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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3765ef2 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64917 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64917) diff --git a/old/64917-0.txt b/old/64917-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2a670a9..0000000 --- a/old/64917-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9779 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Are Parents People?, by Alice Duer Miller - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Are Parents People? - -Author: Alice Duer Miller - -Release Date: March 24, 2021 [eBook #64917] -[Most recently updated: August 24, 2021] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARE PARENTS PEOPLE? *** - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber's note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -ARE PARENTS PEOPLE? - -BY - -ALICE DUER MILLER - -AUTHOR OF - -"THE HAPPIEST TIMES OF THEIR LIVES," "THE CHARM SCHOOL," -"COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN," AND "MANSLAUGHTER" - - -[Illustration: Logo] - - -NEW YORK -DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY -1924 - - - - -COPYRIGHT, 1914, 1918, 1919, 1922, 1923, 1924 -BY ALICE DUER MILLER - - -PRINTED IN U. S. A. - - -VAIL-BALLOU PRESS, INC. -BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK - - - - -To - -MY MOTHER-IN-LAW - - - "That little person and small stature was quickly founde to - contayne a greate hearte." - --CLARENDON. - - - - -CONTENTS - - PAGE -ARE PARENTS PEOPLE? 1 - -THE AMERICAN HUSBAND 102 - -DEVOTED WOMEN 129 - -THE RETURN TO NORMALCY 154 - -THE RED CARPET 179 - -THE WIDOW'S MIGHT 205 - -WHOSE PETARD WAS IT? 232 - -THE NEW STOICS 261 - -WORSE THAN MARRIED 277 - - - - -ARE PARENTS PEOPLE? - - -I - -The girls marched into chapel singing Jerusalem the Golden. Some of -the voices were shrill and piping, and some were clear and sweet; but -all had that peculiar young freshness which always makes old hearts -ache, and which now drew tears to the eyes of many visiting parents -looking down from the gallery, and trying not to crane their necks -conspicuously when their own offspring appeared in the aisle below. - -On Sundays the whole school came out in blue serge and black velvet -tam-o'-shanters. The little girls marched first--some as young as -eleven years--and as they came from the main school buildings and -marched up the long aisle they were holding the high notes, "Jerusalem -the golden," and their voices sounded like young birds', before the -older girls came crashing in with the next line, "With milk and honey -blest." They marched quickly--it was a tradition of the school--divided -to right and left, and filed into their appointed places. - -Last of all came the tall senior president, and beside her a little -figure that hardly reached her shoulder, and seemed as if one of -the younger children were out of place; yet this was an important -figure in the life of the school--Lita Hazlitt, the chairman of the -self-government committee. - -Her face was almost round except for a small point that was her chin; -her hair--short curls, not ringlets--curved up on her black velvet tam, -and was blond, but a dusky blond. There was something alert, almost -naughty in her expression, although at the moment this was mitigated -by an air of discretion hardly avoidable by the chairman of the -self-government committee in church. - -In this, her last year at Elbridge Hall, she had come to love the -chapel. Its gray stone and dark narrow windows of blue or amethyst, -the organ and the voices, gave her a sense of peace almost mystic--a -mood she could never have attained unaided, for hers was a nature -essentially practical. Like most practical people, she was kind. It was -so easy for Lita to see what was needed--to do a problem in geometry -or mend a typewriter or knit a sweater--that she was always doing such -things for her friends, not so much from unselfishness as from sheer -competence. - -The seniors sat in the carved stalls against the wall, and Lita liked -to rest her hand on the rounded head of a dragon which made the arm of -her chair. It had a polished surface and the knobs of the ears fitted -into her fingers. - -"Dearly beloved brethren, the Scripture moveth us, in sundry places, to -acknowledge and confess--" - -Lita loved the words of the service, and she noted that part of -their beauty was the needless doubling of words--dissemble and -cloak--assemble and meet together--requisite and necessary. Yet Miss -Fraser, who taught English at Elbridge, would call that tautology in a -theme.... She sank on her knees, burying her small nose in her hands -for the general confession. - -As they rose from their knees and the choir broke out into O Come, -let us sing unto the Lord, Lita allowed herself one glance at the -gallery, where her lovely mother was just rising, slim and erect, with -a bearing polite rather than devout. Lita could see one immaculate gray -glove holding her prayerbook. She was a beautifully dressed person. -The whole school had an orgy of retrimming hats and remaking dresses -after Mrs. Hazlitt had spent a Sunday at Elbridge. She was as blond as -her daughter, except that somehow in the transmission of the family -coloring she had acquired a pair of enormous black eyes from some -contradictory ancestor. Even across the chapel Lita could see the dark -splotches that were her mother's eyes. It was great fun--the Sundays -that Mrs. Hazlitt came to the school, and yet Lita was always a little -nervous. Her mother said anything that came into her head--simply -anything, commenting on teachers and making fun of rules. The girls -loved it, of course, but sometimes-- The First Lesson had begun. - -The service went on. It was not until the Second Lesson was being -read that Lita, glancing idly toward the ante-chapel, saw that a -terrible thing had happened: Her father had arrived too--unexpected -and unannounced. He was standing there under the gallery, his hat and -stick and gloves all held in one hand, and his mouth just not smiling -as he at last contrived to meet her eyes. There they were--her mother -looking down at her so calmly from the gallery and her father waiting -so confidently for her below, each unaware of the other's presence. -What in thunder was she going to do? - -Their divorce had taken place a great many years before, when Lita was -so young that her mother was not much more important to her than her -nurse, and her father very much less so. She was accustomed to the idea -of their divorce; but she did wish they were divorced as Aurelia's -parents were--quite amicably, even meeting now and then to talk over -questions of Aurelia's welfare. Or the way Carrie Waldron's were--each -remarried happily to someone else, so that Carrie had two amusing sets -of half brothers and sisters growing up in different parts of the -country. But Lita was aware of a constrained bitterness, a repressed -hatred between her parents. When they said, "Perhaps your father does -not quite take in, my dear--" or "I would not interfere with any plan -of your mother's; but I must say--" Lita was conscious of a poisoned -miasma that seemed to rise from old battlegrounds. - -And now, in a few minutes, these two people who had not spoken for -thirteen years would come face to face in the cheerful group of parents -which every Sunday brought to the school. The few minutes after the -service when everyone stood about on the grass outside the church and -chatted was a time of public friendliness between three inharmonious -classes--parents, teachers and pupils; and there these two dear foes -of hers would be, each waiting so confidently to claim her undivided -attention. She must prevent it. - -She had the sermon to think it out, and for the first time in her life -she hoped it would be a long sermon. The preacher, a fine-looking old -missionary bishop, with a long upper lip like a lawyer, and a deep-set -eye like a fanatic, was going up into the pulpit, turning on the -reading light, shaking back the fine frills of his episcopal sleeves. - -"My text," he was saying, "will be taken from the eleventh chapter of -Isaiah, the sixth verse: 'The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and -the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young -lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.' The -eleventh chapter of Isaiah, the sixth verse." - -Well, the text was not inappropriate, Lita thought; but she had -no intention of listening. The situation, besides its practical -difficulties, brought all the emotion of her childhood's worries and -confusions. One of her very earliest recollections went back to a time -when her parents still loved each other. She and her mother had been -sitting on the floor playing with paper dolls, and suddenly her father -had appeared unexpectedly in the doorway--returned ahead of time from a -journey. What Lita specially remembered was the way her mother sprang -up in one single long motion and flung herself into his arms, and how -they had clung together and gone out of the room without a word to her, -leaving her conscious, even at four, that she was forgotten. Presently -her mother had sent her nurse, Margaret, to finish the game; but the -game was already over. Margaret was desirable when one was tired or -hungry or sleepy, but absolutely useless at games of the imagination. - -After that Lita could just remember days when she would see her mother -crying--peculiar conduct for a grown-up person, since grown-up people -were never naughty or afraid and could do anything they wanted to do, -and did. It shocked Lita to see her mother cry; it was contrary to the -plan of the universe. And then, soon after this, her father, as far -as she was concerned, ceased to be; and it must be owned she did not -greatly miss him. - -He ceased to be as a visible presence; but at immensely long -intervals--that is to say, once a year, at Christmas--magical presents -arrived for her, which she knew came from him. The first was the -largest doll she had ever seen. It came from Paris and brought a -trousseau in a French trunk. It was an incredible delight. She dreamed -about it at night, and could hardly believe each morning on waking -that it was reality. The only mitigation of her delight was that her -mother did not admire the doll. She said it had an ugly, stary face. -Lita, beginning the stupendous task of writing a letter of thanks, -with a lead pencil on ruled paper, wrote, "Dear Father: Mother thinks -the doll has a stary face, but I love her--" Only Margaret said that -wouldn't do, and she had to begin all over again, her round, cramped -hand pressing on the pencil until her nails were white. - -When she was eight a gold bracelet arrived, set with red stones. This -time her mother was even more outspoken. She said to Aunt Minnie, "Of -course, she bought it! Isn't it just what you'd expect?" Lita guessed -that "she" meant her father's new wife, for she knew vaguely that -he had married again and was living abroad. She herself thought the -bracelet beautiful; but it was put away, and she was never allowed to -wear it. And now, only a little while before, she had seen it in an old -jewelry case of her mother's and had been surprised to find it was just -what her mother had said it was. - -Then two years later a set of sables had come. This, too, her mother -had utterly condemned. - -"Sables for a child of ten!" - -Aunt Minnie had suggested that Lita's mother wear them herself and -had been well scolded for the suggestion. Lita was content that these -should be confiscated. She preferred her own little ermine set. - -Until she was sixteen, except for presents, she lived the life of a -child with only one parent, and a very satisfactory life it was. Even -when her father was in the United States he did not always take the -trouble to see her. Perhaps it was not made too easy for him to do so. -But within the last two years things had changed. His second wife had -died and he had come back to New York to live. He was older, he was -lonely, and a pretty daughter almost grown up was very different from -a troublesome child who couldn't walk as fast as he did, who required -meals at strange hours and could eat only innocuous food. In his own -silent way Mr. Hazlitt began to bid for his daughter's affection. - -Lita liked the process and she liked him, although she felt immediately -that the feeling was a betrayal of her lovely, devoted mother. It -wasn't right, she reflected, that her father, who had forgotten her -existence for so many years, should come back, and just because he was -nice looking and well off and knew the art of life should be able to -capture her affection as much or more than if he had stayed at home and -been a good parent. It wasn't right, but it was a fact. - -For two years the struggle had been going on, steadily rising in -intensity. Her father had begun by asking for very little--hardly more -than an outlawed parent could ask--but Lita knew that she was becoming -dearer and dearer to him, and that her parents were now contending for -first place in her heart. Soon it would be for her exclusive love. -The pain of the situation to her was that she was to them not only -a battlefield but a weapon and the final trophy of the war. As they -never met, and