across her hat, said, “Edith,
+you bad child, your uncle has been frightfully worried.”
+
+“Of course, you’d know, Adelaide. And it does him good to be worried. I
+am an antidote for the rest of you.”
+
+Everybody laughed except Baldy. He ran his fingers with a nervous
+gesture through his hair. He was like a young eagle with a ruffled
+crest.
+
+Martha came up to arrange for a table. “Bring your coffee over and sit
+with us,” Eloise said; “we want to hear all about it.”
+
+Edith shook her head. “I don’t belong to your world yet. And I’ve had a
+heavenly time without you.”
+
+They went on laughing. Silence settled on the two they left behind. And
+out of that silence Edith asked, “You didn’t like the things we said?”
+
+“Hateful!”
+
+“Do you always show what you feel like that?”
+
+“Jane says I do.”
+
+“Well, if it had been anybody but Eloise Harper and Adelaide Laramore.
+Adelaide is Uncle Fred’s latest.”
+
+She rose. “Let’s go up-stairs. If I stay here I shall want to throw
+things at their heads. And I don’t care to break Martha’s dishes.”
+
+They stopped at the other table, however, for a light word or two, then
+went up to Edith’s sitting-room on the second floor. When they were
+once more by the fire, she said, “And now what do you think of me?
+Nice temper?”
+
+“I think,” he said, promptly, “that they probably deserved it.”
+
+She laid her hand for a fleeting moment on his arm. “You are rather a
+darling to say that. I was really horrid.”
+
+When he was ready at last to go, she decided, “Tell Uncle Frederick to
+send Briggs out for me in the morning. I might as well have it over,
+now that Eloise is going to spread the news.”
+
+“I wish you’d go in with me--to-night.”
+
+“Oh, but I couldn’t----”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+She weighed it--“And surprise Uncle Fred?”
+
+“I think we’d better telephone, so he can kill the fatted calf.”
+
+“Yes. He doesn’t like things sprung on him. Hurts his dignity--but he’s
+rather an old dear, and I love him--do you ever quarrel with the people
+you love?”
+
+“Jane and I fight. Great times.”
+
+“I have a feeling I shall like Jane.”
+
+“You will. She’s the best ever. Not a beauty, but growing
+better-looking every day. Bobbed her hair--and I nearly took her head
+off. But she’s rather a peach.”
+
+“I’ll have you both down for dinner some day. I think we are going to
+be friends”--again that light touch on his arm.
+
+He caught her hand in his. “I shall only ask that you let the page
+twang his lyre.” Then with a deeper note, “Miss Towne, I can’t tell you
+how much your friendship would mean.”
+
+“Would it? Oh, I am going to have some good times with you and your
+little sister, Jane. I am so tired of people like Eloise and Adelaide,
+and Benny and--Del....”
+
+On this same afternoon little Lucy Logan was writing to Delafield Simms.
+
+  “It seems like a dream, lover, that you are to come for me in
+  February, and that then we’ll be married. And that all the rest of my
+  life I am to belong to you.
+
+  “Del, it isn’t because you are rich. Of course I shall adore the
+  things you can do for me. I am not going to pretend that I shan’t.
+  But if you were poor, I’d work for you--live for you. Oh, Del, I do
+  hope that you will believe it.
+
+  “The other day, Mr. Towne said in one of his letters that you had
+  always been fickle, that there had been lots of girls, Eloise Harper
+  before Edith. And I wanted to scream right out and say, ‘It isn’t
+  true. He hasn’t ever really cared before this.’ But of course I
+  couldn’t. But I broke a pencil point, and as for Mr. Towne, who is
+  he to say such things about you? I haven’t taken his letters for the
+  last three years for nothing. There’s always somebody--the last one
+  was Mrs. Laramore, and now he has his eye on a little Jane Barnes,
+  whose brother found Miss Towne’s bag and the ring. She’s rather a
+  darling, but I hope she won’t think he is in earnest.
+
+  “And now, my dear and my darling, good-night. I wonder how I dare
+  call you that. But I am always saying it to myself, and at night I
+  ask God to keep you--safe.”
+
+Five days later, Delafield read Lucy’s letter. He was on his yacht in
+southern waters. His man had been sent in for the mail.
+
+When he had finished, Delafield lay back in his deck chair and thought
+about it. Queer thing for him to fall like that for little Lucy. He had
+not believed that it was in him to care in that way for a woman. But he
+did. The letter lay like a live warm thing under his hand. It seemed to
+beat with his heart as Lucy’s heart had beat against his own on that
+last morning in Frederick Towne’s office, while his bride waited.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE DIM LANTERN
+
+
+Jane, in Baldy’s absence, dined on Sunday with the Follettes, in the
+middle of the day. In the afternoon she and Evans went for a walk, and
+came home to tea in the library.
+
+Stretched in a long leather chair, Evans read to Jane and his mother
+“The Eve of St. Agnes.”
+
+  “How bitter cold it was!
+  The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold:
+  The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,
+  And silent were the flock in woolly fold.”
+
+Jane, curled up on the couch in her favorite attitude, listened to that
+incomparable description of stark winter weather, and was glad of the
+warmth and coziness. She was glad, too, of this pleasant company--Mrs.
+Follette was a great dear, with her duchess air, and her devotion to
+Evans. And Evans, reading in that thrilling and unchanged voice, was at
+his best.
+
+As for Mrs. Follette, she was always glad to have Jane visit them.
+The child was so cheerful, and Evans needed cheer. Then, too, Jane
+was a delightful compromise between the girl of yesterday and the
+ultra-modern maiden who shocked Mrs. Follette not only by her lack of
+reverence but by her lack of reticence.
+
+Jane might have bobbed hair, but she did not have a bobbed-hair mind.
+The meaning of this conclusion was quite clear to Mrs. Follette,
+however obscure it might be to others. Girls who cut off their hair, as
+a rule, went farther--Jane stopped at her hair.
+
+Then, too, Jane had what might be called old-fashioned domestic
+qualities. She kept her little house as spick and span as she kept
+herself. In winter everything was burnished and bright; in summer crisp
+curtains waved in the warm breeze; there were cool shadows within the
+clean, quiet rooms.
+
+At the moment, Mrs. Follette was weighing seriously the fact of Jane as
+a wife for Evans. She was pretty as well as cheerful. Had good manners.
+Of course, in the old days, Evans would, inevitably, have looked
+higher. There had been plenty of rich girls eager to attract him. He
+had had unlimited invitations. Women had, in fact, quite run after him.
+Florence Preston had rather made a fool of herself. And Florence’s
+father had millions.
+
+But now----? Mrs. Follette knew how little Evans had at the moment to
+offer. She hated to admit it, but the truth was evident. Watching the
+two young people, she decided that should Evans care for Jane, she
+would erect no barriers. As for Jane, marriage with Evans would be, in
+a way, a rise in the world. She would live at Castle Manor instead of
+at Sherwood Park.
+
+The poem had reached a point where Mrs. Follette felt that she ought to
+protest. She was not quite sure that she approved of the situation it
+outlined. The verse of the moment, for example--Porphyro’s plea to the
+maid, old Angela:
+
+  “To lead him in close secrecy,
+  Even to Madelaine’s chamber and there hide
+  Him in a closet of such privacy,
+  That he might see her beauty unspy’d
+  And win, perhaps, that night, a peerless bride.”
+
+Stripped of all its fine words, it was an impossible situation.
+
+Apparently, however, the young people were without
+self-consciousness....
+
+  “Out went the taper, as she hurried in:
+  Its little smoke in pallid moonshine died----”
+
+Evans looked up. “Could there be anything lovelier than that last line?”
+
+Jane’s eyes had dreams in them. “Don’t stop,” she said.
+
+He read on.... “She closed the door ...” his voice took now a deeper
+note.
+
+  “Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
+  And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
+  And on her hair a glory like a saint:
+  She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest,
+  Save wings for heaven; Porphyro grew faint:
+  She knelt so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.”
+
+“Evans,” said his mother, as he paused again, “that poem doesn’t seem
+to me exactly proper.”
+
+He gave her a surprised glance. “Don’t spoil it for us, Mumsie.”
+
+“Oh, well,” Mrs. Follette shrugged her nice shoulders, “we won’t argue.
+But when I was a girl we didn’t read things like that.”
+
+“But this was written before you were a girl.”
+
+“What difference does that make?”
+
+“But the richness and color. You see it, Jane, don’t you?”
+
+“Yes. Finish it, Evans.”
+
+And when he came to the end, she said, “If only life were like that.”
+
+“Like what?”
+
+“High romance. Porphyro says negligently, ‘For o’er the southern moors
+I have a home for thee.’ But lovers of to-day have to think of rent and
+food and clothes. And hotel bills for the honeymoon.”
+
+“Oh, you women”--he sat up flaming--“are you conspiring to spoil my
+poem? Jane, it is the dreams of men and women which shape their lives.”
+
+As his eyes met hers something stirred within her like the flutter of a
+bird’s wings lifted to the sun....
+
+It was after five when Baldy telephoned triumphantly: “Jane, Edith
+Towne has agreed to go home to-night. And I’m to take her. I called up
+Mr. Towne and told him and he wants you to be there when we come. He’ll
+send Briggs for you and we are all to have dinner together.”
+
+“But, Baldy, I don’t know Edith Towne. Why doesn’t he ask some of her
+own friends?”
+
+“She doesn’t want ’em. Hates them all, and anyhow he has asked you. Why
+worry?”
+
+“I’ll have to go home and dress.”
+
+“Well, you’re to let him know at once where Briggs can get you. I told
+him you were at the Follettes’.”
+
+Jane went back and repeated the conversation to Evans and his mother.
+Mrs. Follette was much interested. The Townes were most important
+people. “How nice for you, Jane.”
+
+But Evans disagreed with her. “What makes you say that, Mother? It
+isn’t nice. It will simply be upsetting.”
+
+“I don’t see why you say that, Evans,” Jane argued. “I am not easily
+upset.”
+
+“But with all that money. You can’t keep up with them.”
+
+“Don’t put ideas into Jane’s head,” his mother remonstrated; “a lady is
+always a lady.”
+
+But Jane sided now with Evans. “I see what he means, Mrs. Follette. I
+haven’t the clothes. I haven’t a thing to wear to-night.”
+
+“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of your looks.” Evans got up and stood on the
+hearth-rug. “But people like that! Jane, I wish you wouldn’t go.”
+
+She looked up at him with her chin tilted. “I don’t see how I can
+refuse.”
+
+“Of course she can’t. Evans, don’t be so unreasonable,” Mrs. Follette
+interposed; “it will be a wonderful thing for Jane to know Edith.”
+
+“Will it be such a wonderful thing for her to know Frederick Towne?” He
+flung it at them.
+
+Jane demanded, “Don’t you want me to have any good times?”
+
+He stared at her for a moment, and when he spoke it was in a different
+tone. “Yes, of course. I beg your pardon, Janey.”
+
+Mrs. Follette, having effaced herself for the moment from the
+conversation, decided that things between her son and little Jane
+Barnes might reach a climax at any moment. “I believe he’s half in love
+with her,” she told herself in some bewilderment.
+
+As for Frederick Towne, she didn’t consider him for a moment. Jane was
+a pretty child. But Frederick Towne could have his pick of women. There
+would be nothing serious in this friendship with Jane.
+
+Jane called up Towne. “It was good of you to ask me,” she said. “I am
+at the Follettes’, but I’ll go home and dress and Briggs can come for
+me there.”
+
+“Come as you are.”
+
+“You wouldn’t say that if you could see me. I took a walk with Evans
+this afternoon and I show the effects of it.”
+
+“Evans? Oh, Casabianca?”
+
+“What makes you call him that?”
+
+“I thought of it when I saw him waiting for you at the top of the
+terrace. ‘The boy stood on the burning deck----’” he laughed.
+
+“I don’t think that’s funny at all,” said Jane, frankly.
+
+“Don’t you? Well, I beg your pardon. I’ll beg it again when I get you
+here. Briggs will reach Sherwood at about seven. I would drive out
+myself, but I’ve an awful cold, and the doctor tells me I must stay in.
+And Cousin Annabel is sick in bed with a cold, so you must take pity on
+me and keep me company....”
+
+Jane hung up the receiver. It would, she decided, be an exciting
+adventure. But she was not sure that she liked Frederick Towne....
+
+Evans walked home with her. The air was warmer than it had been for
+days, and faint mists had risen. The mist thickened finally to a fog
+which rolled over them as if blown from the high seas. Yet the sea was
+miles away, and the fog was born in the rivers and streams, and in the
+melting snows.
+
+They found it somewhat difficult to keep to the road. They were almost
+smothered in the thick gray masses. Their voices had a muffled sound.
+Evans’ hand was on Jane’s arm so that they might keep together.
+
+“Jane,” he said, “I made a fool of myself about Towne. But honestly--I
+was afraid----”
+
+“Of what?”
+
+“That he might fall in love with you----”
+
+“He’s not thinking of me, Evans, and besides he’s too old----”
+
+“Do you really feel that way about it, Jane?”
+
+“Of course--silly.”
+
+He could not see her face--but the words in her laughing lovely voice
+gave him a sense of reassurance.
+
+“Janey,” he said, “if I could only have you like this always. Shut away
+from the world.”
+
+“But I don’t want to be shut away. I should feel--caged----”
+
+“Not if you cared.”
+
+There was in his tone the huskiness of intense feeling. She was moved
+by it. “Oh, I know what you mean. But love won’t come to me like
+that--shut in. I shall want freedom, and sunshine. I’ll be a gull over
+the sea--a ship in full sail--a gypsy on the road--but I’ll never be a
+ghost in a fog.”
+
+His hand dropped from her arm. “Perhaps you’ll be a princess in a
+castle. Towne can make you that.”
+
+“Why do you keep harping on Mr. Towne? I don’t like it.”
+
+“Because--oh, I think everybody wants you----”
+
+And now it was she who caught at his arm in the mist, and leaned on
+it. “I’m not the least in love with Frederick Towne. And I shall never
+marry a man I don’t love, Evans.”
+
+When they came to the little house they found old Sophy nodding in the
+kitchen. She always stayed with Jane when Baldy was away. So Evans said
+“Good-night” and started back.
+
+He found the path between the pines, walked a few steps and stumbled.
+He sat down on the log that had tripped him. He had no wish to go
+on. His depression was intense. Night was before him and darkness.
+Loneliness. And Jane would be with Frederick Towne.
+
+He had for Jane a feeling of hopeless adoration. She would never be
+his. For how could he try to keep her? “I’ll be a gull over the sea--a
+ship in full sail--a gypsy on the road--never a ghost in a fog.”
+
+And he was just a ghost in a fog! Oh, what was the use of ever
+“climbing up the climbing wave”? One must have something of hope to
+live on. A dream or two--ahead.
+
+How long he sat there he did not know. And all at once he was aware
+of a pale blur against the prevailing gloom. And then he heard Jane’s
+voice calling, “Evans? Evans?”
+
+He answered and she came up to him. “Your mother telephoned--that you
+had not come home--and she was worried.”
+
+She was holding the lantern up to the length of her arm. In her orange
+cloak she shone through the veil of mist, luminous.
+
+“My dear,” she said, gently, “why are you sitting here?”
+
+“Because there isn’t any use in going on.”
+
+She lowered the lantern so that it shone on his face. What she saw
+there frightened her. “Are you feeling this way because of me?” she
+asked in a shaking voice.
+
+“Because of everything.”
+
+“Evans, I won’t go to the Townes if you want me to stay.”
+
+He looked up at her as she bent above him with the lantern. She seemed
+to shine within and without, like some celestial visitor.
+
+“Would you stay, Jane, if I wanted it?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+He stood up. “I don’t want it. Not really. I’m not quite such a selfish
+pig,” his smile was ghastly.
+
+She was silent for a moment, then she said, “I’m going home with you,
+Evans. Wait until I tell Sophy to send Briggs after me.”
+
+He tried to protest, but she was firm. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
+
+She returned presently, the lantern in one hand and her slipper bag in
+the other. “I put on heavier shoes. I should ruin my slippers.”
+
+As they trod the path together, the light of the lantern shone in round
+spots of gold, now in front of them, now behind them. The fog pressed
+close, but the path was clear.
+
+“Evans,” said Jane, “I want you to promise me something.”
+
+“Anything, except--not to love you.”
+
+“It has nothing to do with love of me, but it has something to do with
+love of God.”
+
+He knew how hard it was for her to say that. Jane did not speak easily
+of such things.
+
+She went on with some hesitation. Her voice, muffled by the fog, had a
+muted note of music.
+
+“Evans, you mustn’t let what I do make you or break you. Whether I love
+you or not, you must go on. You--you couldn’t hold me if you weren’t
+strong enough, even if I was your wife. And there is strength in you,
+if you’ll only believe it. Oh, you must believe it, Evans. And you
+mustn’t make me feel responsible. I can’t stand it. To feel all the
+time that I am hurting--you.”
+
+She was sobbing. A little incoherent.
+
+“And you _are_ captain of your soul, Evans. You. Not anyone else. I
+can’t be. I can be a help, and oh, I will help all I can. You know
+that. But--I love you like a big brother--not in any other way. If
+anything should happen to you, it would be dreadful for me, just as it
+would be dreadful if anything happened to Baldy.”
+
+“Janey, my dear, don’t,” for she was clinging to his arm, crying as if
+her heart would break.
+
+“But I do care for you so much, Evans. I was frantic when your mother
+telephoned. I wasn’t quite dressed and I made Sophy get the lantern,
+and then I ran down the path, and looked for you.”
+
+He stopped and laid his hand on her shoulder. Her weakness, her broken
+words had roused in him a sudden protective tenderness.
+
+“My little girl,” he said, “don’t. God helping me, I’m going to get
+back. And you are going to light my way. Jane, do you know when I saw
+you coming towards me with that dim lantern it seemed symbolic. Hope
+held out to me--seen through a fog, faintly. But a light, nevertheless.”
+
+“Oh, Evans, if I could love you, I would, you know that.”
+
+“I know. You’d tie up the broken wings of every bird. You’d give
+crutches to the lame, and food to the hungry. And that’s the way you
+feel about me.”
+
+He had let her go now, and they stood apart, shrouded in ghostly white.
+
+“God helping me,” he said again, “I’ll get back. That’s a promise,
+Janey, and here’s my hand upon it.”
+
+She gave him her hand. “God helping us both,” she said.
+
+He lifted her hand and kissed it. Then, in silence, they walked on,
+until they reached the house....
+
+The Towne car was waiting, and Mrs. Follette in a flurry welcomed them.
+“I don’t see why you didn’t ride over with him.”
+
+“He hadn’t come, and we preferred to walk.”
+
+“What was the matter with you, Evans?”
+
+“Nothing much, Mother. I’m sorry you were fussed.” He gave her no
+further explanation.
+
+Jane put on her slippers and went off in the great car. And then Evans
+said, “I’m going over to Hallam’s.”
+
+“Aren’t you well, my dear?”
+
+“I want to talk to him.” He saw her anxious look, and bent and kissed
+her. “Don’t worry, Mumsie, I’m all right.”
+
+Dr. Hallam’s old estate adjoined the Follette farm. The doctor was a
+nerve specialist, and went every morning to Washington, coming back
+at night to the quiet of his charming home. He was unmarried and was
+looked after by men-servants. He had been much interested in Evans’
+case, and had in fact had charge of it.
+
+The doctor was by the library fire, smoking a cigar and reading a brown
+book. He welcomed Evans heartily. “I was wondering when you would turn
+up again.” He showed the title of his book, “Boswell. There was a man.
+As great as the man he wrote about, and we are just beginning to find
+it out.”
+
+“Rare edition?” Evans sat down.
+
+“Yes. Got it at Lowdermilk’s yesterday.”
+
+“We’ve oodles of old books on our shelves. Ought to sell them, I
+suppose.”
+
+“I wouldn’t sell one of mine.” Hallam was emphatic. “I’d rather murder
+a baby.”
+
+Evans flamed suddenly. “I’d sell mine, if I could get the things I
+want.”
+
+“I don’t want anything as much as I want my books.”
+
+“I do. I want life as I used to live it.”
+
+The doctor sat up and looked at him. “You mean before the war?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Good.”
+
+“I’m tired of being half a man. If there’s any way out of it, I want
+you to tell me.”
+
+The doctor’s eyes were bright with interest. He knew the first symptoms
+of recovery in such cases. The neurasthenic quality of Evans’ trouble
+had robbed him of initiative. His waking-up was a promising sign.
+
+“The thing to do, of course, is to get to work. Why don’t you open an
+office?”
+
+“A fat chance I’d have of getting clients.”
+
+“I think they’d come.”
+
+The doctor smoked for a time in silence, then he said, “Decide on
+something hard to do, and do it. Do it if you feel you are going to die
+in the attempt.”
+
+There was something inspiring to Evans in the idea. Hard things. That
+was it. He poured out the story of the past few days. The awful scene
+with Rusty. To-night in the fog under the pines. “Wanted more than
+anything to drop myself in the river.”
+
+He was walking the floor, back and forth, limping to one edge of the
+rug, then limping to the other. “Then Jane came. Little Jane Barnes.
+You know her, and she told me--where to get off--said I was--captain of
+my soul----” He stopped in front of the doctor, and smiled whimsically.
+“Are any of us captains of our souls, doctor?”
+
+“I’ll be darned if I know.” The doctor was intensely serious. “Will
+power has a lot to do with things. The trouble is when your will won’t
+work----”
+
+“Mine seems to be working on one cylinder.” Again Evans was pacing the
+rug. “But that idea of an office appeals to me. It will take a bit of
+money, though. And it is rather a problem to know where to get it.”
+
+“Sell some of the old books. I’ll buy them.”
+
+Light leaped into Evans’ eyes. “It would be one way, wouldn’t it?
+Mother would rather hate it. But what’s a library against a life?” He
+seemed to fling the question to a listening universe.
+
+The doctor laughed. “She’ll be sensible if you put it up to her. And
+you must frivol a bit. Play around with the girls.”
+
+“I don’t want any girls except Jane.”
+
+“Little Jane Barnes. Well, she’ll do.”
+
+“I’ll say she will.”
+
+The doctor, watching him as he walked back and forth, said, “The thing
+to do is to map out a normal day. Make it pretty close to the program
+you followed before the war. You haven’t happened to keep a diary, have
+you?”
+
+“Yes. It’s a clumsy record. Mother started me when I was a kid.”
+
+“That’s what we want. Read it every night, and do some of the things
+the next day that you did then. You will find you can stick closer than
+you think. And it will give you a working plan.”
+
+Evans sat down and discussed the idea. It was late when he rose to
+leave.
+
+“It will be slow,” was Hallam’s final admonition, “but I believe you
+can do it. And when things go wrong, just honk and I’ll lend you some
+gas,” his big laugh boomed out, as they stood in the door together.
+“Nasty night.”
+
+“I have a lantern.” Evans picked it up from the porch.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Evans reached home his mother called from up-stairs, “I thought
+you were never coming.”
+
+“Hallam and I had a lot to talk about.”
+
+He came running up, and entering her room found her propped up on her
+pillows.
+
+Mrs. Follette in bed lost nothing of her dignity. Her gray hair at
+night was braided and wound into a coronet above her serene forehead.
+She wore something knitted in white and black about her shoulders.
+There was a prayer-book on her bedside table--and pineapple posts to
+her bed. She had inherited her religion and her furniture from her
+ancestors, and she kept them both in order.
+
+“Mother,” said Evans, and stood looking down at her, “Hallam wants me
+to sell some of the old books and use the money to open an office.”
+
+“What kind of office?”
+
+“Law. In town.”
+
+“But are you well enough, Evans?”
+
+“He says that I am. He says that I must think that I am well, Mother.”
+
+“But----”
+
+“Dearest, don’t spoil it with doubts. It’s my life, Mother.”
+
+There was a look on his face which she had not seen since his return.
+Uplifted, eager. A light in his eyes, like the light which had shone in
+the eyes of a boy.
+
+She found it difficult to speak. “My dear, the books are yours. Do as
+you think best.”
+
+He leaned over and kissed her, lifting her a bit. There was energy as
+well as affection in the quick caress. She drew herself away laughing,
+breathless. “How strong you are.”
+
+“Am I? Well, I think I am. And I am going to conquer the world, Mumsie.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+His exaltation lasted during the reading of the diary. It was a fat
+little book, and the pages were written close in his fine firm script.
+He found things between the leaves--a four-leaved clover Jane had sent
+him when he made the football team. A rose, colorless and dry. Florence
+Preston had given it to him.
+
+He dropped the rose in the waste-basket. How could he ever have thought
+of Florence? Love wasn’t a thing of blue eyes and pale gold hair. It
+was a thing of fire and flame and fighting.
+
+Fighting! That was it. With your back to the wall--and winning!
+
+For some day he meant to win Jane. Did she think she could be in the
+world and not be his? And if she loved strength she should have it.
+He bent his head in his hands--his hands clasped tensely. There was a
+prayer in his heart. His whole being ached with the agony of his effort.
+
+“Oh, God, let me fight and win. Bring me back to the full measure of a
+man.”
+
+Again he opened the book. Bits of printed verse dropped out of it.
+Jane had sent him this, “_One who never turned his back, but marched
+breast-forward._”
+
+Well, he had turned his back. That day in the snow. The thought gripped
+him. Made him white and sick. He stood up, praying again in an agony of
+mind, “Bring me back.”
+
+He opened the book and read of Jane, and of himself as he had once
+been. He skipped the record of his college days, except where he found
+such reference as this: “Little Jane is growing up. She met me at the
+station and held out her hand to me. I used always to kiss her, but
+this time I didn’t dare. She was different somehow, but some day I’ll
+kiss her.”
+
+And this: “Jane is rather a darling. But I am beginning to believe that
+I like ’em fair.” That was when he had a terrible crush on Florence
+Preston, whose coloring was blue and gold. But it hadn’t lasted, and he
+had come back to Jane with a sense of refreshment.
+
+He found at last the pages given over to those first days after he had
+been admitted to the Washington bar, and had hung out his shingle.
+
+“Sat at my desk all the morning. Great bluff. One client received with
+great effect of busy-ness. Had lunch with a lot of fellows--pancakes
+and sausages--ate an armful. Tea with three débutantes at the
+Shoreham--peaches. Dance at the Oakleys’ in Georgetown. Corking time.
+One deadly moment when the butler took my overcoat. Poor people ought
+not to dance where there are butlers.”
+
+Remembering that incident, he leaned back in his chair and laughed.
+The Oakleys had all the money in the world, and a background of
+aristocracy. Evans’ overcoat was rusty and shiny at the elbows.
+The butler, a recent importation from London, had been imposing in
+knee-breeches and many buttons. His manner had been perfect, but Evans
+had been aware of the servant’s scorn of rustiness and shininess. Then
+his own good sense had come to the rescue, and he had gone in and had
+danced with as light heels as the rest of them.
+
+He found more than one reference to his poverty. “I shall have to stop
+eating, or I can’t wear my evening clothes. And I can’t afford new
+ones. Jane says she hates to have me lose weight--that I look big and
+beautiful now like Michelangelo’s David at the Corcoran. I don’t know
+whether she is in earnest. One never knows. Her eyes never tell.”
+
+And again: “If I had money enough, I’d ask Jane to marry me. But I
+can’t pay for Huyler’s and matinée tickets. And anyhow, I’m sure she
+wouldn’t have me. Not right off the bat. We’re made for each other all
+right. And some day, if she doesn’t know it, I’ll make her.”
+
+There were spring days with Jane. “Gee, but it’s good to be alive.
+Jane and I walked down to the glen this morning. Picked wild flowers,
+dogtooth violets, hepatica, anemones; and we sang--with nobody to hear
+us. I let out my voice--in the Toreador’s song, and Jane sat there
+and looked and listened, and said when I had finished, ‘It’s like
+the opera, Evans.’ I believe she meant it, and she didn’t want me to
+stop.... I felt pretty fine to have her there, liking it.... Oh, she’s
+a darling. I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t.”
+
+Autumn came: “Jane and I went to-day to gather fox grapes. Mother is
+making jelly and so is Jane. The vines were a great tangle. Shut in
+among them we seemed a thousand miles away from the world. Jane made
+herself a wreath of grape leaves, and looked like a nymph of the woods.
+I told her so and she gazed at me with those great gray eyes of hers
+and said, ‘Evans, when the gods were young they must have lived like
+this--with grapes for their food, and the birds to sing for them, and
+the little wild things of the wood for company. It would be heavenly,
+wouldn’t it?’ She’s a queer kid. Life with her wouldn’t be humdrum.
+She’s so intensely herself.”
+
+“We talked a bit about the war. I told her I should go if France needed
+me. I am not going to wait until this country gets into it. We owe a
+debt to France....”
+
+He stopped there, and closed the book. He did not care to read farther.
+Oh, his debt to France had been paid. And after that day with Jane
+among the tangled vines things had moved faster--and faster.
+
+He didn’t want to think of it....
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE ICE PALACE
+
+
+The evening wrap which Jane wore with her old white chiffon was of a
+bright Madonna blue with a black fur collar. Jane, as has been said,
+loved clear color, and when she dyed dingy things she brought them
+forth lovely to the eye and tremendously picturesque.
+
+The first effect on Frederick Towne of her bobbed black head above the
+fur collar was enchanting. It was only later that he discovered her
+shabbiness. That initial glimpse had, however, shown him what money
+could do for her.
+
+Frederick’s house was a place where polished floors seemed to dissolve
+in pools of golden light, where a grand staircase led up to balconies,
+where the ceilings were almost incredibly high, the vistas almost
+incredibly remote. Frederick, coming towards her through those pools
+of golden light--blonde, big and smiling, brought a swift memory of
+another blonde and heroic figure, not in evening clothes--but in silver
+armor--“Nun sei bedankt, mein lieber Schwan,” Lohengrin! That was it.
+
+“A fat Lohengrin,” she amended, maliciously.
+
+Unaware of this devastating estimate, Frederick welcomed her with the
+air of a Cophetua. He was unconscious of his attitude of condescension.
+He was much attracted, but he knew, of course, that his interest in
+her would be a great thing for the little girl.
+
+And he _was_ interested. A queer thing had happened to him--a thing
+which clashed with all his theories, broke down the logic of his
+previous arguments. He had fallen in love with little Jane Barnes, at
+first sight if you please--like a crude boy. And he wanted her for
+his wife. It was an almost unbelievable situation. There had been so
+many women he might have married. Lovelier women than Jane, wittier,
+more distinguished, richer--of more assured social standing. He could
+have had the pick of them, yet not one of them had he wanted. Here was
+little Jane Barnes, bobbed hair, boyish, slender, quaint in her cheap
+clothes, and he could see no one else at the head of his table, no one
+else by his side in the big car, no one else to share the glamorous
+days of honeymoon, and the life which was to follow.
+
+He had always had his own way, and he intended to have it now. Edith
+had, of course, thwarted him in some things, and she was still on his
+hands. Yet the matter would, without doubt, right itself. There were
+other eligible suitors; it was not to be supposed that a beauty and an
+heiress would remain long unwed.
+
+And in the meantime, he would set himself to the wooing of Jane. The
+end was, of course, inevitable. But Jane would not fall into his arms
+at the first word. Her attitude towards him was absolutely impersonal.
+She had no blushes, no small flirtatious tricks. She was as cool as
+some lovely garden flower with the morning dew upon it. But he fancied
+she might flame.
+
+And so when young Baldwin had telephoned of Edith’s plans, there had
+leaped into Towne’s mind the realization of his opportunity. He would
+see Jane among his household gods. And he would see her alone. He had
+sent Briggs in time to have her there before the others arrived.
+
+And now Fate had played further into his hands. “I’ve had another
+message from Edith,” he told her; “we’ll have to eat dinner without
+them. The fog caught them south of Alexandria, and they went into a
+ditch. They will eat at the nearest hotel while the car is being fixed
+up.”
+
+“Baldy’s car always breaks at psychological moments,” said Jane. “If it
+hadn’t broken down on the bridge, he wouldn’t have found your niece.”
+
+“And I wouldn’t have known you”--he was smiling at her. “Who would ever
+have believed that so much hung on so little.”
+
+And now Waldron, the butler, announced dinner--and Jane entering the
+dining-room felt dwarfed by the Gargantuan tables, the high-backed
+ecclesiastical chairs, the tall silver candlesticks with their orange
+candles.
+
+“Your color,” Towne told her. “You see I remembered your knitting----”
+
+“I’m crazy about brilliant wools,” said Jane; “some day I am going to
+open a shop and sell them.”
+
+But he knew that she would not open a shop. “You were like some lovely
+bird,--an oriole, perhaps, with your orange and black.”
+
+“I dye things,” said Jane, frankly; “you should see some of my clothes
+when they come out. Joseph’s coat isn’t in it.”
+
+Frederick liked her frankness. He knew people who would have been
+ashamed to admit their poverty before Waldron and the maids. To
+Jane, servants had neither eyes nor ears--in that she showed her
+accustomedness. People who had never been served were self-conscious.
+
+“The next time you see this dress,” Jane was saying, “it will be as
+blue as my coat. And I’ll have a girdle of copper ribbon, and Baldy
+will paint my shoes with copper paint.”
+
+She smiled at him with her chin tilted in her bird-like way. She was
+really having the time of her life. She was thrilled and fascinated by
+the beauty of her surroundings, and gradually Frederick began to take
+on something of the fascination.
+
+Against his own background, he showed at his best. Without one word
+of fulsome flattery, he made little Jane feel that she was an honored
+guest. He talked extremely well, and though she was alone with him put
+her absolutely at her ease.
+
+The food was delicious. There had been a celestial canape, a heavenly
+soup, fish that were pale pink and smothered in tartare sauce.
+
+“He is awfully nice,” Jane told herself out of her supreme content,
+as Waldron passed squabs on a silver platter. She referred of course
+to Towne and not to Waldron but, remembering her own old Sophy’s
+shortcomings, she found time, also, to commend to herself the butler’s
+expertness.
+
+After dinner they sat in the great drawing-room--a portentous
+place--with low-hung crystal chandeliers--pale rugs--pale walls--with
+one corner redeemed from the general chilliness by a fireplace of
+yellow Italian marble, and a huge screen of peacock feathers in a
+mahogany frame.
+
+“I call this room the Ice Palace,” Frederick told her. “Mother
+furnished it in the early eighties--and she would never change it. And
+now I rather hate to have it different. I warmed this corner with the
+fireplace and the screen. Edith always sits in the library on the other
+side of the hall, but Mother and I had our coffee here, and I prefer to
+continue the old custom.”
+
+Jane’s eyes opened wide. “Don’t you and your niece drink your coffee
+together?”
+
+“Usually, but there have been times,” he laughed as he said it, “when
+each of us has sat on opposite sides of the hall in lonely state.”
+
+Jane laughed too. “Baldy and I do things like that.”
+
+“And now,” he said, “we can talk about Edith. I suppose I’ll have to
+kill the fatted calf. That’s what your brother said.”
+
+“That sounds like Baldy.”
+
+“Does it? Well, he told me the thing that decided her was some friends
+who came out and saw her in the dining-room. She’s been all the time
+with Martha, her mother’s old cook, whose husband keeps a country hotel
+beyond Alexandria. And Adelaide Laramore and Eloise Harper and a couple
+of men were lunching there. I am sorry it happened. Eloise is a regular
+town-crier. She’ll tell the world.”
+
+He beat his fist against the arm of his chair. “I hate to have the
+thing in the papers.”
+
+“It will soon die down,” said Jane, “when she comes home.”
+
+“I shall be glad to have her. But I don’t quite see why I am to kill
+the fatted calf. She won’t act in the least like a prodigal.”
+
+“Why should you care how she acts? You want her back. Isn’t that
+enough?”
+
+He liked her crisp common sense. Her fearless expression of opinion.
+Most of the women he knew were afraid not to agree with him. That
+was the trouble with Adelaide. She leaned to him always like a lily,
+charming, feminine, soft as milk. But Jane did not lean. She was, he
+told himself, a cup of elixir held to his lips. He drank as it were of
+her youth.
+
+They finished their coffee and he smoked a cigar. Edith and Baldy
+telephoned that the thing was more serious than they had anticipated.
+That perhaps he had better send Briggs.
+
+“So that means I’m going to have you to myself for an hour longer,”
+Frederick told Jane. “I hope you are as happy in the prospect as I am.”
+
+“I am having a joyous time. I feel like Cinderella at the ball.”
+
+He laughed at that. “You’re a refreshing child, Jane.” He had never
+before called her by her first name.
+
+“Am I? But I’m not a child. I’m as old as the hills.”
+
+“Not in years.”
+
+“In wisdom. I know how to make ends meet, and how to order meals, and
+how to plan my own dresses, and a lot of things that your Edith doesn’t
+have to think about.”
+
+“And yet you are happy.”
+
+“I’ll say I am.”
+
+He laughed but did not continue the subject. “I’ve a rather wonderful
+collection of earrings. Would you like to look at them? Queer fad,
+isn’t it? But I’ve picked them up everywhere.”
+
+“Why earrings?”
+
+“Other things are commonplace--brooches, necklaces, tiaras. But there’s
+romance in the jewels that women have worn in their ears. You’ll see.”
+
+He went into another room and brought back a tray. It was lined with
+velvet and the earrings were set up on tiny cushions. It was a unique
+display. Cameos from ancient Rome, acorns of human hair in the horrible
+taste of the sixties--gypsy hoops of gold--coral roses in delicate
+fretted wreaths--old French jewels--rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and
+seed pearls, larger pearls set alone to show their beauty, and a
+sparkling array of modern things, diamonds in platinum--long pendants
+of jade and jet--opals dripping like liquid fire along slender chains.
+
+She hung over them.
+
+“Which do you like best?” he asked.
+
+“The pearls?”
+
+He was doubtful. “Not the white ones. These----” he picked up a pair of
+sapphires set in seed pearls--rather barbaric things that hung down for
+an inch or more. “They’ll suit your style. Have you ever worn earrings?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Try them.”
+
+He helped her to adjust them--and his hand touched her smooth warm
+cheek. He was conscious of her closeness, but gave no sign.
+
+There was a little mirror above the mantel. “Look at yourself,” he said.
+
+She tilted her head so that the jewels shook. The blue lights of the
+stones made her skin incandescent.
+
+Frederick surveyed her critically. “You ought to have a more
+sophisticated gown. Silver brocade with a wisp of a train.”
+
+“It changes me, doesn’t it? I am not sure that I like them.”
+
+“I do. Edith has always wanted those earrings. But I won’t let her have
+them. I am saving them for--my wife.”
+
+“You ought to have wives to wear them--like Solomon.”
+
+“Do you mean that you are recommending it?”
+
+“Of course not. Only one woman couldn’t ever wear them all, could she?”
+
+“She might.” Again he was pleased by her lack of self-consciousness.
+What a joy she was after Adelaide.
+
+As if the name had brought her, a voice spoke from the door. “I
+wouldn’t let Waldron announce me, Ricky; may I come in?”
+
+She stopped as she saw Jane. “Oh, you’re not alone?”
+
+“This is Miss Barnes, Adelaide. I think you met her brother to-day at
+luncheon. Edith telephoned that you and Eloise had found her.”
+
+“That’s what I came about, to warn you. Eloise has the reporters on
+her trail. She’ll be over in a minute. But the harm will be done, I am
+afraid, before you can stop her.”
+
+“Oh, I’m resigned. Edith’s coming back to-night. Miss Barnes’ brother
+is bringing her.”
+
+“Really?” Adelaide Laramore was appraising Jane. A shabby child. From
+the threshold she had had a moment of jealousy. But the moment was
+past. Frederick was extremely fastidious. He adored beauty and this
+Barnes child was not beautiful.
+
+What Mrs. Laramore failed to see was that Jane’s beauty was of a
+very special kind. It was not standardized. It was not marcelled and
+cold-creamed, and rouged and powdered. But it had to do with lighted-up
+eyes, with youth and a free spirit. And it was these things in her
+which had attracted Frederick.
+
+Jane was unfastening the earrings. “Aren’t they heavenly, Mrs.
+Laramore?”
+
+“The sapphires?” Mrs. Laramore sat down on the couch. Her evening wrap
+slipped back, showing her white neck. Her fair hair was swept up from
+her forehead. She had a long face, with pink cheeks and pencilled
+eyebrows. She was like a portrait on porcelain, and she knew it, and
+emphasized the effect. “The sapphires? Yes. They’re the choice of the
+lot.”
+
+She went on to speak of Eloise. “She is simply hopeless. She has told
+the most hectic tales and all the papers have sent men out to the Inn.”
+
+
+“Well, they escaped. They started early and have been hung up at
+Alexandria.”
+
+“Eloise and Benny and the Captain dined with me. She was still
+telephoning when I left. I told her that I did not sanction it, and
+that I should come straight over and tell you. But she laughed and said
+she didn’t care. That she thought it was great fun and that you were a
+good sport.”
+
+“I shan’t see her,” shortly; “she ought to know better. Setting
+reporters on Edith like a pack of wolves.”
+
+“I told her how you would feel,” Adelaide reiterated.
+
+“I should see her if I were you, Mr. Towne,” said a crisp, young voice.
+
+Adelaide turned with a gasp. With her slippered feet crossed in front
+of her, Jane looked like a child. For the first time Mrs. Laramore got
+a good view of those candid gray eyes. They had a queer effect on her.
+Eyes like that were most uncommon. Fearless. The girl was not afraid of
+Frederick. She was not afraid of anyone.
+
+“Why should I see her?” Frederick demanded.
+
+“Won’t it just add to her sense of melodrama if you don’t? And why
+should you care? Your niece is coming home. And that’s the end of it.”
+
+“You mean,” Frederick demanded, “that I am to carry it off with an air?”
+
+Jane nodded. “Make comedy of it instead of tragedy.”
+
+Adelaide slipping out of her wrap was revealed as elegant and
+distinguished in silver and black.
+
+“May I have a cigarette, Ricky, to settle my nerves? Eloise is
+tremendously upsetting.” Adelaide was plaintive.
+
+Jane watched her with lively curiosity. The women she knew did not
+smoke. Baldy’s flappers did, but they were abnormal and of a new
+generation. Mrs. Laramore was old enough to be Jane’s mother, and Jane
+had a feeling ... that mothers ... shouldn’t smoke....
+
+But none the less, Adelaide Laramore and her exotic ways were amusing.
+She had a brittle and artificial look, like the Manchu lady in the
+Museum, or something in wax.
+
+Jane was brought back from her meditation by the riotous entrance of
+Eloise and the two men.
+
+“I knew Adelaide was telling tales.”
+
+“I told you I was coming, Eloise.”
+
+Eloise stared at Jane when Frederick presented her. “You look like your
+brother. Twins?”
+
+“No.” Jane decided that she liked Miss Harper better than she did Mrs.
+Laramore--which wasn’t saying--much....
+
+“The reporters are on their way to Alexandria--full cry.” Eloise all in
+emerald green, with her red hair in a classic coiffure, was like some
+radiant witch, exultant of evil. “You mustn’t scold me, Frederick. It
+was terribly exciting to tell them, and I adore excitement.”
+
+“They aren’t there.”
+
+“Where are they?”
+
+Frederick chanted composedly, “We three know ... but we will never
+tell....”
+
+“Adelaide will, when I get her alone.”
+
+“I will not.”
+
+“Then Miss Barnes will. Do you know how young you look, Miss Barnes? I
+feel as if you’d tell me anything for a stick of candy.”
+
+They roared at that. And Jane said, “Nobody ever made me do anything I
+didn’t want to do.”
+
+And now Benny and the Captain looked at her, and looked again. What a
+voice the child had, and eyes!
+
+Eloise, on the couch, hugged her knees and surveyed her gold slippers.
+“They are putting my picture in the paper and Adelaide’s. They saw one
+on my desk----”
+
+Mrs. Laramore cried out, “Benny, why did you let her do it?” and there
+was a great uproar--in which Eloise could be heard saying:
+
+“And they are going to have a picture of the Inn, and one of your
+brother if they can get it, Miss Barnes.”
+
+Jane began to feel uncomfortable. She was, she told herself, as much
+out of place as a pussy-cat in a Zoo. These women and these men
+reminded her somehow of the great sleek animals who snarled at each
+other in the Rock Creek cages. Frederick did not snarl. But she had a
+feeling he might if Eloise kept at him much longer.
+
+It was in the midst of the hubbub that Edith entered. She walked in
+among them as composedly as she had faced them at the Inn.
+
+“Hello,” she said, “you sound like a jazz band.” She went straight up
+to Frederick and kissed him. “I suppose Eloise is shouting the news
+to the world.” She tucked her hand in his arm. “There are more than a
+million reporters outside. Mr. Barnes is keeping them at bay.”
+
+“Where did they find you?”
+
+“Heard of us, I suppose, at the Alexandria hotel. We didn’t realize
+it until we reached here, and then they piled out and began to ask
+questions.”
+
+Frederick lifted her hand from his arm. “I’ll go and send them away.”
+
+Eloise jumped up. “I’ll go with you.”
+
+And then Frederick snarled, “Stay here.”
+
+But neither of them went, for Baldy entered, head cocked, eyes
+alight--Jane knew the signs.
+
+“They’ve gone,” he said. “I told you I’d get rid of them, Miss Towne.”
+
+He nodded to them all. Absolutely at his ease, lifted above them all
+by the exaltation of his mood. Finer, Jane told herself, than any of
+them--his beautiful youth against their world-weariness.
+
+Edith was smiling at Jane. “I knew you at once. You are like your
+brother.”
+
+They were alike. A striking pair as they stood together. “It is
+because of Mr. Barnes and his sister that we got in touch with Edith,”
+Frederick explained. He had regained his genial manner.
+
+“Oh, really.” Adelaide knew that she and her friends ought to go
+at once. Edith looked tired, and Eloise at moments like this was
+impossible. But she hated to leave anyone else in the field. “Can’t I
+give you a lift?” she asked Jane, sweetly, “you and your brother.”
+
+But it was Frederick who answered. “Miss Barnes lives at Sherwood Park.
+Briggs will take her out.”
+
+So Adelaide went away, and Eloise and the two men, and Edith turned to
+her uncle and said, “I’m sorry.”
+
+Her face was white and her eyes were shining, and all of a sudden she
+reached up her arms and put them about his neck and sobbed as if her
+heart would break.
+
+And then, and not until then, little Jane knew that Edith was not like
+one of the animals at the Zoo.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+JANE POURS TEA
+
+
+In Jane’s next letter to Judy she told her how the evening with the
+Townes had ended.
+
+  “Edith insisted that I should stay all night. She’s a perfect
+  darling, so absolutely and utterly exquisite, and yet so human. She
+  and her uncle simply can’t look at things from the same angle. And
+  they are both to blame. Anything sets them off,--you should have seen
+  them--like people in a play.
+
+  “I slept in the spare room--and well, I lay awake half the night
+  looking at it, and admiring myself in one of Edith’s nighties!
+  I never saw such underthings, Judy! For a princess! Her room is
+  all rose and silver and ivory, and the room I slept in is in pale
+  yellow--with a canopy to my bed of gold brocade.
+
+  “Edith and I had breakfast together. Everything brought up on a
+  tray and set in her little sitting-room, and we wore lace caps and
+  breakfast coats, and looked--superlative! Edith is the most beautiful
+  person--like one of the Viking women--with her hair in thick fair
+  braids. I told her that, and she laughed. ‘What a pair of poets you
+  are,’ she said, ‘you and your brother.’
+
+  “It was good to hear her laugh. She cried dreadfully the night
+  before. Coming back was hard for her--and then Mr. Towne got on her
+  nerves. They both wanted me to stay, and Baldy stayed, too, and I
+  know his head bumped the clouds. And this morning on his way to the
+  office, he bought a bunch of heliotrope for Edith and sent it up to
+  her.
+
+  “The trouble with Edith is that her life hasn’t been _real_, Judy.
+  Not in the way that your life and mine and Baldy’s is real. She has
+  never had any work to do, and nothing has ever depended upon her.
+  Think of it. There’s no reason why she can’t stay in bed all day
+  if she wants to. And she can gratify any mood of the moment. The
+  consequence is that half the time she is bored stiff. She says that
+  was the reason she became engaged to Delafield Simms. Anything for a
+  change.
+
+  “It looks as if she and I were going to be frightfully friendly. She
+  told me that she wants me for a friend. That Eloise Harper and her
+  kind are horrible to her after the things that have happened.
+
+  “To-morrow afternoon she and her uncle are coming out here to tea,
+  and I’m going to have the Follettes over. Mrs. Follette will love it.
+  But Evans won’t. He doesn’t like Mr. Towne.
+
+  “And now, my dearest-dear, I am worried about that hint in your last
+  letter that you are not well. Take care of yourself, and remember I
+  have only one precious sister, and the kiddies have only one mother.
+  We need you in our young lives, and you mustn’t work too hard.”
+
+When she had written the last line, Jane sat very still at her desk.
+She was thinking of Evans. She hadn’t seen him for three days. Not
+since the Sunday night she had gone to the Townes. That night in the
+fog had impressed her strangely. She had felt for Evans something that
+had nothing to do with admiration for him nor respect nor charm. His
+weakness had drawn her to him, as a mother might be drawn to a child.
+His struggle was, she felt, something which she must share. Not as his
+wife! No.... That kind of love was different. If only he would let her
+be his little sister, Jane.
+
+He had not even called her up. When she had invited him and his mother
+to tea with the Townes, Mrs. Follette had answered, and had accepted
+for both of them. Evans, she said, was in Washington, and would be out
+on the late train.
+
+When he arrived ahead of the others on the afternoon of her tea, Jane
+said, “Where have you been? Do you know it has been four days since
+we’ve seen each other?”
+
+“Weren’t you glad to get rid of me? I’ve thought of you every minute.”
+He dropped into a seat beside her.
+
+She was gazing at him with lively curiosity. “How nice you look.”
+
+“New suit. Like it?”
+
+“Yes. And you act as if somebody had left you a million dollars.”
+
+“Wish he had. I bought this outfit with a first edition ‘Alice in
+Wonderland,’” he laughed and explained. “I’ve been getting rid of some
+of our rare books. I feel plutocratic in consequence. Five hundred
+dollars, if you please, for that old Hogarth, with the scathing Ruskin
+inscription. And I’m going to open an office, Jane.”
+
+“In Washington?”
+
+“On Connecticut Avenue. Same building, same room, where I started.”
+
+“Evans, how splendid!”
+
+“Yes. You did it, Jane.”
+
+“I? How?”
+
+“The night of the fog. I never realized before what a walking-stick
+I’ve been--leaning on you. Henceforth you’re the Lady of the Lantern.
+It won’t be so fatiguing.”
+
+He was smiling at her, and she smiled back. Yet quite strangely and
+inconsistently, she felt as if in changing his attitude towards her, he
+had robbed her of some privilege. “I didn’t mind being a walking-stick.”
+
+“Well, I minded. After this I’ll walk alone. And I’m going to work
+hard, and play around a bit. Will you have tea with me to-morrow, Jane?
+At the Willard? To celebrate my first tottering steps.”
+
+She agreed, eagerly. “It will be like old times.”
+
+“Minus a lot, old lady.”
+
+That was the way he had talked to her years ago. The plaintive note was
+gone.
+
+“Take the three-thirty train and I’ll meet you. I’ll pay for the taxi
+with what’s left of ‘Alice.’”
+
+“Don’t be too extravagant.”
+
+“Nothing is too good for you, Jane. I can’t say it as I want to say
+it, but you’ll never know what you seemed to me on Sunday as you came
+through the mist.”
+
+His voice shook a little, but he recovered himself in a moment. “Here
+come the Townes.” He rose as Edith entered with young Baldwin.
+
+After that Evans followed Baldy’s lead as a dispenser of hospitality.
+The two of them passed cups, passed thin bread and butter, passed
+little cakes, passed lemon and cream and sugar, flung conversational
+balls as light as feathers into the air, were, as Baldy would have
+expressed it, “the life of the party.”
+
+“Something must have gone to Casabianca’s head,” Frederick Towne
+remarked to Jane. “Have you ever seen him like this?”
+
+“Years ago. He was tremendously attractive.”
+
+“Do you find him attractive now?” with a touch of annoyance.
+
+“I find him--wonderful”--her tone was defiant--“and I’ve known him all
+my life.”
+
+“If you had known me all your life would you call me wonderful?”
+
+She looked at him from behind her battlements of silver. “How do I
+know? People have to prove themselves.”
+
+Dr. Hallam had driven Mrs. Follette over. He rarely did social stunts,
+but he liked Jane. And he had been interested enough in Evans to want
+to glimpse him in his new rôle.
+
+Strolling up to the tea-table, he was aware at once of a situation
+which might make for comedy, or indeed for tragedy. It was evident that
+Towne was much attracted to little Jane Barnes. If Jane reciprocated,
+what of young Follette?
+
+Hallam knew Towne, and himself a bachelor of quite another type,
+without vanity where women were concerned, he had a feeling of contempt
+for a man whose reputation was linked with a long line of much-talked
+about ladies. And now little Jane was the reigning queen. He didn’t
+like the idea of her youth, and Towne’s late forties.
+
+“I saw Mrs. Laramore yesterday,” he said, abruptly, “lovely as ever----”
+
+“Yes, of course.” Towne wished that Hallam wouldn’t talk about
+Adelaide. He wished that all of the others would go away and leave him
+alone with Jane.
+
+“Mrs. Laramore,” said Jane unexpectedly, “makes me think of the lady
+of Shallott. I don’t know why. But I do. I have really never seen such
+a beautiful woman. But she doesn’t seem real. I have a feeling that if
+anything hit her, she’d break like china.”
+
+They laughed at her, and Edith said, “Adelaide will never break. She’ll
+melt. She’s as soft as wax.” Then pigeonholing Mrs. Laramore for more
+vital matters. “Uncle Fred, I am going out to Baldy’s studio; he’s
+painting Jane.”
+
+Frederick was at once interested. “Her portrait?”
+
+“No. A sketch for a magazine competition,” Baldy explained.
+
+“May I see it?”
+
+Baldy, yearning for solitude and Edith, gave reluctant consent. “Come
+on, everybody.”
+
+So everybody, including Dr. Hallam and Mrs. Follette, made their way to
+the garage.
+
+Edith and young Baldwin arrived first. “And this is where you work,”
+she said, softly.
+
+“Yes. Look here, will you sit here so that I can feast my eyes on you?
+I’ve dreamed of you in that chair--in classic costume. Do you know that
+you were made for a goddess?”
+
+“I know that you are a romantic boy.”
+
+Yet as she sat in the garden seat which he had transformed into a
+throne for her by throwing a rug over it and setting it up above the
+others on a small platform, she sighed a little.
+
+Here in this small room he spent his spare moments. He looked out
+through that small square window on the rains and snow, and the young
+green of the spring--and he tried to paint his dreams, yet was held
+back because he was chained to the galley of a Government job. And if
+he was not chained, what might he not do? If someone waved a wand and
+set him free? And if the someone who waved a wand loved him? Inspired
+him? Might he not give to the world some day a masterpiece? Well, why
+not? She found herself thrilling with the thought. To be a torch and
+light the way!
+
+“How old are you?” she asked him.
+
+“Twenty-five.”
+
+“I don’t believe it. I’m twenty-two, and I feel a thousand years older
+than you.”
+
+“You will always be--ageless.”
+
+She laughed. “How old is Jane?”
+
+“Twenty. Yet people take us for twins.”
+
+“She doesn’t look it and neither do you.”
+
+The others came in and Edith went back to her thoughts. He wasn’t too
+young. She was glad of that....
+
+The sketch of Jane was on an easel. There she stood, a slender figure
+in her lilac frock--bobbed black hair, lighted-up eyes--the lifted
+basket with its burden of gold and purple and green!
+
+Towne stood back and looked at it. Jane at his side said, “That’s some
+of the fruit you sent.”
+
+“Really?” Frederick had no eyes for anything but Jane, in her lilac
+frock. Jove, but the boy had caught the spirit of her!
+
+He turned to Baldy. “It is most unusual. And I want it.”
+
+“Sorry,” said Baldy, crisply. “I am sending it off to-morrow.”
+
+“How much is the prize?”
+
+“Two thousand dollars.”
+
+“I will write a check for that amount if you will let me have this.”
+
+“I am afraid I can’t, Mr. Towne.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Well, I feel this way about it. It isn’t worth two thousand dollars.
+But if I win the prize it may be worth that to the magazine--the
+advertising and all that.”
+
+“Isn’t that splitting hairs?”
+
+“Perhaps, but it’s the way I feel.”
+
+“But if you don’t win the prize you won’t have anything.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“And you’ll be out two thousand dollars.” The lion in the Zoo was
+snarling.
+
+And above him, breathing an upper air, was this young eagle. “I’ll be
+glad to give the sketch to you if it comes back,” said Baldy, coolly,
+“but I rather think it will stick.”
+
+It was, in a way, a dreadful moment for Towne. There was young Baldwin
+sitting on the edge of the table, swinging a leg, debonair, defiant.
+And Edith laughing in her sleeve. Frederick knew that she was laughing.
+He was as red as a turkey cock.
+
+It was Jane who saved him from apoplexy. She was really inordinately
+proud of Baldy, but she knew the dangers of his mood. And she had her
+duties as hostess.
+
+“Baldy wants to see himself on the news stands,” she said, soothingly;
+“don’t deprive him of that pleasure, Mr. Towne.”
+
+“Nothing of the kind, Jane,” exclaimed her brother.
+
+“Baldy, I won’t quarrel with you before people. We must reserve that
+pleasure until we are alone.”
+
+“I’m not quarrelling.”
+
+Jane held up a protesting hand. “Oh, let’s run away from him, Mr.
+Towne. When he begins like that, there’s no end to it.”
+
+She carried Frederick back to the house, and Evans, looking after them,
+said vindictively to Hallam, “Old Midas got his that time.”
+
+Dr. Hallam chuckled. “You don’t hate him, do you? Evans, don’t let him
+have Jane. He isn’t worth it.”
+
+“Neither am I,” said Evans. “But I would know better how to make her
+happy.”
+
+Back once more in the bright little living-room, Towne said to Jane,
+“May I have another cup of tea?”
+
+“It’s cold.”
+
+“I don’t care. I like to see you pour it with your lovely hands.”
+
+She spread her hands out on the shining mahogany of the tea-table. “Are
+they lovely? Nobody ever told me.”
+
+His hand went over hers. “The loveliest in the world.”
+
+She sat there in a moment’s breathless silence. Then she drew her
+hands away. Touched a little bell. “I’ll have Sophy bring us some hot
+water.”
+
+Sophy came and went. Jane poured hot tea with flushed cheeks.
+
+He took the cup when she handed it to him. “Dear child, you’re not
+offended?”
+
+“I’m not a child, Mr. Towne.” Her lashes were lowered, her cheeks
+flushed.
+
+He put his cup down and leaned towards her. “You are more than a child
+to me--a beloved woman. Jane, you needn’t be afraid of me.... I want
+you for my wife!”
+
+Her astonished eyes met his. “But we haven’t known each other a week.”
+
+“I couldn’t love you more if I had known you a thousand years.”
+
+“Mr. Towne--please.” He was very close to her.
+
+“Kiss me, Jane.”
+
+She held her slender figure away from him. “You must not.”
+
+“I must.”
+
+“No, really.... Please,” she was breathing quickly. “Please.” She was
+on her feet, the tea-table between them.
+
+He saw his mistake. “Forgive me.”
+
+Her candid eyes met his. “Mr. Towne, would you have acted like this ...
+with Edith’s friends?”
+
+Edith’s friends! The child’s innocence! Adelaide’s kisses went for a
+song. Eloise frankly offered hers. Edith was saved by only some inner
+grace.
+
+“Jane, they are not worth your little finger. I put you above all. On a
+pedestal. Honestly. And I want you to marry me.”
+
+“But I don’t love you.”
+
+“I’ll make you. I have everything to give you.”
+
+Had he? What of Robin Hood and Galahad? What of youth and youth’s
+audacity, high resolves, flaming dreams?
+
+She felt something of this subconsciously. But she would not have been
+a feminine creature had she not felt the flattery of his pursuit.
+
+“Jane, I’ll make life a fairy tale. We’ll travel everywhere. Sail
+strange seas. Wouldn’t you love it--all those countries you have never
+seen--and just the two of us? And all the places you have read about?
+And when we come home I’ll build you a house--wherever you say--with a
+great garden.”
+
+He was eloquent, and the things he promised were woven into the woof of
+all her girlish imaginings.
+
+“I ought not to listen,” she said, tremulously.
+
+But he knew that she had listened. He was wise enough to leave
+it--there.
+
+He rose as he heard the others coming back. “Will you ride with me
+to-morrow afternoon? Don’t be afraid of me. I’ll promise to be good.”
+
+“Sorry. I’m to have tea in town with Evans.”
+
+“Can’t you break the engagement?”
+
+“I don’t break engagements.” The cock of her head was like Baldy’s.
+
+“Oh, you don’t. Some day you’ll be breaking them for me.” But he liked
+her independence. It promised much that would be stimulating. And he
+would always be the Conqueror. He liked to think that he would be--the
+Conqueror.
+
+So he went away secure in the thought of Jane’s final surrender. There
+was everything in it for her, and the child must see it. Her hesitation
+was natural. She couldn’t, of course, come at the first crook of his
+finger. But she would come.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+A TELEGRAM
+
+
+“Janey----!”
+
+“Yes, Baldy.” Jane sat up in bed, dreams still in her eyes. She
+had been late in getting to sleep. There had been so much to think
+of--Frederick Towne’s proposal--the startling change in Evans----
+
+“It’s a telegram. Open the door, dear.”
+
+She caught up her dressing-gown and wrapped it around her. “A
+telegram?” She was with him now in the hall. “Baldy, is it Judy?”
+
+“Yes. She’s ill. Asks if you can come on and look after the kiddies.”
+
+“Of course.” She swayed a little. “Hold on to me a minute, Baldy. It
+takes my breath away.”
+
+“You mustn’t be scared, old girl.”
+
+“I’ll be all right in ... a minute....”
+
+His arms were tight about her. “It seems as if I should go, too, Janey.”
+
+“But you can’t. I’ll get things ready and ride in with you in the
+morning. I’ll pack my trunk if you’ll bring it down from the attic. I
+can sleep on the train to-morrow.”
+
+And when he had brought it she made him go back to bed. The house was
+very still. Merrymaid, waked by the unusual excitement, came up-stairs
+and sat, round-eyed, by Jane, watching her fold her scant wardrobe and
+purring a song of consolation. Jane found time now and then to stop and
+smooth the sleek head, and once she picked Merrymaid up in her arms,
+and the tears dripped on the old cat’s fur.
+
+Philomel sang very early the next morning. It was Baldy who made the
+coffee, and who telephoned Sophy and the Follettes. Mrs. Follette
+insisted that Baldy should stay at Castle Manor in Jane’s absence. “It
+will do Evans good, and we’d love to have him.”
+
+So that was settled. And Evans came over while the young people were
+breakfasting.
+
+“Don’t worry about anything,” he said. “Baldy and I will look after the
+chickens--and take the little cats over to Castle Manor. I’ll wrap them
+all in cotton wool rather than have anything happen to them. So don’t
+worry.”
+
+The thing she worried about was Judy. “She told me in one of her
+letters that she wasn’t well.”
+
+Baldy went to bring his car around, and Evans stood with his hand on
+the back of Jane’s chair, looking down at her. “You’ll write to me,
+Jane?”
+
+“Oh, of course.”
+
+He shifted his hand from the chair back to her shoulder. “Dear little
+girl, if my blundering prayers will help you any--you’ll have them.”
+
+She turned in her chair and looked up at him. She could not speak.
+Their eyes met, and once more Jane had that breathless sense of
+fluttering wings within her that lifted to the sun.
+
+Then Baldy was back, and the bags were ready, and there was just that
+last hand-clasp. “God bless you, Jane....”
+
+Frederick Towne was at the train. He had been dismayed at the
+news of Jane’s departure. “Do you mean that you are going to stay
+indefinitely?” he had asked over the wire.
+
+“I shall stay as long as Judy needs me.”
+
+Frederick had flowers for her, books and a big box of sweets. People in
+the Pullman stared at Jane in the midst of all her magnificence. They
+stared too, at Towne, and at Briggs, who rushed in at the last moment
+with more books from Brentano.
+
+Edith and Baldy were on the platform. Edith had come down with Towne.
+So Frederick, alone with Jane, said, “I want you to think of the things
+we talked about yesterday----”
+
+“Please, not now. Oh, I’m afraid----”
+
+“Of me? You mustn’t be.”
+
+“Not of you--of everything--Life.”
+
+He took her hand and held it. “Is there anything else I can do for you?
+Everything I have is--yours, you know--if you want it.”
+
+He had to leave her then, with a final close clasp of the hand. She saw
+him presently standing beside Baldy on the station platform--the center
+of the eyes of everybody--the great Frederick Towne!
+
+As the city slipped away and she leaned her head against the cushions
+and looked out at the flying fields--it seemed a stupendous thing that
+a man like Towne should have laid his fortune at her feet. Yet she had
+no sense of exhilaration. She liked the things he had to offer--yearned
+for them--but she did not want him at her side.
+
+In her sorrow her heart turned to the boy who had stumbled over the
+words, “If my blundering prayers will help you----”
+
+She found herself sobbing--the first tears she had shed since the
+arrival of the telegram.
+
+When she reached Chicago, her brother-in-law, Bob Heming, met her.
+“Judy’s holding her own,” he said, as he kissed her. “It was no end
+good of you to come, Janey.”
+
+“Have you a nurse?”
+
+“Two. Day nurse and night nurse. And a maid. Judy is nearly frantic
+about the expense. It isn’t good for her, either, to worry. That’s half
+the trouble. I tried to make her get help, but she wouldn’t. But I
+blame myself that I didn’t insist.”
+
+“Don’t blame yourself, Bob. Judy wouldn’t. She told me she could get
+along. And when Judy decides a thing, no one can change her.”
+
+“Well, times have been hard. And business bad. And Judy knew it. She’s
+such a good sport.”
+
+They were in a taxi, so when tears came into Heming’s eyes, he made no
+effort to conceal them.
+
+“I’m just about all in. You can’t understand how much it means to me to
+have you here.”
+
+“And now that I am here,” said Jane, with a gallantry born of his need
+of her, “things are going to be better.”
+
+The apartment was simply furnished and bore the stamp of Judy’s good
+taste. A friend had taken the children out to ride, so the rooms were
+very quiet as Jane went through them.
+
+Judy in bed was white and thin, and Jane wanted to weep over her, but
+she didn’t. “You blessed old girl,” she said, “you’re going to get well
+right away.”
+
+“The doctor thinks I may have to have an operation. That’s why I felt
+I must wire you.” Judy was anxious. “I couldn’t leave the babies with
+strangers. And it was so important that Bob should be at his work.”
+
+“Of course,” said Jane; “do you think anything would have made me stay
+away?”
+
+Judy gave a quick sigh of relief. How heavenly to have Janey! And what
+a dear she was with her air of conquering the world. Jane had always
+been like that--with that conquering air. It cheered one just to look
+at her.
+
+The babies, arriving presently in a rollicking state of excitement over
+the advent of Auntie Jane, showed themselves delightful and adoring.
+
+“Junior,” said Jane, “are you glad I’m here?”
+
+“Did you bring me anything?”
+
+“Something--wonderful----”
+
+“What?”
+
+She opened her bag, and produced Towne’s box of sweets. “May I give him
+a chocolate, Judy?”
+
+“One little one, and just a taste for baby. Jane, where did you get
+that gorgeous box?”
+
+“Frederick Towne.”
+
+“Really? My dear, your letters have been tremendously interesting.
+Haven’t they, Bob?”
+
+Her husband nodded. He was sitting by the bedside holding her hand.
+“Towne’s a pretty big man.”
+
+In a moment of vaingloriousness, Jane wanted to say to them, “What do
+you think of your ugly duckling? Mr. Towne wants her to be his wife.”
+But of course she didn’t. Not before Bob. She’d tell Judy, later, of
+course.
+
+The nurse came in then, and Jane went with Bob and the babies to the
+dining-room.
+
+Junior over his bread and milk was frankly critical. “I didn’t think
+you’d be so old. Mother said you’d play with me.”
+
+“I can play splendid games, Junior.”
+
+“Can you? What kind?”
+
+“Well, there’s one about a pussy-cat. And I’m the big cat and you’re
+the little cat--and my name is Merrymaid.”
+
+“What is the little cat’s name?”
+
+“We’ll have to find one. We can’t just call him Kitty, can we?”
+
+“Yes, we can. My name’s Kitty, and your name is Merrymaid, and--what do
+we do, Aunt Janey?”
+
+“We drink milk,” promptly.
+
+“An’ what else?”
+
+“We play with balls--I’ll show you after dinner.”
+
+“I want you to show me now.”
+
+His father interposed. “Aunt Janey’s tired. Wait till she’s had her
+dinner.”
+
+Junior drank his milk thoughtfully. “I’m a kitty--and you’re a cat. Why
+don’t you drink milk, too, Aunt Janey?”
+
+Jane smiled at Bob. “Do I have to answer all his questions?”
+
+“Whether you do or not, he’ll keep on asking.”
+
+But after dinner, Junior went to sleep in Jane’s arms, having been
+regaled on a rapturous diet of “The Three Bears” and “The Little Red
+Hen.”
+
+“They’re such beauties, Judy,” said Jane, as she went back to her
+sister. “But they don’t look like any of the Barnes.”
+
+“No, they’re like Bob, with their white skins and fair hair. I wanted
+one of them to have our coloring. Do you know how particularly lovely
+you are getting to be, Janey?”
+
+“Judy, I’m not.”
+
+“Yes, you are. And none of us thought it. And so Mr. Towne wants to
+marry you?”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“It is in your eyes, dear, and in the cock of your head. You and Baldy
+always look that way when something thrilling happens to you. You can’t
+fool me.”
+
+“Well, I’m not in love with him. So that’s that, Judy.”
+
+“But--it’s a great opportunity, isn’t it, Jane?”
+
+“I suppose it is,” slowly, “but I can’t quite see it.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Well, he’s too old for one thing.”
+
+“Only forty----? Rich men don’t grow old. And he could give you
+everything--everything, Janey.” Judy’s voice rose a little. “Jane, you
+don’t know what it means to want things for those you love and not
+be able to have them. Bob did very well until the slump in business.
+But since the babies came--I have worked until--well, until it seemed
+as if I couldn’t stand it. Bob’s such a darling. I wouldn’t change
+_anything_. I’d marry him over again to-morrow. But I do know this,
+that Frederick Towne could make life lovely for you, and perhaps you
+won’t get another chance to marry a man like that.”
+
+“Oh, don’t--don’t.” It seemed dreadful to Jane to have Judy talk that
+way, as if life had in some way failed her. Life mustn’t fail, and it
+wouldn’t if one had courage. Judy was sick, and things didn’t look
+straight.
+
+“See here, old dear,” Jane said, “go to sleep and stop thinking about
+how to make ends meet. That’s my job, and I’ll do it.”
+
+And Judy slipping away into refreshing slumber had that vision before
+her of Jane’s young strength--of Jane’s gay young voice like the sound
+of silver trumpets....
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+EVANS PLAYS THE GAME
+
+
+Life for Evans Follette after Jane went away became a sort of game in
+which he played, as he told himself grimly, a Jekyll and Hyde part. Two
+men warred constantly within him. There was that scarecrow self which
+nursed mysterious fears, a gaunt gray-haired self, The Man Who Had Come
+Back From the War. And there was that other, shadowy, elusive, The Boy
+Who Once Had Been. And it was the Boy who took on gradually shape and
+substance fighting for place with the dark giant who held desperately
+to his own.
+
+Yet the Boy had weapons, faith and hope. The little diary became in a
+sense a sacred book. Within its pages was imprisoned something that
+beat with frantic wings to be free. Evans, shrinking from the program
+which he compelled himself to follow, was faced with things like
+this. “Gee, I wish the days were longer. I’d like to dance through
+forty-eight hours at a stretch. Jane is getting to be some little
+dancer. I taught her the new steps to-night. She’s as graceful as a
+willow wand.”
+
+Well, a man with a limp couldn’t dance. Or could he?
+
+A Thomas Jefferson autograph went therefore to pay for twenty dancing
+lessons. Would the great Democrat turn in his grave? Yet what were ink
+scratches made by a dead hand as against all the meanings of love and
+life?
+
+Evans bought a phonograph, and new records. He practised at all hours,
+to the great edification of old Mary, who washed dishes and scrubbed
+floors in syncopated ecstasies.
+
+He took Baldy and Edith to tea at the big hotels, and danced with
+Edith. He apologized, but kept at it. “I’m out of practice.”
+
+Edith was sympathetic and interested. She invited the two boys to her
+home, where there was a music room with a magical floor. Sometimes the
+three of them were alone, and sometimes Towne came in and danced too,
+and Adelaide Laramore and Eloise Harper.
+
+Towne danced extremely well. In spite of his avoirdupois he was light
+on his feet. He exercised constantly. He felt that if he lost his waist
+line all would be over. He could not, however, always control his
+appetite. Hence the sugar in his tea, and other indulgences.
+
+Baldy wrote to Jane of their afternoon frivols.
+
+  “You should see us! Eloise Harper dancing with Evans, and old Towne
+  and his Adelaide! And Edith and I! We’re a pretty pair, if I do say
+  it. We miss you, and always wish you were with us. Sometimes it seems
+  almost heartless to do things that you can’t share. But it’s doing
+  a lot for Evans. Queer thing, the poor old chap goes at it as if his
+  life depended upon it.
+
+  “We are invited to dine with the Townes on Christmas Eve. Some class,
+  what? By we, I mean myself and the Follettes. Edith and Mrs. Follette
+  see a lot of each other, and Mrs. Follette is tickled pink! You know
+  how she loves that sort of thing--Society with a big S.
+
+  “There will be just our crowd and Mrs. Laramore for dinner, and after
+  that a big costume ball.
+
+  “I shall go as a page in red. And Evans will be a monk and sing
+  Christmas carols. Edith Towne is crazy about his voice. He sat down
+  at the piano one day in the music room, and she heard him. Jane, his
+  voice is wonderful--it always was, you know, but we haven’t heard it
+  lately. Poor old chap--he seems to be picking up. Edith says it makes
+  her want to cry to see him, but she’s helping all she can.
+
+  “Oh, she’s a dear and a darling, Janey. And I don’t know what I am
+  going to do about it. I have nothing to offer her. But at least I can
+  worship ... I shan’t look beyond that....
+
+  “And now, little old thing, take care of yourself, and don’t think
+  we’re playing around and forgetting you, for we’re not. Even
+  Merrymaid and the kit-cat look pensive when your name is mentioned.
+  They share the library hearth with Rusty. The old fellow is on his
+  feet now, not much the worse for his accident.
+
+  “Love to Judy and Bob, and the kiddies. And a kiss or two for my own
+  Janey.”
+
+Jane, having read the letter, laid it down with a sense of utter
+forlornness. Evans and Eloise Harper! Towne and his Adelaide! A
+Christmas costume ball! Evans singing for Edith Towne!
+
+Evans’ own letters told her little. They were dear letters, giving
+her news of Sherwood, full of kindness and sympathy, full indeed of a
+certain spiritual strength--that helped her in the heavy days. But he
+had sketched very lightly his own activities.--He had perhaps hesitated
+to let her know that he could be happy without her.
+
+But Evans was not happy. He did the things he had mapped out for
+himself, but he could not do them light-heartedly as the Boy had done.
+For how could he be light-hearted with Jane away? He had moments of
+loneliness so intense that they almost submerged him. He came therefore
+upon one entry in his diary with eagerness.
+
+“Had a day with the Boy Scouts. Hiked up through Montgomery County.
+Caught some little shiners in the creek and cooked them. Grapes thick
+in the Glen. The boys were like small Bacchuses, and draped themselves
+in fruit and leaves. They are fine fellows. I have no patience with
+people who look upon boys as nothing but small animals. Why their
+dreams! And shy about them! Now and then they open their hearts to
+me--and I can see the fineness that’s under the outer crust. They lie
+under the trees with me, and we talk as we follow the road.”
+
+Boys----! That was it! He’d get in touch with them again. And he did.
+There were two, Sandy Stoddard and Arthur Lane, who came over and sat
+by the library fire with Rusty and the two cats, and popped corn, and
+wanted to hear about the war.
+
+At first when they spoke of it, Evans would not talk--but a moment
+arrived when he found flaming words to show them how he felt about it.
+
+“I know a lot of fellows,” said Sandy Stoddard, “who say that America
+wouldn’t have gone into it if she’d known a lot of things. And that
+most of the men who came back feel that they were just--fooled----”
+
+“If they feel that way, they are fools themselves,” said Evans, shortly.
+
+“Well, they’re all throwing bricks at us now,” said Sandy. “France and
+Great Britain, and the rest of them. When you read the papers you feel
+as if America was pretty punk----”
+
+“Sandy,” said Evans, slowly, reaching for the right words because this
+boy must know the truth--“America is never punk. We’re human, like the
+rest of the world. We’re selfish like everybody else. But we’re kind.
+And most of us still believe in God. I’ve gone through a lot,” he was
+flushed with the sense of the intimacy of his confession; “you boys
+can’t ever know what I’ve gone through unless you go through it some
+day yourselves. But every night I thank God on my knees that I was a
+part of a crusade that believed it was fighting for the right. Those of
+us who went in with that idea came out of it with that idea. That’s all
+I can say about it--and I’d do it again.”
+
+As he stood there on the hearth-rug, the boys gazed at him with awe in
+their eyes. They knew patriotic passion when they saw it, and here in
+this broken man was a dignity which seemed to make him a tower above
+them. They felt for the moment as if his head touched the stars.
+
+“Don’t misunderstand me,” Evans continued; “war is hell. And most of
+us found horrors worse than any dreadful dream. But we learned one
+thing, that death isn’t awful. It is kind and beneficent. And there’s
+something beyond.”
+
+“Gee,” said Sandy Stoddard, “I’m glad you said that.”
+
+But Arthur Lane did not speak. He saw Evans through a haze of
+hero-worship. He saw him, too, with a halo of martyrdom. The glass
+of the photograph on the mantel had been mended. There was the young
+soldier handsome and brave in his uniform. And here was his ghost--come
+back to say that it was all--worth while....
+
+Association with these boys cleared up many things for Evans. They had
+ideals which must not be shattered. Not to their young eagerness must
+be brought the pessimism of a disordered mind--and tortured soul. They
+must have the truth. And the truth was this. That men who had laid down
+their lives to save others had seen an unforgetful vision. He wondered
+how many of his comrades, even now, in the cynicism of after-war
+propaganda would sacrifice the memory of that high moment....
+
+Besides the boys, Evans had another friend. He played a whimsical game
+with the scarecrow. He went often and leaned over the fence that shut
+in the frozen field. He hunted up new clothes and hung them on the
+shaking figure--an overcoat and a soft hat. It seemed a charitable
+thing to clothe him with warmth. In due time someone stole the
+overcoat, and Evans found the poor thing stripped. It gave him a sense
+of shock to find two crossed sticks where once had been the semblance
+of a man. But he tried again. This time with an old bathrobe and a
+disreputable cap. “It will keep you warm until spring, old chap....”
+
+The scarecrow and his sartorial changes became a matter of much
+discussion among the negroes. Since Evans’ visits were nocturnal, the
+whole thing had an effect of mystery until the bathrobe proclaimed
+its owner. “Mist’ Evans done woh’ dat e’vy day,” old Mary told Mrs.
+Follette. “Whuffor he dress up dat ol’ sca’crow in de fiel’?”
+
+“What scarecrow?”
+
+Old Mary explained, and that night Mrs. Follette said to her son, “The
+darkies are getting superstitions. Did you really do it?”
+
+His somber eyes were lighted for a moment. “It’s just a whim of mine,
+Mumsie. I had a sort of fellow feeling----”
+
+“How queer!”
+
+“Not as queer as you might think.” He went back to his book. No one but
+Jane should know the truth.
+
+And so he played the game. Working in his office, dancing with Edith
+and Baldy, chumming with the boys, dressing up the scarecrow. It seemed
+sometimes a desperate game--there were hours in which he wrestled with
+doubts. Could he ever get back? Could he? There were times when it
+seemed he could not. There were nights when he did not sleep. Hours
+that he spent on his knees....
+
+So the December days sped, and it was just a week before Christmas that
+Evans read the following in his little book. “Dined with the Prestons.
+Told father’s ham story.--Great hit. Potomac frozen over. Skated in the
+moonlight with Florence Preston.--Great stunt--home to hot chocolate.”
+
+Once more the Potomac was frozen over. Florence Preston was married.
+But he mustn’t let the thing pass. The young boy Evans would have
+tingled with the thought of that frozen river.
+
+It was after dinner, and Evans was in his room. He hunted up Baldy.
+“Look here, old chap, there’s skating on the river. Can’t we take Sandy
+and Arthur with us and have an hour or two of it? Your car will do the
+trick.”
+
+Baldy laid down his book. “I have no philanthropies on a night like
+this. Moonlight. I’ll take you and the boys and then I’ll go and get
+Edith Towne.” He was on his feet. “I’ll call her up now----”
+
+The small boys were rapturous and riotous over the plan. When they
+reached the ice, and Evans’ lame leg threatened to be a hindrance,
+the youngsters took him between them, and away they sailed in the
+miraculous world--three musketeers of good fellowship and fun.
+
+Baldy having brought Edith, put on her skates, and they flew away like
+birds. She was all in warm white wool--with white furs, and Baldy wore
+a white sweater and cap. The silver of the night seemed to clothe them
+in shining armor.
+
+Baldy said things to her that made her pulses beat. She found herself a
+little frightened.
+
+“You’re such a darling poet. But life isn’t in the least what you think
+it.”
+
+“What do I think it?”
+
+“Oh, all mountains and peaks and moonlight nights.”
+
+“Well, it can be----”
+
+“Dear child, it can’t. I have no illusions.”
+
+“You think you haven’t.”
+
+It was late when at last they took off their skates and Edith invited
+them all to go home with her. “We’ll have something hot. I’m as hungry
+as a dozen bears.”
+
+The boys giggled. “So am I,” said Sandy Stoddard. But Arthur said
+nothing. His eyes were occupied to the exclusion of his tongue. Edith
+looked to him like some angel straight from heaven. He had never seen
+anyone so particularly lovely.
+
+So, packed in Baldy’s Ford, they made the journey. The two small boys
+had an Arabian Nights’ feeling as they were led through the great hall
+with its balconies, thence to the huge kitchen.
+
+The servants had gone to bed, all except Waldron--who led the way, and
+offered his services.
+
+“No, we’ll do it ourselves, Waldron,” Miss Towne told him. “Is Uncle
+Fred in?”
+
+“No, Miss Towne.”
+
+“Well, if he comes, tell him where we are.”
+
+“Very good, Miss Towne,” and Waldron backed out impressively, the round
+eyes of the little boys upon him.
+
+Edith gave them the freedom of the amazing refrigerator, which was
+white as milk and as big as a house, and they brought forth with some
+hesitation viands which seemed as unreal as the rest of it--cold
+roast chickens with white frills on their legs, a plate of salad with
+patterns on top of it in red peppers and little green buttons which
+Evans said were capers--the remains of a glorified sort of Charlotte
+Russe--a castellated affair with candied fruits.
+
+“Do they eat things like this every day?” Sandy asked Evans, with
+something like awe, “or am I dreamin’?”
+
+Evans nodded. “Some feast, isn’t it, old chap?” He was warmed by the
+radiance of the freckled boyish face.
+
+Arthur Lane, always less talkative, had little to say. He was steeping
+himself in atmosphere. He had never been in a house like this. The
+kitchen with its panelled ceiling, its white enamel, its gleaming
+nickel, its firm, white painted furniture--its white and brown tiling.
+It was all as utterly fascinating as the things he read about in the
+fairy books.
+
+“Now the kitchen,” he said at last to Towne, “what’s it so big for?
+Ain’t there only three of them in the family?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, there are six of us at home, and you could put four of our
+kitchens into this. And that refrigerator--it’s so big you could live
+in it. You know, Mr. Follette, it’s bigger than our scout tents.”
+
+“Yes, it is,” Evans smiled at him. “Well, when people have so much
+money, they think they need things.”
+
+“I’d like it.” The boy was eager. “Wouldn’t you?”
+
+“I’m not sure.”
+
+“Gee--well, I am----” and young Arthur went over to thrash it out with
+Sandy.
+
+Evans, left to himself, wondered. Did he want money? A great fortune?
+With Jane? The huge silent house with all its servants? Jane, herself,
+trailing up the stairs in all the dazzling draperies imposed upon her
+by fashionable modistes? Jane, miles away from him at the end of that
+massive table in the great dining-room?
+
+Were these his dreams? For Jane?
+
+He knew they were not. When he thought of her, he thought of a little
+house. Of a living-room where a fire burned bright whose windows looked
+upon a little garden--crocuses and hyacinths in the spring, roses in
+June, snow in winter, with all the birds coming up for Jane to feed
+them. A library with books to the ceiling, and himself reading to
+Jane. A kitchen, a shining place, with a crisp maid to save Jane from
+drudgery. Two crisp maids, perhaps, some day, if there were kiddies.
+
+He asked no more than that. Why, it was all the world for a man....
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE COSTUME BALL
+
+
+So Christmas Eve came, and the costume ball at the Townes’. There were,
+as Baldy had told Jane, just six of them at dinner. Cousin Annabel was
+still in bed, and it was Adelaide Laramore who made the sixth. Edith
+had told Mrs. Follette frankly that she wished Adelaide had not been
+asked.
+
+“But she fished for it. She always does. She flatters Uncle Fred and he
+falls for it.”
+
+Baldy brought Evans and Mrs. Follette in his little Ford. They found
+Mrs. Laramore and Frederick already in the drawing-room. Edith had not
+come down.
+
+“She is always late,” Frederick complained, “and she never apologizes.”
+
+Baldy, silken and slim, in his page’s scarlet, stood in the hall and
+watched Edith descend the stairs. She seemed to emerge from the shadows
+of the upper balcony like a shaft of light. She was all in silvery
+green, her close-clinging robe girdled with pearls, her hair banded
+with mistletoe.
+
+He met her half-way. “You shouldn’t have worn it,” he said at once.
+
+“The mistletoe? Why not?”
+
+“You will tempt all men to kiss you.”
+
+“Men must resist temptation.”
+
+“Well, queens command,” he smiled at her, “and queens ask----”
+
+She was doubtful of his meaning. “Do you think that I would ever ask
+for kisses?”
+
+“You may. Some day.”
+
+Her blue eyes burned. “I think you don’t quite know what you are
+saying.”
+
+“I do, dear lady. But we won’t quarrel about it.”
+
+She switched to less dangerous topics. “I’m late for dinner. Is Uncle
+Fred roaring?”
+
+“More or less. And Mrs. Laramore is purring.”
+
+They rather wickedly enjoyed their laugh at the expense of an older
+generation, and went in together to find Frederick icy with indignation.
+
+Waldron announced dinner, and Frederick with Mrs. Follette on his arm
+preceded the others. Baldy and Edith came last.
+
+“How many dances are you going to give me?”
+
+“Not as many as I’d like. Being hostess, I shall have to divide myself
+among many.”
+
+“Cut yourself up into little stars as it were. Well, you know what
+Browning says of a star? ‘Mine has opened its soul to me--therefore I
+love it’!”
+
+His tone was light, but her heart missed a beat. There was something
+about this boy so utterly engaging. He had set her on a pedestal, and
+he worshipped her. When she said that she was not worth worshipping, he
+told her, “You don’t know----”
+
+She was unusually silent during dinner. With Evans on one side of her
+and Baldy on the other she had little need to exert herself. Baldy was
+always adequate to any conversational tax, and Evans, in spite of his
+monk’s habit, was not austere. He was, rather, like some attractive
+young friar drawn back for the moment to the world.
+
+He showed himself a genial teller of tales--and capped each of
+Frederick’s with one of his own. His mother was proud of him. She
+felt that life was taking on new aspects--this friendship with the
+Townes--her son’s increasing strength and social ease--the lace gown
+which she wore and which had been bought with a Dickens’ pamphlet. What
+more could she ask? She was serene and satisfied.
+
+Adelaide, on the other side of Frederick Towne, was not serene and
+satisfied. She was looking particularly lovely with a star of diamonds
+in her hair and sheer draperies of rose and faintest green. “I am
+anything you wish to call me,” she had said to Frederick when she came
+in--“an ‘Evening Star’ or ‘In the Gloaming’ or ‘Afterglow.’ Perhaps ‘A
+Rose of Yesterday’----” she had put it rather pensively.
+
+He had been gallant but uninspired. “You are too young to talk of
+yesterdays,” he had said, but his glance had held not the slightest
+hint of gallantry. She felt that she had, perhaps, been unwise to
+remind him of her age.
+
+She was still more disturbed, when, towards the end of dinner, he rose
+and proposed a toast. “To little Jane Barnes, A Merry Christmas.”
+
+They all stood up. There was a second’s silence. Evans drank as if he
+partook of a sacrament.
+
+Then Edith said, “It seems almost heartless to be happy, doesn’t it,
+when things are so hard for her?”
+
+Adelaide interposed irrelevantly, “I should hate to spend Christmas in
+Chicago.”
+
+There was no response, so she turned to Frederick. “Couldn’t Miss
+Barnes leave her sister for a few days?”
+
+“No,” he told her, “she couldn’t.”
+
+She persisted, “I am sure you didn’t want her to miss the ball.”
+
+“I did my best to get her here. Talked to her at long distance, but she
+couldn’t see it.”
+
+“You are so good-hearted, Ricky.”
+
+Frederick could be cruel at moments, and her persistence was
+irritating. “Oh, look here, Adelaide, it wasn’t entirely on her
+account. I want her here myself.”
+
+She sat motionless, her eyes on her plate. When she spoke again it was
+of other things. “Did you hear that Delafield is coming back?”
+
+“Who told you?”
+
+“Eloise Harper. Benny’s sister saw Del at Miami. She is sure he is
+expecting to marry the other girl.”
+
+“Bad taste, I call it.”
+
+“Everybody is crazy to know who she is.”
+
+“Have they any idea?”
+
+“No. Benny’s sister said he talked quite frankly about getting married.
+But he wouldn’t say a word about the woman.”
+
+“I hardly think he will find Edith heart-broken.” Towne glanced across
+the table. Edith was not wearing the willow. No shadow marred her
+lovely countenance. Her eyes were clear and shining pools of sweet
+content.
+
+Her uncle was proud of that high-held head. He and Edith might not
+always hit it off. But, by Jove, he was proud of her.
+
+“No, she’s not heart-broken,” Adelaide’s cool tone disturbed his
+reflections, “she is getting her heart mended.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“They are an attractive pair, little Jane and her brother. And the boy
+has lost his head.”
+
+“Over Edith? Oh, well, she plays around with him; there’s nothing
+serious in it.”
+
+“Don’t be too sure. She’s interested.”
+
+“What makes you insist on that?” irritably.
+
+“I know the signs, dear man,” the cat seemed to purr, but she had claws.
+
+And it was Adelaide who was right. Edith had come to the knowledge
+that night of what Baldy meant to her.
+
+As she had entered the ballroom men had crowded around her. “Why,” they
+demanded, “do you wear mistletoe, if you don’t want to pay the forfeit?”
+
+Backed up against one of the marble pillars, she held them off. “I do
+want to pay it, but not to any of you.”
+
+Her frankness diverted them. “Who is the lucky man?”
+
+“He is here. But he doesn’t know he is lucky.”
+
+They thought she was joking. But she was not. And on the other side of
+the marble pillar a page in scarlet listened, with joy and fear in his
+heart. “How fast we are going. How fast.”
+
+There was dancing until midnight, then the curtains at the end of the
+room were drawn back, and the tree was revealed. It towered to the
+ceiling, a glittering, gorgeous thing. It was weighted with gifts for
+everybody, fantastic toys most of them, expensive, meaningless.
+
+Evans, standing back of the crowd, was aware of the emptiness of it
+all. Oh, what had there been throughout the evening to make men think
+of the Babe who had been born at Bethlehem?
+
+The gifts of the Wise Men? Perhaps. Gold and frankincense and myrrh?
+One must not judge too narrowly. It was hard to keep simplicities in
+these opulent days.
+
+Yet he was heavy-hearted, and when Eloise Harper charged up to him,
+dressed somewhat scantily as a dryad, and handed him a foolish monkey
+on a stick, she seemed to suggest a heathen saturnalia rather than
+anything Christian and civilized.
+
+“A monkey for a monk,” said Eloise. “Mr. Follette, your cassock is
+frightfully becoming. But you know you are a whited sepulchre.”
+
+“Am I?”
+
+“Of course. I’ll bet you never say your prayers.”
+
+She danced away, unconscious that her words had pierced him. What
+reason had she to think that any of this meant more to him than it did
+to her? Had he borne witness to the faith that was within him? And was
+it within him? And if not, why?
+
+He stood there with his foolish monkey on his stick, while around him
+swirled a laughing, shrieking crowd. Why, the thing was a carnival, not
+a sacred celebration. Was there no way in which he might bear witness?
+
+Edith had asked him to sing the old ballads, “Dame, get up and bake
+your pies,” and “I saw three ships a-sailing.” Evans was in no mood for
+the dame who baked her pies on Christmas day in the morning, or the
+pretty girls who whistled and sang--on Christmas day in the morning.
+
+When all the gifts had been distributed the lights in the room were
+turned out. The only illumination was the golden effulgence which
+encircled the tree.
+
+In his monk’s robe, within that circle of light, Evans seemed a
+mystical figure. He seemed, too, appropriately ascetic, with his gray
+hair, the weary lines of his old-young face.
+
+But his voice was fresh and clear. And the song he sang hushed the
+great room into silence.
+
+  “O little town of Bethlehem,
+  How still we see thee lie,
+  Above thy deep and dreamless sleep,
+  The silent stars go by;
+  Yet in thy dark streets shineth,
+  The everlasting light,
+  The hopes and fears of all the years
+  Are met in thee to-night.”
+
+He sang as if he were alone in some vast arched space, beneath spires
+that reached towards Heaven, behind some grille that separated him from
+the world.
+
+  “For Christ is born of Mary,
+  And gathered all above,
+  While mortals sleep, the angels keep
+  Their watch of wondering love.
+  O, morning stars together
+  Proclaim the holy birth!
+  And praises sing to God the King
+  And peace to men on earth.”
+
+And now it seemed to him that he sang not to that crowd of upturned
+faces, not to those men and women in shining silks and satins, not
+to Jane who was far away, but to those others who pressed close--his
+comrades across the Great Divide!
+
+So he had sung to them in the hospital, sitting up in his narrow
+bed--and most of the men who had listened were--gone.
+
+  “O, holy child of Bethlehem,
+  Descend to us, we pray,
+  Cast out our sin and enter in,
+  Be born in us to-day.
+  We hear the Christmas angels
+  The great glad tidings tell:
+  ‘Oh come to us, abide with us,
+  Our Lord Emmanuel.’”
+
+As the last words rang out his audience seemed to wake with a sigh.
+
+Then the lights went up. But the monk had vanished!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Evans left word with Baldy that he would go home on the trolley. “I am
+not quite up to the supper and all that. Will you look after Mother?”
+
+“Of course. Say, Evans, that song was top notch. Edith wants you to
+sing another.”
+
+“Will you tell her I can’t? I’m sorry. But the last time I sang that
+was for the fellows--in France. And it--got me----”
+
+“It got me, too,” Baldy confided; “made all this seem--silly.”
+
+So Evans left behind him all the youth and laughter and
+light-heartedness, and took the last trolley out to Castle Manor. He
+had a long walk after the ride, but the cold air was stimulating, the
+sky was full of stars and the night was very still. Oh, how good it was
+to be out in that still and star-lighted night!
+
+When he reached Castle Manor he passed the barn on his way to the
+house. He opened the door and looked in. There was a lantern, faintly
+lit, and he could see the cows resting on their beds of straw--great
+dim creatures, smelling of milk and hay--calm-eyed, inscrutable.
+
+He entered and sat down. He felt soothed and comforted by the
+tranquillity of the dumb beasts--the eloquent silence.
+
+He was glad he had escaped from the clamor of the costume ball--from
+Eloise and her kind.
+
+Yet the Man born at Bethlehem had not escaped. He had gone among the
+multitudes--speaking.
+
+Well ... it couldn’t be expected, could it, that men in these days
+would say to a girl like Eloise Harper, “For unto you is born this day
+in the city of David, a Saviour which is Christ the Lord”?
+
+People didn’t say such things in polite society ... and if they didn’t,
+why not? And if they did, would the world listen?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+NEWS FOR THE TOWN-CRIER
+
+
+It was just before New Year’s that Lucy Logan brought a letter for
+Frederick Towne to sign, and when he had finished she said, “Mr. Towne,
+I’m sorry, but I’m not going to work any more. So will you please
+accept my resignation?”
+
+He showed his surprise. “What’s the matter? Aren’t we good enough for
+you?”
+
+“It isn’t that.” She stopped and went on, “I’m going to be married, Mr.
+Towne.”
+
+“Married?” He was at once congratulatory. “That’s a pleasant thing for
+you, and I mustn’t spoil it by telling you how hard it is going to be
+to find someone to take your place.”
+
+“I think if you will have Miss Dale? She’s really very good.”
+
+Frederick was curious. What kind of lover had won this quiet Lucy?
+Probably some clerk or salesman. “What about the man? Nice fellow, I
+hope----”
+
+“Very nice, Mr. Towne,” she flushed, and her manner seemed to forbid
+further questioning. She went away, and he gave orders to the cashier
+to see that she had an increase in the amount of her final check. “She
+will need some pretty things. And when we learn the date we can give
+her a present.”
+
+So on Saturday night Lucy left, and on the following Monday a card was
+brought up to Edith Towne.
+
+She read it. “Lucy Logan? I don’t believe I know her,” she said to the
+maid.
+
+“She says she is from Mr. Towne’s office, and that it is important.”
+
+Now Josephine, the parlor maid, had a nice sense of the proprieties
+which she had learned from Waldron, who was not on duty in the front of
+the house in the morning. So she had given Lucy a chair in the great
+hall. Waldron had emphasized that business callers and social inferiors
+must never be ushered into the drawing-room. The grade below Lucy’s
+was, indeed, sent around to a side door.
+
+However, there Lucy sat--in a dark blue cape and a small blue hat, and
+she rose as Edith came up to her.
+
+“Oh, let’s go where we can be comfortable,” Edith said, and led the way
+through the gray and white drawing-room beyond the peacock screen, to
+the glowing warmth of the fire.
+
+They were a great contrast, these two women. Edith in a tea-gown of
+pale yellow was the last word in modishness. Lucy, in her modest blue,
+had no claims to distinction.
+
+But Lucy was not ill at ease. “Miss Towne,” she said, “I have resigned
+from your uncle’s office. Did he tell you?”
+
+“No. Uncle Fred rarely speaks about business.”
+
+With characteristic straightforwardness Lucy came at once to the point.
+“I have something I must talk over with you. I don’t know whether I am
+doing the wise thing. But it is the only honest thing.”
+
+“I can’t imagine what you can have to say.”
+
+“No you can’t. It’s this----” she hesitated, then spoke with an effort.
+“I am the girl Mr. Simms is in love with. He wants to come back and
+marry me.”
+
+Edith’s fingers caught at the arm of the chair. “Do you mean that it
+was because of you--that he didn’t marry me?”
+
+“Yes. He used to come to the office when he was in Washington and
+dictate letters. And we got in the way of talking to each other. He
+seemed to enjoy it, and he wasn’t like some men--who are just--silly.
+And I began to think about him a lot. But I didn’t let him see it.
+And--he told me afterward, he was always thinking of me. And the
+morning of your wedding day he came down to the office--to say
+‘Good-bye.’ He said he--just had to. And--well, he let it out that he
+loved me, and didn’t want to marry you. But he said he would have to go
+on with it. And--and I told him he must not, Miss Towne.”
+
+Edith stared at her. “Do you mean that what he did was your fault?”
+
+“Yes,” Lucy’s face was white, “if you want to put it that way. I told
+him he hadn’t any right to marry you if he loved me.” She hesitated,
+then lifted her eyes to Edith’s with a glance of appeal. “Miss Towne,
+I wonder if you are big enough to believe that it was just because I
+cared so much--and not because of his money?”
+
+It was a challenge. Edith had been ready to pour out her wrath on the
+head of this girl to whom she owed the humiliation of the past weeks,
+but there was about Lucy a certain sturdiness, a courage which was
+arresting.
+
+“You think you love him?” she demanded.
+
+“I know I do. And you don’t. You never have. And he didn’t love you.
+Why--if he should lose every cent to-morrow, and I had to tramp the
+road with him, I’d do it gladly. And you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t want
+him unless he could give you everything you have now, would you? Would
+you, Miss Towne?”
+
+Edith’s sense of justice dictated her answer. “No,” she found herself
+unexpectedly admitting. “If I had to tramp the roads with him, I’d be
+bored to death.”
+
+“I think he knew that, Miss Towne. He told me that if he didn’t marry
+you, your heart wouldn’t be broken. That it would just hurt your pride.”
+
+Edith had a moment of hysterical mirth. How they had talked her over.
+Her lover--and her uncle’s stenographer! What a tragedy it had been!
+And what a comedy!
+
+She leaned forward a little, locking her fingers about her knees. “I
+wish you’d tell me all about it.”
+
+“I don’t know just what to tell. Except that we’ve been writing to each
+other. I said that we must wait three months. It didn’t seem fair to
+you to have him marry too soon.”
+
+Uncle Fred’s stenographer sorry for her! “Go on,” Edith said, tensely.
+
+So Lucy told the simple story. And in telling it showed herself so
+naive, so steadfast, that Edith was aware of an increasing respect
+for the woman who had taken her place in the heart of her lover. She
+perceived that Lucy had come to this interview in no spirit of triumph.
+She had dreaded it, but had felt it her duty. “I thought it would be
+easier for you if you knew it before other people did.”
+
+Edith’s forehead was knitted in a slight frown. “The whole thing has
+been most unpleasant,” she said. “When are you going to marry him?”
+
+“I told him on St. Valentine’s day. It seemed--romantic.”
+
+Romance and Del! Edith had a sudden illumination. Why, this was what
+he had wanted, and she had given him none of it! She had laughed at
+him--been his good comrade. Little Lucy adored him--and had set St.
+Valentine’s day for the wedding!
+
+There was nothing small about Edith Towne. She knew fineness when she
+saw it, and she had a feeling of humility in the presence of little
+Lucy. “I think it was my fault as much as Del’s,” she stated. “I should
+never have said ‘Yes.’ People haven’t any right to marry who feel as we
+did.”
+
+“Oh,” Lucy said rapturously, “how dear of you to say that. Miss Towne,
+I always knew you were--big. But I didn’t dream you were so beautiful.”
+Tears wet her cheeks. “You’re just--marvellous,” she said, wiping them
+away.
+
+“No, I’m not.” Edith’s eyes were on the fire. “Normally, I am rather
+proud and--hateful. If you had come a week ago----” Her voice fell away
+into silence as she still stared at the fire.
+
+Lucy looked at her curiously. “A week ago?”
+
+Edith nodded. “Do you like fairy tales? Well, once there was a
+princess. And a page came and sang--under her window.” The fire purred
+and crackled. “And the princess--liked the song----”
+
+“Oh,” said Lucy, under her breath.
+
+“Well, that’s all,” said Edith; “I don’t know the end.” She stretched
+herself lazily. Her loose sleeves, floating away from her bare arms,
+gave the effect of wings. Lucy, looking at her, wondered how it had
+ever happened that Delafield could have turned his eyes from that rare
+beauty to her own undistinguished prettiness.
+
+She stood up. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am that I came.”
+
+“You’re not going to run away yet,” Edith told her. “I want you to have
+lunch with me. Upstairs. You must tell me all your plans.”
+
+“I haven’t many. And I really oughtn’t to stay.”
+
+“Why not? I want you. Please don’t say no.”
+
+So up they went, with the perturbed parlor maid speaking through the
+tube to the pantry. “Miss Towne wants luncheon for two, Mr. Waldron. In
+her room. Something nice, she says, and plenty of it.”
+
+Little Lucy had never seen such a room as the one to which Edith led
+her. The whole house was, indeed, a dream palace. Yet it was the
+atmosphere with which her lover would soon surround her. She had a
+feeling almost of panic. What would she do with a maid like Alice, who
+was helping Josephine set up the folding-table, spread the snowy cloth,
+bring in the hot silver dishes?
+
+As if Edith divined her thought, she said when the maids had left,
+“Lucy, will you let me advise?”
+
+“Of course, Miss Towne.”
+
+“Don’t try to be--like the rest of us. Like Del’s own crowd, I mean. He
+fell in love with you because you were different. He will want you to
+stay--different.”
+
+“But I shall have so much to learn.”
+
+Edith was impatient. “What must you learn? Externals? Let them alone.
+Be yourself. You have dignity--and strength. It was the strength in
+you that won Del. You and he can have a life together that will mean
+a great deal, if you will make him go your way. But you must not go
+his----”
+
+Lucy considered that. “You mean that the crowd he is with weakens him?”
+
+“I mean just that. They’re sophisticated beyond words. You’re what they
+would call--provincial. Oh, be provincial, Lucy. Don’t be afraid. But
+don’t adopt their ways. You go to church, don’t you? Say your prayers?
+Believe that God’s in His world?”
+
+Lucy’s fair cheeks were flushed. “Why, of course I do.”
+
+“Well, we don’t--not many of us,” said Edith. “The thing you have got
+to do is to interest Del in something. Don’t just go sailing away with
+him in his yacht. Buy a farm over in Virginia, and help him make a
+success of it.”
+
+“But he lives in New York.”
+
+“Of course he does. But he can live anywhere. He’s so rich that he
+doesn’t have to earn anything, and his office is just a fiction. You
+must make him work. Go in for a fad; blooded horses, cows, black
+Berkshires. Do you know what a black Berkshire is, Lucy?”
+
+“No, I don’t.”
+
+“Well, it’s a kind of a pig. And that’s the thing for you and Del. He
+really loves fine stock. And you and he--think of it--riding over the
+country--planning your gardens--having a baby or two.” Edith was going
+very fast.
+
+“It sounds heavenly,” said Lucy.
+
+“Then make it Heaven. Oh, Lucy, Lucy, you lucky girl--you are going to
+marry the man you love. Live away from the world--share happiness and
+unhappiness----” She rose from the table restlessly, pushing back her
+chair, dropping her napkin on the floor. “Do you know how I envy you?”
+
+She went to the window and stood looking out. “And here I sit, day
+after day, like a prisoner in a tower--and my page sings--that was the
+beginning of it--and it will be the end.”
+
+“No,” Lucy was very serious, “you mustn’t let it be the end. You--you
+must open the window, Miss Towne.”
+
+Edith came back to the table. “Open the window?” Her breath came fast.
+“Open the window. Oh, little Lucy, how wise you are....”
+
+When Lucy had gone, Alice came in and dressed Edith’s hair. She found
+her lady thoughtful. “Alice, what did they do with my wedding clothes?”
+
+It was the first time she had mentioned them. Alice, sticking in
+hairpins, was filled with eager curiosity.
+
+“We put them all in the second guest-suite,” she said; “some of them
+we left packed in the trunks just as they were, and some of them are
+hung on racks.”
+
+“Where is the wedding dress?”
+
+“In a closet in a white linen bag.”
+
+“Well, finish my hair and we will go and look at it.”
+
+Alice stuck in the last pin. “The veil is over a satin roller. I did it
+myself, and put the cap part in a bonnet-box.”
+
+As they entered it, the second guest-suite was heavy with the scent of
+orange blooms. “How dreadful, Alice,” Edith ejaculated. “Why didn’t you
+throw the flowers away?”
+
+“Miss Annabel wouldn’t let me. She said you might not want things
+touched.”
+
+“Silly sentimentality.” Edith was impatient.
+
+The room was in all the gloom of drawn curtains. The dresses hung on
+racks, and, encased in white bags, gave a ghostly effect. “They are
+like rows of tombstones, Alice.”
+
+“Yes, Miss Towne,” said Alice, dutifully.
+
+The maid brought out the wedding dress and laid it on the bed.
+
+Edith, surveying it, was stung by the memory of the emotions which
+had swayed her when she had last worn it. It had seemed to mock her.
+She had wanted to tear it into shreds. She had seen her own tense
+countenance in the mirror, as she had controlled herself before Alice.
+Then, when the maid had left, she had thrown herself on the bed, and
+had writhed in an agony of humiliation.
+
+And now all her anger was gone. She didn’t hate Del. She didn’t hate
+Lucy. She even thought of Uncle Fred with charity. And the wedding gown
+was, after all, a robe for a princess who married a king. Not a robe
+for a princess who loved a page. A tender smile softened her face.
+
+“Alice,” she said, suddenly, “wasn’t there a little heliotrope dinner
+frock among my trousseau things?”
+
+“Yes, Miss Towne. Informal.” Alice hunted in the third row of
+tombstones until she found it.
+
+“I want long sleeves put in it. Will you tell Hardinger, and have him
+send a hat to match?”
+
+“Yes, Miss Towne.”
+
+The heliotrope frock had simple and lovely lines. It floated in sheer
+beauty from the maid’s hands as she held it up. “There isn’t a prettier
+one in the whole lot, Miss Edith.”
+
+“I like it,” the fragrance of heliotrope was wafted from hidden
+sachets, “and as for the wedding gown,” Edith eyed it thoughtfully,
+“pack it in a box with the veil and the rest of the things. I want
+Briggs to take it with the note to an address that I will give him.”
+
+“Oh, yes, Miss Towne.” Alice was much interested in the address. She
+studied it when, later, she carried the box and the note down to Briggs.
+
+Edith, having dispatched the box with a charming note to Lucy Logan,
+had a feeling of ecstatic freedom. All the hurt and humiliation of the
+bridal episode had departed. She didn’t care what the world thought of
+her. Her desertion by Del had been material for a day’s gossip--then
+other things had filled the papers, had been headlined and emphasized.
+And what difference did it all make?
+
+The things that mattered were those of which she had talked to Lucy.
+An old house--mutual interests, all the rest of it. “I would tramp the
+road with him,” little Lucy had said. That was love--to count nothing
+hard but the lack of it.
+
+She was called to the telephone, and found Eloise Harper at the other
+end. “Delafield is coming back,” she said. “Benny has had a letter.”
+
+“Darling town-crier,” said Edith, “you are late with your news.”
+
+“What do you mean by town-crier?”
+
+“That’s what we call you, dearest.”
+
+“Oh, do you?” dubiously. “Well, anyhow, Delafield is on his way back,
+and he is going to be married as soon as he gets here.”
+
+“But he isn’t. Not until February.”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“The bride told me.”
+
+“Who?” incredulously.
+
+“The bride.”
+
+Eloise gasped. “Edith, do you know who she is?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“Tell me.”
+
+“My dear, I can’t. The whole world would know it.”
+
+“I swear I----”
+
+“Don’t swear, Eloise. You might perjure yourself,” and Edith hung up
+the receiver.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+AN INTERLUDE
+
+
+                                              _The day after Christmas._
+
+  “Baldy, darling: The operation is over, and the doctor gives us hope.
+  That is the best I can tell you. I haven’t been allowed to see Judy,
+  though they have let Bob have a peep at her, and she smiled.
+
+  “You can imagine that we have had little heart for good times. But
+  the babies had a beautiful Christmas Day, with a tree--and stockings
+  hung above the gas logs. How I longed for our own little wood fire,
+  but the blessed darlings didn’t know the difference. We couldn’t
+  spend much money, which was fortunate. The things that came from the
+  east were so perfect. Yours, honey-boy, only you shouldn’t have made
+  the check so large. I shan’t spend it unless it is very necessary.
+  Mr. Towne sent flowers, loads of them--and perfectly marvellous
+  chocolates in a box of gold lacquer--and Edith sent a string of
+  carved ivory beads, and there was a blue Keats from Evans, and a
+  ducky orange scarf from Mrs. Follette.
+
+  “I wish you could have seen the babies. Julia staggered around the
+  tree on her uncertain little feet as if she were drunk, and then
+  settled down to an adorable stuffed bunny, and Junior had eyes for
+  nothing but the red automobile that the Townes ordered for him. I
+  think it was dear of Edith and her uncle. Junior is such a charming
+  chap, with beautiful manners like his dad, but with a will of his own
+  at times.
+
+  “I roasted a chicken for dinner, and--well, we got through it all.
+  And now the babies are in bed, and Bob is at the hospital, and I am
+  writing to you. But my heart is tight with fear.
+
+  “I mustn’t think about Judy.
+
+  “Give my love to everybody. I have had Christmas letters from Evans
+  and Edith and Mr. Towne. Baldy, Mr. Towne wants to marry me. I
+  haven’t told you before. It is rather like a dream and I’m not going
+  to think about it. I don’t love him, and so, of course, that settles
+  it. But he says he can make me, and, Baldy, sometimes I wish that he
+  could. It would be such a heavenly thing for the whole family. Of
+  course that isn’t the way to look at it, but I believe Judy wants it.
+  She believes in love in a cottage, but she says that love in a palace
+  might be equally satisfying, with fewer things to worry about.
+
+  “Somehow that doesn’t fit in with the things I’ve dreamed. But
+  dreams, of course, aren’t everything....
+
+  “I had to tell you, dear old boy. Because we’ve never kept things
+  from each other. And you’ve been so perfectly frank about Edith. Are
+  things a bit blue in that direction? Your letter sounded like it.
+
+  “Be good to yourself, old dear, and love me more than ever.”
+
+Jane signed her name and stood up, stretching her arms above her head.
+It was late and she was very tired. A great storm was shaking the
+windows. The wind from the lake beat against the walls with the boom
+of guns.
+
+Jane pulled back the curtains--there was snow with the storm--it
+whirled in papery shreds on the shaft of light. All sounds in the
+street were muffled. She had a sense of suffocation--as if the storm
+pressed upon her--shutting her in.
+
+She went into the next room and looked at the babies. Oh, what would
+they do if anything happened to Judy? What would Bob do? She dared not
+look ahead.
+
+She walked the floor, a tense little figure, fighting against fear. The
+storm had become a whistling pandemonium. She gave a cry of relief when
+the door opened and her brother-in-law entered.
+
+“I’m half-frozen, Janey. It was a fight to get through. The cars are
+stopped on all the surface lines.”
+
+“How is Judy?”
+
+“Holding her own. And by the way, Janey, that friend of yours, Towne,
+sent another bunch of roses. Pretty fine, I call it. She’s no end
+pleased.”
+
+“It’s nice of him.”
+
+“Gee, I wish I had his money.”
+
+“Money isn’t everything, Bobby.”
+
+“It means a lot at a time like this.” His face wore a worried frown.
+Jane knew that Judy’s hospital expenses were appalling, and bills were
+piling up.
+
+“I work like a nigger,” Bob said, ruefully, “and we’ve never been in
+debt before.”
+
+“When Judy is well, things will seem brighter, Bob.” She laid her hand
+on his arm.
+
+He looked up at her and there was fear in his eyes. “Jane, she must get
+well. I can’t face losing her.”
+
+“We mustn’t think of that. And now come on out in the kitchen and I’ll
+make you some coffee.” Jane was always practical. She knew that, warmed
+and fed, he would see things differently.
+
+Yet in spite of her philosophy, Jane lay awake a long time that night.
+And later her dreams were of Judy--of Judy, and a gray and dreadful
+phantom which pursued....
+
+The next day she went to the hospital and took Junior with her.
+
+When he saw his mother in bed, Junior asked, “Do you like it,
+Mother-dear?”
+
+“Like what, darling?”
+
+“Sleeping in the daytime?”
+
+“I don’t always sleep.” She looked at Jane. “Does little Julia miss me?
+I think about her in the night.”
+
+Jane knew what Judy’s heart wanted. “She does miss you. I know it when
+she turns away from me. Perhaps I oughtn’t to tell you. But I thought
+you’d rather know.”
+
+“I do want to know,” said Judy, feverishly. “I don’t want them to
+forget. Jane, you mustn’t ever let them--forget.”
+
+Jane felt as if she had been struck a stunning blow. She was, for a
+moment, in the midst of a dizzy universe, in which only one thing was
+clear. _Judy wasn’t sure of getting well!_
+
+Judy, with her brown eyes wistful, went on: “Junior, do you want Mother
+back in your own nice house?”
+
+“Will you make cookies?”
+
+“Yes, darling.”
+
+“Then I want you back. Aunt Janey made cookies, and she didn’t know
+about the raisins.”
+
+“Mother knows how to give cookie-men raisin eyes. Mothers know a lot of
+things that aunties don’t, darling.”
+
+“Well, I wish you’d come back.” He stood by the side of the bed. “I’d
+like to sleep with you to-night. May I, Mother-dear?”
+
+“Not to-night, darling. But you may when I come home.”
+
+But days passed and weeks, and Judy did not come home. And the first
+of February found her still in that narrow hospital bed. And it was in
+February that Frederick Towne wrote that he was coming to Chicago. “I
+shall have only a day, but I must see you.”
+
+Jane was not sure that she wanted him to come. He had been very good to
+them all, and he had not, in his letter, pressed for an answer unduly.
+But she knew if he came, he would ask.
+
+The next time she went to the hospital, she told Judy of his expected
+arrival. “To-morrow.”
+
+“Oh, Jane, how delightful.”
+
+“Is it? I’m not sure, Judy.”
+
+“It would be perfect if you’d accept him, Jane.”
+
+“But I’m not in love with him.”
+
+Judy, rather austere, with her black braids on each side of her white
+face, said, “Janey, do you know that not one girl in a thousand has a
+chance to marry a man like Frederick Towne?”
+
+There was a breathless excitement about the invalid which warned Jane.
+“Now, darling, what real difference will it make if I don’t marry him?
+There are other men in the world.”
+
+“Bob and I were talking about it,” Judy’s voice was almost painfully
+eager, “of how splendid it would be for--all of us.”
+
+_For all of us._ Judy and Bob and the babies! It was the first time
+that Jane had thought of her marriage with Towne as a way out for Judy
+and Bob....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+From his hotel at the moment of arrival, Towne called Jane up. “Are you
+glad I’m here?”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“Don’t say it that way.”
+
+“How shall I say it?”
+
+“As if you meant it. Do you know what a frigid little thing you are?
+Your letters were like frosted cakes.”
+
+She laughed. “They were the best I could do.”
+
+“I don’t believe it. But I am not going to talk of that now. When can I
+come and see you? And how much time have you to spare for me?”
+
+“Not much. I can’t leave the babies.”
+
+“Your sister’s children. Can’t you trust the maids?”
+
+“Maids? Listen to the man! We haven’t any.”
+
+“You don’t mean to tell me that you are doing the housework.”
+
+“Yes, why not? I am strong and well, and the kiddies are adorable.”
+
+“We are going to change that. I’ll bring a trained nurse up with me.”
+
+“Please don’t be a tyrant.”
+
+“Tut-tut, little girl,” she heard his big laugh over the telephone,
+“I’ll bring the nurse and someone to help her, and a load of toys to
+keep the kiddies quiet. When I want a thing, Jane, I usually get it.”
+
+He and the nurse arrived together. A competent houseworker was to
+follow in a cab. Jane protested. “It seems dreadfully high-handed.”
+
+They were alone in the living-room. Miss Martin had, at once, carried
+the kiddies off to unpack the toys.
+
+Frederick laughed. “Well, what are you going to do about it? You can’t
+put me out.”
+
+“But I can refuse to go with you”--there was the crisp note in her
+voice which always stirred him.
+
+“But you won’t do that, Jane.” He held out his hand to her, drew her a
+little towards him.
+
+She released herself, flushing. “I am not quite sure what I ought to
+do.”
+
+“Why think of ‘oughts’? We will just play a bit together, Jane. That’s
+all. And you’re such a tired little girl, aren’t you?”
+
+His sympathy was comforting. Everybody leaned on Jane. It was
+delightful to shift her burdens to this strong man who gave his
+commands like a king.
+
+“Yes, I am tired. And if the babies will be all right----”
+
+“Good. Now run in and see Miss Martin, and I think you’ll be satisfied.”
+
+Jane found Junior rapturous over a Noah’s Ark, with all the animals
+clothed in fur and hair, and the birds in feathers, and small Julia
+cuddled against the nurse’s white breast, bright-eyed with interest
+over the Three Kittens.
+
+“They’ll be all right, Miss Barnes,” Miss Martin said, smiling.
+
+Jane sighed with relief. “It will seem good to play for a bit.”
+
+“You see how I get my way,” Frederick said, as he helped her into the
+big hired limousine. “I always get it.”
+
+“It is rather heavenly at the moment,” Jane admitted, “but you needn’t
+think that it establishes a precedent.”
+
+“Wouldn’t it be always--heavenly?”
+
+“I’m not sure. You have the makings of a--Turk.”
+
+Yet she laughed as she said it, and he laughed, too. He was really very
+handsome, ruddy and bright and big--and with that air of gay deference.
+She liked to sit beside him, and listen to the things he had to tell
+her. It was peaceful after all the strenuous days.
+
+She was aware that if she married Towne life would be always like this.
+A glorified existence. She would be like Curlylocks of the nursery
+rhyme....
+
+“What are you smiling at?” Frederick demanded. His eyes as they met
+hers burned a bit. Jane was half-buried in a black fur robe--with only
+the white oval of her face and her little gray hat showing above it.
+
+“Nursery rhymes.” The smile deepened.
+
+“Which one?”
+
+“Curlylocks.”
+
+“I don’t remember it. Oh, yes, by Jove, I do. She was the damsel who
+sat on a cushion and sewed a fine seam, and feasted on strawberries,
+sugar and cream?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Good. That’s what I want to do for you. You know it?”
+
+“Yes. But it might be--monotonous.”
+
+“What better thing could happen to you than to have someone take care
+of you?”
+
+Jane sat up. “Oh, I want to _live_,” she said, almost with fierceness.
+“I’d hate to think my husband was just a sort of--feather cushion.”
+
+“Is that the way you think of me?” His vanity was untouched. She
+didn’t, of course, mean it.
+
+“No. But love is life. I don’t want to miss it.”
+
+“You won’t miss it if you marry me. I swear it, Jane, I’ll make you
+love me.”
+
+He was in dead earnest. And in spite of herself she was swayed by his
+attitude of conviction.
+
+“Oh, we mustn’t talk of it,” she said, a bit breathlessly. “I’d rather
+not, please.”
+
+They lunched at a charming French restaurant, where Frederick had dared
+Jane to eat snails. She acquiesced rather unexpectedly. “I have always
+wanted to do it,” she told him, “ever since I was a little girl and
+read Hans Andersen’s story of the white snails who lived in a forest of
+burdocks, and whose claim to aristocracy was that their ancestors had
+been baked and served in a silver dish.”
+
+They had a table in a corner. He ordered the luncheon expertly.
+
+“I can’t tell you how much I am enjoying it,” she said gratefully, as
+he once more gave her his attention.
+
+“Do you really like it?”
+
+“Immensely.”
+
+“Why not have it for the rest of your life?”
+
+Her color deepened. “Sometimes I think it would be----” she hesitated.
+
+“Heavenly,” he finished the sentence for her. “Jane, you only have to
+say the word.”
+
+The waiter, with the first course, interrupted them. When he once more
+disappeared, Frederick persisted. “I’m going away to-morrow. Won’t you
+give me my answer to-night? After lunch I’ll take you home and you can
+rest a bit, and then I’ll come for you and we’ll dine together and see
+a play.”
+
+She tried to protest, but he pleaded. “This is my day. Don’t spoil it,
+Jane.”
+
+It was nearly three o’clock when they left the table, and they had a
+long drive before them. Darkness had descended when they reached the
+house. It was still snowing.
+
+Bob was up-stairs, walking around the little room like a man in a dream.
+
+“I can’t tell you,” he confided to Jane after Frederick had left, “how
+queer I felt when I came in and found Miss Martin with the babies,
+and that stately old woman in the kitchen. And everything going like
+clockwork. Miss Martin explained, and--well, Towne just waves a wand,
+doesn’t he, Janey, and makes things happen?”
+
+“I don’t know that I ought to let him do so much,” Jane said.
+
+“Oh, why not, Janey? Just take the good the gods provide....”
+
+Before Frederick Towne reached his hotel he passed a shop whose windows
+were lighted against the early darkness. In one of the windows, flanked
+by slippers and stockings and a fan to match, was a French gown, all
+silver and faint blue, a shining wisp of a thing in lace and satin.
+Towne stopped the car, went in and bought the gown with its matching
+accessories. He carried the big box with him to his hotel. Resting a
+bit before dinner he permitted himself to dream of Jane in that gown,
+the pearls that he would give her against the white of her slender
+throat, the slim bareness of her arms, the swirl of a silver lace about
+her ankles--the swing of the boyish figure in its sheath of blue.
+
+He permitted himself to think of her, too, in other gowns. His thoughts
+of her frocks were all definite. He had exquisite taste. If he married
+Jane, he would dress her so that people would look at her, and look
+again. Even in her poverty, she had learned to express herself in
+the things she wore. His money would make possible even more subtle
+expression.
+
+So he thought of her in gray chiffon, black pearls in her ears--oh, to
+think of Jane in earrings!--with a touch of jade where the draperies
+swung loose--and with an oyster-white lining to the green cape which
+would cover the gown--a lynx collar up to her ears.
+
+Or a tea-gown of tangerine lace--with bands of sable catching the open
+sleeves at the wrist--or in white--Jane’s wedding dress must be heavy
+with pearls--she lent herself perfectly to medieval effects.
+
+His mind came back to the blue and silver. It hung on the bed-post,
+shimmering in the light from his lamp. He wondered if he offered it to
+Jane, would she accept? He knew she wouldn’t. Adelaide would have made
+no bones about it. There had been a lovely thing in black velvet he had
+given her, too, a wrap to match.
+
+But Jane was different. She would shrug her shoulders and with that
+charming independence, decline his favors, tilting her chin, and
+challenging him with her lighted-up eyes.
+
+Well, he liked her for it. Loved her for it. And some day she would
+wear the blue and silver frock. As he rose and put it back in the box,
+he seemed to shut Jane in with it. There hung about it the scent of
+roses. He knew of a rare perfume. He would order a vial of it for Jane.
+It merely hinted at fragrance.
+
+The evening stretched ahead of him, full of radiant promise. He knew
+Jane’s strength but he was ready for conquest.
+
+His telephone rang. And Jane spoke to him.
+
+“Mr. Towne,” she said, “I can’t dine with you. But can you come over
+later? Judy is desperately ill. I’ll tell you more about it when I see
+you.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+SURRENDER
+
+
+Bob had cried when the news came from the hospital. It had been
+dreadful. Jane had never seen a man cry. They had been hard sobs, with
+broken apologies between. “I’m a fool to act like this....”
+
+Jane had tried to say things, then had sat silent and uncomfortable
+while Bob fought for self-control.
+
+Miss Martin had gone home before the message arrived. Bob was told that
+he could not see his wife. But the surgeon would be glad to talk to
+him, at eight.
+
+“And I know what he’ll say,” Bob had said to Jane drearily, “that
+if I can get that specialist up from Hot Springs, he may be able to
+diagnose the trouble. But how am I going to get the money, Janey? It
+will cost a thousand dollars to rush him here and pay his fee. And my
+income has practically stopped. With all these labor troubles--there’s
+no building. And Judy’s nurses cost twelve dollars a day--and her room
+five. Oh, poor people haven’t any right to be sick, Janey. There isn’t
+any place for them.”
+
+Jane’s face was pale and looked pinched. “There’s the check Baldy sent
+me for Christmas, fifty dollars.”
+
+“Dear girl, it wouldn’t be a drop in the bucket.”
+
+“I know,” thoughtfully. “Bob, do they think that if that specialist
+comes it will save Judy’s life?”
+
+“It might. It--it’s the last chance, Janey.”
+
+Janey hugged her knees. “Can’t you borrow the money?”
+
+“I have borrowed up to the limit of my securities, and how can I ever
+pay?”
+
+Her voice was grim. “We will manage to pay; the thing now is to save
+Judy.”
+
+“Yes,” he tried, pitifully, to meet her courage. “If they’ll get the
+specialist, we’ll pay.”
+
+She had risen. “I’ll call up Mr. Towne, and tell him I can’t dine with
+him.”
+
+“But, Janey, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t keep your engagement.”
+
+She had turned on him with a touch of indignation. “Do you think I
+could have one happy moment with my mind on Judy?”
+
+Bob had looked at her, and then looked away. “Have you thought that you
+might get the money from Towne?”
+
+Her startled gaze had questioned him. “Get money from Mr. Towne?”
+
+“Yes. Oh, why not, Janey? He’ll do anything for you.”
+
+“But how could I pay him?”
+
+There had been dead silence, then Bob said, “Well, he’s in love with
+you, isn’t he?”
+
+“You mean that I can--marry him?”
+
+“Yes. Why not? Judy says he’s crazy about you. And, Jane, it’s foolish
+to throw away such a chance. Not every girl has it.”
+
+“But, Bob, I’m not--in love with him.”
+
+“You’ll learn to care---- He’s a delightful chap, I’d say.” Bob was
+eager. “Now look here, Janey, I’m talking to you like a Dutch uncle. It
+isn’t as if I were advising you to do it for our sakes. It is for your
+own sake, too. Why, it would be great, old girl. Never another worry.
+Somebody always to look after you.”
+
+The wind outside was singing a wild song, a roaring, cynical song, it
+seemed to Jane. She wanted to say to Bob, “But I’ve always been happy
+in my little house with Baldy and Philomel, and the chickens and the
+cats.” But of course Bob could say, “You’re not happy now, and anyhow
+what are you going to do about Judy?”
+
+_Judy!_
+
+She had spoken at last with an effort. “I’ll tell him to come over
+after dinner. We can ride for a bit.”
+
+“Why not stay here? I’ll be at the hospital. And the storm is pretty
+bad.”
+
+She had looked out of the window. “There’s no snow. Just the wind. And
+I feel--stifled.”
+
+It was then that she had called up Towne. “I can’t dine with you....
+Judy is desperately ill....”
+
+The houseworker had prepared a delicious dinner, but Jane ate nothing.
+Bob’s appetite, on the other hand, was good. He apologized for it. “I
+went without lunch, I was so worried.”
+
+Jane remembered her own lunch--how careless she had been for the
+moment, forgetting her heaviness of heart--served like a princess
+sheltered from every wind that blew!
+
+And all the rest of her life might be like that! It wouldn’t be so bad.
+She drank a cup of coffee, and then another. And Frederick had said
+that he could make her love him....
+
+In the center of the table were some roses that Towne had given her.
+She stuck one of them in her girdle.
+
+Bob finished his coffee, and stood up. “I must be going. Good luck to
+you, old girl....” His tone was almost cheerful. He walked around the
+table and touched his lips to her cheek.
+
+When she was alone, she went in and looked at the babies. Junior had
+taken some of the animals to bed with him, and they trailed over the
+white cover--tiny tigers and elephants, lions and giraffes. Little
+Julia hugged her doll. How sweet she was, and such a baby!
+
+And in the hospital Judy’s arms ached to enfold that warm little body:
+Judy’s heart beat with fear lest they should never enfold her again!
+
+The bell rang. Jane, going to the door, found herself shaking with
+excitement.
+
+Frederick came in and took both of her hands in his. “I’m terribly
+sorry about the sister. Is there anything I can do?”
+
+She shook her head. She could hardly speak. “I thought if you wouldn’t
+mind, we’d go for a ride. And we can talk.”
+
+“Good. Get your wraps.” He released her hands, and she went into the
+other room. As she looked into the mirror she saw that her cheeks were
+crimson.
+
+She brought out her coat and he held it for her. “Is this warm enough?
+You ought to have a fur coat.”
+
+“Oh, I shall be warm,” she said.
+
+As he preceded her down the stairs, Towne turned and looked up at her.
+“You are wearing my rose,” he told her, ardently; “you are like a rose
+yourself.”
+
+She would not have been a woman if she had not liked his admiration.
+And he was strong and adoring and distinguished. She had a sense of
+almost happy excitement as he lifted her into the car.
+
+“Where shall we drive?” he asked.
+
+“Along the lake. I love it on a night like this.”
+
+The moon was sailing high in a rack of clouds. As they came to the lake
+the waves writhed like mad sea-monsters in gold and white and black.
+
+“Jane,” Frederick asked softly, “what made you wear--my rose?”
+
+She sat very still beside him. “Mr. Towne,” she said at last, “tell me
+how much--you love me.”
+
+He gave a start of surprise. Then he turned towards her and took her
+hand in his. “Let me tell you this! there never was a dearer woman.
+Everything that I have, all that I am, is yours if you will have it.”
+
+There was a fine dignity in his avowal. She liked him more than ever.
+
+“Do you love me enough”--she hurried over the words, “to help me?”
+
+“Yes.” He drew her gently towards him. There was no struggle. She lay
+quietly against his arm, but he was aware that she trembled.
+
+“Mr. Towne, Judy must have a great specialist right away. It’s her only
+chance. If you will send for him to-night, make yourself responsible
+for--everything--I’ll marry you whenever you say.”
+
+He stared down at her, unbelieving. “Do you mean it, Jane?”
+
+“Yes. Oh, do you think I am dreadful?”
+
+He laughed exultantly, caught her up to him. “Dreadful? You’re the
+dearest--ever, Jane.”
+
+Yet as he felt her fluttering heart, he released her gently. Her eyes
+were full of tears. He touched her wet cheek. “Don’t let me frighten
+you, my dear. But I am very happy.”
+
+She believed herself happy. He was really--irresistible. A conqueror.
+Yet always with that touch of deference.
+
+“Do you love me, Jane?”
+
+“Not--yet.”
+
+“But you will. I’ll make you love me.”
+
+With keen intuition, with his knowledge, too, of women, he asked for
+no further assurance. He leaned back against the cushions of the car,
+and holding her hand in his, made plans for their future. He would get
+the ring to-morrow. He would come again in a week. As soon as Judy was
+better, he and Jane would be married.
+
+Then just before they reached home he asked for the rose. She gave it
+to him, all fading fragrance. He touched it to her lips then crushed it
+against his own.
+
+“Must I be content with this?”
+
+Her quick breath told her agitation. He drew her to him, gently. “Come,
+my sweet.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Oh, money, money. Jane learned that night the power of it!
+
+Coming in with Frederick from that wild moonlighted world, flushed with
+excitement, hardly knowing this new Jane, she saw Bob transformed in a
+moment from haggard hopelessness to wild elation.
+
+Frederick Towne had made a simple statement. “Jane has told me how
+serious things are, Heming. I want to help.” Then he had asked for the
+surgeon’s name; spoken at once of a change of rooms for Judy; increased
+attendance. There was much telephoning and telegraphing. An atmosphere
+of efficiency. Jane, looking on, was filled with admiration. How well
+he did things. And some day he would be her husband!
+
+Towne was, indeed, at his best. Deeply in love with her, all his
+generous impulses were quickened for her service. When at last he had
+gone, she went to bed, and lay awake almost until morning. Doubts
+crowded upon her. Her cheeks burned as she thought of the bargain she
+had made. He would pay her sister’s bills--and she would marry him. But
+it wasn’t just that! He was so tender, so solicitous. Jane had not yet
+learned that one may be in love with being loved, which is not in the
+least the same as loving. Against the benefits which Towne bestowed
+upon her, she could set only her dreams of Galahad, of Robin Hood! Of
+romantic adventure! Her memories--of Evans Follette.
+
+She sighed as she thought of him. He would be unhappy. Oh, darling old
+Evans! She cried a little into her pillow. She mustn’t think of him.
+The thing was done. She was going to marry Frederick Towne!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+PAPER LACE
+
+
+It was two days after Jane promised to marry Frederick Towne that Evans
+bought a Valentine for her.
+
+The shops were full of valentines--many of them of paper lace--the
+fragile old-fashioned things that had become a new fashion. They had
+forget-me-nots on them and hearts with golden arrows, and fat pink
+cupids.
+
+Evans found it hard to choose. He stood before them, smiling. And he
+could see Jane smile as she read the enchanting verse of the one he
+finally selected:
+
+  “Roses red, my dear,
+  And violets blue--
+  Honey’s sweet, my dear,
+  And so are you.”
+
+As he walked up F Street to his office, his heart was light. It was
+one of the lovely days that hint of spring. Old Washingtonians know
+that such weather does not last--that March winds must blow, and storms
+must come. But they grasp the joy of the moment--masquerade in carnival
+spirit--buy flowers from the men at the street corners--sweep into
+their favorite confectioner’s to order cool drinks, the women seek
+their milliner’s and come forth bonneted in spring beauty--the men
+drive to the links--and look things over.
+
+Oh, what a world it is--this world of Washington when Winter welcomes,
+for the moment, Spring!
+
+Evans wished that Jane were there to see. To let him buy flowers for
+her--ices. He wondered if the time would come when he might buy her
+a spring hat. Well, why not? If things went like this with him! He
+knew he was getting back. He could see it in the eyes of women. Where
+once there had been pity--was now coquettish challenge. He was having
+invitations. He accepted only a few, but they came increasingly.
+
+And clients came. Not many, but enough to point the way to success. He
+had sold more of the old books. His mother’s milk farm was becoming a
+fashionable fad.
+
+Edith Towne had helped to bring Mrs. Follette’s wares before her
+friends. At all hours of the day they drove out, Edith with them. “It
+is such an adorable place,” she told Evans, “and your--mother! Isn’t
+she absolutely herself? Selling milk with that empress air of hers. I
+simply love her.”
+
+Evans liked Edith Towne immensely. Even more than Baldy he divined
+her loneliness. “In that great house there isn’t a soul for real
+companionship. Towne’s eaten up with egotism, and the cousin is an
+echo.”
+
+Edith asked herself out to dinner very often. “It is perfect with just
+the four of us,” she told Mrs. Follette, and that lady, flattered
+almost to tears, said, “Telephone whenever you can come and take
+pot-luck.”
+
+Edith had planned to have dinner with them to-night. Evans took an
+early train to Sherwood. When he reached home Edith and his mother were
+on the porch and the Towne car stood before the gate.
+
+“I’ve got to go back,” Edith explained. “Uncle Fred came in from
+Chicago an hour or two ago and telephoned that he must see me.”
+
+“Baldy will be broken-hearted,” Evans told her, smiling.
+
+“I couldn’t get him up. I tried, but they said he had left the office.
+I thought I’d bring him out with me.” She kissed Mrs. Follette. “I’ll
+come again soon, dear lady. And you must tell me when you are tired of
+me.”
+
+Evans went to the car with her, and came back to find his mother in an
+exalted mood. “Now if you could marry a girl like Edith Towne.”
+
+“_Edith_,” he laughed lightly. “Mother, are you blind? She and Baldy
+are mad about each other.”
+
+“Of course she isn’t serious. A boy like that.”
+
+“Isn’t she? I’ll say she is.” Evans went charging up the stairs to
+dress for dinner. “I’ll be down presently.”
+
+“Baldy may be late; we won’t wait for him,” his mother called after him.
+
+The dining-room at Castle Manor had a bare waxed floor, an old
+drop-leaf table of dark mahogany, deer’s antlers over the mantel, and
+some candles in sconces.
+
+Old Mary did her best to follow the rather formal service on which Mrs.
+Follette insisted. The food was simple, but well-cooked, and there was
+always a soup and a salad.
+
+It was not until they reached the salad course that they heard the
+sound of Baldy’s car. He burst in at the front door, as if he battered
+it down, stormed through the hall, and entered the dining-room like a
+whirlwind.
+
+“Jane’s going to be married,” he cried, “and she’s going to marry
+Frederick Towne!”
+
+Evans half-rose from his chair. Everything turned black and he sat
+down. There was a loud roaring in his ears. It was like taking
+ether--with the darkness and the roaring.
+
+When things cleared he found that neither his mother nor Baldy had
+noticed his agitation. His mother was asking quick questions. “Who told
+you? Does Edith know?”
+
+Baldy threw himself in a chair. “Mr. Towne got back from Chicago this
+afternoon. Called me up and said he wanted me to come over at once to
+his office. I went, and he gave me a letter from Jane. Said he thought
+it was better for him to bring it, and then he could explain.”
+
+He threw the note across the table to Mrs. Follette. “Will you read
+it? I’m all in. Drove like the dickens coming out. Towne wanted me
+to go home with him to dinner. Wanted to begin the brother-in-law
+business right away before I got my breath. But I left. Oh, the darned
+peacock!” Jane would have known Baldy’s mood. The tempest-gray eyes,
+the chalk-white face.
+
+“But don’t you like it, Baldy?”
+
+“Like it? Oh, read that note. Does it sound like Jane? I ask you, does
+it sound like _Jane_?”
+
+It did not sound in the least like Jane. Not the Jane that Evans and
+Baldy knew.
+
+  “Baldy, dear. Mr. Towne will tell you all about it. I am going to
+  marry him as soon as Judy is better. I know you will be surprised,
+  but Mr. Towne is just wonderful, and it will be such a good thing for
+  all of us. Mr. Towne will tell you how dreadfully ill Judy is. He
+  wants to do everything for her, and that will be such a help to Bob.
+
+  “And so we will live happy ever after. Oh, you blessed boy, you know
+  how I love you. Send a wire, and say that it is all right. Tell Evans
+  and Mrs. Follette. They are my dearest friends and will always be.”
+
+She signed herself:
+
+                                     “Loving you more than ever,
+                                                                 “JANE.”
+
+Mrs. Follette looked up from the letter, took off her reading glasses,
+and said complacently, “I think it is very nice for her.” The dear lady
+quite basked in the thought of her intimate friendship with the fiancée
+of Frederick Towne.
+
+But the two men did not bask.
+
+“_Nice, for Jane?_” they threw the sentences at her.
+
+“Oh, can’t you see why she has done it?” Baldy demanded. He caught up
+the note, pointing an accusing finger as he read certain phrases. “_It
+will be such a good thing for all of us ... he wants to do everything
+for her ... it will be such a help to Bob...._”
+
+“Doesn’t that show,” Baldy demanded furiously, “she’s doing it because
+Judy and Bob are hard up and Towne can help--I know Jane.”
+
+Evans knew her. Hadn’t he said to her not long ago, “You’d tie up the
+broken wings of every wounded bird.... You’d give crutches to the lame,
+and food to the hungry....”
+
+“I don’t see why you should object,” Mrs. Follette was saying; “it will
+be a fine thing for her. She will be Mrs. Frederick Towne!”
+
+“I’d rather have her Jane Barnes for the rest of her life. Do you know
+Towne’s reputation? Any woman can flatter him into a love affair. A fat
+Lothario.” Baldy did not mince the words.
+
+“But he hasn’t married any of them,” said Mrs. Follette triumphantly.
+She held to the ancient and honorable theory that the woman a man
+marries need not worry about past love affairs since she had been paid
+the compliment of at least legal permanency.
+
+“But Jane,” Baldy said, brokenly, “you know her. She’s a child, a
+darling child. With all her dreams----” He ran his fingers through his
+hair with the effect of a ruffled eagle.
+
+Evans’ lips were dry. “What did you say to Towne?”
+
+“Oh, what _could_ I say? That I was surprised, and all that. Something
+about hoping they’d be happy. Then I beat it and got here as fast as I
+could. I had to talk it over with you people or--burst.” His eyes met
+Evans’ and found there the sympathy he sought. “It’s a rotten trick.”
+
+“Yes,” said Evans, “rotten.”
+
+“I think,” said Mrs. Follette, “that you must both see it is best.”
+Yet her voice was troubled. Through her complacency had penetrated the
+thought of what Jane’s engagement might mean to Evans. Yet, it might,
+on the other hand, be a blessing in disguise. There were other women,
+richer--who would help him in his career. And in time he would forget
+Jane.
+
+Old Mary gave them their coffee. “Shall we walk for a bit, Baldy?”
+Evans said, when at last they rose.
+
+The two men made their way towards the pine grove. The twilight sky
+was a deep purple with a thin sickle of a moon and a breathless star.
+
+And there in the little grove under the purple sky Evans said to Baldy,
+“I love her.”
+
+“I know. I wish to God you had her.”
+
+“Perhaps she has chosen wisely. Towne can make things--easy.”
+
+“But you should hear what Edith says about him. He’s an old grouch
+around the house. And you know Janey? Like a bird--singing.”
+
+_Like a bird singing!_
+
+“Baldy,” Evans said, “I don’t agree with you that it was--the money.
+That may have helped in her decision. But I think she cares----”
+
+“For Towne--nonsense.”
+
+“It isn’t nonsense. She knows nothing of love. She may have taken the
+shadow for the substance. And he can be very--charming.” It wrung his
+heart to say it. But almost with clairvoyance he saw the truth.
+
+When they returned to the house Baldy found a message from Edith. He
+was to call her up.
+
+“Uncle Frederick has just told me,” she said, “that Jane is to be my
+aunt. Isn’t it joyful?”
+
+“I’m not sure.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Oh, Towne’s all right. But not for Jane.”
+
+“I see. But he’s really in love with her, poor old duck. Talked about
+it all through dinner. He’s going to try awfully hard to make her
+happy.”
+
+“Then you approve?”
+
+He heard her gay laugh over the wire. “It will be nice--to have you--in
+the family. I’ll be your niece-in-law.”
+
+“You’ll be nothing of the kind.”
+
+“You can’t help being--Uncle Baldy. Isn’t that--delicious? And now,
+will you come in to-night and sit by my fire? Uncle Frederick is out.”
+
+“I’ve sat too often by your fire.”
+
+“Too often for your own peace of mind? I know that. And I’m glad of
+it.” Again he heard a ripple of laughter.
+
+“It isn’t a thing to laugh at.”
+
+She hesitated, then said in a different tone, “I am not laughing. But I
+want you by my fire to-night.”
+
+It was late when Evans went up-stairs. He had spent the evening with
+his mother, discussing with her some matters where his legal knowledge
+helped. They did not speak of Jane. Their avoidance of the subject
+showed their preoccupation with it. But neither dared approach it.
+
+On the bedside table in Evans’ room lay the valentine he had bought
+for Jane. There it was, with its cupids and bleeding hearts--its
+forget-me-nots--and golden darts.
+
+Of course he could not send it now. He couldn’t ever send another
+valentine to Jane. She belonged to Towne.
+
+It didn’t seem credible. It was one of the things--like war--that men
+refused to believe could ever happen. Yet it had happened.
+
+After this Jane would be out of his life--utterly. It was all very well
+to talk of friendship. But he wouldn’t be her friend. He didn’t want
+to see her. He didn’t want to hear her voice. He thought he should die
+when he had to meet her as Mrs. Frederick Towne.
+
+But what was he going to do without her? What...?
+
+He paced the room restlessly. Ahead of him had been always the hope
+that he might win her. And now, she was won, and not by him. It
+was--unthinkable.
+
+His excitement increased. The valentine seemed to mock him as it lay
+there fragile in its loveliness.
+
+  “Roses red, my dear,
+  And violets blue,
+  Honey’s sweet, my dear....”
+
+He reached out his hand for it and tore it into shreds. Paper lace!...
+Paper lace!...
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+VOICES IN THE DARK
+
+
+Arthur Lane and Sandy talked it over. “I wonder what has happened. He
+looks dreadful.”
+
+The two boys were on their way to Castle Manor. They wanted books.
+Evans’ library was a treasure-house for youthful readers. It had all
+the old adventuring tales. And Evans had read everything. He would
+simply walk up to a shelf, lay his hand on a book, and say, “Here’s one
+you’ll like.” And he was never wrong.
+
+He had told them that the latch-string was always out for them. And
+they had learned to look for his welcome. Sometimes he asked them to
+stay, and ’phoned to their parents. And then they popped corn before
+the library fire, or made taffy in the kitchen. And sometimes Baldy
+Barnes was there and that wonderful Miss Towne. And Mrs. Follette. The
+boys didn’t care in the least what the rest of Sherwood thought about
+Mrs. Follette. They liked her and when she made the taffy and stood
+over the boiling kettle with the big spoon in her hand, they thought
+her regal in spite of the humble nature of her occupation.
+
+But of late, Evans Follette had met them with an effort. “Look for
+yourselves,” he had said, when they asked for books, and had sat
+staring into the fire. And he had not urged them to stay. His manner
+had been kind but inattentive. They were puzzled and a little hurt. “I
+feel sorta queer when he acts that way,” Sandy was saying, “as if he
+didn’t take any interest. I don’t even know whether he wants us any
+more.”
+
+Arthur refused to believe his hero inhospitable. “It’s just that he’s
+got things on his mind.”
+
+They reached the house and rang the bell. Old Mary let them in. “He’s
+in the library,” she said, and they went towards it. The door was open
+and they entered. But the room was empty....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That morning Baldy had had a letter from Jane and had handed it to
+Evans. It was the first long letter since her engagement to Towne.
+Baldy had written to his sister, flamingly, demanding to know if she
+was really happy. And she had said:
+
+  “I shall be when Judy is better. That is all I can think of just now.
+  Her life is hanging in the balance. We can never be thankful enough
+  that we got the specialist when we did. He had found the trouble.
+  The question now is whether she will have the strength for another
+  operation. When she gets through with that! Well, then I’ll talk to
+  you, darling. I hardly know how I feel. The days are so whirling. Mr.
+  Towne has been more than generous. If the little I can give him will
+  repay him, then I must give it, dearest. And it won’t be hard. He is
+  so very good to me.”
+
+And now this letter had come after Towne’s second visit:
+
+  “Baldy, dear, I am very happy. And I want you to set your mind at
+  rest. I am not marrying Mr. Towne for what he has done for us all,
+  but because I love him. Please believe it. You can’t understand what
+  he has been to me in these dark days. I have learned to know how kind
+  he is--and how strong. I haven’t a care in the world when he is here,
+  and everything is so--marvellous. You should see my ring--a great
+  sapphire, Baldy, in a square of diamonds. He is crazy to buy things
+  for me, but I won’t let him. I will take things for Judy but not
+  for myself. You can see that, of course. I just go everywhere with
+  him in my cheap little frocks, to the theatres and to all the great
+  restaurants, and we have the most delectable things to eat. It is
+  really great fun.
+
+  “Judy is so happy over the whole thing, that it is helping her to
+  get well. She says she was half afraid to advise me, but she knew it
+  was for my happiness. Bob simply walks on air. He says when business
+  grows better, he will pay back every cent to Mr. Towne. And of course
+  he must. But we haven’t any of us been made to feel that we ought to
+  be grateful. Mr. Towne says that he simply held out a friendly hand
+  when we needed it, and that’s all there is to it.
+
+  “Well, dearest dear, I wish I could hear Philomel sing o’ mornings,
+  and see Merrymaid and the kit-cat on the hearth, but best of all
+  would be to have your own darling self on the other side of the
+  table.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Since he had heard the news of Jane’s approaching marriage, Evans had
+lived in a dream. The people about him had seemed shadow-shapes. He
+had walked and talked with them, remembering nothing afterward but his
+great weariness. He had eaten his meals at stated times, and had not
+known what he was eating. He had gone to his office, and behind closed
+doors had sat at his desk, staring.
+
+Nothing mattered. All incentive was gone. He spoke of Jane to no one.
+Not even to his mother. He had a morbid horror of hearing her name.
+When he came across anything that reminded him of her, he suffered
+actual physical pain.
+
+And now this letter! “You see what she says,” Baldy had raged. “Of
+course she isn’t in love with him. But she thinks she is. There’s
+nothing more that I can do.”
+
+Evans had taken the letter to the library to read. He was alone, except
+for Rusty, who had limped after him and laid at his feet.
+
+She loved--Towne. And that settled it. “I am marrying Mr. Towne because
+I love him.” Nothing could be plainer than that. Baldy might protest.
+But the words were there.
+
+As Evans sat gazing into the fire, he saw her as she had so often been
+in this old room--as a child, sprawled on the hearth-rug over some
+entrancing book from his shelves, swinging her feet on the edge of a
+table while he bragged of his athletic prowess; leaning over war-maps,
+while he pointed out the fields of fighting; curled up in a corner on
+the couch while he read to her--“_Oh, silver shrine, here will I take
+my rest...._”
+
+He could stand his thoughts no longer. Without hat or heavy coat, he
+stepped through one of the long windows and into the night.
+
+As he walked on in the darkness, he had no knowledge of his
+destination. He swept on and on, pursued by dreadful thoughts.
+
+On and on through the blackness.... No moon ... a wet wind blowing ...
+on and on....
+
+He came to a bridge which crossed a culvert. No water flowed under it.
+But down the road which led through the Glen was another bridge, and
+beneath it a deep, still pool.
+
+With the thought of that deep and quiet pool came momentary relief
+from the horrors which had hounded him. It would be easy. A second’s
+struggle. Then everything over. Peace. No fears. No dread of the
+future....
+
+It seemed a long time after, that, leaning against the buttress of the
+bridge, he heard, with increasing clearness, the sound of boys’ voices
+in the dark.
+
+He drew back among the shadows. It was Sandy and Arthur. Not three feet
+away from him--passing.
+
+“Well, of course, Mr. Follette is just a man,” Sandy was saying.
+
+“Maybe he is,” Arthur spoke earnestly, “but I don’t know. There’s
+something about him----”
+
+He paused.
+
+“Go on,” Sandy urged.
+
+“Well, something”--Arthur was struggling to express himself, “splendid.
+It shines like a light----”
+
+Their brisk footsteps left the bridge, and were dulled by the dirt road
+beyond. Sandy’s response was inaudible. A last murmur, and then silence.
+
+Evans was swept by a wave of emotion; his heart, warm and alive, began
+to beat in the place where there had been frozen emptiness.
+
+“_Something splendid--that shines like a light!_”
+
+Years afterward he spoke of this moment to Jane. “I can’t describe it.
+It was a miracle--their coming. As much of a miracle as that light
+which shone on Paul as he rode to Damascus. The change within me was
+absolute. I was born again. All the old fears slipped from me like a
+garment. I was saved, Jane, by those boys’ voices in the dark.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next day was Sunday. Evans called up Sandy and Arthur and invited
+them to supper. “Old Mary said you were here last night, and didn’t
+find me. I’ve a book or two for you. Can you come and get them? And
+stay to supper. Miss Towne will be here and her uncle.”
+
+The boys could not know that they were asked as a shield and buckler
+in the battle which Evans was fighting. It seemed to him that he could
+not meet Frederick Towne. Yet it had been, of course, the logical thing
+to ask him. Edith had invited herself, and Towne had, of course, much
+to tell about Jane.
+
+Evans, therefore, with an outward effect of tranquillity, played the
+host. After supper, however, he took the boys with him to the library.
+
+On the table lay a gray volume. He opened it and showed the Cruikshank
+illustrations.
+
+“I’ve been reading this. It’s great stuff.”
+
+“Oh, Pilgrim’s Progress,” said Sandy; “do you like it?”
+
+“Yes.” Evans leaned above the book where it lay open under the light.
+“Listen:
+
+“‘Then Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began to gather up close to
+Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall: and with
+that, Christian’s sword flew out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, _I
+am sure of thee now_: and with that, he had almost prest him to death,
+so that Christian began to despair of life. But as God would have it,
+while Apollyon was fetching of his last blow, thereby to make a full
+end of this good Man, Christian nimbly reached out his hand for his
+Sword, and caught it, saying, _Rejoice not against me, O mine Enemy!
+when I fall, I shall arise_: and with that, gave him a deadly thrust,
+which made him give back, as one that had received his mortal wound:
+Christian perceiving that, made at him again saying, _Nay, in all these
+things we are more than Conquerors, through him that loved us._ And
+with that, Apollyon spread forth his Dragon’s wings, and sped him away,
+that Christian saw him no more.’”
+
+Evans’ ringing voice gave full value to the words. It seemed to Arthur,
+worshipping his hero, as if he flung a hurled defiance at some unseen
+foe--“_Rejoice not against me, O mine Enemy! when I fall, I shall
+arise!_”
+
+Yet when he looked up from the book Evans’ eyes were smiling.
+
+“Would you like to take it home with you? It is a rare edition, but you
+know how to handle it. And I’d like to have you read it. Some day you
+may meet Apollyon. And may find it helpful. As I have.”
+
+Later as the boys walked home together, the precious volume under
+Arthur’s arm, Sandy said, “He’s more like himself, isn’t he? More pep.”
+
+“I’ll say he is,” but Arthur was not satisfied. “I wish he’d told us
+what he meant when he talked about meeting Apollyon.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That night Evans found out for the first time something about his
+mother. “You look tired, dearest,” he had said, when their guests were
+gone, and he and she had come into the great hall together.
+
+“I am tired.” She sat down on an old horsehair sofa. “I can’t stand
+much excitement. It makes me feel like an old lady.”
+
+“You’ll never grow old.” He felt a deep tenderness for her in this
+moment of confessed weakness. She had always been so strong. Had
+refused to lean. She had, in fact, taken from him his son’s prerogative
+of protectiveness.
+
+He laid his hand on her shoulder. “You’d better see Hallam.”
+
+“I’ve seen him.”
+
+“What did he say?”
+
+“My heart----”
+
+He looked at her in alarm. “Mother! Why didn’t you tell me?”
+
+“What was the use? There’s nothing to be worried about. Only he says I
+must not push myself.”
+
+“I am worried. Let me look after the men in the morning early. That
+will give you an extra nap.”
+
+“Oh, I won’t do it, Evans. You have your work.”
+
+“It won’t hurt me. And I am going to boss you around a bit.” He stooped
+and kissed her. “You are too precious to lose, Mumsie.”
+
+She clung to him. “What would I do without you, my dear?”
+
+He helped her up the stairs. And as she climbed slowly, his arm about
+her, he thought of that dark moment by the bridge.
+
+If those young voices had not come to him in the night, this loving
+soul might have been stricken and made desolate; left alone in her time
+of greatest need.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+AT THE OLD INN
+
+
+Once more the Washington papers had headlines that spoke of Delafield
+Simms. He had married a stenographer in Frederick Towne’s office. And
+it was Towne’s niece that he had deserted at the altar.
+
+And most remarkable of all, Edith Towne had been at the wedding. It was
+Eloise Harper who told the reporters.
+
+“They were married at the old Inn below Alexandria this morning, by the
+local Methodist clergyman. Miss Logan is a Methodist--fancy. And Edith
+was bridesmaid.”
+
+But Eloise did not know that Lucy had worn the wedding dress and veil
+that Edith had given her and looked lovely in them. And that after the
+ceremony, Delafield had wrung Edith’s hand and had said, “I shall never
+know how to thank you for what you have been to Lucy.”
+
+Edith’s candid eyes had met his squarely. “You know you are not half
+good enough for her, Del,” and he had said, humbly, “I’m not and
+that’s the truth. But I am going to do my darndest to be what she
+thinks I am.”
+
+Martha and her husband had served a delicious breakfast in the big
+empty dining-room. Only Edith and Baldy were there besides the bride
+and groom. Lucy had very sensibly refused to have any fuss and
+feathers. “If it is quiet, people won’t have so much to say about it.”
+
+Delafield’s manner to Lucy was perfect. “What do you think she has made
+me do?” he asked Edith. “Buy a farm in Virginia. We are going to raise
+pigs--black Berkshires, because Lucy likes the slant of their ears and
+the curl of their tails. She has been reading books about them, and we
+are going to spend our honeymoon motoring around the country and buying
+stock.”
+
+Oh, bravo, bravo, little Lucy, not to risk boring this fashionable
+young husband with a conventional honeymoon! Edith wanted to clap her
+hands. But she made no sign, except to meet Lucy’s quiet glance with a
+lift of the eyebrows.
+
+Edith and Baldy lingered after the bride and groom had driven off in a
+great gray car--bound for the Virginia country place which Delafield
+had bought, and made ready for the occupancy in the twinkling of an eye.
+
+“Gee, but you’re superlative,” Baldy told her as they walked in the
+garden.
+
+“Am I?”
+
+“Yes. And the way you carried it off.”
+
+“I didn’t carry it off. It carried itself.”
+
+“Are you sure it didn’t hurt?”
+
+She smiled at him from beneath her big hat. “Not a bit.”
+
+The box hedges in the garden were showing a hint of new green. There
+was a plum tree blooming prematurely. The sun made brown shadows along
+the river’s edge, and the wash of the waves from passing steamers went
+lip-lapping among the reeds and rushes.
+
+The moment was ripe for romance. But Baldy almost feverishly kept
+the conversation away from serious things. They had talked seriously
+enough, God knew, the other night by Edith’s fire. He had seen her
+lonely in the thought of her future.
+
+“When Uncle Fred marries I won’t stay here.”
+
+He had yearned to take her in his arms, to tell her that against his
+heart she should never again know loneliness. But he had not dared.
+What had he to offer? A boy’s love. Against her gold.
+
+He told himself with some bitterness that one fortune was enough in
+a family. Jane’s engagement had changed things for her brother. The
+antagonism which Baldy had always felt for Frederick was intensified.
+The thought of Towne’s money weighed heavily upon him. Jane had already
+placed herself under insuperable obligations. Even if she wished, she
+could not now shake herself free.
+
+And Edith’s money? He and Jane living on the Towne millions? He
+wouldn’t have it.
+
+So he talked of Jane. “She doesn’t want her engagement announced until
+she gets back. I think she’s right.”
+
+“I don’t,” Edith said lazily. “If I loved a man I’d want to shout it to
+the world.”
+
+They were sitting on a rustic bench under the blossoming plum tree.
+Edith’s hands were clasped behind her head, and the winged sleeves of
+her gown fell back and showed her bare arms. Baldy wanted to unclasp
+those hands, crush them to his lips--but instead he stood up, looking
+over the river.
+
+“Do you see the ducks out there? Wild ones at that. It’s a sign of
+spring.”
+
+She rose and stood beside him. “And you can talk of--ducks--on a day
+like this?”
+
+“Yes,” he did not look at her, “ducks are--safe.”
+
+He heard her low laugh. “Silly boy.”
+
+He turned, his gray eyes filled with limpid light. “Perhaps I am. But
+I should be a fool if I told you how I love you. Worship you. You know
+it, of course. But nothing can come of it, even if I were presumptuous
+enough to think that you--care.”
+
+She swept out her hands in an appealing gesture. “Say it. I want to
+hear.”
+
+She was adorable. But he drew back a little. “We’ve gone too far and
+too fast. It is my fault, of course, for being a romantic fool.”
+
+“I’m afraid we’re a pair of romantic fools, Baldy.”
+
+He turned and put his hands on her shoulders. “Edith, I--mustn’t.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Not until I have something to offer you----”
+
+“You have something to offer----”
+
+“Oh, I know what you mean. But--I won’t. Somehow this affair of Jane’s
+with your uncle has made me see----”
+
+“See what?”
+
+“Oh, how the world would look at it. How _he’d_ look at it.”
+
+“Uncle Frederick? He hasn’t anything to do with it. I’m my own
+mistress.”
+
+“I know. But---- Oh, I can’t analyze it, Edith. I love you--no end.
+More than--anything. But I won’t ask you to marry me.”
+
+“Do you know how selfish you are?”
+
+“I know how wise I am.”
+
+She made an impatient gesture. “You’re not thinking of me in the least.
+You are thinking of your pride.”
+
+He caught her hand in his. “I _am_ thinking of my pride. Do you suppose
+it is easy for me to let Jane--take money from him? To feel that there
+is no man in our family who can pay the bills? I am proud. And I’m glad
+of it. Edith--I want you to be glad that I won’t take--alms.”
+
+Her wise eyes studied him for a moment. “You blessed boy. You blessed
+poet,” she sighed, “I am proud of you, but my heart aches--for myself.”
+
+He caught her almost roughly in his arms and in a moment released her.
+“I’m right, dearest?”
+
+“No, you’re not right. If we married, we’d sail to Italy and have a
+villa by the sea. And you would paint masterpieces. Do you think my
+money counts beside your talent? Well, I don’t.”
+
+“My dear, let me prove my talent first. As things are now, I couldn’t
+pay our passage to the other side.”
+
+“You could. My money would be yours--your talent mine. A fair exchange.”
+
+He stuck obstinately to his point of view. “I won’t tie you to any
+promise until I’ve proved myself.”
+
+“And we’ll lose all these shining years.”
+
+“We won’t lose a moment. I’m going to work for you.”
+
+He was, she perceived, on the heights. But she knew the weariness of
+the climb.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Coming out of the garden in the late afternoon, they were aware of
+other arrivals at the Inn.
+
+“Adelaide and Uncle Fred, by all the gods,” said Edith, as they peered
+into the dining-room from the dimness of the hall. “Oh, don’t let them
+see us. Adelaide’s such a bromide.”
+
+They crept out, found Baldy’s car and sped towards the city. “I should
+say,” Baldy proclaimed sternly, “that for a man who is engaged, a
+thing like that is unspeakable.”
+
+“Oh, Uncle Fred and Adelaide,” said Edith, easily; “she probably asked
+him. And she was plaintive. A plaintive woman always gets her way.”
+
+Adelaide had been plaintive. And she had hinted for the ride. “Why not
+an afternoon ride, Ricky? It would rest you.”
+
+“Sorry. But I’m tied up.”
+
+“I haven’t seen you for ages, Ricky.”
+
+“I know, old girl. I’ve had a thousand things.”
+
+“I’ve--missed you.”
+
+It wasn’t easy for Frederick to ignore that. Adelaide was an attractive
+woman.
+
+“Oh, well. I can get away at four. We’ll have tea at the old Inn.”
+
+“Heavenly. Ricky, I have a new blue hat.”
+
+“You could always wear blue.” He decided that he might as well make
+things pleasant. There was a shock in store for her. Of course he’d
+have to tell her about Jane.
+
+So Adelaide in the new blue hat--with a wrap that matched--with that
+porcelain white and pink of her complexion--with her soft voice, and
+appealing manner, had Frederick for three whole hours to herself.
+
+She told him all the spicy gossip. Frederick, like most men, ostensibly
+scorned scandal, but lent a willing ear. What Eloise had said, what
+Benny had said, what all the world was saying about Del’s marriage.
+
+“And they were married here to-day. I didn’t dream it until Eloise
+called me up just before lunch. Edith had told her.”
+
+“Edith was here?”
+
+“Yes, and young Barnes.”
+
+She stopped there and poured the tea. She did it gracefully, but
+Frederick’s thoughts swept back to Jane behind her battlements of
+silver.
+
+“Four lumps, Ricky?”
+
+“Um--yes.”
+
+“A penny for your thoughts.”