wrote only through their lawyers, she was their most -vivid channel of communication. She loved her mother the best--much -the best--but her mother was a presupposition of her life, part of the -background, whereas her father was an excitement, a stranger, a totally -new experience. - -When she dined with her mother, that was the solid comfort of -everyday life; but when she went out to a restaurant to dine with her -father--that was a party. - -When her mother told her she was looking well the compliment often -meant only that Mrs. Hazlitt approved of her own taste in clothes; but -if her father said so it was the reaction of an outsider, a critic, a -man of the world; it raised the whole level of her self-esteem. She -couldn't help valuing it more. - -The sermon was nearing its end. Twice already the bishop had begun a -sentence, "And now in conclusion--" The next time, Lita thought, it -might take. If only Aurelia were about! Aurelia was an authority on -the management of divorced parents, though usually with mercenary -intent. Aurelia had studied the art of intimating to one parent -that the other did you rather better. It brought Aurelia great -affluence; but Lita did not quite approve. She thought it too easy to -be sportsmanlike; the poor dears were so innocent. But Aurelia was -stern. She said children ought to get something out of the situation. -Unfortunately, this Sunday, of all Sundays, Aurelia was laid up in the -infirmary with a strange and violent form of indigestion which Lita -was afraid would turn out to be appendicitis. Miss Barton, the head -of the school, believed it to be indigestion merely because she had -discovered that Aurelia the night before had eaten peanuts, peanut -butter, chocolate cake and tomato mayonnaise. What of course one could -not tell Miss Barton was that Aurelia had been eating just such illicit -Saturday-night suppers ever since she came to Elbridge. - -Lita had only said very gently "I'm afraid it's more than indigestion," -and Miss Barton had just glanced at her as if she were a silly ass. - -If Aurelia had been about she would have been sent bounding up the -gallery stairs to detain Mrs. Hazlitt, while Lita herself would have -run out and explained the situation to Mr. Hazlitt. Well, as it was, -she would have a minute or two. The gallery stairs were narrow and it -took people a little while to come down. - -The sermon was over. The organ rolled out into Praise God, from whom -all blessings flow, an anthem which Lita in her childhood had always -supposed was introduced at this point in order to express gratitude -that the sermon was over. - -The girls sprang up as if on wires. Presently they were all marching -down the aisle again. Lita looked up in the gallery and smiled at her -mother, looked down and smiled at her father; and then, as soon as she -was back again in the main school building, she turned and ran as fast -as she could go to the main door of the chapel. - -A crowd of parents and teachers had already gathered, all being as -civil to one another as if they were not naturally hostile. Lita had -once overheard Miss Barton exclaiming, "Of course, anyone could keep a -good school if it weren't for these parents!" Her father was standing -a little apart, waiting. He had put on his hat at the slight angle at -which he wore it--a sort of defiance to his forty-two years. She ran up -to him and flung herself into his arms. - -"Pat, darling," she said--Mr. Hazlitt's name was James; Pat was a -corruption of Lita's early attempts upon the Latin tongue--"it's simply -great to see you back; but--" - -"I only got back last night," said Mr. Hazlitt, as if he himself were -surprised at his own eagerness. "I have Miss Barton's permission for -you to lunch with me--" - -"Pat dear!" - -"--and spend the afternoon." - -"Father!" - -Out of the narrow doorway that led from the gallery stairs Lita could -now see her mother emerging. She was dressed in soft blues and grays -like a pigeon's breast, and her eyes, dazzled by the March sunlight, -were darting about in search of her daughter among all the other -figures in blue serge. Then Lita saw that Miss Barton had stopped her -and introduced the bishop. That meant another minute or two; her mother -would feel she simply must be civil to the bishop. - -"Father." - -"Don't interrupt me, Lita. You're just like--it's a very disagreeable -habit." - -"But you see mother's here, too, father." - -Every trace of expression vanished from Mr. Hazlitt's face--his own way -of expressing emotion. - -Then he said in a hard, even voice, "My first Sunday!" - -"I know, dear, but you see it's her regular Sunday." - -"Of course. I'm not criticizing your mother," he answered, in that -tone in which the phrase is so often used, as if he could do it -magnificently if he let himself go. "Only I must say that after three -months' absence I did hope--" He stopped; his face, which had been -blank before, now became set like steel, and Lita saw that his eyes had -fallen on the former partner of his life. It was most alarming. At any -instant her mother might grow weary of the bishop and turn from him. -Lita laid her hand on her father's arm. - -"So, you see, dear," she said rather glibly, "I can't possibly lunch -with you." - -"I don't see it at all," replied her father. "Your mother has had you -to herself all this winter. I'm afraid I shall have to insist. There is -something I want to talk over with you." - -Lita had not anticipated the least difficulty with her father. He -usually yielded his rights in silence, and afterward her mother -explained to her how mistaken he had been in supposing he had any -rights. She sighed, and he caught the sigh. - -"Unless," he added, "you don't want to lunch with me." - -His feelings were hurt. She couldn't bear that. - -"Of course, I always want to lunch with you," she said, and she was -glad this hearty assurance did not carry so far as her mother's ears. -"I'll run and explain, and I'll meet you at the main gate in half an -hour." - -She turned away. Miss Barton, to whom Sunday was a terrible day, -devoted to placating visiting parents, who always had one disagreeable -thing to say before they left, had rather mistakenly abandoned the -bishop entirely to Mrs. Hazlitt. As Lita approached them she heard her -mother saying: "But I think it's so much nicer for wolves to be wolfish -and leopards leopardy. I'm sure the heathen are ever so much happier -the way they are, sharpening their teeth and eating one another up, -poor dears." - -"But they are not happy, my dear madam," said the bishop, driven by a -sense of duty into correcting her mistake, and yet discouraged by a -sense that whatever he said she would interrupt him before he had said -it. "They are not happy. They are full of terror. Darkness and night -are to them just a recurring fear." - -"To me too," said Mrs. Hazlitt. "The heathen have nothing on me, as -these girls would say. I look under my bed every night for a giant -spider I read about when I was a child. You ought to be so careful what -children read. So interesting--your sermon, bishop. I'm sure you could -convert me if I were a heathen. Oh, I see you think I practically am. -Oh, bishop, your face! Lita, the bishop thinks I'm a heathen. This is -my child. May we go to your room before luncheon? Well, I never know. -I'm so afraid of breaking some of their silly rules in this place. Oh, -I hope Miss Barton did not hear me say that. I've asked that nice fat -girl with the red hair to lunch with us at the inn. I'd rather like -to ask the bishop too--he's rather sweet," she added regretfully as -Lita began to lead her away in the direction of her dormitory. "But I -suppose you girls wouldn't be amused by a bishop." - -"Mother dear," said Lita, "prepare yourself for a shock." - -"You've been expelled," said Mrs. Hazlitt as if it had come at last, as -she always knew it would. - -"No, it's almost worse. Father is here too." - -Mrs. Hazlitt stopped short and looked at her child. - -"What?" she exclaimed, and the final t of the word was like a bullet. -"But this is my Sunday." - -"But he didn't know that." - -"Didn't he, indeed? It's been my experience that your father usually -contrives to know anything that it's to his advantage to know--and the -other way round. He just thought he could get away with it. Well, he -can't!" - -"He's been away on business for three months, mother." - -"Has he so? Fortunately I am no longer obliged to keep track of your -father's comings and goings--especially the latter. When I did attempt -to--" - -She paused, bitterly brooding on her past anxieties; and Lita, taking -her again by the arm, succeeded in setting her in motion. They entered -the building where Lita lived, mounted the stairs in silence and went -to Lita's room. Aurelia, who shared the room, being in the infirmary, -secured them from interruption. - -Mrs. Hazlitt walked at once to the window and peered out in all -directions; but the window did not command that part of the grounds -which lay between the chapel and the main gate. Finding the object of -her hostile interest was not in sight, she turned back to her child. - -"It's really too much," she said, "that I cannot have my one quiet -Sunday a month with you. I never wanted you to go to boarding school at -all. I only yielded because your coming here gave your father a place -where he could see you without being obliged to come to my house--not -pleasant for either of us. But it's a mistake to yield an inch to some -people, as I ought to have known. I insist on my own Sunday. All other -days are open to him, except this one, and so, of course, that's just -the only one--" - -"Only, mother dear, while he's been away I have been coming down to you -in New York for most of my Sundays." - -Mrs. Hazlitt had a way of opening her large black eyes until her curved -lashes were flattened against her lids and looked as if they trimmed -her eyes with black fringe. She did it now. - -"And does he complain of that?" she asked. "Isn't it natural for a girl -to spend her Sundays with her mother; or does he expect while he's away -you and I--" - -"No, no, mother. He doesn't complain. Father isn't a complainer." - -"Lita! You hurt my feelings very much, criticizing me like that." - -"Dearest mums, I didn't criticize you." - -"You did! You said I was always complaining." - -"No, dear, I only said that father did not." - -This was so true that Mrs. Hazlitt could not deny it, and so with great -quickness she shifted her ground. - -"Isn't it something new," she said, "for you to feel it necessary to -defend your father at every sentence?" - -"I wasn't exactly defending him. I only--" - -"My dear, you don't need to apologize for defending your father--very -laudable, I'm sure. I feel deeply sorry for him myself--over forty, -without a natural human tie. Only I do not feel called on to give up -one of my few opportunities of being with you in order to suit his -caprices." - -"Is it exactly a--" - -"It is exactly that. Rather late in the day for him to begin to -discover the responsibilities of parenthood. Is he to have all the -rewards?" - -It did not seem a promising beginning; and Lita, in whom her mother's -rapidly reflected changes of idea always set up a sort of baffled -confusion, sighed. Her mother caught instantly that long-drawn-in -breath and went through a complete change of mood--as rapid as her -mental changes. - -"Oh, well, of course you must lunch with him. I suppose that is what he -wants, isn't it?" - -Lita simply adored her mother when she was suddenly kind and reasonable -like this. It was, the girl knew, a striking triumph of the maternal -instinct over the hardly less fundamental human instinct to stick up -for one's rights. - -"Oh, mums, you are awfully good," she said. - -This was not the right thing to say; perhaps nothing would have been. - -"Don't thank me," her mother answered sharply, "as if I were doing you -a favor. I didn't suppose you were so crazy to leave me. Oh, I know; -and, after all, we have all the rest of our lives to spend together. Be -sure to get back in time to walk to the train with me." - -Lita promised to be back immediately after luncheon was over, and she -added that she did really feel it was better to go to her father, as he -had said he had something he wished to discuss with her. - -At this, Mrs. Hazlitt, who, strictly against the rules of the school, -had been sitting on Lita's bed, sprang up, and the girl at once began -to smooth the bed. She was always destroying evidence of Mrs. Hazlitt's -illegal conduct after one of her visits. - -"Lita," exclaimed her mother, quite unconscious of any reproof in her -daughter's action, "he's going to be married again! Oh! I suppose I -should not have said that, but what else could he want to discuss? I do -hope he is." - -"Oh, I hope not!" said Lita, astonished to find how disagreeable the -idea was to her. - -"But don't you see how it would get him out of our way? He could hardly -expect you to see much of a new bride, particularly the kind-- Women -pursue him so; they think that manner of his covers such a lot; they -learn different.... No, Lita, not that hat--like Tweedle-dee in the -saucepan. If you come down to me next Sunday I'll get you one that -matches the foulard." - -Suddenly they began to talk about clothes, and spoke of nothing else -until it was time