+
+“They’re not worth a penny, Adelaide. Lots of lemon, please. And no
+cakes. I am trying to keep my lovely figure.”
+
+“Oh, why worry? I like big men.”
+
+“That’s nice of you.”
+
+Martha’s little sponge cakes were light as a feather. Adelaide broke
+one and ate daintily. Then she said, “How’s little Jane Barnes?”
+
+Frederick was immediately self-conscious. “She’s still in Chicago.”
+
+“Sister better?”
+
+“Much.”
+
+“When is she coming back?”
+
+“Jane? As soon as Mrs. Heming can be brought home. In a few weeks, I
+hope.”
+
+Adelaide drank a cup of tea almost at a draught. She was aware of an
+impending disclosure. When the blow came, she took it without the
+flicker of an eyelash.
+
+“I am going to marry Jane Barnes, Adelaide. The engagement isn’t to be
+announced until she returns to Washington. But I want my friends to
+know.”
+
+She put her elbows on the table, clasped her hands and rested her chin
+on them looking at him with steady eyes. “So that’s the end of it,
+Ricky?”
+
+“The end of what?”
+
+“Our friendship.”
+
+“Why should it be?”
+
+“Oh, do you think that your little Jane is going to let you philander?”
+
+“I shan’t want to philander. If that’s the way you put it.”
+
+“So you think you’re in--love with her.”
+
+“I know I am,” the red came up in his cheeks, but he stuck to it
+manfully. “It’s different from anything--ever that I’ve felt before.”
+
+“They all say that, don’t they, every time?”
+
+“Don’t be so--cynical.”
+
+She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not. Well, I shall miss you, Ricky,
+dear.”
+
+That was all, just that plaintive note. But Adelaide’s plaintiveness
+was always effective.
+
+So after tea they walked in the garden, and sat under the plum tree,
+and looked out upon the river--where the shadows were rose-red in the
+setting sun, and Adelaide said, “My life is like that--my sun has set.”
+
+Frederick reached out a sympathetic hand. “Don’t say that, old girl.”
+
+Adelaide lifted his hand to her cheek. “This is really ‘good-bye,’
+isn’t it, Ricky? It seems rather queer to be saying it.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+SPRING COMES TO SHERWOOD
+
+
+Jane was home again. Judy was better. Philomel sang. The world was a
+lovely place.
+
+“Oh, but it’s good to be back,” Jane was telling Baldy at breakfast.
+The windows were wide open, the fragrance of lilacs streamed in, there
+were pink hyacinths on the table.
+
+“It’s heavenly.”
+
+Baldy smiled at her. “The same old Jane.”
+
+She shook her head, and the light in her eyes wavered as if some breath
+of doubt fanned it. “Not quite. The winter hasn’t been easy. I’m a
+thousand years older.”
+
+“And with a wedding day ahead of you.”
+
+“Yes. Do you like it, Baldy?”
+
+He leaned back in his chair and surveyed her. “Not a bit--if you want
+the truth--I shall be jealous of Mr. Frederick Towne.”
+
+“Silly. You know I shall never love anybody more than you, Baldy.”
+
+She was perfectly unconscious of the revelation she was making, but he
+knew--and was constrained to say, “Then you don’t really love him.”
+
+“Oh, I do. He’s much nicer than I imagined he might be.”
+
+“Oh, well, if you think you are going to be happy.”
+
+“I know I am--dearest,” she blew a kiss from the tips of her fingers.
+“Baldy, I’m going to have a great house with a great garden--and invite
+Judy and the babies--every summer.”
+
+“Towne’s not marrying Judy and the babies. He’s marrying you. He won’t
+want all of your poor relations hanging around.”
+
+“Oh, he will. He has been simply dear. I feel as if I can never do
+enough for him.”
+
+She was very much in earnest. Baldy refrained from further criticism
+lest he cloud the happiness of her home-coming. The thing was done.
+They might as well make the best of it. So he said, “Do you always call
+him ‘Mr. Towne’?”
+
+“Yes. He scolds, but I can’t say Frederick--or Fred. He begs me to do
+it--but I tell him to wait till we’re married and then I’ll say ‘dear.’
+Most wives do that, don’t they?”
+
+“I hope mine won’t.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“I shall want my wife to invent names for me, and if she can’t, I’ll do
+it for her.”
+
+Jane opened her eyes wide. “Romance with a big R, Baldy?”
+
+“Yes, of course. I should want to be king, lover, master--friend to the
+woman who cared for me. That’s the real thing, Janey.”
+
+“Is it?” But she did not follow the subject up; she drew another cup
+of coffee for herself, and asked finally, “When is Evans coming back?”
+
+“Not for several days. He will go to Boston when he finishes with New
+York.”
+
+“I see. And he’s much better?”
+
+“I should say. You wouldn’t know him.”
+
+He rose. “I must run on. We’re to dine at Towne’s then?”
+
+“Yes. Just the five of us. It seems funny that I haven’t met Cousin
+Annabel. But she’s able to take her place at the head of the table,
+Mr. Towne tells me. He told me, too, that she wants to meet me. But I
+have a feeling that she won’t approve of me, Baldy. I’m not fashionable
+enough.”
+
+“Why should you be fashionable? You are all right as you are.”
+
+“Am I? Baldy, I believe my stock has gone up with you.”
+
+“It hasn’t, Janey. You were always a darling. But I didn’t want to
+spoil you.”
+
+“As if you could,” she smiled wistfully. “Sometimes I have a feeling,
+Baldy, that I should like life to go on just as it is. Just you and me,
+Baldy. But of course it can’t.”
+
+“Of course it can, if you wish it. You mustn’t marry Towne if you have
+the least doubt.”
+
+“I haven’t any doubts. So don’t worry.” She stood up and kissed him.
+“Briggs will come out for me--and we are all to see a play together
+afterward.”
+
+“Edith told me.”
+
+“Baldy,” she had hold of the lapel of his coat, “how are things going
+with--Edith?”
+
+“Do you mean, am I in love with her? I am.”
+
+“Are you going to marry her?”
+
+“God knows.”
+
+She looked up at him in surprise. “What makes you say it that way? Has
+she told you she didn’t care?”
+
+“She has told me that she does care. But do you think, Janey, that I’m
+going to take her money?”
+
+He patted her on the cheek and was off. She went to the top of the
+terrace and watched him ride away. Then she walked in the little shaded
+grove behind the house. Merrymaid followed her and the much-matured
+kitten. There was a carpet underfoot of pine needles and of fragrant
+young growth. Several of her old hens scratched in the rich mould--and
+their broods of tiny chicks answering the urgent mother-cry were like
+bits of yellow down blown before a breeze.
+
+Jane picked a spray of princess-pine and stuck it in her blouse. Oh,
+what an adorable world! Her world. Could there be anything better that
+Frederick Towne could give her?
+
+Baldy’s words rang in her ears--“Do you think I am going to take her
+money?”
+
+Yet she was taking Frederick Towne’s money. She wished it had not been
+necessary. Each day it seemed to her that the thought burned deeper:
+she was under obligations to her lover that could be repaid only by
+marriage. And they were to be married in June.
+
+Yet why should the thought burn? She loved him. Not, perhaps, as Baldy
+loved Edith. But there were respect and admiration, yes, and when she
+was with him, she felt his charm, she was carried along on the whirling
+stream of his own adoration and tenderness.
+
+Yet--there were things to dread. She would have to meet his friends. Be
+judged by them. There would be formal entertaining. Edith had said once
+that the demand of society on women was really high-class drudgery.
+“Much worse than washing dishes.”
+
+Jane didn’t quite believe that. Yet there must be a happy medium. Her
+dreams had had to do with a little house--a little garden.
+
+She went back to her own little house, and found a great box of roses
+waiting. She spent an hour filling vases and bowls with them. Old Sophy
+coming in from the kitchen said, “Looks lak dat Mistuh Towne’s jes’
+fascinated with you, Miss Janey.”
+
+“Aren’t the roses lovely, Sophy?” Jane wanted to tell Sophy that
+Mr. Towne would some day be her husband. But she still deferred the
+announcement of her engagement.
+
+“I’ve told one or two people,” Frederick had said.
+
+“Whom?”
+
+“Well, Adelaide. She’s such an old friend. And I told Annabel, of
+course. I don’t see why you should care, Jane.”
+
+“I think I’m afraid that when I go into a shop someone will say, ‘Oh,
+she’s going to marry Frederick Towne, and see how shabby she is.’”
+
+“You are never shabby.”
+
+“That’s because I made myself two new dresses while I was at Judy’s.
+And this is one of them.”
+
+“You have the great art of looking lovely in the simplest things. But
+some day you are going to wear a frock that I have for you.” He told
+her about the silver and blue creation he had bought in Chicago. “Now
+and then I take it out and look at it. I’ve put it in your room, Jane,
+and it is waiting for you.”
+
+She thought now of the blue and silver gown, as Sophy said, “Miss
+Jane, I done pressed that w’ite chiffon of yours twel it hardly hangs
+together.”
+
+“I’ll wear it once more, Sophy. I’m having a sewing woman next week.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+With the old white chiffon she wore a golden rose or two--and sat at
+Frederick’s right, while on the other end of the great table, Cousin
+Annabel weighed her in the balance.
+
+Jane knew she was being weighed. Cousin Annabel was so blue-blooded
+that it showed in the veins of her hands and nose--and her hair was
+dressed with a gray transformation which quite overpowered her thin
+little face with its thin little nose.
+
+As a matter of fact, Cousin Annabel felt that Frederick had taken leave
+of his senses. What could he see in this short-haired girl--who hadn’t
+a jewel, except the one he had given her?
+
+Jane wore Towne’s ring, hidden, on a ribbon around her neck. “Some day
+I’ll let everybody see it,” she had said, “but not now.”
+
+“You act as if you were ashamed of it.”
+
+“I’m not. But Cinderella must wait until the night of the ball.”
+
+It was while they were drinking their coffee in the drawing-room that
+the storm came up. It was one of those cyclonic winds that whip off the
+tops of the trees and blow the roofs from unsubstantial edifices. The
+thunder was a ceaseless reverberation--the lightning was pink and made
+the sky seem like a glistening inverted shell.
+
+Cousin Annabel hated thunder-storms and said so. “I think I shall go to
+my room, Frederick.”
+
+“You are not a bit safer up there than here,” Towne told her.
+
+“But I feel safer, Frederick.” She was very decided about it. What she
+meant to do was to sit in the middle of her bed and have her maid give
+her the smelling salts. She would be thus in a sense fortified.
+
+So she went up and Baldy and Edith wandered across the hall to the
+library, where Edith insisted they could observe other aspects of the
+storm.
+
+Jane and her lover were left alone, and presently Frederick was called
+to the telephone.
+
+“I’m not sure that it’s safe, sir, in this storm,” Waldron warned.
+
+“Nonsense, Waldron,” Towne said, and stepped quickly across the
+polished floor.
+
+Thus it happened that Jane sat by herself in the great drawing-room of
+the Ice Palace, while the wind howled, and the rain streamed down the
+window glass, and all the evil things in the world seemed let loose.
+
+And she was afraid!
+
+Not of the storm, but of the great house. She was so small and it was
+so big. Her own little cottage clasped her in its warm embrace. This
+great mansion stood away from her--as the sky stands away from the
+desert. All the rest of her life she would be going up and down those
+great stairs, sitting in front of this great fireplace, presiding at
+the far end of Frederick’s great table--dwarfed by it all, losing
+personality, individuality, bidding good-bye forever to little Jane
+Barnes, becoming until death parted them the wife of Frederick Towne.
+
+She sat huddled in her chair, panting a little, her eyes wide.
+
+“Silly,” she said with a sob.
+
+The sound of her voice echoed and reëchoed, “_Silly, silly, silly._”
+
+The noise without was deafening--the wind shook the walls. She stood
+up, her hands clenched, then ran swiftly into the hall.
+
+A thundering crash and the lights went out.
+
+She heard Frederick calling, “Jane, Jane!”
+
+She called back, “I’m here,” and saw the quick spurt of a match as he
+lighted it, holding it up and peering into the dark.
+
+“There you are, my dearest.” He lighted another match and came towards
+her, as Waldron, with a brace of candles, appeared in one door and
+Baldy and Edith in another.
+
+Frederick lifted Jane in his strong arms. “Why, you’re crying,” he
+said; “don’t, my darling, don’t.”
+
+Then Baldy came up and demanded, “What’s the matter, Kitten? You’ve
+never been afraid of storms.”
+
+She tried to smile at him. “Well, I’ve gone through such a lot lately.”
+But Baldy wasn’t satisfied. A Jane who dissolved into tears was a
+disturbing and desolating object. He glowered at Frederick, holding him
+responsible.
+
+At this moment Waldron reappeared to say that Briggs had pronounced the
+streets impassable. Branches had been blown down--and there was other
+wreckage.
+
+“That settles it,” Frederick said. “You two young things may as well
+stay here for the night. Jane’s not fit to go out anyhow.”
+
+“Oh, I’m all right,” she protested.
+
+Edith suggested bridge, so they played for a while. The big room was
+still lighted by the candles, so that the shadows pressed close. Jane
+was very pale, and now and then Frederick looked at her anxiously.
+
+“You and Edith had better go up,” he said at last. “And you must have
+Alice get you some hot milk--I’ll send Waldron with a bit of cordial to
+set you up.”
+
+She shook her head. “I don’t want it.”
+
+“But I want you to have it.” There was a note of authority which almost
+brought her again to tears. She hated to have anyone tell her what she
+should do. She liked to do as she pleased. But later, when the glass of
+cordial came up to her, she drank it.
+
+She did not go to sleep for a long time. Edith sat by the bed and
+talked to her. “I shouldn’t,” she apologized; “Uncle Fred told you to
+rest.”
+
+Jane curled up among her pillows, and said rebelliously, “Well, I don’t
+have to obey yet, do I?”
+
+“Don’t ever obey.” Edith, in her winged chair with her Viking braids
+and the classic draperies of her white dressing-gown, looked like a
+Norse goddess. “Don’t ever obey, or you’ll make a tyrant out of him.”
+
+“But I hate--fighting.”
+
+“You won’t have to fight. I do it because it’s my temperament. But you
+can manage him--by letting things go a bit--and coaxing will do the
+rest----”
+
+“I don’t want to manage--my husband,” said Jane.
+
+“All women do----”
+
+“Would you want to manage--Baldy?”
+
+Edith flushed. “That’s different,” she evaded.
+
+“Not different. You know you wouldn’t go through life with him,
+pulling wires, making a puppet of him--of yourself--you want
+comradeship--understanding. You’ll flare up now and then. Baldy and I
+do. But--oh, we love each other.” Jane’s voice shook.
+
+Edith looked at her thoughtfully. “Jane, are you happy?”
+
+“I ought to be----”
+
+“But are you?”
+
+“I’m tired, I think. I don’t know. Ever since I came home I’ve been
+nervous. Perhaps it is the reaction.”
+
+“Jane, I’m going to say something. Don’t marry Uncle Fred unless
+you’re--sure. I went through all that with Del. And you see how little
+I knew of what I had in my heart to give----” She stopped, her lovely
+face suffused with blushes. “I’ve learned--since then. And you mustn’t
+make my--mistake. And, Jane dear,” she leaned over the younger girl
+like some splendid angel, “don’t worry about material things. Baldy
+and I will want you always with us----”
+
+Jane sat up. “Are you going to marry Baldy?”
+
+“I am,” sighing a little, “some day, when his ship comes in. He isn’t
+willing to share my cargo--yet.”
+
+“He loves you,” said Jane, “dearly.”
+
+Edith bent down and kissed her. “I know,” she said, “and my heart sings
+it.”
+
+When Edith went away, they had not touched again on the question of
+Jane’s marriage. Jane, lying awake in the dark, reflected that of
+course Edith could not know of her debt to Frederick. No one knew
+except Baldy.
+
+In the morning Towne had gone when Jane came down. She and Edith had
+had breakfast in their rooms--and there had been a great rose on Jane’s
+tray, with a note twisted about the stem--“To my golden girl.” Her
+lover had called her up by the house telephone, and had told her he was
+leaving for New York at noon. “A telegram has just come. I’ll see you
+the moment I get back.”
+
+Jane had a sense of relief. She would have three days to herself. Three
+days at Sherwood--with the blossoming trees, and the mating birds, and
+Merrymaid and the kitten, and old Sophy with her wise philosophy--and
+Baldy on the other side of the little table--and Philomel singing....
+
+Briggs took her out at noon, and Sophy came in to say, “Mr. Evans
+called you-all up. He’s back fum New York. He say he’ll come over
+to-night.”
+
+That was news indeed! Old Evans! Jane got into the frock of faded lilac
+gingham and went about the house singing. Three days! Of freedom!
+
+It was after lunch that she told the old woman, “I’m going down in the
+Glen--there should be wild honeysuckle--Sophy.”
+
+Sophy surveyed her. “The whole place is chock-full of flowers, Miss
+Janey. And I’ll miss my guess effen dey ain’ mo’ of ’em dis afternoon.”
+
+“But--wild honeysuckle, Sophy? The florists haven’t that for me, have
+they?”
+
+So Jane put on a wide-brimmed hat, and away she went down the long road
+with the pines on each side of it--the wide creek, which washed in
+shallow ripples over the brown stones, or eddied in still pools under
+the great old willows.
+
+There were bees in the Glen and butterflies, and a cool silence. On
+the other side of the creek were pasture, and cattle grazing. But no
+human creature was in sight. Jane, walking along the narrow path, had a
+sense of utter peace. Here was familiar ground. She felt the welcome of
+inanimate things--the old willows, the singing stream, the great gray
+rocks that stuck their heads above the edges of the bank.
+
+On the slope of the bank she saw the rosiness of the flowers she
+sought. She climbed up, picked the fragrant sprays and sat down under
+a hickory tree to make a bouquet. From where she sat she could view the
+broad stream and a rustic bridge just at a turn of the path.
+
+And now, around the turn of the path, came suddenly a man and two boys.
+They carried fishing-rods and stopped at a jutting rock to bait their
+hooks. One of the boys went out on the bridge and cast his line. His
+voice came to Jane clearly.
+
+“Mr. Follette, there’s a thing I hate to do, and that’s to bait my hook
+with a worm. I’d much rather put on something that wasn’t alive. Why is
+it that everything eats up something else?”
+
+Jane peered down at the man poised on the rock. It _was_ Evans! He was
+winding his reel against a taut line. “I’ve caught a snag,” he said;
+“look out, Sandy, there’s something on your hook.”
+
+As they landed the small catch with much excitement, Jane was aware
+of the strong swing of Evans’ figure, the brown of his cheeks, the
+brightness of his glance as he spoke to the boys.
+
+He gave the death stroke to the silver flapping fish with a jab of his
+knife-blade, and the boy on the bridge complained, “There you are,
+killing things. I don’t like it, do you? Everything we eat? The woods
+are full of killing. It is dreadful when we think of it.”
+
+“It is dreadful.” Evans sat down on the rock and looked across at
+the boy on the bridge. “But there are more dreadful things than
+death--injustice, and cruelty, and hate. And more than all--fear. And
+you must think of this, Arthur, that what we call a violent death is
+sometimes the easiest. An old animal with teeth gone, trying to exist.
+That’s dreadfulness. Or an old person racked by pains. Much better if
+both could have been dead in the glory of youth.”
+
+He had always had that quick and vivid voice, but this certainty
+of phrase was a resurrection. He spoke without hesitation. Sure of
+himself. Sure of the things he was about to say.
+
+“You boys needn’t think that I don’t know what I am talking about.
+I do. When I came back from France there was something wrong. I was
+afraid of everything. I lived for months in dread of my shadow. It was
+awful. Nothing can be worse. Then, one night I came to see that God’s
+greatest gift to man is--strength to endure.”
+
+He flung it at them--and their wide eyes answered him. After a moment
+Arthur said, huskily, “Gee, that’s great.”
+
+Sandy sighed heavily. “I saw a picture the other day of a boy who
+wanted to play baseball, and he had to hold the baby. I reckon that’s
+what you mean. Most of us have to hold the baby when we want to play
+baseball.”
+
+The others laughed, then young Arthur said, “It looks to me as if life
+is just one darned thing after another.”
+
+“Not quite that.” Evans stood up. “I’m afraid I’m an awful preacher,”
+he apologized, “but you will ask questions.”
+
+“Most grown-ups don’t answer them,” said Arthur, earnestly; “they just
+say, ‘Be good and let who will be clever.’”
+
+“They’d better say ‘Be strong.’” Evans was reeling in his line. “We
+must be getting towards home. Do you see those shadows? We’ll be
+late----”
+
+He stopped suddenly. There had been the crack of a twig and he had
+turned his eyes towards the sound. And there, poised above him, her
+eyes lighted up, her hands held out to him, her hat off, the warm wind
+blowing her bobbed black hair, blowing, too, the folds of the lilac
+frock back from her slender figure, stood Jane ... _Jane_....
+
+He went charging up the bank towards her.
+
+“My dear,” he said, “my dear.”
+
+That was all. But he was there, holding her hands, devouring her with
+his eyes.
+
+Then he dropped her hands. “I thought you were a ghost,” he said, a
+little awkwardly. “I called you up this morning and Sophy said you were
+in town.”
+
+“I came out at noon. The day was so perfect. I had to see the Glen.”
+
+“It is perfect. When I found you were out, I got the boys. I am taking
+a half-holiday after my trip.”
+
+He was talking naturally now, smiling up at her as she stood above
+him. She found herself trembling, almost afraid to speak again lest her
+voice betray her. She had been more shaken than he by the encounter.
+She wondered at his ease.
+
+She was to wonder more, as he walked home with her. The presence of the
+boys barred, of course, personalities. But Evans’ clear eyes met hers
+without a shadow of self-consciousness. He asked her about her journey,
+about Judy, about the babies, about Bob. The only subject on which he
+did not touch was her marriage with Frederick Towne.
+
+And so it happened that, woman-like, as they walked alone at last after
+the boys had left them in the little pine grove back of the house, that
+Jane said, “Evans, you haven’t wished me happiness.”
+
+“No,” he said, and his eyes met hers squarely. “I think you might spare
+me that, Jane.”
+
+She flushed. “Oh,” she said, “I’m sorry.”
+
+He laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder. “Don’t be sorry, little
+Jane. But we won’t talk about it. That’s the best way for both of
+us--not to talk.”
+
+He stayed to dinner, stayed for an hour or two afterward--fitting
+himself in pleasantly to former niches. Jane could hardly credit the
+change in him. It was, she decided, not so much a resurrection of the
+body as of the spirit. His hair was gray, and now and then his eyes
+showed tired, his shoulders sagged. But there was no trace of the old
+timidity, the old withdrawals. He was interested, responsive, at times
+buoyant. The things she had loved in him years ago were again there.
+_This man did not think dark thoughts!_
+
+When he went away, she and Baldy stood together on the terrace in the
+warm darkness and watched him.
+
+“He still limps a little,” Jane said.
+
+“Yes. Shall we go in now, Jane?”
+
+“No. Let’s sit on the steps and see the moon rise.”
+
+They sat side by side. “When is Towne coming back?” Baldy asked.
+
+“In three days.”
+
+Tree-toads were shrilling in monotonous cadence--from far away came the
+plaintive note of a whippoorwill. But there was another plaintive note
+close at hand.
+
+“Jane, you’re crying,” Baldy said, sharply. “What’s the matter, dear?”
+
+He put his arm about her. “What’s the matter?”
+
+“Baldy, I don’t want to get--married. I want to stay with
+you--forever----”
+
+“You shall stay with me.”
+
+She sobbed and sobbed, and he soothed her. “Little sister, little
+sister,” he said, “you are crying too much in these days.”
+
+She sat up, wiped her eyes with his handkerchief, smoothed her hair
+with shaking hands. “It is rather silly, Baldy.”
+
+“Nothing of the kind, Janey. I knew the whole thing was a mistake.”
+
+She stopped him with a touch of her hand on his arm. “Don’t,” she said,
+“it isn’t a mistake, Baldy. I was just a bit--low--in my mind----”
+
+“Do you think I am going to let you marry Towne?”
+
+There was a long silence. The bird in the Glen said,
+“Whippoorwill--whippoorwill,” in dull reiteration, the tree-toads
+shrilled, the rising moon drew a line of gold across the horizon.
+
+At last Jane spoke. “Dearest, I must marry him. There’s no way out.
+He’s done so much for me--and some day, perhaps, I’ll love him.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+HAUNTED
+
+
+It was after the day when she had met Evans in the Glen that Jane began
+to be haunted by ghosts.
+
+There was a ghost who wandered through Sherwood on moonlights, a
+limping, hesitating ghost who said, “You’re wine, Jane. I must have my
+daily sip of you.”
+
+And there was a ghost who came in a fog and said, “You are a lantern,
+Jane--held high.”
+
+And that ghost in the glow of the hearth-fire--“You are food and drink
+to me, Jane. Do you know it?”
+
+Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts; holding out appealing hands to her. And always
+she had turned away. But now she did not turn. Over and over again she
+lent her ears to those whispering words, “Jane, you are wine.... Jane,
+you are a lantern.... You are food and drink, Jane....”
+
+Well, she was having her punishment. She had not loved him when he
+needed her. And now that she needed him, she must not love him.
+
+She hardly knew herself. All the years of her life she had seen things
+straight, and she had tried to live up to that vision. She saw them
+straight now. She did not love Frederick Towne. She had no right to
+marry him. Yet she must. There was no way out.
+
+Towne was aware of a difference in her when he returned from New York.
+She was more remote. A little less responsive. Yet these things caused
+him no disquiet. Her crisp coolness had always constituted one of her
+great charms. “You are tired, dearest,” he told her. “I wish you would
+marry me right away, and let me make you happy.”
+
+They were lunching at the Capitol in the Senate restaurant. Frederick
+was an imposing figure and Jane was aware of his importance. People
+glanced at him and glanced again, and then told others who he was. Some
+day she would be his wife, and everybody would be telling everybody
+else that she was the wife of the great Frederick Towne.
+
+The attentive waiter at her elbow laid toast on her plate, and served
+Maryland crab from a silver chafing-dish. Frederick knew what she
+liked and had ordered without asking her. But the delicious food was
+tasteless. She had been afraid Frederick would say something about an
+immediate marriage, and now he was saying it.
+
+“Oh,” she told him, earnestly, “you promised I might wait until Judy
+could come on. In June.”
+
+“I know. But it will be very hot, and you’ll have a whole lifetime in
+which to see Judy.”
+
+“But not at my wedding. She’s my only sister.”
+
+“I see,” but his voice showed his annoyance; “but it seems as if
+your family have demanded enough of you. Can’t you think a bit about
+yourself--and me?”
+
+She pressed her point. “Judy is like my mother. I can’t be married
+without her and the babies.”
+
+“If the babies come, you’ll be looking after them until the last
+moment, and it will be a great strain on you, sweetheart.”
+
+“Oh, it won’t be. I adore babies.”
+
+His quick jealousy flared. “I don’t,” he said, with a touch of
+sulkiness. “I’m not fond of children.”
+
+She ate in silence. And presently he said repentantly, “You must think
+me a great boor, Jane. But you don’t know how much I want you.”
+
+He was like a repentant boy. She made herself smile at him. “I think
+you are very patient, Mr. Towne.”
+
+“I am not patient. I am most impatient. And when are you going to stop
+calling me Mr. Towne?”
+
+“When I can call you--husband.”
+
+“But I don’t want to wait until then, dearest.”
+
+“But ‘Frederick’ is so long, and ‘Fred’ is so short, and ‘Ricky’ sounds
+like a highball.” She had thrown off her depression and was sparkling.
+
+“Nobody calls me ‘Ricky’ but Adelaide. I always hated it.”
+
+“Did you?” She was demure. “I might say ‘my love,’ like the ladies in
+the old-fashioned novels.”
+
+He laughed delightedly. “Say it.”
+
+She acquiesced unexpectedly. “My love, we are invited to a week-end
+with the Delafield Simms, at their new country place, Grass Hills.”
+
+“Are we?” Then in a sudden ardent rush of words, “Jane, I’d kiss you if
+the world wasn’t looking on.”
+
+“The reporters would be ecstatic. Headlines.”
+
+“I am tired of headlines. And what do you mean about going to Delafield
+Simms?”
+
+“They are asking a lot of his friends. It is his wife’s introduction to
+his old crowd. Much will depend on whether you and Edith will accept.
+And it was Edith who asked me to--make you come----”
+
+She gave him the truth, knowing it to be better than diplomacy. “I told
+her that I couldn’t make you. But perhaps if you knew I wanted it----”
+She paused inquiringly.
+
+He leaned towards her across the table. “Ask me, prettily, and I’ll do
+it.”
+
+“Really?” She laughed, blushed and did it. “Will you go--my love?”
+
+“Could I say ‘no’ to that?” He radiated satisfaction. “Do you know how
+charming you are, Jane?”
+
+“Am I? But it is nice of you to go. I know how you’ll hate it.”
+
+“Not if you are there. And now, who else are asked?”
+
+“Oh, Mrs. Laramore and Eloise Harper and a lot of others. Lucy says
+she’ll be like a fish out of water, but Delafield has made up his mind
+that his friends shan’t think that he’s ashamed of her.”
+
+When their ices came and their coffee, Frederick said, “I’ve got to
+spend a half-hour in a committee room. Shall I take you up to the
+Senate Gallery?”
+
+“No--there’s nothing interesting, is there? I’ll wait in Statuary Hall.”
+
+Jane loved the marble figures that circled the Hall. Years ago there
+had not been so many. They had been, then, perhaps, more distinctive.
+As a child, she had chosen as her favorites the picturesque Colonials,
+the frontiersmen in leather tunics and coonskin caps. She had never
+liked the statesmen in stiff shirts and frock coats, although she had
+admitted their virtues. Even the incongruous classic draperies were
+more in keeping with the glamour which the past flung over the men who
+had given their best to America.
+
+But it was Fulton who had captured her imagination, with his little
+ship, and Pere Marquette with his cross, the peace-loving Quaker who
+had conquered; adventurer, pioneer, priest and prophet--builders all of
+the structure of the new world.
+
+She wondered what future generations would add to this glorious
+company. Would the Anglo-Saxon give way to the Semite? Would the
+Huguenot yield to the Slav? And would these newcomers hold high the
+banner of national idealism? What would they give? And what would they
+take away?
+
+There were groups of sightseers gathered about the great room--a guide
+placing them here and there on the marble blocks. The trick was to put
+someone behind a mottled pillar far away, and let him speak. Owing to
+some strange acoustic quality the sound would be telephoned to the
+person who stood on the whispering stone.
+
+Years ago Jane had listened while a voice had come echoing across
+the hollow spaces of the great Hall, “My country--right or wrong--my
+country----”
+
+Another ghost! The ghost of a boy, patriotic, passionately devoted to
+the great old gods. “Of course they were only men, Jane. Human. Faulty.
+But they blazed a path of freedom for those who followed....”
+
+When Frederick came, he found her standing before the prim statue of
+Frances Willard.
+
+“Tired, sweetheart?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“I stayed longer than I expected.”
+
+“It didn’t seem long. I have had plenty of company.”
+
+He was puzzled. “What do you mean?”
+
+“All these.” Her hand indicated the marble men and women.
+
+He laughed. “Great old freaks, aren’t they?”
+
+Freaks!
+
+Gods!
+
+Well, of course, it all depended absolutely on the point of view.
+
+“I like them all,” she said, sturdily, “even the ones in the hideous
+frock coats.”
+
+“Surely not, my dear.”
+
+“Yes, I do. They may be bad art, but they’re good Americans.”
+
+His laugh was indulgent. “After you’ve been abroad a few times, you
+won’t be so provincial.”
+
+“If being provincial means loving my own, I’ll stay provincial.”
+
+“Travel broadens the mind, changes the point of view.”
+
+“But why should I love my country less? I know her faults. And I know
+Baldy’s. But I love him just the same.”
+
+As they walked on, he fell into step with her. “We won’t argue. You are
+probably right, and if not, you’re too pretty for me to contradict.”
+
+His gallantry was faultless, but she wanted more than gallantry. There
+had been the vivid give and take of her arguments with Evans. They had
+had royal battles, youth had crossed swords with youth. And from their
+disagreements had come convictions.
+
+She had once more the illusion of Frederick as a feather cushion! He
+would perhaps agree with her always!
+
+And her soul would be--smothered!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+AGAIN THE LANTERN
+
+
+It was the morning of the day that she was going to the Delafield
+Simms, and Jane was packing her bag. She felt unaccountably depressed.
+During this week-end her engagement would be announced. And when Judy
+came they would be married in the Sherwood church.
+
+And that would be the end of it!
+
+Her lover had planned the honeymoon with enthusiasm, “Dieppe, Jane,
+Avignon--the North Sea. Such sunsets.”
+
+Jane felt that she didn’t care in the least for sunsets or trips
+abroad. She was almost frightened at her indifference to the wonders of
+a world of which Frederick talked continually. Oh, what were mountains
+and sea at a time like this? Her heart should beat high--the dawns
+should be rosy, the nights full of stars. But they were not. Her heart
+was like a stone in her breast. The mornings broke gray and blank. The
+nights were dark. Her dreams were troubled.
+
+She knew now what had happened to her. She had let herself be blinded
+by a light which she had thought was the sun. And it was not even the
+moon! It was a big round artificial brilliance which warmed no one!
+
+Life with Frederick Towne would be just going up and down great stairs,
+eating under the eye of a stately butler, riding on puffy cushions
+behind a stately chauffeur, sitting beside a man who was everlastingly
+and punctiliously polite.
+
+Oh, half the fun in the world was in the tussle with hard things. She
+knew that now. Life in the little house had been at times desperately
+difficult. But it had been like facing a stiff breeze, and coming out
+of it thrilled with the battle against the elements.
+
+Yet how could she tell these things to Frederick? He was complacent,
+comfortable. She was young and he liked that. He never dreamed that he
+might seem to her somewhat staid and stodgy. For a moment, in Chicago,
+he had been lighted by almost youthful fires. But in these days of
+daily meetings, she had become aware of his fixed habits, his fixed
+opinions, the fixed programs which must be carried out at any cost.
+
+She had found, indeed, that she had little voice in any plans
+that Frederick made for her. When he consulted her on matters of
+redecorating the big house he brought to the subject a wealth of
+technical knowledge that appalled her. Jane knew what she liked,
+but she did not know why she liked it. But Frederick knew. He
+had the lore of period furniture at his fingers’ ends. Rugs and
+tapestries--paintings and porcelains! He had drawings made and
+water-color sketches, and brought them out to Jane. She had a feeling
+that when the house was finished it would be like some exquisitely
+ordered mausoleum. There would be no chintzes, no pussy-cats purring,
+no Philomel singing!
+
+As for clothes! Frederick’s mind dwelt much on the subject. Jane was
+told that she must have an ermine wrap, and one of Persian lamb.
+Most of her things would be made in Paris--there was a man over
+there who did things in just the right style for her--picturesque
+but not sophisticated. Frederick was already having certain jewels
+set appropriately. Gray pearls and emeralds--he had even gone to the
+point of getting samples of silk and chiffon that she might see the
+smoke-gray and jade color-scheme he had in mind for her.
+
+Samples!
+
+A man’s mind shouldn’t be on clothes. He should have other things to
+think of.
+
+There was Evans, for example. He had described the other night the
+boys’ club he was starting in Sherwood. “In the old pavilion, Jane. It
+will do as it is in summer, and in winter we’ll enclose it. And we are
+to have a baseball team, and play against the surrounding towns. You
+should see my little lads.”
+
+She and Baldy had been much interested. The three of them had put their
+heads together as they sat on the porch of the little house, with the
+moon whitening the world, and the whippoorwill mourning far away in
+the swamp.
+
+They had planned excitedly, and every word they had said had been warm
+with enthusiasm. They had been flushed, exultant. It would be a great
+thing for Sherwood.
+
+That was the kind of thing to live for, to live with. Ideas. Effort.
+She had always known it. Yet for a moment, she had forgotten. Had
+thought of herself as--Curlylocks.
+
+She flung up her hands in a sort of despair. There was no way out of
+it. She was bound to Frederick Towne by the favors she had accepted
+from him. And that settled it.
+
+She went on feverishly with the packing of her shabby suitcase. She
+rather glorified in its shabbiness. _At least it is mine own_, was her
+attitude of mind.
+
+As she leaned over it, the great ring that Frederick had given her
+swung back and forth on its ribbon. She tucked it into the neck of her
+frock but it would not stay. At last she took it off and was aware of a
+sense of freedom as if she had shed her shackles. It winked and blinked
+at her on the dresser, so she shut it in a drawer and was still aware
+of it shining in the darkness, balefully!
+
+Briggs was not to come for her until four in the afternoon. She decided
+to go over to Castle Manor and talk to Mrs. Follette. She would take
+some strawberries as an excuse. The strawberries in the Castle Manor
+garden were never as perfect as those which Jane had planted. Evans
+said it was because Jane coaxed things into rosiness and roundness. But
+Jane had worked hard over the beds, and she had had her reward.
+
+Carrying a basket, therefore, of red and luscious fruit, Jane went
+through the pine grove along the path that led to the Castle Manor.
+Under the trees was a green light which she breasted as one breasts the
+cool waters of the sea. Her breath came quickly. In a few short weeks
+she would be far away from this sweet and silent spot, with its sacred
+memories.
+
+Leaving the grove, she passed the field where the scarecrow reigned.
+
+She leaned on the fence. With the coming of spring, the scarecrow had
+been decked in gay attire. He wore a pink shirt of Evans’ and a pair
+of white trousers. His hat was of straw, and as he danced in the warm
+south breeze he had an air of care-free jauntiness.
+
+Jane found herself resenting his jaunty air. She felt that she had
+liked him better in his days of appealing loneliness. She had resented,
+in like manner, the change in Evans. He, too, had an air of making
+a world for himself. She had no part in it, apparently. She was, in
+effect, the Peri at the gate!
+
+And she wanted to be in his world. Evans’ world. She didn’t want to be
+left out. Yet she had chosen. And Evans had accepted her decision. She
+had not thought it would be so hard to have him--accept.
+
+His interests seemed now to include everything but Jane. He was doing
+many things for the boys of Sherwood, there was his work in town, the
+added responsibility he had assumed in the affairs of the farm.
+
+“She’s such an old darling, Jane. Doing it with her duchess air. But
+she’s not strong. I’m trying to make her let things go a bit. But she’s
+so proud of her success. I wish you could see her showing Edith Towne
+and her fashionable friends about the dairy. With tea on the lawn
+afterward. You must come over and join in the fun, Jane.”
+
+“I am coming,” Jane had told him, “but my days have been so filled.”
+
+He had known who had filled them. But he had ignored that, and had gone
+on with his subject. “The idea I have now is to keep bees and sell
+honey. The boys and I have some books on bee culture. They are quite
+crazy about it.”
+
+It was always now the boys and himself. His mother and himself. And
+once it had been himself and Jane!
+
+Leaning on the fence, Jane spoke to the scarecrow. “I ought to be glad
+but I am not.”
+
+The scarecrow bowed and danced in the breeze. He had no heart, of
+course. He was made of two crossed sticks....
+
+Jane found Mrs. Follette on the wide porch. She was snowy and crisp in
+white linen. She wore a black enamel brooch, and a flat black hat which
+was so old-fashioned that it took on a mid-Victorian stateliness.
+
+“My dear child,” she said, “stay and have lunch with me. Mary has
+baked fresh bread, and we’ll have it with your berries, and some Dutch
+cheeses and cream.”
+
+“I’d love it,” Jane said; “I hoped you’d ask me. We are going at four
+to Delafield Simms for the week-end. I shall have to be fashionable for
+forty-eight hours, and I hate it.”
+
+Mrs. Follette smiled indulgently. “Of course, you don’t mean it. And
+don’t try to be fashionable. Just be yourself. It is only people who
+have never been anybody who try to make themselves like others.”
+
+“Well,” said Jane, “I’m afraid I’ve never been anybody, Mrs. Follette.
+I’m just little Jane Barnes.”
+
+Her air was dejected.
+
+“What’s the matter with you, Jane?” Mrs. Follette demanded.
+
+Jane clasped her hands together. “Oh, I want my mother. I want my
+mother.” Her voice was low, but there was a poignant note in it.
+
+Old Mary came out with the tray, and when she had gone, Mrs. Follette
+said, “Now tell me what’s troubling you?”
+
+“I’m afraid.”
+
+“Of what?”
+
+“Oh, of Mr. Towne’s big house, and--I think I’m a little bit afraid of
+him, too, Mrs. Follette.”
+
+“Why should you be afraid?”
+
+“Of the things he’ll expect of me. The things I’ll expect of myself. I
+can’t explain it. I just--feel it.”
+
+Mrs. Follette, pouring ice-cold milk from a silver pitcher, said, “It
+is a case of nerves, my dear. You don’t know how lucky you are.”
+
+“Am I lucky?” wistfully.
+
+“Of course you are lucky. But all girls feel as you do, Jane, when
+the wedding day isn’t far off. They wonder and wonder. It’s the
+newness--the----”
+
+“‘Laying flesh and spirit ... in his hands ...’” Jane quoted, with
+quick-drawn breath.
+
+“I shouldn’t put it quite like that,” Mrs. Follette said with some
+severity; “we didn’t talk like that when I was a girl.”
+
+“Didn’t you?” Jane asked. “Well, I know you were a darling, Mrs.
+Follette. And you were pretty. There’s that portrait of you in the
+library in pink.”
+
+“I looked well in pink,” said Mrs. Follette, thoughtfully, “but the
+best picture that was ever done of me is a miniature that Evans has.”
+She buttered another slice of bread. She had no fear of growing fat.
+She _was_ fat, but she was also stately and one neutralized the other.
+To think of Mrs. Follette as thin would have been to rob her of her
+duchess rôle.
+
+Jane had not seen the miniature. She asked if she might.
+
+“I’ll get it,” said Mrs. Follette, and rose.
+
+Jane protested, “Can’t I do it?”
+
+“No, my dear. I know right where to put my hand on it.”
+
+She went into the cool and shadowy hall and started up the stairs, and
+it was from the shadows that Jane heard her call.
+
+There was something faint and agitated in the cry, and Jane flew on
+winged feet.
+
+Mrs. Follette was holding on to the stair-rail, swaying a little. “I
+can’t go any higher,” she panted; “I’ll sit here, my dear, while you
+get my medicine. It’s in my room on the dresser.”
+
+Jane passed her on the stairs, and was back again in a moment with the
+medicine, a spoon, and a glass of water. With her arm around the elder
+woman she held her until the color returned to her cheeks.
+
+“How foolish,” said Mrs. Follette at last, sitting up. “I almost
+fainted. I was afraid of falling down the stairs.”
+
+“Let me help you to your room,” Jane said, “and you can lie on the
+couch--and be quiet----”
+
+“I don’t want to be quiet, but I’ll lie on the couch--if you’ll sit
+there and talk to me.”
+
+So with Jane supporting her, Mrs. Follette went up the rest of the
+flight, and across the hall--and was made comfortable on a couch at the
+foot of her bed.
+
+Jane loved the up-stairs rooms at Castle Manor. Especially in summer.
+Mrs. Follette followed the southern fashion of taking up winter rugs
+and winter curtains and substituting sheer muslins and leaving a
+delightful bareness of waxed floor.
+
+“Perhaps I can tell you where to find the miniature,” Mrs. Follette
+said, as Jane fanned her; “it is in Evans’ desk set back under the row
+of pigeon-holes. You can’t miss it, and I want to see it.”
+
+Jane crossed the hall to Evans’ room. It faced south and was big and
+square. It had the same studied bareness that made the rest of the
+house beautiful. There was a mahogany bed and dresser, many books, deep
+window-seats with faded velvet cushions.
+
+Evans’ desk was in an alcove by the east window which overlooked
+Sherwood. It was a mahogany desk of the secretary type, and there was
+nothing about it to drain the color from Jane’s cheeks, to send her
+hand to her heart.
+
+Above the desk, however, where his eyes could rest upon it whenever he
+raised them from his writing, was an old lantern! Jane knew it at once.
+It was an ancient ship’s lantern that she and Baldy had used through
+all the years, a heritage from some sea-going ancestor. It was the
+lantern she had carried that night she had found Evans in the fog!
+
+Since her return from Chicago she had not been able to find it. Baldy
+had complained, “Sophy must have taken it home with her.” But Sophy had
+not taken it. It was here. And Jane knew, with a certainty that swept
+away all doubts, why.
+
+“_You are a lantern, Jane, held high...._”
+
+She found the miniature and carried it back to Mrs. Follette. “I told
+you you were pretty and you have never gotten over it.”
+
+She had regained her radiance. Mrs. Follette reflected complacently
+that girls were like that. Moods of the moment. Even in her own day.
+
+She spoke of it to Evans that night. “Jane had lunch with me. She was
+very tired and depressed. I told her not to worry. It’s natural she
+should feel the responsibility of the future. Marriage is a serious
+obligation.”
+
+“Marriage is more than that, Mother.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Oh, it’s a great adventure. The greatest adventure. If a woman loved
+me, I’d want her to fly to me--on wings. There’d be no fear of the
+future if Jane loved Towne.”
+
+“But she does love him. She wouldn’t marry him for his money.”
+
+“No, she wouldn’t,” with a touch of weariness. “It is one of the
+things I can’t make clear to myself. And I think I’d rather not talk
+about it, Mother.”
+
+They were in Mrs. Follette’s room. She had told her son about her heart
+attack, and he had been anxious. But she had been quite herself after
+and had made light of it. “I shall have Hallam over in the morning,” he
+had insisted, and she had acquiesced. “I don’t need him, but if it will
+make you feel better.”
+
+Evans told her “good-night” presently and went into his own room.
+It was flooded with moonlight. He curled up on the cushions of the
+window-seat, with his arms around his knees and thought of Jane. He
+did not know that she had been that day in his room. Yet she was there
+now--a shadowy presence. The one woman in the world for him. The woman
+who had lighted his way. Who still, thank God, lighted it, though she
+was not his and would never be.
+
+In a few short weeks she would be married. Would go out of his
+life--forever. Yet what she had been to him, Towne could never take
+away. The little Jane of Sherwood whom Evans had known would never
+belong absolutely to her husband. Her spirit would escape him--come
+back where it belonged, to the man who worshipped her.
+
+He stood up, struck a match and lighted the low candle in the old
+lantern. It would burn dimly until he was asleep. Night after night he
+had opened his eyes to see it burning. It seemed to him that his dreams
+were less troubled because of that dim lantern.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+THE DISCORDANT NOTE
+
+
+Lucy was still to Eloise Harper the stenographer of Frederick Towne.
+Out of place, of course, in this fine country house, with its formal
+gardens, its great stables, its retinue of servants.
+
+“What do you do with yourselves?” she asked her hostess, as she came
+down, ready for dinner, in revealing apricot draperies and found Lucy
+crisp in white organdie with a band of black velvet around her throat.
+
+“Do?” Lucy’s smile was ingenuous. “We are very busy, Del and I. We feed
+the pigs.”
+
+“Pigs?” Eloise stared. She had assumed that a girl of Lucy’s type would
+affect an elaborate attitude of leisure. And here she was, instead,
+fashionably energetic.
+
+They fed the pigs, it seemed, actually. “Of course not the big ones.
+But the little ones have their bottles. There are ten and their mother
+died. You should see Del and me. He carries the bottle in a metal
+holder--round,”--Lucy’s hand described the shape,--“and when they see
+him coming they all squeal, and it’s adorable.”
+
+Lucy’s air was demure. She was very happy. She was a woman of strong
+spirit. Already she had interested her weak husband beyond anything he
+had ever known in his drifting days of bachelorhood. “After dinner,”
+she told Eloise, “I’ll show you Del’s roses. They are quite marvellous.
+I think his collection will be beyond anything in this part of the
+country.”
+
+Delafield, coming up, said, “They are Lucy’s roses, but she says I am
+to do the work.”
+
+“But why not have a gardener?” Eloise demanded.
+
+“Oh, we have. But I should hate to have our garden a mere matter
+of--mechanics. Del has some splendid ideas. We are going to work for
+the flower shows. Prizes and all that.”
+
+Delafield purred like a pussy-cat. “I shall name my first rose the
+‘Little Lucy Logan.’”
+
+Edith, locking arms with Jane, a little later, as they strolled under a
+wisteria-hung trellis towards the fountain, said, “Lucy’s making a man
+of him because she loves him. And I would have laughed at him. We would
+have bored each other to death.”
+
+“They will never be bored,” Jane decided, “with their roses and their
+little pigs.”
+
+They had reached the fountain. It was an old-fashioned one, with thin
+streams of water spouting up from the bill of a bronzed crane. There
+were goldfish in the pool, and a big green frog leaped from a lily
+pad. Beyond the fountain the wisteria roofed a path of pale light. A
+peacock walked slowly towards them, its long tail sweeping the ground
+in burnished beauty.
+
+“Think of this,” said Jane, “and Lucy’s days at the office.”
+
+“And yet,” Edith pondered, “she told me if he had not had a penny she
+would have been happy with him.”
+
+“I believe it. With a cottage, one pig, and a rose-bush, they would
+find bliss. It is like that with them.”
+
+The two women sat down on the marble coping of the fountain. The
+peacock trailed by them, its jewels all ablaze under the sun.
+
+“That peacock makes me think of Adelaide.” Edith swept her hand through
+the water, scaring the little fishes.
+
+“Why?”
+
+“In that dress she had on to-night--bronze and blue and green tulle. I
+will say this for Adelaide, she knows how to dress.”
+
+“Does she ever think of anything else but clothes?”
+
+“Men,” succinctly.
+
+“Oh.”
+
+“Women like Adelaide,” Edith elucidated, “want to look well, and to be
+admired. They live for it. They wake up in the morning and go to bed
+with that one idea. And the men fall for it.”
+
+“Do they?”
+
+“Yes. Adelaide knows how to play on the keys of their vanity. You and
+I don’t--or won’t. When our youth goes, Jane, we’ll have to be loved
+for our virtues. Adelaide will be loved for the part she plays, and she
+plays it well.”
+
+She laughed and stood up. “I am afraid your announcement to-morrow will
+hurt her feelings, Jane.”
+
+“She knows,” Jane said quietly. “Mr. Towne told her.”
+
+“Really?” Edith stopped, and went on in a lower tone, “Speaking of
+angels--here she comes.”
+
+Adelaide, in her burnished tulle, tall, slender, graceful as a willow,
+was swinging along beneath the trellis. The peacock had turned and
+walked beside her. “What a picture Baldy could make of that,” Edith
+said, “‘The Proud Lady.’”
+
+“Do you know,” Jane’s voice was also lowered, “when I look at her, I
+feel that it is she who should marry your uncle.”
+
+Edith was frank. “I should hate her. And so would he in a month. She’s
+artificial, and you are so adorably natural, Jane.”
+
+Adelaide had reached the circle of light that surrounded the fountain.
+“The men have come and have gone up to dress,” she said. “All except
+your uncle, Edith. He telephoned that he can’t get here until after
+dinner. He has an important conference.”
+
+“He said he might be late. Benny came, of course?”
+
+“Yes, and Eloise is happy. He had brought her all the town gossip.
+That’s why I left. I hate gossip.”
+
+Edith knew that pose. No one could talk more devastatingly than
+Adelaide of her neighbor’s affairs. But she did it, subtly, with an
+effect of charity. “I am very fond of her,” was her way of prefacing a
+ruthless revelation.
+
+“I thought your brother would be down,” Adelaide looked at Jane, poised
+on the rim of the fountain, like a blue butterfly,--“but he wasn’t with
+the rest.”
+
+“Baldy can’t be here until to-morrow noon. He had to be in the office.”
+
+“What are you going to do with yourself in the meantime, Edith?”
+Adelaide was in a mood to make people uncomfortable. She was
+uncomfortable herself. Jane, in billowing heavenly blue with rose
+ribbons floating at her girdle, was youth incarnate. And it was her
+youth that had attracted Towne.
+
+The three women walked towards the house together. As they came out
+from under the arbor, they were aware of black clouds stretched across
+the horizon. “I hope it won’t rain,” Edith said. “Lucy is planning to
+serve dinner on the terrace.”
+
+Adelaide was irritable. “I wish she wouldn’t. There’ll be bugs and
+things.”
+
+Jane liked the idea of an out-of-door dinner. She thought that the
+maids in their pink linen were like rose-leaves blown across the lawn.
+There was a great umbrella over the table, rose-striped. “How gay it
+is,” she said; “I hope the rain won’t spoil it.”
+
+When they reached the wide-pillared piazza, no one was there. The wind
+was blowing steadily from the bank of clouds. Edith went in to get a
+scarf.
+
+And so Jane and Adelaide were left alone.
+
+Adelaide sat in a big chair with a back like a spreading fan; she was
+statuesque, and knew it, but she would have exchanged at the moment
+every classic line for the effect that Jane gave of unpremeditated
+grace and beauty. The child had flung a cushion on the marble step, and
+had dropped down upon it. The wind caught up her ruffles, so that she
+seemed to float in a cloud.
+
+She laughed, and tucked her whirling draperies about her. “I love the
+wind, don’t you?”
+
+Adelaide did not love the wind. It rumpled her hair. She felt
+spitefully ready to hurt Jane.
+
+“It is a pity,” she said, after a pause, “that Ricky can’t dine with
+us.”
+
+Jane agreed. “Mr. Towne always seems to be a very busy person.”
+
+Adelaide carried a little gauze fan with gold-lacquered sticks. When
+she spoke she kept her eyes upon the fan. “Do you always call him ‘Mr.
+Towne’?”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“But not when you’re alone.”
+
+Jane flushed. “Yes, I do. Why not?”
+
+“But, my dear, it is so very formal. And you are going to marry him.”
+
+“He said that he had told you.”
+
+“Ricky tells me everything. We are very old friends, you know.”
+
+Jane said nothing. There was, indeed, nothing to say. She was not in
+the least jealous of Adelaide. She wondered, of course, why Towne
+should have overlooked this lovely lady to choose a shabby child. But
+he had chosen the child, and that settled it as far as Mrs. Laramore
+was concerned.
+
+But it did not settle it for Adelaide. “I think it is distinctly
+amusing for you to call him ‘Mr. Towne.’ Poor Ricky! You mustn’t hold
+him at arms’ length.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Well, none of the rest of us have,” said Adelaide, deliberately.
+
+Jane looked up at her. “The rest of you? What do you mean, Mrs.
+Laramore?”
+
+“Oh, the women that Ricky has loved,” lightly.
+
+The winds fluttered the ribbons of Jane’s frock, fluttered her
+ruffles. The peacock on the lawn uttered a discordant note. Jane was
+subconsciously aware of a kinship between Adelaide and the burnished
+bird. She spoke of the peacock.
+
+“What a disagreeable voice he has.”
+
+Adelaide stared. “Who?”
+
+“The peacock,” said Jane.
+
+Then Eloise and Edith came in, and presently the men, and Lucy and
+Del from a trip to the small porkers, and Adelaide going out with Del
+to dinner was uncomfortably aware that Jane had either artlessly or
+artfully refused to discuss with her the women who had been loved by
+Frederick Towne!
+
+The dinner was delicious. “Our farm products,” Delafield boasted. Even
+the fish, it seemed, he had caught that morning, motoring over to the
+river and bringing them back to be split and broiled and served with
+little new potatoes. There was chicken and asparagus, small cream
+cheeses with the salad, heaped-up berries in a Royal Worcester bowl,
+roses from the garden. “All home-grown,” said the proud new husband.
+
+Jane ate with little appetite. She had refused to discuss with Adelaide
+the former heart affairs of her betrothed, but the words rang in her
+ears, “The women that Ricky has loved.”
+
+Jane was young. And to youth, love is for the eternities. The thought
+of herself as one of a succession of Dulcineas was degrading. She was
+restless and unhappy. It was useless to assure herself that Towne had
+chosen her above all the rest. She was not sophisticated enough to
+assume that it is, perhaps, better to be a man’s last love than his
+first. That Towne had made it possible for any woman to speak of him as
+Adelaide spoke, seemed to Jane to drag her own relation to him in the
+dust.
+
+The strength of the wind increased. The table was sheltered by the
+house, but at last Delafield decided, “We’d better go in. The rain is
+coming. We can have our coffee in the hall.”
+
+Their leaving had the effect of a stampede. Big drops splashed into the
+plates. The men servants and maids scurried to the rescue of china and
+linen.
+
+The draperies of the women streamed in the wind. Adelaide’s tulle was a
+banner of green and blue. The peacock came swiftly up the walk, crying
+raucously, and found a sheltered spot beneath the steps.
+
+From the wide hall, they saw the rain in silver sheets. Then the doors
+were shut against the beating wind.
+
+They drank their coffee, and bridge tables were brought in. There were
+enough without Jane to form two tables. And she was glad. She wandered
+into the living-room and curled herself up in a window-seat. The window
+opened on the porch. Beyond the white pillars she could see the road,
+and the rain-drenched garden.
+
+After a time the rain stopped, and the world showed clear as crystal
+against the opal brightness of the western sky. The peacock came out of
+his hiding-place, and dragged a heavy tail over the sodden lawn.
+
+It was cool and the air was sweet. Jane lay with her head against a
+cushion, looking out. She was lonely and wished that Towne would come.
+Perhaps in his presence her doubts would vanish. It grew dark and
+darker. Jane shut her eyes and at last she fell asleep.
+
+She was waked by Towne’s voice. He was on the porch. “Where is
+everybody?”
+
+It was Adelaide who answered him. “They have motored into Alexandria to
+the movies. Eloise would have it. But I stayed--waiting for you, Ricky.”
+
+“Where’s Jane?”
+
+“She went up-stairs early. Like a sleepy child.”
+
+Jane heard his laugh. “She is a child--a darling child.”
+
+Then in the darkness Adelaide said, “Don’t, Ricky.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Do you remember that once upon a time you called me--a darling child?”
+
+“Did I? Well, perhaps you were. You are certainly a very charming
+woman.”
+
+Jane, listening breathlessly, assured herself that of course he was
+polite. He had to be.
+
+Adelaide was speaking. “So you are going to announce it to-morrow?”
+
+“Who told you?”
+
+“Edith.”
+
+“Well, it seemed best, Adelaide. The wedding day isn’t far off--and the
+world will have to know it.”
+
+A hushed moment, then, “Oh, Ricky, Ricky!”
+
+“Adelaide! Don’t take it like that.”
+
+“I can’t help it. You are going out of my life. And you’ve always been
+so strong, and big, and brave. No other man will ever match you.”
+
+When he spoke, his voice had a new and softer note. “I didn’t dream it
+would hurt you.”
+
+“You might have known.”
+
+The lightning flickering along the horizon showed Adelaide standing
+beside Towne’s chair.
+
+“Ricky”--the whispered words reached Jane--“kiss me once--to say
+‘good-bye.’”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+FLIGHT
+
+
+Young Baldwin Barnes, on Saturday morning, ate breakfast alone in the
+little house. He read his paper and drank his coffee. But the savor of
+things was gone. He missed Jane. Her engaging chatter, the spirited
+challenge, even the small irritations. “She is such a darling-dear,”
+was his homesick meditation.
+
+Oh, a man needed a woman on the other side of the table. And when Jane
+was married, what then?
+
+_Edith!_
+
+Oh, if he might! If Philomel might sing for her! Toast and poached
+eggs! Nectar and ambrosia! His little house a castle!
+
+“But it isn’t mine own,” the young poet reminded himself; “there is
+still the mortgage.” He came down to earth, cleared the table, fed the
+pussy-cats. Then he went down to the post-box to get the mail.
+
+The Barnes’ mail was rarely voluminous, rarely interesting. A bill or
+two, a letter from Judy--some futile advertising stuff.
+
+This morning, however, there was a long envelope. In one corner was
+the name of the magazine to which, nearly six months before, Baldy had
+sent his prize cover design. The thing had almost gone out of his
+thoughts. He had long ceased to hope. Money did not miraculously fall
+into one’s lap.
+
+He tore open the envelope. Within was a closely typed letter and a pale
+pink check.
+
+The check was for two thousand dollars. He had won the prize!
+
+Breathless with the thought of it, deprived of strength, he sat down
+on the terrace steps. Merrymaid and the kitten came down and angled
+for attention, but Baldy overlooked them utterly. The letter was
+astounding. The magazine had not only given him the prize but they
+wanted more of his work. They would pay well for it--and if he would
+come to New York at their expense, the art editor would like to talk it
+over!
+
+Baldy, looking up from the pregnant phrases and catching Merrymaid’s
+eye upon him, demanded, “Now, what do you think of that? Shall I resign
+from the office? I’ll tell the world, I will.”
+
+Oh, the thing might even make it possible for him to marry Edith. He
+could at least pay for the honeymoon--preserve some sense of personal
+independence while he worked towards fame. If she would only see it.
+That he must ask her to live for a time--in the little house. He’d make
+things easy for her,--oh, well, the thing could be done--it could be
+done.
+
+He flew up the steps on the wings of his delight. He would ride like
+the wind to Virginia--find Edith, in a rose-garden, fling himself at
+her feet! Declare his good fortune! And he would see her eyes!
+
+Packing his bag, he decided to stop in Washington, and perpetrate a few
+extravagances. Something for Edith. Something for Jane. Something for
+himself. There would be no harm in looking his best....
+
+He arrived at Grass Hills in time for lunch. His little Ford came up
+the drive as proudly as a Rolls-Royce. And Baldy descending was a gay
+and gallant figure. There was no one in sight but the servants who took
+his bag, and drove his car around to the garage. A maid in rose linen
+said that Mr. and Mrs. Simms were at the stables. Miss Towne was on the
+links with the other guests, and would return from the Country Club in
+time for lunch at two o’clock. Miss Barnes was up-stairs. Her head had
+ached, and she had had her breakfast in bed.
+
+“Will you let her know that I am here?”
+
+The maid went up and came down again to say that Miss Barnes was in the
+second gallery--and would he go right up.
+
+The second gallery looked out over the river. Jane lay in a long chair.
+She was pale, and there were shadows under her eyes.
+
+“Oh, look here, Janey,” Baldy blurted out, “is it as bad as this?”
+
+“I’m just--lazy.” She sat up and kissed him. Then buried her face in
+his coat and wept silently.
+
+“For heaven’s sake, Jane,” he patted her shoulder, “what’s the matter?”
+
+“I want to go home.”
+
+He looked blank. “Home?”
+
+“Yes.” She stopped crying. “Baldy, something has happened--and I’ve
+got to tell you.” Tensely, with her hands clasped about her knees, she
+rehearsed for him the scene between Adelaide and Frederick Towne. And
+when she finished she said, “I can’t marry him.”
+
+“Of course not. A girl like you. You’d be miserable. And that’s the end
+of it.”
+
+“Utterly miserable.” She stared before her. Then presently she went on.
+“I stayed up-stairs all the morning. Lucy and Edith have been perfect
+dears. I think Edith lays it to the announcement of my engagement
+to-night. That I was dreading it. Of course it mustn’t be announced,
+Baldy.”
+
+He stood up, sternly renouncing his dreams. “Get your things on, Jane,
+and I’ll take you home. You can’t stay here, of course. We can decide
+later what it is best to do.”
+
+“I don’t see how I can break it off. He’s done so much for us. I can’t
+ever--pay him----”
+
+In Baldy’s pocket was the pink slip. He took it out and handed it to
+his sister. “Jane, I got the prize. Two thousand dollars.”
+
+“Baldy!” Her tone was incredulous.
+
+He had no joy in the announcement. The thing had ceased to mean
+freedom--it had ceased to mean--Edith. It meant only one thing at the
+moment, to free Jane from bondage.
+
+He gave Jane the letter and she read it. “It is your great opportunity.”
+
+“Yes.” He refused to discuss that aspect of it. “And it comes in the
+nick of time for you, old dear.”
+
+Their flight was a hurried one. A note for Lucy and one for Towne. A
+note for Edith!
+
+Jane was not well was the reason given their hostess. The note to Towne
+said more than that. And the note to Edith was--renunciation.
+
+Edith coming home to luncheon found the note in her room. All the
+morning she had been filled with glorious anticipation. Baldy would
+arrive in a few hours. Together they would walk down that trellised
+path to the fountain, they would sit on the marble coping. She would
+trail her hand through the water. Further than that she would not let
+her imagination carry her. It was enough that she would see him in that
+magic place with his air of golden youth.
+
+But she was not to see him, for the note said:
+
+  “Beloved--I make no excuse for calling you that because I say it
+  always in my heart--Jane has made up her mind that she cannot marry
+  your uncle. So we are leaving at once.
+
+  “I can’t tell you what the thought of these two days with you meant
+  to me. And now I must give them up. Perhaps I must give you up, I
+  don’t know. I came with high hopes. I go away without any hope at
+  all. But I love you.”
+
+Edith read the note twice, then put it to her lips. She hardly dared
+admit to herself the keenness of her disappointment.
+
+She stood for a long time at the window looking out. Why had Jane
+decided not to marry Uncle Frederick? What had happened since yesterday
+afternoon?
+
+From Edith’s window she could see the south lawn. The servants were
+arranging a buffet luncheon. Little tables were set around--and wicker
+chairs. Adelaide, tall and fair, in her favorite blue and a broad black
+hat stood by one of the little tables. She was feeding the peacock with
+bits of bread. She made a picture, and Towne’s window faced that way.
+
+“I wonder----” Edith said, and stopped. She remembered coming in from
+the movies the night before and finding Adelaide and Towne on the
+porch. And where was Jane?
+
+Towne did not eat lunch. He pleaded important business, and had his car
+brought around. But everybody knew that he was following Jane. Mystery
+was in the air. Adelaide was restless. Only Edith knew the truth.
+
+After lunch, she told Lucy. “Jane isn’t going to marry Uncle Fred. I
+don’t know why. But I am afraid it is breaking up your house party.”
+
+“I hope it is,” said Lucy, calmly. “Delafield is bored to death. He
+wants to get back to his pigs and roses. I am speaking frankly to
+you because I know you understand. I want our lives to be bigger
+and broader than they would have been if we hadn’t met. And as for
+you”--her voice shook a little--“you’ll always be a sort of goddess
+blessing our hearth.”
+
+Edith bent and kissed her, emotion gripping her. “Your hearth is
+blessed without me,” she said, “but I’ll always be glad to come.”
+
+Towne, riding like mad along the Virginia roads, behind the competent
+Briggs, reread Jane’s letter.
+
+  “I was not up-stairs last night when you came. I was asleep in the
+  window-seat of the living-room, just off the porch. And your voice
+  waked me and I heard what you said, and Mrs. Laramore. And I can’t
+  marry you. I know how much you’ve done for me,--and I shall never
+  forget your goodness. Baldy will take me home.”
+
+Enclosed was a pink check.
+
+Towne blamed Adelaide furiously. Of course it was her fault. Such
+foolishness. And sentimentality. And he had been weak enough to fall
+for it.
+
+Yet, as he cooled a bit, he was glad that Jane had showed her
+resentment. It was in keeping with his conception of her. Her innocence
+had flamed against such sophistication. There might, too, be a hint of
+jealousy. Women were like that. Jealous.
+
+As they whirled through Washington, Briggs voiced his fears. “If we
+meet a cop it will be all up with us, Mr. Towne.”
+
+“Take a chance, Briggs. Give her more gas. We’ve got to get there.”
+
+With all their speed, however, it was four o’clock when they reached
+Sherwood. Towne was still in the clothes he had worn on the links. He
+had not eaten since breakfast. He felt the strain.
+
+He stormed up the terrace, where once he had climbed in the snow. He
+rang the bell. It whirred and whirred again in the silence. The house
+was empty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+IN THE PINE GROVE
+
+
+It was on the way home that Jane had said to Baldy: “I feel like a
+selfish pig.”
+
+“Why, my dear?”
+
+“To take your precious prize before it is cold. It doesn’t seem right.”
+
+“It isn’t a question of right or wrong. If things turn out with these
+new people as I hope, I’ll be painting like mad for the next two
+months. And you’ll have your work cut out for you as my model. They
+like you, Jane. They said so.”
+
+He had driven on steadily for a time, and had then said, “I never
+wanted you to marry him.”
+
+“Why not, Baldy?”
+
+He turned his lighted-up eyes upon her. “Janey--I wanted you to have
+your--dreams----”
+
+She had laid her hand on his arm in a swift caress. “You’re a
+darling----” and after a while, “Nothing can take us from each other,
+ever, Baldy.”
+
+Never had they drawn closer in spirit than at this moment. But they
+said very little about it. When they came to the house, Baldy went
+at once to the garage. “I’ll answer that letter, and put in a good
+afternoon looking over my sketches.” He did not tell her how gray the
+day stretched ahead of him--that golden day which had started with high
+hopes.
+
+Jane changed to a loose straight frock of orange cotton, and without
+a hat, feeling actual physical freedom in the breaking of her bonds,
+she swung along the path to the little grove. It was aromatic with the
+warm scent of the pines, and there was a cool shade in the heart of it.
+Jane had brought a bag of stockings to mend, and sat down to her homely
+task, smiling a little as she thought of the contrast between this
+afternoon and yesterday, when she had sat on the rim of the fountain
+and watched Adelaide and the peacock. She had no feeling of rancor
+against Adelaide. She was aware only of a great thankfulness.
+
+She was, indeed, at the moment, steeped in divine content. Here was the
+place where she belonged. She had a sense of blissful escape.
+
+Merrymaid came down the path, her tail a plume. The kitten followed.
+A bronze butterfly floated across their vision, and they leaped for
+it--but it went above them--joyously towards the open blue of the sky.
+The two cats gazed after it, then composed themselves carefully like a
+pair of miniature lions--their paws in front of them, sleepy-eyed but
+alert for more butterflies, or for Jane’s busy thread.
+
+And it was thus that Towne found her. Convinced that the house was
+empty, he had started towards Baldy’s studio. Then down the vista of
+the pine grove, his eye had been caught by a spot of golden color. He
+had followed it.
+
+She laid down her work and looked up at him. “You shouldn’t have come.”
+
+“My dear child, why not? Jane, you are making mountains of molehills.”
+
+“I’m not.”
+
+He sat down beside her. The little cats drew away, doubtful. “It was
+natural that you should have resented it. And a thing like that isn’t
+easy for a man to explain. Without seeming a--cad----”
+
+“There isn’t anything to explain.”
+
+“But there is. I have made you unhappy, and I’m sorry.”
+
+She shook her head, and spoke thoughtfully. “I think I am--happy. Mr.
+Towne, your world isn’t my world. I like simple things and pleasant
+things, and honest things. And I like a One-Woman man, Mr. Towne.”
+
+He tried to laugh. “You are jealous.”
+
+“No,” she said, quietly, “it isn’t that, although men like you think it
+is. A woman who has self-respect must know her husband has her respect.
+Her heart must rest in him.”
+
+He spoke slowly. “I’ll admit that I’ve philandered a lot. But I’ve
+never wanted to marry anyone but you. I can promise you my future.”
+
+“I’m sorry. But even if last night had never been--I think I should
+have--given you up. I had begun to feel that I didn’t love you. That
+out there in Chicago you swept me off my feet. Mr. Towne, I am sorry.
+And I am grateful. For all your kindness----” She flushed and went on,
+“You know, of course, that I shan’t be happy until--I don’t owe you
+anything....”
+
+He laid his hand on hers. “I wish you wouldn’t speak of it. It was
+nothing.”
+
+“It was a great deal.”
+
+He looked down at her, slender and young and infinitely desirable. “You
+needn’t think I am going to let you go,” he said.
+
+“I’m afraid--you must----”
+
+He flamed suddenly. “I’m more of a One-Woman man than you think. If
+you won’t marry me, I won’t have anyone else. I’ll go on alone. As for
+Adelaide----A woman like that doesn’t expect much more than I gave.
+That’s all I can say about her. She means nothing to me, seriously, and
+never will. She plays the game, and so do I, but it’s only a game.”
+
+He looked tired and old. “I’ll go abroad to-morrow. When I come back,
+perhaps you’ll change your mind.”
+
+“I shall never change it,” she said, “never.”
+
+He stood up. “Jane, I could make you happy.” He held her hand as she
+stood beside him.
+
+She looked at him and knew that he could not. Her dreams had come back
+to her--of Galahad--of Robin Hood ... the world of romance had again
+flung wide its gates....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After Towne had gone she sat for a long time thinking it over. She
+blamed herself. She had broken her promise. Yet, he, too, had broken a
+promise.
+
+She finished mending the stockings, and rolled them into compact balls.
+The little cats were asleep--the shadows were stretched out and the sun
+slanted through the pines. She had dinner to get, for her return had
+been unexpected, and Sophy had not been notified.
+
+She might have brought to the thought of her tasks some faint
+feeling of regret. But she had none. She was glad to go in--to make
+an omelette--and cream the potatoes--and have hot biscuits and
+berries--and honey.
+
+Planning thus, competently, she raised her eyes--to see coming along
+the path the two boys who had of late been Evans’ close companions. She
+spoke to them as they reached her. “Can’t you stay a minute? I’ll make
+you some lemonade.”
+
+They stopped and looked at her in a way that startled her. “We can’t,”
+Arthur said; “we’re going over to the Follettes. We thought we might
+help.”
+
+She stared at them. “Help? What do you mean?”
+
+Sandy gasped. “Oh, didn’t you know? Mrs. Follette died this
+morning....”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+JANE DREAMS
+
+
+Evans had found his mother at noon, lying on the couch at the foot of
+her bed. He had stayed at home in the morning to help her, and at ten
+o’clock she had gone up-stairs to rest a bit before lunch. Old Mary had
+called her, and she had not answered. So Evans had entered her room to
+find that she had slipped away peacefully from the world in which she
+exaggerated her own importance. It would go on without her. She had
+not been neighborly but the neighbors would all come and sympathize
+with her son. And they would miss her, because she had added to the
+community some measure of stateliness, which they admired even as they
+resented it.
+
+Evans had tried to get Baldy on the telephone, but could not. Jane was
+at Grass Hills. He would call up at long distance later. There was no
+reason why he should spoil for them this day of days.
+
+So he had done the things that had to be done in the shadowed house.
+Dr. Hallam came, and others. Evans saw them and they went away. He
+moved in a dream. He had no one to share intimately his sorrow--no
+sister, no brother, no one, except his little dog, who trailed after
+him, wistful-eyed, and with limping steps.
+
+The full force of the thing that had happened did not come to him at
+once. He had a feeling that at any moment his mother might sweep in
+from the out-of-doors, in her white linen and flat black hat, and sit
+at the head of the table, and tell him the news of the morning.
+
+He had had no lunch, so old Mary fixed a tray for him. He did not eat,
+but drank some milk. Then he and Rusty took up their restless wandering
+through the silent rooms. Old Mary, true to tradition, had drawn all
+the blinds and shut many of the windows, so that the house was filled
+with a sort of golden gloom. Evans went into his mother’s little office
+on the first floor, and sat down at her desk. It was in perfect order,
+and laid out on the blotter was the writing paper with the golden
+crest, and the box of golden seals. And he had laughed at her! He
+remembered with a pang that they would never again laugh together. He
+was alone.
+
+He wondered why such things happened. Was all of life as sinister as
+this? Must one always find tragedy at every turn of the road? He had
+lost his youth, had lost Jane. And now his mother. Was everything to be
+taken away? Would there be nothing left but strength to endure?
+
+Well, God helping him, he would endure to the end....
+
+He closed the desk gently and went out into the darkened hall. As
+he followed its length, a door opened at the end. Black against
+the brightness beyond, he saw the two lads. They came forward with
+some hesitation, but when they saw his tired face, they forgot
+self-consciousness.
+
+“We just heard. And we want to help.” Sandy was spokesman. Arthur was
+speechless. But he caught hold of Evans’ sleeve and looked up at him.
+His eyes said what his voice refused.
+
+Evans, with his arms across their shoulders, drew the boys to him. “It
+was good of you to come.”
+
+“Miss Barnes said,” again it was Sandy who spoke, “that perhaps we
+might get some pine from the little grove. That your mother liked it.”
+
+“Miss Barnes? Is she back? Does she know?”
+
+“We told her. She is coming right over.”
+
+Baldy drove Jane in his little car. As she entered she seemed to bring
+the light in with her. She illumined the house like a torch.
+
+She walked swiftly towards Evans, and held out her hand. “My dear, I am
+so sorry.”
+
+“I thought you were at Grass Hills.”
+
+“We came back unexpectedly.”
+
+“I am so glad--you came.”
+
+He was having a bad time with his voice. He could not go on....
+
+Jane spoke to the boys. “Did you ask him about the pine branches? Just
+those, and roses from the garden, Evans.”
+
+“You always think of things----”
+
+“Baldy will take the boys to the grove, and do any errands you may have
+for him.” She was her calm and competent self--letting him get control
+of his emotion while she directed others.
+
+Baldy, coming in, wrung Evans’ hand. “The boys and I will get the pine,
+and Edith Towne is coming out to help. I called her up to tell her----”
+
+Baldy stopped at that. He could not speak here of the glory that
+encompassed him. He had said, “_If death should come to us, Edith! Does
+anything else count?_” And she had said, “_Nothing._” And now she was
+coming and they would pick roses together in the garden. And love and
+life would minister to a greater mystery....
+
+When Baldy and the boys had gone, Jane and Evans opened the windows and
+pulled up the shades. The house was filled with clear light, and was
+cool in the breeze.
+
+When they had finished, Jane said, “That’s all, I think. We can rest a
+bit. And presently it will be time for dinner.”
+
+“I don’t want any dinner.”
+
+They were in the library. Outside was an amethyst twilight, with a
+young moon low in the sky. Evans and Jane stood by the window, looking
+out, and Jane asked in a hushed voice, “You don’t want any dinner
+because she won’t be at the other end of the table?”
+
+“Yes.” His face was turned from her. His hands were clinched. His
+throat was dry. For a moment he wished he were alone that he might weep
+for his mother.
+
+And then Jane said, “Let me sit at the other end of your table.”
+
+He turned back to her, and saw her eyes, and what he saw made him reach
+out blindly for her hand--sympathy, tenderness--a womanly brooding
+tenderness.
+
+“Oh, Evans, Evans,” she said, “I am not going to marry Frederick Towne.”
+
+“Why not?” thickly.
+
+“I don’t love him.”
+
+“Do you love me, Jane?”
+
+She nodded and could not speak. They clung together. He wept and was
+not ashamed of it.
+
+And standing there, with his head against her breast, Jane knew that
+she had found the best. Marriage was not a thing of luxury and soft
+living, of flaming moments of wild emotion. It was a thing of hardness
+shared, of spirit meeting spirit, of dream matching dream. Jane, that
+afternoon, had caught her breath as she had come into the darkened
+hall, and had seen Evans standing between those slender lads. So some
+day, perhaps, in this old house--his sons!
+
+
+
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s note:
+
+  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
+
+
+
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+<body>
+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Dim Lantern, by Temple Bailey,
+Illustrated by Coles Phillips</h1>
+<p>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 <a
+href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>.  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.</p>
+<p>Title: The Dim Lantern</p>
+<p>Author: Temple Bailey</p>
+<p>Release Date: August 11, 2019  [eBook #60090]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIM LANTERN***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>E-text prepared by Tim Lindell, David E. Brown,<br />
+    and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="caption">IN HER ORANGE CLOAK SHE SHONE THROUGH THE<br />
+VEIL OF MIST, LUMINOUS</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<div class="titlepage">
+
+
+<h1>The<br />
+<span class="xlarge">DIM LANTERN</span></h1>
+
+<p>BY<br />
+
+<span class="large">TEMPLE BAILEY</span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Author of &#8220;The Gay Cockade,&#8221;<br />
+&#8220;The Trumpeter Swan,&#8221;<br />
+&#8220;The Tin Soldier,&#8221; etc.</i></p>
+
+<p>Illustrated by<br />
+<span class="large">COLES PHILLIPS</span></p>
+<br />
+<p><span class="large">THE PENN PUBLISHING<br />
+COMPANY PHILADELPHIA<br />
+
+1923</span></p></div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_colophon.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p class="center">
+COPYRIGHT<br />
+1922 BY<br />
+THE PENN<br />
+PUBLISHING<br />
+COMPANY</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_logo.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+
+<p class="center">The Dim Lantern<br />
+<br />
+Made in the U. S. A.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">Contents</h2></div>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table">
+
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td> <span class="smcap">In Which Philomel Sings</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_7">      7</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Princess Passes</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_24">      24</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Jane Knits</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_34">      34</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Beauty Waits</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_44">      44</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Ugly Duckling</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_60">      60</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td> &#8220;<span class="smcap">Stay in the Field, Oh, Warrior!</span>&#8221;</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_70">      70</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Famished Pilgrim</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_81">      81</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Jane as Deputy</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_97">      97</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Scarecrow</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_105">      105</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Baldy as Ambassador</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_119">      119</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Dim Lantern</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_134">      134</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Ice Palace</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_155">      155</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Jane Pours Tea</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_170">      170</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Telegram</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_183">      183</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Evans Plays the Game</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_192">      192</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Costume Ball</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_204">      204</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">News for the Town-Crier</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_214">      214</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">An Interlude</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_227">      227</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Surrender</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_240">      240</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Paper Lace</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_248">      248</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Voices in the Dark</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_258">      258</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">At the Old Inn</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_268">      268</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Spring Comes to Sherwood</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_278">      278</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Haunted</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_297">      297</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Again the Lantern</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_304">      304</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXVI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Discordant Note</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_316">      316</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXVII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Flight</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_327">      327</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">In the Pine Grove</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_335">      335</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXIX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Jane Dreams</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_340">      340</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="ph1">The Dim Lantern</p>
+
+
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br />
+
+<small>IN WHICH PHILOMEL SINGS</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Sherwood Park</span> is twelve miles from Washington.
+Starting as a somewhat pretentious suburb
+on the main line of a railroad, it was blessed with
+easy accessibility until encroaching trolleys swept
+the tide of settlement away from it, and left it high
+and dry&mdash;its train service, unable to compete with
+modern motor vehicles, increasingly inefficient.</p>
+
+<p>Property values, inevitably, decreased. The little
+suburb degenerated, grew less fashionable.
+People who might have added social luster to its
+gatherings moved away. The frame houses, which
+at first had made such a brave showing, became a
+bit down at the heel. Most of them, built before
+the revival of good taste in architecture, seemed
+top-heavy and dull with their imitation towers,
+their fretted balconies, their gray and brown coloring,
+their bands of contrasting shingles tied like
+sashes around their middles.</p>
+
+<p>The Barnes cottage was saved from the universal
+lack of loveliness by its simple lines, its white paint
+and green blinds. Yet the paint had peeled in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
+places, and the concrete steps which followed the
+line of the two terraces were cracked and worn.</p>
+
+<p>Old Baldwin Barnes had bought his house on the
+instalment plan, and his children were still paying
+for it. Old Baldwin had succumbed to the deadly
+monotony of writing the same inscription on red
+slips through thirty years of faithful service in the
+Pension Office, and had left the world with his
+debts behind him.</p>
+
+<p>He had the artistic temperament which his son
+inherited. Julia was like her mother who had died
+two years before her husband. Mrs. Barnes had
+been unimaginative and capable. It was because
+of her that Julia had married an architect, and was
+living in a snug apartment in Chicago, that Baldwin
+Junior had gone through college and had some
+months at an art school before the war came on,
+and that Jane, the youngest, had a sense of thrift,
+and an intensive experience in domestic economy.</p>
+
+<p>As for the rest of her, Jane was twenty, slender
+as a Florentine page, and fairly pretty. She was
+in love with life and liked to talk about it. Young
+Baldwin said, indeed, with the frankness of a
+brother, that Jane ran on like a babbling brook.</p>
+
+<p>She was &#8220;running on&#8221; this November morning,
+as she and young Baldwin ate breakfast together.
+Jane always got the breakfast. Sophy, a capable
+negro woman, came over later to help with the
+housework, and to put the six o&#8217;clock dinner on the
+table. But it was Jane who started the percolator,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
+poached the eggs, and made the toast on the electric
+toaster, while young Baldwin read the <i>Washington
+Post</i>. He read bits out loud when he was
+in the mood. He was not always in the mood, and
+then Jane talked to him. He did not always listen,
+but that made no difference.</p>
+
+<p>Jane had named the percolator &#8220;Philomel,&#8221; because
+of its purling harmonies.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you love it, Baldy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her brother, with one eye on the paper, was eating
+his grapefruit.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Love what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Philomel.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Silly stuff&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t. I like to hear it sing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In my present mood I prefer a hymn of hate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She buttered a slice of toast for him. &#8220;Well, of
+course, you&#8217;d feel like that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who wouldn&#8217;t?&#8221; He took the toast from her,
+and buried himself in his paper, so Jane buttered
+another slice for herself and ate it in protesting silence&mdash;plus
+a poached egg, and a cup of coffee rich
+with yellow cream and much sugar. Jane&#8217;s thinness
+made such indulgence possible. She enjoyed
+good food as she enjoyed a new frock, violets in the
+spring, the vista from the west front of the Capitol,
+free verse, and the book of Job. There were really
+no limits to Jane&#8217;s enthusiasms. She spoke again
+of the percolator. &#8220;It&#8217;s as nice as a kettle on the
+hob, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>Young Baldwin read on.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I simply <i>love</i> breakfast,&#8221; she continued.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is there anything you don&#8217;t love, Janey?&#8221; with
+a touch of irritation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her over the top of the sheet. &#8220;I
+like that!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, you won&#8217;t talk to me, Baldy. It isn&#8217;t my
+fault if you hate the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, it isn&#8217;t.&#8221; He laid down the paper. &#8220;But
+I&#8217;ll tell you this, Janey, I&#8217;m about <i>through</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She caught her breath, then flung out, &#8220;Oh,
+you&#8217;re not. Be a good sport, Baldy. Things are
+bound to come your way if you wait.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He gave a short laugh and rose. &#8220;I wish I had
+your optimism.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish you had.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They faced each other, looking for the moment
+rather like two young cockerels. Jane&#8217;s bobbed
+hair emphasized the boyish effect of her straight,
+slim figure. Baldy towered above her, his black
+hair matching hers, his eyes, too, matching&mdash;gray
+and lighted-up.</p>
+
+<p>Jane was the first to turn her eyes away. She
+looked at the clock. &#8220;You&#8217;ll be late.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He got his hat and coat and came back to her.
+&#8220;I&#8217;m a blamed sorehead. Give me a kiss, Janey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She gave it to him, and clung to him for a moment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t forget to bring a steak home for
+dinner,&#8221; was all she said, but he was aware of the
+caress of those clinging fingers.</p>
+
+<p>It was one of his grievances that he had to do
+the marketing&mdash;one could not depend on Sherwood&#8217;s
+single small store&mdash;so Baldy with dreams
+in his head drove twice a week to the butcher&#8217;s
+stall in the old Center Market to bring back chops,
+or a porterhouse, or a festive small roast.</p>
+
+<p>He had no time for it in the mornings, however.
+His little Ford took him over the country roads
+and through the city streets and landed him at the
+Patent Office at a quarter of nine. There, with a
+half hour for lunch, he worked until five&mdash;it was
+a dog&#8217;s life and he had other aspirations.</p>
+
+<p>Jane, left to herself, read the paper. One headline
+was sensational. The bride of a fashionable
+wedding had been deserted at the altar. The bridegroom
+had failed to appear at the church. The
+guests waiting impatiently in the pews had been informed,
+finally, that the ceremony would be postponed.</p>
+
+<p>Newspaper men hunting for the bridegroom
+learned that he had left a note for his best man&mdash;and
+that he was on his way to southern waters.
+The bride could not be seen. Her uncle, who was
+also her guardian, and with whom she lived, had
+stated that there was nothing to be said. That was
+all. But society was on tiptoe. Delafield Simms
+was the son of a rich New Yorker. He and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
+bride were to have spent their honeymoon on his
+yacht. Edith Towne had a fortune to match his.
+Both of them belonged to old and aristocratic families.
+No wonder people were talking.</p>
+
+<p>There was a picture of Miss Towne, a tall, fair
+girl, in real lace, orange blossoms, seed pearls&mdash;&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>Pride was in every line of her. Jane&#8217;s tender
+fancy carried her to that first breathless moment
+when the bride had donned that gracious gown and
+had surveyed herself in the mirror. &#8220;How happy
+she must have been.&#8221; Then the final shuddering
+catastrophe.</p>
+
+<p>Sophy arrived at this moment, and Jane told her
+about it. &#8220;She&#8217;ll never dare trust anybody, will
+she?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sophy was wise, and she weighed the question
+out of her wide experience of human nature. She
+could not read or write, and she was dependent on
+those around her for daily bulletins of the way the
+big world went. But she had worked in many
+families and had had a family of her own. So she
+knew life, which is a bigger thing sometimes than
+books.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yo&#8217; kain&#8217;t ever tell whut a woman will do, Miss
+Janey. Effen she a trustin&#8217; nature, she&#8217;ll trus&#8217; and
+trus&#8217;, and effen she ain&#8217; a trustin&#8217; nature, she won&#8217;t
+trus&#8217; nohow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But what do you suppose made him do it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nobody knows whut a man&#8217;s gwine do, w&#8217;en it
+comes to gittin&#8217; married.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>&#8220;But to leave her like that, Sophy. I should
+think she&#8217;d die.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Effen the good Lord let women die w&#8217;en men
+&#8217;ceived them,&#8221; Sophy proclaimed with a chuckle,
+&#8220;dere wouldn&#8217; be a female lef&#8217; w&#8217;en the trump
+sounded.&#8221; Her tray was piled high with dishes, as
+she stood in the dining-room door. &#8220;Does you-all
+want rice puddin&#8217; fo&#8217; dinnah, Miss Janey?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And there the subject dropped. But Jane
+thought a great deal about it as she went on with
+her work.</p>
+
+<p>She told her sister, Julia, about it when, late that
+afternoon, she wrote her weekly letter.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;The worst of it must have been to lose her faith
+in things. I&#8217;d rather be Jane Barnes without any
+love affair than Edith Towne with a love affair like
+that. Baldy told me the other day that I am not
+unattractive! Can&#8217;t you see him saying it? And
+he doesn&#8217;t think me pretty. Perhaps I&#8217;m not. But
+there are moments, Judy, when I like myself&mdash;&mdash;!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy nearly had a fit when I bobbed my hair.
+But I did it and took the consequences, and it&#8217;s no
+end comfortable. Baldy at the present moment is
+mid-Victorian. It is his reaction from the war.
+He says he is dead sick of flappers. That they are
+all alike&mdash;and make no appeal to the imagination!
+He came home the other night from a dance and
+read Tennyson&mdash;can you fancy that after the way
+he used to fling Amy Lowell at us and Carl Sandburg?
+He says he is so tired of short skirts and
+knees and proposals and cigarettes that he is going
+to hunt with a gun, if he ever decides to marry, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
+an Elaine or a Griselda! But the worst of it is, he
+takes it out on me! I wish you&#8217;d see the way he
+censors my clothes and my manners, and I sit here
+like a prisoner in a tower with not a man in sight
+but Evans Follette, and he is just a heartache,
+Judy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy has had three proposals; he said that the
+first was stimulating, but repetition &#8216;staled the interest&#8217;!
+Of course he didn&#8217;t tell me the names of
+the girls. Baldy&#8217;s not a cad.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But he is discouraged and desperately depressed.
+He has such a big talent, Judy, and
+he just slaves away at that old office. He says
+that after those years in France, it seems like a
+cage. I sometimes wonder what civilization is,
+anyhow, that we clip the wings of our young eagles.
+We take our boys and shut them up, and they pant
+for freedom. Is that all that life is going to mean
+for Baldy&mdash;eight hours a day&mdash;behind bars?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yet I am trying to keep him at it until the
+house is paid for. I don&#8217;t know whether I am right&mdash;but
+it&#8217;s all we have&mdash;and both of us love it. He
+hasn&#8217;t been able lately to work much at night, he&#8217;s
+dead tired. But there&#8217;s a prize offer of a magazine
+cover design, and I want him to compete. He says
+there isn&#8217;t any use of his trying to do <i>anything</i> unless
+he can give all of his time to it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course you&#8217;ve heard all this before, but I
+hear it every day. And I like to talk things out.
+I must not write another line, dearest. And don&#8217;t
+worry, Baldy will work like mad if the mood strikes
+him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did I tell you that Evans Follette and his
+mother are to dine with us on Thanksgiving Day?
+We ought to have six guests to make things go.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+But nobody will fit in with the Follettes. You
+know why, so I needn&#8217;t explain.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Kiss both of the babies for me. Failing other
+young things, I am going to have a Christmas tree
+for the kitten. It&#8217;s a gay life, darling.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="gap">&#8220;Ever your own,</span><br />
+&#8220;<span class="smcap">Jane</span>.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>The darkness had come by the time she had finished
+her letter. She changed her frock for a thinner
+one, wrapped herself in an old cape of orange-hued
+cloth, and went out to lock up her chickens.
+She had fed them before she wrote her letter, but
+she always took this last look to be sure they were
+safe.</p>
+
+<p>She passed through the still kitchen, where old
+Sophy sat by the warm, bright range. There were
+potatoes baking, and Sophy&#8217;s famous pudding.
+&#8220;How good everything smells,&#8221; said Jane.</p>
+
+<p>She smiled at Sophy and went on. The wind
+was blowing and the sky was clear. There had
+been no snow, but there were little pools of ice
+about, and Jane took each one with a slide. She
+felt a tingling sense of youth and excitation. Back
+of the garage was a shadowy grove of tall pines
+which sang and sighed as the wind swept them.
+There was a young moon above the pines. It
+seemed to Jane that her soul was lifted to it. She
+flung up her arms to the moon, and the yellow cape
+billowed about her.</p>
+
+<p>The shed where the chickens were kept was back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
+of the garage. When Jane opened the door, her
+old Persian cat, Merrymaid, came out to her, and a
+puff-ball of a kitten. Jane snapped on the lights
+in the chicken-house and the biddies stirred. When
+she snapped them off again, she heard them settle
+back to sheltered slumber.</p>
+
+<p>The kitten danced ahead of her, and the old cat
+danced too, as the wind whirled her great tail
+about. &#8220;We won&#8217;t go in the house&mdash;we won&#8217;t go
+in the house,&#8221; said Jane, in a sort of conversational
+chant, as the pussies followed her down a path
+which led through the pines. She often walked
+at this hour&mdash;and she loved it best on nights like
+this.</p>
+
+<p>She felt poignantly the beauty of it&mdash;the dark
+pines and the little moon above them&mdash;the tug of
+the wind at her cloak like a riotous playmate.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy was not the only poet in the family, but
+Jane&#8217;s love of beauty was inarticulate. She would
+never be able to write it on paper or draw it with a
+pencil.</p>
+
+<p>Down the path she went, the two pussy-cats like
+small shadows in her wake, until suddenly a voice
+came out of the dark.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe it is little Jane Barnes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stopped. &#8220;Oh, is that you, Evans? Isn&#8217;t it
+a heavenly night?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not sure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t talk that way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>&#8220;Because an evening like this is like wine&mdash;it
+goes to my head.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are like wine,&#8221; he told her. &#8220;Jane, how
+do you do it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hold the pose of youth and joy and happiness?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know it isn&#8217;t a pose. I just feel that way,
+Evans.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear, I believe you do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He limped a little as he walked beside her. He
+was tall and gaunt. Almost grotesquely tall. Yet
+when he had gone to war he had not seemed in the
+least grotesque. He had been tall but not thin, and
+he had gone in all the glory of his splendid youth.</p>
+
+<p>There was no glory left. He was twenty-seven.
+He had fought and he would fight again for the
+same cause. But his youth was dead, except when
+he was with Jane. She revived him, as he said,
+like wine.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was coming over,&#8221; he began, and broke off as
+a sibilant sound interrupted him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, are the cats with you? Well, Rusty must
+take the road,&#8221; he laughed as the little old dog
+trotted to neutral ground at the edge of the grove.
+Rusty was friends with Merrymaid, except when
+there were kittens about. He knew enough to avoid
+her in days of anxious motherhood.</p>
+
+<p>Jane picked up the kitten. &#8220;They would come.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All animals follow you. You&#8217;re sort of a domestic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
+Circe&mdash;with your dogs and chickens and
+pussy-cats in the place of tigers and lions and
+leopards.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d love to have lived in Eden,&#8221; said Jane, unexpectedly,
+&#8220;before Eve and Adam sinned. What
+it must have meant to have all those great beasts
+mild-mannered and purring under your hand like
+this kitten. What a dreadful thing happened,
+Evans, when fear came into the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What makes you say that now, Jane?&#8221; His
+voice was sharp.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Shouldn&#8217;t I have said it? Oh, Evans, you can&#8217;t
+think I had you in mind&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; with a touch of weariness, &#8220;but you are
+the only one, really, who knows what a coward I
+am&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Evans, you&#8217;re not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re good to say it, but that&#8217;s what I came
+over for. I am up against it again, Jane. Some
+cousins are on from New York&mdash;they&#8217;re at the New
+Willard&mdash;and Mother and I went in to see them
+last night. They have invited us to go back with
+them. They&#8217;ve a big house east of Fifth Avenue,
+and they want us as their guests indefinitely.
+They think it will do me a lot of good&mdash;get me out
+of myself, they call it. But I can&#8217;t see it. Since I
+came home&mdash;every time I think of facing mobs of
+people&#8221;&mdash;again his voice grew sharp&mdash;&#8220;I&#8217;m
+clutched by something I can&#8217;t describe. It is perfectly
+unreasonable, but I can&#8217;t help it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>For a moment they walked in silence, then he
+went on&mdash;&#8220;Mother&#8217;s very keen about it. She
+thinks it will set me up. But I want to stay here&mdash;and
+I thought if you&#8217;d talk to her, she&#8217;ll listen to
+you, Jane&mdash;she always does.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Does she know how you feel about it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I think not. I&#8217;ve never told her. I&#8217;ve
+only spilled over to you now and then. It would
+hurt Mother, no end, to know how changed I am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane laid her hand on his arm. &#8220;You&#8217;re not.
+Brace up, old dear. You aren&#8217;t dead yet.&#8221; As she
+lifted her head to look up at him, the hood of her
+cape slipped back, and the wind blew her soft, thick
+hair against his cheek. &#8220;But I&#8217;ll talk to your
+mother if you want me to. She is a great darling.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane meant what she said; she was really very
+fond of Mrs. Follette. And in this she was unlike
+the rest of the folk in Sherwood. Mrs. Follette
+was extremely unpopular in the Park.</p>
+
+<p>They had reached the kitchen door. &#8220;Won&#8217;t you
+come in?&#8221; Jane said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I&#8217;ve got to get back. I only ran over for a
+moment. I have to have a daily sip of you, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy&#8217;s bringing a steak for dinner. Help us
+eat it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sorry, but Mother would be alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When shall I talk to her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s no hurry. The cousins are staying on
+for the opening of Congress. Jane dear, don&#8217;t despise
+me&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; His voice broke.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>&#8220;Evans, as if I could.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again her hand was on his arm. He laid his
+own over it. &#8220;You&#8217;re the best ever, Janey,&#8221; he
+said, huskily&mdash;and presently he went away.</p>
+
+<p>Jane, going in, found that Baldy had telephoned.
+&#8220;He kain&#8217;t git here until seven,&#8221; Sophy told
+her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You had better run along home,&#8221; Jane told her.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll cook the steak when it comes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sophy was old and she was tired. Life hadn&#8217;t
+been easy. The son who was to have been the prop
+of her old age had been killed in France. There
+was a daughter&#8217;s daughter who had gone north and
+who now and then sent money. Old Sophy did not
+know where her granddaughter got the money, but
+it was good to have it when it came. But it was
+not enough, so old Sophy worked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hates to leave you here alone, Miss Janey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, run along, Sophy. Baldy will come before
+I know it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So Sophy went and Jane waited. Seven o&#8217;clock
+arrived, with the dinner showing signs of deterioration.
+Jane sat at the front window and watched.
+The old cat watched, too, perched on the sill, and
+gazing out into the dark with round, mysterious
+eyes. The kitten slept on the hearth. Jane grew
+restless and stood up, peering out. Then all at
+once two round moons arose above the horizon,
+were lost as the road dipped down, showed again
+on the rise of the hill, and lighted the lawn as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
+Baldy&#8217;s car made a half circle and swept into the
+garage.</p>
+
+<p>Jane went through the kitchen to the back door,
+throwing an appraising glance at the things in the
+warming oven, and stood waiting on the threshold,
+hugging herself in the keenness of the wind.</p>
+
+<p>Presently her brother&#8217;s tall form was silhouetted
+against the silvery gray of the night.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought you were never coming,&#8221; she said to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought so, too.&#8221; He bent and kissed her;
+his cheek was cold as it touched hers.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Aren&#8217;t you nearly frozen?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. Sorry to be late, honey. Get dinner on
+the table and I&#8217;ll be ready&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid things won&#8217;t be very appetizing,&#8221;
+she told him; &#8220;they&#8217;ve waited so long. But I&#8217;ll
+cook the steak&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He had gone on, and was beyond the sound of her
+voice. She opened the fat parcel which he had deposited
+on the kitchen table. She wondered a bit
+at its size. But Baldy had a way of bringing home
+unexpected bargains&mdash;a dozen boxes of crackers&mdash;unwieldy
+pounds of coffee.</p>
+
+<p>But this was neither crackers nor coffee. The
+box which was revealed bore the name of a fashionable
+florist. Within were violets&mdash;single ones&mdash;set
+off by one perfect rose and tied with a silver ribbon.</p>
+
+<p>Jane gasped&mdash;then she went to the door and
+called:</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>&#8220;Baldy, where&#8217;s the steak?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He came to the top of the stairs. &#8220;Great guns,&#8221;
+he said, &#8220;I forgot it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then he saw the violets in her hands, laughed
+and came down a step or two. &#8220;I sold a loaf of
+bread and bought&mdash;white hyacinths&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;re heavenly!&#8221; Her glance swept up to
+him. &#8220;Peace offering?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There were gay sparks in his eyes. &#8220;We&#8217;ll call
+it that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She blew a kiss to him from the tips of her fingers.
+&#8220;They are perfectly sweet. And we can
+have an omelette. Only if we eat any more eggs,
+we&#8217;ll be flapping our wings.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t care what we have. I am so hungry I
+could eat a house.&#8221; He went back up the stairs,
+laughing.</p>
+
+<p>Jane, breaking eggs into a bowl, meditated on
+the nonchalance of men. She meditated, too, on
+the mystery of Baldy&#8217;s mood. The flowers were
+evidence of high exaltation. He did not often lend
+himself to such extravagance.</p>
+
+<p>He came down presently and helped carry in the
+belated dinner. The potatoes lay like withered
+leaves in a silver dish, the cornbread was a wrinkled
+wreck, the pudding a travesty. Only Jane&#8217;s
+omelette and a lettuce salad had escaped the blight
+of delay.</p>
+
+<p>Then, too, there was Philomel, singing. Jane
+drew a cup of coffee, hot and strong, and set it at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
+her brother&#8217;s place. The violets were in the center
+of the table, the cats purring on the hearth.</p>
+
+<p>Jane loved her little home with almost passionate
+intensity. She loved to have Baldy in a mood
+like this&mdash;things right once more with his world.</p>
+
+<p>She knew it was so by the ring of his voice, the
+cock of his head&mdash;hence she was not in the least
+surprised when he leaned forward under the old-fashioned
+spreading dome which drenched him with
+light, and said, &#8220;I&#8217;ve such a lot to tell you, Jane;
+the most amazing thing has happened.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br />
+
+<small>A PRINCESS PASSES</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">When</span> young Baldwin Barnes had ridden out of
+Sherwood that morning on his way to Washington,
+his car had swept by fields which were crisp and
+frozen; by clumps of trees whose pointed tops cut
+into the clear blue of the sky; over ice-bound
+streams, all shining silver in the early sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>It was very cold, and his little car was open to
+the weather. But he felt no chill. He wore the
+mustard-colored top-coat which had been his lieutenant&#8217;s
+garb in the army. The collar was turned
+up to protect his ears. His face showed pink
+and wedge-shaped between his soft hat and his
+collar.</p>
+
+<p>He had the eye of an artist, and he liked the ride.
+Even in winter the countryside was attractive&mdash;and
+as the road slipped away, there came a few big
+houses surrounded by wide grounds, with glimpses
+through their high hedges of white statues, of
+spired cedars, of sun-dials set in the midst of dead
+gardens.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond these there was an arid stretch until the
+Lake was reached, then the links of one country
+club, the old buildings of another, and at last on
+the crest of a hill, a view of the city&mdash;sweeping on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
+the right towards Arlington and on the left towards
+Soldiers&#8217; Home.</p>
+
+<p>Turning into Sixteenth Street, he crossed a
+bridge with its buttresses guarded by stone panthers&mdash;and
+it was on this bridge that his car
+stopped.</p>
+
+<p>Climbing out, he blamed Fate furiously. Years
+afterward, however, he dared not think of the difference
+it might have made if his little flivver had
+not failed him.</p>
+
+<p>He raised the hood and tapped and tinkered.
+Now and then he stopped to stamp his feet or beat
+his hands together. And he said things under his
+breath. He would be late at the office&mdash;life was
+just one&mdash;darned thing&mdash;after another!</p>
+
+<p>Once when he stopped, a woman passed him.
+She was tall and slender and wrapped up to her
+ears in moleskin. Her small hat was blue, from
+her hand swung a gray suede bag, her feet were in
+gray shoes with cut-steel buckles.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy&#8217;s quick eyes took in the details of her costume.
+He reflected as he went back to work that
+women were fools to court death in that fashion,
+with thin slippers and silk stockings, in this bitter
+weather.</p>
+
+<p>He found the trouble, fixed it, jumped into his
+car and started his motor. And it was just as he
+was moving that his eye was caught by a spot of
+blue bobbing down the hill below the bridge. The
+woman who had passed him was making her way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+slowly along the slippery path. On each side of
+her the trees were brown and bare. At the foot of
+the hill was a thread of frozen water.</p>
+
+<p>It was not usual at this time to see pedestrians
+in that place. Now and then a workman took a
+short cut&mdash;or on warm days there were picnic
+parties&mdash;but to follow the rough paths in winter
+was a bleak and arduous adventure.</p>
+
+<p>He stayed for a moment to watch her, then suddenly
+left his car and ran. The girl in the blue hat
+had caught her high heels in a root, had stumbled
+and fallen.</p>
+
+<p>When he reached her, she was struggling to her
+feet. He helped her, and picked up the bag which
+she had dropped.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you so much.&#8221; Her voice was low and
+pleasing. He saw that she was young, that her
+skin was very fair, and that the hair which swept
+over her ears was pale gold, but most of all, he saw
+that her eyes were burning blue. He had never
+seen eyes quite like them. The old poets would
+have called them sapphire, but sapphires do not
+flame.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was so silly of me to try to do it,&#8221; she was
+protesting, &#8220;but I thought it might be a short
+cut&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He wondered what her destination might be that
+this remote path should lead to it. But all he said
+was, &#8220;High heels aren&#8217;t made for&mdash;mountain
+climbing&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>&#8220;They aren&#8217;t made for anything,&#8221; she said, looking
+down at the steel-buckled slippers, &#8220;useful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let me help you up the hill.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to go up.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He surveyed the steep incline. &#8220;I am perfectly
+sure you don&#8217;t want to go down.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do,&#8221; she hesitated, &#8220;but I suppose I can&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He had a sudden inspiration. &#8220;Can I take you
+anywhere? My little flivver is up there on the
+bridge. Would you mind that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would I mind if a life-line were thrown to me
+in mid-ocean?&#8221; She said it lightly, but he fancied
+there was a note of high hope.</p>
+
+<p>They went up the hill together. &#8220;I want to get
+an Alexandria car,&#8221; she told him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you are miles away from it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Am I?&#8221; She showed momentary confusion.
+&#8220;I&mdash;hoped I might reach it through the Park&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You might. But you might also freeze to death
+in the attempt like a babe in the wood, without any
+robins to perform the last melancholy rites. What
+made you think of such a thing?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He saw at once his mistake. Her voice had a
+touch of frigidity. &#8220;I can&#8217;t tell you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sorry,&#8221; he said abruptly. &#8220;You must forgive
+me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She melted. &#8220;No, it is I who should be forgiven.
+It must look strange to you&mdash;but I&#8217;d rather
+not&mdash;explain&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>On the last steep rise of the hill he lifted her over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+a slippery pool, and as his hand sank into the soft
+fur of her wrap, he was conscious of its luxury. It
+seemed to him that his mustard-colored coat fairly
+shouted incongruity. His imagination swept on to
+Raleigh, and the velvet cloak which might do the
+situation justice. He smiled at himself and smiling,
+too, at her, felt a tingling sense of coming circumstance.</p>
+
+<p>It was because of that smile, and the candid, boyish
+quality of it, that she trusted him. &#8220;Do you
+know,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I haven&#8217;t had a thing to eat this
+morning, and I&#8217;m frightfully hungry. Is there any
+place that I could have a cup of coffee&mdash;where you
+could bring it out to me in the car?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Could I?&#8221; the morning stars sang. &#8220;There&#8217;s
+a corking place in Georgetown.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Without the world looking on?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Without <i>your</i> world looking on,&#8221; boldly.</p>
+
+<p>She hesitated, then told the truth. &#8220;I&#8217;m running
+away&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was eager. &#8220;May I help?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps you wouldn&#8217;t if you knew.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Try me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He helped her into his car, tucked the rug about
+her, and put up the curtains. &#8220;No one can see you
+on the back seat,&#8221; he said, and drove to Georgetown
+on the wings of the wind.</p>
+
+<p>He brought coffee out to her from a neat shop
+where milk was sold, and buns, and hot drinks, to
+motormen and conductors. It was a clean little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
+place, fresh as paint, and the buttered rolls were
+brown and crisp.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never tasted anything so good,&#8221; the runaway
+told Baldy. &#8220;And now I am going to ask you to
+drive me over the Virginia side&mdash;I&#8217;ll get the trolley
+there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When at last he drew up at a little way station,
+and unfastened the curtain, he was aware that she
+had opened the suede bag and had a roll of bills in
+her hand. For a moment his heart failed him.
+Was she going to offer him money?</p>
+
+<p>But what she said, with cheeks flaming, was:
+&#8220;I haven&#8217;t anything less than ten dollars. Do you
+think they will take it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s doubtful. I have oodles of change.&#8221; He
+held out a handful of silver.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you so much, and&mdash;you must let me have
+your card&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, please&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her voice had an edge of sharpness. &#8220;Of course
+it must be a loan.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He handed her his card in silence. She read the
+name. &#8220;Mr. Barnes, you have been very kind. I
+am tremendously grateful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was not kindness&mdash;but now and then a princess
+passes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>For a breathless moment her amazed glance met
+his&mdash;then the clang of a bell heralded an approaching
+car.</p>
+
+<p>As he helped her out hurriedly she stumbled over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+the rug. He caught her up, lifted her to the
+ground, and motioned to the motorman.</p>
+
+<p>The car stopped and she mounted the steps.
+&#8220;Good-bye, and thank you so much.&#8221; He stood
+back and she waved to him while he watched her
+out of sight.</p>
+
+<p>His work at the office that morning had dreams
+for an accompaniment. He went out at lunch-time
+but ate nothing. It was at lunch-time that he
+bought the violets&mdash;paying an unthinkable price
+for them, and not caring.</p>
+
+<p>He had wild thoughts of following the road to
+Alexandria&mdash;of finding his Juliet on some balcony
+and climbing up to her. Or of sending the flowers
+forth addressed largely to &#8220;A Princess who passed.&#8221;
+One could not, however, be sure of an uncomprehending
+mail service. He would need more definite
+appellation.</p>
+
+<p>He had not, indeed, bought the flowers for Jane.
+He had had no thought of his sister as he passed the
+florist&#8217;s window. He had been drawn into the shop
+by the association of ideas&mdash;when he entered all the
+scent and sweetness seemed to belong to a garden
+in which his lady walked.</p>
+
+<p>He did not eat any lunch, and he took the box of
+violets back with him to the office, wrapped to prodigious
+size to protect it from the cold. It was an
+object of much curiosity to his fellow-clerks as it
+sat on the window-sill. They all wanted to know
+who it was for, and one of the abhorred flappers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
+who, at times, took Baldy&#8217;s dictation, tried to peep
+between the covers.</p>
+
+<p>He felt that her glance would be desecration.
+What did she know of delicate fragrances? Her
+perfumes were oriental, and she used a lipstick!</p>
+
+<p>He managed, however, to carry the thing off
+lightly. He was, in the opinion of the office, a gay
+and companionable chap. They knew nothing of
+his reactions. And he was popular.</p>
+
+<p>So now he said to the girl, &#8220;If you&#8217;ll let
+that alone, I&#8217;ll bring a box of chocolates for the
+crowd.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why can&#8217;t I look at it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because curiosity is a deadly sin. You know
+what happened to Bluebeard&#8217;s wife?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Bluebeard.&#8221; She had read of him, she
+thought, in the Paris papers. He had killed a lot
+of wives. She giggled a little in deference to the
+spiciness of the subject. Then pinned him down to
+his promise of sweets. &#8220;You know the kind we
+like?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This week?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Butter creams.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Last week it was the nut kind. One never
+knows. I should think you ought to standardize
+your tastes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That would be stupid, wouldn&#8217;t it? It&#8217;s much
+more exciting to change.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He went back to his work and forgot her. She
+was one of the butterflies who had flitted to Washington<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
+during the war, and had set that conservative
+city by the ears in defiance of tradition.</p>
+
+<p>It was these young women who had eaten their
+lunches within the sacred precincts of Lafayette
+Square, draping themselves on its statues at noon-time,
+and strewing its immaculate sward with
+broken boxes and bags, who had worn sheer and insufficient
+clothing, had motored under the moon
+and without a moon, unchaperoned, until morning,
+and had come through it all a little damaged, perhaps,
+as to ideals, but having made a definite impress
+on the life of the capital. The days of the
+cave-dwellers were dead. For better, for worse,
+the war-worker and the women of old Washington
+had been swept out together from a safe and snug
+harbor into the raging seas of social readjustment.</p>
+
+<p>It was after office that Baldy carried the flowers
+to his car. He set the box on the back seat. In
+the hurry of the morning he had forgotten the rug
+which still lay where his fair passenger had stumbled
+over it. He picked it up and something
+dropped from its folds. It was the gray suede bag,
+half open, and showing the roll of bills. Beneath
+the roll of bills was a small sheer handkerchief, a
+vanity case with a pinch of powder and a wee puff,
+a new check-book&mdash;and, negligently at the very bottom,
+a ring&mdash;a ring of such enchantment that as it
+lay in Baldy&#8217;s hand, he doubted its reality. The
+hoop was of platinum, slender, yet strong enough
+to bear up a carved moonstone in a circle of diamonds.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
+The carving showed a delicate Psyche&mdash;with
+a butterfly on her shoulder. The diamonds
+blazed like small suns.</p>
+
+<p>Inside the ring was an inscription&mdash;&#8220;Del to
+Edith&mdash;Forever.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><i>Del to Edith?</i> Where had he seen those names?
+With a sudden flash of illumination, he dropped
+the ring back into the bag, stuffed the bag in his
+pocket, and made his way to a newsboy at the
+corner.</p>
+
+<p>There it was in startling headlines: <i>Edith Towne
+Disappears. Delafield Simms&#8217; Yacht Said to Have
+Been Sighted Near Norfolk!</i></p>
+
+<p>So his passenger had been the much-talked-about
+Edith Towne&mdash;deserted at the moment of her marriage!</p>
+
+<p>He thought of her eyes of burning blue,&mdash;the
+fairness of her skin and hair&mdash;the touch of haughtiness.
+Simms was a cur, of course! He should
+have knelt at her feet!</p>
+
+<p>The thing to do was to get the bag back to
+her. He must advertise at once. On the wings of
+this decision, his car whirled down the Avenue.
+The lines which, after much deliberation, he pushed
+across the counter of the newspaper office, would be
+ambiguous to others, but clear to her. &#8220;Will passenger
+who left bag with valuable contents in Ford
+car call up Sherwood Park 49.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br />
+
+<small>JANE KNITS</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">&#8220;Is</span> she really as beautiful as that?&#8221; Jane demanded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Her picture in the paper.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Haven&#8217;t I said enough for you to know it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane nodded. &#8220;Yes. But it doesn&#8217;t sound real
+to me. Are you sure you didn&#8217;t dream it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll say I didn&#8217;t. Isn&#8217;t that the proof?&#8221; The
+gray bag lay on the table in front of them, the ring
+was on Jane&#8217;s finger.</p>
+
+<p>She turned it to catch the light. &#8220;Baldy,&#8221; she
+said, &#8220;it&#8217;s beyond imagination.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I told you&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Think of having a ring like this&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Think,&#8221; fiercely, &#8220;of having a lover who ran
+away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;there are some advantages
+in being&mdash;unsought. I&#8217;m like the Miller-ess of
+Dee&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;I care for nobody&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse">No, not I,</div>
+<div class="verse">Since nobody</div>
+<div class="verse">Cares&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse">For me&mdash;&mdash;!&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>She sang it with a light boyish swing of her body.
+Her voice was girlish and sweet, with a touch of
+huskiness.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy flung his scorn at her. &#8220;Jane, aren&#8217;t you
+ever in earnest?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Intermittently,&#8221; she smiled at him, came over
+and tucked her arm in his. &#8220;Baldy,&#8221; she coaxed,
+&#8220;aren&#8217;t you going to tell her uncle?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her. &#8220;Her uncle? Tell him what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That you&#8217;ve found the bag.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He flung off her arm. &#8220;Would you have me turn
+traitor?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Heavens, Baldy, this isn&#8217;t melodrama. It&#8217;s
+common sense. You can&#8217;t keep that bag.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can keep it until she answers my advertisement.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She may never see your advertisement, and the
+money isn&#8217;t yours, and the ring isn&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was troubled. &#8220;But she trusted me. I can&#8217;t
+do it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane shrugged her shoulders, and began to clear
+away the dinner things. Baldy helped her. Old
+Merrymaid mewed to go out, and Jane opened the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s snowing hard,&#8221; she said.</p>
+
+<p>The wind drove the flakes across the threshold.
+Old Merrymaid danced back into the house, bright-eyed
+and round as a muff. The air was freezing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is going to be a dreadful night,&#8221; young Baldwin,
+heavy with gloom, prophesied. He thought of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
+Edith, in the storm in her buckled shoes. Had
+she found shelter? Was she frightened and alone
+somewhere in the dark?</p>
+
+<p>He went into the living-room, whence Jane presently
+followed him. Jane was knitting a sweater
+and she worked while Baldy read to her. He read
+the full account of Edith Towne&#8217;s flight. She had
+gone away early in the morning. The maid, taking
+her breakfast up to her, had found the room empty.
+She had left a note for her uncle. But he had not
+permitted its publication. He was, they said, wild
+with anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll bet he&#8217;s an old tyrant,&#8221; was Baldy&#8217;s comment.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick Towne&#8217;s picture was in the paper. &#8220;I
+like his face,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;and he doesn&#8217;t seem so
+frightfully old.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why should she run away from him, if he
+wasn&#8217;t a tyrant?&#8221; he demanded furiously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, don&#8217;t scold me.&#8221; Jane was as vivid as an
+oriole in the midst of her orange wools.</p>
+
+<p>She loved color. The living-room was an expression
+of it. Its furniture was old-fashioned but not
+old-fashioned enough to be lovely. Jane had, however,
+modified its lack of grace and its dull monotonies
+by covers of chintz&mdash;tropical birds against
+black and white stripes&mdash;and there was a lamp of
+dull blue pottery with a Chinese shade. A fire in
+the coal grate, with the glow of the lamp, gave the
+room a look of burnished brightness. The kitten,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+curled up in Jane&#8217;s lap, played cozily with the
+tawny threads.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t scold me,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;it isn&#8217;t my fault.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not scolding, but I&#8217;m worried to death.
+And you aren&#8217;t any help, are you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him in astonishment. &#8220;I&#8217;ve tried
+to help. I told you to call up.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Young Baldwin walked the floor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She trusted me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You won&#8217;t get anywhere with that,&#8221; said Jane
+with decision. &#8220;The thing to do is to tell Mr.
+Towne that you have news of her, and that you&#8217;ll
+give it only under promise that he won&#8217;t do anything
+until he has talked it over with you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That sounds better,&#8221; said young Baldwin;
+&#8220;how did you happen to think of it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now and then,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;I have ideas.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy went to the telephone. When he came
+back his eyes were like gray moons. &#8220;He promised
+everything, and he&#8217;s coming out&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, he wouldn&#8217;t wait until to-morrow. He&#8217;s
+wild about her&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, he would be.&#8221; Jane mentally surveyed
+the situation. &#8220;Baldy, I&#8217;m going to make some
+coffee, and have some cheese and crackers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He may not want them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;On a cold night like this, I&#8217;ll say he will; anybody
+would.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy helped Jane get out the round-bellied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+silver pot, the pitchers and tray. The young people
+had a sense of complacency as they handled the
+old silver. Frederick Towne could have nothing of
+more distinguished history. It had belonged to their
+great-grandmother, Dabney, who was really D&#8217;Aubigne,
+and it had graced an Emperor&#8217;s table. Each
+piece had a monogram set in an engraved wreath.
+The big tray was so heavy that Jane lifted it with
+difficulty, so Baldy set it for her on the little mahogany
+table which they drew up in front of the
+fire. There was no wealth now in the Barnes family,
+but the old silver spoke of a time when a young
+hostess as black-haired as Jane had dispensed lavish
+hospitality.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick Towne had not expected what he
+found&mdash;the little house set high on its terraces
+seemed to give from its golden-lighted window
+squares a welcome in the dark. &#8220;I shan&#8217;t be long,
+Briggs,&#8221; he said to his chauffeur.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very good, sir,&#8221; said Briggs, and led the way
+up the terrace.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy ushered Towne into the living-room, and
+Frederick, standing on the threshold, surveyed a
+coziness which reminded him of nothing so much as
+a color illustration in some old English magazine.
+There was the coal grate, the table drawn up to the
+fire, the twinkling silver on its massive tray, violets
+in a low vase&mdash;and rising to meet him a slender,
+glowing child, with a banner of orange wool behind
+her.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>&#8220;Jane,&#8221; said young Barnes, &#8220;may I present Mr.
+Towne?&#8221; and Jane held out her hand and said,
+&#8220;This is very good of you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He found himself unexpectedly gracious. He
+was not always gracious. He had felt that he
+couldn&#8217;t be. A man with money and position had
+to shut himself up sometimes in a shell of reserve,
+lest he be imposed upon.</p>
+
+<p>But in this warmth and fragrance he expanded.
+&#8220;What a charming room,&#8221; he said, and smiled at
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Her first view of him confirmed the opinion she
+formed from his picture. He was apparently not
+over forty, a stocky, well-built, ruddy man, with
+fair hair that waved crisply, and with clear blue
+eyes, lighter, she learned afterward, than Edith&#8217;s,
+but with just a hint of that burning blue. He had
+the air of indefinable finish which speaks of a life
+spent in the right school and the right college, and
+the right clubs, of a background of generations of
+good blood and good breeding. He wore evening
+clothes, and one knew somehow that dinner never
+found him without them.</p>
+
+<p>Yet in spite of these evidences of pomp and circumstance,
+Jane felt perfectly at ease with him.
+He was, after all, she reflected, only a gentleman,
+and Baldy was that. The only difference lay in
+their divergent incomes. So, as the two men talked,
+she knitted on, with the outward effect of placidity.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you want me to go?&#8221; she had asked them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+and Towne had replied promptly, &#8220;Certainly not.
+There&#8217;s nothing we have to say that you can&#8217;t
+hear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So Jane listened with all her ears, and modified
+the opinion she had formed of Frederick Towne
+from his picture and from her first glimpse of him.
+He was nice to talk to, but he might be hard to live
+with. He had obstinacy and egotism.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why Edith should have done it amazes me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane, naughtily remembering the Admiral&#8217;s song
+from Pinafore which had been her father&#8217;s favorite,
+found it beating in her head&mdash;<i>My amazement,
+my surprise, you may learn from the expression of
+my eyes&mdash;&mdash;</i></p>
+
+<p>But no hint of this showed in her manner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She was hurt,&#8221; she said, &#8220;and she wanted to
+hide.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But people seem to think that in some way it is
+my fault. I don&#8217;t like that. It isn&#8217;t fair. We&#8217;ve
+always been the best of friends&mdash;more like brother
+and sister than niece and uncle.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But not like Baldy and me,&#8221; said Jane to herself,
+&#8220;not in the least like Baldy and me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course Simms ought to be shot,&#8221; Towne told
+them heatedly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He ought to be hanged,&#8221; was Baldy&#8217;s amendment.</p>
+
+<p>Jane&#8217;s needles clicked, but she said nothing. She
+was dying to tell these bloodthirsty males what she
+thought of them. What good would it do to shoot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+Delafield Simms? A woman&#8217;s hurt pride isn&#8217;t to
+be healed by the thought of a man&#8217;s dead body.</p>
+
+<p>Young Baldwin brought out the bag. &#8220;It is one
+that Delafield gave her,&#8221; Frederick stated, &#8220;and I
+cashed a check for her at the bank the day before
+the wedding. I can&#8217;t imagine why she took the
+ring with her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She probably forgot to take it off; her mind
+wasn&#8217;t on <i>rings</i>.&#8221; Jane&#8217;s voice was warm with
+feeling.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her with some curiosity. &#8220;What
+was it on?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, her heart was broken. Nothing else mattered.
+Can&#8217;t you see?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. &#8220;I
+don&#8217;t believe it was broken. I hardly think she
+loved him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy blazed, &#8220;But why should she marry him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, well, it was a good match. A very good
+match. And Edith&#8217;s not in the least emotional&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really?&#8221; said Jane pleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy was silent. Was Frederick Towne blind
+to the wonders that lay behind those eyes of burning
+blue?</p>
+
+<p>Jane swept them back to the matter of the bag.
+&#8220;We thought you ought to have it, Mr. Towne, but
+Baldy had scruples about revealing anything he
+knows about Miss Towne&#8217;s hiding-place. He feels
+that she trusted him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>&#8220;You said you had advertised, Mr. Barnes?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, the one thing is to get her home. Tell
+her that if she calls you up.&#8221; Frederick looked
+suddenly tired and old.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy, leaning against the mantel, gazed down at
+him. &#8220;It&#8217;s hard to decide what I ought to do.
+But I feel that I&#8217;m right in giving her a chance first
+to answer the advertisement.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Towne&#8217;s tone showed a touch of irritation. &#8220;Of
+course you&#8217;ll have to act as you think best.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And now Jane took things in her own hands.
+&#8220;Mr. Towne, I&#8217;m going to make you a cup of coffee.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall be very grateful,&#8221; he smiled at her.
+What a charming child she was! He was soothed
+and refreshed by the atmosphere they created.
+This boy and girl were a friendly pair and he loved
+his ease. His own house, since Edith&#8217;s departure,
+had been funereal, and his friends had been divided
+in their championship between himself and Edith.
+But the young Barneses were so pleasantly responsive
+with their lighted-up eyes and their little
+air of making him one with them. Edith had always
+seemed to put him quite definitely on the
+shelf. With little Jane and her brother he had a
+feeling of equality of age.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look here,&#8221; he spoke impulsively, &#8220;may I tell
+you all about it? It would relieve my mind immensely.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>To Jane it was a thrilling moment. Having
+poured the coffee, she came out from behind her
+battlement of silver and sat in her chintz chair.
+She did not knit; she was enchanted by the tale
+that Towne was telling. She sat very still, her
+hands folded, the tropical birds about her. To
+Frederick she seemed like a bird herself&mdash;slim and
+lovely, and with a voice that sang!</p>
+
+<p>Towne was not an impressionable man. His
+years of bachelorhood had hardened him to feminine
+arts. But here was no artfulness. Jane assumed
+nothing. She was herself. As he talked to
+her, he became aware of some stirred emotion. An
+almost youthful eagerness to shine as the hero of
+his tale. If he embroidered the theme, it was for
+her benefit. What he told was as he saw it. But
+what he told was not the truth, nor even half of it.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br />
+
+<small>BEAUTY WAITS</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Edith Towne</span> had lived with her Uncle Frederick
+nearly four years when she became engaged to
+Delafield Simms. Her mother was dead, as was
+her father. Frederick was her father&#8217;s only
+brother, and had a big house to himself, after his
+mother&#8217;s death. It seemed the only haven for his
+niece, so he asked her, and asked also his father&#8217;s
+cousin, Annabel Towne, to keep house for him, and
+chaperone Edith.</p>
+
+<p>Annabel was over sixty, and rather indefinite,
+but she served to play propriety, and there was
+nothing else demanded of her in Frederick&#8217;s household
+of six servants. She was a dried-up and
+desiccated person, with fixed ideas of what one
+owed to society. Frederick&#8217;s mother had been like
+that, so he did not mind. He rather liked to think
+that the woman of his family kept to old ideals. It
+gave to things an air of dignity.</p>
+
+<p>Edith, when she came, was different. So different
+that Frederick was glad that she had three
+more years at college before she would spend the
+winters with him. The summers were not hard to
+arrange. Edith and Annabel adjourned to the
+Towne cottage on an island in Maine&mdash;and Frederick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
+went up for week-ends and for the month of
+August. Edith spent much time out-of-doors with
+her young friends. She was rather fond of her
+Uncle Fred, but he did not loom large on the horizon
+of her youthful occupations.</p>
+
+<p>Then came her winter at home, and her consequent
+engagement to Delafield Simms. It was because
+of Uncle Fred that she became engaged. She
+simply didn&#8217;t want to live with him any more. She
+felt that Uncle Fred would be glad to have her go,
+and the feeling was mutual. She was an elephant
+on his hands. Naturally. He was a great old
+dear, but he was a Turk. He didn&#8217;t know it, of
+course. But his ideas of being master of his own
+house were perfectly archaic. Cousin Annabel and
+the servants, and everybody in his office simply
+hung on his words, and Edith wouldn&#8217;t hang. She
+came into his bachelor Paradise like a rather troublesome
+Eve, and demanded her share of the universe.
+He didn&#8217;t like it, and there you were.</p>
+
+<p>It was really Uncle Fred who wanted her to
+marry Delafield Simms. He talked about it a lot.
+At first Edith wouldn&#8217;t listen. But Delafield was
+persistent and patient. He came gradually to be
+as much of a part of her everyday life as the meals
+she ate or the car she drove. Uncle Fred was always
+inviting him. He was forever on hand, and
+when he wasn&#8217;t she missed him.</p>
+
+<p>They felt for each other, she decided, the thing
+called &#8220;love.&#8221; It was not, perhaps, the romance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
+which one found in books. But she had been
+taught carefully at college to distrust romance.
+The emphasis had been laid on the transient quality
+of adolescent emotion. One married for the
+sake of the race, and one chose, quite logically,
+with one&#8217;s head instead, as in the old days, with the
+heart.</p>
+
+<p>So there you had it. Delafield was eligible. He
+was healthy, had brains enough, an acceptable code
+of morals&mdash;and was willing to let her have her own
+way. If there were moments when Edith wondered
+if this program was adequate to wedded bliss, she
+put the thought aside. She and Delafield liked
+each other no end. Why worry?</p>
+
+<p>And really at times Uncle Fred was impossible.
+His mother had lived until he was thirty-five, she
+had adored him, and had passed on to Cousin Annabel
+and to the old servants in the house the formula
+by which she had made her son happy. Her
+one fear had been that he might marry. He was
+extremely popular, much sought after. But he
+had kept his heart at home. His sweetheart, he
+had often said, was silver-haired and over sixty.
+He basked in her approbation; was soothed and
+sustained by it.</p>
+
+<p>Then she had died, and Edith had come, and
+things had been different.</p>
+
+<p>The difference had been demonstrated in a dozen
+ways. Edith was pleasantly affectionate, but she
+didn&#8217;t yield an inch. &#8220;Dear Uncle Fred,&#8221; she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+would ask, when they disagreed on matters of manners
+or morals, or art or athletics, or religion or the
+lack of it, &#8220;isn&#8217;t my opinion as good as yours?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Apparently my opinion isn&#8217;t worth anything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes it is&mdash;but you must let me have mine.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her independence met his rules and broke them.
+Her frankness of speech came up against his polite
+reticences and they both said things.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick, of course, blamed Edith when she
+made him forget his manners. They had, he held,
+been considered perfect. Edith retorted that they
+had, perhaps, never been challenged. &#8220;It is easy
+enough, of course, when everybody gives in to you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She had brought into his house an atmosphere of
+modernity which appalled him. She went and
+came as she pleased, would not be bound by old
+standards.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Uncle Fred,&#8221; she would say when he protested,
+&#8220;the war changed things. Women of to-day
+aren&#8217;t sheep.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The women of our family,&#8221; her uncle would begin,
+to be stopped by the scornful retort, &#8220;Why do
+you want the women of your family to be different
+from the others you go with?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She had him there. His sophistication matched
+that of the others of his set. Socially he was
+neither a Puritan nor a Pharisee. It was only
+under his own roof that he became patriarchal.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, as time went on, he learned that Edith&#8217;s
+faults were tempered by her fastidiousness. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
+did not confuse liberty and license. She neither
+smoked nor drank. There was about her dancing
+a fine and stately quality which saved it from sensuousness.
+Yet when he told her things, there was
+always that irritating shrug of the shoulders.
+&#8220;Oh, well, I&#8217;m not a rowdy,&mdash;you know that. But
+I like to play around.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His pride in her grew&mdash;in her burnished hair, the
+burning blue of her eyes, her great beauty, the fineness
+of her spirit, the integrity of her character.</p>
+
+<p>Yet he sighed with relief when she told him of
+her engagement to Delafield Simms. He loved her,
+but none the less he felt the strain of her presence
+in his establishment. It would be like sinking back
+into the luxury of a feather bed, to take up the old
+life where she had entered it.</p>
+
+<p>And Edith, too, welcomed her emancipation.
+&#8220;When I marry you,&#8221; she told Delafield, &#8220;I am
+going to break all the rules. In Uncle Fred&#8217;s house
+everything runs by clockwork, and it is he who
+winds the clock.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Delafield laughed and kissed her. He was like
+the rest of the men of his generation, apparently
+acquiescent. Yet the chances were that when
+Edith was his wife, he, too, would wind the clock!</p>
+
+<p>Their engagement was one of mutual freedom.
+Edith did as she pleased, Delafield did as he
+pleased. They rarely clashed. And as the wedding
+day approached, they were pleasantly complacent.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>Delafield, dictating a letter one day to Frederick
+Towne&#8217;s stenographer, spoke of his complacency.
+He was writing to Bob Sterling, who was to be his
+best man, and who shared his apartment in New
+York. Delafield was an orphan, and had big money
+interests. He felt that Washington was tame compared
+to the metropolis. He and Edith were to
+live one block east of Fifth Avenue, in a house that
+he had bought for her.</p>
+
+<p>When he was in Washington he occupied a desk
+in Frederick&#8217;s office. Lucy Logan took his dictation.
+She had been for several years with Towne.
+She was twenty-three, well-groomed, and self-possessed.
+She had slender, flexible fingers, and Delafield
+liked to look at them. She had soft brown
+hair, and her profile, as she bent over her book, was
+clear-cut and composed.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;Edith and I are great pals,&#8221; he dictated. &#8220;I
+rather think we are going to hit it off famously.
+I&#8217;d hate to have a woman hang around my neck.
+And I want you for my best man. I know it is asking
+a lot, but it&#8217;s just once in a lifetime, old chap.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Lucy wrote that and waited with her pencil
+poised.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s about all,&#8221; said Delafield.</p>
+
+<p>Lucy shut up her book and rose.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wait a minute,&#8221; Delafield decided. &#8220;I want to
+add a postscript.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Lucy sat down.</p>
+
+
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>&#8220;By the way,&#8221; Delafield dictated, &#8220;I wish you&#8217;d
+order the flowers at Tolley&#8217;s. White orchids for
+Edith of course. He&#8217;ll know the right thing for
+the bridesmaids&mdash;I&#8217;ll get Edith to send him the
+color scheme&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Lucy&#8217;s pencil dashed and dotted. She looked
+up, hesitated. &#8220;Miss Towne doesn&#8217;t care for orchids.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How do you know?&#8221; he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>She fluttered the leaves of her notebook and
+found an order from Towne to a local florist. &#8220;He
+says here, &#8216;Anything but orchids&mdash;she doesn&#8217;t like
+them.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I&#8217;ve been sending her orchids every week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps she didn&#8217;t want to tell you&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you think I should have something else for
+the wedding bouquet?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think she might like it better.&#8221; There was a
+faint flush on her cheek.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What would you suggest?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t be sure what Miss Towne would like.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What would you like?&#8221; intently.</p>
+
+<p>She considered it seriously&mdash;her slender fingers
+clasped on her book. &#8220;I think,&#8221; she told him,
+finally, &#8220;that if I were going to marry a man I
+should want what he wanted.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed and leaned forward. &#8220;Good heavens,
+are there any women like that left in the
+world?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her flush deepened, she rose and went towards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
+the door. &#8220;Perhaps I shouldn&#8217;t have said anything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His voice changed. &#8220;Indeed, I am glad you
+did.&#8221; He had risen and now held the door open
+for her. &#8220;We men are stupid creatures. I should
+never have found it out for myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She went away, and he sat there thinking about
+her. Her impersonal manner had always been perfect,
+and he had found her little flush charming.</p>
+
+<p>It was because of Lucy Logan, therefore, that
+Edith had white violets instead of orchids in her
+wedding bouquet. And it was because, too, of Lucy
+Logan, that other things happened. Three of
+Edith&#8217;s bridesmaids were house-guests. Their
+names were Rosalind, Helen and Margaret. They
+had, of course, last names, but these have nothing
+to do with the story. They had been Edith&#8217;s classmates
+at college, and she had been somewhat democratic
+in her selection of them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are perfect dears, Uncle Fred. I&#8217;ll have
+three cave-dwellers to balance them. Socially, I
+suppose, it will be a case of sheep and goats, but the
+goats are&mdash;darling.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They were, however, the six of them, what Delafield
+called a bunch of beauties. Their bridesmaid
+gowns were exquisite&mdash;but unobtrusive. The
+color scheme was blue and silver&mdash;and the flowers,
+forget-me-nots and sweet peas. &#8220;It&#8217;s a bit old-fashioned,&#8221;
+Edith said, &#8220;but I hate sensational effects.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>Neither the sheep nor the goats agreed with her.
+Their ideas were different&mdash;the goats holding out
+for something impressionistic, the sheep for ceremonial
+splendor.</p>
+
+<p>There was to be a wedding breakfast at the house.
+Things were therefore given over early to the decorators
+and caterers, and coffee and rolls were
+served in everybody&#8217;s room. Belated wedding
+presents kept coming, and Edith and her bridal attendants
+might be seen at all times on the stairs or
+in the hall in silken morning coats and delicious
+caps.</p>
+
+<p>When the wedding bouquet arrived Edith sought
+out her uncle in his study on the second floor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look at this,&#8221; she said; &#8220;how in the world did
+it happen that he sent white violets? Did you tell
+him, Uncle Fred?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sure?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Cross my heart.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They had had their joke about Del&#8217;s orchids.
+&#8220;If he knew how I hated them,&#8221; Edith would say,
+and Uncle Fred would answer, &#8220;Why don&#8217;t you tell
+him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But she had never told, because after all it didn&#8217;t
+much matter, and if Delafield felt that orchids were
+the proper thing, why muddle up his mind with her
+preferences?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anyhow,&#8221; she said now, &#8220;I am glad my wedding
+bouquet is different.&#8221; As she stood there,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+lovely in her sheer draperies, the fragrant mass of
+flowers in her arms, her eyes looked at him over the
+top, wistfully. &#8220;Uncle Fred,&#8221; she asked, unexpectedly,
+&#8220;do you love me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please don&#8217;t say it that way&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; Her voice
+caught.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How shall I say it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As if you&mdash;cared.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders.
+&#8220;My dear child,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ve been no end good to me,&#8221; she said, and
+dropped the bouquet on a chair and clung to him,
+sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>He held her in his arms and soothed her. &#8220;Being
+a bride is a bit nerve-racking.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She nodded. &#8220;And I mustn&#8217;t let my eyes get
+red.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She kissed him shyly on the cheek. They had
+never indulged much in kisses. He felt if she had
+always been as sweetly feminine, he should have
+been sorry to have her marry.</p>
+
+<p>He did not see her again until she was in her
+wedding gown, composed and smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Has Del called you up?&#8221; he asked her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, why should he?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed. &#8220;Oh, well, you&#8217;ll have plenty to
+say to each other afterward.&#8221; But the thought intruded
+that with such a bride a man might show
+himself, on this day of days, ardent and eager.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>Rosalind and Helen and Margaret, shimmering,
+opalescent, their young eyes radiant under their
+wide hats, joined the other bridesmaids in the great
+limousine which was to take them to the church.
+Cousin Annabel went with other cousins. Edith
+and her uncle were alone in their car. Frederick&#8217;s
+man, Briggs, who had been the family coachman in
+the days of horses, drove them.</p>
+
+<p>Washington was shining under the winter sun
+as they whirled through the streets to the old
+church. &#8220;Happy is the bride the sun shines on,&#8221;
+said Frederick, feeling rather foolish. It was
+somewhat difficult to talk naturally to this smiling
+beauty in her bridal white. She seemed miles removed
+from the aggressive maiden with whom he
+had fought and made up and fought again.</p>
+
+<p>The wedding party was assembled in one of the
+side rooms. Belated guests trickled in a thin
+stream towards the great doors that opened and
+shut to admit them to the main auditorium. A
+group of servants, laden with wraps, stood at the
+foot of the stairs. As soon as the procession
+started they would go up into the gallery to view
+the ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>In the small room was almost overpowering fragrance.
+The bridesmaids, in the filtered light, were
+a blur of rose and blue and white. There was
+much laughter, the sound of the organ through the
+thick walls.</p>
+
+<p>Then the ushers came in.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>&#8220;Where&#8217;s Del?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The bridegroom was, it seemed, delayed. They
+waited.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Shall we telephone, Mr. Towne?&#8221; someone
+asked at last.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick nodded. He and his niece stood apart
+from the rest. Edith was smiling but had little to
+say. She seemed separated from the others by the
+fact of the approaching mystery.</p>
+
+<p>The laughter had ceased; above the whispers
+came the tremulous echo of the organ.</p>
+
+<p>The usher who had gone to the telephone returned
+and drew Towne aside.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s something queer about it. I can&#8217;t get
+Del or Bob. They may be on the way. But the
+clerk seemed reticent.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll go to the &#8217;phone myself,&#8221; said Frederick.
+&#8220;Where is it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But he was saved the effort, for someone, watching
+at the door, said, &#8220;Here they come,&#8221; and the
+room seemed to sigh with relief as Bob Sterling entered.</p>
+
+<p>No one was with him, and he wore a worried
+frown.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May I speak to you, Mr. Towne?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Edith was standing by the window looking out at
+the old churchyard. The uneasiness which had infected
+the others had not touched her. Slender
+and white she stood waiting. In a few minutes
+Del would walk up the aisle with her and they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
+would be married. In her mind that program was
+as fixed as the stars.</p>
+
+<p>And now her uncle approached and said something.
+&#8220;Edith, Del isn&#8217;t coming&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is he ill?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish to Heaven he were dead.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean, Uncle Fred?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you&mdash;presently. But we must get away
+from this&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His glance took in the changed scene. A blight
+had swept over those high young heads. Two of
+the bridesmaids were crying. The ushers had withdrawn
+into a huddled group. The servants were
+staring&mdash;uncertain what to do.</p>
+
+<p>Somebody got Briggs and the big car to the door.</p>
+
+<p>Shut into it, Towne told Edith:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s backed out of it. He left&mdash;this.&#8221; He
+had a note in his hand. &#8220;It was written to Bob
+Sterling. Bob was with him at breakfast time,
+and when he came back, this was on Del&#8217;s dresser.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She read it, her blue eyes hot:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t go through with it, Bob. I know it&#8217;s a
+rotten trick, but time will prove that I am right.
+And Edith will thank me.</p>
+
+<p class="right">&#8220;<span class="smcap">Del.</span>&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>She crushed it in her hand. &#8220;Where has he
+gone?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;South, probably, on his yacht.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wasn&#8217;t there any word for me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is there any other&mdash;woman?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It looks like it. Bob is utterly at sea. So is
+everybody else.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>All of her but her eyes seemed frozen. The
+great bouquet lay at her feet where she had dropped
+it. Her hands were clenched.</p>
+
+<p>Towne laid his hand on hers. &#8220;My dear&mdash;it&#8217;s
+dreadful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Be sorry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But he&#8217;s a cur&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It doesn&#8217;t do any good to call him names, Uncle
+Fred.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think you must look upon it as a great escape,
+Edith.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Escape from what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Unhappiness.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think I can ever escape from the
+thought of this?&#8221; The strong sweep of her arm
+seemed to indicate her bridal finery.</p>
+
+<p>He sat in unhappy silence, and suddenly she
+laughed. &#8220;I might have known when he kept sending
+me orchids. When a man loves a woman he
+knows the things she likes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was then that Towne made his mistake. &#8220;You
+ought to thank your lucky stars&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She blazed out at him, &#8220;Uncle Fred, if you say
+anything more like that,&mdash;it&#8217;s utterly idiotic. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
+you won&#8217;t face <i>facts</i>. Your generation never does.
+I&#8217;m not in the least thankful. I&#8217;m simply furious.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was an hysterical note in her voice, but he
+was unconscious of the tension. She was not taking
+it in the least as he wished she might. She
+should have wept on his shoulder. Melted to tears
+he might have soothed her. But there were no
+tears in those blue eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She trod on her flowers as she left the car. Looking
+straight ahead of her she ascended the steps.
+Within everything was in readiness for the wedding
+festivities. The stairway was terraced with
+hydrangeas, pink and white and blue. In the
+drawing-room were rose garlands with floating ribbons.
+And there was a vista of the dining-room&mdash;with
+the caterer&#8217;s men already at their posts.</p>
+
+<p>Except for these men, a maid or two&mdash;and a detective
+to keep his eye on things, the house was
+empty. Everybody had gone to the wedding, and
+presently everybody would come back. The house
+would be stripped, the flowers would fade, the caterers
+would carry away the wasted food.</p>
+
+<p>Edith stopped at the foot of the stairs. &#8220;How
+did they announce it at the church?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That it had been postponed. It was the only
+thing to do at the moment. Of course there will
+be newspaper men. We&#8217;ll have to make up a
+story&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ll do nothing of the kind. Tell them the
+truth, Uncle Fred. That I&#8217;m not&mdash;wanted. That<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+I was kept&mdash;waiting&mdash;at the church. Like the
+heroine in a movie.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stood on the steps above him, looking down.
+She was as white as her dress.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to see anybody. I don&#8217;t mind losing
+Del. He doesn&#8217;t count. He isn&#8217;t worth it.
+But can you imagine that any man&mdash;<i>any</i> man,
+Uncle Fred, could have kept <i>me</i>&mdash;waiting?&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br />
+
+<small>THE UGLY DUCKLING</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> thing that Frederick Towne got out of his
+niece&#8217;s flight was this. &#8220;She wouldn&#8217;t let anybody
+sympathize with her. Simply locked the door
+of her room, and in the morning she was gone. It
+has added immeasurably to the gossip.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His listeners had, however, weighed him in the
+balance of understanding and sympathy, and had
+found him wanting. The youth in them sided with
+Edith. But none of this showed in their manner.
+They were polite and hospitable to the last. Frederick,
+ushered out into the storm by Baldy, still
+saw Jane like a bird, warm in her nest.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You see,&#8221; Baldy said to his sister, when he
+came back, &#8220;how he messed things up.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane nodded. &#8220;He doesn&#8217;t know&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Unemotional</i>&#8221;&mdash;Baldy&#8217;s voice seemed to call on
+all the gods to listen, &#8220;you should see her eyes&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, he&#8217;s rather an old dear,&#8221; said Jane, and
+having thus disposed airily of the great Frederick
+Towne, she went about the house setting things to
+right for the night.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Merrymaid&#8217;s out,&#8221; she told her brother; &#8220;you&#8217;d
+better get her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>He opened the door and the storm seemed to
+whirl in upon him. He called the old cat and was
+presently aware, as he stood on the porch, that she
+danced about him in the dark. He chased her
+blindly, and at last got his hands on her. She was
+wet to the thighs, where she had waded in the
+drifts, but galvanized like a small electric motor by
+the intense chill of the night.</p>
+
+<p>The wind shrieked and seemed to shake the
+world. Before Baldy entered the house he turned
+and faced the night&mdash;&#8220;<i>Edith</i>&#8221; was his voiceless
+cry, &#8220;<i>Edith&mdash;Edith&mdash;&mdash;</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>By morning the violence of the storm had spent
+itself. But it was still bitterly cold. The snow
+was blue beneath the leaden sky. The chickens,
+denied their accustomed promenade, ate and drank
+and went to sleep again in the strange dusk.
+Merrymaid and the kitten having poked their noses
+into the frigid atmosphere withdrew to the snug
+haven of a basket beneath the kitchen stove. Sophy
+sent word that her rheumatism was worse, and that
+she could not come over. Jane, surveying the accumulated
+piles of dishes, felt a sense of unusual
+depression. While Frederick Towne had talked
+last night she had caught a glimpse of his world&mdash;the
+great house&mdash;six servants&mdash;gay girls in the
+glamour of good clothes, young men who matched
+the girls, money to meet every emergency&mdash;a world
+in which nobody had to wash dishes&mdash;or make soup
+out of Sunday&#8217;s roast.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>She was cheered a bit, however, by the announcement
+that her brother had decided to stay home
+from the office.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll have a try at that magazine cover&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her spirits rose. &#8220;Wouldn&#8217;t it be utterly perfect
+if you got the prize&mdash;&mdash;?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not much chance. The thing I need is a good
+model&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I won&#8217;t do?&#8221; with some wistfulness.</p>
+
+<p>They had talked of it before. Baldy refused to
+see possibilities in Jane. &#8220;Since you bobbed your
+hair, you&#8217;re too modern&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; She was, rather,
+medieval, with her straight-cut frocks and her
+straight-cut locks. But she was a figure so familiar
+that she failed to appeal to his imagination.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Editors like &#8217;em modern, don&#8217;t they?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But his thoughts had winged themselves to that
+other woman whom his fancy painted in a thousand
+poses.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If Edith Towne were here&mdash;I&#8217;d put her on a
+marble bench beside a sapphire sea.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll bet you couldn&#8217;t get an editor in the world
+to look at it. Sapphire seas and classic ladies are
+a million years behind the times&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are never behind the times&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane shrugged, and changed the subject. &#8220;Darling&mdash;if
+you&#8217;ll put your mind to mundane things
+for a moment. To-morrow is Thanksgiving Day,
+the Follettes are to dine with us, and we haven&#8217;t
+any turkey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>&#8220;Why haven&#8217;t we?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You were to get it when you went to town, and
+now you&#8217;re not going&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am <i>not</i>&mdash;not for all the turkeys in the world.
+We can have roast chickens. That&#8217;s simple enough,
+Janey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It may seem simple to you. But who&#8217;s going
+to cut off their heads?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sophy,&#8221; said Baldy. Having killed Germans
+in France he refused further slaughter.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sophy has the rheumatism&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, well, we can feast our souls&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; Young
+Baldwin&#8217;s mood was one of exaltation.</p>
+
+<p>Jane leaned back in her chair and looked at him.
+&#8220;Your perfectly poetic solution may satisfy you,
+but it won&#8217;t feed the Follettes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With some irritation, therefore, he promised, if
+all else failed, to himself decapitate the fowls.
+&#8220;But your mind, Jane, never soars above
+food&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane, with her chin in her hands, considered
+this. &#8220;A woman,&#8221; she said, &#8220;who keeps house for
+a poet&mdash;must anchor herself to&mdash;something. Perhaps
+I&#8217;m like a captive balloon&mdash;if you cut the
+cable, I&#8217;ll shoot straight up to the skies&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She liked that thought of herself, and smiled
+over it, after Baldy had left her. She wondered
+if the cable would ever be cut. If the captive balloon
+would ever soar.</p>
+
+<p>So she went about her simple tasks, putting the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
+bone on to boil for soup, preparing the vegetables
+for it&mdash;wondering what she would have for dessert&mdash;with
+all his scorn of domestic details, Baldy was
+apt to be fastidious about his sweets&mdash;and coming
+finally to her sweeping and dusting in the front
+part of the house.</p>
+
+<p>The telephone rang and she answered it. Evans
+was at the other end of the wire.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mother wants to speak to you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Follette asked if she might change her plans
+for Thanksgiving. &#8220;Will you and your brother
+dine with us, instead of our coming to you? Our
+New York cousins find that they have the day free,
+unexpectedly. They had been asked to a house
+party in Virginia, but their hostess has had to postpone
+it on account of illness.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is it going to be very grand? I haven&#8217;t a thing
+to wear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be foolish, Jane. You always look like
+a lady.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you, Mrs. Follette.&#8221; Jane hoped that
+she didn&#8217;t look as some ladies look. But there
+were, of course, others. It was well for her at the
+moment, that Mrs. Follette could not see her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I thought,&#8221; went on the unconscious
+matron, &#8220;that if you were not too busy, you might
+go with Evans to the grove and get some greens.
+I&#8217;d like the house to look attractive. Is the snow
+too deep?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not a bit. When will he come?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>&#8220;You&#8217;d better arrange with him. Here he is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evans&#8217; voice was the only unchanged thing about
+him. The sound of it at long distance always
+brought the old days back to Jane.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;After lunch?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Give me time to dress.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Three?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When luncheon was over, Jane went up-stairs to
+get into out-of-door clothes. At the foot of the
+stairs she had a glimpse of herself in the hall
+mirror. She wore a one-piece lilac cotton frock&mdash;with
+a small square apron, and an infinitesimal
+bib. It was a nice-looking little frock, but she had
+had it for a million years. That was the way with
+all her clothes. The suit she was going to put on
+had been dyed. It had been white in its first incarnation.
+It was now brown. There was no telling
+its chromatic future.</p>
+
+<p>She heard steps on the porch, and turned to open
+the door for Evans.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not Evans. Briggs, Frederick
+Towne&#8217;s chauffeur, stood there with a box in his
+arms. &#8220;Mr. Towne&#8217;s compliments,&#8221; he said, &#8220;and
+shall I set it in the hall?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, thank you.&#8221; Her surprise brought the
+quick color to her cheeks. She watched him go
+back down the terrace, and enter the car, then she
+opened the box.</p>
+
+<p>Beneath clouds of white tissue paper she came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
+upon a long, low basket, heaped with grapes and
+tangerines, peaches and pomegranates. Tucked in
+between the fruits were shelled nuts in fluted paper
+cases, gleaming sweets in small glass jars, candied
+pineapples and cherries, bunches of fat raisins,
+stuffed dates and prunes.</p>
+
+<p>Jane talked to the empty air. &#8220;How dear of
+him&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The white tissue paper fell in drifts about her
+as she lifted the basket from the box.</p>
+
+<p>There was a little note tied to the handle.
+Towne&#8217;s personal paper was thick and white. Jane
+was aware of its expensiveness and it thrilled her.
+His script was heavy and black&mdash;the note had,
+unquestionably, an air.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;<span class="smcap">Dear Miss Barnes</span>:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t tell you how much I enjoyed your
+hospitality last night&mdash;and you were good to listen
+to me with so much sympathy. I am hoping that
+you&#8217;ll let me come again and talk about Edith.
+May I? And here&#8217;s a bit of color for your Thanksgiving
+feast.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="gap">&#8220;Gratefully always,</span><br />
+&#8220;<span class="smcap">Frederick Towne</span>.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Jane stood staring down at the friendly words.
+It didn&#8217;t seem within reason that Frederick Towne
+meant that he wanted to come&mdash;to see her. And
+she really hadn&#8217;t listened with sympathy. But&mdash;oh,
+of course, he could come. And it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+heavenly to have a thing like this happen on a day
+like this.</p>
+
+<p>As she straightened up with the basket in her
+hands, she saw herself again in the long mirror&mdash;a
+slender figure in green&mdash;bobbed black hair&mdash;golden
+and purple fruits. She gasped and gazed again.
+There was Baldy&#8217;s picture ready to his hand&mdash;November!
+Against a background of gray&mdash;that
+glowing figure&mdash;Baldy could idealize her&mdash;make
+the wind blow her skirts a bit&mdash;give her a fluttering
+ribbon or two, a glorified loveliness.</p>
+
+<p>She sought him in his studio. &#8220;I&#8217;ve got something
+to show you, darling-dear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was moody. &#8220;Don&#8217;t interrupt me, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She rumpled up his hair, which he hated. &#8220;Mr.
+Towne sent us some fruit, Baldy, and this.&#8221; She
+held out the note to him.</p>
+
+<p>He read it. &#8220;He doesn&#8217;t say a word about me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, he doesn&#8217;t,&#8221; her eyes were dancing;
+&#8220;Baldy, it&#8217;s your little sister, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You didn&#8217;t do a thing but sit there and
+knit&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps he liked to see me&mdash;knitting&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy passed this over in puzzled silence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where&#8217;s the fruit?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In the house.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He rose. &#8220;I&#8217;ll go in with you&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; He felt out
+of sorts, discouraged. The morning had been
+spent in sketching vague outlines&mdash;a sweep of fair
+hair under a blue hat&mdash;detached feet in shoes with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
+shining buckles&mdash;a bag that hung in the air without
+hands. At intervals he had stood up and looked
+out at the blank snow and the dull sky. The room
+was warm enough, but he shivered. He suffered
+vicariously for Edith Towne. He had hoped that
+she might telephone. He had stayed home really
+for that.</p>
+
+<p>His studio was in the garage and was heated by
+a little round stove. Jane said the garage reminded
+her of the Boffins&#8217; parlor&mdash;a dead line was
+drawn between art and utility. Baldy&#8217;s rug and
+old couch and paints and brushes flung a challenge
+as it were to the little Ford, the lawn mower, the
+garden hose and the gasoline cans.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have spent three hours doing nothing,&#8221; he
+said, as he shut the door behind him; &#8220;not much
+encouragement in that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have a model for you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll show you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He followed her in, full of curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>She showed him the fruit, then picked up the
+basket. &#8220;Look in the mirror, not at me,&#8221; she commanded.</p>
+
+<p>Reflected there in the clear glass, so still that
+she seemed fixed in paint, Baldy really gave for the
+first time an artist&#8217;s eye to the possibilities of his
+little sister. In the midst of all that crashing
+color&mdash;&mdash;!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gosh,&#8221; he cried, &#8220;you&#8217;re good-looking!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>His air of utter astonishment was too much for
+Jane. She set the basket on the steps, and laughed
+until she cried.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see anything funny,&#8221; he told her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, you wouldn&#8217;t, darling.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She wiped her eyes with her little handkerchief,
+and sat up. &#8220;I am just dropping a tear for the
+ugly duckling.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have I made you feel like that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sometimes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Their lighted-up eyes met, and suddenly he
+leaned down and touched her cheek&mdash;a swift caress.
+&#8220;You&#8217;re a little bit of all right, Janey,&#8221; which was
+great praise from Baldy.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br />
+
+<small>&#8220;STAY IN THE FIELD, OH, WARRIOR!&#8221;</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Follette</span> had been born in Maryland with
+a tradition of aristocratic blood. It was this tradition
+which had upheld her through years of
+poverty after the Civil War. A close scanning of
+the family tree might have disclosed ancestors who
+had worked with their hands. But these, Mrs. Follette&#8217;s
+family had chosen to ignore in favor of one
+grandfather who had held Colonial office, and who
+had since been magnified into a personage.</p>
+
+<p>On such slight foundation, Mrs. Follette had
+erected high towers of social importance. As a
+wife of a government clerk, her income was limited,
+but she lived on a farm, back of Sherwood
+Park, which she had inherited from her father.
+The farm was called Castle Manor, which dignified
+it in the eyes of the county. Mrs. Follette&#8217;s friends
+were among the old families who had occupied the
+land for many generations. She would have nothing
+to do with the people of Sherwood Park. She
+held that all suburbs are negligible socially. People
+came to them from anywhere and went from
+them to be swallowed up in obscurity. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
+no stability. She made an exception, only, of the
+Baldwin Barneses. There was good Maryland
+blood back of them, and more than that, a Virginia
+Governor. To be sure they did not care for these
+things; old Baldwin&#8217;s democracy had been almost
+appalling. But they were, none the less, worth
+while.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Follette, during his lifetime, had walked a
+mile each morning to take the train at Sherwood
+Park, and had walked back a mile each night, until
+at last he had tired of two peripatetic miles a day,
+and of eight hours at his desk, and of eternally putting
+on his dinner coat when there was no one to
+see, and like old Baldwin Barnes, he had laid him
+down with a will.</p>
+
+<p>At his death all income stopped, and Mrs. Follette
+had found herself on a somewhat lonely peak
+of exclusiveness. She could not afford to go with
+her richer neighbors, and she refused to consider
+Sherwood seriously. Now and then, however, she
+accepted invitations from old friends, and in return
+offered such simple hospitality as she could
+afford without self-consciousness. She might be a
+snob, but she was, to those whom she permitted to
+cross her threshold, an incomparable hostess. She
+gave what she had without apology.</p>
+
+<p>She had, too, a sort of admirable courage. Her
+ambitions had been wrapped up in her son. What
+her father might have been, Evans was to be.
+They had scrimped and saved that he might go to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
+college and study law. Then, at that first dreadful
+cry from across the seas, he had gone. There had
+been long months of fighting. He had left her in
+the flower of his youth, a wonder-lad, with none to
+match him among his friends. He had come back
+crushed and broken. He, whose career lay so close
+to his heart&mdash;could do now no sustained work.
+Mentally and physically he must rest. He might
+be years in getting back. He would never get back
+to gay and gallant boyhood. That was gone forever.</p>
+
+<p>Yet if Mrs. Follette&#8217;s heart had failed her at
+times, she had never shown it. She was making the
+farm pay for itself. She supplied the people of
+Sherwood Park and surrounding estates with milk.
+But she never was in any sense&mdash;a milkwoman. It
+was, rather, as if in selling her milk she distributed
+favors. It was on this income that she subsisted,
+she and her son.</p>
+
+<p>It was because of Mrs. Follette&#8217;s social complexes
+that Jane had been forced to limit her invitations
+for the Thanksgiving dinner. She would
+have preferred more people to liven things up for
+Evans and Baldy, but Mrs. Follette&#8217;s prejudices
+had to be considered.</p>
+
+<p>Evans, democratic, like his father, laughed at his
+mother&#8217;s assumptions. But he rarely in these days
+set himself against her. It involved always a contest,
+and he was tired of fighting.</p>
+
+<p>That was why he had asked Jane to help him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
+in the stand he had taken against the New York
+trip. He felt that he could never hold out against
+his mother&#8217;s arguments.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;d keep eternally at it, and I&#8217;d have to give
+in,&#8221; he told himself with the irritability which was
+so new to him and so surprising. As a boy he had
+been good-tempered even in moments of disagreement
+with his mother.</p>
+
+<p>Going down to luncheon, he hoped the subject
+would not come up. The afternoon was before him,
+and Jane. He wanted no cloud to mar it.</p>
+
+<p>On the steps he passed Mary, his mother&#8217;s maid,
+making the house immaculate for the guests of to-morrow.
+She was singing an old song, linking herself
+musically with the black men of generations
+back. Mary was over sixty, and her voice was thin
+and piping. Yet there was, after all, a sort of fierce
+power in that thin and piping voice.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;Stay in the fiel&#8217;,</div>
+<div class="verse">Stay in the fiel&#8217;, oh, wah-yah&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse">Stay in the fiel&#8217;</div>
+<div class="verse">Till the wah is ended.&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Again Evans felt that sense of unaccountable irritation.
+He wished that Mary wouldn&#8217;t sing....</p>
+
+<p>Later as he and Jane swung along together in
+the clear cold Jane said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve such a lot to tell you&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She told it in her whimsical way&mdash;Baldy&#8217;s adventure,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
+Frederick Towne&#8217;s visit, the basket of
+fruit.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy is simply mad about Edith Towne. He
+hasn&#8217;t been able to talk of anything else. Of course,
+he&#8217;ll have to get over it but he isn&#8217;t looking ahead.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why should he get over it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her chin went up. &#8220;He&#8217;s a clerk in the departments,
+and she a&mdash;plutocrat&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps she won&#8217;t look at it like that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, but she has <i>men</i> at her feet. And Baldy&#8217;s
+a boy. Evans, if I had lovely dresses &#8217;n&#8217; everything,
+I&#8217;d have men at my feet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why should you want them at your feet?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Every woman does. We want to grind &#8217;em
+under our heels,&#8221; she stamped in the snow to show
+him; &#8220;but Baldy and I are a pair of Cinderellas,
+minus&mdash;godmothers&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was in a gay mood. She was wrapped in
+her old orange cape, and the sun, breaking the bank
+of sullen clouds in the west, seemed to turn her
+lithe young body into flame.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you <i>love</i> a day like this, Evans?&#8221; She
+pressed forward up the hill with all her strength.
+Evans followed, panting. At the top they sat down
+for a moment on an old log&mdash;which faced the long
+aisles of snow between thin black trees. The vista
+was clear-cut and almost artificial in its restraint
+of color and its wide bare spaces.</p>
+
+<p>Evans&#8217; little dog, Rusty, ran back and forth&mdash;following
+this trail and that. Finally in pursuit of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
+a rabbit, he was led far afield. They heard him
+barking madly in the distance. It was the only
+sound in the stillness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Jane,&#8221; Evans said, &#8220;do you remember the last
+time we were here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; The light went out of her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As I look back it was heaven, Jane. I&#8217;d give
+anything on God&#8217;s earth if I was where I was
+then.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>All the blood was drained from her face.
+&#8220;Evans, you wouldn&#8217;t,&#8221; passionately, &#8220;you
+wouldn&#8217;t give up those three years in France&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He sat very still. Then he said tensely, &#8220;No, I
+wouldn&#8217;t, even though it has made me lose you&mdash;Jane&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mustn&#8217;t say such things&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I must. Don&#8217;t I know? You were such an
+unawakened little thing, my dear. But I could
+have&mdash;waked you. And I can&#8217;t wake you now.