for Lita to go. - -She thought as she ran across the green that she of all people ought -to understand why her parents couldn't get on. Sometimes her mother -made her feel as if she were clinging to a slippery hillside while an -avalanche passed over her; and sometimes her father made her feel as -if she were trying to roll a gigantic stone up that same hill. But -then, on the other hand, sometimes her mother made her feel gay and -stimulated, and her father gave her calm and serenity. And, after all, -she hadn't chosen them; and they had chosen each other. - -Her father was already waiting for her in his little car, a runabout -body on a powerful foreign chassis. Everything that Mr. Hazlitt had was -good of its kind and well kept up. He was sitting in the driver's seat, -reading the sporting sheet of a morning paper, his knees crossed and -one elbow over the back of the seat. He looked young and smart. Other -cars were waiting--closed cars full of heavy bald parents. Lita felt -a glow of pride. To go out with her father was like going out with a -dangerous young man. Fortunately the diversity of tastes between her -parents extended to their places of lodging. Her mother always stayed -at an old-fashioned inn near the school grounds, whereas her father, -who motored the forty miles from New York, and so never spent the -night, preferred to eat at the hotel in the nearest town. - -She got in beside him and they drove for some time in silence. Then he -said, and she saw he had been thinking it over for some time: - -"Lita, I want to speak to you about interrupting. It's a habit a great -many women allow themselves to form. It's not only rude, but it's -extremely irritating--alienating, indeed." He went on to assert that -such a habit might even wreck her married life. A man, he said, who was -interrupted every time he opened his mouth might get so that he never -spoke at all; never told his wife things she ought to know. - -Lita glanced at him sympathetically. Did the poor dear suppose she -did not know just what he meant? She had suffered herself. Her mother -often accused her of concealing things which she had tried repeatedly -to tell; only her mother, with her mind running like a hound on some -other idea, did not even hear. And yet on the other hand she had -felt sympathetic when, not long before, her mother had delivered a -short lecture on the treachery of silence; she had said--and quite -truly--that a silence could be just as much of a lie as a spoken word. -She wondered if she were a weak nature, agreeing with everyone who -spoke to her. - -At the hotel she found her father had ordered a special luncheon for -her delight, composed of all the things he liked best himself. The -regular hotel dinner, with its immense opportunities for choice, would -have been a treat to Lita after the monotony of school fare; but she -enjoyed the prestige that the special order gave them in the eyes of -the dragoonlike head waitress, who never left their table. That was one -of the amusing things about going out with her father. He had a quiet -assumption of importance which made everyone think him important. - -They had been at table several minutes before he spoke. He said, "If -you take so much sauce you lose the flavor of the fish." - -"I like the flavor of the sauce best," said Lita, and he smiled, a -little sadly, as if he were at a loss to understand how his child could -be such an utter barbarian. - -Conscious that she had not quite so much time as he thought she had, -she hurried to the point and asked him what it was he wanted to -discuss. He seemed to be thinking deeply, which alarmed her; then he -reached out and added a dash of pepper to his fish. - -"Oh," he said, "I find I must go to Italy on business next summer. I -wonder if you could arrange it with your mother so that you could go -with me." - -"Mercy!" exclaimed Lita. "I was afraid you were going to tell me you -were going to be married again." - -He looked up with a swift dark glance. - -"Who put that idea into your head?" he asked. - -"No one; it just occurred to me." - -Where opposing affections exist, a lady, as much as a gentleman, is -obliged to lie. - -"That was your mother's idea," said her father, and gave a short, -bitter laugh, as if human depravity could hardly go lower than to have -made such a suggestion. - -Well, Lita thought, perhaps her mother ought not to have said it; and -yet, why not? Her father had remarried once. It made her feel old and -cold, always to be obliged to weigh criticisms and complaints, to -decide which of the two people she loved best in the world was right -and which was wrong, every other minute. How she envied girls who could -accept their parents as a unit! - -Seeing her father's mind still occupied with his wrongs, she turned the -conversation back to Italy. Of course, she would adore going--at least -she would if her mother would agree to it. - -"Of course, we could not go otherwise," said her father, and there was -somehow in his tone the suggestion that he and his poor child were in -the grip of an irrational and arbitrary power. After a moment he added, -"And we'd stop in Paris on our way back and get you a lot of things." -He smiled--he had a delightful, merry smile, quite at variance to his -habitual blankness. "I don't suppose that idea is exactly repugnant to -you?" - -It wasn't, though Lita knew it was practically bribery. She adored -shopping with her father. His method was simple. He went to the best -shop and asked for their best things. If he liked them he bought them. -If he didn't like them he went to the next-best shop. There was no -haggling, no last-minute doubts whether, since the expense was so -great, she really needed to get the things after all. Her father in -Paris! It was a delirious thought. - -"I should enjoy Paris with you, Pat," she said. He smiled with a faint -suggestion that others had felt the same way. "If only mother approves." - -"I don't see that there is anything to disapprove of, even for your -mother, in a man's taking his daughter to Paris." - -"What I mean is if she is really cordial about it. I could not go if -she weren't cordial." - -"Then," said her father, "we may as well give it up at once. For, of -course, your mother won't be cordial. She won't want you to go. She -never wants you out of her sight if she can help it." - -"Father, mother isn't a bit selfish like that." - -"I never said she was. It is natural she should want you to be with -her. Please get it into your head, Lita, that I should never under any -circumstances criticize your mother--least of all to you." - -Lita looked at him reflectively. If he had been Aurelia she would have -said "Bunk, my dear, and you know it." That was the way she and Aurelia -carried on their relation--in the open. Candor cleared the air; but -older people, Lita had found, did not really want the air cleared. -They could not stand criticism; perhaps that was why they were always -insisting that they did not criticize, when as a matter of fact they -never did anything else. - -Luncheon pursued its delicious but somewhat leisurely way. Mr. Hazlitt -lit a cigar and sent the coffee back to be heated. It was a pleasant -moment. Lita was conscious that he was treating her more as an equal -companion than ever before. She was enjoying herself, and yet in the -back of her mind was a distressing awareness that time was passing and -she ought to be getting back to school to her mother. - -"The truth is," her father was saying, "that as one gets older one -loses the power, or perhaps the wish, to make new friends; and one -clings to the old ties. I hope you will arrange eventually, when you -are twenty-one, to spend at least half the year with me. I shall be in -a position then to make some long expeditions--China and Patagonia, and -I should like you to go with me." - -Lita's imagination took fire, but she said loyally, "But how about -mother, Pat? I suppose she's lonely too." - -Mr. Hazlitt laughed shortly. - -"Your mother," he said, "unless she has changed very much, probably -does not spend one waking hour in the twenty-four alone. I doubt if she -ever loses the power of making new friends--quite indiscriminately. -And, after all, I am only asking for half your time." - -"But, father, suppose I should marry?" - -Her father looked at her with startled eyes, as if she had suggested -something unnatural and wrong. - -"Marry!" he said. "I hope you have no such idea in your head." - -She had not. Indeed her immunity from the crushes which occupied so -much of the time and attention of her schoolmates occasioned her some -concern. She feared her nature was a cold one. She disclaimed the idea -of marriage, except as she had observed it in common. - -"People do, you know," she said. - -"A good many would be wiser if they didn't," said her father. "I am -particularly opposed to young marriages." - -He and her mother had married when they were young. - -Presently she was obliged to tell him that she must go. He did not -gainsay her decision, but she saw he took it as meaning that she had -not really enjoyed herself. Yet when she tried to say she had--that -she was sorry to leave him--it kept sounding as if she were saying it -was a bore to go back and walk to the station with her mother. If only -she could be loyal to one parent without being disloyal to the other! - -She was a little bit late at the school. Her mother was just starting -without her. - -"Oh, I understand," she said, without listening to Lita's explanation. -"Very natural. You were enjoying yourself; you don't need to explain." - -Lita saw she was hurt but had determined to be nice about it. - -They started on their walk. First they crossed the athletic fields; -then their way would lie through the school woods, and then across -stony fields, and then they would come out on the macadam road to the -station--about three miles across country. - -The Italian trip, which had seemed so simple and pleasant when her -father mentioned it, now began to take on the appearance of a dark -conspiracy. Lita thought that she would far rather give it up than -mention it, only she had promised her father that she would speak of -it that afternoon so that he might have plenty of time to make his -arrangements. He was very particular about special cabins on a special -boat. Oh, dear, with her mother's feelings already a little hurt, it -wasn't going to be easy! Mrs. Hazlitt herself started conversation. - -"And so you had a delightful lunch?" she said, trying to be nice, but -also trying to find out what it was her child's father had wanted to -discuss, for she was curious by nature. - -"Yes, very nice. Pat's going to Italy next summer on business." - -"Really?" said her mother, without special interest. "Some people's -business does take them to the nicest places." - -Lita suddenly wondered how it would work if she forced these -insinuations of her parents to their logical conclusions. - -"Don't you believe father really has business in Italy?" she inquired -mildly. - -"Of course he has if he says so. What funny things you say, Lita! Your -father is one of the most accurate people I ever knew--if he makes an -assertion. Well, if he goes to Italy that will leave us entirely free. -I thought perhaps it would amuse you if I took a house at Southampton -this summer. Of course, when I was young Newport was the place; but now -I'm told the young people prefer--" - -"But, mother," said Lita, and she felt just the way she did before she -dived into cold water, "he wants to take me with him." - -Mrs. Hazlitt merely laughed. - -"A likely idea!" she said. - -"And I told him I would ask you how you felt about it." - -Her mother stopped short and looked at her. Then she said, and each -syllable dropped lower and lower like pebbles falling down a well, "In -fact--you want--to go." - -It was hard to be truthful. - -"Well, yes, in a way, I should like to go; at least I thought so when -Pat spoke of it." She thought she ought to go as far as this, but even -this moderate statement was fatal. - -"You shall not go!" said her mother, her eyes beginning to enlarge as -they did in moments of emotion until they seemed to fill her whole -face. "I won't hear of it--or go--go if you want to. I never want -anyone to stay with me as a duty." - -"Mother dear, I don't care. I don't really want to go; it was just an -idea." - -"Do at least be honest about it. Of course you want to go, or you would -not have promised to try to work me round to agreeing to it--conspiring -together. No, of course I don't mean that. Nothing could be more -natural at your age than to snatch at any pleasure that comes. I don't -blame you--a child--but him--trying to steal you--" - -Her nostrils began to tremble on her quick intaken breaths. - -"Father did not mean--" - -"Of course you don't think so; but you don't know him as well as I -do," said her mother. "I suppose you've utterly forgotten how little -he cared for you when you were a child; but now that all the care and -responsibility is over--" - -She simply could not go on. - -Lita, a little constrained by this display of emotion, said, smiling, -"It's nice to know I'm no care, mother." But as an effort at the light -touch it was not a success. - -Mrs. Hazlitt did not even hear her. She went on: "Now he's ready to -charm you and tempt you away so as to leave me alone