+That&#8217;s my tragedy. You&#8217;ll never wake up&mdash;for
+me&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, it&#8217;s true. Why not say it? I&#8217;ve come
+back a&mdash;scarecrow, the shadow of a man. And
+you&#8217;re just where I left you&mdash;only lovelier&mdash;more
+of a woman&mdash;more to be worshipped&mdash;Jane&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As he caught her hand up in his, she had a sudden
+flashing vision of him as he had been when he
+last sat with her in the grove&mdash;the swing of his
+strong figure, his bare head borrowing gold from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
+the sun&mdash;the touch of assurance which had been
+so compelling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never knew that you cared&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I knew it, but not as I did after your wonderful
+letters to me over there. I felt, if I ever came
+back, I&#8217;d move heaven and earth.&#8221; He stopped.
+&#8220;But I came back&mdash;different. And I haven&#8217;t any
+right to say these things to you. I&#8217;m not going to
+say them&mdash;Jane. It might spoil our&mdash;friendship.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing can spoil our friendship, Evans&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laid his hand on hers. &#8220;Then you are
+mine&mdash;until somebody comes along and claims
+you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There isn&#8217;t anybody else,&#8221; she turned her
+fingers up to meet his, &#8220;so don&#8217;t worry, old dear,&#8221;
+she smiled at him but her lashes were wet. Her
+hand was warm in his and she let it stay there, and
+after a while she said, &#8220;I have sometimes thought
+that if it would make you happy, I might&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Might&mdash;love me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t say it for that. I
+just had to have the truth between us. And I don&#8217;t
+want&mdash;pity. If&mdash;if I ever get back&mdash;I&#8217;ll make you
+love me, Jane.&#8221; There was a hint of his old masterfulness&mdash;and
+she was thrilled by it.</p>
+
+<p>She withdrew her hand and stood up. &#8220;Then
+I&#8217;ll&mdash;pray&mdash;that you&mdash;get back&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean it, Janey?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mean it, Evans.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>&#8220;Then pray good and hard, my dear, for I&#8217;m going
+to do it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They smiled at each other, but it was a sacred
+moment.</p>
+
+<p>The things they did after that were rendered unimportant
+by the haze of enchantment which hung
+over Evans&#8217; revelation. No man can tell a woman
+that he loves her, no woman can listen, without a
+throbbing sense of the magnitude of the thing
+which has happened. From such beginnings is
+written the history of humanity.</p>
+
+<p>Deep in a hollow where the wind had swept up
+the snow, and left the ground bare they found
+crowfoot in an emerald carpet&mdash;there were holly
+branches dripping red berries like blood on the
+white drifts. They filled their arms, and at last
+they were ready to go.</p>
+
+<p>Evans whistled for Rusty but the little dog did
+not come. &#8220;He&#8217;ll find us; he knows every inch of
+the way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Rusty did not find them, and they were
+on the ridge when that first awful cry came to
+them.</p>
+
+<p>Jane clutched Evans. &#8220;What is it&mdash;oh, what <i>is</i>
+it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He swallowed twice before he could speak. &#8220;It&#8217;s&mdash;Rusty&mdash;one
+of those steel traps&#8221;&mdash;he was panting
+now&mdash;his forehead wet&mdash;&#8220;the negroes put them
+around for rabbits&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; Again that frenzied cry
+broke the stillness. &#8220;They&#8217;re hellish things&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>Jane began to run in the direction of the sound.
+&#8220;Come on, Evans&mdash;oh, come quick&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stumbled after her. At last he caught at her
+dress and held her. &#8220;If he&#8217;s hurt I can&#8217;t stand
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was dreadful to see him. Jane felt as if
+clutched by a nightmare. &#8220;Stay here, and don&#8217;t
+worry. I&#8217;ll get him out&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was a cruel thing to face. There was blood
+and that little trembling body. The cry reduced
+now to an agonized whimpering. How she opened
+the trap she never knew, but she did open it, and
+made a bandage from her blouse which she tore
+from her shoulders regardless of the cold. And
+after what seemed to be ages, she staggered back to
+Evans with her dreadful burden wrapped in her
+cape. &#8220;We&#8217;ve got to get him to a veterinary. Run
+down to the road and see if there&#8217;s a car in
+sight.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a car, and when Evans stopped it, two
+men came charging up the bank. Jane gave the dog
+into the arms of one of them. &#8220;You&#8217;ll have to go
+with them, Evans,&#8221; she said and wrapped herself
+more closely in her cape. &#8220;There are several doctors
+at Rockville. You&#8217;d better ask the station-master
+about the veterinary.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>After they had gone, she stood there on the ridge
+and watched the car out of sight. She felt stunned
+and hysterical. It had been awful to see Rusty, but
+the most awful thing was that vision of Evans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+stumbling through the snow. A broken body is for
+tears&mdash;a broken spirit is beyond tears.</p>
+
+<p>She shuddered and pressed her hands against her
+eyes. Then she went down the hill and across the
+road in the darkening twilight. She crept into the
+house. Baldy must not see her; there was blood on
+her cape and her clothes were torn, and Baldy
+would ask questions, and he would call Evans a&mdash;coward....</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>It was late when Evans came to Castle Manor
+with his dog in his arms. Rusty was comfortable
+and he had wagged a grateful tail. The pain had
+gone out of his eyes and the veterinary had said
+that in a few days the wound would heal. There
+were no vital parts affected&mdash;and he would give
+some medicine which would prevent further suffering.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Follette was out, and old Mary was in the
+kitchen, singing. She stopped her song as Evans
+came through. He asked her to help him and she
+brought a square, deep basket and made Rusty a
+bed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You-all jes&#8217; put him heah by the fiah, and I&#8217;ll
+look atter him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evans shook his head. &#8220;I want him in my room.
+I&#8217;ll take care of him in the night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He carried the dog up-stairs with him, knelt beside
+him, drew hard deep breaths as the little fellow
+licked his hand.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>&#8220;What kind of a man am I?&#8221; Evans said sharply
+in the silence. &#8220;God, what kind of a man?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Through the still house came old Mary&#8217;s thin and
+piping song:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;Stay in the fiel&#8217;,</div>
+<div class="verse">Stay in the fiel&#8217;, oh, wah-yah&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse">Stay in the fiel&#8217;</div>
+<div class="verse">Till the wah is ended.&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Evans got up and shut the door....</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br />
+
+<small>A FAMISHED PILGRIM</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Jane</span> was waked usually by the hoarse crow of
+an audacious little rooster, who sent his challenge
+to the rising sun.</p>
+
+<p>But on Thanksgiving morning, she found herself
+sitting up in bed in the deep darkness&mdash;slim
+and white and shivering&mdash;oppressed by some phantom
+of the night.</p>
+
+<p>She came to it gradually. The strange events of
+yesterday. Evans. Her own share in his future.</p>
+
+<p>Her room was icy. She climbed out of bed, and
+closed the windows, lighted the lamp on her little
+table, wrapped herself in a warm robe, and sat up
+among her pillows, to think the thing out.</p>
+
+<p>The lamp had a yellow shade, and shone like a
+full moon among the shadows. Jane, just beyond
+the circle of light, was a spectral figure with her
+black hair and the faint blue of her gown.</p>
+
+<p>Her own share in Evans&#8217; future? Had she really
+linked her life with his? She had promised to pray
+that he might get back&mdash;she had pledged youth,
+hope and constancy to his cause. And she had
+promised before she had seen that stumbling figure
+in the snow!</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>In the matters of romance, Jane&#8217;s thoughts had
+always ventured. She had dreamed of a gallant
+lover, a composite hero, one who should combine the
+reckless courage of a Robin Hood with the high
+moralities of a Galahad. With such a lover one
+might gallop through life to a piping tune. Or if
+the Galahad predominated in her hero, to an inspiring
+processional!</p>
+
+<p>And here was Evans, gray and gaunt, shaken by
+tremors, fitting himself into the background of her
+future. And she didn&#8217;t want him there. Oh, not
+as he had been out there in the snow!</p>
+
+<p>Yet she was sorry for him with a sympathy that
+wrung her heart. She couldn&#8217;t hurt him. She
+wouldn&#8217;t. Was there no way out of it?</p>
+
+<p>Her hands went up to her face. She had a simple
+and childlike faith. &#8220;Oh, God,&#8221; she prayed,
+&#8220;make us all&mdash;happy&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her cheeks were wet as she lay back on her pillows.
+And a certain serenity followed her little
+prayer. Things would work together in some way
+for good.... She would let it rest at that.</p>
+
+<p>When at last the rooster crowed, Jane cast off
+the covers and went to the windows, drawing back
+the curtains. There was a faint whiteness in the
+eastern sky&mdash;amethyst and pearl, aquamarine, the
+day had dawned!</p>
+
+<p>Well, after all, wasn&#8217;t every day a new world?
+And this day of all days. One must think about
+the thankful things!</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>She discussed that with Baldy at the breakfast
+table.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy scoffed. &#8220;I&#8217;m not a hypocrite. It has
+been a rotten year.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, money isn&#8217;t everything, and we have each
+other.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Money is a lot. And just because we haven&#8217;t
+all been killed off is no special reason why we
+should thank the Lord.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy, I want to thank him for the little
+things. Our little house, and warmth and light,
+and you, coming home at night&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear child, we don&#8217;t own the house, and I&#8217;m
+really not much when I get here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That isn&#8217;t true, Baldy. And aren&#8217;t you thankful
+that you have me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a quaver in her voice, and he was not
+hard-hearted. Neither was he in a mood for sentiment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter, old dear? Want me to
+throw bouquets at you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I do. I&#8217;m low in my mind this morning.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He saw that she meant it. &#8220;Anything happened,
+Janey?&#8221; he asked in a different tone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, nothing to talk about. But&mdash;I wish I had
+a shoulder to weep on, Baldy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Weep on mine.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head. &#8220;No. You&#8217;d be about as
+comforting as a wooden Indian.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I like that,&#8221; hotly.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>&#8220;Your intentions are good. But your mind isn&#8217;t
+on me. It&#8217;s on Edith Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What makes you think that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you&#8217;ve one ear cocked towards the telephone&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He flushed. &#8220;Well, who wouldn&#8217;t? I want to
+hear from her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He wanted to hear so much that he did not go to
+church lest he miss her call. But Jane went, and
+sat in the Barnes&#8217; pew, and was thankful, as she
+had said, for love and warmth and light.</p>
+
+<p>Throughout the sermon, she stared at the stained
+glass window which was just above the Follette
+pew. It was a memorial to two lads who had lost
+their lives in France. The window showed the
+young heroes as shining knights&mdash;and that was the
+way people thought about them. They had been,
+really, rather commonplace fellows. But death had
+transfigured them. They would remain always in
+the eyes of this world as young and splendid.</p>
+
+<p>And there beneath them sat this morning a man
+who had, too, been young and splendid. But who
+was wrapped in no shining armor of illusion. He
+had come back a hero, but had been among them
+long enough to lose his halo. It was manifestly
+unfair. Jane resolved that she would keep in her
+heart always that vision of Evans as a shining
+knight. Whoever else forgot, she would not forget.</p>
+
+<p>Evans, with his mother in the pew, looked
+straight ahead of him. He seemed worn and weary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
+&mdash;a dark shadow set against the brightness of those
+comrades on the glowing glass.</p>
+
+<p>After church, he waited in the aisle for Jane.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll walk down with you. Mother is going to ride
+with Dr. Hallam.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They walked a little way in silence, then he said,
+&#8220;Rusty is comfortable this morning.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your mother told me over the telephone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He limped along at her side. &#8220;Jane, I didn&#8217;t
+sleep last night&mdash;thinking about it. It is a thing
+I can&#8217;t understand. A dreadful thing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I understand. You love Rusty. It was because
+you love him so much&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But to let a woman do it. Jane, do you remember&mdash;years
+ago? That mad dog?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She did remember. Evans had killed it in the
+road to save a child. It had been a horrible experience,
+but not for a moment had he hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wasn&#8217;t afraid then, Janey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This was different. You couldn&#8217;t see the thing
+you loved hurt. It wasn&#8217;t fear. It was affection.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, don&#8217;t gloss it over. I know what you felt.
+I saw it in your eyes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Saw what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Contempt.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She turned on him. &#8220;You didn&#8217;t. Perhaps, just
+at first. I didn&#8217;t understand....&#8221; She fought
+for self-control, but in spite of it, the tears rolled
+down her cheeks.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>&#8220;Don&#8217;t, Janey, don&#8217;t.&#8221; He was in an agony of
+remorse. &#8220;I&#8217;ve made you cry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She blinked away the tears. &#8220;It wasn&#8217;t contempt,
+Evans.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, it should have been. Why not? No man
+who calls himself a man would have let you do
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They had come to the path under the pines, and
+were alone in that still world. Jane tucked her
+hand in the crook of Evans&#8217; arm. &#8220;Dear boy, stop
+thinking about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall never stop.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want you to promise me that you&#8217;ll try.
+Evans, you know we are going to fight it out together....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His eyes did not meet hers. &#8220;Do you think I&#8217;d
+let you? Well, you think wrong.&#8221; He began to
+walk rapidly, so that it was hard to keep pace with
+him. &#8220;I&#8217;m not worth it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And now quite as suddenly as she had cried, she
+laughed, and the laugh had a break in it. &#8220;You&#8217;re
+worth everything that America has to give you.&#8221;
+She told him of the things she had thought of in
+church. &#8220;You are as much of a hero as any of
+them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head. &#8220;All that hero stuff is dead
+and gone, my dear. We idealize the dead, but not
+the living.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was true and she knew it. But she did not
+want to admit it. &#8220;Evans,&#8221; she said, and laid her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+cheek for a moment against the rough sleeve of his
+coat, &#8220;don&#8217;t make me unhappy. Let me help.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t know what you are asking. You&#8217;d
+grow tired of it. Any woman would.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why look ahead? Can&#8217;t we live for each day?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She had lighted a flame of hope in him. &#8220;If I
+might&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not? Begin right now. What are you
+thankful for, Evans?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not much,&#8221; uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;ll tell you three things. Books and
+your mother and me. Say that over&mdash;out loud.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He tried to enter into her mood. &#8220;Books and
+my mother and Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She caught at another thought. &#8220;It almost
+rhymes with Stevenson&#8217;s &#8216;books and food and summer
+rain,&#8217; doesn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. What a man he was&mdash;cheerful in the face
+of death. Jane, I believe I could face death more
+cheerfully than life&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t say such things&#8221;&mdash;they had come to the
+little house on the terrace, &#8220;don&#8217;t say such things.
+Don&#8217;t think them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As a man thinks&mdash;&mdash; Do you believe it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe some of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ll talk about it to-night. No, I can&#8217;t come
+in. Dinner is at seven.&#8221; He lingered a moment
+longer. &#8220;Do you know what a darling you are,
+Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stood watching him as he limped away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
+Once he turned and waved. She waved back and
+her eyes were blurred with tears.</p>
+
+<p>In Jane&#8217;s next letter to Judy she told about the
+dinner.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t know what to wear. But Baldy insisted
+on my old white. In his present mid-Victorian
+mood he would like me in &#8216;book-muslin,&#8217;
+if things were made of it. It is a wispy rag of
+chiffon, and I was hard up for slippers, so Baldy
+painted a pair of gray suede with silver paint, and
+I made a flat band of silver leaves for my hair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The effect wasn&#8217;t bad, even Baldy admitted it,
+and Evans quoted Shelley&mdash;something about &#8216;an
+orbed maiden with white fire laden.&#8217; Evans and
+Baldy are having a perfect orgy of Keats and
+Shelley. They soar over our heads. They hate
+realism and pessimism&mdash;they say it is a canker at
+the heart of civilization. That all healthy nations
+are idealistic and optimistic. It is only when countries
+are senile that they grow cynical and sour.
+You should hear them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We had a delicious dinner. It seems to me,
+Judy, that my mind dwells a great deal on things
+to eat. But, after all, why shouldn&#8217;t I? Housekeeping
+is my job.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mrs. Follette doesn&#8217;t attempt to do anything
+that she can&#8217;t do well, and it was all so simple and
+satisfying. In the center of the table was some of
+the fruit that Mr. Towne sent in a silver epergne,
+and there were four Sheffield candlesticks with
+white candles.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mrs. Follette carved the turkey. Evans can&#8217;t
+do things like that&mdash;she wore her perennial black
+lace and pearls, and in spite of everything, Judy, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
+can&#8217;t help liking her, though she is such a beggar
+on horseback. They haven&#8217;t a cent, except what
+she makes from the milk, but she looks absolutely
+the lady of the manor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The cousins are very fashionable. One of them,
+Muriel Follette, knows Edith Towne intimately.
+She told us all about the wedding, and how people
+are blaming Edith for running away and are feeling
+terribly sorry for Mr. Towne. Of course they
+didn&#8217;t know that Baldy and I had ever laid eyes
+on either of them. But you should have seen
+Baldy&#8217;s eyes, when Muriel said things about Edith.
+I was scared stiff for fear he&#8217;d say something. You
+know how his temper flares.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, Muriel said some catty things. That
+everybody is sure that Delafield Simms is in love
+with someone else, and that they are saying Edith
+might have known it if she hadn&#8217;t always looked
+upon herself as the center of the universe. And
+they feel that if her heart is broken, the decent
+thing would be to mourn in the bosom of her family.
+Of course I&#8217;m not quoting her exact words,
+but you&#8217;ll get the idea.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And Baldy thinks his queen can do no wrong,
+and was almost <i>bursting</i>. Judy, he walks in a
+dream. I don&#8217;t know what good it is going to do
+him to feel like that. He will have to always worship
+at a distance like Dante. Or was it Abelard?
+I always get those <i>grande passions</i> mixed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anyhow, there you have it. Edith Towne rode
+in Baldy&#8217;s Ford, and he has hitched that little
+wagon to a star!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, after dinner, we set the victrola going
+and Baldy had to dance with Muriel. She dances
+extremely well, and I know he enjoyed it, though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
+he wouldn&#8217;t admit it. And Muriel enjoyed it.
+There&#8217;s no denying that Baldy has a way with him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;After they had danced a while everybody played
+bridge, except Evans and me. You know how I
+hate it, and it makes Evans nervous. So we went
+in the library and talked. Evans is dreadfully
+discouraged about himself. I wish that you were
+here and that we could talk it over. But it is hard
+to do it at long distance. There ought to be some
+way to help him. Sometimes it seems that I
+can&#8217;t stand it when I remember what he used
+to be.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Evans had carried Jane off to the library high-handedly.
+&#8220;I want you,&#8221; was all the reason he
+vouchsafed as they came into the shabby room with
+its leaping flames in the fireplace, its book-lined
+walls, its imposing portrait above the mantel.</p>
+
+<p>The portrait showed Evans&#8217; grandfather, and beneath
+it was a photograph of Evans himself. The
+likeness between the two men was striking&mdash;there
+was the same square set of the shoulders, the same
+bright, waved hair, the same air of youth and high
+spirits. The grandfather in the portrait wore a
+blue uniform, the grandson was in khaki, but they
+were, without a question, two of a kind.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You belong here, Jane,&#8221; said Evans, &#8220;on
+one side of the fireplace, with me on the other.
+That&#8217;s the way I always see you when I shut my
+eyes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You see me now with your eyes wide
+open&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>&#8220;Yes. Jane, I told Mother this afternoon that
+I wouldn&#8217;t go to New York. So that&#8217;s settled, without
+your saying anything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How does she feel about it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, she still thinks that I should go. But I&#8217;ll
+stay here,&#8221; he moved his head restlessly. &#8220;I want
+to be where you are, Jane. And now, my dear,
+we&#8217;re going to talk things out. You know that yesterday
+you made a sort of&mdash;promise. That you&#8217;d
+pray for me to get back&mdash;and that if I got back&mdash;well,
+you&#8217;d give me a chance. Jane, I want your
+prayers, but not your promise.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not fit to think of any woman. When I
+am&mdash;well&mdash;if I ever am&mdash;you can do as you think
+best. But you mustn&#8217;t be bound.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She sat silent, looking into the fire.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know that I&#8217;m right, don&#8217;t you, dear?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I do, Evans. I thought of it, too, last
+night. And it seems like this to me. If we can
+just be friends&mdash;without bothering with&mdash;anything
+else&mdash;it will be easier, won&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t tell you how gladly I&#8217;d bother, as you
+call it. But it wouldn&#8217;t be fair. You are young,
+and you have a right to happiness. I&#8217;d be a
+shadow on your&mdash;future&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please don&#8217;t&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He dropped on the rug at her feet. &#8220;Well, we&#8217;ll
+leave it at that. We&#8217;re friends, forever,&#8221; he reached
+up and took her hands in his, &#8220;forever?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>&#8220;Always, Evans&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For better, for worse&mdash;for richer, for poorer?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They stared into the fire, and then he said softly,
+&#8220;Well, that&#8217;s enough for me, my dear, that&#8217;s
+enough for me&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; and after a while he began to
+speak in broken sentences. &#8220;&#8216;Ah, silver shrine,
+here will I take my rest.... After so many
+hours of toil and quest.... A famished pilgrim....&#8217;
+That&#8217;s Keats, my dear. Jane, do
+you know that you are food and drink?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Am I?&#8221; unsteadily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, dear little thing, if I had you always by
+my fire I could fight the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When Jane and Baldy reached home that night,
+Baldy stamped up and down the house, saying
+things about Muriel Follette. &#8220;A girl like that to
+criticise.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She danced well,&#8221; said Jane, who had taken
+off the silver wreath, and had kicked off the silver
+slippers, and was curled up in a big chair as comfortable
+as a white cat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What right had she to say things?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;People are saying them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did she have to repeat them?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Darling Baldy, she didn&#8217;t know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Know what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How you felt about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stopped and stood in front of her. &#8220;How do
+you know what I feel?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>&#8220;Oh, well, you seem to have made yourself Miss
+Towne&#8217;s champion.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve done nothing of the kind, Jane. But I
+have a human interest in a fellow creature.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;I have a human interest,
+too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Aren&#8217;t you ever serious, Janey?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s better to laugh than to cry.&#8221; There was a
+little catch in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy wound the clock, and she watched
+him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What time is it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Twelve-thirty.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She yawned. &#8220;I&#8217;m going to bed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The telephone rang, and Baldy was off like a
+shot. Jane uncurled herself from her chair and
+lent a listening ear. It was a moment of exciting
+interest. Edith Towne was at the other end of the
+wire!</p>
+
+<p>Jane knew it by Baldy&#8217;s singing voice. He didn&#8217;t
+talk like that to commonplace folk who called him
+up. She was devoured with curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>He came in, at last, literally walking on air.
+And just as Jane had felt that his voice sang, so she
+felt now that his feet danced.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Janey, it was Edith Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What did she say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just saw my advertisement. Paper delayed&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where is she?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>&#8220;Beyond Alexandria. But we&#8217;re not to give it
+away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not even to Mr. Towne?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. She&#8217;s asked me to bring her bag, and some
+other things.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He threw himself into a chair opposite Jane, one
+leg over the arm of it. He was a careless and picturesque
+figure. Even Jane was aware of his youth
+and good looks.</p>
+
+<p>Edith had, as it seemed, asked him to have Towne
+send the ring back to Delafield&mdash;to have her wedding
+presents sent back, to have a bag packed with
+her belongings.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am going to take it to her on my car&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you a perfect stranger. I think it&#8217;s utterly
+mad, Baldy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why mad? And she doesn&#8217;t feel that I&#8217;m a
+perfect stranger.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And it is because I am a perfectly disinterested
+person.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re not disinterested.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What makes you say that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you know, Baldy. You&#8217;re terribly smitten.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>For a moment his eyes blazed, then he swaggered.
+&#8220;If I am, what then? I&#8217;d rather worship a woman
+like that for the rest of my life than marry anybody
+I&#8217;ve ever seen&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>&#8220;You don&#8217;t know a thing about her except that
+she has lovely eyes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She had risen, and as she stood in front of him
+there was again that effect of two young cockerels
+on the edge of an encounter. Then they were
+saved by their sense of humor. &#8220;Oh, go to bed,&#8221;
+young Baldwin told her; &#8220;you&#8217;re jealous, Janey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She started up the stairs but before she had
+reached the landing he called after her. &#8220;Jane,
+what have you on hand for to-morrow?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She leaned over the rail and looked down at him.
+&#8220;Friday? Feed the chickens. Feed the cats.
+Help Sophy clean the silver. Drink tea at four
+with Mrs. Allison, and three other young things of
+eighty.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, look here. I don&#8217;t want to face Towne.
+He&#8217;ll say things about Edith&mdash;and insist on her
+coming back&mdash;she says he will, and that&#8217;s why she
+won&#8217;t call him up. And you&#8217;ve got more diplomacy
+than I have. You might make it all seem&mdash;reasonable.
+Will you do it, Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean that you want me to call on him
+at his office?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Go in with me in the morning.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy, are you shirking? Or do you really
+think me as wonderful as your words seem to imply?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, if you&#8217;re going to put it like that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She smiled down at him. &#8220;Let&#8217;s leave it then
+that I am&mdash;wonderful. But suppose Mr. Towne<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
+doesn&#8217;t fall for your plan? Perhaps he won&#8217;t let
+her have the bag or a check-book or money or&mdash;anything&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane saw then a sudden and passionate change
+in her brother. &#8220;If he doesn&#8217;t let her have it, I
+will. I may be poor but I&#8217;ll beg or borrow rather
+than have her brought back to face those&mdash;cats&mdash;until
+she wants to come.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br />
+
+<small>JANE AS DEPUTY</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Frederick Towne</span> never arrived in his office until
+ten o&#8217;clock. So Jane was ahead of him. She
+sat in a luxurious outer room, waiting.</p>
+
+<p>To the right was a great open space&mdash;with desks
+boxed in by glass partitions. The wall paper was
+green, so that the people at the desks had the effect
+of fish in an aquarium. There was the constant
+staccato tap of typewriters, and now and
+then a girl got up, swam as it were, out of one of
+the glass boxes and into another.</p>
+
+<p>The girls were most of them well dressed. Much
+better dressed than Jane who had on a cheap gray
+suit and a soft little hat of the same color. One
+of the girls, fair-haired and slender, was in the
+nearest glass box. She wore a black serge frock
+and a string of ivory beads. She looked to Jane
+much more distinguished than any of the others.</p>
+
+<p>When Frederick came in he saw Jane at once,
+and held out his hand smiling. &#8220;You&#8217;ve heard
+from Edith?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Last night. Too late to let you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good. We&#8217;ll go into my room.&#8221; He led the
+way, and Jane was at once aware of the effect of
+his cordial manner upon the fish who had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+swimming in and out of the aquarium. Between
+the time of Frederick&#8217;s entrance and the moment
+when he closed the door upon them, they seemed
+to hang suspended. She supposed that after that
+they swam again.</p>
+
+<p>If the outer room had resembled an aquarium,
+Frederick&#8217;s was like a forest&mdash;there was a plant or
+two and more green paper&mdash;the shine of old mahogany&mdash;and
+in one of the shadowy corners a
+bronze elephant.</p>
+
+<p>Jane was thrilled by a sense of things happening.
+Outwardly calm, she was inwardly stirred by
+excitement.</p>
+
+<p>She sat in a big leather chair which nearly swallowed
+her up, and stated her errand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy thought I&#8217;d better come, he&#8217;s so busy,
+and anyhow he thinks I have more tact.&#8221; She
+tilted her chin at him and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you thought it needed tact.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, don&#8217;t you, Mr. Towne? We really
+haven&#8217;t a thing to do with it, and I&#8217;m sure you
+think so. Only now we&#8217;re in it, we want to do the
+best we can.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I see. Since Edith has chosen you and your
+brother as ambassadors, you&#8217;ve got to use diplomacy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She didn&#8217;t choose me, she chose Baldy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But why can&#8217;t she deal directly with me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She ran away from you. And she isn&#8217;t ready
+to come back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>&#8220;She ought to come back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She doesn&#8217;t think so. And she&#8217;s afraid you&#8217;ll
+insist.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What does she want me to do?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Send her the bag with the money and the check-book,
+and let Baldy take out a lot of things.
+She gave him a list; there&#8217;s everything from toilet
+water to talcum.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Suppose I refuse to send them?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can, of course. But you won&#8217;t, will
+you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I suppose not. I shan&#8217;t coerce her. But
+it&#8217;s rather a strange thing for her to be willing to
+trust all this to your brother. She has seen him
+only once.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Jane, with some spirit, &#8220;you&#8217;ve
+seen Baldy only once, and wouldn&#8217;t you trust
+him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She flung the challenge at him, and quite surprisingly
+he found himself saying, &#8220;Yes, I would.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;of course.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He leaned back in his chair and looked at her.
+Again he was aware of quickened emotions. She
+revived half-forgotten ardors. Gave him back his
+youth. She used none of the cut and dried methods
+of sophistication. She was fearless, absolutely
+alive, and in spite of her cheap gray suit, altogether
+lovely.</p>
+
+<p>So it was with an air of almost romantic challenge
+that he said, &#8220;What would you advise?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>&#8220;I&#8217;d let her alone, like little Bo-Peep. She&#8217;ll
+come home before you know it, Mr. Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish that I could think it&mdash;however, it&#8217;s a
+great comfort to know that she&#8217;s safe. I shall give
+it out that she is visiting friends, and that I&#8217;ve
+heard from her. And now, about the things she
+wants. It seems absolutely silly to send them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think it&#8217;s silly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, clothes make such a lot of difference to a
+woman. I can absolutely change my feelings by
+changing my frock.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What kind of feelings do you have when you
+wear gray?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Cool and comfortable ones&mdash;do you know the
+delightful things that are gray? Pussy-willows,
+and sea-gulls, and rainy days&mdash;and oh, a lot of
+things&#8221;&mdash;she surveyed him thoughtfully, &#8220;and old
+Sheffield, and&mdash;well, I can&#8217;t think of everything.&#8221;
+She rose. &#8220;I&#8217;ll leave the list with you and you can
+telephone Baldy when to come for them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t go. I want to talk to you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you&#8217;re busy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not unless I want to be.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I am. I have to go to market&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Briggs can take you over. I&#8217;ll call up the
+garage.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Briggs! Can you imagine Briggs driving
+through the streets of Washington with a pound
+of sausage and a three-rib roast?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>&#8220;Do you mean that you are going to take your
+parcels back with you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. There aren&#8217;t any deliveries in Sherwood.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated for a moment, then touched her
+shoulder lightly with his forefinger. &#8220;Look here.
+Let Briggs take you to market, then come back here,
+and we&#8217;ll run up to the house, get the things for
+lunch at Chevy Chase, and put you down, sausages,
+bags and all, at your own door in Sherwood.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really?&#8221; She was all shining radiance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really. You&#8217;ll do it then? Sit down a moment
+while I call up Briggs.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He called the garage and turned again to Jane.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll dictate some important letters, and be ready
+for you when you get back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane, being shown out finally by the elegant Frederick,
+was again aware of the interest displayed by
+the fish in the aquarium. She was also aware that
+the girl in black serge with the white beads had
+risen, and that Towne was saying, &#8220;When I come
+back you can take my letters, Miss Logan.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He went all the way down to the first floor of the
+big building, and Jane and her cheap gray suit
+were once more under observation, this time by
+people on the sidewalk, as Briggs and Towne got
+her into the car. She rode away in great state and
+elegance. She was not quite sure whether she was
+really Jane Barnes. It seemed much more likely
+that she was Cinderella in a coach made out of a
+pumpkin, and that Briggs had been metamorphosed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
+from a rat. She leaned against the luxury of the
+fawn-colored cushions, and overlooked the outside
+world of pedestrians. Until to-day she had been
+one of them, but now she rode above them&mdash;the
+limousine was like some stately galleon breasting
+the tides of traffic. Jane&#8217;s imagination carried her
+far. Even when she came to the market the enchantment
+persisted, especially when Briggs
+proved to be perfectly human and helpful instead
+of the automaton she had thought him. &#8220;If you
+don&#8217;t mind my going in with you, Miss,&#8221; he said,
+&#8220;I&#8217;d like it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So Jane went through the fine old market, with
+its long aisles brilliant with the bounty of field and
+garden, river, and bay and sea. There were red
+meats and red tomatoes and red apples, oranges
+that were yellow, and pumpkins a deeper orange.
+There were shrimps that were pink, and red-snappers
+a deeper rose. There was the gold of butter
+and the gold of honey&mdash;the green of spinach, the
+green of olives and the green of pickles in bowls of
+brine, there was the brown of potatoes overflowing
+in burlap bags, and the brown of bread baked to
+crustiness&mdash;the brown of the plumage of dead
+ducks&mdash;the white of onions and the white of roses.</p>
+
+<p>Jane bought modestly and Briggs carried her
+parcels. He even made a suggestion as to the cut
+of the steak. His father, it seemed, had been a
+butcher.</p>
+
+<p>They drove back then for Frederick. Briggs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
+went up for him, and returned to say that Mr.
+Towne would be down in a moment.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick was, as a matter of fact, finishing a
+letter to Delafield Simms:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am assuming that you will get your mail
+at the Poinciana, but I shall also send a copy to
+your New York office. Edith has asked me to return
+the ring to you. I shall hold it until I learn
+where it may be delivered into your hands.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As for myself, I can only say this&mdash;that my first
+impulse was to kill you. But perhaps I am too
+civilized to believe that your death would make
+things better. You must understand, of course,
+that you&#8217;ve put yourself beyond the pale of decent
+people.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Lucy&#8217;s pencil wavered&mdash;a flush stained her
+throat and cheeks&mdash;then she wrote steadily, as
+Frederick&#8217;s voice continued:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will find yourself blackballed by several of
+the clubs. Whatever your motive, the world sees
+no excuse.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>He stopped. &#8220;Will you read that over again,
+Miss Logan?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So Lucy read it&mdash;still with that hot flush on her
+cheeks, and when she had finished Frederick said,
+&#8220;You can lock the ring in the safe until I give you
+further instructions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A clerk came in to say that the car was waiting,
+and presently Frederick Towne went away and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
+Lucy was left alone in the great room, which was
+not to her a forest of adventure, as it had seemed
+to Jane, but a great prison where she tugged at her
+chains.</p>
+
+<p>She thought of Delafield Simms sailing fast to
+southern waters. Of those purple seas&mdash;the blazing
+stars in the splendid nights. Delafield had told
+her of them. They had often talked together.</p>
+
+<p>She turned the ring around on her finger, studying
+the carved figure. The woman with the butterfly
+wings was exquisite&mdash;but she did not know her
+name. She slipped the ring on the third finger of
+her left hand. Its diamonds blazed.</p>
+
+<p>She locked it presently in the safe&mdash;then came
+back and read the letter which Towne had signed.
+She sealed it and stamped the envelope. Then she
+wrote a letter of her own. She made a little ring
+of her hair, and fastened it to the page. Beneath
+it she wrote, &#8220;Lucy to Del&mdash;forever.&#8221; She kissed
+the words, held the crackling sheet against her
+heart. Her eyes were shining. The great room was
+no longer a prison. She saw beyond captivity to
+the open sea.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br />
+
+<small>THE SCARECROW</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Allison</span> and the three old ladies with whom
+Jane was to drink tea, were neighbors. Mrs. Allison
+lived alone, and the other three lived in the
+homes of their several sons and daughters. They
+played cards every Friday afternoon, and Jane always
+came over when Mrs. Allison entertained and
+helped her with the refreshments. They were very
+simple and pleasant old ladies with a nice sense of
+their own dignity. They resented deeply the fact
+of Mrs. Follette&#8217;s social condescensions. The lady
+of the manor spoke to them when she met them on
+the street or in church, but she never invited them
+to her house. She was, in effect, the chatelaine,
+while they were merely Smith and Brown and Robinson!</p>
+
+<p>Well, at any rate, they had Jane. Some of the
+other young people scorned these elderly tea-parties,
+and if they came, were apt to show it in their
+manner. But Jane was never scornful. She always
+had the time of her life, and the old ladies
+felt particularly joyous and juvenile when she was
+one of them.</p>
+
+<p>But this afternoon Jane was late. Tea was always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
+served promptly at four. And it happened
+that there were popovers. So, of course, they
+couldn&#8217;t wait.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I telephoned to Sophy,&#8221; said Mrs. Allison,
+&#8220;and Jane has gone to town. I suppose something
+has kept her. Anyhow we&#8217;ll start in.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So the old ladies ate the popovers and drank hot
+sweet chocolate, and found them not as delectable
+as when Jane was there to share them.</p>
+
+<p>Things were, indeed, a bit dull. They discussed
+Mrs. Follette, whose faults furnished a perpetual
+topic. Mrs. Allison told them that the young Baldwins
+had dined at Castle Manor on Thanksgiving.
+And that there had been other guests.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How can she afford it,&#8221; was the unanimous
+opinion, &#8220;with that poor boy on her hands?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s hanging around now, waiting for Jane&#8217;s
+train,&#8221; said Mrs. Allison, bringing in hot supplies
+from the kitchen. &#8220;He met the noon train, too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The old ladies knew that Evans was in love with
+Jane. He showed it, unmistakably. But they
+hoped that Jane wouldn&#8217;t look at him. He was
+dear and good, and had been wonderful once upon
+a time. But that time had passed, and it was impossible
+to consider Mrs. Follette as Jane&#8217;s mother-in-law!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s sitting up there on the terrace,&#8221; Mrs. Allison
+further informed them. &#8220;Do you think I&#8217;d
+better ask him to come over?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They thought she might, but her hospitable purpose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
+was never fulfilled, for as she stepped out on
+the porch, a long, low limousine stopped in front
+of the house, and out of it came Jane in all the
+glory of a great bunch of orchids, and with a man
+by her side, whose elegance measured up to the
+limousine and the lovely flowers.</p>
+
+<p>They came up the path and Jane said, &#8220;Mrs.
+Allison, may I present Mr. Towne, and will you
+give him a cup of tea?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed, I will,&#8221; Mrs. Allison seemed to rise on
+wings of gratification, &#8220;only it is chocolate and
+not tea.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And Frederick said that he adored chocolate, and
+presently Mrs. Allison&#8217;s little living-room was all
+in a pleasant flutter; and over on Jane&#8217;s terrace,
+Evans Follette sat, a lonely sentinel, and pondered
+on the limousine, and the elegance of Jane&#8217;s escort.</p>
+
+<p>Once old Sophy called to him, &#8220;You&#8217;ll ketch your
+death, Mr. Evans.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head and smiled at her. A man
+who had lived through a winter in the trenches
+thought nothing of this. Physical cold was easy
+to endure. The cold that clutched at his heart was
+the thing that frightened him.</p>
+
+<p>The early night came on. There were lights now
+in Mrs. Allison&#8217;s house, and within was warmth
+and laughter. The old ladies, excited and eager,
+told each other in flashing asides that Mr. Towne
+was the <i>great</i> Frederick Towne. The one whose
+name was so often in the papers, and his niece,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
+Edith, had been deserted at the altar. &#8220;You know,
+my dear, the one who ran away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When Jane said that she must be getting home,
+they pressed around her, sniffing her flowers, saying
+pleasant things of her prettiness&mdash;hinting of
+Towne&#8217;s absorption in her.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed and sparkled. It was a joyous experience.
+Mr. Towne had a way of making her
+feel important. And the adulation of the old ladies
+added to her elation.</p>
+
+<p>As Frederick and Jane walked across the street
+towards the little house on the terrace, a gaunt
+figure rose from the top step and greeted them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Evans,&#8221; Jane scolded, &#8220;you need a guardian.
+Don&#8217;t you know that you shouldn&#8217;t sit out in such
+weather as this?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not cold.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She presented him to Frederick. &#8220;Won&#8217;t you
+come in, Mr. Towne?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But he would not. He would call her up. Jane
+stood on the porch and watched him go down
+the steps. He waved to her when he reached his
+car.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Evans,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I&#8217;ve had such a day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They went into the house together. Jane lighted
+the lamp. &#8220;Can&#8217;t you dine with us?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hoped you might ask me. Mother is staying
+with a sick friend. If I go home, I shall sup on
+bread and milk.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>&#8220;Sophy&#8217;s chops will be much better.&#8221; She held
+her flowers up to him. &#8220;Isn&#8217;t the fragrance
+heavenly?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Towne gave them to you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She nodded. &#8220;Oh, I&#8217;ve been very grand and gorgeous&mdash;lunch
+at the Chevy Chase club&mdash;a long
+drive afterward&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; she broke off. &#8220;Evans, you
+look half-frozen. Sit here by the fire and get
+warm.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I met both trains.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Evans</i>&mdash;why will you do such things?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wanted to see you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you can see me any time&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I cannot. Not when you are lunching with
+fashionable gentlemen with gold-lined pocket-books.&#8221;
+He held out his hands to the blaze. &#8220;Do
+you like him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Towne? Yes, and I like the things he does
+for me. I had to pinch myself to be sure it was
+true.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If what was true?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That I was really playing around with the
+great Frederick Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You talk as if he were conferring a favor.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She had her coat off now and her hat. She came
+and sat down in the chair opposite him. &#8220;Evans,&#8221;
+she said, &#8220;you&#8217;re jealous.&#8221; She was still vivid with
+the excitement of the afternoon, lighted up by it,
+her skin warmed into color by the swift flowing
+blood beneath.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>&#8220;Well, I am jealous,&#8221; he tried to smile at her,
+then went on with a touch of bitterness, &#8220;Do you
+know what I thought about as I sat watching the
+lights at Mrs. Allison&#8217;s? Well, as I came over to-day
+I passed a snowy field&mdash;and there was a scarecrow
+in the midst of it, fluttering his rags, a lonely
+thing, an ugly thing. Well, we&#8217;re two of a kind,
+Jane, that scarecrow and I.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her shocked glance stopped him. &#8220;Evans, you
+don&#8217;t know what you are saying.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He went on recklessly. &#8220;Well, after all, Jane,
+the thing is this. It&#8217;s a man&#8217;s looks and his money
+that count. I&#8217;m the same man inside of me that I
+was when I went away. You know that. You
+might have loved me. The thing that is left you
+don&#8217;t love. Yet I am the same man&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As he flung the words at her, her eyes met his
+steadily. &#8220;No,&#8221; she said, &#8220;you are not the same
+man.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The man of yesterday did not think&mdash;dark
+thoughts&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The light had gone out of her as if he had blown
+it with a breath. &#8220;Jane,&#8221; he said, unsteadily, &#8220;I
+am sorry&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She melted at once and began to scold him, almost
+with tenderness. &#8220;What made you <i>look</i> at
+the scarecrow? Why didn&#8217;t you turn your back on
+him, or if you <i>had</i> to look, why didn&#8217;t you wave and
+say, &#8216;Cheer up, old chap, summer&#8217;s coming, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+you&#8217;ll be on the job again&#8217;? To me there&#8217;s something
+debonair in a scarecrow in summer&mdash;he
+dances in the breeze and seems to fling defiance to
+the crows.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He fell in with her mood. &#8220;But his defiance is
+all bluff.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How do you know? If he keeps away a crow,
+and adds an ear of corn to a farmer&#8217;s store&mdash;hasn&#8217;t
+he fulfilled his destiny?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, if you want to put it that way. I suppose
+you are hinting that I can keep away a crow or
+two&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not hinting, I am telling it straight
+out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They heard Baldy&#8217;s step in the hall. Jane, rising,
+gave Evans&#8217; head a pat as she passed him.
+&#8220;You are thinking about yourself too much, old
+dear; stop it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy, ramping in, demanded a detailed account
+of Jane&#8217;s adventure.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I took Briggs to market,&#8221; she told him
+gleefully, midway of her recital; &#8220;you should have
+seen him. He carried my parcels&mdash;and offered advice&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy had no ears for Briggs&#8217; attractions. &#8220;Did
+you get the things Miss Towne wanted?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We did. We went to the house and I waited in
+the car while Mr. Towne had the bags packed. He
+wanted me to go in but I wouldn&#8217;t. We brought
+her bags out with us.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>&#8220;Who&#8217;s we?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Towne and I, myself,&#8221; she added the spectacular
+details.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean that you&#8217;ve been playing around
+with him all day?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not all day, Baldy. Part of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not sure that I like it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A man like that. He might fill your head with
+ideas.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope my head is filled with ideas, Baldy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know what I mean.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mean that I might think he would fall in
+love with me. Well, I don&#8217;t. But he likes to play
+and so do I. I hope he&#8217;ll do it some more. And
+you and Evans are a pair of croakers. Here, I&#8217;ve
+been having the time of my life, and you&#8217;re both
+trying to take the joy out of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They began to protest. She flung off their apologies.
+&#8220;Oh, let&#8217;s eat dinner. Between the two of
+you you&#8217;ve spoiled my day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But she was too light-hearted to hold resentment,
+and by the time the coffee came she was
+herself again. After dinner, Baldy telephoned
+Edith, and came back to set the victrola going to
+a most riotous tune and danced with Jane. It was
+an outlet for his emotions. <i>Edith ... Edith
+... Edith</i> ... was the tune to which he
+danced.</p>
+
+<p>Then he made Jane play his accompaniment and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
+sang the passionate lines of a poet much derided
+by the moderns:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;She is coming, my own, my sweet,</div>
+<div class="verse">Were it ever so airy a tread,</div>
+<div class="verse">My heart would hear her and beat,</div>
+<div class="verse">Had it lain for a century dead,</div>
+<div class="verse">Would start and tremble under her feet,</div>
+<div class="verse">And blossom in purple and red.&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The waves of lovely sound rose higher and higher,
+seemed to break over and engulf them:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;My heart would hear her and beat....</div>
+<div class="verse">Would start and tremble under her feet,</div>
+<div class="verse">And blossom in purple and red.&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Evans, walking home an hour later, took the
+path which led beneath the pines. The old trees
+showed thin and black against the moon-bright sky.
+Beyond the pines was the field with the scarecrow.
+Evans might have avoided it by following the road,
+but he was drawn to it by a sort of sinister attraction,
+and by the memory of the things he had said
+to Jane.</p>
+
+<p>Under the moon the scarecrow took on more than
+ever the semblance of a man. Lightly clad in straw
+hat and pajamas, it seemed to shiver and shake in
+the bleak and bitter night.</p>
+
+<p>Evans leaned on a fence post and surveyed his
+fantastic prototype. The air was very still&mdash;no
+sound but the faint whistle of the wind.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>Then out of the stillness&mdash;clear as a bell&mdash;Jane&#8217;s
+husky voice. &#8220;<i>The man of yesterday did not think
+dark thoughts.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He seemed to answer her. &#8220;Why shouldn&#8217;t I
+think them? My dreams are dead. And oh, my
+dear, what have you to do with dead dreams?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He had thought he would be satisfied just to have
+her near him. But he knew now that he would not
+be satisfied. He had known it from the moment he
+had seen her with Towne. Always hereafter there
+would be the fear that she might be taken from
+him. And it was Frederick Towne who might take
+her. He had everything to offer. Any girl&#8217;s head
+might be turned.</p>
+
+<p>Towne&#8217;s infatuation was evident. And Jane was
+exquisite&mdash;in mind and soul as well as body. It
+wasn&#8217;t a thing for a man to miss.</p>
+
+<p>He was chilled to the bone when at last he took
+leave of the ghostly figure in the straw hat. The
+old scarecrow seemed to lean towards him wistfully
+as he went away.... Oh, the thing was
+so human&mdash;he wanted to offer it shelter, a warm
+hearth.... He flung back at it as the best he
+could do, Jane&#8217;s words, &#8220;Cheer up, old chap, summer&#8217;s
+coming.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When he reached home, Evans went at once to
+the library. Rusty was in his basket by the fire.
+He lifted himself stiffly and whined. Evans knelt
+beside the basket, and held up a saucer of milk
+that the old dog might drink. Then he took a book<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
+from the shelf and sat down to read. His mother
+had not returned. She had telephoned to him at
+Jane&#8217;s that she might be late.</p>
+
+<p>But he could not read. He sat with his book in
+his hand, and looked up at the portrait of his grandfather,
+and at the photograph of himself. After a
+while he rose and took the photograph from the
+shelf, observing it at close range.</p>
+
+<p>What a gallant young chap he had been, and
+what a pair he and Jane would have made! There
+was no vanity in that&mdash;he would have matched his
+youth with hers in those days. Oh, the man in the
+picture was a fit mate for Jane!</p>
+
+<p>The man who held the picture in his hand was a
+mate for&mdash;nobody!</p>
+
+<p>With a sudden furious gesture, he flung it from
+him&mdash;the glass broke against the wall when it
+struck.</p>
+
+<p>Rusty whined in his basket, his nose over the
+edge of it. His master stood as still as a statue in
+the center of the hearth.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>When Mrs. Follette returned, her son met her at
+the door. If he was pale, she did not speak of it.
+&#8220;I am half-frozen, Evans; we came in an open car.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sit down by the fire, and I&#8217;ll get you some hot
+milk.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish you would. I must not risk a cold.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was a fact that she could not. She was up
+early every morning, directing the men who worked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
+for her, and superintending the careful handling of
+the milk. Evans had offered, repeatedly, to help
+her, but she liked to do it herself. She was very
+competent, and she had built up her own business
+while her son was in the war. It seemed best to
+carry it on without him. She did not like to think
+of Evans as a milkman. A woman did not so easily
+lose caste&mdash;distinguished Englishwomen had gone
+into all kinds of occupations. The thing was to do
+it with an air. She had decided shrewdly that she
+must in some way differentiate her product from
+that of the ordinary dairyman, so she had called
+it <span class="smcap">Gold Seal</span> milk, and each bottle was closed with
+a small gold seal bearing her family crest. Evans
+had laughed at her, but her shrewdness had been
+justified. She kept her cows in fine condition and
+sent her cards to doctors. The cards, too, bore the
+gold seal. And soon her reputation was established.
+Big cars stopped at her door, and people
+who came expecting to find a crude countrywoman
+were ushered into the old library with its portraits
+and an imposing background of books. There Mrs.
+Follette, in quiet black with white cuffs and collars,
+her gray hair high, received them. Her customers
+went away impressed and told others.</p>
+
+<p>Outwardly calm on such occasions, Mrs. Follette
+was inwardly excited. She had a feeling that the
+situation smacked of Marie Antoinette at Little
+Trianon. She was glad she had thought of selling
+milk&mdash;it seemed to link her subtly with royalty.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>She had a royal air now as she sat before the
+fire. She always dressed for dinner. Her shabby
+black gown showed a round of white neck. She
+wore a string of jet beads and her satin slippers
+were adorned with jet buckles. She had pretty
+feet&mdash;and she surveyed them complacently. Then
+her eyes traveled beyond them to something that
+lay in a far corner.</p>
+
+<p>She went over to it and picked it up. It was the
+photograph of Evans which had always stood on
+the mantel. The broken glass fell from it with a
+tinkling sound. She had it in her hand when Evans
+came in.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How in the world did it happen?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He set the small tray carefully on the table. &#8220;I
+threw it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But&mdash;my dear boy, why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stood looking at her. She saw his paleness.
+&#8220;Oh, well, for a moment I was a&mdash;fool.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was not an imaginative woman. But she
+knew what he meant. And her chin quivered. She
+was no longer royal. She was the mother of a hurt
+child. &#8220;I hoped things might&mdash;grow easier&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They grow harder&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He sat down on the rug at her feet as he had sat
+through the years of little boyhood. Her left hand
+with its old-fashioned diamond rings hung by her
+side. He took it in his. &#8220;Don&#8217;t worry, Mumsie,
+I told you I was a&mdash;fool. And it was all over in a
+second&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>She knew it was not over, but she drank her milk.
+Then she drew his head against her knees, and told
+him about her visit and her sick friend. Nothing
+more was said of the picture, but all through her
+recital he clung to her hand.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X<br />
+
+<small>BALDY AS AMBASSADOR</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Baldy Barnes</span> faring forth to find Edith Towne
+on Sunday morning was a figure as old as the ages&mdash;youth
+in quest of romance.</p>
+
+<p>It was very cold and the clouds were heavy with
+wind. But neither cold nor clouds could damp his
+ardor&mdash;at his journey&#8217;s end was a lady with eyes
+of burning blue.</p>
+
+<p>People were going to church as he came into the
+city and bells were ringing, but presently he rode
+again in country silences. He crossed the long
+bridge into Virginia and followed the road to the
+south.</p>
+
+<p>It was early and he met few cars. Yet had the
+way been packed with motors, he would have still
+been alone in that world of imagination where he
+saw Edith Towne and that first wonderful moment
+of meeting.</p>
+
+<p>So he entered Alexandria, passing through the
+narrow streets that speak so eloquently of history.
+Beyond the town was another stretch of road
+parallel to the broad stream, and at last an ancient
+roadside inn, of red brick, with a garden at the
+back, barren now, but in summer a tangle of bloom,
+with an expanse of reeds and water plants, extending<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+out into the river, and a low spidery boat-landing,
+which showed black at this season above the
+ice.</p>
+
+<p>For years the old inn had been deserted, until
+motor cars had brought back its vanished glories.
+Once more its wide doors were open. There was
+nothing pretentious about it. But Baldy knew its
+reputation for genuine hospitality.</p>
+
+<p>He wondered how Edith had kept herself hidden
+in such a place. It was amazing that no one had
+discovered her. That some hint of her presence
+had not been given to the newspapers.</p>
+
+<p>He found her in a quaint sitting-room up-stairs.
+&#8220;I think,&#8221; she said to him, as he came in, &#8220;that
+you are very good-natured to take all this trouble
+for me&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t any trouble.&#8221; His assurance was gone.
+With her hat off she was doubly wonderful. He
+felt his youth and inexperience, yet words
+came to him, &#8220;And I didn&#8217;t do it for you, I did it
+for myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She laughed. &#8220;Do you always say such nice
+things?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall always say them to you. And you
+mustn&#8217;t mind. Really,&#8221; Jane would have recognized
+returning confidence in that cock of the head,
+&#8220;I&#8217;m just a page&mdash;twanging a lyre.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They laughed together. He was great fun, she
+decided, different.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are wondering, I fancy, how I happened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
+to come here,&#8221; she said, leaning back in her chair,
+her burnished hair against its faded cushions.
+&#8220;Well, an old cook of Mother&#8217;s, Martha Burns, is
+the wife of the landlord. She will do anything for
+me. I have had all my meals up-stairs. I might
+be a thousand miles away for all my world knows
+of me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was worried to death when I thought of you
+out in the storm.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And all the while I was sitting with my feet
+on the fender, reading about myself in the evening
+papers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And what you read was a-plenty,&#8221; said Baldy,
+slangily. &#8220;Some of those reporters deserve to be
+shot.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, they had to do it,&#8221; indifferently, &#8220;and what
+they have said is nothing to what my friends are
+saying. It&#8217;s a choice morsel. Every girl who ever
+wanted Del&#8217;s millions is crowing over the way he
+treated me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The look in his eyes disconcerted her. &#8220;Do you
+really think that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course. We&#8217;re a greedy bunch.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t like to hear you say such things.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because&mdash;you aren&#8217;t greedy. You know it. It
+wasn&#8217;t his millions you were after.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What was I after? I wish you&#8217;d tell me. I
+don&#8217;t know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I think you just followed the flock.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
+Other girls got married. So you would marry.
+You didn&#8217;t know anything about love&mdash;or you
+wouldn&#8217;t have done it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How do you know I&#8217;ve never been in love?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Isn&#8217;t it true?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose it is. I don&#8217;t know, really.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll know some day. And you mustn&#8217;t ever
+think of yourself as mercenary. You&#8217;re too wonderful
+for that&mdash;too&mdash;too fine&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She realized in that moment that the boy was in
+earnest. That he was not saying pretty things to
+her for the sake of saying them. He was saying
+them all in sincerity. &#8220;It is nice of you to believe
+in me. But you don&#8217;t know me. I am like the little
+girl with the curl. I can be very, very good, but
+sometimes I am &#8216;horrid.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can&#8217;t make me think it.&#8221; He handed her a
+packet of letters. &#8220;Your uncle sent these. There&#8217;s
+one from Simms on top.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think I won&#8217;t read it. I won&#8217;t read any of
+them. It has been heavenly to be away from things.
+I feel like a disembodied spirit, looking on but having
+nothing to do with the world I have left.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They were smiling now. &#8220;I can believe that,&#8221;
+Baldy said, &#8220;but I think you ought to read Simms&#8217;
+letter. You needn&#8217;t tell me you haven&#8217;t any curiosity.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I have,&#8221; she broke the envelope. &#8220;More
+than that I am madly curious. I wouldn&#8217;t confess
+it though to anyone&mdash;but you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>&#8220;They can cut me up in little pieces&mdash;before I
+break my silence.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again they laughed together. Then she broke
+the seal of the letter. Read it through to herself,
+then read it a second time aloud.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now that it is all over, Edith, I want to tell
+you how it happened. I know you think it is a
+rotten thing I did. But it would have been worse
+if I had married you. I am in love with another
+woman, and I did not find it out until the day of
+our wedding.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She isn&#8217;t in the least to blame, and somehow
+I can&#8217;t feel that I am quite the cad that everybody
+is calling me. Things are bigger sometimes than
+ourselves. Fate just took me that morning&mdash;and
+swept me away from you.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t her fault. She wouldn&#8217;t go away with
+me, although I begged her to do it. And she was
+right of course.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She is poor, but she isn&#8217;t marrying me for my
+money. The world will say she is&mdash;but the world
+doesn&#8217;t recognize the <i>real thing</i>. It has come to
+me, and if it ever comes to you, you&#8217;re going to
+thank me for this&mdash;but now you&#8217;ll hate me, and
+I&#8217;m sorry. You&#8217;re a beautiful, wonderful woman&mdash;and
+I find no excuse for myself, except the one
+that it would have been a crime under the circumstances
+to tie us to each other.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In spite of everything,</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="gap">&#8220;Faithfully,</span><br />
+&#8220;<span class="smcap">Del</span>.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>There was a moment&#8217;s silence, as she finished.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
+Then Edith said, &#8220;So that&#8217;s that,&#8221; and tore the
+letter into little shreds. Her blue eyes were like
+bits of steel.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s right,&#8221; said Baldy. &#8220;I&#8217;d like to kill him
+for making you unhappy&mdash;but the thing was bigger
+than himself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She shrugged her shoulders. &#8220;Of course if you
+are going to condone&mdash;dishonor&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was leaning forward hugging his knees. &#8220;I
+am not condoning anything. But&mdash;I know this&mdash;that
+some day if you ever fall in love, you&#8217;ll forgive&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not likely to fall in love,&#8221; coldly, &#8220;I&#8217;m too
+sensible&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He studied her with his bright gray eyes. &#8220;Oh,
+no, you&#8217;re not. You&#8217;re not in the least&mdash;sensible.
+You think you are because the men you&#8217;ve met have
+been poor sticks who couldn&#8217;t make you care&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve met some of the most distinguished men in
+America&mdash;and a few of them have fallen in love
+with me&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I know. You&#8217;ve had strings of lovers&mdash;you&#8217;re
+too tremendously lovely not to have. But
+they&#8217;ve all been afraid of you. No caveman stuff&mdash;or
+anything like that. Isn&#8217;t that the truth?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should hate a caveman.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course, but you wouldn&#8217;t be indifferent, and
+you&#8217;d end by caring&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I dislike brutal types&mdash;intensely&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He sat with his chin in his hand, his shoulders<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
+hunched up like a faun or Pan at his pipes. &#8220;All
+cavemen aren&#8217;t brutal types. Some day I&#8217;m going
+to paint a picture of a man carrying off a woman.
+And I&#8217;m going to make him a slender young god&mdash;and
+she shall be a rather substantial goddess&mdash;but
+she&#8217;ll go with him&mdash;his spirit shall conquer
+her&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him in surprise. &#8220;Then you
+paint?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll say I do. Terrible things&mdash;magazine covers.
+But in the back of my mind there are masterpieces&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was a whimsical youngster, she decided. But
+no end interesting. &#8220;I don&#8217;t believe your things
+are terrible. And I shall want to see them&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are going to see them. I have a studio in
+our garage. I sometimes wonder what happens at
+night when my little Ford is left alone with my fantasies.
+It must feel that it is fighting devils&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He broke off to say, &#8220;I&#8217;m as garrulous as Jane.
+Please don&#8217;t let me talk any more about myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is Jane your sister?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. And now let&#8217;s get down to realities.
+Your uncle wants you to come home.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not going. I know Uncle Fred. He&#8217;ll
+make me feel like a returned prodigal. He&#8217;ll kill
+the fatted calf, but I&#8217;ll always know that there
+were husks&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And hogs,&#8221; Baldy supplemented, dreamily.
+&#8220;Some people are like that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>&#8220;He&#8217;s always been worshipped by women. And
+I didn&#8217;t fall at his feet. That&#8217;s why we didn&#8217;t get
+on. He ruled his mother and his servants&mdash;and he
+couldn&#8217;t rule me. And he&#8217;d run away to his affinities
+to be comforted, and they&#8217;d tell him what a cat
+I was&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Affinities?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I call them that, because there has always
+been a procession of them. Women he adores for
+the moment. But it never lasts, and they spoil
+him to death&mdash;and I won&#8217;t spoil him. I like my
+own way, too, sometimes, and I fight for it. And
+I am the only person in the world who makes Uncle
+Frederick lose his temper. And he hates that.
+His manners are lovely as a rule, but he simply
+blows up when we get into an argument.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was not a goddess&mdash;she was intensely human&mdash;a
+soul fighting to be free, and he wanted to help
+her fight.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look here,&#8221; he said suddenly, &#8220;if I were you
+I&#8217;d go back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think you ought. Face things out. Let your
+uncle understand that there are to be no postmortems.
+It is the only thing to do. You can&#8217;t stay
+here forever.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did Uncle Fred make you his ambassador?&#8221;
+coldly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He did not. When I came, I felt that I would
+do anything to keep you away from home as long as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
+you liked. But I don&#8217;t feel that way now. You&#8217;ll
+just sit here and grow bitter about it&mdash;instead of
+thanking God on your knees.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He flung it at her, unexpectedly. There was a
+moment&#8217;s intense silence. Then he said, &#8220;Oh, I
+hope you don&#8217;t think I am preaching&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;no&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; and suddenly her head went
+down on her arm, that beautiful burnished head.</p>
+
+<p>She was crying!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry,&#8221; he told her, huskily.</p>
+
+<p>And again there was silence.</p>
+
+<p>She hunted for her handkerchief, and he handed
+her his. &#8220;You needn&#8217;t be sorry,&#8221; she said; &#8220;it
+seems&mdash;rather refreshing to have someone say
+things like that. Oh, I wonder if you know how
+hard we are&mdash;and cynical&mdash;the people of my set.
+And I don&#8217;t believe any of us ever&mdash;thank God.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She wiped her eyes, found her own handkerchief,
+and handed his back to him. She did not know
+how he treasured it&mdash;afterward&mdash;a chalice for her
+tears. She found it many years later&mdash;shut away
+in a box with a sprig of heliotrope.</p>
+
+<p>They talked for an hour after that. &#8220;There is
+no reason why you should hurry back,&#8221; Baldy said,
+&#8220;but I&#8217;d let your uncle tell people where you are.
+Then the papers will drop it, don&#8217;t you see?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I see. Of course I&#8217;ve been silly&mdash;but you can&#8217;t
+think how I suffered.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She would not have admitted it to anyone else.
+But she met his sincerity with her own.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>&#8220;I was going to have our lunch served up here,&#8221;
+she said, &#8220;but I think I won&#8217;t. The dining-room
+down-stairs is charming&mdash;and if anyone comes in
+that I know&mdash;I shan&#8217;t care&mdash;as long as I&#8217;m going
+back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The mammoth fireplace in the old dining-room
+had been restored to ancient uses. Martha and her
+husband had recognized its value as a background,
+so meat was roasted on the spit&mdash;a turkey to-day as
+it happened. The tables were lighted by high white
+candles&mdash;and there were old hunting prints on the
+walls.</p>
+
+<p>The food was delicious, and having settled her
+problems, Edith showed herself delightfully gay
+and girlish. There was heliotrope in a Sheffield
+bowl on their table. &#8220;Martha grows old-fashioned
+flowers in pots,&#8221; Edith said. She picked out a
+spray for him and he put it in his coat. &#8220;It&#8217;s my
+favorite.&#8221; She told him about Delafield&#8217;s orchids.
+&#8220;Think of all those months,&#8221; she said, &#8220;and he
+never knew the flowers I like.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There were other people in the room, but it was
+not until the end of the meal that anyone came
+whom Edith recognized.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eloise Harper&mdash;and she sees me,&#8221; was her
+sudden remark. &#8220;Now watch me carry it
+off.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stood up and waved to a party of four people,
+two men and two women, who stood in the
+door.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>They saw her at once, and the effect of their coming
+was a stampede.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Blessed child,&#8221; said the girl who was in the
+lead, &#8220;have you eloped? And is this the man?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is Mr. Barnes,&#8221; said Edith, &#8220;who comes
+from my uncle. I am to go back. But I have had
+a corking adventure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Only Baldy knew what was in her heart, and how
+hard it was to face them. But on the surface she
+was as sparkling as the rest of them. &#8220;I shall
+probably be in the papers again to-morrow morning.
+You know you won&#8217;t be able to keep it, Eloise.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Eloise, red-haired and vivid in a cloak and turban
+of wood-brown, seemed to stand mentally on tiptoe.
+&#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t miss the talk I am going to have with
+the reporters to-night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>One of the men of the party protested. &#8220;Don&#8217;t
+be an idiot, Eloise.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I owe Edith something. Don&#8217;t I, darling?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You do.&#8221; There was a flame in back of Edith&#8217;s
+eyes. &#8220;She liked Delafield before I did.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Cat,&#8221; said Eloise lightly. &#8220;I liked his yacht,
+but Benny&#8217;s is bigger, isn&#8217;t it, Benny?&#8221; She
+turned to the younger man of the party who had
+not spoken.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll say it is,&#8221; Benny agreed, cheerfully, &#8220;and
+it isn&#8217;t just my yacht that she&#8217;s after. She has
+a real little case on me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The second woman, older than Eloise, tall and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
+fair-haired in smoke-gray with a sweep of dull blue
+wing across her hat, said, &#8220;Edith, you bad child,
+your uncle has been frightfully worried.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course, you&#8217;d know, Adelaide. And it does
+him good to be worried. I am an antidote for the
+rest of you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Everybody laughed except Baldy. He ran his
+fingers with a nervous gesture through his hair.
+He was like a young eagle with a ruffled crest.</p>
+
+<p>Martha came up to arrange for a table. &#8220;Bring
+your coffee over and sit with us,&#8221; Eloise said; &#8220;we
+want to hear all about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith shook her head. &#8220;I don&#8217;t belong to your
+world yet. And I&#8217;ve had a heavenly time without
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They went on laughing. Silence settled on the
+two they left behind. And out of that silence Edith
+asked, &#8220;You didn&#8217;t like the things we said?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hateful!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you always show what you feel like that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Jane says I do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, if it had been anybody but Eloise Harper
+and Adelaide Laramore. Adelaide is Uncle Fred&#8217;s
+latest.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She rose. &#8220;Let&#8217;s go up-stairs. If I stay here I
+shall want to throw things at their heads. And I
+don&#8217;t care to break Martha&#8217;s dishes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They stopped at the other table, however, for a
+light word or two, then went up to Edith&#8217;s sitting-room
+on the second floor. When they were once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
+more by the fire, she said, &#8220;And now what do you
+think of me? Nice temper?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think,&#8221; he said, promptly, &#8220;that they probably
+deserved it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She laid her hand for a fleeting moment on his
+arm. &#8220;You are rather a darling to say that. I was
+really horrid.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When he was ready at last to go, she decided,
+&#8220;Tell Uncle Frederick to send Briggs out for me
+in the morning. I might as well have it over, now
+that Eloise is going to spread the news.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish you&#8217;d go in with me&mdash;to-night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, but I couldn&#8217;t&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She weighed it&mdash;&#8220;And surprise Uncle Fred?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think we&#8217;d better telephone, so he can kill the
+fatted calf.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. He doesn&#8217;t like things sprung on him.
+Hurts his dignity&mdash;but he&#8217;s rather an old dear, and
+I love him&mdash;do you ever quarrel with the people you
+love?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Jane and I fight. Great times.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have a feeling I shall like Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will. She&#8217;s the best ever. Not a beauty,
+but growing better-looking every day. Bobbed her
+hair&mdash;and I nearly took her head off. But she&#8217;s
+rather a peach.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll have you both down for dinner some day.
+I think we are going to be friends&#8221;&mdash;again that
+light touch on his arm.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>He caught her hand in his. &#8220;I shall only ask
+that you let the page twang his lyre.&#8221; Then with
+a deeper note, &#8220;Miss Towne, I can&#8217;t tell you how
+much your friendship would mean.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would it? Oh, I am going to have some good
+times with you and your little sister, Jane. I am
+so tired of people like Eloise and Adelaide, and
+Benny and&mdash;Del....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>On this same afternoon little Lucy Logan was
+writing to Delafield Simms.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;It seems like a dream, lover, that you are to
+come for me in February, and that then we&#8217;ll be
+married. And that all the rest of my life I am to
+belong to you.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Del, it isn&#8217;t because you are rich. Of course
+I shall adore the things you can do for me. I am
+not going to pretend that I shan&#8217;t. But if you
+were poor, I&#8217;d work for you&mdash;live for you. Oh,
+Del, I do hope that you will believe it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The other day, Mr. Towne said in one of his
+letters that you had always been fickle, that there
+had been lots of girls, Eloise Harper before Edith.
+And I wanted to scream right out and say, &#8216;It isn&#8217;t
+true. He hasn&#8217;t ever really cared before this.&#8217;
+But of course I couldn&#8217;t. But I broke a pencil
+point, and as for Mr. Towne, who is he to say such
+things about you? I haven&#8217;t taken his letters for
+the last three years for nothing. There&#8217;s always
+somebody&mdash;the last one was Mrs. Laramore, and
+now he has his eye on a little Jane Barnes, whose
+brother found Miss Towne&#8217;s bag and the ring.
+She&#8217;s rather a darling, but I hope she won&#8217;t think
+he is in earnest.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>&#8220;And now, my dear and my darling, good-night.
+I wonder how I dare call you that. But I am
+always saying it to myself, and at night I ask God
+to keep you&mdash;safe.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Five days later, Delafield read Lucy&#8217;s letter. He
+was on his yacht in southern waters. His man had
+been sent in for the mail.</p>
+
+<p>When he had finished, Delafield lay back in his
+deck chair and thought about it. Queer thing for
+him to fall like that for little Lucy. He had not
+believed that it was in him to care in that way for
+a woman. But he did. The letter lay like a live
+warm thing under his hand. It seemed to beat
+with his heart as Lucy&#8217;s heart had beat against his
+own on that last morning in Frederick Towne&#8217;s
+office, while his bride waited.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI<br />
+
+<small>THE DIM LANTERN</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Jane</span>, in Baldy&#8217;s absence, dined on Sunday with
+the Follettes, in the middle of the day. In the afternoon
+she and Evans went for a walk, and came
+home to tea in the library.</p>
+
+<p>Stretched in a long leather chair, Evans read to
+Jane and his mother &#8220;The Eve of St. Agnes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;How bitter cold it was!</div>
+<div class="verse">The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold:</div>
+<div class="verse">The hare limp&#8217;d trembling through the frozen grass,</div>
+<div class="verse">And silent were the flock in woolly fold.&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Jane, curled up on the couch in her favorite attitude,
+listened to that incomparable description of
+stark winter weather, and was glad of the warmth
+and coziness. She was glad, too, of this pleasant
+company&mdash;Mrs. Follette was a great dear, with her
+duchess air, and her devotion to Evans. And
+Evans, reading in that thrilling and unchanged
+voice, was at his best.</p>
+
+<p>As for Mrs. Follette, she was always glad to have
+Jane visit them. The child was so cheerful, and
+Evans needed cheer. Then, too, Jane was a delightful
+compromise between the girl of yesterday
+and the ultra-modern maiden who shocked Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
+Follette not only by her lack of reverence but by
+her lack of reticence.</p>
+
+<p>Jane might have bobbed hair, but she did not
+have a bobbed-hair mind. The meaning of this
+conclusion was quite clear to Mrs. Follette, however
+obscure it might be to others. Girls who cut
+off their hair, as a rule, went farther&mdash;Jane stopped
+at her hair.</p>
+
+<p>Then, too, Jane had what might be called old-fashioned
+domestic qualities. She kept her little
+house as spick and span as she kept herself. In
+winter everything was burnished and bright; in
+summer crisp curtains waved in the warm breeze;
+there were cool shadows within the clean, quiet
+rooms.</p>
+
+<p>At the moment, Mrs. Follette was weighing seriously
+the fact of Jane as a wife for Evans. She
+was pretty as well as cheerful. Had good manners.
+Of course, in the old days, Evans would, inevitably,
+have looked higher. There had been plenty of rich
+girls eager to attract him. He had had unlimited
+invitations. Women had, in fact, quite run after
+him. Florence Preston had rather made a fool of
+herself. And Florence&#8217;s father had millions.</p>
+
+<p>But now&mdash;&mdash;? Mrs. Follette knew how little
+Evans had at the moment to offer. She hated to
+admit it, but the truth was evident. Watching the
+two young people, she decided that should Evans
+care for Jane, she would erect no barriers. As for
+Jane, marriage with Evans would be, in a way, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
+rise in the world. She would live at Castle Manor
+instead of at Sherwood Park.</p>
+
+<p>The poem had reached a point where Mrs. Follette
+felt that she ought to protest. She was not
+quite sure that she approved of the situation it outlined.
+The verse of the moment, for example&mdash;Porphyro&#8217;s
+plea to the maid, old Angela:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;To lead him in close secrecy,</div>
+<div class="verse">Even to Madelaine&#8217;s chamber and there hide</div>
+<div class="verse">Him in a closet of such privacy,</div>
+<div class="verse">That he might see her beauty unspy&#8217;d</div>
+<div class="verse">And win, perhaps, that night, a peerless bride.&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Stripped of all its fine words, it was an impossible
+situation.</p>
+
+<p>Apparently, however, the young people were
+without self-consciousness....</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;Out went the taper, as she hurried in:</div>
+<div class="verse">Its little smoke in pallid moonshine died&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Evans looked up. &#8220;Could there be anything
+lovelier than that last line?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane&#8217;s eyes had dreams in them. &#8220;Don&#8217;t stop,&#8221;
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>He read on.... &#8220;She closed the door ...&#8221;
+his voice took now a deeper note.</p>
+
+
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,</div>
+<div class="verse">And on her silver cross soft amethyst,</div>
+<div class="verse">And on her hair a glory like a saint:</div>
+<div class="verse">She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest,</div>
+<div class="verse">Save wings for heaven; Porphyro grew faint:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></div>
+<div class="verse">She knelt so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;Evans,&#8221; said his mother, as he paused again,
+&#8220;that poem doesn&#8217;t seem to me exactly proper.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He gave her a surprised glance. &#8220;Don&#8217;t spoil it
+for us, Mumsie.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, well,&#8221; Mrs. Follette shrugged her nice
+shoulders, &#8220;we won&#8217;t argue. But when I was a
+girl we didn&#8217;t read things like that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But this was written before you were a girl.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What difference does that make?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But the richness and color. You see it, Jane,
+don&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Finish it, Evans.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And when he came to the end, she said, &#8220;If only
+life were like that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Like what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;High romance. Porphyro says negligently,
+&#8216;For o&#8217;er the southern moors I have a home for
+thee.&#8217; But lovers of to-day have to think of rent
+and food and clothes. And hotel bills for the
+honeymoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you women&#8221;&mdash;he sat up flaming&mdash;&#8220;are
+you conspiring to spoil my poem? Jane, it is the
+dreams of men and women which shape their lives.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As his eyes met hers something stirred within
+her like the flutter of a bird&#8217;s wings lifted to the
+sun....</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>It was after five when Baldy telephoned triumphantly:
+&#8220;Jane, Edith Towne has agreed to
+go home to-night. And I&#8217;m to take her. I called
+up Mr. Towne and told him and he wants you to
+be there when we come. He&#8217;ll send Briggs for you
+and we are all to have dinner together.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, Baldy, I don&#8217;t know Edith Towne. Why
+doesn&#8217;t he ask some of her own friends?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She doesn&#8217;t want &#8217;em. Hates them all, and
+anyhow he has asked you. Why worry?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll have to go home and dress.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, you&#8217;re to let him know at once where
+Briggs can get you. I told him you were at the
+Follettes&#8217;.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane went back and repeated the conversation to
+Evans and his mother. Mrs. Follette was much
+interested. The Townes were most important people.
+&#8220;How nice for you, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Evans disagreed with her. &#8220;What makes
+you say that, Mother? It isn&#8217;t nice. It will simply
+be upsetting.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see why you say that, Evans,&#8221; Jane
+argued. &#8220;I am not easily upset.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But with all that money. You can&#8217;t keep up
+with them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t put ideas into Jane&#8217;s head,&#8221; his mother
+remonstrated; &#8220;a lady is always a lady.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Jane sided now with Evans. &#8220;I see what
+he means, Mrs. Follette. I haven&#8217;t the clothes. I
+haven&#8217;t a thing to wear to-night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>&#8220;Oh, I wasn&#8217;t thinking of your looks.&#8221; Evans
+got up and stood on the hearth-rug. &#8220;But people
+like that! Jane, I wish you wouldn&#8217;t go.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him with her chin tilted. &#8220;I
+don&#8217;t see how I can refuse.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course she can&#8217;t. Evans, don&#8217;t be so unreasonable,&#8221;
+Mrs. Follette interposed; &#8220;it will be
+a wonderful thing for Jane to know Edith.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will it be such a wonderful thing for her to
+know Frederick Towne?&#8221; He flung it at them.</p>
+
+<p>Jane demanded, &#8220;Don&#8217;t you want me to have any
+good times?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her for a moment, and when he
+spoke it was in a different tone. &#8220;Yes, of course.
+I beg your pardon, Janey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Follette, having effaced herself for the moment
+from the conversation, decided that things
+between her son and little Jane Barnes might reach
+a climax at any moment. &#8220;I believe he&#8217;s half in
+love with her,&#8221; she told herself in some bewilderment.</p>
+
+<p>As for Frederick Towne, she didn&#8217;t consider him
+for a moment. Jane was a pretty child. But Frederick
+Towne could have his pick of women. There
+would be nothing serious in this friendship with
+Jane.</p>
+
+<p>Jane called up Towne. &#8220;It was good of you to
+ask me,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I am at the Follettes&#8217;, but I&#8217;ll
+go home and dress and Briggs can come for me
+there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>&#8220;Come as you are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You wouldn&#8217;t say that if you could see me. I
+took a walk with Evans this afternoon and I show
+the effects of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Evans? Oh, Casabianca?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What makes you call him that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought of it when I saw him waiting for
+you at the top of the terrace. &#8216;The boy stood on
+the burning deck&mdash;&mdash;&#8217;&#8221; he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think that&#8217;s funny at all,&#8221; said Jane,
+frankly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you? Well, I beg your pardon. I&#8217;ll beg
+it again when I get you here. Briggs will reach
+Sherwood at about seven. I would drive out myself,
+but I&#8217;ve an awful cold, and the doctor tells
+me I must stay in. And Cousin Annabel is sick in
+bed with a cold, so you must take pity on me and
+keep me company....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane hung up the receiver. It would, she decided,
+be an exciting adventure. But she was not
+sure that she liked Frederick Towne....</p>
+
+<p>Evans walked home with her. The air was
+warmer than it had been for days, and faint mists
+had risen. The mist thickened finally to a fog
+which rolled over them as if blown from the high
+seas. Yet the sea was miles away, and the fog was
+born in the rivers and streams, and in the melting
+snows.</p>
+
+<p>They found it somewhat difficult to keep to the
+road. They were almost smothered in the thick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
+gray masses. Their voices had a muffled sound.
+Evans&#8217; hand was on Jane&#8217;s arm so that they might
+keep together.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Jane,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I made a fool of myself about
+Towne. But honestly&mdash;I was afraid&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That he might fall in love with you&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s not thinking of me, Evans, and besides
+he&#8217;s too old&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you really feel that way about it, Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course&mdash;silly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He could not see her face&mdash;but the words in her
+laughing lovely voice gave him a sense of reassurance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Janey,&#8221; he said, &#8220;if I could only have you like
+this always. Shut away from the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I don&#8217;t want to be shut away. I should
+feel&mdash;caged&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not if you cared.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was in his tone the huskiness of intense
+feeling. She was moved by it. &#8220;Oh, I know what
+you mean. But love won&#8217;t come to me like that&mdash;shut
+in. I shall want freedom, and sunshine. I&#8217;ll
+be a gull over the sea&mdash;a ship in full sail&mdash;a gypsy
+on the road&mdash;but I&#8217;ll never be a ghost in a fog.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His hand dropped from her arm. &#8220;Perhaps
+you&#8217;ll be a princess in a castle. Towne can make
+you that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why do you keep harping on Mr. Towne? I
+don&#8217;t like it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>&#8220;Because&mdash;oh, I think everybody wants
+you&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And now it was she who caught at his arm in
+the mist, and leaned on it. &#8220;I&#8217;m not the least in
+love with Frederick Towne. And I shall never
+marry a man I don&#8217;t love, Evans.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When they came to the little house they found
+old Sophy nodding in the kitchen. She always
+stayed with Jane when Baldy was away. So
+Evans said &#8220;Good-night&#8221; and started back.</p>
+
+<p>He found the path between the pines, walked a
+few steps and stumbled. He sat down on the log
+that had tripped him. He had no wish to go on.
+His depression was intense. Night was before him
+and darkness. Loneliness. And Jane would be
+with Frederick Towne.</p>
+
+<p>He had for Jane a feeling of hopeless adoration.
+She would never be his. For how could he try to
+keep her? &#8220;I&#8217;ll be a gull over the sea&mdash;a ship in
+full sail&mdash;a gypsy on the road&mdash;never a ghost in a
+fog.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And he was just a ghost in a fog! Oh, what was
+the use of ever &#8220;climbing up the climbing wave&#8221;?
+One must have something of hope to live on. A
+dream or two&mdash;ahead.</p>
+
+<p>How long he sat there he did not know. And
+all at once he was aware of a pale blur against the
+prevailing gloom. And then he heard Jane&#8217;s voice
+calling, &#8220;Evans? Evans?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He answered and she came up to him. &#8220;Your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
+mother telephoned&mdash;that you had not come home&mdash;and
+she was worried.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was holding the lantern up to the length of
+her arm. In her orange cloak she shone through
+the veil of mist, luminous.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear,&#8221; she said, gently, &#8220;why are you sitting
+here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because there isn&#8217;t any use in going on.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She lowered the lantern so that it shone on his
+face. What she saw there frightened her. &#8220;Are
+you feeling this way because of me?&#8221; she asked in
+a shaking voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because of everything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Evans, I won&#8217;t go to the Townes if you want
+me to stay.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked up at her as she bent above him with
+the lantern. She seemed to shine within and without,
+like some celestial visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would you stay, Jane, if I wanted it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stood up. &#8220;I don&#8217;t want it. Not really.
+I&#8217;m not quite such a selfish pig,&#8221; his smile was
+ghastly.</p>
+
+<p>She was silent for a moment, then she said, &#8220;I&#8217;m
+going home with you, Evans. Wait until I tell
+Sophy to send Briggs after me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He tried to protest, but she was firm. &#8220;I&#8217;ll be
+back in a minute.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She returned presently, the lantern in one hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
+and her slipper bag in the other. &#8220;I put on heavier
+shoes. I should ruin my slippers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As they trod the path together, the light of the
+lantern shone in round spots of gold, now in front
+of them, now behind them. The fog pressed close,
+but the path was clear.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Evans,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;I want you to promise me
+something.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anything, except&mdash;not to love you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It has nothing to do with love of me, but it has
+something to do with love of God.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He knew how hard it was for her to say that.
+Jane did not speak easily of such things.</p>
+
+<p>She went on with some hesitation. Her
+voice, muffled by the fog, had a muted note of
+music.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Evans, you mustn&#8217;t let what I do make you or
+break you. Whether I love you or not, you must
+go on. You&mdash;you couldn&#8217;t hold me if you weren&#8217;t
+strong enough, even if I was your wife. And there
+is strength in you, if you&#8217;ll only believe it. Oh,
+you must believe it, Evans. And you mustn&#8217;t make
+me feel responsible. I can&#8217;t stand it. To feel all
+the time that I am hurting&mdash;you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was sobbing. A little incoherent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you <i>are</i> captain of your soul, Evans. You.
+Not anyone else. I can&#8217;t be. I can be a help, and
+oh, I will help all I can. You know that. But&mdash;I
+love you like a big brother&mdash;not in any other
+way. If anything should happen to you, it would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
+be dreadful for me, just as it would be dreadful if
+anything happened to Baldy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Janey, my dear, don&#8217;t,&#8221; for she was clinging to
+his arm, crying as if her heart would break.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I do care for you so much, Evans. I was
+frantic when your mother telephoned. I wasn&#8217;t
+quite dressed and I made Sophy get the lantern,
+and then I ran down the path, and looked for you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stopped and laid his hand on her shoulder.
+Her weakness, her broken words had roused in him
+a sudden protective tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My little girl,&#8221; he said, &#8220;don&#8217;t. God helping
+me, I&#8217;m going to get back. And you are going to
+light my way. Jane, do you know when I saw
+you coming towards me with that dim lantern it
+seemed symbolic. Hope held out to me&mdash;seen
+through a fog, faintly. But a light, nevertheless.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Evans, if I could love you, I would, you
+know that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know. You&#8217;d tie up the broken wings of
+every bird. You&#8217;d give crutches to the lame, and
+food to the hungry. And that&#8217;s the way you feel
+about me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He had let her go now, and they stood apart,
+shrouded in ghostly white.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;God helping me,&#8221; he said again, &#8220;I&#8217;ll get back.
+That&#8217;s a promise, Janey, and here&#8217;s my hand upon
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She gave him her hand. &#8220;God helping us both,&#8221;
+she said.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>He lifted her hand and kissed it. Then, in silence,
+they walked on, until they reached the
+house....</p>
+
+<p>The Towne car was waiting, and Mrs. Follette
+in a flurry welcomed them. &#8220;I don&#8217;t see why you
+didn&#8217;t ride over with him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He hadn&#8217;t come, and we preferred to
+walk.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What was the matter with you, Evans?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing much, Mother. I&#8217;m sorry you were
+fussed.&#8221; He gave her no further explanation.</p>
+
+<p>Jane put on her slippers and went off in the
+great car. And then Evans said, &#8220;I&#8217;m going over
+to Hallam&#8217;s.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Aren&#8217;t you well, my dear?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want to talk to him.&#8221; He saw her anxious
+look, and bent and kissed her. &#8220;Don&#8217;t worry,
+Mumsie, I&#8217;m all right.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Hallam&#8217;s old estate adjoined the Follette
+farm. The doctor was a nerve specialist, and went
+every morning to Washington, coming back at
+night to the quiet of his charming home. He was
+unmarried and was looked after by men-servants.
+He had been much interested in Evans&#8217; case, and
+had in fact had charge of it.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor was by the library fire, smoking a
+cigar and reading a brown book. He welcomed
+Evans heartily. &#8220;I was wondering when you
+would turn up again.&#8221; He showed the title of his
+book, &#8220;Boswell. There was a man. As great as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
+the man he wrote about, and we are just beginning
+to find it out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Rare edition?&#8221; Evans sat down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Got it at Lowdermilk&#8217;s yesterday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ve oodles of old books on our shelves.
+Ought to sell them, I suppose.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t sell one of mine.&#8221; Hallam was emphatic.
+&#8220;I&#8217;d rather murder a baby.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evans flamed suddenly. &#8220;I&#8217;d sell mine, if I
+could get the things I want.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want anything as much as I want my
+books.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do. I want life as I used to live it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The doctor sat up and looked at him. &#8220;You
+mean before the war?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m tired of being half a man. If there&#8217;s any
+way out of it, I want you to tell me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The doctor&#8217;s eyes were bright with interest. He
+knew the first symptoms of recovery in such cases.
+The neurasthenic quality of Evans&#8217; trouble had
+robbed him of initiative. His waking-up was a
+promising sign.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The thing to do, of course, is to get to work.
+Why don&#8217;t you open an office?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A fat chance I&#8217;d have of getting clients.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think they&#8217;d come.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The doctor smoked for a time in silence, then
+he said, &#8220;Decide on something hard to do, and do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
+it. Do it if you feel you are going to die in the
+attempt.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was something inspiring to Evans in the
+idea. Hard things. That was it. He poured out
+the story of the past few days. The awful scene
+with Rusty. To-night in the fog under the pines.
+&#8220;Wanted more than anything to drop myself in
+the river.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was walking the floor, back and forth, limping
+to one edge of the rug, then limping to the
+other. &#8220;Then Jane came. Little Jane Barnes.
+You know her, and she told me&mdash;where to get off&mdash;said
+I was&mdash;captain of my soul&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; He
+stopped in front of the doctor, and smiled whimsically.
+&#8220;Are any of us captains of our souls, doctor?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll be darned if I know.&#8221; The doctor was intensely
+serious. &#8220;Will power has a lot to do with
+things. The trouble is when your will won&#8217;t
+work&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mine seems to be working on one cylinder.&#8221;
+Again Evans was pacing the rug. &#8220;But that idea
+of an office appeals to me. It will take a bit of
+money, though. And it is rather a problem to
+know where to get it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sell some of the old books. I&#8217;ll buy them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Light leaped into Evans&#8217; eyes. &#8220;It would be
+one way, wouldn&#8217;t it? Mother would rather hate it.
+But what&#8217;s a library against a life?&#8221; He seemed to
+fling the question to a listening universe.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>The doctor laughed. &#8220;She&#8217;ll be sensible if you
+put it up to her. And you must frivol a bit. Play
+around with the girls.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want any girls except Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Little Jane Barnes. Well, she&#8217;ll do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll say she will.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The doctor, watching him as he walked back
+and forth, said, &#8220;The thing to do is to map out a
+normal day. Make it pretty close to the program
+you followed before the war. You haven&#8217;t happened
+to keep a diary, have you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. It&#8217;s a clumsy record. Mother started
+me when I was a kid.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s what we want. Read it every night, and
+do some of the things the next day that you did
+then. You will find you can stick closer than you
+think. And it will give you a working plan.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evans sat down and discussed the idea. It was
+late when he rose to leave.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will be slow,&#8221; was Hallam&#8217;s final admonition,
+&#8220;but I believe you can do it. And when
+things go wrong, just honk and I&#8217;ll lend you some
+gas,&#8221; his big laugh boomed out, as they stood in
+the door together. &#8220;Nasty night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have a lantern.&#8221; Evans picked it up from the
+porch.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>When Evans reached home his mother called
+from up-stairs, &#8220;I thought you were never coming.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>&#8220;Hallam and I had a lot to talk about.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He came running up, and entering her room
+found her propped up on her pillows.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Follette in bed lost nothing of her dignity.
+Her gray hair at night was braided and wound into
+a coronet above her serene forehead. She wore
+something knitted in white and black about her
+shoulders. There was a prayer-book on her bedside
+table&mdash;and pineapple posts to her bed. She
+had inherited her religion and her furniture from
+her ancestors, and she kept them both in order.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mother,&#8221; said Evans, and stood looking down
+at her, &#8220;Hallam wants me to sell some of the old
+books and use the money to open an office.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What kind of office?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Law. In town.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But are you well enough, Evans?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He says that I am. He says that I must think
+that I am well, Mother.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dearest, don&#8217;t spoil it with doubts. It&#8217;s my
+life, Mother.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a look on his face which she had not
+seen since his return. Uplifted, eager. A light in
+his eyes, like the light which had shone in the eyes
+of a boy.</p>
+
+<p>She found it difficult to speak. &#8220;My dear, the
+books are yours. Do as you think best.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He leaned over and kissed her, lifting her a bit.
+There was energy as well as affection in the quick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
+caress. She drew herself away laughing, breathless.
+&#8220;How strong you are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Am I? Well, I think I am. And I am going
+to conquer the world, Mumsie.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>His exaltation lasted during the reading of the
+diary. It was a fat little book, and the pages were
+written close in his fine firm script. He found
+things between the leaves&mdash;a four-leaved clover
+Jane had sent him when he made the football team.
+A rose, colorless and dry. Florence Preston had
+given it to him.</p>
+
+<p>He dropped the rose in the waste-basket. How
+could he ever have thought of Florence? Love
+wasn&#8217;t a thing of blue eyes and pale gold hair. It
+was a thing of fire and flame and fighting.</p>
+
+<p>Fighting! That was it. With your back to the
+wall&mdash;and winning!</p>
+
+<p>For some day he meant to win Jane. Did she
+think she could be in the world and not be his?
+And if she loved strength she should have it. He
+bent his head in his hands&mdash;his hands clasped
+tensely. There was a prayer in his heart. His
+whole being ached with the agony of his effort.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, God, let me fight and win. Bring me back
+to the full measure of a man.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again he opened the book. Bits of printed verse
+dropped out of it. Jane had sent him this, &#8220;<i>One
+who never turned his back, but marched breast-forward.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>Well, he had turned his back. That day in the
+snow. The thought gripped him. Made him white
+and sick. He stood up, praying again in an agony
+of mind, &#8220;Bring me back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He opened the book and read of Jane, and of
+himself as he had once been. He skipped the record
+of his college days, except where he found such
+reference as this: &#8220;Little Jane is growing up. She
+met me at the station and held out her hand to me.
+I used always to kiss her, but this time I didn&#8217;t
+dare. She was different somehow, but some day
+I&#8217;ll kiss her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And this: &#8220;Jane is rather a darling. But I am
+beginning to believe that I like &#8217;em fair.&#8221; That
+was when he had a terrible crush on Florence Preston,
+whose coloring was blue and gold. But it
+hadn&#8217;t lasted, and he had come back to Jane with
+a sense of refreshment.</p>
+
+<p>He found at last the pages given over to those
+first days after he had been admitted to the Washington
+bar, and had hung out his shingle.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sat at my desk all the morning. Great bluff.
+One client received with great effect of busy-ness.
+Had lunch with a lot of fellows&mdash;pancakes and
+sausages&mdash;ate an armful. Tea with three d�butantes
+at the Shoreham&mdash;peaches. Dance at the
+Oakleys&#8217; in Georgetown. Corking time. One
+deadly moment when the butler took my overcoat.
+Poor people ought not to dance where there are
+butlers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>Remembering that incident, he leaned back in
+his chair and laughed. The Oakleys had all the
+money in the world, and a background of aristocracy.
+Evans&#8217; overcoat was rusty and shiny at the
+elbows. The butler, a recent importation from
+London, had been imposing in knee-breeches and
+many buttons. His manner had been perfect, but
+Evans had been aware of the servant&#8217;s scorn of
+rustiness and shininess. Then his own good sense
+had come to the rescue, and he had gone in and had
+danced with as light heels as the rest of them.</p>
+
+<p>He found more than one reference to his poverty.
+&#8220;I shall have to stop eating, or I can&#8217;t wear my
+evening clothes. And I can&#8217;t afford new ones.
+Jane says she hates to have me lose weight&mdash;that
+I look big and beautiful now like Michelangelo&#8217;s
+David at the Corcoran. I don&#8217;t know whether she
+is in earnest. One never knows. Her eyes never
+tell.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And again: &#8220;If I had money enough, I&#8217;d ask
+Jane to marry me. But I can&#8217;t pay for Huyler&#8217;s
+and matin�e tickets. And anyhow, I&#8217;m sure she
+wouldn&#8217;t have me. Not right off the bat. We&#8217;re
+made for each other all right. And some day, if
+she doesn&#8217;t know it, I&#8217;ll make her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There were spring days with Jane. &#8220;Gee, but
+it&#8217;s good to be alive. Jane and I walked down to
+the glen this morning. Picked wild flowers, dogtooth
+violets, hepatica, anemones; and we sang&mdash;with
+nobody to hear us. I let out my voice&mdash;in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
+the Toreador&#8217;s song, and Jane sat there and looked
+and listened, and said when I had finished, &#8216;It&#8217;s
+like the opera, Evans.&#8217; I believe she meant it, and
+she didn&#8217;t want me to stop.... I felt pretty
+fine to have her there, liking it.... Oh, she&#8217;s
+a darling. I wanted to tell her, but I didn&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Autumn came: &#8220;Jane and I went to-day to
+gather fox grapes. Mother is making jelly and so
+is Jane. The vines were a great tangle. Shut in
+among them we seemed a thousand miles away
+from the world. Jane made herself a wreath of
+grape leaves, and looked like a nymph of the woods.
+I told her so and she gazed at me with those great
+gray eyes of hers and said, &#8216;Evans, when the gods
+were young they must have lived like this&mdash;with
+grapes for their food, and the birds to sing for
+them, and the little wild things of the wood for
+company. It would be heavenly, wouldn&#8217;t it?&#8217;
+She&#8217;s a queer kid. Life with her wouldn&#8217;t be humdrum.
+She&#8217;s so intensely herself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We talked a bit about the war. I told her I
+should go if France needed me. I am not going
+to wait until this country gets into it. We owe a
+debt to France....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stopped there, and closed the book. He did
+not care to read farther. Oh, his debt to France
+had been paid. And after that day with Jane
+among the tangled vines things had moved faster&mdash;and
+faster.</p>
+
+<p>He didn&#8217;t want to think of it....</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII<br />
+
+<small>THE ICE PALACE</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> evening wrap which Jane wore with her old
+white chiffon was of a bright Madonna blue with a
+black fur collar. Jane, as has been said, loved clear
+color, and when she dyed dingy things she brought
+them forth lovely to the eye and tremendously
+picturesque.</p>
+
+<p>The first effect on Frederick Towne of her bobbed
+black head above the fur collar was enchanting. It
+was only later that he discovered her shabbiness.
+That initial glimpse had, however, shown him what
+money could do for her.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick&#8217;s house was a place where polished
+floors seemed to dissolve in pools of golden light,
+where a grand staircase led up to balconies, where
+the ceilings were almost incredibly high, the vistas
+almost incredibly remote. Frederick, coming towards
+her through those pools of golden light&mdash;blonde,
+big and smiling, brought a swift memory of
+another blonde and heroic figure, not in evening
+clothes&mdash;but in silver armor&mdash;&#8220;Nun sei bedankt,
+mein lieber Schwan,&#8221; Lohengrin! That was it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A fat Lohengrin,&#8221; she amended, maliciously.</p>
+
+<p>Unaware of this devastating estimate, Frederick
+welcomed her with the air of a Cophetua. He was
+unconscious of his attitude of condescension. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
+was much attracted, but he knew, of course, that
+his interest in her would be a great thing for the
+little girl.</p>
+
+<p>And he <i>was</i> interested. A queer thing had happened
+to him&mdash;a thing which clashed with all his
+theories, broke down the logic of his previous arguments.
+He had fallen in love with little Jane
+Barnes, at first sight if you please&mdash;like a crude
+boy. And he wanted her for his wife. It was an
+almost unbelievable situation. There had been so
+many women he might have married. Lovelier
+women than Jane, wittier, more distinguished,
+richer&mdash;of more assured social standing. He could
+have had the pick of them, yet not one of them had
+he wanted. Here was little Jane Barnes, bobbed
+hair, boyish, slender, quaint in her cheap clothes,
+and he could see no one else at the head of his
+table, no one else by his side in the big car, no one
+else to share the glamorous days of honeymoon,
+and the life which was to follow.</p>
+
+<p>He had always had his own way, and he intended
+to have it now. Edith had, of course,
+thwarted him in some things, and she was still on
+his hands. Yet the matter would, without doubt,
+right itself. There were other eligible suitors; it
+was not to be supposed that a beauty and an heiress
+would remain long unwed.</p>
+
+<p>And in the meantime, he would set himself to the
+wooing of Jane. The end was, of course, inevitable.
+But Jane would not fall into his arms at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
+first word. Her attitude towards him was absolutely
+impersonal. She had no blushes, no small
+flirtatious tricks. She was as cool as some lovely
+garden flower with the morning dew upon it. But
+he fancied she might flame.</p>
+
+<p>And so when young Baldwin had telephoned of
+Edith&#8217;s plans, there had leaped into Towne&#8217;s mind
+the realization of his opportunity. He would see
+Jane among his household gods. And he would
+see her alone. He had sent Briggs in time to have
+her there before the others arrived.</p>
+
+<p>And now Fate had played further into his hands.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve had another message from Edith,&#8221; he told
+her; &#8220;we&#8217;ll have to eat dinner without them. The
+fog caught them south of Alexandria, and they
+went into a ditch. They will eat at the nearest
+hotel while the car is being fixed up.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy&#8217;s car always breaks at psychological moments,&#8221;
+said Jane. &#8220;If it hadn&#8217;t broken down on
+the bridge, he wouldn&#8217;t have found your niece.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I wouldn&#8217;t have known you&#8221;&mdash;he was
+smiling at her. &#8220;Who would ever have believed
+that so much hung on so little.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And now Waldron, the butler, announced dinner&mdash;and
+Jane entering the dining-room felt dwarfed
+by the Gargantuan tables, the high-backed ecclesiastical
+chairs, the tall silver candlesticks with
+their orange candles.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your color,&#8221; Towne told her. &#8220;You see I remembered
+your knitting&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>&#8220;I&#8217;m crazy about brilliant wools,&#8221; said Jane;
+&#8220;some day I am going to open a shop and sell
+them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But he knew that she would not open a shop.
+&#8220;You were like some lovely bird,&mdash;an oriole, perhaps,
+with your orange and black.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I dye things,&#8221; said Jane, frankly; &#8220;you should
+see some of my clothes when they come out. Joseph&#8217;s
+coat isn&#8217;t in it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frederick liked her frankness. He knew people
+who would have been ashamed to admit their poverty
+before Waldron and the maids. To Jane, servants
+had neither eyes nor ears&mdash;in that she showed
+her accustomedness. People who had never been
+served were self-conscious.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The next time you see this dress,&#8221; Jane was
+saying, &#8220;it will be as blue as my coat. And I&#8217;ll
+have a girdle of copper ribbon, and Baldy will paint
+my shoes with copper paint.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She smiled at him with her chin tilted in her
+bird-like way. She was really having the time of
+her life. She was thrilled and fascinated by the
+beauty of her surroundings, and gradually Frederick
+began to take on something of the fascination.</p>
+
+<p>Against his own background, he showed at his
+best. Without one word of fulsome flattery, he
+made little Jane feel that she was an honored guest.
+He talked extremely well, and though she was alone
+with him put her absolutely at her ease.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>The food was delicious. There had been a celestial
+canape, a heavenly soup, fish that were pale
+pink and smothered in tartare sauce.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is awfully nice,&#8221; Jane told herself out of
+her supreme content, as Waldron passed squabs on
+a silver platter. She referred of course to Towne
+and not to Waldron but, remembering her own old
+Sophy&#8217;s shortcomings, she found time, also, to commend
+to herself the butler&#8217;s expertness.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner they sat in the great drawing-room&mdash;a
+portentous place&mdash;with low-hung crystal chandeliers&mdash;pale
+rugs&mdash;pale walls&mdash;with one corner
+redeemed from the general chilliness by a fireplace
+of yellow Italian marble, and a huge screen of peacock
+feathers in a mahogany frame.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I call this room the Ice Palace,&#8221; Frederick told
+her. &#8220;Mother furnished it in the early eighties&mdash;and
+she would never change it. And now I rather
+hate to have it different. I warmed this corner
+with the fireplace and the screen. Edith always
+sits in the library on the other side of the hall, but
+Mother and I had our coffee here, and I prefer to
+continue the old custom.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane&#8217;s eyes opened wide. &#8220;Don&#8217;t you and your
+niece drink your coffee together?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Usually, but there have been times,&#8221; he laughed
+as he said it, &#8220;when each of us has sat on opposite
+sides of the hall in lonely state.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane laughed too. &#8220;Baldy and I do things like
+that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>&#8220;And now,&#8221; he said, &#8220;we can talk about Edith.
+I suppose I&#8217;ll have to kill the fatted calf. That&#8217;s
+what your brother said.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That sounds like Baldy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Does it? Well, he told me the thing that decided
+her was some friends who came out and saw
+her in the dining-room. She&#8217;s been all the time
+with Martha, her mother&#8217;s old cook, whose husband
+keeps a country hotel beyond Alexandria. And
+Adelaide Laramore and Eloise Harper and a couple
+of men were lunching there. I am sorry it happened.
+Eloise is a regular town-crier. She&#8217;ll tell
+the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He beat his fist against the arm of his chair. &#8220;I
+hate to have the thing in the papers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will soon die down,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;when she
+comes home.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall be glad to have her. But I don&#8217;t quite
+see why I am to kill the fatted calf. She won&#8217;t act
+in the least like a prodigal.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why should you care how she acts? You want
+her back. Isn&#8217;t that enough?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He liked her crisp common sense. Her fearless
+expression of opinion. Most of the women he knew
+were afraid not to agree with him. That was the
+trouble with Adelaide. She leaned to him always
+like a lily, charming, feminine, soft as milk. But
+Jane did not lean. She was, he told himself, a cup
+of elixir held to his lips. He drank as it were of
+her youth.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>They finished their coffee and he smoked a cigar.
+Edith and Baldy telephoned that the thing was
+more serious than they had anticipated. That perhaps
+he had better send Briggs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So that means I&#8217;m going to have you to
+myself for an hour longer,&#8221; Frederick told Jane.
+&#8220;I hope you are as happy in the prospect as I am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am having a joyous time. I feel like Cinderella
+at the ball.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed at that. &#8220;You&#8217;re a refreshing child,
+Jane.&#8221; He had never before called her by her first
+name.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Am I? But I&#8217;m not a child. I&#8217;m as old as the
+hills.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not in years.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In wisdom. I know how to make ends meet,
+and how to order meals, and how to plan my own
+dresses, and a lot of things that your Edith doesn&#8217;t
+have to think about.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And yet you are happy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll say I am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed but did not continue the subject.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve a rather wonderful collection of earrings.
+Would you like to look at them? Queer fad, isn&#8217;t
+it? But I&#8217;ve picked them up everywhere.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why earrings?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Other things are commonplace&mdash;brooches, necklaces,
+tiaras. But there&#8217;s romance in the jewels
+that women have worn in their ears. You&#8217;ll see.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He went into another room and brought back a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
+tray. It was lined with velvet and the earrings
+were set up on tiny cushions. It was a unique display.
+Cameos from ancient Rome, acorns of human
+hair in the horrible taste of the sixties&mdash;gypsy
+hoops of gold&mdash;coral roses in delicate fretted
+wreaths&mdash;old French jewels&mdash;rubies, emeralds,
+sapphires, and seed pearls, larger pearls set alone
+to show their beauty, and a sparkling array of
+modern things, diamonds in platinum&mdash;long pendants
+of jade and jet&mdash;opals dripping like liquid
+fire along slender chains.</p>
+
+<p>She hung over them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Which do you like best?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The pearls?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was doubtful. &#8220;Not the white ones.
+These&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; he picked up a pair of sapphires set in
+seed pearls&mdash;rather barbaric things that hung
+down for an inch or more. &#8220;They&#8217;ll suit your
+style. Have you ever worn earrings?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Try them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He helped her to adjust them&mdash;and his hand
+touched her smooth warm cheek. He was conscious
+of her closeness, but gave no sign.</p>
+
+<p>There was a little mirror above the mantel.
+&#8220;Look at yourself,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>She tilted her head so that the jewels shook.
+The blue lights of the stones made her skin incandescent.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick surveyed her critically. &#8220;You ought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
+to have a more sophisticated gown. Silver brocade
+with a wisp of a train.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It changes me, doesn&#8217;t it? I am not sure that
+I like them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do. Edith has always wanted those earrings.
+But I won&#8217;t let her have them. I am saving them
+for&mdash;my wife.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You ought to have wives to wear them&mdash;like
+Solomon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean that you are recommending it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course not. Only one woman couldn&#8217;t ever
+wear them all, could she?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She might.&#8221; Again he was pleased by her lack
+of self-consciousness. What a joy she was after
+Adelaide.</p>
+
+<p>As if the name had brought her, a voice spoke
+from the door. &#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t let Waldron announce
+me, Ricky; may I come in?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stopped as she saw Jane. &#8220;Oh, you&#8217;re not
+alone?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is Miss Barnes, Adelaide. I think you
+met her brother to-day at luncheon. Edith telephoned
+that you and Eloise had found her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s what I came about, to warn you. Eloise
+has the reporters on her trail. She&#8217;ll be over in a
+minute. But the harm will be done, I am afraid,
+before you can stop her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I&#8217;m resigned. Edith&#8217;s coming back to-night.
+Miss Barnes&#8217; brother is bringing her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really?&#8221; Adelaide Laramore was appraising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
+Jane. A shabby child. From the threshold she had
+had a moment of jealousy. But the moment was
+past. Frederick was extremely fastidious. He
+adored beauty and this Barnes child was not beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>What Mrs. Laramore failed to see was that
+Jane&#8217;s beauty was of a very special kind. It was
+not standardized. It was not marcelled and cold-creamed,
+and rouged and powdered. But it had
+to do with lighted-up eyes, with youth and a free
+spirit. And it was these things in her which had
+attracted Frederick.</p>
+
+<p>Jane was unfastening the earrings. &#8220;Aren&#8217;t
+they heavenly, Mrs. Laramore?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The sapphires?&#8221; Mrs. Laramore sat down on
+the couch. Her evening wrap slipped back, showing
+her white neck. Her fair hair was swept up
+from her forehead. She had a long face, with pink
+cheeks and pencilled eyebrows. She was like a portrait
+on porcelain, and she knew it, and emphasized
+the effect. &#8220;The sapphires? Yes. They&#8217;re the
+choice of the lot.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She went on to speak of Eloise. &#8220;She is simply
+hopeless. She has told the most hectic tales and
+all the papers have sent men out to the Inn.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, they escaped. They started early and
+have been hung up at Alexandria.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eloise and Benny and the Captain dined with
+me. She was still telephoning when I left. I told
+her that I did not sanction it, and that I should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
+come straight over and tell you. But she laughed
+and said she didn&#8217;t care. That she thought it was
+great fun and that you were a good sport.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shan&#8217;t see her,&#8221; shortly; &#8220;she ought to know
+better. Setting reporters on Edith like a pack of
+wolves.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I told her how you would feel,&#8221; Adelaide reiterated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should see her if I were you, Mr. Towne,&#8221;
+said a crisp, young voice.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide turned with a gasp. With her slippered
+feet crossed in front of her, Jane looked like
+a child. For the first time Mrs. Laramore got a
+good view of those candid gray eyes. They had a
+queer effect on her. Eyes like that were most uncommon.
+Fearless. The girl was not afraid of
+Frederick. She was not afraid of anyone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why should I see her?&#8221; Frederick demanded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Won&#8217;t it just add to her sense of melodrama if
+you don&#8217;t? And why should you care? Your niece
+is coming home. And that&#8217;s the end of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mean,&#8221; Frederick demanded, &#8220;that I am
+to carry it off with an air?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane nodded. &#8220;Make comedy of it instead of
+tragedy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide slipping out of her wrap was revealed
+as elegant and distinguished in silver and black.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May I have a cigarette, Ricky, to settle my
+nerves? Eloise is tremendously upsetting.&#8221; Adelaide
+was plaintive.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>Jane watched her with lively curiosity. The
+women she knew did not smoke. Baldy&#8217;s flappers
+did, but they were abnormal and of a new generation.
+Mrs. Laramore was old enough to be Jane&#8217;s
+mother, and Jane had a feeling ... that
+mothers ... shouldn&#8217;t smoke....</p>
+
+<p>But none the less, Adelaide Laramore and her
+exotic ways were amusing. She had a brittle and
+artificial look, like the Manchu lady in the Museum,
+or something in wax.</p>
+
+<p>Jane was brought back from her meditation by
+the riotous entrance of Eloise and the two men.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I knew Adelaide was telling tales.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I told you I was coming, Eloise.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Eloise stared at Jane when Frederick presented
+her. &#8220;You look like your brother. Twins?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221; Jane decided that she liked Miss Harper
+better than she did Mrs. Laramore&mdash;which wasn&#8217;t
+saying&mdash;much....</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The reporters are on their way to Alexandria&mdash;full
+cry.&#8221; Eloise all in emerald green, with her
+red hair in a classic coiffure, was like some radiant
+witch, exultant of evil. &#8220;You mustn&#8217;t scold me,
+Frederick. It was terribly exciting to tell them,
+and I adore excitement.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They aren&#8217;t there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where are they?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frederick chanted composedly, &#8220;We three know
+... but we will never tell....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Adelaide will, when I get her alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>&#8220;I will not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then Miss Barnes will. Do you know how
+young you look, Miss Barnes? I feel as if you&#8217;d
+tell me anything for a stick of candy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They roared at that. And Jane said, &#8220;Nobody
+ever made me do anything I didn&#8217;t want to do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And now Benny and the Captain looked at her,
+and looked again. What a voice the child had, and
+eyes!</p>
+
+<p>Eloise, on the couch, hugged her knees and surveyed
+her gold slippers. &#8220;They are putting my
+picture in the paper and Adelaide&#8217;s. They saw
+one on my desk&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Laramore cried out, &#8220;Benny, why did you
+let her do it?&#8221; and there was a great uproar&mdash;in
+which Eloise could be heard saying:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And they are going to have a picture of the
+Inn, and one of your brother if they can get it,
+Miss Barnes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane began to feel uncomfortable. She was, she
+told herself, as much out of place as a pussy-cat in
+a Zoo. These women and these men reminded her
+somehow of the great sleek animals who snarled at
+each other in the Rock Creek cages. Frederick did
+not snarl. But she had a feeling he might if Eloise
+kept at him much longer.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the midst of the hubbub that Edith
+entered. She walked in among them as composedly
+as she had faced them at the Inn.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hello,&#8221; she said, &#8220;you sound like a jazz band.&#8221;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
+She went straight up to Frederick and kissed him.
+&#8220;I suppose Eloise is shouting the news to the
+world.&#8221; She tucked her hand in his arm. &#8220;There
+are more than a million reporters outside. Mr.
+Barnes is keeping them at bay.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where did they find you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Heard of us, I suppose, at the Alexandria hotel.
+We didn&#8217;t realize it until we reached here, and then
+they piled out and began to ask questions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frederick lifted her hand from his arm. &#8220;I&#8217;ll
+go and send them away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Eloise jumped up. &#8220;I&#8217;ll go with you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And then Frederick snarled, &#8220;Stay here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But neither of them went, for Baldy entered,
+head cocked, eyes alight&mdash;Jane knew the signs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;ve gone,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I told you I&#8217;d get
+rid of them, Miss Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He nodded to them all. Absolutely at his ease,
+lifted above them all by the exaltation of his mood.
+Finer, Jane told herself, than any of them&mdash;his
+beautiful youth against their world-weariness.</p>
+
+<p>Edith was smiling at Jane. &#8220;I knew you at
+once. You are like your brother.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They were alike. A striking pair as they stood
+together. &#8220;It is because of Mr. Barnes and his
+sister that we got in touch with Edith,&#8221; Frederick
+explained. He had regained his genial manner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, really.&#8221; Adelaide knew that she and her
+friends ought to go at once. Edith looked tired,
+and Eloise at moments like this was impossible.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
+But she hated to leave anyone else in the field.
+&#8220;Can&#8217;t I give you a lift?&#8221; she asked Jane, sweetly,
+&#8220;you and your brother.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But it was Frederick who answered. &#8220;Miss
+Barnes lives at Sherwood Park. Briggs will take
+her out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So Adelaide went away, and Eloise and the two
+men, and Edith turned to her uncle and said, &#8220;I&#8217;m
+sorry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her face was white and her eyes were shining,
+and all of a sudden she reached up her arms and
+put them about his neck and sobbed as if her heart
+would break.</p>
+
+<p>And then, and not until then, little Jane knew
+that Edith was not like one of the animals at the
+Zoo.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII<br />
+
+<small>JANE POURS TEA</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">In</span> Jane&#8217;s next letter to Judy she told her how
+the evening with the Townes had ended.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;Edith insisted that I should stay all night.
+She&#8217;s a perfect darling, so absolutely and utterly
+exquisite, and yet so human. She and her uncle
+simply can&#8217;t look at things from the same angle.
+And they are both to blame. Anything sets them
+off,&mdash;you should have seen them&mdash;like people in a
+play.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I slept in the spare room&mdash;and well, I lay
+awake half the night looking at it, and admiring
+myself in one of Edith&#8217;s nighties! I never saw
+such underthings, Judy! For a princess! Her
+room is all rose and silver and ivory, and the room
+I slept in is in pale yellow&mdash;with a canopy to my
+bed of gold brocade.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Edith and I had breakfast together. Everything
+brought up on a tray and set in her little
+sitting-room, and we wore lace caps and breakfast
+coats, and looked&mdash;superlative! Edith is the most
+beautiful person&mdash;like one of the Viking women&mdash;with
+her hair in thick fair braids. I told her that,
+and she laughed. &#8216;What a pair of poets you are,&#8217;
+she said, &#8216;you and your brother.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was good to hear her laugh. She cried
+dreadfully the night before. Coming back was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
+hard for her&mdash;and then Mr. Towne got on her
+nerves. They both wanted me to stay, and Baldy
+stayed, too, and I know his head bumped the clouds.
+And this morning on his way to the office, he
+bought a bunch of heliotrope for Edith and sent it
+up to her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The trouble with Edith is that her life hasn&#8217;t
+been <i>real</i>, Judy. Not in the way that your life and
+mine and Baldy&#8217;s is real. She has never had any
+work to do, and nothing has ever depended upon
+her. Think of it. There&#8217;s no reason why she
+can&#8217;t stay in bed all day if she wants to. And she
+can gratify any mood of the moment. The consequence
+is that half the time she is bored stiff. She
+says that was the reason she became engaged to
+Delafield Simms. Anything for a change.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It looks as if she and I were going to be frightfully
+friendly. She told me that she wants me for
+a friend. That Eloise Harper and her kind are
+horrible to her after the things that have happened.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To-morrow afternoon she and her uncle are
+coming out here to tea, and I&#8217;m going to have the
+Follettes over. Mrs. Follette will love it. But
+Evans won&#8217;t. He doesn&#8217;t like Mr. Towne.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And now, my dearest-dear, I am worried about
+that hint in your last letter that you are not well.
+Take care of yourself, and remember I have only
+one precious sister, and the kiddies have only one
+mother. We need you in our young lives, and you
+mustn&#8217;t work too hard.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>When she had written the last line, Jane sat
+very still at her desk. She was thinking of Evans.
+She hadn&#8217;t seen him for three days. Not since the
+Sunday night she had gone to the Townes. That<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
+night in the fog had impressed her strangely. She
+had felt for Evans something that had nothing to
+do with admiration for him nor respect nor charm.
+His weakness had drawn her to him, as a mother
+might be drawn to a child. His struggle was, she
+felt, something which she must share. Not as his
+wife! No.... That kind of love was different.
+If only he would let her be his little sister,
+Jane.</p>
+
+<p>He had not even called her up. When she had
+invited him and his mother to tea with the Townes,
+Mrs. Follette had answered, and had accepted for
+both of them. Evans, she said, was in Washington,
+and would be out on the late train.</p>
+
+<p>When he arrived ahead of the others on the afternoon
+of her tea, Jane said, &#8220;Where have you been?
+Do you know it has been four days since we&#8217;ve seen
+each other?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Weren&#8217;t you glad to get rid of me? I&#8217;ve
+thought of you every minute.&#8221; He dropped into a
+seat beside her.</p>
+
+<p>She was gazing at him with lively curiosity.
+&#8220;How nice you look.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;New suit. Like it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. And you act as if somebody had left you
+a million dollars.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wish he had. I bought this outfit with a first
+edition &#8216;Alice in Wonderland,&#8217;&#8221; he laughed and
+explained. &#8220;I&#8217;ve been getting rid of some of our
+rare books. I feel plutocratic in consequence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
+Five hundred dollars, if you please, for that old
+Hogarth, with the scathing Ruskin inscription.
+And I&#8217;m going to open an office, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In Washington?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;On Connecticut Avenue. Same building, same
+room, where I started.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Evans, how splendid!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. You did it, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I? How?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The night of the fog. I never realized before
+what a walking-stick I&#8217;ve been&mdash;leaning on you.
+Henceforth you&#8217;re the Lady of the Lantern. It
+won&#8217;t be so fatiguing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was smiling at her, and she smiled back. Yet
+quite strangely and inconsistently, she felt as if
+in changing his attitude towards her, he had robbed
+her of some privilege. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t mind being a
+walking-stick.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I minded. After this I&#8217;ll walk alone.
+And I&#8217;m going to work hard, and play around a
+bit. Will you have tea with me to-morrow, Jane?
+At the Willard? To celebrate my first tottering
+steps.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She agreed, eagerly. &#8220;It will be like old times.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Minus a lot, old lady.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>That was the way he had talked to her years
+ago. The plaintive note was gone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Take the three-thirty train and I&#8217;ll meet you.
+I&#8217;ll pay for the taxi with what&#8217;s left of &#8216;Alice.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be too extravagant.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>&#8220;Nothing is too good for you, Jane. I can&#8217;t say
+it as I want to say it, but you&#8217;ll never know what
+you seemed to me on Sunday as you came through
+the mist.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His voice shook a little, but he recovered himself
+in a moment. &#8220;Here come the Townes.&#8221; He
+rose as Edith entered with young Baldwin.</p>
+
+<p>After that Evans followed Baldy&#8217;s lead as a dispenser
+of hospitality. The two of them passed
+cups, passed thin bread and butter, passed little
+cakes, passed lemon and cream and sugar, flung
+conversational balls as light as feathers into the
+air, were, as Baldy would have expressed it, &#8220;the
+life of the party.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Something must have gone to Casabianca&#8217;s
+head,&#8221; Frederick Towne remarked to Jane. &#8220;Have
+you ever seen him like this?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Years ago. He was tremendously attractive.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you find him attractive now?&#8221; with a touch
+of annoyance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I find him&mdash;wonderful&#8221;&mdash;her tone was defiant&mdash;&#8220;and
+I&#8217;ve known him all my life.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you had known me all your life would you
+call me wonderful?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him from behind her battlements
+of silver. &#8220;How do I know? People have to prove
+themselves.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Hallam had driven Mrs. Follette over. He
+rarely did social stunts, but he liked Jane. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
+he had been interested enough in Evans to want to
+glimpse him in his new r�le.</p>
+
+<p>Strolling up to the tea-table, he was aware at
+once of a situation which might make for comedy,
+or indeed for tragedy. It was evident that Towne
+was much attracted to little Jane Barnes. If Jane
+reciprocated, what of young Follette?</p>
+
+<p>Hallam knew Towne, and himself a bachelor of
+quite another type, without vanity where women
+were concerned, he had a feeling of contempt
+for a man whose reputation was linked with a
+long line of much-talked about ladies. And now
+little Jane was the reigning queen. He didn&#8217;t
+like the idea of her youth, and Towne&#8217;s late
+forties.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I saw Mrs. Laramore yesterday,&#8221; he said,
+abruptly, &#8220;lovely as ever&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, of course.&#8221; Towne wished that Hallam
+wouldn&#8217;t talk about Adelaide. He wished that all
+of the others would go away and leave him alone
+with Jane.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mrs. Laramore,&#8221; said Jane unexpectedly,
+&#8220;makes me think of the lady of Shallott. I don&#8217;t
+know why. But I do. I have really never seen
+such a beautiful woman. But she doesn&#8217;t seem
+real. I have a feeling that if anything hit her, she&#8217;d
+break like china.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They laughed at her, and Edith said, &#8220;Adelaide
+will never break. She&#8217;ll melt. She&#8217;s as soft as
+wax.&#8221; Then pigeonholing Mrs. Laramore for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
+more vital matters. &#8220;Uncle Fred, I am going out
+to Baldy&#8217;s studio; he&#8217;s painting Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frederick was at once interested. &#8220;Her portrait?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. A sketch for a magazine competition,&#8221;
+Baldy explained.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May I see it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy, yearning for solitude and Edith, gave reluctant
+consent. &#8220;Come on, everybody.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So everybody, including Dr. Hallam and Mrs.
+Follette, made their way to the garage.</p>
+
+<p>Edith and young Baldwin arrived first. &#8220;And
+this is where you work,&#8221; she said, softly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Look here, will you sit here so that I can
+feast my eyes on you? I&#8217;ve dreamed of you in that
+chair&mdash;in classic costume. Do you know that you
+were made for a goddess?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know that you are a romantic boy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yet as she sat in the garden seat which he had
+transformed into a throne for her by throwing a
+rug over it and setting it up above the others on a
+small platform, she sighed a little.</p>
+
+<p>Here in this small room he spent his spare moments.
+He looked out through that small square
+window on the rains and snow, and the young green
+of the spring&mdash;and he tried to paint his dreams,
+yet was held back because he was chained to the
+galley of a Government job. And if he was not
+chained, what might he not do? If someone waved
+a wand and set him free? And if the someone who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
+waved a wand loved him? Inspired him? Might
+he not give to the world some day a masterpiece?
+Well, why not? She found herself thrilling
+with the thought. To be a torch and light the
+way!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How old are you?&#8221; she asked him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Twenty-five.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t believe it. I&#8217;m twenty-two, and I feel a
+thousand years older than you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will always be&mdash;ageless.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She laughed. &#8220;How old is Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Twenty. Yet people take us for twins.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She doesn&#8217;t look it and neither do you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The others came in and Edith went back to her
+thoughts. He wasn&#8217;t too young. She was glad of
+that....</p>
+
+<p>The sketch of Jane was on an easel. There she
+stood, a slender figure in her lilac frock&mdash;bobbed
+black hair, lighted-up eyes&mdash;the lifted basket with
+its burden of gold and purple and green!</p>
+
+<p>Towne stood back and looked at it. Jane at his
+side said, &#8220;That&#8217;s some of the fruit you sent.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really?&#8221; Frederick had no eyes for anything
+but Jane, in her lilac frock. Jove, but the boy had
+caught the spirit of her!</p>
+
+<p>He turned to Baldy. &#8220;It is most unusual. And
+I want it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sorry,&#8221; said Baldy, crisply. &#8220;I am sending it
+off to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How much is the prize?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>&#8220;Two thousand dollars.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will write a check for that amount if you
+will let me have this.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am afraid I can&#8217;t, Mr. Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I feel this way about it. It isn&#8217;t worth
+two thousand dollars. But if I win the prize it
+may be worth that to the magazine&mdash;the advertising
+and all that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Isn&#8217;t that splitting hairs?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps, but it&#8217;s the way I feel.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But if you don&#8217;t win the prize you won&#8217;t have
+anything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you&#8217;ll be out two thousand dollars.&#8221; The
+lion in the Zoo was snarling.</p>
+
+<p>And above him, breathing an upper air, was this
+young eagle. &#8220;I&#8217;ll be glad to give the sketch to
+you if it comes back,&#8221; said Baldy, coolly, &#8220;but I
+rather think it will stick.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was, in a way, a dreadful moment for Towne.
+There was young Baldwin sitting on the edge of
+the table, swinging a leg, debonair, defiant. And
+Edith laughing in her sleeve. Frederick knew that
+she was laughing. He was as red as a turkey cock.</p>
+
+<p>It was Jane who saved him from apoplexy. She
+was really inordinately proud of Baldy, but she
+knew the dangers of his mood. And she had her
+duties as hostess.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy wants to see himself on the news stands,&#8221;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
+she said, soothingly; &#8220;don&#8217;t deprive him of that
+pleasure, Mr. Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing of the kind, Jane,&#8221; exclaimed her
+brother.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy, I won&#8217;t quarrel with you before people.
+We must reserve that pleasure until we are alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not quarrelling.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane held up a protesting hand. &#8220;Oh, let&#8217;s run
+away from him, Mr. Towne. When he begins like
+that, there&#8217;s no end to it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She carried Frederick back to the house, and
+Evans, looking after them, said vindictively to Hallam,
+&#8220;Old Midas got his that time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Hallam chuckled. &#8220;You don&#8217;t hate him, do
+you? Evans, don&#8217;t let him have Jane. He isn&#8217;t
+worth it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Neither am I,&#8221; said Evans. &#8220;But I would
+know better how to make her happy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Back once more in the bright little living-room,
+Towne said to Jane, &#8220;May I have another cup of
+tea?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s cold.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t care. I like to see you pour it with
+your lovely hands.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She spread her hands out on the shining mahogany
+of the tea-table. &#8220;Are they lovely? Nobody
+ever told me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His hand went over hers. &#8220;The loveliest in the
+world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She sat there in a moment&#8217;s breathless silence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
+Then she drew her hands away. Touched a little
+bell. &#8220;I&#8217;ll have Sophy bring us some hot water.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sophy came and went. Jane poured hot tea with
+flushed cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>He took the cup when she handed it to him.
+&#8220;Dear child, you&#8217;re not offended?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not a child, Mr. Towne.&#8221; Her lashes were
+lowered, her cheeks flushed.</p>
+
+<p>He put his cup down and leaned towards her.
+&#8220;You are more than a child to me&mdash;a beloved
+woman. Jane, you needn&#8217;t be afraid of me....
+I want you for my wife!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her astonished eyes met his. &#8220;But we haven&#8217;t
+known each other a week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I couldn&#8217;t love you more if I had known you a
+thousand years.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Towne&mdash;please.&#8221; He was very close to her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Kiss me, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She held her slender figure away from him.
+&#8220;You must not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I must.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, really.... Please,&#8221; she was breathing
+quickly. &#8220;Please.&#8221; She was on her feet, the
+tea-table between them.</p>
+
+<p>He saw his mistake. &#8220;Forgive me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her candid eyes met his. &#8220;Mr. Towne, would
+you have acted like this ... with Edith&#8217;s
+friends?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith&#8217;s friends! The child&#8217;s innocence! Adelaide&#8217;s
+kisses went for a song. Eloise frankly offered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
+hers. Edith was saved by only some inner
+grace.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Jane, they are not worth your little finger. I
+put you above all. On a pedestal. Honestly. And
+I want you to marry me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I don&#8217;t love you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll make you. I have everything to give you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Had he? What of Robin Hood and Galahad?
+What of youth and youth&#8217;s audacity, high resolves,
+flaming dreams?</p>
+
+<p>She felt something of this subconsciously. But
+she would not have been a feminine creature had
+she not felt the flattery of his pursuit.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Jane, I&#8217;ll make life a fairy tale. We&#8217;ll travel
+everywhere. Sail strange seas. Wouldn&#8217;t you love
+it&mdash;all those countries you have never seen&mdash;and
+just the two of us? And all the places you have
+read about? And when we come home I&#8217;ll build
+you a house&mdash;wherever you say&mdash;with a great garden.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was eloquent, and the things he promised
+were woven into the woof of all her girlish imaginings.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I ought not to listen,&#8221; she said, tremulously.</p>
+
+<p>But he knew that she had listened. He was wise
+enough to leave it&mdash;there.</p>
+
+<p>He rose as he heard the others coming back.
+&#8220;Will you ride with me to-morrow afternoon?
+Don&#8217;t be afraid of me. I&#8217;ll promise to be good.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sorry. I&#8217;m to have tea in town with Evans.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>&#8220;Can&#8217;t you break the engagement?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t break engagements.&#8221; The cock of her
+head was like Baldy&#8217;s.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you don&#8217;t. Some day you&#8217;ll be breaking
+them for me.&#8221; But he liked her independence. It
+promised much that would be stimulating. And
+he would always be the Conqueror. He liked to
+think that he would be&mdash;the Conqueror.</p>
+
+<p>So he went away secure in the thought of Jane&#8217;s
+final surrender. There was everything in it for her,
+and the child must see it. Her hesitation was natural.
+She couldn&#8217;t, of course, come at the first
+crook of his finger. But she would come.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV<br />
+
+<small>A TELEGRAM</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">&#8220;Janey&mdash;&mdash;!&#8221;</span></p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Baldy.&#8221; Jane sat up in bed, dreams still in
+her eyes. She had been late in getting to sleep.
+There had been so much to think of&mdash;Frederick
+Towne&#8217;s proposal&mdash;the startling change in
+Evans&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a telegram. Open the door, dear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She caught up her dressing-gown and wrapped it
+around her. &#8220;A telegram?&#8221; She was with him
+now in the hall. &#8220;Baldy, is it Judy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. She&#8217;s ill. Asks if you can come on and
+look after the kiddies.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course.&#8221; She swayed a little. &#8220;Hold on to
+me a minute, Baldy. It takes my breath away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mustn&#8217;t be scared, old girl.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll be all right in ... a minute....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His arms were tight about her. &#8220;It seems as if
+I should go, too, Janey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you can&#8217;t. I&#8217;ll get things ready and ride
+in with you in the morning. I&#8217;ll pack my trunk
+if you&#8217;ll bring it down from the attic. I can sleep
+on the train to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And when he had brought it she made him go
+back to bed. The house was very still. Merrymaid,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
+waked by the unusual excitement, came up-stairs
+and sat, round-eyed, by Jane, watching her
+fold her scant wardrobe and purring a song of consolation.
+Jane found time now and then to stop
+and smooth the sleek head, and once she picked
+Merrymaid up in her arms, and the tears dripped
+on the old cat&#8217;s fur.</p>
+
+<p>Philomel sang very early the next morning. It
+was Baldy who made the coffee, and who telephoned
+Sophy and the Follettes. Mrs. Follette insisted
+that Baldy should stay at Castle Manor in Jane&#8217;s
+absence. &#8220;It will do Evans good, and we&#8217;d love to
+have him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So that was settled. And Evans came over while
+the young people were breakfasting.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t worry about anything,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Baldy
+and I will look after the chickens&mdash;and take the
+little cats over to Castle Manor. I&#8217;ll wrap them
+all in cotton wool rather than have anything happen
+to them. So don&#8217;t worry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The thing she worried about was Judy. &#8220;She
+told me in one of her letters that she wasn&#8217;t well.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy went to bring his car around, and Evans
+stood with his hand on the back of Jane&#8217;s chair,
+looking down at her. &#8220;You&#8217;ll write to me, Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, of course.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He shifted his hand from the chair back to her
+shoulder. &#8220;Dear little girl, if my blundering
+prayers will help you any&mdash;you&#8217;ll have them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She turned in her chair and looked up at him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
+She could not speak. Their eyes met, and once
+more Jane had that breathless sense of fluttering
+wings within her that lifted to the sun.</p>
+
+<p>Then Baldy was back, and the bags were ready,
+and there was just that last hand-clasp. &#8220;God
+bless you, Jane....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frederick Towne was at the train. He had been
+dismayed at the news of Jane&#8217;s departure. &#8220;Do
+you mean that you are going to stay indefinitely?&#8221;
+he had asked over the wire.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall stay as long as Judy needs me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frederick had flowers for her, books and a big
+box of sweets. People in the Pullman stared at
+Jane in the midst of all her magnificence. They
+stared too, at Towne, and at Briggs, who rushed in
+at the last moment with more books from Brentano.</p>
+
+<p>Edith and Baldy were on the platform. Edith
+had come down with Towne. So Frederick, alone
+with Jane, said, &#8220;I want you to think of the things
+we talked about yesterday&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please, not now. Oh, I&#8217;m afraid&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of me? You mustn&#8217;t be.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not of you&mdash;of everything&mdash;Life.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He took her hand and held it. &#8220;Is there anything
+else I can do for you? Everything I have
+is&mdash;yours, you know&mdash;if you want it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He had to leave her then, with a final close clasp
+of the hand. She saw him presently standing beside
+Baldy on the station platform&mdash;the center of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
+the eyes of everybody&mdash;the great Frederick
+Towne!</p>
+
+<p>As the city slipped away and she leaned her head
+against the cushions and looked out at the flying
+fields&mdash;it seemed a stupendous thing that a man
+like Towne should have laid his fortune at her feet.
+Yet she had no sense of exhilaration. She liked
+the things he had to offer&mdash;yearned for them&mdash;but
+she did not want him at her side.</p>
+
+<p>In her sorrow her heart turned to the boy who
+had stumbled over the words, &#8220;If my blundering
+prayers will help you&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She found herself sobbing&mdash;the first tears she
+had shed since the arrival of the telegram.</p>
+
+<p>When she reached Chicago, her brother-in-law,
+Bob Heming, met her. &#8220;Judy&#8217;s holding her own,&#8221;
+he said, as he kissed her. &#8220;It was no end good of
+you to come, Janey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you a nurse?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Two. Day nurse and night nurse. And a
+maid. Judy is nearly frantic about the expense.
+It isn&#8217;t good for her, either, to worry. That&#8217;s half
+the trouble. I tried to make her get help, but she
+wouldn&#8217;t. But I blame myself that I didn&#8217;t insist.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t blame yourself, Bob. Judy wouldn&#8217;t.
+She told me she could get along. And when Judy
+decides a thing, no one can change her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, times have been hard. And business bad.
+And Judy knew it. She&#8217;s such a good sport.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They were in a taxi, so when tears came into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
+Heming&#8217;s eyes, he made no effort to conceal
+them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m just about all in. You can&#8217;t understand
+how much it means to me to have you here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And now that I am here,&#8221; said Jane, with a
+gallantry born of his need of her, &#8220;things are going
+to be better.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The apartment was simply furnished and bore the
+stamp of Judy&#8217;s good taste. A friend had taken
+the children out to ride, so the rooms were very
+quiet as Jane went through them.</p>
+
+<p>Judy in bed was white and thin, and Jane wanted
+to weep over her, but she didn&#8217;t. &#8220;You blessed old
+girl,&#8221; she said, &#8220;you&#8217;re going to get well right
+away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The doctor thinks I may have to have an operation.
+That&#8217;s why I felt I must wire you.&#8221; Judy
+was anxious. &#8220;I couldn&#8217;t leave the babies with
+strangers. And it was so important that Bob
+should be at his work.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course,&#8221; said Jane; &#8220;do you think anything
+would have made me stay away?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Judy gave a quick sigh of relief. How heavenly
+to have Janey! And what a dear she was with her
+air of conquering the world. Jane had always been
+like that&mdash;with that conquering air. It cheered
+one just to look at her.</p>
+
+<p>The babies, arriving presently in a rollicking
+state of excitement over the advent of Auntie Jane,
+showed themselves delightful and adoring.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>&#8220;Junior,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;are you glad I&#8217;m here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you bring me anything?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Something&mdash;wonderful&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She opened her bag, and produced Towne&#8217;s box
+of sweets. &#8220;May I give him a chocolate, Judy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One little one, and just a taste for baby. Jane,
+where did you get that gorgeous box?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Frederick Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really? My dear, your letters have been tremendously
+interesting. Haven&#8217;t they, Bob?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her husband nodded. He was sitting by the bedside
+holding her hand. &#8220;Towne&#8217;s a pretty big
+man.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>In a moment of vaingloriousness, Jane wanted
+to say to them, &#8220;What do you think of your ugly
+duckling? Mr. Towne wants her to be his wife.&#8221;
+But of course she didn&#8217;t. Not before Bob. She&#8217;d
+tell Judy, later, of course.</p>
+
+<p>The nurse came in then, and Jane went with Bob
+and the babies to the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>Junior over his bread and milk was frankly
+critical. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t think you&#8217;d be so old. Mother
+said you&#8217;d play with me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can play splendid games, Junior.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Can you? What kind?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, there&#8217;s one about a pussy-cat. And I&#8217;m
+the big cat and you&#8217;re the little cat&mdash;and my name
+is Merrymaid.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is the little cat&#8217;s name?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>&#8220;We&#8217;ll have to find one. We can&#8217;t just call
+him Kitty, can we?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, we can. My name&#8217;s Kitty, and your name
+is Merrymaid, and&mdash;what do we do, Aunt Janey?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We drink milk,&#8221; promptly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;An&#8217; what else?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We play with balls&mdash;I&#8217;ll show you after dinner.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want you to show me now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His father interposed. &#8220;Aunt Janey&#8217;s tired.
+Wait till she&#8217;s had her dinner.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Junior drank his milk thoughtfully. &#8220;I&#8217;m a
+kitty&mdash;and you&#8217;re a cat. Why don&#8217;t you drink
+milk, too, Aunt Janey?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane smiled at Bob. &#8220;Do I have to answer all
+his questions?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whether you do or not, he&#8217;ll keep on asking.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But after dinner, Junior went to sleep in Jane&#8217;s
+arms, having been regaled on a rapturous diet of
+&#8220;The Three Bears&#8221; and &#8220;The Little Red Hen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;re such beauties, Judy,&#8221; said Jane, as she
+went back to her sister. &#8220;But they don&#8217;t look like
+any of the Barnes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, they&#8217;re like Bob, with their white skins and
+fair hair. I wanted one of them to have our coloring.
+Do you know how particularly lovely you are
+getting to be, Janey?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Judy, I&#8217;m not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, you are. And none of us thought it. And
+so Mr. Towne wants to marry you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>&#8220;How do you know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is in your eyes, dear, and in the cock of your
+head. You and Baldy always look that way when
+something thrilling happens to you. You can&#8217;t
+fool me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m not in love with him. So that&#8217;s that,
+Judy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But&mdash;it&#8217;s a great opportunity, isn&#8217;t it, Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose it is,&#8221; slowly, &#8220;but I can&#8217;t quite see
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, he&#8217;s too old for one thing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Only forty&mdash;&mdash;? Rich men don&#8217;t grow old.
+And he could give you everything&mdash;everything,
+Janey.&#8221; Judy&#8217;s voice rose a little. &#8220;Jane, you
+don&#8217;t know what it means to want things for those
+you love and not be able to have them. Bob did
+very well until the slump in business. But since
+the babies came&mdash;I have worked until&mdash;well, until
+it seemed as if I couldn&#8217;t stand it. Bob&#8217;s such a
+darling. I wouldn&#8217;t change <i>anything</i>. I&#8217;d marry
+him over again to-morrow. But I do know this,
+that Frederick Towne could make life lovely for
+you, and perhaps you won&#8217;t get another chance to
+marry a man like that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, don&#8217;t&mdash;don&#8217;t.&#8221; It seemed dreadful to Jane
+to have Judy talk that way, as if life had in some
+way failed her. Life mustn&#8217;t fail, and it wouldn&#8217;t
+if one had courage. Judy was sick, and things
+didn&#8217;t look straight.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>&#8220;See here, old dear,&#8221; Jane said, &#8220;go to sleep and
+stop thinking about how to make ends meet. That&#8217;s
+my job, and I&#8217;ll do it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And Judy slipping away into refreshing slumber
+had that vision before her of Jane&#8217;s young strength&mdash;of
+Jane&#8217;s gay young voice like the sound of silver
+trumpets....</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV<br />
+
+<small>EVANS PLAYS THE GAME</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Life</span> for Evans Follette after Jane went away
+became a sort of game in which he played, as he
+told himself grimly, a Jekyll and Hyde part. Two
+men warred constantly within him. There was
+that scarecrow self which nursed mysterious fears,
+a gaunt gray-haired self, The Man Who Had Come
+Back From the War. And there was that other,
+shadowy, elusive, The Boy Who Once Had Been.
+And it was the Boy who took on gradually shape
+and substance fighting for place with the dark giant
+who held desperately to his own.</p>
+
+<p>Yet the Boy had weapons, faith and hope. The
+little diary became in a sense a sacred book.
+Within its pages was imprisoned something that
+beat with frantic wings to be free. Evans, shrinking
+from the program which he compelled himself
+to follow, was faced with things like this. &#8220;Gee, I
+wish the days were longer. I&#8217;d like to dance
+through forty-eight hours at a stretch. Jane is
+getting to be some little dancer. I taught her the
+new steps to-night. She&#8217;s as graceful as a willow
+wand.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Well, a man with a limp couldn&#8217;t dance. Or
+could he?</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>A Thomas Jefferson autograph went therefore to
+pay for twenty dancing lessons. Would the great
+Democrat turn in his grave? Yet what were ink
+scratches made by a dead hand as against all the
+meanings of love and life?</p>
+
+<p>Evans bought a phonograph, and new records.
+He practised at all hours, to the great edification of
+old Mary, who washed dishes and scrubbed floors in
+syncopated ecstasies.</p>
+
+<p>He took Baldy and Edith to tea at the big hotels,
+and danced with Edith. He apologized, but kept
+at it. &#8220;I&#8217;m out of practice.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith was sympathetic and interested. She invited
+the two boys to her home, where there was a
+music room with a magical floor. Sometimes the
+three of them were alone, and sometimes Towne
+came in and danced too, and Adelaide Laramore
+and Eloise Harper.</p>
+
+<p>Towne danced extremely well. In spite of his
+avoirdupois he was light on his feet. He exercised
+constantly. He felt that if he lost his waist line
+all would be over. He could not, however, always
+control his appetite. Hence the sugar in his tea,
+and other indulgences.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy wrote to Jane of their afternoon frivols.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;You should see us! Eloise Harper dancing
+with Evans, and old Towne and his Adelaide! And
+Edith and I! We&#8217;re a pretty pair, if I do say it.
+We miss you, and always wish you were with us.
+Sometimes it seems almost heartless to do things<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
+that you can&#8217;t share. But it&#8217;s doing a lot for
+Evans. Queer thing, the poor old chap goes at it
+as if his life depended upon it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We are invited to dine with the Townes on
+Christmas Eve. Some class, what? By we, I
+mean myself and the Follettes. Edith and Mrs.
+Follette see a lot of each other, and Mrs. Follette
+is tickled pink! You know how she loves that sort
+of thing&mdash;Society with a big S.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There will be just our crowd and Mrs. Laramore
+for dinner, and after that a big costume ball.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall go as a page in red. And Evans will be
+a monk and sing Christmas carols. Edith Towne
+is crazy about his voice. He sat down at the piano
+one day in the music room, and she heard him.
+Jane, his voice is wonderful&mdash;it always was, you
+know, but we haven&#8217;t heard it lately. Poor old
+chap&mdash;he seems to be picking up. Edith says it
+makes her want to cry to see him, but she&#8217;s helping
+all she can.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, she&#8217;s a dear and a darling, Janey. And I
+don&#8217;t know what I am going to do about it. I have
+nothing to offer her. But at least I can worship
+... I shan&#8217;t look beyond that....</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And now, little old thing, take care of yourself,
+and don&#8217;t think we&#8217;re playing around and forgetting
+you, for we&#8217;re not. Even Merrymaid and the kit-cat
+look pensive when your name is mentioned.
+They share the library hearth with Rusty. The
+old fellow is on his feet now, not much the worse
+for his accident.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Love to Judy and Bob, and the kiddies. And
+a kiss or two for my own Janey.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Jane, having read the letter, laid it down with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
+sense of utter forlornness. Evans and Eloise
+Harper! Towne and his Adelaide! A Christmas
+costume ball! Evans singing for Edith Towne!</p>
+
+<p>Evans&#8217; own letters told her little. They were
+dear letters, giving her news of Sherwood, full of
+kindness and sympathy, full indeed of a certain
+spiritual strength&mdash;that helped her in the heavy
+days. But he had sketched very lightly his own
+activities.&mdash;He had perhaps hesitated to let her
+know that he could be happy without her.</p>
+
+<p>But Evans was not happy. He did the things he
+had mapped out for himself, but he could not do
+them light-heartedly as the Boy had done. For
+how could he be light-hearted with Jane away? He
+had moments of loneliness so intense that they
+almost submerged him. He came therefore upon
+one entry in his diary with eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Had a day with the Boy Scouts. Hiked up
+through Montgomery County. Caught some little
+shiners in the creek and cooked them. Grapes thick
+in the Glen. The boys were like small Bacchuses,
+and draped themselves in fruit and leaves. They
+are fine fellows. I have no patience with people
+who look upon boys as nothing but small animals.
+Why their dreams! And shy about them! Now
+and then they open their hearts to me&mdash;and I can
+see the fineness that&#8217;s under the outer crust.
+They lie under the trees with me, and we talk as
+we follow the road.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Boys&mdash;&mdash;! That was it! He&#8217;d get in touch with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
+them again. And he did. There were two, Sandy
+Stoddard and Arthur Lane, who came over and sat
+by the library fire with Rusty and the two cats, and
+popped corn, and wanted to hear about the war.</p>
+
+<p>At first when they spoke of it, Evans would not
+talk&mdash;but a moment arrived when he found flaming
+words to show them how he felt about it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know a lot of fellows,&#8221; said Sandy Stoddard,
+&#8220;who say that America wouldn&#8217;t have gone into it
+if she&#8217;d known a lot of things. And that most of
+the men who came back feel that they were just&mdash;fooled&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If they feel that way, they are fools themselves,&#8221;
+said Evans, shortly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, they&#8217;re all throwing bricks at us now,&#8221;
+said Sandy. &#8220;France and Great Britain, and the
+rest of them. When you read the papers you feel
+as if America was pretty punk&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sandy,&#8221; said Evans, slowly, reaching for the
+right words because this boy must know the truth&mdash;&#8220;America
+is never punk. We&#8217;re human, like the
+rest of the world. We&#8217;re selfish like everybody
+else. But we&#8217;re kind. And most of us still believe
+in God. I&#8217;ve gone through a lot,&#8221; he was flushed
+with the sense of the intimacy of his confession;
+&#8220;you boys can&#8217;t ever know what I&#8217;ve gone through
+unless you go through it some day yourselves. But
+every night I thank God on my knees that I was a
+part of a crusade that believed it was fighting for
+the right. Those of us who went in with that idea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
+came out of it with that idea. That&#8217;s all I can say
+about it&mdash;and I&#8217;d do it again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As he stood there on the hearth-rug, the boys
+gazed at him with awe in their eyes. They knew
+patriotic passion when they saw it, and here in this
+broken man was a dignity which seemed to make
+him a tower above them. They felt for the moment
+as if his head touched the stars.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t misunderstand me,&#8221; Evans continued;
+&#8220;war is hell. And most of us found horrors worse
+than any dreadful dream. But we learned one
+thing, that death isn&#8217;t awful. It is kind and beneficent.
+And there&#8217;s something beyond.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gee,&#8221; said Sandy Stoddard, &#8220;I&#8217;m glad you said
+that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Arthur Lane did not speak. He saw Evans
+through a haze of hero-worship. He saw him, too,
+with a halo of martyrdom. The glass of the photograph
+on the mantel had been mended. There was
+the young soldier handsome and brave in his uniform.
+And here was his ghost&mdash;come back to say
+that it was all&mdash;worth while....</p>
+
+<p>Association with these boys cleared up many
+things for Evans. They had ideals which must not
+be shattered. Not to their young eagerness must
+be brought the pessimism of a disordered mind&mdash;and
+tortured soul. They must have the truth.
+And the truth was this. That men who had laid
+down their lives to save others had seen an unforgetful
+vision. He wondered how many of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
+comrades, even now, in the cynicism of after-war
+propaganda would sacrifice the memory of that high
+moment....</p>
+
+<p>Besides the boys, Evans had another friend. He
+played a whimsical game with the scarecrow. He
+went often and leaned over the fence that shut in
+the frozen field. He hunted up new clothes and
+hung them on the shaking figure&mdash;an overcoat and
+a soft hat. It seemed a charitable thing to clothe
+him with warmth. In due time someone stole the
+overcoat, and Evans found the poor thing stripped.
+It gave him a sense of shock to find two crossed
+sticks where once had been the semblance of a man.
+But he tried again. This time with an old bathrobe
+and a disreputable cap. &#8220;It will keep you
+warm until spring, old chap....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The scarecrow and his sartorial changes became
+a matter of much discussion among the negroes.
+Since Evans&#8217; visits were nocturnal, the whole thing
+had an effect of mystery until the bathrobe proclaimed
+its owner. &#8220;Mist&#8217; Evans done woh&#8217; dat
+e&#8217;vy day,&#8221; old Mary told Mrs. Follette. &#8220;Whuffor
+he dress up dat ol&#8217; sca&#8217;crow in de fiel&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What scarecrow?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Old Mary explained, and that night Mrs. Follette
+said to her son, &#8220;The darkies are getting superstitions.
+Did you really do it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His somber eyes were lighted for a moment.
+&#8220;It&#8217;s just a whim of mine, Mumsie. I had a sort
+of fellow feeling&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>&#8220;How queer!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not as queer as you might think.&#8221; He went
+back to his book. No one but Jane should know
+the truth.</p>
+
+<p>And so he played the game. Working in his
+office, dancing with Edith and Baldy, chumming
+with the boys, dressing up the scarecrow. It seemed
+sometimes a desperate game&mdash;there were hours in
+which he wrestled with doubts. Could he ever get
+back? Could he? There were times when it
+seemed he could not. There were nights when
+he did not sleep. Hours that he spent on his
+knees....</p>
+
+<p>So the December days sped, and it was just a
+week before Christmas that Evans read the following
+in his little book. &#8220;Dined with the Prestons.
+Told father&#8217;s ham story.&mdash;Great hit. Potomac
+frozen over. Skated in the moonlight with
+Florence Preston.&mdash;Great stunt&mdash;home to hot
+chocolate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Once more the Potomac was frozen over. Florence
+Preston was married. But he mustn&#8217;t let the
+thing pass. The young boy Evans would have
+tingled with the thought of that frozen river.</p>
+
+<p>It was after dinner, and Evans was in his room.
+He hunted up Baldy. &#8220;Look here, old chap, there&#8217;s
+skating on the river. Can&#8217;t we take Sandy and
+Arthur with us and have an hour or two of it?
+Your car will do the trick.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy laid down his book. &#8220;I have no philanthropies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
+on a night like this. Moonlight. I&#8217;ll take
+you and the boys and then I&#8217;ll go and get Edith
+Towne.&#8221; He was on his feet. &#8220;I&#8217;ll call her up
+now&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The small boys were rapturous and riotous over
+the plan. When they reached the ice, and Evans&#8217;
+lame leg threatened to be a hindrance, the youngsters
+took him between them, and away they sailed
+in the miraculous world&mdash;three musketeers of good
+fellowship and fun.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy having brought Edith, put on her skates,
+and they flew away like birds. She was all in
+warm white wool&mdash;with white furs, and Baldy wore
+a white sweater and cap. The silver of the night
+seemed to clothe them in shining armor.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy said things to her that made her pulses
+beat. She found herself a little frightened.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re such a darling poet. But life isn&#8217;t in
+the least what you think it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do I think it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, all mountains and peaks and moonlight
+nights.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, it can be&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dear child, it can&#8217;t. I have no illusions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You think you haven&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was late when at last they took off their skates
+and Edith invited them all to go home with her.
+&#8220;We&#8217;ll have something hot. I&#8217;m as hungry as a
+dozen bears.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The boys giggled. &#8220;So am I,&#8221; said Sandy Stoddard.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
+But Arthur said nothing. His eyes were
+occupied to the exclusion of his tongue. Edith
+looked to him like some angel straight from heaven.
+He had never seen anyone so particularly lovely.</p>
+
+<p>So, packed in Baldy&#8217;s Ford, they made the
+journey. The two small boys had an Arabian
+Nights&#8217; feeling as they were led through the great
+hall with its balconies, thence to the huge kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>The servants had gone to bed, all except Waldron&mdash;who
+led the way, and offered his services.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, we&#8217;ll do it ourselves, Waldron,&#8221; Miss Towne
+told him. &#8220;Is Uncle Fred in?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, Miss Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, if he comes, tell him where we are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very good, Miss Towne,&#8221; and Waldron backed
+out impressively, the round eyes of the little boys
+upon him.</p>
+
+<p>Edith gave them the freedom of the amazing refrigerator,
+which was white as milk and as big as a
+house, and they brought forth with some hesitation
+viands which seemed as unreal as the rest of it&mdash;cold
+roast chickens with white frills on their legs,
+a plate of salad with patterns on top of it in red
+peppers and little green buttons which Evans said
+were capers&mdash;the remains of a glorified sort of
+Charlotte Russe&mdash;a castellated affair with candied
+fruits.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do they eat things like this every day?&#8221; Sandy
+asked Evans, with something like awe, &#8220;or am I
+dreamin&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>Evans nodded. &#8220;Some feast, isn&#8217;t it, old chap?&#8221;
+He was warmed by the radiance of the freckled
+boyish face.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Lane, always less talkative, had little to
+say. He was steeping himself in atmosphere. He
+had never been in a house like this. The kitchen
+with its panelled ceiling, its white enamel, its
+gleaming nickel, its firm, white painted furniture&mdash;its
+white and brown tiling. It was all as utterly
+fascinating as the things he read about in the fairy
+books.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now the kitchen,&#8221; he said at last to Towne,
+&#8220;what&#8217;s it so big for? Ain&#8217;t there only three of
+them in the family?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, there are six of us at home, and you could
+put four of our kitchens into this. And that refrigerator&mdash;it&#8217;s
+so big you could live in it. You
+know, Mr. Follette, it&#8217;s bigger than our scout
+tents.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, it is,&#8221; Evans smiled at him. &#8220;Well, when
+people have so much money, they think they need
+things.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d like it.&#8221; The boy was eager. &#8220;Wouldn&#8217;t
+you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not sure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gee&mdash;well, I am&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; and young Arthur went
+over to thrash it out with Sandy.</p>
+
+<p>Evans, left to himself, wondered. Did he want
+money? A great fortune? With Jane? The huge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
+silent house with all its servants? Jane, herself,
+trailing up the stairs in all the dazzling draperies
+imposed upon her by fashionable modistes? Jane,
+miles away from him at the end of that massive
+table in the great dining-room?</p>
+
+<p>Were these his dreams? For Jane?</p>
+
+<p>He knew they were not. When he thought of
+her, he thought of a little house. Of a living-room
+where a fire burned bright whose windows looked
+upon a little garden&mdash;crocuses and hyacinths in the
+spring, roses in June, snow in winter, with all the
+birds coming up for Jane to feed them. A library
+with books to the ceiling, and himself reading to
+Jane. A kitchen, a shining place, with a crisp
+maid to save Jane from drudgery. Two crisp
+maids, perhaps, some day, if there were kiddies.</p>
+
+<p>He asked no more than that. Why, it was all
+the world for a man....</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI<br />
+
+<small>THE COSTUME BALL</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">So</span> Christmas Eve came, and the costume ball at
+the Townes&#8217;. There were, as Baldy had told Jane,
+just six of them at dinner. Cousin Annabel was
+still in bed, and it was Adelaide Laramore who
+made the sixth. Edith had told Mrs. Follette
+frankly that she wished Adelaide had not been
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But she fished for it. She always does. She
+flatters Uncle Fred and he falls for it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy brought Evans and Mrs. Follette in his
+little Ford. They found Mrs. Laramore and Frederick
+already in the drawing-room. Edith had not
+come down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She is always late,&#8221; Frederick complained,
+&#8220;and she never apologizes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy, silken and slim, in his page&#8217;s scarlet, stood
+in the hall and watched Edith descend the stairs.
+She seemed to emerge from the shadows of the
+upper balcony like a shaft of light. She was all in
+silvery green, her close-clinging robe girdled with
+pearls, her hair banded with mistletoe.</p>
+
+<p>He met her half-way. &#8220;You shouldn&#8217;t have worn
+it,&#8221; he said at once.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The mistletoe? Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>&#8220;You will tempt all men to kiss you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Men must resist temptation.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, queens command,&#8221; he smiled at her,
+&#8220;and queens ask&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was doubtful of his meaning. &#8220;Do you
+think that I would ever ask for kisses?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You may. Some day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her blue eyes burned. &#8220;I think you don&#8217;t quite
+know what you are saying.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do, dear lady. But we won&#8217;t quarrel about
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She switched to less dangerous topics. &#8220;I&#8217;m late
+for dinner. Is Uncle Fred roaring?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;More or less. And Mrs. Laramore is purring.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They rather wickedly enjoyed their laugh at the
+expense of an older generation, and went in together
+to find Frederick icy with indignation.</p>
+
+<p>Waldron announced dinner, and Frederick with
+Mrs. Follette on his arm preceded the others.
+Baldy and Edith came last.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How many dances are you going to give me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not as many as I&#8217;d like. Being hostess, I shall
+have to divide myself among many.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Cut yourself up into little stars as it were.
+Well, you know what Browning says of a star?
+&#8216;Mine has opened its soul to me&mdash;therefore I love
+it&#8217;!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His tone was light, but her heart missed a beat.
+There was something about this boy so utterly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
+engaging. He had set her on a pedestal, and he
+worshipped her. When she said that she was not
+worth worshipping, he told her, &#8220;You don&#8217;t
+know&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was unusually silent during dinner. With
+Evans on one side of her and Baldy on the other
+she had little need to exert herself. Baldy was
+always adequate to any conversational tax, and
+Evans, in spite of his monk&#8217;s habit, was not austere.
+He was, rather, like some attractive young friar
+drawn back for the moment to the world.</p>
+
+<p>He showed himself a genial teller of tales&mdash;and
+capped each of Frederick&#8217;s with one of his own.
+His mother was proud of him. She felt that life
+was taking on new aspects&mdash;this friendship with the
+Townes&mdash;her son&#8217;s increasing strength and social
+ease&mdash;the lace gown which she wore and which had
+been bought with a Dickens&#8217; pamphlet. What more
+could she ask? She was serene and satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide, on the other side of Frederick Towne,
+was not serene and satisfied. She was looking
+particularly lovely with a star of diamonds in her
+hair and sheer draperies of rose and faintest green.
+&#8220;I am anything you wish to call me,&#8221; she had said
+to Frederick when she came in&mdash;&#8220;an &#8216;Evening
+Star&#8217; or &#8216;In the Gloaming&#8217; or &#8216;Afterglow.&#8217; Perhaps
+&#8216;A Rose of Yesterday&#8217;&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; she had put it
+rather pensively.</p>
+
+<p>He had been gallant but uninspired. &#8220;You are
+too young to talk of yesterdays,&#8221; he had said, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
+his glance had held not the slightest hint of gallantry.
+She felt that she had, perhaps, been unwise
+to remind him of her age.</p>
+
+<p>She was still more disturbed, when, towards the
+end of dinner, he rose and proposed a toast. &#8220;To
+little Jane Barnes, A Merry Christmas.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They all stood up. There was a second&#8217;s silence.
+Evans drank as if he partook of a sacrament.</p>
+
+<p>Then Edith said, &#8220;It seems almost heartless to
+be happy, doesn&#8217;t it, when things are so hard for
+her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide interposed irrelevantly, &#8220;I should hate
+to spend Christmas in Chicago.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was no response, so she turned to Frederick.
+&#8220;Couldn&#8217;t Miss Barnes leave her sister for
+a few days?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; he told her, &#8220;she couldn&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She persisted, &#8220;I am sure you didn&#8217;t want her to
+miss the ball.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I did my best to get her here. Talked to her
+at long distance, but she couldn&#8217;t see it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are so good-hearted, Ricky.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frederick could be cruel at moments, and her
+persistence was irritating. &#8220;Oh, look here, Adelaide,
+it wasn&#8217;t entirely on her account. I want her
+here myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She sat motionless, her eyes on her plate. When
+she spoke again it was of other things. &#8220;Did you
+hear that Delafield is coming back?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who told you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>&#8220;Eloise Harper. Benny&#8217;s sister saw Del at
+Miami. She is sure he is expecting to marry the
+other girl.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bad taste, I call it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Everybody is crazy to know who she is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have they any idea?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. Benny&#8217;s sister said he talked quite
+frankly about getting married. But he wouldn&#8217;t
+say a word about the woman.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hardly think he will find Edith heart-broken.&#8221;
+Towne glanced across the table. Edith was not
+wearing the willow. No shadow marred her lovely
+countenance. Her eyes were clear and shining
+pools of sweet content.</p>
+
+<p>Her uncle was proud of that high-held head. He
+and Edith might not always hit it off. But, by
+Jove, he was proud of her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, she&#8217;s not heart-broken,&#8221; Adelaide&#8217;s cool
+tone disturbed his reflections, &#8220;she is getting her
+heart mended.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are an attractive pair, little Jane and
+her brother. And the boy has lost his head.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Over Edith? Oh, well, she plays around with
+him; there&#8217;s nothing serious in it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be too sure. She&#8217;s interested.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What makes you insist on that?&#8221; irritably.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know the signs, dear man,&#8221; the cat seemed to
+purr, but she had claws.</p>
+
+<p>And it was Adelaide who was right. Edith had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
+come to the knowledge that night of what Baldy
+meant to her.</p>
+
+<p>As she had entered the ballroom men had
+crowded around her. &#8220;Why,&#8221; they demanded, &#8220;do
+you wear mistletoe, if you don&#8217;t want to pay the
+forfeit?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Backed up against one of the marble pillars, she
+held them off. &#8220;I do want to pay it, but not to any
+of you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her frankness diverted them. &#8220;Who is the
+lucky man?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is here. But he doesn&#8217;t know he is lucky.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They thought she was joking. But she was not.
+And on the other side of the marble pillar a page in
+scarlet listened, with joy and fear in his heart.