again. Oh, never -love anyone, Lita, when you grow up! It's all pain. Be like your -father; take what you want and go on your own horrible way, leaving -destruction behind you." She covered her face with her hands, not -because she was crying, but to hide the chattering of her teeth; and -then as a new idea swept over her she dropped them again and continued: -"It's all my own fault. I've been too absurdly honorable. I've brought -you up to respect and admire him, when all the weapons were in my hands -and I might just as well have taught you to despise him as he deserves. -I wish I had. Oh, how I wish I had! I've never said a word against your -father, have I, Lita?" - -"Never--never, dearest," said Lita. She thought to herself, "They are -making me a liar between them, but I couldn't say anything else to her -just now." - -She was not a prig, but she could hardly help feeling that sense of -superiority--of being in control of the situation--that the calm are so -apt to experience in the presence of turgid emotions. - -Mrs. Hazlitt suddenly turned back to her. - -"But you don't really want to go with him?" she said as hopefully as if -a minute before she had not considered the contrary as proved. - -"No, mother, I don't." - -"These silent people! Fortunately I know him like a book. He's probably -been plotting this for months. I see what he's up to. He wants to get -things so that by the time that you're twenty-one you'll be willing to -spend some of your time with him; but you wouldn't do that, would you?" - -"Nothing could ever come between you and me, mother. That's the solid -comfort of a mo--" - -"You don't answer what I say; you are keeping back some of your -thoughts, just like your father. Oh, I couldn't bear it if you grew -like him! No one is ever so candid as I am. What is in your mind?" - -"Nothing, mother. It crossed my mind that I might marry some day." - -"Marry!" Her mother's tone, given the difference of sex and -temperament, was identical with her father's; as if marriage were a -crime other people's daughters might commit, but not her lovely child. -"What in heaven's name are you talking about, Lita?" - -"Well, mother, you were mar--" - -"And do you quote my case? Marriage! No, not until you are twenty-five -at least. Don't mention the word to me!" - -At least there was one subject on which her parents were in hearty -agreement--the first, as far as she could remember, that she had ever -found. They did not want her to marry. But, she reflected, as she -joggled home alone on the back seat of the school flivver, was it -entirely interest in her welfare that made them opposed? Wasn't it -rather that they needed her to fill the gap in their lives that their -own separation had made? This, she thought, was the real objection -to divorce--that it made parents too emotionally dependent on their -children. Suppose she died. She considered the possibility steadily. -Why, yes, if she died they would probably come together in their grief. - -She saw a little picture of herself in the infirmary, with her parents -standing hand in hand at the foot of the bed. And yet one really could -not commit suicide in order to reconcile one's parents. - -Well, Italy was now out of the question; Italy was canned. She must -write to her father immediately that she could not go, and she must do -it so as not to make her mother seem selfish, and so as not to hurt her -father's feelings. Some letter, she thought. She saw herself walking -the deck of an enormous steamer, hanging on his arm, ordering meals in -amusing restaurants, the Paris shops gleaming with hats and jewels and -beaded bags and fans, all for her. Of course it was natural that she -wanted to go.... - -The car stopped at the door of the main school building, and she sprang -out, free at last to give her attention to Aurelia. Strangely enough, -though she did not love her friend so much as she did her parents, she -worried more about her, as one equal about another. - -The infirmary, a neat white cottage, was set in a remote corner of the -grounds. As Lita bounded up the steps she met Miss Barton coming out. - -Every head of a school, perhaps every head of an institution, perhaps -everyone in the world, acquires an artificial manner to serve as -a method of holding off crises. Some adopt the genial, some the -meditative, some the stern. Miss Barton had chosen the intellectually -airy. As a problem was presented to her she would say "Ah, yes," with a -faint, calm smile, as if that special problem were so easy and familiar -she might float away to something more stimulating without remembering -to give you the answer. She was a tall, good-looking woman, pale eyed, -pale skinned, with thick, crinkly gray hair, parted and drawn down to a -knot at the nape of her neck; it looked exactly like a wig, but wasn't. -She stopped Lita. - -"Oh," she said with her habitual gay casualness, "we have been looking -for you. Don't be alarmed, but it seems that Aurelia has appendicitis." - -"Yes I felt pretty sure she had," answered Lita. - -Miss Barton did not think it worth while to contradict this absurd -assertion. She merely smiled on one side of her face and replied that -the doctors themselves had only decided it fifteen minutes before. It -appeared that Aurelia was eager to see her friend before the operation. - -"She's in Room 11," said Miss Barton. "They will operate as soon as -they can get things ready. Don't alarm her. There is no risk nowadays, -nothing to be excited about." - -"Is she excited?" - -"I think not." - -"Of course she isn't." - -It is hard sometimes to be patient with older people, playing their own -rôles so busily they lose all sense of other individualities. Aurelia, -Lita imagined, was probably the calmest person in the infirmary. - -In Room 11 she found her roommate lying on her side, very pale, with -her dark hair dragged back and tightly braided. The nurse was moving in -and out and the two girls were practically alone, while the following -dialogue took place. - -"Pain?" - -"Oh, my!" - -"Poor kid!" - -"Lita, in my shoe box there are five pictures of Gene Valentine, and a -note--" - -"From him?" - -"No, dodo, from me--a rough draft. Get them, will you?" - -"You bet!" - -"Thanks." - -Then the nurse came in to say that everything was ready, and Lita -was hurried out of the room. She kept telling herself that there was -nothing to worry about, but her heart was beating oddly. - -In the hall a young man was standing; or rather, from Lita's point of -view, an older man, for he must have been twenty-eight or nine. He was -attired in a long white robe rather like a cook--or an angel. The sight -of him dressed thus for his work upset Lita and made her feel like -crying; in fact she did cry. - -"Don't you worry," said the young man in a deep voice--a splendid, -rolling, velvet sort of voice. "We've got the best man in the country -to operate; there's no danger." - -"Is that you--the best man in the country?" - -He laughed. - -"To be candid, no," he said. "I'm Doctor Burroughs' assistant. He's the -best there is. There is nothing to cry about." - -"If people only cried when there was something to cry about," said -Lita; and added in an exclamation of the deepest concern, "Oh, -goodness!" - -Her tone alarmed the young man. - -"What is it?" - -"I haven't got a handkerchief." - -He lifted his apron and from the pocket of his blue serge trousers he -produced an unfolded handkerchief, which he gave her. - -"I have a little sister just about your age," he said. - -Lita's face was in the handkerchief as she asked. "How old?" - -"Let me see," said the doctor. "I think she must be twelve." - -A slight sound that might have been a sob escaped from Lita, and the -doctor was so moved with compassion that he patted her on the head. -Then the door of Room 11 opened and his professional duties called him -away. - -A moment later he came out, bearing Aurelia away to the operating room, -and Lita went into Room 11 to wait. He promised as he passed to come -and tell her as soon as it was over. - -She felt perfectly calm now as she sat grasping his handkerchief in her -hand. It was fine and embroidered in two letters--L. D. She ran over -the L names and found she liked nearly all of them--Lawrence, Lionel, -Leopold--not so good, though Leo was all right--Lewis--oh, of course, -it was Lewis! She said the word aloud. - -How still the house was! Now they were probably giving Aurelia the -anæsthetic; now-- - -There was no use speculating about what D stood for. He thought she was -twelve, did he? She put her hand up to where his had rested on the top -of her head. She could not begin to make hers cover the same area. He -must have a large hand. Well, that was all right; he was a large man. -She could see his face before her, smooth as to skin and rather jutty -as to outline of brows and jaw, and his heavy, thick, short, black -hair, almost like an Indian's in texture. And she had thought that she -preferred blond men. L. D.--Lita D.... She wondered if she ought to go -immediately and hunt up those photographs of Aurelia's. What a time it -would make if they should be found before she got there! How long would -this take--an hour? Would he really come back himself, or would he send -that light-hearted, gray-haired nurse who looked like Marie Antoinette? -If he patted her on the head he might even--Lawrence--Leonard-- - -Suddenly he was in the room again, smelling horribly of disinfectants. - -"It's all right--all over," he said. He began to pluck ineffectually at -the back buttons of his white robe. "Help me, there's a good child," he -said, stooping so that she could reach. - -She undid the buttons, the garment slipped to the floor, and he stood -revealed as a normal young man in his shirt and dark blue serge -trousers. He began rolling down his shirt sleeves, talking as he did so. - -"Your friend has good nerve--brave and calm. Your sister? No? What's -your name?" - -"Hazlitt." - -Too kind to smile at this infantile assumption of importance, his eyes -did laugh a little, but he said, "I meant your first name." - -"Lita. What's yours?" - -"Luke-- Well, Lita, I'm going to write to Effie about you. Wait! Where -are you off to in such a hurry?" - -She could not tell him that she was going to destroy the patient's -compromising correspondence. - -She said mysteriously, "I must go. You've been so kind. Good-by." For -one tense moment she thought he was going to kiss her. - -Evidently there is such a thing as thought transference, for as she -drew back she heard him saying, "No, certainly not. I should not dream -of kissing a lady of your mature years." - -"You never kiss ladies of mature years?" murmured Lita in the manner of -a six-year child. - -"Well, I know how Effie feels on the subject. She boxed the ears of -our local congressman for a salute which he offered merely as a vote -getter. It was a terrible shock to him." - -"You have a shock coming to _you_," she answered gently, and left the -room. - -She had a shock of her own on entering her bedroom, for Miss Jones, the -house mistress, was already busy with Aurelia's bureau drawers. Had she -or had she not lifted the top of the shoe box? It was necessary to act -quickly; but fortunately Miss Jones was young and pleasant and easy to -get round. If it had been Miss Barton-- The school often commented with -a sort of wondering irritation on the fact that in dealing with girls -Miss Barton was not absolutely an idiot. - -"Halloo, Jonesy dear," said Lita with a soft friendliness which in -pupils is somewhat like the bearing of gifts by Greeks. "She's all -right. The operation's over, the doctor told me." - -Miss Jones was winding pink ribbon on a card, and answered, "Oh, -isn't he wonderful? Of all the great men I ever met Doctor Burroughs -inspires--" - -"It wasn't Doctor Burroughs. It was the other one, his -assistant--what's his name? It begins with a D." - -But Miss Jones didn't know anything about the assistant, and drew -Lita's attention from a subject tolerably absorbing by asking if she -knew where Aurelia kept her bedroom slippers. - -"Look here, Jonesy," said Lita. "Who is that queer-looking man--like a -tramp--on the piazza downstairs?" - -"I'll run down and see," said Miss Jones. - -She was small, but there was something about her manner which would -have made anything but a mythical tramp tremble. - -When she had gone Lita opened the shoe box and found five large -photographs of Eugene Valentine lying on top of the shoes: one in the -aviator's uniform of his new play; one in his coronation robes in -his last success, The King is Bored; and the other three just Eugene -Valentine, with the light shining on the ridges of his wavy light hair. -He was an awfully good-looking man, Lita thought--if you liked blonds. -She laid the photographs under the paper in the bureau drawer Miss -Jones had finished tidying. The draft of the letter had slipped down -among the shoes, and Lita had only time to thrust it into the pocket of -the coat she was wearing before Miss Jones was back again, saying that -the tramp must have gone away. - -Supper that evening was exciting. The great Doctor Burroughs had driven -magnificently back to town in his car before Aurelia was fairly out -of the anæsthetic; but he had left his assistant behind him--a clever -young fellow. Miss Barton murmured she hoped he was tactful, discreet; -one had to be careful in a school--parents, you know. Doctor Burroughs -assured her she need give herself no concern; Doctor Dacer was quite -safe--minded his own business--no trouble with the nurses or anything -like that--just the sort of young man to leave in a girls' school. Even -the wisest may be betrayed into sweeping statements when in a hurry to -get away to Sunday dinner. - -Lita, as chairman of the self-government committee, sat at the head of -one of the senior tables--a conspicuous position. The girls were all in -their places before Miss Barton came in with the tactful and discreet -young fellow. It was the school's first view of him, and Lita could -hear the comments of her peers rising about her: - -"Looks a little like Doug." - -"Isn't Aurelia the lucky stiff?" - -"What are the symptoms of appendicitis? I feel them coming on." - -She tried not to look at Miss Barton's table, and when she did she -met his eye. He nodded and smiled with open friendliness; and bending -toward Miss Jones, with his eyes still on hers, asked quite obviously -for details about his little friend. Lita saw the smile fade from -his face as he received them. Then a quite different smile flickered -across his face; the smile of a man who says to himself, "To have even -mentioned kissing the chairman of the self-government committee!" - -As they were all moving out of the dining room again, Miss Barton -called Lita to her. - -"You will be glad to know," she said, "that Doctor Dacer says Aurelia -will be up within two weeks--no complications--no danger. This is Lita -Hazlitt, Doctor Dacer, Aurelia's best friend." - -The doctor showed some of his advertised caution by merely bowing, but -Lita answered, "Oh, yes, Doctor Dacer was so kind this afternoon." And -looking up at him she asked, "Have you written to Effie yet?" - -"Not yet," he returned politely; but below the level of the teacher's -eyes a clenched fist made a distinctly menacing gesture in Lita's -direction, and the corner of Lita's mouth, which occasionally created a -dimple, just trembled. The doctor turned to Miss Barton, and it would -be hard to imagine anything more professional than his manner as he -said, "My patient seems to be very dependent on Miss Hazlitt. She was -just asking for her. I think it would be a good idea if Miss Hazlitt -could be in and out of the infirmary a good deal during the next few -days." - -"Of course, of course," said Miss Barton, who, though trained to -distrust girls, was not trained to distrust doctors. "Aurelia is so -alone, poor child." And lowering her voice as she moved away, with the -doctor bending politely so as not to miss a syllable, Lita could hear a -murmur: - -"These terrible divorces! Do you know that over twenty of my girls--" - -Lita found herself excused from sacred reading that evening so that she -might sit with her friend. - -Yet oddly enough, when she reached the infirmary the white-haired nurse -seemed surprised to see her, and said that the doctor had given the -patient something to make her sleep before he had gone to supper, and -that she ought not to wake until morning--at least they hoped not. - -But at that moment Dacer came out of another room, where he had -evidently been smoking a pipe, and said, "Oh, well, stick round a -little. She might wake up." - -The nurse gave him a sharp look; and then, being really discreet and -tactful, retired into Room 11 and shut the door. Lita and the doctor -were left facing each other in the hall. - -"Let's go out," he said, "where I can smoke. It's a good sort of -evening--with a moon." - -"Mercy!" answered Lita. "How do you think a girls' school is run? I -couldn't do that." - -"I thought the chairman of the self-government committee could do -anything." - -"On the contrary, she has to be particularly careful, and not go about -exposing herself to being patted on the head." - -"She was lucky worse than that didn't happen, masquerading as an -infant." And then, without the slightest pause, but with a complete -change of tone, Lita heard him saying: "No, I'm sorry; but I think it -would be better not tonight.... Ah, Miss Barton, I was just saying to -Miss Hazlitt that as the patient had fallen asleep it would be better -not to disturb her again tonight." - -"Of course," said Miss Barton, who, it appeared, was coming upstairs -behind Lita's back. "I think if you ran back to the study, Lita, you'd -get in for the end of the reading." - -And as she turned obediently away she heard Miss Barton suggesting that -if Doctor Dacer found the infirmary dull, the sitting room in her -cottage was at his service. No, Doctor Dacer had a good deal of work -to do. Lita smiled to herself. He had not seemed so busy a few minutes -before. - -She had never been in love--never even deeply interested before. She -had looked with surprise and envy on her classmates; not only Aurelia, -with her devouring passion for Valentine; but Carrie Waldron, the -senior president, who worshiped a dark-eyed motion-picture actor; and -Doris Payne, who loved a great violinist to whom she never expected -to speak. The authorities were terribly down on this sort of thing; -but Lita, who knew more about it than the authorities, was not sure. -Would Carrie be studying Spanish at odd moments so as to know more -about her idol's great bull-fighter part--would Doris work so hard at -her music--would Aurelia be learning Romeo and Juliet by heart as she -did her hair in the morning--Romeo was a part Valentine was always -contemplating--if it were not for love? More, would Miss Barton's -course in English constitutional history be so interesting if Miss -Barton did not feel--as the school had discovered--a romantic passion -for Oliver Cromwell? Certainly not! - -Her mother thought these excitements vulgar. She said if girls must be -silly, why not be silly about people in their own class of life? But -Lita explained that the boys they knew were not so thrilling. Had her -mother, she asked, never bought the picture of an actor? "Never!" said -her mother with conviction; but Aunt Minnie, who happened to be there, -said, "Nonsense, Alita! You had a picture of Sothern as the Prisoner -of Zenda." Mrs. Hazlitt said that she hadn't, and that was entirely -different anyhow. - -The only result of the conversation was that Mrs. Hazlitt began to -suspect Lita of some such ill-bred passion--most unjustly. The whole -subject had had merely a theoretical interest for Lita. She was too -practical to be fired by these intangible heroes--dream, dead or -dramatic. - -But now, even that first Sunday, as she stepped out of the infirmary -into the bare March moonlight, she found that real life could hold the -same thrill for her that dreams did for these others. - -"And that," she said to herself, "is where I have the best of it." - - -II - -Lita had developed a technic by which she slept through the rising gong -and for the next twenty-five minutes, allowing herself thus exactly -five minutes to get up, dress and reach the dining room. But the -morning after her friend's operation she woke with the gong, and five -minutes later was on her way to the infirmary, first tying her tie and -then smoothing down her hair as she went. - -As she ran up the stairs of the infirmary, a voice--whose owner must -have recognized the almost inaudible patter of her feet--called to her -from the small dining room of the cottage. She put her face, flushed -with running, round the jamb of the door and saw Doctor Dacer seated -at breakfast. The nurse was toasting bread on an electric toaster, -and he was spreading a piece, just finished, with a thick crimson jam. -"Damson," Lita said to herself. - -He looked at her. - -"Youth's a great thing," he said. - -"So the old are always saying," Lita answered. "But there's a catch in -it; they get back at you for being young." - -"Does that mean you think I'm old?" Dacer asked patiently; and the -nurse with the white hair exclaimed to herself "Goodness!" as if to her -they both seemed about the same age. - -Lita cocked her head on one side. - -"Well," she said, "you are too old to be my equal--I mean contemporary. -I mean contemporary," she added as they both laughed. Dacer, with -a more complete answer, gave her the piece of toast he had been -preparing. It was delicious--cool and smooth and sweet on top, and hot -and buttery below. Lita consumed it in silence, and then with a deep -sigh as she sucked a drop of jam from her forefinger, she said, "How -noble that was! Sometimes I'm afraid I'm greedy." - -"Of course you are," said Dacer, as if greed were a splendid quality. -"Sit down and have some coffee.... Have you been introduced to Miss -Waverley? She hates men." - -"Goodness!" said Miss Waverley, glancing over her shoulder, as if it -were mildly amusing that a man should think he knew anything about how -she felt. - -"Or is it only doctors?" Dacer went on. - -"Men patients are worse," said Miss Waverley. - -"Don't go away," said Dacer to Lita. "You are always going away." - -"I came to see Aurelia." - -"I know, but it's customary to discuss the case first with the -surgeon--in some detail too. Sit down." - -But she would not do that; her first duty was to her friend. She knew -Aurelia would want to know that the photographs and the letter were -safe. She stayed by her bedside until it was time to leap downstairs -and run across the campus to the dining room, her appetite merely edged -by the toast and jam. - -Monday was a busy day for Lita. Immediately after luncheon her -committee met and went over the reports of the monitors for the week; -and then there was basket ball for two hours, and then study. The -tennis courts were near the athletic field, and as Lita played with the -first team she could hear a deep voice booming out the score as Doctor -Dacer and Miss Jones played set after set. Miss Jones had been tennis -champion of her college the year before. Lita sent out a young scout -to bring her word how the games were going, and learned that Dacer was -winning. He must be pretty good, then--Jonesy was no slouch. She would -have taunted him in the evening, when she went to say good night to -Aurelia, if he had let himself be beaten by Jonesy. - -Every Monday evening Miss Fraser, the English teacher, read aloud -to the senior members of her class. Miss Fraser was something of a -problem, because she was so much more a lover of literature than a -teacher. She inspired the girls with a fine enthusiasm for the best; -but in the process she often incited them to read gems of the language -which their parents considered unsuited to their youth. Shakspere she -read quite recklessly, sometimes forgetting to use the expurgated -edition. When Miss Barton suggested pleasantly that perhaps Antony and -Cleopatra was not quite the most appropriate of the plays, Miss Fraser -answered, "Don't they read worse in the newspapers in bad prose?" - -At present she was conservatively engaged in reading Much Ado About -Nothing. No one could object to that, she said. She made it seem witty -and contemporary. - -Lita slipped over to the infirmary between supper and the reading to -bid Aurelia good night. Dacer wasn't there. She stayed, talking a few -minutes with Aurelia, who was well enough to hear about the tramp and -the bedroom slippers and a little school gossip. Lita asked casually -where the doctor was, but no one seemed to know. - -When a little later she entered Miss Fraser's study she found to her -surprise that he was there, settled in a corner. Miss Fraser explained -that Doctor Dacer was the son of an old friend of hers; he had been -kind enough to say that it would be a pleasure to him to stay and hear -the reading. She need not have felt under the necessity of apologizing -to the six or seven members of her class. They felt no objection to his -presence. - -Lita was knitting a golf sweater for her father. She could do it at -school, but not at home, for her mother was so discouraging about it. -She had already objected to its color, shape and pattern; had felt sure -that Lita's father wouldn't appreciate the sentiment, and wouldn't wear -anything that did not come from a good shop. Probably after all Lita's -trouble he'd give it to his manservant. But Lita did not think he would. - -The nice thing about knitting is that it leaves the eyes disengaged--at -least to an expert, and Lita was expert. She resolved that she would -not look at Dacer; and did not for the first half hour or so, for she -had a comfortable knowledge that he was looking at her. Then, just -once, their eyes met. It was while Miss Fraser was reading these lines: - - - _But nature never fram'd a woman's heart_ - _Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice:_ - _Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,_ - _Misprising what they look on; and her wit_ - _Values itself so highly, that to her_ - _All matter else seems weak._ - _She cannot love----_ - - -Holding her glance, he seemed to nod his head as if to say that was a -perfect description of her. Could he mean that? Did he mean that? She -averted her eyes hastily, and when she looked back again he had folded -his arms and was staring off over everybody's head, very blank and -magnificent, unaware of the existence of little schoolgirls. Had she -offended him? - -She decided that the next morning at the infirmary, while she was -eating his toast and jam, she