+&#8220;How fast we are going. How fast.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was dancing until midnight, then the curtains
+at the end of the room were drawn back, and
+the tree was revealed. It towered to the ceiling, a
+glittering, gorgeous thing. It was weighted with
+gifts for everybody, fantastic toys most of them, expensive,
+meaningless.</p>
+
+<p>Evans, standing back of the crowd, was aware of
+the emptiness of it all. Oh, what had there been
+throughout the evening to make men think of the
+Babe who had been born at Bethlehem?</p>
+
+<p>The gifts of the Wise Men? Perhaps. Gold
+and frankincense and myrrh? One must not judge
+too narrowly. It was hard to keep simplicities in
+these opulent days.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>Yet he was heavy-hearted, and when Eloise Harper
+charged up to him, dressed somewhat scantily
+as a dryad, and handed him a foolish monkey
+on a stick, she seemed to suggest a heathen saturnalia
+rather than anything Christian and civilized.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A monkey for a monk,&#8221; said Eloise. &#8220;Mr. Follette,
+your cassock is frightfully becoming. But
+you know you are a whited sepulchre.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Am I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course. I&#8217;ll bet you never say your prayers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She danced away, unconscious that her words
+had pierced him. What reason had she to think
+that any of this meant more to him than it did
+to her? Had he borne witness to the faith that was
+within him? And was it within him? And if not,
+why?</p>
+
+<p>He stood there with his foolish monkey on his
+stick, while around him swirled a laughing, shrieking
+crowd. Why, the thing was a carnival, not a
+sacred celebration. Was there no way in which he
+might bear witness?</p>
+
+<p>Edith had asked him to sing the old ballads,
+&#8220;Dame, get up and bake your pies,&#8221; and &#8220;I saw
+three ships a-sailing.&#8221; Evans was in no mood for
+the dame who baked her pies on Christmas day in
+the morning, or the pretty girls who whistled and
+sang&mdash;on Christmas day in the morning.</p>
+
+<p>When all the gifts had been distributed the lights
+in the room were turned out. The only illumination<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
+was the golden effulgence which encircled the
+tree.</p>
+
+<p>In his monk&#8217;s robe, within that circle of light,
+Evans seemed a mystical figure. He seemed, too,
+appropriately ascetic, with his gray hair, the weary
+lines of his old-young face.</p>
+
+<p>But his voice was fresh and clear. And the song
+he sang hushed the great room into silence.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;O little town of Bethlehem,</div>
+<div class="verse">How still we see thee lie,</div>
+<div class="verse">Above thy deep and dreamless sleep,</div>
+<div class="verse">The silent stars go by;</div>
+<div class="verse">Yet in thy dark streets shineth,</div>
+<div class="verse">The everlasting light,</div>
+<div class="verse">The hopes and fears of all the years</div>
+<div class="verse">Are met in thee to-night.&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>He sang as if he were alone in some vast arched
+space, beneath spires that reached towards Heaven,
+behind some grille that separated him from the
+world.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;For Christ is born of Mary,</div>
+<div class="verse">And gathered all above,</div>
+<div class="verse">While mortals sleep, the angels keep</div>
+<div class="verse">Their watch of wondering love.</div>
+<div class="verse">O, morning stars together</div>
+<div class="verse">Proclaim the holy birth!</div>
+<div class="verse">And praises sing to God the King</div>
+<div class="verse">And peace to men on earth.&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>And now it seemed to him that he sang not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
+that crowd of upturned faces, not to those men and
+women in shining silks and satins, not to Jane who
+was far away, but to those others who pressed close&mdash;his
+comrades across the Great Divide!</p>
+
+<p>So he had sung to them in the hospital, sitting up
+in his narrow bed&mdash;and most of the men who had
+listened were&mdash;gone.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;O, holy child of Bethlehem,</div>
+<div class="verse">Descend to us, we pray,</div>
+<div class="verse">Cast out our sin and enter in,</div>
+<div class="verse">Be born in us to-day.</div>
+<div class="verse">We hear the Christmas angels</div>
+<div class="verse">The great glad tidings tell:</div>
+<div class="verse">&#8216;Oh come to us, abide with us,</div>
+<div class="verse">Our Lord Emmanuel.&#8217;&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>As the last words rang out his audience seemed
+to wake with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>Then the lights went up. But the monk had
+vanished!</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Evans left word with Baldy that he would go
+home on the trolley. &#8220;I am not quite up to the
+supper and all that. Will you look after Mother?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course. Say, Evans, that song was top
+notch. Edith wants you to sing another.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you tell her I can&#8217;t? I&#8217;m sorry. But the
+last time I sang that was for the fellows&mdash;in
+France. And it&mdash;got me&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It got me, too,&#8221; Baldy confided; &#8220;made all this
+seem&mdash;silly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>So Evans left behind him all the youth and
+laughter and light-heartedness, and took the last
+trolley out to Castle Manor. He had a long walk
+after the ride, but the cold air was stimulating, the
+sky was full of stars and the night was very still.
+Oh, how good it was to be out in that still and star-lighted
+night!</p>
+
+<p>When he reached Castle Manor he passed the
+barn on his way to the house. He opened the door
+and looked in. There was a lantern, faintly lit,
+and he could see the cows resting on their beds of
+straw&mdash;great dim creatures, smelling of milk and
+hay&mdash;calm-eyed, inscrutable.</p>
+
+<p>He entered and sat down. He felt soothed and
+comforted by the tranquillity of the dumb beasts&mdash;the
+eloquent silence.</p>
+
+<p>He was glad he had escaped from the clamor of
+the costume ball&mdash;from Eloise and her kind.</p>
+
+<p>Yet the Man born at Bethlehem had not escaped.
+He had gone among the multitudes&mdash;speaking.</p>
+
+<p>Well ... it couldn&#8217;t be expected, could it,
+that men in these days would say to a girl like
+Eloise Harper, &#8220;For unto you is born this day in
+the city of David, a Saviour which is Christ the
+Lord&#8221;?</p>
+
+<p>People didn&#8217;t say such things in polite society
+... and if they didn&#8217;t, why not? And if they
+did, would the world listen?</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII<br />
+
+<small>NEWS FOR THE TOWN-CRIER</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was just before New Year&#8217;s that Lucy Logan
+brought a letter for Frederick Towne to sign, and
+when he had finished she said, &#8220;Mr. Towne, I&#8217;m
+sorry, but I&#8217;m not going to work any more. So
+will you please accept my resignation?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He showed his surprise. &#8220;What&#8217;s the matter?
+Aren&#8217;t we good enough for you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t that.&#8221; She stopped and went on, &#8220;I&#8217;m
+going to be married, Mr. Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Married?&#8221; He was at once congratulatory.
+&#8220;That&#8217;s a pleasant thing for you, and I mustn&#8217;t
+spoil it by telling you how hard it is going to be to
+find someone to take your place.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think if you will have Miss Dale? She&#8217;s
+really very good.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frederick was curious. What kind of lover had
+won this quiet Lucy? Probably some clerk or
+salesman. &#8220;What about the man? Nice fellow, I
+hope&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very nice, Mr. Towne,&#8221; she flushed, and her
+manner seemed to forbid further questioning. She
+went away, and he gave orders to the cashier to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
+that she had an increase in the amount of her
+final check. &#8220;She will need some pretty things.
+And when we learn the date we can give her a
+present.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So on Saturday night Lucy left, and on the following
+Monday a card was brought up to Edith
+Towne.</p>
+
+<p>She read it. &#8220;Lucy Logan? I don&#8217;t believe I
+know her,&#8221; she said to the maid.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She says she is from Mr. Towne&#8217;s office, and
+that it is important.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Now Josephine, the parlor maid, had a nice sense
+of the proprieties which she had learned from Waldron,
+who was not on duty in the front of the house
+in the morning. So she had given Lucy a chair in
+the great hall. Waldron had emphasized that business
+callers and social inferiors must never be ushered
+into the drawing-room. The grade below
+Lucy&#8217;s was, indeed, sent around to a side door.</p>
+
+<p>However, there Lucy sat&mdash;in a dark blue cape
+and a small blue hat, and she rose as Edith came up
+to her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, let&#8217;s go where we can be comfortable,&#8221;
+Edith said, and led the way through the gray and
+white drawing-room beyond the peacock screen, to
+the glowing warmth of the fire.</p>
+
+<p>They were a great contrast, these two women.
+Edith in a tea-gown of pale yellow was the last
+word in modishness. Lucy, in her modest blue,
+had no claims to distinction.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>But Lucy was not ill at ease. &#8220;Miss Towne,&#8221;
+she said, &#8220;I have resigned from your uncle&#8217;s office.
+Did he tell you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. Uncle Fred rarely speaks about business.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With characteristic straightforwardness Lucy
+came at once to the point. &#8220;I have something I
+must talk over with you. I don&#8217;t know whether I
+am doing the wise thing. But it is the only honest
+thing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t imagine what you can have to say.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No you can&#8217;t. It&#8217;s this&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; she hesitated,
+then spoke with an effort. &#8220;I am the girl Mr.
+Simms is in love with. He wants to come back and
+marry me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith&#8217;s fingers caught at the arm of the chair.
+&#8220;Do you mean that it was because of you&mdash;that
+he didn&#8217;t marry me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. He used to come to the office when he
+was in Washington and dictate letters. And we
+got in the way of talking to each other. He seemed
+to enjoy it, and he wasn&#8217;t like some men&mdash;who are
+just&mdash;silly. And I began to think about him a lot.
+But I didn&#8217;t let him see it. And&mdash;he told me afterward,
+he was always thinking of me. And the
+morning of your wedding day he came down to the
+office&mdash;to say &#8216;Good-bye.&#8217; He said he&mdash;just had to.
+And&mdash;well, he let it out that he loved me, and didn&#8217;t
+want to marry you. But he said he would have to
+go on with it. And&mdash;and I told him he must not,
+Miss Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>Edith stared at her. &#8220;Do you mean that what
+he did was your fault?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; Lucy&#8217;s face was white, &#8220;if you want to
+put it that way. I told him he hadn&#8217;t any right to
+marry you if he loved me.&#8221; She hesitated, then
+lifted her eyes to Edith&#8217;s with a glance of appeal.
+&#8220;Miss Towne, I wonder if you are big enough to
+believe that it was just because I cared so much&mdash;and
+not because of his money?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was a challenge. Edith had been ready to
+pour out her wrath on the head of this girl to whom
+she owed the humiliation of the past weeks, but
+there was about Lucy a certain sturdiness, a courage
+which was arresting.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You think you love him?&#8221; she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know I do. And you don&#8217;t. You never have.
+And he didn&#8217;t love you. Why&mdash;if he should lose
+every cent to-morrow, and I had to tramp the road
+with him, I&#8217;d do it gladly. And you wouldn&#8217;t.
+You wouldn&#8217;t want him unless he could give you
+everything you have now, would you? Would you,
+Miss Towne?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith&#8217;s sense of justice dictated her answer.
+&#8220;No,&#8221; she found herself unexpectedly admitting.
+&#8220;If I had to tramp the roads with him, I&#8217;d be bored
+to death.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think he knew that, Miss Towne. He told me
+that if he didn&#8217;t marry you, your heart wouldn&#8217;t be
+broken. That it would just hurt your pride.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith had a moment of hysterical mirth. How<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
+they had talked her over. Her lover&mdash;and her
+uncle&#8217;s stenographer! What a tragedy it had been!
+And what a comedy!</p>
+
+<p>She leaned forward a little, locking her fingers
+about her knees. &#8220;I wish you&#8217;d tell me all about
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know just what to tell. Except that
+we&#8217;ve been writing to each other. I said that we
+must wait three months. It didn&#8217;t seem fair to you
+to have him marry too soon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Fred&#8217;s stenographer sorry for her! &#8220;Go
+on,&#8221; Edith said, tensely.</p>
+
+<p>So Lucy told the simple story. And in telling it
+showed herself so naive, so steadfast, that Edith
+was aware of an increasing respect for the woman
+who had taken her place in the heart of her lover.
+She perceived that Lucy had come to this interview
+in no spirit of triumph. She had dreaded it, but
+had felt it her duty. &#8220;I thought it would be
+easier for you if you knew it before other people
+did.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith&#8217;s forehead was knitted in a slight frown.
+&#8220;The whole thing has been most unpleasant,&#8221; she
+said. &#8220;When are you going to marry him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I told him on St. Valentine&#8217;s day. It seemed&mdash;romantic.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Romance and Del! Edith had a sudden illumination.
+Why, this was what he had wanted, and
+she had given him none of it! She had laughed at
+him&mdash;been his good comrade. Little Lucy adored<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
+him&mdash;and had set St. Valentine&#8217;s day for the wedding!</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing small about Edith Towne.
+She knew fineness when she saw it, and she had a
+feeling of humility in the presence of little Lucy.
+&#8220;I think it was my fault as much as Del&#8217;s,&#8221; she
+stated. &#8220;I should never have said &#8216;Yes.&#8217; People
+haven&#8217;t any right to marry who feel as we did.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh,&#8221; Lucy said rapturously, &#8220;how dear of you
+to say that. Miss Towne, I always knew you were&mdash;big.
+But I didn&#8217;t dream you were so beautiful.&#8221;
+Tears wet her cheeks. &#8220;You&#8217;re just&mdash;marvellous,&#8221;
+she said, wiping them away.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I&#8217;m not.&#8221; Edith&#8217;s eyes were on the fire.
+&#8220;Normally, I am rather proud and&mdash;hateful. If
+you had come a week ago&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; Her voice fell
+away into silence as she still stared at the fire.</p>
+
+<p>Lucy looked at her curiously. &#8220;A week ago?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith nodded. &#8220;Do you like fairy tales? Well,
+once there was a princess. And a page came and
+sang&mdash;under her window.&#8221; The fire purred and
+crackled. &#8220;And the princess&mdash;liked the song&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh,&#8221; said Lucy, under her breath.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, that&#8217;s all,&#8221; said Edith; &#8220;I don&#8217;t know the
+end.&#8221; She stretched herself lazily. Her loose
+sleeves, floating away from her bare arms, gave the
+effect of wings. Lucy, looking at her, wondered
+how it had ever happened that Delafield could have
+turned his eyes from that rare beauty to her own
+undistinguished prettiness.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>She stood up. &#8220;I can&#8217;t tell you how thankful I
+am that I came.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re not going to run away yet,&#8221; Edith told
+her. &#8220;I want you to have lunch with me. Upstairs.
+You must tell me all your plans.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I haven&#8217;t many. And I really oughtn&#8217;t to
+stay.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not? I want you. Please don&#8217;t say no.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So up they went, with the perturbed parlor maid
+speaking through the tube to the pantry. &#8220;Miss
+Towne wants luncheon for two, Mr. Waldron. In
+her room. Something nice, she says, and plenty
+of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Little Lucy had never seen such a room as the
+one to which Edith led her. The whole house was,
+indeed, a dream palace. Yet it was the atmosphere
+with which her lover would soon surround her.
+She had a feeling almost of panic. What would
+she do with a maid like Alice, who was helping
+Josephine set up the folding-table, spread the
+snowy cloth, bring in the hot silver dishes?</p>
+
+<p>As if Edith divined her thought, she said when
+the maids had left, &#8220;Lucy, will you let me advise?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course, Miss Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t try to be&mdash;like the rest of us. Like Del&#8217;s
+own crowd, I mean. He fell in love with you because
+you were different. He will want you to
+stay&mdash;different.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I shall have so much to learn.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith was impatient. &#8220;What must you learn?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
+Externals? Let them alone. Be yourself. You
+have dignity&mdash;and strength. It was the strength in
+you that won Del. You and he can have a life together
+that will mean a great deal, if you will make
+him go your way. But you must not go his&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Lucy considered that. &#8220;You mean that the
+crowd he is with weakens him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mean just that. They&#8217;re sophisticated beyond
+words. You&#8217;re what they would call&mdash;provincial.
+Oh, be provincial, Lucy. Don&#8217;t be afraid. But
+don&#8217;t adopt their ways. You go to church, don&#8217;t
+you? Say your prayers? Believe that God&#8217;s in
+His world?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Lucy&#8217;s fair cheeks were flushed. &#8220;Why, of
+course I do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, we don&#8217;t&mdash;not many of us,&#8221; said Edith.
+&#8220;The thing you have got to do is to interest Del in
+something. Don&#8217;t just go sailing away with him
+in his yacht. Buy a farm over in Virginia, and
+help him make a success of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But he lives in New York.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course he does. But he can live anywhere.
+He&#8217;s so rich that he doesn&#8217;t have to earn anything,
+and his office is just a fiction. You must make him
+work. Go in for a fad; blooded horses, cows, black
+Berkshires. Do you know what a black Berkshire
+is, Lucy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I don&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, it&#8217;s a kind of a pig. And that&#8217;s the thing
+for you and Del. He really loves fine stock. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
+you and he&mdash;think of it&mdash;riding over the country&mdash;planning
+your gardens&mdash;having a baby or two.&#8221;
+Edith was going very fast.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It sounds heavenly,&#8221; said Lucy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then make it Heaven. Oh, Lucy, Lucy, you
+lucky girl&mdash;you are going to marry the man you
+love. Live away from the world&mdash;share happiness
+and unhappiness&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; She rose from the table
+restlessly, pushing back her chair, dropping her
+napkin on the floor. &#8220;Do you know how I envy
+you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She went to the window and stood looking out.
+&#8220;And here I sit, day after day, like a prisoner in a
+tower&mdash;and my page sings&mdash;that was the beginning
+of it&mdash;and it will be the end.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; Lucy was very serious, &#8220;you mustn&#8217;t let it
+be the end. You&mdash;you must open the window, Miss
+Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith came back to the table. &#8220;Open the window?&#8221;
+Her breath came fast. &#8220;Open the window.
+Oh, little Lucy, how wise you are....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When Lucy had gone, Alice came in and dressed
+Edith&#8217;s hair. She found her lady thoughtful.
+&#8220;Alice, what did they do with my wedding
+clothes?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was the first time she had mentioned them.
+Alice, sticking in hairpins, was filled with eager
+curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We put them all in the second guest-suite,&#8221; she
+said; &#8220;some of them we left packed in the trunks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
+just as they were, and some of them are hung on
+racks.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where is the wedding dress?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In a closet in a white linen bag.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, finish my hair and we will go and look
+at it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Alice stuck in the last pin. &#8220;The veil is over a
+satin roller. I did it myself, and put the cap part
+in a bonnet-box.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As they entered it, the second guest-suite was
+heavy with the scent of orange blooms. &#8220;How
+dreadful, Alice,&#8221; Edith ejaculated. &#8220;Why didn&#8217;t
+you throw the flowers away?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Annabel wouldn&#8217;t let me. She said you
+might not want things touched.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Silly sentimentality.&#8221; Edith was impatient.</p>
+
+<p>The room was in all the gloom of drawn curtains.
+The dresses hung on racks, and, encased in white
+bags, gave a ghostly effect. &#8220;They are like rows of
+tombstones, Alice.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Miss Towne,&#8221; said Alice, dutifully.</p>
+
+<p>The maid brought out the wedding dress and laid
+it on the bed.</p>
+
+<p>Edith, surveying it, was stung by the memory of
+the emotions which had swayed her when she had
+last worn it. It had seemed to mock her. She had
+wanted to tear it into shreds. She had seen her
+own tense countenance in the mirror, as she had
+controlled herself before Alice. Then, when the
+maid had left, she had thrown herself on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
+bed, and had writhed in an agony of humiliation.</p>
+
+<p>And now all her anger was gone. She didn&#8217;t hate
+Del. She didn&#8217;t hate Lucy. She even thought of
+Uncle Fred with charity. And the wedding gown
+was, after all, a robe for a princess who married
+a king. Not a robe for a princess who loved a
+page. A tender smile softened her face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Alice,&#8221; she said, suddenly, &#8220;wasn&#8217;t there a little
+heliotrope dinner frock among my trousseau
+things?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Miss Towne. Informal.&#8221; Alice hunted
+in the third row of tombstones until she found it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want long sleeves put in it. Will you tell
+Hardinger, and have him send a hat to match?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Miss Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The heliotrope frock had simple and lovely lines.
+It floated in sheer beauty from the maid&#8217;s hands as
+she held it up. &#8220;There isn&#8217;t a prettier one in the
+whole lot, Miss Edith.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I like it,&#8221; the fragrance of heliotrope was
+wafted from hidden sachets, &#8220;and as for the wedding
+gown,&#8221; Edith eyed it thoughtfully, &#8220;pack it
+in a box with the veil and the rest of the things. I
+want Briggs to take it with the note to an address
+that I will give him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, Miss Towne.&#8221; Alice was much interested
+in the address. She studied it when, later,
+she carried the box and the note down to Briggs.</p>
+
+<p>Edith, having dispatched the box with a charming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
+note to Lucy Logan, had a feeling of ecstatic
+freedom. All the hurt and humiliation of the bridal
+episode had departed. She didn&#8217;t care what
+the world thought of her. Her desertion by Del
+had been material for a day&#8217;s gossip&mdash;then other
+things had filled the papers, had been headlined
+and emphasized. And what difference did it all
+make?</p>
+
+<p>The things that mattered were those of which
+she had talked to Lucy. An old house&mdash;mutual
+interests, all the rest of it. &#8220;I would tramp the
+road with him,&#8221; little Lucy had said. That was
+love&mdash;to count nothing hard but the lack of it.</p>
+
+<p>She was called to the telephone, and found Eloise
+Harper at the other end. &#8220;Delafield is coming
+back,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Benny has had a letter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Darling town-crier,&#8221; said Edith, &#8220;you are late
+with your news.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean by town-crier?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s what we call you, dearest.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, do you?&#8221; dubiously. &#8220;Well, anyhow,
+Delafield is on his way back, and he is going to be
+married as soon as he gets here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But he isn&#8217;t. Not until February.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How do you know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The bride told me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who?&#8221; incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The bride.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Eloise gasped. &#8220;Edith, do you know who she
+is?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>&#8220;I do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear, I can&#8217;t. The whole world would know
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I swear I&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t swear, Eloise. You might perjure yourself,&#8221;
+and Edith hung up the receiver.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVIII<br />
+
+<small>AN INTERLUDE</small></h2></div>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p class="right"><i>The day after Christmas.</i></p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">&#8220;Baldy,</span> darling: The operation is over, and
+the doctor gives us hope. That is the best I can tell
+you. I haven&#8217;t been allowed to see Judy, though
+they have let Bob have a peep at her, and she
+smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can imagine that we have had little heart
+for good times. But the babies had a beautiful
+Christmas Day, with a tree&mdash;and stockings hung
+above the gas logs. How I longed for our own little
+wood fire, but the blessed darlings didn&#8217;t know
+the difference. We couldn&#8217;t spend much money,
+which was fortunate. The things that came from
+the east were so perfect. Yours, honey-boy, only
+you shouldn&#8217;t have made the check so large. I
+shan&#8217;t spend it unless it is very necessary. Mr.
+Towne sent flowers, loads of them&mdash;and perfectly
+marvellous chocolates in a box of gold lacquer&mdash;and
+Edith sent a string of carved ivory beads, and
+there was a blue Keats from Evans, and a ducky
+orange scarf from Mrs. Follette.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish you could have seen the babies. Julia
+staggered around the tree on her uncertain little
+feet as if she were drunk, and then settled down to
+an adorable stuffed bunny, and Junior had eyes
+for nothing but the red automobile that the Townes
+ordered for him. I think it was dear of Edith and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
+her uncle. Junior is such a charming chap, with
+beautiful manners like his dad, but with a will of
+his own at times.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I roasted a chicken for dinner, and&mdash;well, we
+got through it all. And now the babies are in bed,
+and Bob is at the hospital, and I am writing to you.
+But my heart is tight with fear.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mustn&#8217;t think about Judy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Give my love to everybody. I have had Christmas
+letters from Evans and Edith and Mr. Towne.
+Baldy, Mr. Towne wants to marry me. I haven&#8217;t
+told you before. It is rather like a dream and I&#8217;m
+not going to think about it. I don&#8217;t love him, and
+so, of course, that settles it. But he says he can
+make me, and, Baldy, sometimes I wish that he
+could. It would be such a heavenly thing for the
+whole family. Of course that isn&#8217;t the way to look
+at it, but I believe Judy wants it. She believes in
+love in a cottage, but she says that love in a palace
+might be equally satisfying, with fewer things to
+worry about.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Somehow that doesn&#8217;t fit in with the things
+I&#8217;ve dreamed. But dreams, of course, aren&#8217;t everything....</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I had to tell you, dear old boy. Because we&#8217;ve
+never kept things from each other. And you&#8217;ve
+been so perfectly frank about Edith. Are things
+a bit blue in that direction? Your letter sounded
+like it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Be good to yourself, old dear, and love me more
+than ever.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Jane signed her name and stood up, stretching
+her arms above her head. It was late and she was
+very tired. A great storm was shaking the windows.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
+The wind from the lake beat against the
+walls with the boom of guns.</p>
+
+<p>Jane pulled back the curtains&mdash;there was snow
+with the storm&mdash;it whirled in papery shreds on the
+shaft of light. All sounds in the street were muffled.
+She had a sense of suffocation&mdash;as if the
+storm pressed upon her&mdash;shutting her in.</p>
+
+<p>She went into the next room and looked at the
+babies. Oh, what would they do if anything happened
+to Judy? What would Bob do? She dared
+not look ahead.</p>
+
+<p>She walked the floor, a tense little figure, fighting
+against fear. The storm had become a whistling
+pandemonium. She gave a cry of relief
+when the door opened and her brother-in-law
+entered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m half-frozen, Janey. It was a fight to get
+through. The cars are stopped on all the surface
+lines.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How is Judy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Holding her own. And by the way, Janey,
+that friend of yours, Towne, sent another bunch of
+roses. Pretty fine, I call it. She&#8217;s no end pleased.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s nice of him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gee, I wish I had his money.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Money isn&#8217;t everything, Bobby.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It means a lot at a time like this.&#8221; His face
+wore a worried frown. Jane knew that Judy&#8217;s
+hospital expenses were appalling, and bills were
+piling up.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>&#8220;I work like a nigger,&#8221; Bob said, ruefully, &#8220;and
+we&#8217;ve never been in debt before.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When Judy is well, things will seem brighter,
+Bob.&#8221; She laid her hand on his arm.</p>
+
+<p>He looked up at her and there was fear in his
+eyes. &#8220;Jane, she must get well. I can&#8217;t face losing
+her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We mustn&#8217;t think of that. And now come on
+out in the kitchen and I&#8217;ll make you some coffee.&#8221;
+Jane was always practical. She knew that,
+warmed and fed, he would see things differently.</p>
+
+<p>Yet in spite of her philosophy, Jane lay awake
+a long time that night. And later her dreams were
+of Judy&mdash;of Judy, and a gray and dreadful phantom
+which pursued....</p>
+
+<p>The next day she went to the hospital and took
+Junior with her.</p>
+
+<p>When he saw his mother in bed, Junior asked,
+&#8220;Do you like it, Mother-dear?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Like what, darling?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sleeping in the daytime?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t always sleep.&#8221; She looked at Jane.
+&#8220;Does little Julia miss me? I think about her in
+the night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane knew what Judy&#8217;s heart wanted. &#8220;She does
+miss you. I know it when she turns away from
+me. Perhaps I oughtn&#8217;t to tell you. But I thought
+you&#8217;d rather know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do want to know,&#8221; said Judy, feverishly. &#8220;I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
+don&#8217;t want them to forget. Jane, you mustn&#8217;t ever
+let them&mdash;forget.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane felt as if she had been struck a stunning
+blow. She was, for a moment, in the midst of a
+dizzy universe, in which only one thing was clear.
+<i>Judy wasn&#8217;t sure of getting well!</i></p>
+
+<p>Judy, with her brown eyes wistful, went on:
+&#8220;Junior, do you want Mother back in your own
+nice house?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you make cookies?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, darling.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I want you back. Aunt Janey made
+cookies, and she didn&#8217;t know about the raisins.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mother knows how to give cookie-men raisin
+eyes. Mothers know a lot of things that aunties
+don&#8217;t, darling.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I wish you&#8217;d come back.&#8221; He stood by the
+side of the bed. &#8220;I&#8217;d like to sleep with you to-night.
+May I, Mother-dear?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not to-night, darling. But you may when I
+come home.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But days passed and weeks, and Judy did not
+come home. And the first of February found her
+still in that narrow hospital bed. And it was in
+February that Frederick Towne wrote that he was
+coming to Chicago. &#8220;I shall have only a day, but
+I must see you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane was not sure that she wanted him to
+come. He had been very good to them all, and he
+had not, in his letter, pressed for an answer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
+unduly. But she knew if he came, he would
+ask.</p>
+
+<p>The next time she went to the hospital, she told
+Judy of his expected arrival. &#8220;To-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Jane, how delightful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is it? I&#8217;m not sure, Judy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It would be perfect if you&#8217;d accept him, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I&#8217;m not in love with him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Judy, rather austere, with her black braids on
+each side of her white face, said, &#8220;Janey, do you
+know that not one girl in a thousand has a chance
+to marry a man like Frederick Towne?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a breathless excitement about the invalid
+which warned Jane. &#8220;Now, darling, what
+real difference will it make if I don&#8217;t marry him?
+There are other men in the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bob and I were talking about it,&#8221; Judy&#8217;s voice
+was almost painfully eager, &#8220;of how splendid it
+would be for&mdash;all of us.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><i>For all of us.</i> Judy and Bob and the babies! It
+was the first time that Jane had thought of her
+marriage with Towne as a way out for Judy and
+Bob....</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>From his hotel at the moment of arrival, Towne
+called Jane up. &#8220;Are you glad I&#8217;m here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t say it that way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How shall I say it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As if you meant it. Do you know what a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
+frigid little thing you are? Your letters were like
+frosted cakes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She laughed. &#8220;They were the best I could do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t believe it. But I am not going to talk
+of that now. When can I come and see you? And
+how much time have you to spare for me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not much. I can&#8217;t leave the babies.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your sister&#8217;s children. Can&#8217;t you trust the
+maids?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Maids? Listen to the man! We haven&#8217;t any.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t mean to tell me that you are doing
+the housework.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, why not? I am strong and well, and the
+kiddies are adorable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We are going to change that. I&#8217;ll bring a
+trained nurse up with me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please don&#8217;t be a tyrant.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tut-tut, little girl,&#8221; she heard his big laugh
+over the telephone, &#8220;I&#8217;ll bring the nurse and someone
+to help her, and a load of toys to keep the kiddies
+quiet. When I want a thing, Jane, I usually
+get it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He and the nurse arrived together. A competent
+houseworker was to follow in a cab. Jane
+protested. &#8220;It seems dreadfully high-handed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They were alone in the living-room. Miss Martin
+had, at once, carried the kiddies off to unpack
+the toys.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick laughed. &#8220;Well, what are you going
+to do about it? You can&#8217;t put me out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>&#8220;But I can refuse to go with you&#8221;&mdash;there was
+the crisp note in her voice which always stirred him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you won&#8217;t do that, Jane.&#8221; He held out
+his hand to her, drew her a little towards him.</p>
+
+<p>She released herself, flushing. &#8220;I am not quite
+sure what I ought to do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why think of &#8216;oughts&#8217;? We will just play a
+bit together, Jane. That&#8217;s all. And you&#8217;re such a
+tired little girl, aren&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His sympathy was comforting. Everybody
+leaned on Jane. It was delightful to shift her burdens
+to this strong man who gave his commands
+like a king.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I am tired. And if the babies will be all
+right&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good. Now run in and see Miss Martin, and I
+think you&#8217;ll be satisfied.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane found Junior rapturous over a Noah&#8217;s Ark,
+with all the animals clothed in fur and hair, and
+the birds in feathers, and small Julia cuddled
+against the nurse&#8217;s white breast, bright-eyed with
+interest over the Three Kittens.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;ll be all right, Miss Barnes,&#8221; Miss Martin
+said, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>Jane sighed with relief. &#8220;It will seem good to
+play for a bit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You see how I get my way,&#8221; Frederick said, as
+he helped her into the big hired limousine. &#8220;I always
+get it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is rather heavenly at the moment,&#8221; Jane<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
+admitted, &#8220;but you needn&#8217;t think that it establishes
+a precedent.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wouldn&#8217;t it be always&mdash;heavenly?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not sure. You have the makings of a&mdash;Turk.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yet she laughed as she said it, and he laughed,
+too. He was really very handsome, ruddy and
+bright and big&mdash;and with that air of gay deference.
+She liked to sit beside him, and listen to the things
+he had to tell her. It was peaceful after all the
+strenuous days.</p>
+
+<p>She was aware that if she married Towne life
+would be always like this. A glorified existence.
+She would be like Curlylocks of the nursery
+rhyme....</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What are you smiling at?&#8221; Frederick demanded.
+His eyes as they met hers burned a bit.
+Jane was half-buried in a black fur robe&mdash;with
+only the white oval of her face and her little gray
+hat showing above it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nursery rhymes.&#8221; The smile deepened.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Which one?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Curlylocks.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t remember it. Oh, yes, by Jove, I do.
+She was the damsel who sat on a cushion and sewed
+a fine seam, and feasted on strawberries, sugar and
+cream?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good. That&#8217;s what I want to do for you. You
+know it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>&#8220;Yes. But it might be&mdash;monotonous.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What better thing could happen to you than to
+have someone take care of you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane sat up. &#8220;Oh, I want to <i>live</i>,&#8221; she said, almost
+with fierceness. &#8220;I&#8217;d hate to think my husband
+was just a sort of&mdash;feather cushion.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that the way you think of me?&#8221; His vanity
+was untouched. She didn&#8217;t, of course, mean it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. But love is life. I don&#8217;t want to miss
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You won&#8217;t miss it if you marry me. I swear
+it, Jane, I&#8217;ll make you love me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was in dead earnest. And in spite of herself
+she was swayed by his attitude of conviction.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, we mustn&#8217;t talk of it,&#8221; she said, a bit
+breathlessly. &#8220;I&#8217;d rather not, please.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They lunched at a charming French restaurant,
+where Frederick had dared Jane to eat snails. She
+acquiesced rather unexpectedly. &#8220;I have always
+wanted to do it,&#8221; she told him, &#8220;ever since I was a
+little girl and read Hans Andersen&#8217;s story of the
+white snails who lived in a forest of burdocks, and
+whose claim to aristocracy was that their ancestors
+had been baked and served in a silver dish.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They had a table in a corner. He ordered the
+luncheon expertly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t tell you how much I am enjoying it,&#8221;
+she said gratefully, as he once more gave her his
+attention.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you really like it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>&#8220;Immensely.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not have it for the rest of your life?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her color deepened. &#8220;Sometimes I think it
+would be&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; she hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Heavenly,&#8221; he finished the sentence for her.
+&#8220;Jane, you only have to say the word.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The waiter, with the first course, interrupted
+them. When he once more disappeared, Frederick
+persisted. &#8220;I&#8217;m going away to-morrow. Won&#8217;t
+you give me my answer to-night? After lunch I&#8217;ll
+take you home and you can rest a bit, and then I&#8217;ll
+come for you and we&#8217;ll dine together and see a
+play.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She tried to protest, but he pleaded. &#8220;This is
+my day. Don&#8217;t spoil it, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was nearly three o&#8217;clock when they left the
+table, and they had a long drive before them. Darkness
+had descended when they reached the house.
+It was still snowing.</p>
+
+<p>Bob was up-stairs, walking around the little
+room like a man in a dream.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t tell you,&#8221; he confided to Jane after
+Frederick had left, &#8220;how queer I felt when I came
+in and found Miss Martin with the babies, and that
+stately old woman in the kitchen. And everything
+going like clockwork. Miss Martin explained, and&mdash;well,
+Towne just waves a wand, doesn&#8217;t he,
+Janey, and makes things happen?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know that I ought to let him do so
+much,&#8221; Jane said.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>&#8220;Oh, why not, Janey? Just take the good the
+gods provide....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Before Frederick Towne reached his hotel he
+passed a shop whose windows were lighted against
+the early darkness. In one of the windows, flanked
+by slippers and stockings and a fan to match, was
+a French gown, all silver and faint blue, a shining
+wisp of a thing in lace and satin. Towne stopped
+the car, went in and bought the gown with its
+matching accessories. He carried the big box with
+him to his hotel. Resting a bit before dinner he
+permitted himself to dream of Jane in that gown,
+the pearls that he would give her against the white
+of her slender throat, the slim bareness of her arms,
+the swirl of a silver lace about her ankles&mdash;the
+swing of the boyish figure in its sheath of blue.</p>
+
+<p>He permitted himself to think of her, too, in
+other gowns. His thoughts of her frocks were all
+definite. He had exquisite taste. If he married
+Jane, he would dress her so that people would look
+at her, and look again. Even in her poverty, she
+had learned to express herself in the things she
+wore. His money would make possible even more
+subtle expression.</p>
+
+<p>So he thought of her in gray chiffon, black pearls
+in her ears&mdash;oh, to think of Jane in earrings!&mdash;with
+a touch of jade where the draperies swung loose&mdash;and
+with an oyster-white lining to the green cape
+which would cover the gown&mdash;a lynx collar up to
+her ears.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>Or a tea-gown of tangerine lace&mdash;with bands of
+sable catching the open sleeves at the wrist&mdash;or in
+white&mdash;Jane&#8217;s wedding dress must be heavy with
+pearls&mdash;she lent herself perfectly to medieval effects.</p>
+
+<p>His mind came back to the blue and silver. It
+hung on the bed-post, shimmering in the light from
+his lamp. He wondered if he offered it to Jane,
+would she accept? He knew she wouldn&#8217;t. Adelaide
+would have made no bones about it. There
+had been a lovely thing in black velvet he had given
+her, too, a wrap to match.</p>
+
+<p>But Jane was different. She would shrug her
+shoulders and with that charming independence,
+decline his favors, tilting her chin, and challenging
+him with her lighted-up eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Well, he liked her for it. Loved her for it. And
+some day she would wear the blue and silver frock.
+As he rose and put it back in the box, he seemed
+to shut Jane in with it. There hung about it the
+scent of roses. He knew of a rare perfume. He
+would order a vial of it for Jane. It merely hinted
+at fragrance.</p>
+
+<p>The evening stretched ahead of him, full of radiant
+promise. He knew Jane&#8217;s strength but he was
+ready for conquest.</p>
+
+<p>His telephone rang. And Jane spoke to him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Towne,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I can&#8217;t dine with you.
+But can you come over later? Judy is desperately
+ill. I&#8217;ll tell you more about it when I see you.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIX<br />
+
+<small>SURRENDER</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Bob</span> had cried when the news came from the hospital.
+It had been dreadful. Jane had never seen
+a man cry. They had been hard sobs, with broken
+apologies between. &#8220;I&#8217;m a fool to act like
+this....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane had tried to say things, then had sat silent
+and uncomfortable while Bob fought for self-control.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Martin had gone home before the message
+arrived. Bob was told that he could not see his
+wife. But the surgeon would be glad to talk to
+him, at eight.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I know what he&#8217;ll say,&#8221; Bob had said to
+Jane drearily, &#8220;that if I can get that specialist up
+from Hot Springs, he may be able to diagnose the
+trouble. But how am I going to get the money,
+Janey? It will cost a thousand dollars to rush him
+here and pay his fee. And my income has practically
+stopped. With all these labor troubles&mdash;there&#8217;s
+no building. And Judy&#8217;s nurses cost
+twelve dollars a day&mdash;and her room five. Oh,
+poor people haven&#8217;t any right to be sick, Janey.
+There isn&#8217;t any place for them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane&#8217;s face was pale and looked pinched.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
+&#8220;There&#8217;s the check Baldy sent me for Christmas,
+fifty dollars.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dear girl, it wouldn&#8217;t be a drop in the bucket.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know,&#8221; thoughtfully. &#8220;Bob, do they think
+that if that specialist comes it will save Judy&#8217;s
+life?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It might. It&mdash;it&#8217;s the last chance, Janey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Janey hugged her knees. &#8220;Can&#8217;t you borrow the
+money?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have borrowed up to the limit of my securities,
+and how can I ever pay?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her voice was grim. &#8220;We will manage to pay;
+the thing now is to save Judy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he tried, pitifully, to meet her courage.
+&#8220;If they&#8217;ll get the specialist, we&#8217;ll pay.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She had risen. &#8220;I&#8217;ll call up Mr. Towne, and tell
+him I can&#8217;t dine with him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, Janey, there&#8217;s no reason why you
+shouldn&#8217;t keep your engagement.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She had turned on him with a touch of indignation.
+&#8220;Do you think I could have one happy moment
+with my mind on Judy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Bob had looked at her, and then looked away.
+&#8220;Have you thought that you might get the money
+from Towne?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her startled gaze had questioned him. &#8220;Get
+money from Mr. Towne?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Oh, why not, Janey? He&#8217;ll do anything
+for you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But how could I pay him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>There had been dead silence, then Bob said,
+&#8220;Well, he&#8217;s in love with you, isn&#8217;t he?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mean that I can&mdash;marry him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Why not? Judy says he&#8217;s crazy about
+you. And, Jane, it&#8217;s foolish to throw away such a
+chance. Not every girl has it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, Bob, I&#8217;m not&mdash;in love with him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll learn to care&mdash;&mdash; He&#8217;s a delightful
+chap, I&#8217;d say.&#8221; Bob was eager. &#8220;Now look here,
+Janey, I&#8217;m talking to you like a Dutch uncle. It
+isn&#8217;t as if I were advising you to do it for our sakes.
+It is for your own sake, too. Why, it would be
+great, old girl. Never another worry. Somebody
+always to look after you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The wind outside was singing a wild song, a roaring,
+cynical song, it seemed to Jane. She wanted to
+say to Bob, &#8220;But I&#8217;ve always been happy in my
+little house with Baldy and Philomel, and the
+chickens and the cats.&#8221; But of course Bob could
+say, &#8220;You&#8217;re not happy now, and anyhow what are
+you going to do about Judy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><i>Judy!</i></p>
+
+<p>She had spoken at last with an effort. &#8220;I&#8217;ll tell
+him to come over after dinner. We can ride for a
+bit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not stay here? I&#8217;ll be at the hospital.
+And the storm is pretty bad.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She had looked out of the window. &#8220;There&#8217;s no
+snow. Just the wind. And I feel&mdash;stifled.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was then that she had called up Towne. &#8220;I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
+can&#8217;t dine with you.... Judy is desperately
+ill....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The houseworker had prepared a delicious dinner,
+but Jane ate nothing. Bob&#8217;s appetite, on the
+other hand, was good. He apologized for it. &#8220;I
+went without lunch, I was so worried.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane remembered her own lunch&mdash;how careless
+she had been for the moment, forgetting her heaviness
+of heart&mdash;served like a princess sheltered from
+every wind that blew!</p>
+
+<p>And all the rest of her life might be like that!
+It wouldn&#8217;t be so bad. She drank a cup of coffee,
+and then another. And Frederick had said that
+he could make her love him....</p>
+
+<p>In the center of the table were some roses that
+Towne had given her. She stuck one of them in
+her girdle.</p>
+
+<p>Bob finished his coffee, and stood up. &#8220;I must
+be going. Good luck to you, old girl....&#8221;
+His tone was almost cheerful. He walked around
+the table and touched his lips to her cheek.</p>
+
+<p>When she was alone, she went in and looked at
+the babies. Junior had taken some of the animals
+to bed with him, and they trailed over the white
+cover&mdash;tiny tigers and elephants, lions and giraffes.
+Little Julia hugged her doll. How sweet she was,
+and such a baby!</p>
+
+<p>And in the hospital Judy&#8217;s arms ached to enfold
+that warm little body: Judy&#8217;s heart beat with fear
+lest they should never enfold her again!</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>The bell rang. Jane, going to the door, found
+herself shaking with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick came in and took both of her hands in
+his. &#8220;I&#8217;m terribly sorry about the sister. Is there
+anything I can do?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head. She could hardly speak.
+&#8220;I thought if you wouldn&#8217;t mind, we&#8217;d go for a
+ride. And we can talk.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good. Get your wraps.&#8221; He released her
+hands, and she went into the other room. As she
+looked into the mirror she saw that her cheeks were
+crimson.</p>
+
+<p>She brought out her coat and he held it for her.
+&#8220;Is this warm enough? You ought to have a fur
+coat.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I shall be warm,&#8221; she said.</p>
+
+<p>As he preceded her down the stairs, Towne
+turned and looked up at her. &#8220;You are wearing
+my rose,&#8221; he told her, ardently; &#8220;you are like a
+rose yourself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She would not have been a woman if she had not
+liked his admiration. And he was strong and
+adoring and distinguished. She had a sense of
+almost happy excitement as he lifted her into the
+car.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where shall we drive?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Along the lake. I love it on a night like this.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The moon was sailing high in a rack of clouds.
+As they came to the lake the waves writhed like
+mad sea-monsters in gold and white and black.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>&#8220;Jane,&#8221; Frederick asked softly, &#8220;what made you
+wear&mdash;my rose?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She sat very still beside him. &#8220;Mr. Towne,&#8221; she
+said at last, &#8220;tell me how much&mdash;you love me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He gave a start of surprise. Then he turned
+towards her and took her hand in his. &#8220;Let me
+tell you this! there never was a dearer woman.
+Everything that I have, all that I am, is yours if
+you will have it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a fine dignity in his avowal. She liked
+him more than ever.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you love me enough&#8221;&mdash;she hurried over the
+words, &#8220;to help me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; He drew her gently towards him. There
+was no struggle. She lay quietly against his arm,
+but he was aware that she trembled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Towne, Judy must have a great specialist
+right away. It&#8217;s her only chance. If you will send
+for him to-night, make yourself responsible for&mdash;everything&mdash;I&#8217;ll
+marry you whenever you say.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stared down at her, unbelieving. &#8220;Do you
+mean it, Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Oh, do you think I am dreadful?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed exultantly, caught her up to him.
+&#8220;Dreadful? You&#8217;re the dearest&mdash;ever, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yet as he felt her fluttering heart, he released
+her gently. Her eyes were full of tears. He
+touched her wet cheek. &#8220;Don&#8217;t let me frighten
+you, my dear. But I am very happy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She believed herself happy. He was really&mdash;irresistible.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
+A conqueror. Yet always with that
+touch of deference.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you love me, Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not&mdash;yet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you will. I&#8217;ll make you love me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With keen intuition, with his knowledge, too, of
+women, he asked for no further assurance. He
+leaned back against the cushions of the car, and
+holding her hand in his, made plans for their future.
+He would get the ring to-morrow. He would
+come again in a week. As soon as Judy was better,
+he and Jane would be married.</p>
+
+<p>Then just before they reached home he asked for
+the rose. She gave it to him, all fading fragrance.
+He touched it to her lips then crushed it against
+his own.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Must I be content with this?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her quick breath told her agitation. He drew
+her to him, gently. &#8220;Come, my sweet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Oh, money, money. Jane learned that night the
+power of it!</p>
+
+<p>Coming in with Frederick from that wild moonlighted
+world, flushed with excitement, hardly
+knowing this new Jane, she saw Bob transformed
+in a moment from haggard hopelessness to wild
+elation.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick Towne had made a simple statement.
+&#8220;Jane has told me how serious things are, Heming.
+I want to help.&#8221; Then he had asked for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
+surgeon&#8217;s name; spoken at once of a change of
+rooms for Judy; increased attendance. There was
+much telephoning and telegraphing. An atmosphere
+of efficiency. Jane, looking on, was filled
+with admiration. How well he did things. And
+some day he would be her husband!</p>
+
+<p>Towne was, indeed, at his best. Deeply in love
+with her, all his generous impulses were quickened
+for her service. When at last he had gone, she
+went to bed, and lay awake almost until morning.
+Doubts crowded upon her. Her cheeks burned as
+she thought of the bargain she had made. He
+would pay her sister&#8217;s bills&mdash;and she would marry
+him. But it wasn&#8217;t just that! He was so tender,
+so solicitous. Jane had not yet learned that one
+may be in love with being loved, which is not in
+the least the same as loving. Against the benefits
+which Towne bestowed upon her, she could set only
+her dreams of Galahad, of Robin Hood! Of romantic
+adventure! Her memories&mdash;of Evans Follette.</p>
+
+<p>She sighed as she thought of him. He would be
+unhappy. Oh, darling old Evans! She cried a
+little into her pillow. She mustn&#8217;t think of him.
+The thing was done. She was going to marry Frederick
+Towne!</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XX<br />
+
+<small>PAPER LACE</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was two days after Jane promised to marry
+Frederick Towne that Evans bought a Valentine
+for her.</p>
+
+<p>The shops were full of valentines&mdash;many of them
+of paper lace&mdash;the fragile old-fashioned things that
+had become a new fashion. They had forget-me-nots
+on them and hearts with golden arrows, and
+fat pink cupids.</p>
+
+<p>Evans found it hard to choose. He stood before
+them, smiling. And he could see Jane smile as she
+read the enchanting verse of the one he finally selected:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;Roses red, my dear,</div>
+<div class="verse">And violets blue&mdash;</div>
+<div class="verse">Honey&#8217;s sweet, my dear,</div>
+<div class="verse">And so are you.&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>As he walked up F Street to his office, his heart
+was light. It was one of the lovely days that hint
+of spring. Old Washingtonians know that such
+weather does not last&mdash;that March winds must
+blow, and storms must come. But they grasp the
+joy of the moment&mdash;masquerade in carnival spirit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>&mdash;buy
+flowers from the men at the street corners&mdash;sweep
+into their favorite confectioner&#8217;s to order
+cool drinks, the women seek their milliner&#8217;s and
+come forth bonneted in spring beauty&mdash;the men
+drive to the links&mdash;and look things over.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, what a world it is&mdash;this world of Washington
+when Winter welcomes, for the moment,
+Spring!</p>
+
+<p>Evans wished that Jane were there to see. To
+let him buy flowers for her&mdash;ices. He wondered if
+the time would come when he might buy her a
+spring hat. Well, why not? If things went like
+this with him! He knew he was getting back. He
+could see it in the eyes of women. Where once
+there had been pity&mdash;was now coquettish challenge.
+He was having invitations. He accepted only a
+few, but they came increasingly.</p>
+
+<p>And clients came. Not many, but enough to
+point the way to success. He had sold more of the
+old books. His mother&#8217;s milk farm was becoming a
+fashionable fad.</p>
+
+<p>Edith Towne had helped to bring Mrs. Follette&#8217;s
+wares before her friends. At all hours of the day
+they drove out, Edith with them. &#8220;It is such an
+adorable place,&#8221; she told Evans, &#8220;and your&mdash;mother!
+Isn&#8217;t she absolutely herself? Selling
+milk with that empress air of hers. I simply love
+her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evans liked Edith Towne immensely. Even
+more than Baldy he divined her loneliness. &#8220;In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
+that great house there isn&#8217;t a soul for real companionship.
+Towne&#8217;s eaten up with egotism, and
+the cousin is an echo.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith asked herself out to dinner very often.
+&#8220;It is perfect with just the four of us,&#8221; she told
+Mrs. Follette, and that lady, flattered almost to
+tears, said, &#8220;Telephone whenever you can come and
+take pot-luck.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith had planned to have dinner with them to-night.
+Evans took an early train to Sherwood.
+When he reached home Edith and his mother were
+on the porch and the Towne car stood before the
+gate.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve got to go back,&#8221; Edith explained. &#8220;Uncle
+Fred came in from Chicago an hour or two ago
+and telephoned that he must see me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy will be broken-hearted,&#8221; Evans told her,
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I couldn&#8217;t get him up. I tried, but they said
+he had left the office. I thought I&#8217;d bring him out
+with me.&#8221; She kissed Mrs. Follette. &#8220;I&#8217;ll come
+again soon, dear lady. And you must tell me
+when you are tired of me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evans went to the car with her, and came back
+to find his mother in an exalted mood. &#8220;Now if
+you could marry a girl like Edith Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Edith</i>,&#8221; he laughed lightly. &#8220;Mother, are you
+blind? She and Baldy are mad about each other.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course she isn&#8217;t serious. A boy like that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Isn&#8217;t she? I&#8217;ll say she is.&#8221; Evans went charging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
+up the stairs to dress for dinner. &#8220;I&#8217;ll be down
+presently.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy may be late; we won&#8217;t wait for him,&#8221; his
+mother called after him.</p>
+
+<p>The dining-room at Castle Manor had a bare
+waxed floor, an old drop-leaf table of dark mahogany,
+deer&#8217;s antlers over the mantel, and some candles
+in sconces.</p>
+
+<p>Old Mary did her best to follow the rather formal
+service on which Mrs. Follette insisted. The food
+was simple, but well-cooked, and there was always
+a soup and a salad.</p>
+
+<p>It was not until they reached the salad course
+that they heard the sound of Baldy&#8217;s car. He
+burst in at the front door, as if he battered it down,
+stormed through the hall, and entered the dining-room
+like a whirlwind.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Jane&#8217;s going to be married,&#8221; he cried, &#8220;and
+she&#8217;s going to marry Frederick Towne!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evans half-rose from his chair. Everything
+turned black and he sat down. There was a loud
+roaring in his ears. It was like taking ether&mdash;with
+the darkness and the roaring.</p>
+
+<p>When things cleared he found that neither his
+mother nor Baldy had noticed his agitation. His
+mother was asking quick questions. &#8220;Who told
+you? Does Edith know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy threw himself in a chair. &#8220;Mr. Towne
+got back from Chicago this afternoon. Called me
+up and said he wanted me to come over at once to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
+his office. I went, and he gave me a letter from
+Jane. Said he thought it was better for him to
+bring it, and then he could explain.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He threw the note across the table to Mrs. Follette.
+&#8220;Will you read it? I&#8217;m all in. Drove like
+the dickens coming out. Towne wanted me to go
+home with him to dinner. Wanted to begin the
+brother-in-law business right away before I got my
+breath. But I left. Oh, the darned peacock!&#8221;
+Jane would have known Baldy&#8217;s mood. The tempest-gray
+eyes, the chalk-white face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But don&#8217;t you like it, Baldy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Like it? Oh, read that note. Does it sound
+like Jane? I ask you, does it sound like <i>Jane</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It did not sound in the least like Jane. Not the
+Jane that Evans and Baldy knew.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy, dear. Mr. Towne will tell you all about
+it. I am going to marry him as soon as Judy is
+better. I know you will be surprised, but Mr.
+Towne is just wonderful, and it will be such a
+good thing for all of us. Mr. Towne will tell you
+how dreadfully ill Judy is. He wants to do everything
+for her, and that will be such a help to Bob.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And so we will live happy ever after. Oh, you
+blessed boy, you know how I love you. Send a
+wire, and say that it is all right. Tell Evans and
+Mrs. Follette. They are my dearest friends and
+will always be.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>She signed herself:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p class="right"><span class="gap">&#8220;Loving you more than ever,</span><br />
+&#8220;<span class="smcap">Jane</span>.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>Mrs. Follette looked up from the letter, took off
+her reading glasses, and said complacently, &#8220;I
+think it is very nice for her.&#8221; The dear lady quite
+basked in the thought of her intimate friendship
+with the fianc�e of Frederick Towne.</p>
+
+<p>But the two men did not bask.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nice, for Jane?</i>&#8221; they threw the sentences at
+her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, can&#8217;t you see why she has done it?&#8221; Baldy
+demanded. He caught up the note, pointing an
+accusing finger as he read certain phrases. &#8220;<i>It
+will be such a good thing for all of us ... he
+wants to do everything for her ... it will be
+such a help to Bob....</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Doesn&#8217;t that show,&#8221; Baldy demanded furiously,
+&#8220;she&#8217;s doing it because Judy and Bob are hard up
+and Towne can help&mdash;I know Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evans knew her. Hadn&#8217;t he said to her not long
+ago, &#8220;You&#8217;d tie up the broken wings of every
+wounded bird.... You&#8217;d give crutches to the
+lame, and food to the hungry....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see why you should object,&#8221; Mrs. Follette
+was saying; &#8220;it will be a fine thing for her.
+She will be Mrs. Frederick Towne!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d rather have her Jane Barnes for the rest
+of her life. Do you know Towne&#8217;s reputation?
+Any woman can flatter him into a love affair. A
+fat Lothario.&#8221; Baldy did not mince the words.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But he hasn&#8217;t married any of them,&#8221; said Mrs.
+Follette triumphantly. She held to the ancient<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>
+and honorable theory that the woman a man marries
+need not worry about past love affairs since
+she had been paid the compliment of at least legal
+permanency.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But Jane,&#8221; Baldy said, brokenly, &#8220;you know
+her. She&#8217;s a child, a darling child. With all her
+dreams&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; He ran his fingers through his hair
+with the effect of a ruffled eagle.</p>
+
+<p>Evans&#8217; lips were dry. &#8220;What did you say to
+Towne?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, what <i>could</i> I say? That I was surprised,
+and all that. Something about hoping they&#8217;d be
+happy. Then I beat it and got here as fast as I
+could. I had to talk it over with you people
+or&mdash;burst.&#8221; His eyes met Evans&#8217; and found
+there the sympathy he sought. &#8220;It&#8217;s a rotten
+trick.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said Evans, &#8220;rotten.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think,&#8221; said Mrs. Follette, &#8220;that you must
+both see it is best.&#8221; Yet her voice was troubled.
+Through her complacency had penetrated the
+thought of what Jane&#8217;s engagement might mean to
+Evans. Yet, it might, on the other hand, be a blessing
+in disguise. There were other women, richer&mdash;who
+would help him in his career. And in time
+he would forget Jane.</p>
+
+<p>Old Mary gave them their coffee. &#8220;Shall we
+walk for a bit, Baldy?&#8221; Evans said, when at last
+they rose.</p>
+
+<p>The two men made their way towards the pine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
+grove. The twilight sky was a deep purple with a
+thin sickle of a moon and a breathless star.</p>
+
+<p>And there in the little grove under the purple
+sky Evans said to Baldy, &#8220;I love her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know. I wish to God you had her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps she has chosen wisely. Towne can
+make things&mdash;easy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you should hear what Edith says about
+him. He&#8217;s an old grouch around the house. And
+you know Janey? Like a bird&mdash;singing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><i>Like a bird singing!</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy,&#8221; Evans said, &#8220;I don&#8217;t agree with you
+that it was&mdash;the money. That may have helped in
+her decision. But I think she cares&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For Towne&mdash;nonsense.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t nonsense. She knows nothing of love.
+She may have taken the shadow for the substance.
+And he can be very&mdash;charming.&#8221; It wrung his
+heart to say it. But almost with clairvoyance he
+saw the truth.</p>
+
+<p>When they returned to the house Baldy found a
+message from Edith. He was to call her up.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Uncle Frederick has just told me,&#8221; she said,
+&#8220;that Jane is to be my aunt. Isn&#8217;t it joyful?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not sure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Towne&#8217;s all right. But not for Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I see. But he&#8217;s really in love with her, poor
+old duck. Talked about it all through dinner.
+He&#8217;s going to try awfully hard to make her happy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>&#8220;Then you approve?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He heard her gay laugh over the wire. &#8220;It will
+be nice&mdash;to have you&mdash;in the family. I&#8217;ll be your
+niece-in-law.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll be nothing of the kind.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can&#8217;t help being&mdash;Uncle Baldy. Isn&#8217;t that&mdash;delicious?
+And now, will you come in to-night
+and sit by my fire? Uncle Frederick is out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve sat too often by your fire.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Too often for your own peace of mind? I
+know that. And I&#8217;m glad of it.&#8221; Again he heard
+a ripple of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t a thing to laugh at.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She hesitated, then said in a different tone, &#8220;I
+am not laughing. But I want you by my fire to-night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was late when Evans went up-stairs. He had
+spent the evening with his mother, discussing with
+her some matters where his legal knowledge helped.
+They did not speak of Jane. Their avoidance of
+the subject showed their preoccupation with it.
+But neither dared approach it.</p>
+
+<p>On the bedside table in Evans&#8217; room lay the
+valentine he had bought for Jane. There it was,
+with its cupids and bleeding hearts&mdash;its forget-me-nots&mdash;and
+golden darts.</p>
+
+<p>Of course he could not send it now. He couldn&#8217;t
+ever send another valentine to Jane. She belonged
+to Towne.</p>
+
+<p>It didn&#8217;t seem credible. It was one of the things<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>&mdash;like
+war&mdash;that men refused to believe could ever
+happen. Yet it had happened.</p>
+
+<p>After this Jane would be out of his life&mdash;utterly.
+It was all very well to talk of friendship. But he
+wouldn&#8217;t be her friend. He didn&#8217;t want to see her.
+He didn&#8217;t want to hear her voice. He thought he
+should die when he had to meet her as Mrs. Frederick
+Towne.</p>
+
+<p>But what was he going to do without her?
+What...?</p>
+
+<p>He paced the room restlessly. Ahead of him had
+been always the hope that he might win her. And
+now, she was won, and not by him. It was&mdash;unthinkable.</p>
+
+<p>His excitement increased. The valentine seemed
+to mock him as it lay there fragile in its loveliness.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">&#8220;Roses red, my dear,</div>
+<div class="verse">And violets blue,</div>
+<div class="verse">Honey&#8217;s sweet, my dear....&#8221;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>He reached out his hand for it and tore it into
+shreds. Paper lace!... Paper lace!...</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXI<br />
+
+<small>VOICES IN THE DARK</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Arthur Lane</span> and Sandy talked it over. &#8220;I
+wonder what has happened. He looks dreadful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The two boys were on their way to Castle Manor.
+They wanted books. Evans&#8217; library was a treasure-house
+for youthful readers. It had all the old adventuring
+tales. And Evans had read everything.
+He would simply walk up to a shelf, lay his hand
+on a book, and say, &#8220;Here&#8217;s one you&#8217;ll like.&#8221; And
+he was never wrong.</p>
+
+<p>He had told them that the latch-string was always
+out for them. And they had learned to look
+for his welcome. Sometimes he asked them to stay,
+and &#8217;phoned to their parents. And then they
+popped corn before the library fire, or made taffy
+in the kitchen. And sometimes Baldy Barnes was
+there and that wonderful Miss Towne. And Mrs.
+Follette. The boys didn&#8217;t care in the least what
+the rest of Sherwood thought about Mrs. Follette.
+They liked her and when she made the taffy and
+stood over the boiling kettle with the big spoon in
+her hand, they thought her regal in spite of the
+humble nature of her occupation.</p>
+
+<p>But of late, Evans Follette had met them with an
+effort. &#8220;Look for yourselves,&#8221; he had said, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>
+they asked for books, and had sat staring into the
+fire. And he had not urged them to stay. His
+manner had been kind but inattentive. They were
+puzzled and a little hurt. &#8220;I feel sorta queer when
+he acts that way,&#8221; Sandy was saying, &#8220;as if he
+didn&#8217;t take any interest. I don&#8217;t even know
+whether he wants us any more.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Arthur refused to believe his hero inhospitable.
+&#8220;It&#8217;s just that he&#8217;s got things on his mind.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They reached the house and rang the bell. Old
+Mary let them in. &#8220;He&#8217;s in the library,&#8221; she said,
+and they went towards it. The door was open and
+they entered. But the room was empty....</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>That morning Baldy had had a letter from Jane
+and had handed it to Evans. It was the first long
+letter since her engagement to Towne. Baldy had
+written to his sister, flamingly, demanding to know
+if she was really happy. And she had said:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall be when Judy is better. That is all I
+can think of just now. Her life is hanging in the
+balance. We can never be thankful enough that
+we got the specialist when we did. He had found
+the trouble. The question now is whether she will
+have the strength for another operation. When
+she gets through with that! Well, then I&#8217;ll talk to
+you, darling. I hardly know how I feel. The days
+are so whirling. Mr. Towne has been more than
+generous. If the little I can give him will repay
+him, then I must give it, dearest. And it won&#8217;t be
+hard. He is so very good to me.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>And now this letter had come after Towne&#8217;s second
+visit:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy, dear, I am very happy. And I want
+you to set your mind at rest. I am not marrying
+Mr. Towne for what he has done for us all, but because
+I love him. Please believe it. You can&#8217;t
+understand what he has been to me in these dark
+days. I have learned to know how kind he is&mdash;and
+how strong. I haven&#8217;t a care in the world
+when he is here, and everything is so&mdash;marvellous.
+You should see my ring&mdash;a great sapphire, Baldy,
+in a square of diamonds. He is crazy to buy things
+for me, but I won&#8217;t let him. I will take things for
+Judy but not for myself. You can see that, of
+course. I just go everywhere with him in my cheap
+little frocks, to the theatres and to all the great
+restaurants, and we have the most delectable things
+to eat. It is really great fun.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Judy is so happy over the whole thing, that it
+is helping her to get well. She says she was half
+afraid to advise me, but she knew it was for my
+happiness. Bob simply walks on air. He says
+when business grows better, he will pay back every
+cent to Mr. Towne. And of course he must. But
+we haven&#8217;t any of us been made to feel that we
+ought to be grateful. Mr. Towne says that he simply
+held out a friendly hand when we needed it,
+and that&#8217;s all there is to it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, dearest dear, I wish I could hear Philomel
+sing o&#8217; mornings, and see Merrymaid and the
+kit-cat on the hearth, but best of all would be to
+have your own darling self on the other side of the
+table.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>Since he had heard the news of Jane&#8217;s approaching
+marriage, Evans had lived in a dream. The
+people about him had seemed shadow-shapes. He
+had walked and talked with them, remembering
+nothing afterward but his great weariness. He
+had eaten his meals at stated times, and had not
+known what he was eating. He had gone to his
+office, and behind closed doors had sat at his desk,
+staring.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing mattered. All incentive was gone. He
+spoke of Jane to no one. Not even to his mother.
+He had a morbid horror of hearing her name.
+When he came across anything that reminded him
+of her, he suffered actual physical pain.</p>
+
+<p>And now this letter! &#8220;You see what she says,&#8221;
+Baldy had raged. &#8220;Of course she isn&#8217;t in love with
+him. But she thinks she is. There&#8217;s nothing more
+that I can do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evans had taken the letter to the library to read.
+He was alone, except for Rusty, who had limped
+after him and laid at his feet.</p>
+
+<p>She loved&mdash;Towne. And that settled it. &#8220;I am
+marrying Mr. Towne because I love him.&#8221; Nothing
+could be plainer than that. Baldy might protest.
+But the words were there.</p>
+
+<p>As Evans sat gazing into the fire, he saw her as
+she had so often been in this old room&mdash;as a child,
+sprawled on the hearth-rug over some entrancing
+book from his shelves, swinging her feet on the
+edge of a table while he bragged of his athletic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>
+prowess; leaning over war-maps, while he pointed
+out the fields of fighting; curled up in a corner on
+the couch while he read to her&mdash;&#8220;<i>Oh, silver shrine,
+here will I take my rest....</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He could stand his thoughts no longer. Without
+hat or heavy coat, he stepped through one of the
+long windows and into the night.</p>
+
+<p>As he walked on in the darkness, he had no
+knowledge of his destination. He swept on and
+on, pursued by dreadful thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>On and on through the blackness.... No
+moon ... a wet wind blowing ... on
+and on....</p>
+
+<p>He came to a bridge which crossed a culvert.
+No water flowed under it. But down the road
+which led through the Glen was another bridge,
+and beneath it a deep, still pool.</p>
+
+<p>With the thought of that deep and quiet pool
+came momentary relief from the horrors which had
+hounded him. It would be easy. A second&#8217;s struggle.
+Then everything over. Peace. No fears. No
+dread of the future....</p>
+
+<p>It seemed a long time after, that, leaning against
+the buttress of the bridge, he heard, with increasing
+clearness, the sound of boys&#8217; voices in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>He drew back among the shadows. It was Sandy
+and Arthur. Not three feet away from him&mdash;passing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, of course, Mr. Follette is just a man,&#8221;
+Sandy was saying.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>&#8220;Maybe he is,&#8221; Arthur spoke earnestly, &#8220;but I
+don&#8217;t know. There&#8217;s something about him&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He paused.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Go on,&#8221; Sandy urged.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, something&#8221;&mdash;Arthur was struggling to
+express himself, &#8220;splendid. It shines like a
+light&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Their brisk footsteps left the bridge, and were
+dulled by the dirt road beyond. Sandy&#8217;s response
+was inaudible. A last murmur, and then silence.</p>
+
+<p>Evans was swept by a wave of emotion; his heart,
+warm and alive, began to beat in the place where
+there had been frozen emptiness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Something splendid&mdash;that shines like a light!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Years afterward he spoke of this moment to
+Jane. &#8220;I can&#8217;t describe it. It was a miracle&mdash;their
+coming. As much of a miracle as that light
+which shone on Paul as he rode to Damascus. The
+change within me was absolute. I was born again.
+All the old fears slipped from me like a garment.
+I was saved, Jane, by those boys&#8217; voices in the
+dark.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>The next day was Sunday. Evans called up
+Sandy and Arthur and invited them to supper.
+&#8220;Old Mary said you were here last night, and
+didn&#8217;t find me. I&#8217;ve a book or two for you. Can
+you come and get them? And stay to supper.
+Miss Towne will be here and her uncle.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The boys could not know that they were asked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
+as a shield and buckler in the battle which Evans
+was fighting. It seemed to him that he could not
+meet Frederick Towne. Yet it had been, of course,
+the logical thing to ask him. Edith had invited
+herself, and Towne had, of course, much to tell
+about Jane.</p>
+
+<p>Evans, therefore, with an outward effect of tranquillity,
+played the host. After supper, however, he
+took the boys with him to the library.</p>
+
+<p>On the table lay a gray volume. He opened it
+and showed the Cruikshank illustrations.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been reading this. It&#8217;s great stuff.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Pilgrim&#8217;s Progress,&#8221; said Sandy; &#8220;do you
+like it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; Evans leaned above the book where it
+lay open under the light. &#8220;Listen:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Then Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began
+to gather up close to Christian, and wrestling with
+him, gave him a dreadful fall: and with that, Christian&#8217;s
+sword flew out of his hand. Then said
+Apollyon, <i>I am sure of thee now</i>: and with that, he
+had almost prest him to death, so that Christian
+began to despair of life. But as God would have
+it, while Apollyon was fetching of his last blow,
+thereby to make a full end of this good Man, Christian
+nimbly reached out his hand for his Sword,
+and caught it, saying, <i>Rejoice not against me, O
+mine Enemy! when I fall, I shall arise</i>: and with
+that, gave him a deadly thrust, which made him
+give back, as one that had received his mortal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
+wound: Christian perceiving that, made at him
+again saying, <i>Nay, in all these things we are more
+than Conquerors, through him that loved us.</i> And
+with that, Apollyon spread forth his Dragon&#8217;s
+wings, and sped him away, that Christian saw him
+no more.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evans&#8217; ringing voice gave full value to the words.
+It seemed to Arthur, worshipping his hero, as if
+he flung a hurled defiance at some unseen foe&mdash;&#8220;<i>Rejoice
+not against me, O mine Enemy! when I
+fall, I shall arise!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yet when he looked up from the book Evans&#8217; eyes
+were smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would you like to take it home with you? It
+is a rare edition, but you know how to handle it.
+And I&#8217;d like to have you read it. Some day you
+may meet Apollyon. And may find it helpful. As
+I have.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Later as the boys walked home together, the
+precious volume under Arthur&#8217;s arm, Sandy said,
+&#8220;He&#8217;s more like himself, isn&#8217;t he? More pep.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll say he is,&#8221; but Arthur was not satisfied.
+&#8220;I wish he&#8217;d told us what he meant when he talked
+about meeting Apollyon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>That night Evans found out for the first time
+something about his mother. &#8220;You look tired,
+dearest,&#8221; he had said, when their guests were gone,
+and he and she had come into the great hall together.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>&#8220;I am tired.&#8221; She sat down on an old horsehair
+sofa. &#8220;I can&#8217;t stand much excitement. It makes
+me feel like an old lady.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll never grow old.&#8221; He felt a deep tenderness
+for her in this moment of confessed weakness.
+She had always been so strong. Had refused to
+lean. She had, in fact, taken from him his son&#8217;s
+prerogative of protectiveness.</p>
+
+<p>He laid his hand on her shoulder. &#8220;You&#8217;d better
+see Hallam.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve seen him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What did he say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My heart&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her in alarm. &#8220;Mother! Why
+didn&#8217;t you tell me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What was the use? There&#8217;s nothing to be worried
+about. Only he says I must not push myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am worried. Let me look after the men in
+the morning early. That will give you an extra
+nap.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I won&#8217;t do it, Evans. You have your
+work.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It won&#8217;t hurt me. And I am going to boss you
+around a bit.&#8221; He stooped and kissed her. &#8220;You
+are too precious to lose, Mumsie.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She clung to him. &#8220;What would I do without
+you, my dear?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He helped her up the stairs. And as she climbed
+slowly, his arm about her, he thought of that dark
+moment by the bridge.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>If those young voices had not come to him in the
+night, this loving soul might have been stricken
+and made desolate; left alone in her time of greatest
+need.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXII<br />
+
+<small>AT THE OLD INN</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> more the Washington papers had headlines
+that spoke of Delafield Simms. He had married
+a stenographer in Frederick Towne&#8217;s office. And
+it was Towne&#8217;s niece that he had deserted at the
+altar.</p>
+
+<p>And most remarkable of all, Edith Towne had
+been at the wedding. It was Eloise Harper who
+told the reporters.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They were married at the old Inn below Alexandria
+this morning, by the local Methodist clergyman.
+Miss Logan is a Methodist&mdash;fancy. And
+Edith was bridesmaid.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Eloise did not know that Lucy had worn the
+wedding dress and veil that Edith had given her
+and looked lovely in them. And that after the
+ceremony, Delafield had wrung Edith&#8217;s hand and
+had said, &#8220;I shall never know how to thank you
+for what you have been to Lucy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith&#8217;s candid eyes had met his squarely. &#8220;You
+know you are not half good enough for her, Del,&#8221;
+and he had said, humbly, &#8220;I&#8217;m not and that&#8217;s the
+truth. But I am going to do my darndest to be
+what she thinks I am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>Martha and her husband had served a delicious
+breakfast in the big empty dining-room. Only
+Edith and Baldy were there besides the bride and
+groom. Lucy had very sensibly refused to have
+any fuss and feathers. &#8220;If it is quiet, people won&#8217;t
+have so much to say about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Delafield&#8217;s manner to Lucy was perfect. &#8220;What
+do you think she has made me do?&#8221; he asked Edith.
+&#8220;Buy a farm in Virginia. We are going to raise
+pigs&mdash;black Berkshires, because Lucy likes the
+slant of their ears and the curl of their tails. She
+has been reading books about them, and we are
+going to spend our honeymoon motoring around
+the country and buying stock.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Oh, bravo, bravo, little Lucy, not to risk boring
+this fashionable young husband with a conventional
+honeymoon! Edith wanted to clap her hands. But
+she made no sign, except to meet Lucy&#8217;s quiet
+glance with a lift of the eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>Edith and Baldy lingered after the bride and
+groom had driven off in a great gray car&mdash;bound
+for the Virginia country place which Delafield had
+bought, and made ready for the occupancy in the
+twinkling of an eye.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gee, but you&#8217;re superlative,&#8221; Baldy told her as
+they walked in the garden.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Am I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. And the way you carried it off.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t carry it off. It carried itself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you sure it didn&#8217;t hurt?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>She smiled at him from beneath her big hat.
+&#8220;Not a bit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The box hedges in the garden were showing a
+hint of new green. There was a plum tree blooming
+prematurely. The sun made brown shadows
+along the river&#8217;s edge, and the wash of the waves
+from passing steamers went lip-lapping among the
+reeds and rushes.</p>
+
+<p>The moment was ripe for romance. But Baldy
+almost feverishly kept the conversation away from
+serious things. They had talked seriously enough,
+God knew, the other night by Edith&#8217;s fire. He had
+seen her lonely in the thought of her future.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When Uncle Fred marries I won&#8217;t stay here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He had yearned to take her in his arms, to tell
+her that against his heart she should never again
+know loneliness. But he had not dared. What
+had he to offer? A boy&#8217;s love. Against her
+gold.</p>
+
+<p>He told himself with some bitterness that one
+fortune was enough in a family. Jane&#8217;s engagement
+had changed things for her brother. The antagonism
+which Baldy had always felt for Frederick
+was intensified. The thought of Towne&#8217;s
+money weighed heavily upon him. Jane had already
+placed herself under insuperable obligations.
+Even if she wished, she could not now shake herself
+free.</p>
+
+<p>And Edith&#8217;s money? He and Jane living on the
+Towne millions? He wouldn&#8217;t have it.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>So he talked of Jane. &#8220;She doesn&#8217;t want her
+engagement announced until she gets back. I
+think she&#8217;s right.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t,&#8221; Edith said lazily. &#8220;If I loved a man
+I&#8217;d want to shout it to the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They were sitting on a rustic bench under the
+blossoming plum tree. Edith&#8217;s hands were clasped
+behind her head, and the winged sleeves of her
+gown fell back and showed her bare arms. Baldy
+wanted to unclasp those hands, crush them to his
+lips&mdash;but instead he stood up, looking over the
+river.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you see the ducks out there? Wild ones at
+that. It&#8217;s a sign of spring.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She rose and stood beside him. &#8220;And you can
+talk of&mdash;ducks&mdash;on a day like this?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he did not look at her, &#8220;ducks are&mdash;safe.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He heard her low laugh. &#8220;Silly boy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He turned, his gray eyes filled with limpid light.
+&#8220;Perhaps I am. But I should be a fool if I told
+you how I love you. Worship you. You know it,
+of course. But nothing can come of it, even if I
+were presumptuous enough to think that you&mdash;care.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She swept out her hands in an appealing gesture.
+&#8220;Say it. I want to hear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was adorable. But he drew back a little.
+&#8220;We&#8217;ve gone too far and too fast. It is my fault,
+of course, for being a romantic fool.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid we&#8217;re a pair of romantic fools,
+Baldy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He turned and put his hands on her shoulders.
+&#8220;Edith, I&mdash;mustn&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not until I have something to offer you&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have something to offer&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I know what you mean. But&mdash;I won&#8217;t.
+Somehow this affair of Jane&#8217;s with your uncle has
+made me see&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;See what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, how the world would look at it. How
+<i>he&#8217;d</i> look at it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Uncle Frederick? He hasn&#8217;t anything to do
+with it. I&#8217;m my own mistress.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know. But&mdash;&mdash; Oh, I can&#8217;t analyze it,
+Edith. I love you&mdash;no end. More than&mdash;anything.
+But I won&#8217;t ask you to marry me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know how selfish you are?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know how wise I am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She made an impatient gesture. &#8220;You&#8217;re not
+thinking of me in the least. You are thinking of
+your pride.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He caught her hand in his. &#8220;I <i>am</i> thinking of
+my pride. Do you suppose it is easy for me to let
+Jane&mdash;take money from him? To feel that there
+is no man in our family who can pay the bills? I
+am proud. And I&#8217;m glad of it. Edith&mdash;I want you
+to be glad that I won&#8217;t take&mdash;alms.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her wise eyes studied him for a moment. &#8220;You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
+blessed boy. You blessed poet,&#8221; she sighed, &#8220;I am
+proud of you, but my heart aches&mdash;for myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He caught her almost roughly in his arms and in
+a moment released her. &#8220;I&#8217;m right, dearest?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, you&#8217;re not right. If we married, we&#8217;d sail
+to Italy and have a villa by the sea. And you
+would paint masterpieces. Do you think my
+money counts beside your talent? Well, I don&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear, let me prove my talent first. As
+things are now, I couldn&#8217;t pay our passage to the
+other side.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You could. My money would be yours&mdash;your
+talent mine. A fair exchange.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stuck obstinately to his point of view. &#8220;I
+won&#8217;t tie you to any promise until I&#8217;ve proved myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And we&#8217;ll lose all these shining years.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We won&#8217;t lose a moment. I&#8217;m going to work
+for you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was, she perceived, on the heights. But she
+knew the weariness of the climb.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Coming out of the garden in the late afternoon,
+they were aware of other arrivals at the Inn.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Adelaide and Uncle Fred, by all the gods,&#8221; said
+Edith, as they peered into the dining-room from
+the dimness of the hall. &#8220;Oh, don&#8217;t let them see
+us. Adelaide&#8217;s such a bromide.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They crept out, found Baldy&#8217;s car and sped towards
+the city. &#8220;I should say,&#8221; Baldy proclaimed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
+sternly, &#8220;that for a man who is engaged, a thing
+like that is unspeakable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Uncle Fred and Adelaide,&#8221; said Edith,
+easily; &#8220;she probably asked him. And she was
+plaintive. A plaintive woman always gets her
+way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide had been plaintive. And she had hinted
+for the ride. &#8220;Why not an afternoon ride, Ricky?
+It would rest you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sorry. But I&#8217;m tied up.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I haven&#8217;t seen you for ages, Ricky.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know, old girl. I&#8217;ve had a thousand things.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve&mdash;missed you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It wasn&#8217;t easy for Frederick to ignore that.
+Adelaide was an attractive woman.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, well. I can get away at four. We&#8217;ll have
+tea at the old Inn.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Heavenly. Ricky, I have a new blue hat.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You could always wear blue.&#8221; He decided that
+he might as well make things pleasant. There was
+a shock in store for her. Of course he&#8217;d have to
+tell her about Jane.</p>
+
+<p>So Adelaide in the new blue hat&mdash;with a wrap
+that matched&mdash;with that porcelain white and pink
+of her complexion&mdash;with her soft voice, and appealing
+manner, had Frederick for three whole
+hours to herself.</p>
+
+<p>She told him all the spicy gossip. Frederick,
+like most men, ostensibly scorned scandal, but lent
+a willing ear. What Eloise had said, what Benny<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
+had said, what all the world was saying about Del&#8217;s
+marriage.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And they were married here to-day. I didn&#8217;t
+dream it until Eloise called me up just before
+lunch. Edith had told her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Edith was here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, and young Barnes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stopped there and poured the tea. She did
+it gracefully, but Frederick&#8217;s thoughts swept back
+to Jane behind her battlements of silver.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Four lumps, Ricky?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Um&mdash;yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A penny for your thoughts.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;re not worth a penny, Adelaide. Lots of
+lemon, please. And no cakes. I am trying to
+keep my lovely figure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, why worry? I like big men.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s nice of you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Martha&#8217;s little sponge cakes were light as a
+feather. Adelaide broke one and ate daintily.
+Then she said, &#8220;How&#8217;s little Jane Barnes?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frederick was immediately self-conscious.
+&#8220;She&#8217;s still in Chicago.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sister better?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When is she coming back?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Jane? As soon as Mrs. Heming can be brought
+home. In a few weeks, I hope.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide drank a cup of tea almost at a draught.
+She was aware of an impending disclosure. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>
+the blow came, she took it without the flicker of an
+eyelash.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am going to marry Jane Barnes, Adelaide.
+The engagement isn&#8217;t to be announced until she
+returns to Washington. But I want my friends to
+know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She put her elbows on the table, clasped her
+hands and rested her chin on them looking at
+him with steady eyes. &#8220;So that&#8217;s the end of it,
+Ricky?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The end of what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Our friendship.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why should it be?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, do you think that your little Jane is going
+to let you philander?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shan&#8217;t want to philander. If that&#8217;s the way
+you put it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So you think you&#8217;re in&mdash;love with her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know I am,&#8221; the red came up in his cheeks,
+but he stuck to it manfully. &#8220;It&#8217;s different from
+anything&mdash;ever that I&#8217;ve felt before.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They all say that, don&#8217;t they, every time?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be so&mdash;cynical.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She shrugged her shoulders. &#8220;I&#8217;m not. Well, I
+shall miss you, Ricky, dear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>That was all, just that plaintive note. But Adelaide&#8217;s
+plaintiveness was always effective.</p>
+
+<p>So after tea they walked in the garden, and sat
+under the plum tree, and looked out upon the river&mdash;where
+the shadows were rose-red in the setting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
+sun, and Adelaide said, &#8220;My life is like that&mdash;my
+sun has set.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frederick reached out a sympathetic hand.
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t say that, old girl.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide lifted his hand to her cheek. &#8220;This is
+really &#8216;good-bye,&#8217; isn&#8217;t it, Ricky? It seems rather
+queer to be saying it.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIII<br />
+
+<small>SPRING COMES TO SHERWOOD</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Jane</span> was home again. Judy was better. Philomel
+sang. The world was a lovely place.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, but it&#8217;s good to be back,&#8221; Jane was telling
+Baldy at breakfast. The windows were wide open,
+the fragrance of lilacs streamed in, there were pink
+hyacinths on the table.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s heavenly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy smiled at her. &#8220;The same old Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head, and the light in her eyes
+wavered as if some breath of doubt fanned it.
+&#8220;Not quite. The winter hasn&#8217;t been easy. I&#8217;m a
+thousand years older.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And with a wedding day ahead of you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Do you like it, Baldy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He leaned back in his chair and surveyed her.
+&#8220;Not a bit&mdash;if you want the truth&mdash;I shall be
+jealous of Mr. Frederick Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Silly. You know I shall never love anybody
+more than you, Baldy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was perfectly unconscious of the revelation
+she was making, but he knew&mdash;and was constrained
+to say, &#8220;Then you don&#8217;t really love him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I do. He&#8217;s much nicer than I imagined he
+might be.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>&#8220;Oh, well, if you think you are going to be
+happy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know I am&mdash;dearest,&#8221; she blew a kiss from
+the tips of her fingers. &#8220;Baldy, I&#8217;m going to have
+a great house with a great garden&mdash;and invite Judy
+and the babies&mdash;every summer.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Towne&#8217;s not marrying Judy and the babies.
+He&#8217;s marrying you. He won&#8217;t want all of your
+poor relations hanging around.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, he will. He has been simply dear. I feel
+as if I can never do enough for him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was very much in earnest. Baldy refrained
+from further criticism lest he cloud the happiness
+of her home-coming. The thing was done. They
+might as well make the best of it. So he said, &#8220;Do
+you always call him &#8216;Mr. Towne&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. He scolds, but I can&#8217;t say Frederick&mdash;or
+Fred. He begs me to do it&mdash;but I tell him to wait
+till we&#8217;re married and then I&#8217;ll say &#8216;dear.&#8217; Most
+wives do that, don&#8217;t they?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope mine won&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall want my wife to invent names for me,
+and if she can&#8217;t, I&#8217;ll do it for her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane opened her eyes wide. &#8220;Romance with a
+big R, Baldy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, of course. I should want to be king, lover,
+master&mdash;friend to the woman who cared for me.
+That&#8217;s the real thing, Janey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is it?&#8221; But she did not follow the subject up;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
+she drew another cup of coffee for herself, and
+asked finally, &#8220;When is Evans coming back?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not for several days. He will go to Boston
+when he finishes with New York.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I see. And he&#8217;s much better?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should say. You wouldn&#8217;t know him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He rose. &#8220;I must run on. We&#8217;re to dine at
+Towne&#8217;s then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Just the five of us. It seems funny that I
+haven&#8217;t met Cousin Annabel. But she&#8217;s able to
+take her place at the head of the table, Mr. Towne
+tells me. He told me, too, that she wants to meet
+me. But I have a feeling that she won&#8217;t approve
+of me, Baldy. I&#8217;m not fashionable enough.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why should you be fashionable? You are all
+right as you are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Am I? Baldy, I believe my stock has gone up
+with you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It hasn&#8217;t, Janey. You were always a darling.
+But I didn&#8217;t want to spoil you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As if you could,&#8221; she smiled wistfully. &#8220;Sometimes
+I have a feeling, Baldy, that I should like
+life to go on just as it is. Just you and me, Baldy.
+But of course it can&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course it can, if you wish it. You mustn&#8217;t
+marry Towne if you have the least doubt.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I haven&#8217;t any doubts. So don&#8217;t worry.&#8221; She
+stood up and kissed him. &#8220;Briggs will come out
+for me&mdash;and we are all to see a play together afterward.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>&#8220;Edith told me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy,&#8221; she had hold of the lapel of his coat,
+&#8220;how are things going with&mdash;Edith?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean, am I in love with her? I
+am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you going to marry her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;God knows.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him in surprise. &#8220;What makes
+you say it that way? Has she told you she didn&#8217;t
+care?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She has told me that she does care. But do
+you think, Janey, that I&#8217;m going to take her
+money?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He patted her on the cheek and was off. She
+went to the top of the terrace and watched him ride
+away. Then she walked in the little shaded grove
+behind the house. Merrymaid followed her and
+the much-matured kitten. There was a carpet underfoot
+of pine needles and of fragrant young
+growth. Several of her old hens scratched in the
+rich mould&mdash;and their broods of tiny chicks answering
+the urgent mother-cry were like bits of
+yellow down blown before a breeze.</p>
+
+<p>Jane picked a spray of princess-pine and stuck it
+in her blouse. Oh, what an adorable world! Her
+world. Could there be anything better that Frederick
+Towne could give her?</p>
+
+<p>Baldy&#8217;s words rang in her ears&mdash;&#8220;Do you think
+I am going to take her money?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yet she was taking Frederick Towne&#8217;s money.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
+She wished it had not been necessary. Each day
+it seemed to her that the thought burned deeper:
+she was under obligations to her lover that could
+be repaid only by marriage. And they were to be
+married in June.</p>
+
+<p>Yet why should the thought burn? She loved
+him. Not, perhaps, as Baldy loved Edith. But
+there were respect and admiration, yes, and when
+she was with him, she felt his charm, she was carried
+along on the whirling stream of his own adoration
+and tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>Yet&mdash;there were things to dread. She would
+have to meet his friends. Be judged by them.
+There would be formal entertaining. Edith had
+said once that the demand of society on women
+was really high-class drudgery. &#8220;Much worse
+than washing dishes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane didn&#8217;t quite believe that. Yet there must
+be a happy medium. Her dreams had had to do
+with a little house&mdash;a little garden.</p>
+
+<p>She went back to her own little house, and found
+a great box of roses waiting. She spent an hour
+filling vases and bowls with them. Old Sophy
+coming in from the kitchen said, &#8220;Looks lak dat
+Mistuh Towne&#8217;s jes&#8217; fascinated with you, Miss
+Janey.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Aren&#8217;t the roses lovely, Sophy?&#8221; Jane wanted
+to tell Sophy that Mr. Towne would some day be
+her husband. But she still deferred the announcement
+of her engagement.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>&#8220;I&#8217;ve told one or two people,&#8221; Frederick had
+said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whom?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, Adelaide. She&#8217;s such an old friend. And
+I told Annabel, of course. I don&#8217;t see why you
+should care, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think I&#8217;m afraid that when I go into a shop
+someone will say, &#8216;Oh, she&#8217;s going to marry Frederick
+Towne, and see how shabby she is.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are never shabby.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s because I made myself two new dresses
+while I was at Judy&#8217;s. And this is one of them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have the great art of looking lovely in the
+simplest things. But some day you are going to
+wear a frock that I have for you.&#8221; He told her
+about the silver and blue creation he had bought in
+Chicago. &#8220;Now and then I take it out and look at
+it. I&#8217;ve put it in your room, Jane, and it is waiting
+for you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She thought now of the blue and silver gown, as
+Sophy said, &#8220;Miss Jane, I done pressed that w&#8217;ite
+chiffon of yours twel it hardly hangs together.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll wear it once more, Sophy. I&#8217;m having a
+sewing woman next week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>With the old white chiffon she wore a golden rose
+or two&mdash;and sat at Frederick&#8217;s right, while on the
+other end of the great table, Cousin Annabel
+weighed her in the balance.</p>
+
+<p>Jane knew she was being weighed. Cousin Annabel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>
+was so blue-blooded that it showed in the
+veins of her hands and nose&mdash;and her hair was
+dressed with a gray transformation which quite
+overpowered her thin little face with its thin little
+nose.</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, Cousin Annabel felt that
+Frederick had taken leave of his senses. What
+could he see in this short-haired girl&mdash;who hadn&#8217;t a
+jewel, except the one he had given her?</p>
+
+<p>Jane wore Towne&#8217;s ring, hidden, on a ribbon
+around her neck. &#8220;Some day I&#8217;ll let everybody see
+it,&#8221; she had said, &#8220;but not now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You act as if you were ashamed of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not. But Cinderella must wait until the
+night of the ball.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was while they were drinking their coffee in
+the drawing-room that the storm came up. It was
+one of those cyclonic winds that whip off the tops
+of the trees and blow the roofs from unsubstantial
+edifices. The thunder was a ceaseless reverberation&mdash;the
+lightning was pink and made the sky
+seem like a glistening inverted shell.</p>
+
+<p>Cousin Annabel hated thunder-storms and
+said so. &#8220;I think I shall go to my room, Frederick.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are not a bit safer up there than here,&#8221;
+Towne told her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I feel safer, Frederick.&#8221; She was very decided
+about it. What she meant to do was to sit in
+the middle of her bed and have her maid give her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
+the smelling salts. She would be thus in a sense
+fortified.</p>
+
+<p>So she went up and Baldy and Edith wandered
+across the hall to the library, where Edith insisted
+they could observe other aspects of the storm.</p>
+
+<p>Jane and her lover were left alone, and presently
+Frederick was called to the telephone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not sure that it&#8217;s safe, sir, in this storm,&#8221;
+Waldron warned.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nonsense, Waldron,&#8221; Towne said, and stepped
+quickly across the polished floor.</p>
+
+<p>Thus it happened that Jane sat by herself in the
+great drawing-room of the Ice Palace, while the
+wind howled, and the rain streamed down the window
+glass, and all the evil things in the world
+seemed let loose.</p>
+
+<p>And she was afraid!</p>
+
+<p>Not of the storm, but of the great house. She
+was so small and it was so big. Her own little cottage
+clasped her in its warm embrace. This great
+mansion stood away from her&mdash;as the sky stands
+away from the desert. All the rest of her life she
+would be going up and down those great stairs, sitting
+in front of this great fireplace, presiding at the
+far end of Frederick&#8217;s great table&mdash;dwarfed by it
+all, losing personality, individuality, bidding good-bye
+forever to little Jane Barnes, becoming until
+death parted them the wife of Frederick Towne.</p>
+
+<p>She sat huddled in her chair, panting a little, her
+eyes wide.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>&#8220;Silly,&#8221; she said with a sob.</p>
+
+<p>The sound of her voice echoed and re�choed,
+&#8220;<i>Silly, silly, silly.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The noise without was deafening&mdash;the wind
+shook the walls. She stood up, her hands clenched,
+then ran swiftly into the hall.</p>
+
+<p>A thundering crash and the lights went out.</p>
+
+<p>She heard Frederick calling, &#8220;Jane, Jane!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She called back, &#8220;I&#8217;m here,&#8221; and saw the quick
+spurt of a match as he lighted it, holding it up and
+peering into the dark.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There you are, my dearest.&#8221; He lighted another
+match and came towards her, as Waldron,
+with a brace of candles, appeared in one door and
+Baldy and Edith in another.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick lifted Jane in his strong arms. &#8220;Why,
+you&#8217;re crying,&#8221; he said; &#8220;don&#8217;t, my darling, don&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then Baldy came up and demanded, &#8220;What&#8217;s the
+matter, Kitten? You&#8217;ve never been afraid of
+storms.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She tried to smile at him. &#8220;Well, I&#8217;ve gone
+through such a lot lately.&#8221; But Baldy wasn&#8217;t satisfied.
+A Jane who dissolved into tears was a disturbing
+and desolating object. He glowered at
+Frederick, holding him responsible.</p>
+
+<p>At this moment Waldron reappeared to say that
+Briggs had pronounced the streets impassable.
+Branches had been blown down&mdash;and there was
+other wreckage.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That settles it,&#8221; Frederick said. &#8220;You two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
+young things may as well stay here for the night.
+Jane&#8217;s not fit to go out anyhow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I&#8217;m all right,&#8221; she protested.</p>
+
+<p>Edith suggested bridge, so they played for a
+while. The big room was still lighted by the candles,
+so that the shadows pressed close. Jane was
+very pale, and now and then Frederick looked at
+her anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You and Edith had better go up,&#8221; he said at
+last. &#8220;And you must have Alice get you some hot
+milk&mdash;I&#8217;ll send Waldron with a bit of cordial to set
+you up.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head. &#8220;I don&#8217;t want it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I want you to have it.&#8221; There was a note
+of authority which almost brought her again to
+tears. She hated to have anyone tell her what she
+should do. She liked to do as she pleased. But
+later, when the glass of cordial came up to her, she
+drank it.</p>
+
+<p>She did not go to sleep for a long time. Edith
+sat by the bed and talked to her. &#8220;I shouldn&#8217;t,&#8221;
+she apologized; &#8220;Uncle Fred told you to rest.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane curled up among her pillows, and said rebelliously,
+&#8220;Well, I don&#8217;t have to obey yet, do I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t ever obey.&#8221; Edith, in her winged chair
+with her Viking braids and the classic draperies of
+her white dressing-gown, looked like a Norse goddess.
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t ever obey, or you&#8217;ll make a tyrant
+out of him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I hate&mdash;fighting.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>&#8220;You won&#8217;t have to fight. I do it because it&#8217;s
+my temperament. But you can manage him&mdash;by
+letting things go a bit&mdash;and coaxing will do the
+rest&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to manage&mdash;my husband,&#8221; said
+Jane.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All women do&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would you want to manage&mdash;Baldy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith flushed. &#8220;That&#8217;s different,&#8221; she evaded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not different. You know you wouldn&#8217;t go
+through life with him, pulling wires, making a puppet
+of him&mdash;of yourself&mdash;you want comradeship&mdash;understanding.
+You&#8217;ll flare up now and then.
+Baldy and I do. But&mdash;oh, we love each other.&#8221;
+Jane&#8217;s voice shook.</p>
+
+<p>Edith looked at her thoughtfully. &#8220;Jane, are
+you happy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I ought to be&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But are you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m tired, I think. I don&#8217;t know. Ever since
+I came home I&#8217;ve been nervous. Perhaps it is the
+reaction.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Jane, I&#8217;m going to say something. Don&#8217;t marry
+Uncle Fred unless you&#8217;re&mdash;sure. I went through
+all that with Del. And you see how little I knew
+of what I had in my heart to give&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; She
+stopped, her lovely face suffused with blushes.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve learned&mdash;since then. And you mustn&#8217;t make
+my&mdash;mistake. And, Jane dear,&#8221; she leaned over
+the younger girl like some splendid angel, &#8220;don&#8217;t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
+worry about material things. Baldy and I will
+want you always with us&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane sat up. &#8220;Are you going to marry Baldy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am,&#8221; sighing a little, &#8220;some day, when his
+ship comes in. He isn&#8217;t willing to share my cargo&mdash;yet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He loves you,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;dearly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith bent down and kissed her. &#8220;I know,&#8221; she
+said, &#8220;and my heart sings it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When Edith went away, they had not touched
+again on the question of Jane&#8217;s marriage. Jane,
+lying awake in the dark, reflected that of course
+Edith could not know of her debt to Frederick.
+No one knew except Baldy.</p>
+
+<p>In the morning Towne had gone when Jane came
+down. She and Edith had had breakfast in their
+rooms&mdash;and there had been a great rose on Jane&#8217;s
+tray, with a note twisted about the stem&mdash;&#8220;To my
+golden girl.&#8221; Her lover had called her up by
+the house telephone, and had told her he was leaving
+for New York at noon. &#8220;A telegram has just
+come. I&#8217;ll see you the moment I get back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane had a sense of relief. She would have three
+days to herself. Three days at Sherwood&mdash;with
+the blossoming trees, and the mating birds, and
+Merrymaid and the kitten, and old Sophy with her
+wise philosophy&mdash;and Baldy on the other side of
+the little table&mdash;and Philomel singing....</p>
+
+<p>Briggs took her out at noon, and Sophy came in
+to say, &#8220;Mr. Evans called you-all up. He&#8217;s back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>
+fum New York. He say he&#8217;ll come over to-night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>That was news indeed! Old Evans! Jane got
+into the frock of faded lilac gingham and went
+about the house singing. Three days! Of freedom!</p>
+
+<p>It was after lunch that she told the old woman,
+&#8220;I&#8217;m going down in the Glen&mdash;there should be wild
+honeysuckle&mdash;Sophy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sophy surveyed her. &#8220;The whole place is chock-full
+of flowers, Miss Janey. And I&#8217;ll miss my guess
+effen dey ain&#8217; mo&#8217; of &#8217;em dis afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But&mdash;wild honeysuckle, Sophy? The florists
+haven&#8217;t that for me, have they?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So Jane put on a wide-brimmed hat, and away
+she went down the long road with the pines on each
+side of it&mdash;the wide creek, which washed in shallow
+ripples over the brown stones, or eddied in still
+pools under the great old willows.</p>
+
+<p>There were bees in the Glen and butterflies, and
+a cool silence. On the other side of the creek were
+pasture, and cattle grazing. But no human creature
+was in sight. Jane, walking along the narrow
+path, had a sense of utter peace. Here was familiar
+ground. She felt the welcome of inanimate
+things&mdash;the old willows, the singing stream, the
+great gray rocks that stuck their heads above the
+edges of the bank.</p>
+
+<p>On the slope of the bank she saw the rosiness of
+the flowers she sought. She climbed up, picked the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>
+fragrant sprays and sat down under a hickory tree
+to make a bouquet. From where she sat she could
+view the broad stream and a rustic bridge just at a
+turn of the path.</p>
+
+<p>And now, around the turn of the path, came suddenly
+a man and two boys. They carried fishing-rods
+and stopped at a jutting rock to bait their
+hooks. One of the boys went out on the bridge and
+cast his line. His voice came to Jane clearly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Follette, there&#8217;s a thing I hate to do, and
+that&#8217;s to bait my hook with a worm. I&#8217;d much
+rather put on something that wasn&#8217;t alive. Why is
+it that everything eats up something else?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane peered down at the man poised on the rock.
+It <i>was</i> Evans! He was winding his reel against a
+taut line. &#8220;I&#8217;ve caught a snag,&#8221; he said; &#8220;look out,
+Sandy, there&#8217;s something on your hook.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As they landed the small catch with much excitement,
+Jane was aware of the strong swing of
+Evans&#8217; figure, the brown of his cheeks, the brightness
+of his glance as he spoke to the boys.</p>
+
+<p>He gave the death stroke to the silver flapping
+fish with a jab of his knife-blade, and the boy on the
+bridge complained, &#8220;There you are, killing things.
+I don&#8217;t like it, do you? Everything we eat? The
+woods are full of killing. It is dreadful when we
+think of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is dreadful.&#8221; Evans sat down on the rock
+and looked across at the boy on the bridge. &#8220;But
+there are more dreadful things than death&mdash;injustice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>
+and cruelty, and hate. And more than all&mdash;fear.
+And you must think of this, Arthur, that
+what we call a violent death is sometimes the easiest.
+An old animal with teeth gone, trying to exist.
+That&#8217;s dreadfulness. Or an old person racked by
+pains. Much better if both could have been dead
+in the glory of youth.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He had always had that quick and vivid voice,
+but this certainty of phrase was a resurrection. He
+spoke without hesitation. Sure of himself. Sure
+of the things he was about to say.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You boys needn&#8217;t think that I don&#8217;t know what
+I am talking about. I do. When I came back
+from France there was something wrong. I was
+afraid of everything. I lived for months in dread
+of my shadow. It was awful. Nothing can be
+worse. Then, one night I came to see that God&#8217;s
+greatest gift to man is&mdash;strength to endure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He flung it at them&mdash;and their wide eyes answered
+him. After a moment Arthur said, huskily,
+&#8220;Gee, that&#8217;s great.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sandy sighed heavily. &#8220;I saw a picture the
+other day of a boy who wanted to play baseball,
+and he had to hold the baby. I reckon that&#8217;s what
+you mean. Most of us have to hold the baby when
+we want to play baseball.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The others laughed, then young Arthur said, &#8220;It
+looks to me as if life is just one darned thing after
+another.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not quite that.&#8221; Evans stood up. &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>
+I&#8217;m an awful preacher,&#8221; he apologized, &#8220;but you
+will ask questions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Most grown-ups don&#8217;t answer them,&#8221; said
+Arthur, earnestly; &#8220;they just say, &#8216;Be good and let
+who will be clever.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;d better say &#8216;Be strong.&#8217;&#8221; Evans was
+reeling in his line. &#8220;We must be getting towards
+home. Do you see those shadows? We&#8217;ll be
+late&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stopped suddenly. There had been the crack
+of a twig and he had turned his eyes towards the
+sound. And there, poised above him, her eyes
+lighted up, her hands held out to him, her hat off,
+the warm wind blowing her bobbed black hair,
+blowing, too, the folds of the lilac frock back from
+her slender figure, stood Jane ... <i>Jane</i>....</p>
+
+<p>He went charging up the bank towards her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear,&#8221; he said, &#8220;my dear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>That was all. But he was there, holding her
+hands, devouring her with his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Then he dropped her hands. &#8220;I thought you
+were a ghost,&#8221; he said, a little awkwardly. &#8220;I
+called you up this morning and Sophy said you
+were in town.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I came out at noon. The day was so perfect.
+I had to see the Glen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is perfect. When I found you were out, I
+got the boys. I am taking a half-holiday after my
+trip.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was talking naturally now, smiling up at her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>
+as she stood above him. She found herself trembling,
+almost afraid to speak again lest her voice
+betray her. She had been more shaken than he by
+the encounter. She wondered at his ease.</p>
+
+<p>She was to wonder more, as he walked home with
+her. The presence of the boys barred, of course,
+personalities. But Evans&#8217; clear eyes met hers
+without a shadow of self-consciousness. He asked
+her about her journey, about Judy, about the
+babies, about Bob. The only subject on which he
+did not touch was her marriage with Frederick
+Towne.</p>
+
+<p>And so it happened that, woman-like, as they
+walked alone at last after the boys had left them in
+the little pine grove back of the house, that Jane
+said, &#8220;Evans, you haven&#8217;t wished me happiness.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; he said, and his eyes met hers squarely.
+&#8220;I think you might spare me that, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She flushed. &#8220;Oh,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I&#8217;m sorry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder.
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t be sorry, little Jane. But we won&#8217;t talk
+about it. That&#8217;s the best way for both of us&mdash;not
+to talk.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stayed to dinner, stayed for an hour or two
+afterward&mdash;fitting himself in pleasantly to former
+niches. Jane could hardly credit the change in
+him. It was, she decided, not so much a resurrection
+of the body as of the spirit. His hair was gray,
+and now and then his eyes showed tired, his shoulders<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>
+sagged. But there was no trace of the old
+timidity, the old withdrawals. He was interested,
+responsive, at times buoyant. The things she had
+loved in him years ago were again there. <i>This
+man did not think dark thoughts!</i></p>
+
+<p>When he went away, she and Baldy stood together
+on the terrace in the warm darkness and
+watched him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He still limps a little,&#8221; Jane said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Shall we go in now, Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. Let&#8217;s sit on the steps and see the moon
+rise.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They sat side by side. &#8220;When is Towne coming
+back?&#8221; Baldy asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In three days.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Tree-toads were shrilling in monotonous cadence&mdash;from
+far away came the plaintive note of a whippoorwill.
+But there was another plaintive note
+close at hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Jane, you&#8217;re crying,&#8221; Baldy said, sharply.
+&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter, dear?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He put his arm about her. &#8220;What&#8217;s the matter?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy, I don&#8217;t want to get&mdash;married. I want
+to stay with you&mdash;forever&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You shall stay with me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She sobbed and sobbed, and he soothed her.
+&#8220;Little sister, little sister,&#8221; he said, &#8220;you are crying
+too much in these days.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She sat up, wiped her eyes with his handkerchief,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>
+smoothed her hair with shaking hands. &#8220;It is
+rather silly, Baldy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing of the kind, Janey. I knew the whole
+thing was a mistake.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stopped him with a touch of her hand on his
+arm. &#8220;Don&#8217;t,&#8221; she said, &#8220;it isn&#8217;t a mistake, Baldy.
+I was just a bit&mdash;low&mdash;in my mind&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think I am going to let you marry
+Towne?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a long silence. The bird in the Glen
+said, &#8220;Whippoorwill&mdash;whippoorwill,&#8221; in dull reiteration,
+the tree-toads shrilled, the rising moon
+drew a line of gold across the horizon.</p>
+
+<p>At last Jane spoke. &#8220;Dearest, I must marry
+him. There&#8217;s no way out. He&#8217;s done so much for
+me&mdash;and some day, perhaps, I&#8217;ll love him.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIV<br />
+
+<small>HAUNTED</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was after the day when she had met Evans in
+the Glen that Jane began to be haunted by ghosts.</p>
+
+<p>There was a ghost who wandered through Sherwood
+on moonlights, a limping, hesitating ghost
+who said, &#8220;You&#8217;re wine, Jane. I must have my
+daily sip of you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And there was a ghost who came in a fog and
+said, &#8220;You are a lantern, Jane&mdash;held high.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And that ghost in the glow of the hearth-fire&mdash;&#8220;You
+are food and drink to me, Jane. Do you
+know it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts; holding out appealing
+hands to her. And always she had turned away.
+But now she did not turn. Over and over again
+she lent her ears to those whispering words, &#8220;Jane,
+you are wine.... Jane, you are a lantern....
+You are food and drink, Jane....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Well, she was having her punishment. She had
+not loved him when he needed her. And now that
+she needed him, she must not love him.</p>
+
+<p>She hardly knew herself. All the years of her
+life she had seen things straight, and she had tried
+to live up to that vision. She saw them straight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>
+now. She did not love Frederick Towne. She had
+no right to marry him. Yet she must. There was
+no way out.</p>
+
+<p>Towne was aware of a difference in her when he
+returned from New York. She was more remote.
+A little less responsive. Yet these things caused
+him no disquiet. Her crisp coolness had always
+constituted one of her great charms. &#8220;You are
+tired, dearest,&#8221; he told her. &#8220;I wish you would
+marry me right away, and let me make you happy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They were lunching at the Capitol in the Senate
+restaurant. Frederick was an imposing figure and
+Jane was aware of his importance. People glanced
+at him and glanced again, and then told others who
+he was. Some day she would be his wife, and
+everybody would be telling everybody else that she
+was the wife of the great Frederick Towne.</p>
+
+<p>The attentive waiter at her elbow laid toast on
+her plate, and served Maryland crab from a silver
+chafing-dish. Frederick knew what she liked and
+had ordered without asking her. But the delicious
+food was tasteless. She had been afraid Frederick
+would say something about an immediate marriage,
+and now he was saying it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh,&#8221; she told him, earnestly, &#8220;you promised
+I might wait until Judy could come on. In June.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know. But it will be very hot, and you&#8217;ll
+have a whole lifetime in which to see Judy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But not at my wedding. She&#8217;s my only sister.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I see,&#8221; but his voice showed his annoyance;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>
+&#8220;but it seems as if your family have demanded
+enough of you. Can&#8217;t you think a bit about yourself&mdash;and
+me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She pressed her point. &#8220;Judy is like my mother.
+I can&#8217;t be married without her and the babies.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If the babies come, you&#8217;ll be looking after them
+until the last moment, and it will be a great strain
+on you, sweetheart.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, it won&#8217;t be. I adore babies.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His quick jealousy flared. &#8220;I don&#8217;t,&#8221; he said,
+with a touch of sulkiness. &#8220;I&#8217;m not fond of children.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She ate in silence. And presently he said repentantly,
+&#8220;You must think me a great boor, Jane.
+But you don&#8217;t know how much I want you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was like a repentant boy. She made herself
+smile at him. &#8220;I think you are very patient, Mr.
+Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not patient. I am most impatient. And
+when are you going to stop calling me Mr. Towne?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When I can call you&mdash;husband.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I don&#8217;t want to wait until then, dearest.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But &#8216;Frederick&#8217; is so long, and &#8216;Fred&#8217; is so
+short, and &#8216;Ricky&#8217; sounds like a highball.&#8221; She
+had thrown off her depression and was sparkling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nobody calls me &#8216;Ricky&#8217; but Adelaide. I always
+hated it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you?&#8221; She was demure. &#8220;I might say
+&#8216;my love,&#8217; like the ladies in the old-fashioned
+novels.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span>He laughed delightedly. &#8220;Say it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She acquiesced unexpectedly. &#8220;My love, we are
+invited to a week-end with the Delafield Simms, at
+their new country place, Grass Hills.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are we?&#8221; Then in a sudden ardent rush of
+words, &#8220;Jane, I&#8217;d kiss you if the world wasn&#8217;t looking
+on.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The reporters would be ecstatic. Headlines.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am tired of headlines. And what do you
+mean about going to Delafield Simms?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are asking a lot of his friends. It is his
+wife&#8217;s introduction to his old crowd. Much will
+depend on whether you and Edith will accept. And
+it was Edith who asked me to&mdash;make you
+come&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She gave him the truth, knowing it to be better
+than diplomacy. &#8220;I told her that I couldn&#8217;t make
+you. But perhaps if you knew I wanted it&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;
+She paused inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>He leaned towards her across the table. &#8220;Ask
+me, prettily, and I&#8217;ll do it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really?&#8221; She laughed, blushed and did it.
+&#8220;Will you go&mdash;my love?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Could I say &#8216;no&#8217; to that?&#8221; He radiated satisfaction.
+&#8220;Do you know how charming you are,
+Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Am I? But it is nice of you to go. I know
+how you&#8217;ll hate it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not if you are there. And now, who else are
+asked?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>&#8220;Oh, Mrs. Laramore and Eloise Harper and a lot
+of others. Lucy says she&#8217;ll be like a fish out of
+water, but Delafield has made up his mind that his
+friends shan&#8217;t think that he&#8217;s ashamed of her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When their ices came and their coffee, Frederick
+said, &#8220;I&#8217;ve got to spend a half-hour in a committee
+room. Shall I take you up to the Senate Gallery?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;there&#8217;s nothing interesting, is there? I&#8217;ll
+wait in Statuary Hall.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane loved the marble figures that circled the
+Hall. Years ago there had not been so many. They
+had been, then, perhaps, more distinctive. As a
+child, she had chosen as her favorites the picturesque
+Colonials, the frontiersmen in leather tunics
+and coonskin caps. She had never liked the statesmen
+in stiff shirts and frock coats, although she
+had admitted their virtues. Even the incongruous
+classic draperies were more in keeping with the
+glamour which the past flung over the men who had
+given their best to America.</p>
+
+<p>But it was Fulton who had captured her imagination,
+with his little ship, and Pere Marquette
+with his cross, the peace-loving Quaker who had
+conquered; adventurer, pioneer, priest and prophet&mdash;builders
+all of the structure of the new world.</p>
+
+<p>She wondered what future generations would
+add to this glorious company. Would the Anglo-Saxon
+give way to the Semite? Would the Huguenot
+yield to the Slav? And would these newcomers
+hold high the banner of national idealism? What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>
+would they give? And what would they take
+away?</p>
+
+<p>There were groups of sightseers gathered about
+the great room&mdash;a guide placing them here and
+there on the marble blocks. The trick was to put
+someone behind a mottled pillar far away, and let
+him speak. Owing to some strange acoustic quality
+the sound would be telephoned to the person
+who stood on the whispering stone.</p>
+
+<p>Years ago Jane had listened while a voice had
+come echoing across the hollow spaces of the great
+Hall, &#8220;My country&mdash;right or wrong&mdash;my country&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Another ghost! The ghost of a boy, patriotic,
+passionately devoted to the great old gods. &#8220;Of
+course they were only men, Jane. Human. Faulty.
+But they blazed a path of freedom for those who
+followed....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When Frederick came, he found her standing before
+the prim statue of Frances Willard.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tired, sweetheart?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I stayed longer than I expected.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It didn&#8217;t seem long. I have had plenty of company.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was puzzled. &#8220;What do you mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All these.&#8221; Her hand indicated the marble men
+and women.</p>
+
+<p>He laughed. &#8220;Great old freaks, aren&#8217;t they?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Freaks!</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>Gods!</p>
+
+<p>Well, of course, it all depended absolutely on the
+point of view.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I like them all,&#8221; she said, sturdily, &#8220;even the
+ones in the hideous frock coats.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Surely not, my dear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I do. They may be bad art, but they&#8217;re
+good Americans.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His laugh was indulgent. &#8220;After you&#8217;ve been
+abroad a few times, you won&#8217;t be so provincial.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If being provincial means loving my own, I&#8217;ll
+stay provincial.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Travel broadens the mind, changes the point of
+view.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But why should I love my country less? I
+know her faults. And I know Baldy&#8217;s. But I love
+him just the same.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As they walked on, he fell into step with her.
+&#8220;We won&#8217;t argue. You are probably right, and if
+not, you&#8217;re too pretty for me to contradict.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His gallantry was faultless, but she wanted more
+than gallantry. There had been the vivid give and
+take of her arguments with Evans. They had had
+royal battles, youth had crossed swords with youth.
+And from their disagreements had come convictions.</p>
+
+<p>She had once more the illusion of Frederick as a
+feather cushion! He would perhaps agree with her
+always!</p>
+
+<p>And her soul would be&mdash;smothered!</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXV<br />
+
+<small>AGAIN THE LANTERN</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was the morning of the day that she was going
+to the Delafield Simms, and Jane was packing her
+bag. She felt unaccountably depressed. During
+this week-end her engagement would be announced.
+And when Judy came they would be married in the
+Sherwood church.</p>
+
+<p>And that would be the end of it!</p>
+
+<p>Her lover had planned the honeymoon with enthusiasm,
+&#8220;Dieppe, Jane, Avignon&mdash;the North Sea.
+Such sunsets.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane felt that she didn&#8217;t care in the least for sunsets
+or trips abroad. She was almost frightened at
+her indifference to the wonders of a world of which
+Frederick talked continually. Oh, what were
+mountains and sea at a time like this? Her heart
+should beat high&mdash;the dawns should be rosy, the
+nights full of stars. But they were not. Her
+heart was like a stone in her breast. The mornings
+broke gray and blank. The nights were dark.
+Her dreams were troubled.</p>
+
+<p>She knew now what had happened to her. She
+had let herself be blinded by a light which she had
+thought was the sun. And it was not even the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>
+moon! It was a big round artificial brilliance
+which warmed no one!</p>
+
+<p>Life with Frederick Towne would be just going
+up and down great stairs, eating under the eye of a
+stately butler, riding on puffy cushions behind a
+stately chauffeur, sitting beside a man who was
+everlastingly and punctiliously polite.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, half the fun in the world was in the tussle
+with hard things. She knew that now. Life in
+the little house had been at times desperately difficult.
+But it had been like facing a stiff breeze, and
+coming out of it thrilled with the battle against the
+elements.</p>
+
+<p>Yet how could she tell these things to Frederick?
+He was complacent, comfortable. She was young
+and he liked that. He never dreamed that he might
+seem to her somewhat staid and stodgy. For a moment,
+in Chicago, he had been lighted by almost
+youthful fires. But in these days of daily meetings,
+she had become aware of his fixed habits, his fixed
+opinions, the fixed programs which must be carried
+out at any cost.</p>
+
+<p>She had found, indeed, that she had little voice
+in any plans that Frederick made for her. When
+he consulted her on matters of redecorating the big
+house he brought to the subject a wealth of technical
+knowledge that appalled her. Jane knew
+what she liked, but she did not know why she liked
+it. But Frederick knew. He had the lore of period
+furniture at his fingers&#8217; ends. Rugs and tapestries&mdash;paintings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>
+and porcelains! He had drawings
+made and water-color sketches, and brought
+them out to Jane. She had a feeling that when the
+house was finished it would be like some exquisitely
+ordered mausoleum. There would be no chintzes,
+no pussy-cats purring, no Philomel singing!</p>
+
+<p>As for clothes! Frederick&#8217;s mind dwelt much on
+the subject. Jane was told that she must have an
+ermine wrap, and one of Persian lamb. Most of
+her things would be made in Paris&mdash;there was a
+man over there who did things in just the right
+style for her&mdash;picturesque but not sophisticated.
+Frederick was already having certain jewels set
+appropriately. Gray pearls and emeralds&mdash;he had
+even gone to the point of getting samples of silk
+and chiffon that she might see the smoke-gray and
+jade color-scheme he had in mind for her.</p>
+
+<p>Samples!</p>
+
+<p>A man&#8217;s mind shouldn&#8217;t be on clothes. He
+should have other things to think of.</p>
+
+<p>There was Evans, for example. He had described
+the other night the boys&#8217; club he was starting
+in Sherwood. &#8220;In the old pavilion, Jane. It
+will do as it is in summer, and in winter we&#8217;ll enclose
+it. And we are to have a baseball team, and
+play against the surrounding towns. You should
+see my little lads.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She and Baldy had been much interested. The
+three of them had put their heads together as they
+sat on the porch of the little house, with the moon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>
+whitening the world, and the whippoorwill mourning
+far away in the swamp.</p>
+
+<p>They had planned excitedly, and every word they
+had said had been warm with enthusiasm. They
+had been flushed, exultant. It would be a great
+thing for Sherwood.</p>
+
+<p>That was the kind of thing to live for, to live
+with. Ideas. Effort. She had always known it.
+Yet for a moment, she had forgotten. Had thought
+of herself as&mdash;Curlylocks.</p>
+
+<p>She flung up her hands in a sort of despair.
+There was no way out of it. She was bound to
+Frederick Towne by the favors she had accepted
+from him. And that settled it.</p>
+
+<p>She went on feverishly with the packing of her
+shabby suitcase. She rather glorified in its shabbiness.
+<i>At least it is mine own</i>, was her attitude of
+mind.</p>
+
+<p>As she leaned over it, the great ring that Frederick
+had given her swung back and forth on its
+ribbon. She tucked it into the neck of her frock
+but it would not stay. At last she took it off and
+was aware of a sense of freedom as if she had shed
+her shackles. It winked and blinked at her on the
+dresser, so she shut it in a drawer and was still
+aware of it shining in the darkness, balefully!</p>
+
+<p>Briggs was not to come for her until four in the
+afternoon. She decided to go over to Castle Manor
+and talk to Mrs. Follette. She would take some
+strawberries as an excuse. The strawberries in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>
+the Castle Manor garden were never as perfect as
+those which Jane had planted. Evans said it was
+because Jane coaxed things into rosiness and
+roundness. But Jane had worked hard over the
+beds, and she had had her reward.</p>
+
+<p>Carrying a basket, therefore, of red and luscious
+fruit, Jane went through the pine grove along the
+path that led to the Castle Manor. Under the trees
+was a green light which she breasted as one breasts
+the cool waters of the sea. Her breath came
+quickly. In a few short weeks she would be far
+away from this sweet and silent spot, with its sacred
+memories.</p>
+
+<p>Leaving the grove, she passed the field where the
+scarecrow reigned.</p>
+
+<p>She leaned on the fence. With the coming of
+spring, the scarecrow had been decked in gay attire.
+He wore a pink shirt of Evans&#8217; and a pair of
+white trousers. His hat was of straw, and as he
+danced in the warm south breeze he had an air of
+care-free jauntiness.</p>
+
+<p>Jane found herself resenting his jaunty air. She
+felt that she had liked him better in his days of appealing
+loneliness. She had resented, in like manner,
+the change in Evans. He, too, had an air of
+making a world for himself. She had no part in it,
+apparently. She was, in effect, the Peri at the
+gate!</p>
+
+<p>And she wanted to be in his world. Evans&#8217;
+world. She didn&#8217;t want to be left out. Yet she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>
+had chosen. And Evans had accepted her decision.
+She had not thought it would be so hard to have
+him&mdash;accept.</p>
+
+<p>His interests seemed now to include everything
+but Jane. He was doing many things for the boys
+of Sherwood, there was his work in town, the added
+responsibility he had assumed in the affairs of the
+farm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s such an old darling, Jane. Doing it with
+her duchess air. But she&#8217;s not strong. I&#8217;m trying
+to make her let things go a bit. But she&#8217;s so proud
+of her success. I wish you could see her showing
+Edith Towne and her fashionable friends about the
+dairy. With tea on the lawn afterward. You
+must come over and join in the fun, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am coming,&#8221; Jane had told him, &#8220;but my
+days have been so filled.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He had known who had filled them. But he had
+ignored that, and had gone on with his subject.
+&#8220;The idea I have now is to keep bees and sell honey.
+The boys and I have some books on bee culture.
+They are quite crazy about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was always now the boys and himself. His
+mother and himself. And once it had been himself
+and Jane!</p>
+
+<p>Leaning on the fence, Jane spoke to the scarecrow.
+&#8220;I ought to be glad but I am not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The scarecrow bowed and danced in the breeze.
+He had no heart, of course. He was made of two
+crossed sticks....</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>Jane found Mrs. Follette on the wide porch. She
+was snowy and crisp in white linen. She wore a
+black enamel brooch, and a flat black hat which
+was so old-fashioned that it took on a mid-Victorian
+stateliness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear child,&#8221; she said, &#8220;stay and have lunch
+with me. Mary has baked fresh bread, and we&#8217;ll
+have it with your berries, and some Dutch cheeses
+and cream.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d love it,&#8221; Jane said; &#8220;I hoped you&#8217;d ask me.
+We are going at four to Delafield Simms for the
+week-end. I shall have to be fashionable for forty-eight
+hours, and I hate it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Follette smiled indulgently. &#8220;Of course,
+you don&#8217;t mean it. And don&#8217;t try to be fashionable.
+Just be yourself. It is only people who
+have never been anybody who try to make themselves
+like others.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid I&#8217;ve never been
+anybody, Mrs. Follette. I&#8217;m just little Jane
+Barnes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her air was dejected.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter with you, Jane?&#8221; Mrs. Follette
+demanded.</p>
+
+<p>Jane clasped her hands together. &#8220;Oh, I want
+my mother. I want my mother.&#8221; Her voice was
+low, but there was a poignant note in it.</p>
+
+<p>Old Mary came out with the tray, and when she
+had gone, Mrs. Follette said, &#8220;Now tell me what&#8217;s
+troubling you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, of Mr. Towne&#8217;s big house, and&mdash;I think I&#8217;m
+a little bit afraid of him, too, Mrs. Follette.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why should you be afraid?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of the things he&#8217;ll expect of me. The things I&#8217;ll
+expect of myself. I can&#8217;t explain it. I just&mdash;feel it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Follette, pouring ice-cold milk from a silver
+pitcher, said, &#8220;It is a case of nerves, my dear. You
+don&#8217;t know how lucky you are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Am I lucky?&#8221; wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course you are lucky. But all girls feel as
+you do, Jane, when the wedding day isn&#8217;t far off.
+They wonder and wonder. It&#8217;s the newness&mdash;the&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Laying flesh and spirit ... in his
+hands ...&#8217;&#8221; Jane quoted, with quick-drawn
+breath.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shouldn&#8217;t put it quite like that,&#8221; Mrs. Follette
+said with some severity; &#8220;we didn&#8217;t talk like that
+when I was a girl.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Didn&#8217;t you?&#8221; Jane asked. &#8220;Well, I know you
+were a darling, Mrs. Follette. And you were
+pretty. There&#8217;s that portrait of you in the library
+in pink.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I looked well in pink,&#8221; said Mrs. Follette,
+thoughtfully, &#8220;but the best picture that was ever
+done of me is a miniature that Evans has.&#8221; She
+buttered another slice of bread. She had no fear
+of growing fat. She <i>was</i> fat, but she was also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>
+stately and one neutralized the other. To think of
+Mrs. Follette as thin would have been to rob her of
+her duchess r�le.</p>
+
+<p>Jane had not seen the miniature. She asked if
+she might.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll get it,&#8221; said Mrs. Follette, and rose.</p>
+
+<p>Jane protested, &#8220;Can&#8217;t I do it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, my dear. I know right where to put my
+hand on it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She went into the cool and shadowy hall and
+started up the stairs, and it was from the shadows
+that Jane heard her call.</p>
+
+<p>There was something faint and agitated in the
+cry, and Jane flew on winged feet.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Follette was holding on to the stair-rail,
+swaying a little. &#8220;I can&#8217;t go any higher,&#8221; she
+panted; &#8220;I&#8217;ll sit here, my dear, while you get my
+medicine. It&#8217;s in my room on the dresser.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane passed her on the stairs, and was back
+again in a moment with the medicine, a spoon, and
+a glass of water. With her arm around the elder
+woman she held her until the color returned to her
+cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How foolish,&#8221; said Mrs. Follette at last, sitting
+up. &#8220;I almost fainted. I was afraid of falling
+down the stairs.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let me help you to your room,&#8221; Jane said,
+&#8220;and you can lie on the couch&mdash;and be quiet&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to be quiet, but I&#8217;ll lie on the
+couch&mdash;if you&#8217;ll sit there and talk to me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>So with Jane supporting her, Mrs. Follette went
+up the rest of the flight, and across the hall&mdash;and
+was made comfortable on a couch at the foot of her
+bed.</p>
+
+<p>Jane loved the up-stairs rooms at Castle Manor.
+Especially in summer. Mrs. Follette followed the
+southern fashion of taking up winter rugs and winter
+curtains and substituting sheer muslins and
+leaving a delightful bareness of waxed floor.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps I can tell you where to find the miniature,&#8221;
+Mrs. Follette said, as Jane fanned her; &#8220;it
+is in Evans&#8217; desk set back under the row of pigeon-holes.
+You can&#8217;t miss it, and I want to see it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane crossed the hall to Evans&#8217; room. It faced
+south and was big and square. It had the same
+studied bareness that made the rest of the house
+beautiful. There was a mahogany bed and dresser,
+many books, deep window-seats with faded velvet
+cushions.</p>
+
+<p>Evans&#8217; desk was in an alcove by the east window
+which overlooked Sherwood. It was a mahogany
+desk of the secretary type, and there was nothing
+about it to drain the color from Jane&#8217;s cheeks, to
+send her hand to her heart.</p>
+
+<p>Above the desk, however, where his eyes could
+rest upon it whenever he raised them from his writing,
+was an old lantern! Jane knew it at once. It
+was an ancient ship&#8217;s lantern that she and Baldy
+had used through all the years, a heritage from
+some sea-going ancestor. It was the lantern she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span>
+had carried that night she had found Evans in the
+fog!</p>
+
+<p>Since her return from Chicago she had not been
+able to find it. Baldy had complained, &#8220;Sophy
+must have taken it home with her.&#8221; But Sophy
+had not taken it. It was here. And Jane knew,
+with a certainty that swept away all doubts, why.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>You are a lantern, Jane, held high....</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She found the miniature and carried it back to
+Mrs. Follette. &#8220;I told you you were pretty and
+you have never gotten over it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She had regained her radiance. Mrs. Follette
+reflected complacently that girls were like that.
+Moods of the moment. Even in her own day.</p>
+
+<p>She spoke of it to Evans that night. &#8220;Jane had
+lunch with me. She was very tired and depressed.
+I told her not to worry. It&#8217;s natural she should
+feel the responsibility of the future. Marriage is a
+serious obligation.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Marriage is more than that, Mother.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, it&#8217;s a great adventure. The greatest adventure.
+If a woman loved me, I&#8217;d want her to fly
+to me&mdash;on wings. There&#8217;d be no fear of the future
+if Jane loved Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But she does love him. She wouldn&#8217;t marry
+him for his money.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, she wouldn&#8217;t,&#8221; with a touch of weariness.
+&#8220;It is one of the things I can&#8217;t make clear to myself.
+And I think I&#8217;d rather not talk about it, Mother.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>They were in Mrs. Follette&#8217;s room. She had told
+her son about her heart attack, and he had been
+anxious. But she had been quite herself after and
+had made light of it. &#8220;I shall have Hallam over
+in the morning,&#8221; he had insisted, and she had acquiesced.
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t need him, but if it will make
+you feel better.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evans told her &#8220;good-night&#8221; presently and went
+into his own room. It was flooded with moonlight.
+He curled up on the cushions of the window-seat,
+with his arms around his knees and thought of
+Jane. He did not know that she had been that day
+in his room. Yet she was there now&mdash;a shadowy
+presence. The one woman in the world for him.
+The woman who had lighted his way. Who still,
+thank God, lighted it, though she was not his and
+would never be.</p>
+
+<p>In a few short weeks she would be married.
+Would go out of his life&mdash;forever. Yet what she
+had been to him, Towne could never take away.
+The little Jane of Sherwood whom Evans had
+known would never belong absolutely to her husband.
+Her spirit would escape him&mdash;come back
+where it belonged, to the man who worshipped her.</p>
+
+<p>He stood up, struck a match and lighted the low
+candle in the old lantern. It would burn dimly
+until he was asleep. Night after night he had
+opened his eyes to see it burning. It seemed to him
+that his dreams were less troubled because of that
+dim lantern.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVI<br />
+
+<small>THE DISCORDANT NOTE</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Lucy</span> was still to Eloise Harper the stenographer
+of Frederick Towne. Out of place, of course, in
+this fine country house, with its formal gardens, its
+great stables, its retinue of servants.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you do with yourselves?&#8221; she asked
+her hostess, as she came down, ready for dinner, in
+revealing apricot draperies and found Lucy crisp
+in white organdie with a band of black velvet
+around her throat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do?&#8221; Lucy&#8217;s smile was ingenuous. &#8220;We are
+very busy, Del and I. We feed the pigs.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pigs?&#8221; Eloise stared. She had assumed that
+a girl of Lucy&#8217;s type would affect an elaborate attitude
+of leisure. And here she was, instead, fashionably
+energetic.</p>
+
+<p>They fed the pigs, it seemed, actually. &#8220;Of
+course not the big ones. But the little ones have
+their bottles. There are ten and their mother died.
+You should see Del and me. He carries the bottle
+in a metal holder&mdash;round,&#8221;&mdash;Lucy&#8217;s hand described
+the shape,&mdash;&#8220;and when they see him coming they
+all squeal, and it&#8217;s adorable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Lucy&#8217;s air was demure. She was very happy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span>
+She was a woman of strong spirit. Already she
+had interested her weak husband beyond anything
+he had ever known in his drifting days of bachelorhood.
+&#8220;After dinner,&#8221; she told Eloise, &#8220;I&#8217;ll show
+you Del&#8217;s roses. They are quite marvellous. I
+think his collection will be beyond anything in this
+part of the country.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Delafield, coming up, said, &#8220;They are Lucy&#8217;s
+roses, but she says I am to do the work.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But why not have a gardener?&#8221; Eloise demanded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, we have. But I should hate to have our
+garden a mere matter of&mdash;mechanics. Del has
+some splendid ideas. We are going to work for the
+flower shows. Prizes and all that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Delafield purred like a pussy-cat. &#8220;I shall name
+my first rose the &#8216;Little Lucy Logan.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith, locking arms with Jane, a little later, as
+they strolled under a wisteria-hung trellis towards
+the fountain, said, &#8220;Lucy&#8217;s making a man of him
+because she loves him. And I would have laughed
+at him. We would have bored each other to death.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They will never be bored,&#8221; Jane decided, &#8220;with
+their roses and their little pigs.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They had reached the fountain. It was an old-fashioned
+one, with thin streams of water spouting
+up from the bill of a bronzed crane. There were
+goldfish in the pool, and a big green frog leaped
+from a lily pad. Beyond the fountain the wisteria
+roofed a path of pale light. A peacock walked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>
+slowly towards them, its long tail sweeping the
+ground in burnished beauty.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Think of this,&#8221; said Jane, &#8220;and Lucy&#8217;s days at
+the office.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And yet,&#8221; Edith pondered, &#8220;she told me if he
+had not had a penny she would have been happy
+with him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe it. With a cottage, one pig, and a
+rose-bush, they would find bliss. It is like that
+with them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The two women sat down on the marble coping of
+the fountain. The peacock trailed by them, its
+jewels all ablaze under the sun.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That peacock makes me think of Adelaide.&#8221;
+Edith swept her hand through the water, scaring
+the little fishes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In that dress she had on to-night&mdash;bronze and
+blue and green tulle. I will say this for Adelaide,
+she knows how to dress.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Does she ever think of anything else but
+clothes?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Men,&#8221; succinctly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Women like Adelaide,&#8221; Edith elucidated,
+&#8220;want to look well, and to be admired. They live
+for it. They wake up in the morning and go to bed
+with that one idea. And the men fall for it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do they?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Adelaide knows how to play on the keys<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>
+of their vanity. You and I don&#8217;t&mdash;or won&#8217;t. When
+our youth goes, Jane, we&#8217;ll have to be loved for our
+virtues. Adelaide will be loved for the part she
+plays, and she plays it well.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She laughed and stood up. &#8220;I am afraid your
+announcement to-morrow will hurt her feelings,
+Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She knows,&#8221; Jane said quietly. &#8220;Mr. Towne
+told her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really?&#8221; Edith stopped, and went on in a
+lower tone, &#8220;Speaking of angels&mdash;here she comes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide, in her burnished tulle, tall, slender,
+graceful as a willow, was swinging along beneath
+the trellis. The peacock had turned and walked
+beside her. &#8220;What a picture Baldy could make of
+that,&#8221; Edith said, &#8220;&#8216;The Proud Lady.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know,&#8221; Jane&#8217;s voice was also lowered,
+&#8220;when I look at her, I feel that it is she who should
+marry your uncle.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith was frank. &#8220;I should hate her. And so
+would he in a month. She&#8217;s artificial, and you are
+so adorably natural, Jane.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide had reached the circle of light that surrounded
+the fountain. &#8220;The men have come and
+have gone up to dress,&#8221; she said. &#8220;All except your
+uncle, Edith. He telephoned that he can&#8217;t get here
+until after dinner. He has an important conference.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He said he might be late. Benny came, of
+course?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span>&#8220;Yes, and Eloise is happy. He had brought her
+all the town gossip. That&#8217;s why I left. I hate
+gossip.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith knew that pose. No one could talk more
+devastatingly than Adelaide of her neighbor&#8217;s affairs.
+But she did it, subtly, with an effect of
+charity. &#8220;I am very fond of her,&#8221; was her way of
+prefacing a ruthless revelation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought your brother would be down,&#8221; Adelaide
+looked at Jane, poised on the rim of the fountain,
+like a blue butterfly,&mdash;&#8220;but he wasn&#8217;t with
+the rest.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy can&#8217;t be here until to-morrow noon. He
+had to be in the office.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What are you going to do with yourself in the
+meantime, Edith?&#8221; Adelaide was in a mood to
+make people uncomfortable. She was uncomfortable
+herself. Jane, in billowing heavenly blue with
+rose ribbons floating at her girdle, was youth incarnate.
+And it was her youth that had attracted
+Towne.</p>
+
+<p>The three women walked towards the house together.
+As they came out from under the arbor,
+they were aware of black clouds stretched across
+the horizon. &#8220;I hope it won&#8217;t rain,&#8221; Edith said.
+&#8220;Lucy is planning to serve dinner on the terrace.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide was irritable. &#8220;I wish she wouldn&#8217;t.
+There&#8217;ll be bugs and things.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane liked the idea of an out-of-door dinner. She
+thought that the maids in their pink linen were like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>
+rose-leaves blown across the lawn. There was a
+great umbrella over the table, rose-striped. &#8220;How
+gay it is,&#8221; she said; &#8220;I hope the rain won&#8217;t spoil it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the wide-pillared piazza, no
+one was there. The wind was blowing steadily
+from the bank of clouds. Edith went in to get a
+scarf.</p>
+
+<p>And so Jane and Adelaide were left alone.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide sat in a big chair with a back like a
+spreading fan; she was statuesque, and knew it,
+but she would have exchanged at the moment every
+classic line for the effect that Jane gave of unpremeditated
+grace and beauty. The child had flung
+a cushion on the marble step, and had dropped
+down upon it. The wind caught up her ruffles, so
+that she seemed to float in a cloud.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed, and tucked her whirling draperies
+about her. &#8220;I love the wind, don&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide did not love the wind. It rumpled her
+hair. She felt spitefully ready to hurt Jane.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is a pity,&#8221; she said, after a pause, &#8220;that
+Ricky can&#8217;t dine with us.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane agreed. &#8220;Mr. Towne always seems to be a
+very busy person.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide carried a little gauze fan with gold-lacquered
+sticks. When she spoke she kept her
+eyes upon the fan. &#8220;Do you always call him &#8216;Mr.
+Towne&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But not when you&#8217;re alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span>Jane flushed. &#8220;Yes, I do. Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, my dear, it is so very formal. And you
+are going to marry him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He said that he had told you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ricky tells me everything. We are very old
+friends, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane said nothing. There was, indeed, nothing
+to say. She was not in the least jealous of Adelaide.
+She wondered, of course, why Towne should
+have overlooked this lovely lady to choose a shabby
+child. But he had chosen the child, and that settled
+it as far as Mrs. Laramore was concerned.</p>
+
+<p>But it did not settle it for Adelaide. &#8220;I think it
+is distinctly amusing for you to call him &#8216;Mr.
+Towne.&#8217; Poor Ricky! You mustn&#8217;t hold him at
+arms&#8217; length.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, none of the rest of us have,&#8221; said Adelaide,
+deliberately.</p>
+
+<p>Jane looked up at her. &#8220;The rest of you?
+What do you mean, Mrs. Laramore?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, the women that Ricky has loved,&#8221; lightly.</p>
+
+<p>The winds fluttered the ribbons of Jane&#8217;s frock,
+fluttered her ruffles. The peacock on the lawn uttered
+a discordant note. Jane was subconsciously
+aware of a kinship between Adelaide and the burnished
+bird. She spoke of the peacock.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a disagreeable voice he has.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide stared. &#8220;Who?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The peacock,&#8221; said Jane.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span>Then Eloise and Edith came in, and presently
+the men, and Lucy and Del from a trip to the small
+porkers, and Adelaide going out with Del to dinner
+was uncomfortably aware that Jane had either artlessly
+or artfully refused to discuss with her the
+women who had been loved by Frederick Towne!</p>
+
+<p>The dinner was delicious. &#8220;Our farm products,&#8221;
+Delafield boasted. Even the fish, it seemed, he had
+caught that morning, motoring over to the river
+and bringing them back to be split and broiled and
+served with little new potatoes. There was chicken
+and asparagus, small cream cheeses with the salad,
+heaped-up berries in a Royal Worcester bowl,
+roses from the garden. &#8220;All home-grown,&#8221; said
+the proud new husband.</p>
+
+<p>Jane ate with little appetite. She had refused to
+discuss with Adelaide the former heart affairs of
+her betrothed, but the words rang in her ears, &#8220;The
+women that Ricky has loved.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane was young. And to youth, love is for the
+eternities. The thought of herself as one of a succession
+of Dulcineas was degrading. She was
+restless and unhappy. It was useless to assure
+herself that Towne had chosen her above all the
+rest. She was not sophisticated enough to assume
+that it is, perhaps, better to be a man&#8217;s last love
+than his first. That Towne had made it possible
+for any woman to speak of him as Adelaide spoke,
+seemed to Jane to drag her own relation to him in
+the dust.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>The strength of the wind increased. The table
+was sheltered by the house, but at last Delafield
+decided, &#8220;We&#8217;d better go in. The rain is coming.
+We can have our coffee in the hall.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Their leaving had the effect of a stampede. Big
+drops splashed into the plates. The men servants
+and maids scurried to the rescue of china and linen.</p>
+
+<p>The draperies of the women streamed in the
+wind. Adelaide&#8217;s tulle was a banner of green and
+blue. The peacock came swiftly up the walk, crying
+raucously, and found a sheltered spot beneath
+the steps.</p>
+
+<p>From the wide hall, they saw the rain in silver
+sheets. Then the doors were shut against the beating
+wind.</p>
+
+<p>They drank their coffee, and bridge tables were
+brought in. There were enough without Jane to
+form two tables. And she was glad. She wandered
+into the living-room and curled herself up in
+a window-seat. The window opened on the porch.
+Beyond the white pillars she could see the road,
+and the rain-drenched garden.</p>
+
+<p>After a time the rain stopped, and the world
+showed clear as crystal against the opal brightness
+of the western sky. The peacock came out of his
+hiding-place, and dragged a heavy tail over the sodden
+lawn.</p>
+
+<p>It was cool and the air was sweet. Jane lay
+with her head against a cushion, looking out. She
+was lonely and wished that Towne would come.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>
+Perhaps in his presence her doubts would vanish.
+It grew dark and darker. Jane shut her eyes and
+at last she fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>She was waked by Towne&#8217;s voice. He was on the
+porch. &#8220;Where is everybody?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was Adelaide who answered him. &#8220;They have
+motored into Alexandria to the movies. Eloise
+would have it. But I stayed&mdash;waiting for you,
+Ricky.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where&#8217;s Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She went up-stairs early. Like a sleepy child.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane heard his laugh. &#8220;She is a child&mdash;a darling
+child.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then in the darkness Adelaide said, &#8220;Don&#8217;t,
+Ricky.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you remember that once upon a time you
+called me&mdash;a darling child?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did I? Well, perhaps you were. You are certainly
+a very charming woman.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Jane, listening breathlessly, assured herself that
+of course he was polite. He had to be.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide was speaking. &#8220;So you are going to
+announce it to-morrow?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who told you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Edith.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, it seemed best, Adelaide. The wedding
+day isn&#8217;t far off&mdash;and the world will have to know
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A hushed moment, then, &#8220;Oh, Ricky, Ricky!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>&#8220;Adelaide! Don&#8217;t take it like that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t help it. You are going out of my life.
+And you&#8217;ve always been so strong, and big, and
+brave. No other man will ever match you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When he spoke, his voice had a new and softer
+note. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t dream it would hurt you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You might have known.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The lightning flickering along the horizon showed
+Adelaide standing beside Towne&#8217;s chair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ricky&#8221;&mdash;the whispered words reached Jane&mdash;&#8220;kiss
+me once&mdash;to say &#8216;good-bye.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVII<br />
+
+<small>FLIGHT</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Young</span> Baldwin Barnes, on Saturday morning,
+ate breakfast alone in the little house. He read his
+paper and drank his coffee. But the savor of
+things was gone. He missed Jane. Her engaging
+chatter, the spirited challenge, even the small irritations.
+&#8220;She is such a darling-dear,&#8221; was his
+homesick meditation.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, a man needed a woman on the other side of
+the table. And when Jane was married, what then?</p>
+
+<p><i>Edith!</i></p>
+
+<p>Oh, if he might! If Philomel might sing for
+her! Toast and poached eggs! Nectar and ambrosia!
+His little house a castle!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But it isn&#8217;t mine own,&#8221; the young poet reminded
+himself; &#8220;there is still the mortgage.&#8221; He
+came down to earth, cleared the table, fed the pussy-cats.
+Then he went down to the post-box to get the
+mail.</p>
+
+<p>The Barnes&#8217; mail was rarely voluminous, rarely
+interesting. A bill or two, a letter from Judy&mdash;some
+futile advertising stuff.</p>
+
+<p>This morning, however, there was a long envelope.
+In one corner was the name of the magazine
+to which, nearly six months before, Baldy had sent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>
+his prize cover design. The thing had almost gone
+out of his thoughts. He had long ceased to hope.
+Money did not miraculously fall into one&#8217;s lap.</p>
+
+<p>He tore open the envelope. Within was a closely
+typed letter and a pale pink check.</p>
+
+<p>The check was for two thousand dollars. He
+had won the prize!</p>
+
+<p>Breathless with the thought of it, deprived of
+strength, he sat down on the terrace steps. Merrymaid
+and the kitten came down and angled for
+attention, but Baldy overlooked them utterly. The
+letter was astounding. The magazine had not only
+given him the prize but they wanted more of his
+work. They would pay well for it&mdash;and if he would
+come to New York at their expense, the art editor
+would like to talk it over!</p>
+
+<p>Baldy, looking up from the pregnant phrases and
+catching Merrymaid&#8217;s eye upon him, demanded,
+&#8220;Now, what do you think of that? Shall I resign
+from the office? I&#8217;ll tell the world, I will.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Oh, the thing might even make it possible for
+him to marry Edith. He could at least pay for the
+honeymoon&mdash;preserve some sense of personal independence
+while he worked towards fame. If she
+would only see it. That he must ask her to live
+for a time&mdash;in the little house. He&#8217;d make things
+easy for her,&mdash;oh, well, the thing could be done&mdash;it
+could be done.</p>
+
+<p>He flew up the steps on the wings of his delight.
+He would ride like the wind to Virginia&mdash;find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span>
+Edith, in a rose-garden, fling himself at her feet!
+Declare his good fortune! And he would see her
+eyes!</p>
+
+<p>Packing his bag, he decided to stop in Washington,
+and perpetrate a few extravagances. Something
+for Edith. Something for Jane. Something
+for himself. There would be no harm in looking his
+best....</p>
+
+<p>He arrived at Grass Hills in time for lunch. His
+little Ford came up the drive as proudly as a Rolls-Royce.
+And Baldy descending was a gay and gallant
+figure. There was no one in sight but the
+servants who took his bag, and drove his car
+around to the garage. A maid in rose linen said
+that Mr. and Mrs. Simms were at the stables. Miss
+Towne was on the links with the other guests, and
+would return from the Country Club in time for
+lunch at two o&#8217;clock. Miss Barnes was up-stairs.
+Her head had ached, and she had had her breakfast
+in bed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you let her know that I am here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The maid went up and came down again to say
+that Miss Barnes was in the second gallery&mdash;and
+would he go right up.</p>
+
+<p>The second gallery looked out over the river.
+Jane lay in a long chair. She was pale, and there
+were shadows under her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, look here, Janey,&#8221; Baldy blurted out, &#8220;is
+it as bad as this?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m just&mdash;lazy.&#8221; She sat up and kissed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span>
+him. Then buried her face in his coat and wept
+silently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For heaven&#8217;s sake, Jane,&#8221; he patted her shoulder,
+&#8220;what&#8217;s the matter?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want to go home.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked blank. &#8220;Home?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; She stopped crying. &#8220;Baldy, something
+has happened&mdash;and I&#8217;ve got to tell you.&#8221; Tensely,
+with her hands clasped about her knees, she rehearsed
+for him the scene between Adelaide and
+Frederick Towne. And when she finished she said,
+&#8220;I can&#8217;t marry him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course not. A girl like you. You&#8217;d be miserable.
+And that&#8217;s the end of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Utterly miserable.&#8221; She stared before her.
+Then presently she went on. &#8220;I stayed up-stairs
+all the morning. Lucy and Edith have been perfect
+dears. I think Edith lays it to the announcement
+of my engagement to-night. That I was
+dreading it. Of course it mustn&#8217;t be announced,
+Baldy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stood up, sternly renouncing his dreams.
+&#8220;Get your things on, Jane, and I&#8217;ll take you home.
+You can&#8217;t stay here, of course. We can decide
+later what it is best to do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see how I can break it off. He&#8217;s done
+so much for us. I can&#8217;t ever&mdash;pay him&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>In Baldy&#8217;s pocket was the pink slip. He took it
+out and handed it to his sister. &#8220;Jane, I got the
+prize. Two thousand dollars.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span>&#8220;Baldy!&#8221; Her tone was incredulous.</p>
+
+<p>He had no joy in the announcement. The thing
+had ceased to mean freedom&mdash;it had ceased to mean&mdash;Edith.
+It meant only one thing at the moment, to
+free Jane from bondage.</p>
+
+<p>He gave Jane the letter and she read it. &#8220;It is
+your great opportunity.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; He refused to discuss that aspect of it.
+&#8220;And it comes in the nick of time for you, old
+dear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Their flight was a hurried one. A note for Lucy
+and one for Towne. A note for Edith!</p>
+
+<p>Jane was not well was the reason given their
+hostess. The note to Towne said more than that.
+And the note to Edith was&mdash;renunciation.</p>
+
+<p>Edith coming home to luncheon found the note
+in her room. All the morning she had been filled
+with glorious anticipation. Baldy would arrive in
+a few hours. Together they would walk down that
+trellised path to the fountain, they would sit on the
+marble coping. She would trail her hand through
+the water. Further than that she would not let
+her imagination carry her. It was enough that she
+would see him in that magic place with his air of
+golden youth.</p>
+
+<p>But she was not to see him, for the note said:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;Beloved&mdash;I make no excuse for calling you that
+because I say it always in my heart&mdash;Jane has made
+up her mind that she cannot marry your uncle. So
+we are leaving at once.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span>&#8220;I can&#8217;t tell you what the thought of these two
+days with you meant to me. And now I must give
+them up. Perhaps I must give you up, I don&#8217;t
+know. I came with high hopes. I go away without
+any hope at all. But I love you.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Edith read the note twice, then put it to her lips.
+She hardly dared admit to herself the keenness of
+her disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>She stood for a long time at the window looking
+out. Why had Jane decided not to marry Uncle
+Frederick? What had happened since yesterday
+afternoon?</p>
+
+<p>From Edith&#8217;s window she could see the south
+lawn. The servants were arranging a buffet
+luncheon. Little tables were set around&mdash;and
+wicker chairs. Adelaide, tall and fair, in her favorite
+blue and a broad black hat stood by one of
+the little tables. She was feeding the peacock with
+bits of bread. She made a picture, and Towne&#8217;s
+window faced that way.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wonder&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; Edith said, and stopped. She
+remembered coming in from the movies the night
+before and finding Adelaide and Towne on the
+porch. And where was Jane?</p>
+
+<p>Towne did not eat lunch. He pleaded important
+business, and had his car brought around. But
+everybody knew that he was following Jane.
+Mystery was in the air. Adelaide was restless.
+Only Edith knew the truth.</p>
+
+<p>After lunch, she told Lucy. &#8220;Jane isn&#8217;t going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span>
+to marry Uncle Fred. I don&#8217;t know why. But I
+am afraid it is breaking up your house party.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope it is,&#8221; said Lucy, calmly. &#8220;Delafield is
+bored to death. He wants to get back to his pigs
+and roses. I am speaking frankly to you because
+I know you understand. I want our lives to be
+bigger and broader than they would have been if
+we hadn&#8217;t met. And as for you&#8221;&mdash;her voice shook
+a little&mdash;&#8220;you&#8217;ll always be a sort of goddess blessing
+our hearth.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Edith bent and kissed her, emotion gripping her.
+&#8220;Your hearth is blessed without me,&#8221; she said,
+&#8220;but I&#8217;ll always be glad to come.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Towne, riding like mad along the Virginia roads,
+behind the competent Briggs, reread Jane&#8217;s letter.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was not up-stairs last night when you came.
+I was asleep in the window-seat of the living-room,
+just off the porch. And your voice waked me and
+I heard what you said, and Mrs. Laramore. And
+I can&#8217;t marry you. I know how much you&#8217;ve done
+for me,&mdash;and I shall never forget your goodness.
+Baldy will take me home.&#8221;</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Enclosed was a pink check.</p>
+
+<p>Towne blamed Adelaide furiously. Of course it
+was her fault. Such foolishness. And sentimentality.
+And he had been weak enough to fall for it.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, as he cooled a bit, he was glad that Jane
+had showed her resentment. It was in keeping with
+his conception of her. Her innocence had flamed
+against such sophistication. There might, too, be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span>
+a hint of jealousy. Women were like that. Jealous.</p>
+
+<p>As they whirled through Washington, Briggs
+voiced his fears. &#8220;If we meet a cop it will be all
+up with us, Mr. Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Take a chance, Briggs. Give her more gas.
+We&#8217;ve got to get there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With all their speed, however, it was four o&#8217;clock
+when they reached Sherwood. Towne was still in
+the clothes he had worn on the links. He had not
+eaten since breakfast. He felt the strain.</p>
+
+<p>He stormed up the terrace, where once he had
+climbed in the snow. He rang the bell. It whirred
+and whirred again in the silence. The house was
+empty.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVIII<br />
+
+<small>IN THE PINE GROVE</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was on the way home that Jane had said to
+Baldy: &#8220;I feel like a selfish pig.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, my dear?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To take your precious prize before it is cold.
+It doesn&#8217;t seem right.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t a question of right or wrong. If things
+turn out with these new people as I hope, I&#8217;ll be
+painting like mad for the next two months. And
+you&#8217;ll have your work cut out for you as my model.
+They like you, Jane. They said so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He had driven on steadily for a time, and had
+then said, &#8220;I never wanted you to marry him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not, Baldy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He turned his lighted-up eyes upon her. &#8220;Janey&mdash;I
+wanted you to have your&mdash;dreams&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She had laid her hand on his arm in a swift
+caress. &#8220;You&#8217;re a darling&mdash;&mdash;&#8221; and after a while,
+&#8220;Nothing can take us from each other, ever,
+Baldy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Never had they drawn closer in spirit than at
+this moment. But they said very little about it.
+When they came to the house, Baldy went at once
+to the garage. &#8220;I&#8217;ll answer that letter, and put in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span>
+a good afternoon looking over my sketches.&#8221; He
+did not tell her how gray the day stretched ahead
+of him&mdash;that golden day which had started with
+high hopes.</p>
+
+<p>Jane changed to a loose straight frock of orange
+cotton, and without a hat, feeling actual physical
+freedom in the breaking of her bonds, she swung
+along the path to the little grove. It was aromatic
+with the warm scent of the pines, and there was a
+cool shade in the heart of it. Jane had brought a
+bag of stockings to mend, and sat down to her
+homely task, smiling a little as she thought of the
+contrast between this afternoon and yesterday,
+when she had sat on the rim of the fountain and
+watched Adelaide and the peacock. She had no
+feeling of rancor against Adelaide. She was aware
+only of a great thankfulness.</p>
+
+<p>She was, indeed, at the moment, steeped in divine
+content. Here was the place where she belonged.
+She had a sense of blissful escape.</p>
+
+<p>Merrymaid came down the path, her tail a plume.
+The kitten followed. A bronze butterfly floated
+across their vision, and they leaped for it&mdash;but it
+went above them&mdash;joyously towards the open blue
+of the sky. The two cats gazed after it, then composed
+themselves carefully like a pair of miniature
+lions&mdash;their paws in front of them, sleepy-eyed but
+alert for more butterflies, or for Jane&#8217;s busy thread.</p>
+
+<p>And it was thus that Towne found her. Convinced
+that the house was empty, he had started<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>
+towards Baldy&#8217;s studio. Then down the vista of
+the pine grove, his eye had been caught by a spot
+of golden color. He had followed it.</p>
+
+<p>She laid down her work and looked up at him.
+&#8220;You shouldn&#8217;t have come.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear child, why not? Jane, you are making
+mountains of molehills.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He sat down beside her. The little cats drew
+away, doubtful. &#8220;It was natural that you should
+have resented it. And a thing like that isn&#8217;t easy
+for a man to explain. Without seeming a&mdash;cad&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There isn&#8217;t anything to explain.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But there is. I have made you unhappy, and
+I&#8217;m sorry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head, and spoke thoughtfully. &#8220;I
+think I am&mdash;happy. Mr. Towne, your world isn&#8217;t
+my world. I like simple things and pleasant
+things, and honest things. And I like a One-Woman
+man, Mr. Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He tried to laugh. &#8220;You are jealous.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; she said, quietly, &#8220;it isn&#8217;t that, although
+men like you think it is. A woman who has self-respect
+must know her husband has her respect.
+Her heart must rest in him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He spoke slowly. &#8220;I&#8217;ll admit that I&#8217;ve philandered
+a lot. But I&#8217;ve never wanted to marry anyone
+but you. I can promise you my future.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry. But even if last night had never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span>
+been&mdash;I think I should have&mdash;given you up. I had
+begun to feel that I didn&#8217;t love you. That out there
+in Chicago you swept me off my feet. Mr. Towne,
+I am sorry. And I am grateful. For all your kindness&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;
+She flushed and went on, &#8220;You know,
+of course, that I shan&#8217;t be happy until&mdash;I don&#8217;t
+owe you anything....&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laid his hand on hers. &#8220;I wish you wouldn&#8217;t
+speak of it. It was nothing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was a great deal.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked down at her, slender and young and
+infinitely desirable. &#8220;You needn&#8217;t think I am going
+to let you go,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid&mdash;you must&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He flamed suddenly. &#8220;I&#8217;m more of a One-Woman
+man than you think. If you won&#8217;t marry
+me, I won&#8217;t have anyone else. I&#8217;ll go on alone. As
+for Adelaide&mdash;&mdash;A woman like that doesn&#8217;t expect
+much more than I gave. That&#8217;s all I can say about
+her. She means nothing to me, seriously, and never
+will. She plays the game, and so do I, but it&#8217;s only
+a game.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked tired and old. &#8220;I&#8217;ll go abroad to-morrow.
+When I come back, perhaps you&#8217;ll
+change your mind.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall never change it,&#8221; she said, &#8220;never.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stood up. &#8220;Jane, I could make you happy.&#8221;
+He held her hand as she stood beside him.</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him and knew that he could not.
+Her dreams had come back to her&mdash;of Galahad&mdash;of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>
+Robin Hood ... the world of romance had
+again flung wide its gates....</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>After Towne had gone she sat for a long time
+thinking it over. She blamed herself. She had
+broken her promise. Yet, he, too, had broken a
+promise.</p>
+
+<p>She finished mending the stockings, and rolled
+them into compact balls. The little cats were
+asleep&mdash;the shadows were stretched out and the
+sun slanted through the pines. She had dinner to
+get, for her return had been unexpected, and Sophy
+had not been notified.</p>
+
+<p>She might have brought to the thought of her
+tasks some faint feeling of regret. But she had
+none. She was glad to go in&mdash;to make an omelette&mdash;and
+cream the potatoes&mdash;and have hot biscuits
+and berries&mdash;and honey.</p>
+
+<p>Planning thus, competently, she raised her eyes&mdash;to
+see coming along the path the two boys who
+had of late been Evans&#8217; close companions. She
+spoke to them as they reached her. &#8220;Can&#8217;t you
+stay a minute? I&#8217;ll make you some lemonade.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They stopped and looked at her in a way that
+startled her. &#8220;We can&#8217;t,&#8221; Arthur said; &#8220;we&#8217;re going
+over to the Follettes. We thought we might
+help.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stared at them. &#8220;Help? What do you
+mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sandy gasped. &#8220;Oh, didn&#8217;t you know? Mrs.
+Follette died this morning....&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span>
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIX<br />
+
+<small>JANE DREAMS</small></h2></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Evans</span> had found his mother at noon, lying on
+the couch at the foot of her bed. He had stayed at
+home in the morning to help her, and at ten o&#8217;clock
+she had gone up-stairs to rest a bit before lunch.
+Old Mary had called her, and she had not answered.
+So Evans had entered her room to find
+that she had slipped away peacefully from the
+world in which she exaggerated her own importance.
+It would go on without her. She had not
+been neighborly but the neighbors would all come
+and sympathize with her son. And they would
+miss her, because she had added to the community
+some measure of stateliness, which they admired
+even as they resented it.</p>
+
+<p>Evans had tried to get Baldy on the telephone,
+but could not. Jane was at Grass Hills. He would
+call up at long distance later. There was no reason
+why he should spoil for them this day of days.</p>
+
+<p>So he had done the things that had to be done
+in the shadowed house. Dr. Hallam came, and
+others. Evans saw them and they went away. He
+moved in a dream. He had no one to share intimately
+his sorrow&mdash;no sister, no brother, no one,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span>
+except his little dog, who trailed after him, wistful-eyed,
+and with limping steps.</p>
+
+<p>The full force of the thing that had happened
+did not come to him at once. He had a feeling that
+at any moment his mother might sweep in from the
+out-of-doors, in her white linen and flat black hat,
+and sit at the head of the table, and tell him the
+news of the morning.</p>
+
+<p>He had had no lunch, so old Mary fixed a tray
+for him. He did not eat, but drank some milk.
+Then he and Rusty took up their restless wandering
+through the silent rooms. Old Mary, true to
+tradition, had drawn all the blinds and shut many
+of the windows, so that the house was filled with a
+sort of golden gloom. Evans went into his mother&#8217;s
+little office on the first floor, and sat down at
+her desk. It was in perfect order, and laid out on
+the blotter was the writing paper with the golden
+crest, and the box of golden seals. And he had
+laughed at her! He remembered with a pang that
+they would never again laugh together. He was
+alone.</p>
+
+<p>He wondered why such things happened. Was
+all of life as sinister as this? Must one always
+find tragedy at every turn of the road? He had lost
+his youth, had lost Jane. And now his mother.
+Was everything to be taken away? Would there
+be nothing left but strength to endure?</p>
+
+<p>Well, God helping him, he would endure to the
+end....</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span>He closed the desk gently and went out into the
+darkened hall. As he followed its length, a door
+opened at the end. Black against the brightness
+beyond, he saw the two lads. They came forward
+with some hesitation, but when they saw his tired
+face, they forgot self-consciousness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We just heard. And we want to help.&#8221; Sandy
+was spokesman. Arthur was speechless. But he
+caught hold of Evans&#8217; sleeve and looked up at him.
+His eyes said what his voice refused.</p>
+
+<p>Evans, with his arms across their shoulders, drew
+the boys to him. &#8220;It was good of you to come.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Barnes said,&#8221; again it was Sandy who
+spoke, &#8220;that perhaps we might get some pine from
+the little grove. That your mother liked it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Barnes? Is she back? Does she know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We told her. She is coming right over.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy drove Jane in his little car. As she entered
+she seemed to bring the light in with her.
+She illumined the house like a torch.</p>
+
+<p>She walked swiftly towards Evans, and held out
+her hand. &#8220;My dear, I am so sorry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought you were at Grass Hills.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We came back unexpectedly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am so glad&mdash;you came.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was having a bad time with his voice. He
+could not go on....</p>
+
+<p>Jane spoke to the boys. &#8220;Did you ask him about
+the pine branches? Just those, and roses from the
+garden, Evans.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span>&#8220;You always think of things&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Baldy will take the boys to the grove, and do
+any errands you may have for him.&#8221; She was her
+calm and competent self&mdash;letting him get control
+of his emotion while she directed others.</p>
+
+<p>Baldy, coming in, wrung Evans&#8217; hand. &#8220;The
+boys and I will get the pine, and Edith Towne is
+coming out to help. I called her up to tell
+her&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Baldy stopped at that. He could not speak here
+of the glory that encompassed him. He had said,
+&#8220;<i>If death should come to us, Edith! Does anything
+else count?</i>&#8221; And she had said, &#8220;<i>Nothing.</i>&#8221;
+And now she was coming and they would pick roses
+together in the garden. And love and life would
+minister to a greater mystery....</p>
+
+<p>When Baldy and the boys had gone, Jane and
+Evans opened the windows and pulled up the
+shades. The house was filled with clear light, and
+was cool in the breeze.</p>
+
+<p>When they had finished, Jane said, &#8220;That&#8217;s all,
+I think. We can rest a bit. And presently it will
+be time for dinner.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want any dinner.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They were in the library. Outside was an
+amethyst twilight, with a young moon low in
+the sky. Evans and Jane stood by the window,
+looking out, and Jane asked in a hushed voice,
+&#8220;You don&#8217;t want any dinner because she won&#8217;t be
+at the other end of the table?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; His face was turned from her. His
+hands were clinched. His throat was dry. For a
+moment he wished he were alone that he might
+weep for his mother.</p>
+
+<p>And then Jane said, &#8220;Let me sit at the other end
+of your table.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He turned back to her, and saw her eyes, and
+what he saw made him reach out blindly for her
+hand&mdash;sympathy, tenderness&mdash;a womanly brooding
+tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Evans, Evans,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I am not going
+to marry Frederick Towne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221; thickly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t love him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you love me, Jane?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She nodded and could not speak. They clung together.
+He wept and was not ashamed of it.</p>
+
+<p>And standing there, with his head against her
+breast, Jane knew that she had found the best.
+Marriage was not a thing of luxury and soft living,
+of flaming moments of wild emotion. It was a
+thing of hardness shared, of spirit meeting spirit,
+of dream matching dream. Jane, that afternoon,
+had caught her breath as she had come into the
+darkened hall, and had seen Evans standing between
+those slender lads. So some day, perhaps, in
+this old house&mdash;his sons!</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="transnote">
+
+<p class="ph2">TRANSCRIBER&#8217;S NOTE:</p>
+
+<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p>
+
+<p>Multiple sources were consulted and pages 5 and 6 do not exist in this edition.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
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