would ask him a pointed question about -the character of Beatrice. She gave a good deal of time to framing the -question--wasted time, for when she reached the infirmary she found he -had gone--had taken a late train to New York the night before. Lita -remembered he had looked at his watch once or twice toward the end of -the reading. - -"Yes," said the nurse cheerfully, "we're doing so well we don't need -him." It was the second nurse. Miss Waverley had gone with the doctor. - -Lita's frightened eyes sought Aurelia's, who framed the words: "Back -Thursday." - -She framed them as if two--almost three days were nothing. Lita, who -knew no more of the Einstein theory than the name, discovered that -time was relative; that Tuesday morning took what in old times she -would have considered several weeks in passing; and that each study -period--in the words of William James--lay down like a cow on the -doorstep and refused to get up and go on. The truth was that time had -never been time to Lita; it had been action. Now it was emptiness, -something to be filled; and yet she couldn't fill it; it was a -bottomless abyss. Worse still, she couldn't concentrate. She went to -the blackboard to do an original--a simple thing she would have tossed -off in a minute in old times--and couldn't think how to begin; she, the -best geometer in the class. This was serious, and it was queer. Lita -couldn't, as she said to Aurelia, get the hang of it. Time being her -problem--this sudden unexpected accumulation of time on her hands--she -might have been expected to spend it doing the practical, obvious -things that had to be done. Not at all. She was incapable of exertion. -She could not study; and even the letter to her father, saying the -Italian trip was impossible, was never written. - -She had a letter from him Wednesday morning in which he assumed that -she had not been able to bring her mother to any conclusion. He said he -would call her up when she came to town on Friday. Perhaps she would -dine with him on Saturday, and do a play. Ordinarily this would have -seemed an agreeable prospect; but now, since it was farther away than -Thursday, it had no real existence. - -Late Wednesday afternoon her unalterable decision not to discuss Doctor -Dacer with anyone broke down, and she told Aurelia the whole story. -It took an hour--their meeting, everything that he had said, done and -looked, and all that she had felt. She paid a great price, however, -for this enjoyment--and she did enjoy it--for afterward the whole -experience became more a narrative and less a vital memory. - -Thursday morning was the worst of all. Thursday morning was simply -unbearable, until about noon, when she heard the whistle of the first -possible New York train. After that things went very well until about -five, when she had a moment to run over to see Aurelia and heard that -the doctor had not come--had decided not to come until the next day, -Friday. - -As far as she was concerned, he might as well not have come at all. All -her joy in the anticipated meeting was dead; but this might possibly -have reawakened, except that on Friday she did not have a minute until -the three-o'clock train, which she was taking to New York. Of course, -she could develop a cold or some mysterious ailment which would keep -her at school over Sunday, even in the infirmary; but deceit was not -attractive to her; though, as she would have said herself, she was not -narrow-minded about it. - -The girls of Elbridge Hall were not supposed to make the trip to New -York by themselves; but sometimes a prudent senior--and who is prudent -if not the chairman of the self-government committee?--might be put -on the train at Elbridge by a teacher and sent off alone, on the -telephoned promise of a parent to meet her on her arrival at the Grand -Central. - -When, under the chaperonage of Jonesy, Lita stepped out of the school -flivver at the station she saw that Doctor Dacer was there before her. -He must have come up in a morning train, seen his patient and walked to -the station. Wild possibilities rose at once in the girl's mind. Could -he have known from Aurelia? Could he have arranged-- No, for he took -no interest in her arrival; hardly glanced in her direction. He was -smoking, and when the train came he got into the smoking car without so -much as glancing back to see where Jonesy was bestowing Lita. - -The train, which was a slow one, was empty. Lita settled herself by a -window and opened her geometry. She said to herself: - -"I simply will not sit and watch the door. If he means to come he'll -come, and my watching won't change things one way or the other." - -She set her little jaw and turned to Monday's lesson: "To prove that -similar triangles are to each other as the squares of the medians drawn -to their homologous sides." The words conveyed absolutely nothing -to her. She read them three times. It wasn't that she couldn't do -the problem--she couldn't even think about it. She drew two similar -triangles. They seemed to sit side by side like a cat and a kitten. She -gave them whiskers and tails. Then, annoyed with herself, she produced -a ruler and constructed a neat figure. She tried reading the theorem -again, this time in a conversational tone, as if it were the beginning -of a story: "Similar triangles are to each other--" - -The door opened, letting in the roar of the train and a disagreeable -smell of coal smoke. - -"I will not look up," thought Lita; "I will not! I will not!" And -raising her eyes she saw that Dacer was there. She smiled not so much -in greeting as from pure joy. - -He hadn't wasted much time. He took her books and bag from the seat -beside her and put them on the rack. Then he sat down and said, "Isn't -it dangerous to let such little girls travel by themselves?" - -She found speech difficult between her heart's beating too fast and her -breath's coming too slow, but she did manage to say, "What does Effie -do?" - -"Just what you do--she expects me to be on hand to look out for her." - -"I didn't expect you." - -"No? Can it be you are not such a clever girl as teacher always -thought?" - -"I thought you were spending the night at Elbridge." - -"So did I when I arrived, but my plans changed. I found that it would -be better for me to take the three-o'clock to town and go back on -Sunday afternoon, by the--what is the train that we take back on -Sunday?" - -It was almost too serious for jests, and Lita said in a voice that just -didn't tremble that she took the 4:08. - -Life is not often just right, not only in the present, but promising -in forty-eight hours to be just as good or better. Lita spent two -wonderful hours. First they talked about Aurelia--her courage, her -loneliness, her parents, divorce in general--and then Lita found -herself telling him the whole story of her own position in regard to -her parents. Even to Aurelia, with whom she talked so frankly, she -had never told the whole story--her own deep emotional reactions. She -found to her surprise that it was easier to tell a story of an intimate -nature to this stranger of an opposite sex than to her lifelong friend. -He understood so perfectly. He did not blame them; if he had she would -have felt called on to defend them; and he did not blame her; if he had -she would have been forced into attacking them. He just listened, and -seemed to think it was a normal and deeply interesting bit of life. - -He interrupted her once to say, "But you must remember that they are -people as well as parents." - -It seemed to her an inspired utterance. She did not always remember -that. She offered the excuse: "Yes, but I don't mind their being -divorced. Only why do they hate each other so?" - -"How do you know they hate each other?" - -Lita thought this was a queer thing to say after all that she had told -him--almost stupid. She explained again: They were always abusing each -other; nothing the other did was right; neither could bear her to speak -well of-- - -"They sound to me," said Dacer, "as if they were still fond of each -other." Then, as Lita just stared at him, he went on: "Didn't you know -that? The only people it's any fun to quarrel with are the people you -love." - -"Oh, no." - -"Well, I'm glad you haven't found it out as yet, but it's true." - -"I never quarrel," said Lita. - -"You will some day. I expect to quarrel a lot with my wife." - -"I shall never quarrel with my husband." - -"No? Well, perhaps I'm wrong then." - -She was angry at herself for glancing up so quickly to see what he -could possibly mean by that except--he was looking at her gravely. - -"Look here!" he said. "That's a mistake about Italy. You don't want to -go to Italy next summer." - -She was aware of two contradictory impressions during the entire -journey--one that this was the most extraordinary and dramatic event, -and that no heroine in fiction had ever such an adventure; and the -other that it was absolutely inevitable, and that she was now for the -first time a normal member of the human species. - -Nothing in the whole experience thrilled her more than the calm, almost -martial way in which he said as they were getting off the train at the -Grand Central, "Now we'll get a taxi." - -She was obliged to explain to him that they couldn't; her mother would -be at the gate waiting for her--she always was. - -Only this time she wasn't. - -Meeting trains in the Grand Central, though it has not the phrenetic -difficulty of meeting trains in the Pennsylvania Station, where you -must watch two crowded stairways and a disgorging elevator in three -different directions, is not made too easy. To meet a train in the -Grand Central you must be in two widely separated spots at the same -time. - -Mrs. Hazlitt, approaching the bulletin board through devious -subterranean routes, was caught in a stampede of those hurrying to -meet a belated Boston express; and when at last she wormed her way -to the front she saw that the impressive official with the glasses -well down on his nose and the extraordinary ability for making neat -figures had written down Track 12 for Lita's train. She turned liked -a hunted animal; and at the moment when Lita and Dacer were emerging -from the gate Mrs. Hazlitt was running from a point far to the west of -Vanderbilt Avenue to a track almost at Lexington. It was five o'clock, -and many heavier and more determined people were running for their -trains, so that she had a good many collisions and apologies before she -reached the gate where her daughter ought to have been. - -The last passenger, carrying a bunch of flowers and a cardboard box -tied up with two different kinds of string, was just staggering through -on oddly shaped flat feet. Everyone else had disappeared. Mrs. Hazlitt -questioned the gateman. Had he seen a small young lady all alone who -seemed to be looking for someone? The gateman said that he could not -say he had, but would not care to say he had not. He possessed to -perfection the railroad man's art of not telling a passenger anything -he doesn't have to tell. His manner irritated Mrs. Hazlitt. - -"I suppose you know," she said, "that you have horrible arrangements -for meeting trains." - -"If some of us had our way we wouldn't have any arrangements at all," -answered the gateman. - -This shocked Mrs. Hazlitt; it seemed so autocratic. She opened her eyes -to their widest and felt she must argue the matter out with him. - -"Do you mean," she asked, "that you would not let people meet trains?" - -"I would not," said the gateman calmly, and having locked his gate he -went his way. - -This had taken a few minutes, and by the time Mrs. Hazlitt had gone -back to the Vanderbilt Avenue entrance and found her car and driven -home, Lita was already in the library--alone. - -One of the disadvantages experienced by people who express themselves -quickly is that while they are explaining how everything happened the -silent people of the world are making up their minds how much they will -tell. Mrs. Hazlitt was talking as she entered the room. - -"I'm so sorry, my dear," she was saying. "Don't let's ever tell Miss -Barton. I wasn't really late--at least I would not have been if I had -not had to run miles and miles, knocking down commuters as I went. And -do you know what a gateman said to me, Lita, when I found I had missed -you? That people oughtn't to meet trains. I could have killed him. I -don't suppose you were frightened though. I suppose you took a taxi?" - -"Yes," said Lita. - -She had had every intention of telling her mother everything--well, -certainly that she had met Doctor Dacer on the train and that he had -been kind enough to see her home; but the words did not come instantly, -and as she paused, her mother rushed on to something else--clothes, and -what Lita wanted to see if they went to the theater the next day. The -moment for telling slipped away from her in the most unexpected way; it -was getting farther and farther; in fact it was nothing but a speck on -the horizon. - -They had an amusing dinner together. One of the pleasantest features in -her parents' divorce was that Mrs. Hazlitt felt not the least restraint -about discussing the Hazlitt family. - -"My dear," she would say, with her eyes dancing, "don't tell me you -never heard about why your Uncle Elbert was driven out of Portland." - -Lita enjoyed these anecdotes extremely. Sometimes they contained -illuminating phrases: "Of course, your father and I preferred to be -alone." "Naturally I knew just how Jim--your father--felt about it, -but--" - -When her mother was like this Lita was content that her father and -the whole world should remain outsiders. Her mother was a sufficient -companion. - -When they were back in the library after dinner her father telephoned -to her. It was about Italy. She took up the receiver with a sinking -heart. Now she wished she had written to him. Her mother was holding -the paper as if she were reading it, but Lita knew that she couldn't -help hearing the faltering sentences she was murmuring into the -mouthpiece: - -"Yes, Pat, I spoke to her, and I'm afraid we can't. I mean that, under -the circumstances--" She heard the paper rustling to the floor, and her -mother standing beside her whispered to her: "Don't be so timid; don't -say you're afraid." - -Then both parents were talking to her at once, one over the wire and -one in her ear. Now, it is possible to listen while you talk yourself, -but it is not possible to listen to two people at once. - -Her father was saying: "Of course, if you don't want to go say so, but -if you do, and will put the matter as I suggested--" - -And her mother was whispering sibilantly, "You're giving the idea you -wish to go--so unjust to me. Say straight out you won't leave me." - -It was one of those minutes that epitomized her life, and her nerves -were distinctly on edge as she hung up the receiver, to find that her -mother was only waiting for this, to go over the whole matter more at -length. - -"There are times, my dear," she was saying, "when it is really -necessary to speak out, even at the risk of hurting a person's -feelings. I do hope you are not one of those weak natures who can never -tell a disagreeable truth. It will save your father future suffering if -you can make him understand once and for all he cannot come in between -us--not because I forbid it, but because you won't have it." - -The evening never regained its gayety. - -The next morning--Saturday--was devoted entirely to clothes, and Lita -now discovered a curious fact. She found she knew exactly how Dacer -liked her to dress. In their few interviews they had never mentioned -clothes, and yet she did not buy a hat or reject a model without a -sure conviction that she was following his taste. Heretofore her main -interest in the subject had been a desire to knock her schoolmates in -the eye. - -She thought of an epigram: "Women dress for all women--and one man." - -The morning saw a triumph of her diplomacy too. She and her mother were -going to the theater together that afternoon. Coming down in the train, -she had learned that Dacer was taking Effie and some of her friends to -the matinée to see Eugene Valentine's new play, The Winged Victory. It -had not been easy to steer Mrs. Hazlitt toward this popular success; -she was displeased with anything that fell short of the Comédie -Française. Lita was obliged to stoop to tactics suggested by Aurelia. -She intimated very gently that when her father took her to the play he -never cared what it was so long as she was amused, and so she wouldn't -bore her mother with the Valentine play: she'd wait until she and Pat -were going on a spree--that very evening, perhaps-- - -Mrs. Hazlitt came to terms at once and sent for the tickets. - -They came in a little late. The play had already begun, but Lita's -first glance was not at the stage. Yes, he was there--three nice little -girls in a row in the front of the box, and he in the back--but not -alone. A woman was whispering in his ear. Who was she? His fiancée? -His wife? Had he said anything which actually precluded the idea of -his being married? "I expect to quarrel a great deal with my wife." -That did not say more than that he had not quarreled with her so far. -These two were certainly not quarreling. She sat in great agony; not of -spirit only, for gradually a distinct physical ache developed in her -left side. She tried to glue her eyes to the stage, and did not hear a -word, except an occasional murmur from her mother: "What a silly play!" - -The lights went up at the end of the act. Lita saw that the woman was -rather fat and not at all young--thirty at least--and yet she knew -that these sophisticated older women-- There was something sleek and -sumptuous about this one, all in black velvet and diamonds and fur. A -slight respite came to her when Dacer went out to smoke a cigarette. -Did this indicate indifference or merely intimacy? The white-skinned -woman moved to the front of the box and began making herself agreeable -to the children, particularly to the girl Lita had picked out as -Effie--a regular sister-in-law-to-be manner. She had looked forward -to the theater as a good time to tell her mother all about it, with a -casual "Oh, do you see that man over there--" She was suffering too -much to permit it. She became aware that her mother felt something -tense and portentous in the air; and she said suddenly, with a sound -instinct for red herrings, that she thought Valentine the handsomest -creature that she had ever seen. Her mother's reaction to this took up -most of the entr'acte. - -Doctor Dacer never saw them at all. Mrs. Hazlitt was an adept at -getting out of a theater and finding her car before anyone else. She -and Lita were on their way uptown before the little girls in the box -had sorted out their coats and hats. A good many people, mostly men, -came in to tea; and when they had gone it was time for Lita to dress to -go and dine with her father. Dine! She felt she would never be able to -eat again--a very curious feeling. - -When Mrs. Hazlitt went to her room Margaret was as usual waiting to -help her dress, but it was not usual for Margaret to wear such a long -face. She had entered the family as Lita's nurse, but was now Mrs. -Hazlitt's maid and the pivot on which all domestic machinery revolved. - -As she unhooked Mrs. Hazlitt's dress her solemn voice came from the -middle of Mrs. Hazlitt's back: "I think you ought to know, mum, that -when I was brushing that heavy coat of Miss Lita's this afternoon I -found something in the pocket." - -"Goodness, Margaret! What?" - -Margaret fumbled under her apron and produced a folded, typewritten -sheet a little grimy about the edges. Mrs. Hazlitt seized it and read: - - - _Dear Eugene Valentine:_ May I not tell you what an inspiration - your art is to me in my daily life? I think I have every - photograph of you that was ever published, and one I bought at a - fair with your signature. Only this is not my favorite. I like - best the one as a miner from The Emerald Light. It is so strong - and virile. Oh, Mr. Valentine, you cannot guess how happy it would - make me if you would autograph one of these for me! I am not at - present living in New York, but I am often there for week-ends, - and could easily bring one of these pictures to the theater after - a matinée, if that would be easiest for you. - - I shall not attempt to tell you what your art means to me, and - how you make other men seem, and I fear they always will seem like - they was pigmies beside you. - - I take the great liberty of inclosing my own picture in case it - would interest you to see what a great admirer of yours looks like. - - -Being merely a rough draft, it was unsigned. - -Of all the possibilities that crossed Mrs. Hazlitt's mind on reading -this document, the possibility that her daughter had not written it -was not one. Several suspicious circumstances at once popped into her -head--Lita's insistence on going to Valentine's play; her admiration -of him; her tentative suggestion about marriage; her alternate high -spirits and abstraction. - -"And who was he?" Margaret went on. "That young fellar brought her home -yesterday?" - -"A man brought her home yesterday?" - -"Yes--the two of them in a taxi." - -"What did he look like?" - -"I couldn't see him very good; but I heard him say 'Until Sunday' as he -got back into the taxi; and when I opened the door for Miss Lita you -could see she was smiling all over her face, but not letting it out." - -Ah, how well, in other days, Mrs. Hazlitt had known that beatific state! - -She walked to her door and called, "Lita! Lita!" - -Probably if one read the memoirs of Napoleon, the dispatches of -Wellington and the commentaries of Cæsar one would find a place where -the author asserts that the best general is he who takes quickest -advantage of chance. Lita, entering her mother's room with her -head bent over a fastening of her dress, was wondering what made -some fasteners cling like leeches and others droop apart like limp -handshakes. For the first few minutes she had no idea what her mother -was talking about. She was prepared to feel guilty--she was guilty, but -she had written no letter. - -"Writing a letter like that--a vulgar letter--and making me take you -to his play--and coming home with him, when I was actually waiting at -the gate for you. Perhaps you were not even on that train at all--so -terribly deceitful--as if I were your enemy instead of your mother. I -felt there was something queer about you at the play! An actor! I wish -you knew something about actors in private life. And Valentine of all -people! A man--" - -Mrs. Hazlitt paused. She knew nothing about Valentine's private life; -but she thought it was pretty safe to make that pause as if it were all -too awful to discuss. - -"Your father must be told of this. It will shock him very much." - -That was the phrase that gave Lita her great idea. Not since she was -four years old had she heard the words "your father" spoken in that -tone. Perhaps after all, it was not necessary to die in order to -reconcile your parents; perhaps it was enough to let them think you -were undesirably in love. She had a moment to consider this notion -while her mother, in a short frilled petticoat, with her blond hair -about her shoulders, was running on about what Mr. Hazlitt would say to -this man. - -Lita said at a venture, "Mr. Valentine doesn't even know my name. He -won't have any idea what father is talking about." - -"Indeed?" cried Mrs. Hazlitt. "Your father is not a man who talks -without contriving to make himself understood. And as to Valentine's -not knowing your name, you'll find he knows it--and the amount of -your fortune, too, probably. Little schoolgirls have very little -interest for older men, I can tell you, unless-- And such a letter too. -'Like they was pigmies.' If you must be vulgar, at least try to be -grammatical." - -"Shall you see my father when he comes for me?" - -"Of course I shall not see him; but I shall take care that he knows -the facts." At the same time, Lita could not help noticing that Mrs. -Hazlitt refused to wear the garment Margaret had left out for her, and -put on, with apparent unconsciousness, a new French tea gown in mauve -and silver. "He will tell you better than I can what sort of a man this -Valentine is." - -"But, mother, is father's judgment of men to be depended on? You said -about his lawyers that he had the faculty of collecting about him the -most inefficient--" - -"I never said any such thing--or rather, it was entirely different. How -can you speak like that of your father? But it's my own fault, treating -you as if you were a companion instead of a silly child." - -This was war. Lita withdrew into herself. Parents, she reflected, did -not really quite play the game; they couldn't belittle a fellow parent -one day, and the next, when they needed to use force, rush away into -the wings and dress him up as an ogre. After all the things her mother -had said about her father, how could she expect him to inspire fear? -And yet Lita knew that she was a little afraid. - -Then Freebody the butler came up to say that Mr. Hazlitt was waiting -in his car for Miss Hazlitt. Freebody had been with the Hazlitts -before their divorce, and when the split came had preferred to remain -with Mrs. Hazlitt, although he had been offered inducements by the -other side. In her bitterness of spirit she had felt it a triumph that -Freebody had chosen her household. She had particularly valued his -reason for staying with her. He had said he did not care to work for -stage people. This was wonderful to quote. It let people know that -her husband's second wife had been an actress, and moreover a kind of -actress that Freebody did not care to work for; and it could be told so -good-temperedly, as if it were a joke on Freebody. She had always felt -grateful to him. - -Now she sealed the incriminating note in another envelope and gave it -to Freebody. - -"Give this to Mr. Hazlitt," she said, "and tell him it was found in -the pocket of Miss Lita's coat"; and she added, when he had gone down -again, "You can explain the rest yourself." - -"No, mother," said Lita; "if you want any explaining done you must do -it yourself." - -Mrs. Hazlitt was still protesting against this suggestion when Freebody -came back and said that Mr. Hazlitt was in the drawing-room, and would -be very much obliged to Mrs. Hazlitt if she could arrange to see him -for just five minutes. There was a pause; Mrs. Hazlitt and Lita looked -at each other; and Freebody, just as much interested as anyone, looked -at no one. Then Mrs. Hazlitt said they would both go down. - -And so for the first time since she was five years old Lita stood in -the room with both her parents--her mother trembling so that the silk -lining of her tea gown rustled with a soft, continuous whispering like -the wind in dead leaves, and her father, white and impressive, with his -crush hat under one arm and the open letter held at arm's length so -that he could read it without his glasses. Something hurt and twisted -came to rest in Lita by the mere fact that the three of them were -together. - -Her father spoke first, and his voice was not quite natural, as he -said, "It was kind of you to come down, Alita. I know it is exceedingly -painful to you--" - -"I've done a good many painful things in my life for Lita." - -"I know, I know," he answered gently; "and this not the least. But this -letter--I don't exactly understand it." - -"Have you read it?" - -"Not entirely." - -"Well, read it--read it," said Mrs. Hazlitt, as if he ought to see -that he couldn't understand anything until he had read it; but every -time he began to read it she began to explain all the hideousness of -Lita's conduct; and when he looked up to listen to her she said, with a -sort of weary patience, "Won't you please read the letter? Then we can -discuss it." - -At last he said quietly, "Alita, I cannot read it while you talk to me." - -She did not answer. She moved her neck back like an offended swan, and -glanced at Lita as much as to say, "You see the sort of man he is?" -She did, however, remain silent until he had finished, and looking had -said, "But this isn't even good grammar--'Like they was pigmies.' -Don't they teach her grammar at this school?" - -Alita Hazlitt was one of those people who, when blame is going about, -assume it is intended for them and consider the accusation most unjust. - -"Well, really," she said now, "it wasn't my wish that she should go to -boarding school. It has turned out exactly as I prophesied it would. -Common girls have taught her to run after actors, and inefficient -teachers have failed--" - -"I don't remember your prophesying that, Alita." - -"You mean to say I did not?" - -"I mean to say I have no recollection of it. I do remember that you -said it would make it easier for me to kidnap her. I shall never forget -that." - -"You cannot deny that I was opposed to school. I only yielded to your -wishes--such a mistake." - -"You have not many of that kind to reproach yourself with." - -Lita, who had felt a profound filial emotion at seeing her parents -together, was now distressingly conscious that they had never seemed -less her parents than at this moment. They seemed in fact rather -dreadful people--childish, unjust, lacking in essential self-control. -The last remnant of her childhood seemed to perish with this scene, and -she became hard, matured and to a certain degree orphaned. - -"What I am trying to say," Mr. Hazlitt went on, "is that we can hardly -attribute this unfortunate episode entirely to the influence of the -school. I mean that if there had not been some inherent silliness in -the child herself--" - -This was too good a point for Mrs. Hazlitt to let slip. - -"It was not from me," she said, "that Lita inherited a tendency to run -after people of the stage." - -"We need not discuss inherited tendencies, I think." - -Mrs. Hazlitt laughed. - -"Ah, that is so like you! We may criticize the child or the school -or my bringing up, but the instant we begin to talk about your -shortcomings it is discovered that we are going too far." - -"Alita," he said, "I came here in the most coöperative spirit--" - -"And do you make it a favor that you should be willing to try to save -your child?" - -That was unjust of her mother, Lita thought. Her father was trying to -be nice. It was her mother who kept making the interview bitter, and -yet in essentials her mother had behaved so much better. Why did she -suffer so much in the atmosphere of their anger? Why did she wish so -passionately that they should treat each other at least fairly? She -couldn't understand. - -"You have not met me in a coöperative spirit," her father was saying, -"and I see no point in my staying. Good night." - -"And you're going--just like that--without doing anything at all?" - -"Of course, I shall write to Miss Barton--and if you are not able to -take Lita back to school tomorrow I'll go myself." - -Lita noticed that though an instant before her mother had reproached -him with indifference, she treated his last suggestion as if it were -impertinent. - -"I think I shall be able to take my daughter safely to school," she -said. "But you must see this man; that I cannot do." - -"I shall do nothing so ridiculous," said Mr. Hazlitt. "Valentine! Why, -a man like that gets a basketful a day of letters from idiotic women of -all ages! He's bored to death by them." - -"I have yet to find a man who is bored by the adoration of idiotic -women," said Mrs. Hazlitt, and there was no mistake in anybody's mind -as to what she meant by that. - -A discussion on the relative idiocy of the sexes broke out with -extraordinary violence. Lita's conduct was utterly forgotten. She might -have slipped out of the room without being noticed, except that her -father was standing between her and the door. She tried to remember -Dacer's saying that quarreling meant love, and found to her surprise -that that idea was almost as shocking. Could it be that she did not -want her parents to have any emotions at all? - -When her father had gone, her mother burst into tears. - -"I am so sorry," she said, "that you should have seen him like that--at -his very worst." - -Lita had just been thinking how much the better of the two he -had appeared. She felt as hard as a stone. She had no wish to be -continually appraising her parents; they left her no choice. Her -childish acceptance of them had been destroyed, and at the moment her -friendly emotion towards them as companions and human beings had not -yet flowered. Instead of wanting to tell her mother about Dacer, she -wanted to tell Dacer about her mother. - -She saw that her whole scheme about Valentine had been ridiculous--a -complete failure. She ought to clear that up at once, but she did not -feel up to explaining it; an explanation with her mother involved -so much. Mrs. Hazlitt would give those she loved anything in the -world--except her attention. It was necessary to hold her attention -with one hand and feed her your confidence with the other. Lita was too -exhausted to attempt it that evening. She would do it the next day, of -course. - -The next morning--Sunday--Mrs. Hazlitt awoke with a severe headache. -Though she insisted on Lita's remaining in sight--for fear that she -would rush to the arms of Valentine--it was made clear that no friendly -intercourse between parent and child was possible. Lita felt herself to -be the direct cause of the agony of mind which had led to the headache. - -After luncheon, looking like carved marble, Mrs. Hazlitt got up and -announced her intention of escorting Lita back to school. The girl saw -that her mother was not well enough to make the double journey, and -suggested that it would be better for her father to go with her. Mrs. -Hazlitt treated this proposal with the coldest scorn. - -"I think we will not trouble your father further," she said. - -At times like this she used a flat, remote voice; as dead, Lita -thought, as a corpse talking on a disconnected telephone. In old times -it had nearly broken her heart when her mother spoke to her in that -tone. Today it had lost its power. - -They drove to the station in silence, every jar of the car sending a -tremor through Mrs. Hazlitt's eyelids. In the train, she put Lita's -knitting bag behind her head and shut her eyes. Lita, sitting in -silence beside, felt so wooden--inside and out--that, she said to -herself, not even the appearance of Doctor Dacer would make any -difference to her. But when, before they were out of the tunnel, he did -pass through the car--not stopping, just raising his hat--she found it -did affect her. - -Her mother opened her eyes. - -"Who's that man?" she said in an almost human tone. - -"I think he's one of the surgeons who is taking care of Aurelia," Lita -answered, and instantly regretted the "I think." It was positively -deceitful, where she had intended to be merely noncommittal. But all -the relations of her life seemed to have gone wrong. - -She had not done any of her work for the next day; not the original -in geometry or the sonnet she should have learned by heart; in fact -she had not opened a book. She couldn't concentrate her mind now on -mathematics or poetry, but she might do some of the collateral reading -for Greek History. She slipped the book out of its strap and opened it. - -"Of Lycurgus the lawgiver, we have nothing to relate that is certain -and uncontroverted--" Lita thought: that's at least a candid way to -begin a biography. The door opened, letting in the roar of the train -and the smell of coal smoke, and Lita's nerves remembered it, as if -only once before in her life had she ever known a car door open, and -looked up--to see the conductor. She dropped her eyes and went on: "For -there are different accounts of his birth, his death--" The door again; -this time a passenger in search of a seat. She made a vow to herself to -read three pages without looking up--and did. "Endeavoring to part some -persons who were concerned in a fray, he received a wound by a kitchen -knife, of which he died, and left the kingdom--" - -She was aware that something in blue serge was stationary beside her. -She looked slowly up. Yes, there he was. - -She introduced him to her mother. The seat in front of them was now -free, and Dacer, turning it over, sat down. Mrs. Hazlitt was not sorry -to show that her coldness concerned her daughter only. She was very -willing to talk agreeably to a stranger. The conversation was carried -on between them as if Lita were too young to be expected to take -part. She was not sorry, and went on glancing at a sentence here and -there: "He set sail, therefore, and landed in Crete--" "--in which the -priestess called him beloved of the gods, and rather a god than a man." - -At this she really could not help looking at Dacer, and finding his -eyes on her, she said, "I saw you at the theater yesterday." - -He was interested. - -"I didn't see you." - -"Oh, yes, we were there," said Mrs. Hazlitt languidly. "Such a poor -play! And as for Valentine--these popular actors in America--" - -"He was thought very handsome and dashing, in our box," said Dacer. - -And then Lita was surprised to hear her own voice saying, "Was that -lady your wife?" - -He stared at her for a second as if he had not heard, or could not -understand what he seemed to have heard, and then answered quietly, -"No, I don't care for them by the cubic foot." - -Never had such a perfect reply been made, Lita thought. It -reconstructed their relation and the whole world, and yet it took place -so gently that her mother had hardly noticed that they had spoken to -each other. Life was simply immense, she said to herself; she had been -quite wrong about it before. - -Then presently Dacer drew from Mrs. Hazlitt the admission that she -had a wretched headache--hadn't slept--had had a disagreeable day--so -foolish, but she was affected by scenes-- - -"Everybody is, you know," said Dacer. - -She should not have come on such an expedition. The idea of her -driving four miles out to the school in a jiggling car--and right back -again--was absurd. He spoke almost sternly. He had a time-table in -his pocket; a train left for New York five minutes after their train -arrived at Elbridge; Mrs. Hazlitt must take that back, go straight to -bed; he would give her a powder. Of course he would see Miss Hazlitt -safely to the school--yes, even into Miss Barton's presence. He wrote -his prescription. Lita saw that her mother was going to obey. - -As they got out at the station they saw the New York train already -waiting. Dacer put Mrs. Hazlitt on it; and Lita, watching them, saw -Mrs. Hazlitt turn at the steps and give him some special injunction. -Well, she probably would not confide to him so soon the scandal of -the letter to Valentine; and if she did, it would be easy to explain. -Dacer's face was untroubled as he returned to her. - -"She's all in," he said. - -A sharp self-reproach clutched at Lita's heart, the capacity for -emotion having unexpectedly returned to her. - -"Did it really do her harm to come out here?" - -"It really is better for her to go straight home," he answered, as if -admitting other motives had entered into his advice. - -They got into the school flivver, which was waiting for them. Rain had -just stopped and the back curtains were down. It was dark. - -As they wheeled away from the station lights Lita heard him saying, -"Didn't you know I wasn't married?" She did not immediately answer. Her -hand was taken. "Didn't you know?" he said again. - -A strange thing was happening to Lita. She formed the resolution of -withdrawing her hand; she sent the impulse out from her brain, but it -seemed only to reach her elbow; her hand, limp and willing, continued -to remain in his. - -They spoke hardly at all. The near presence of Matthew, the driver, a -well-known school gossip, made speech undesirable. Besides, it wasn't -necessary. Lita was perfectly content with silence as long as that -large, solid hand enveloped hers. - -As they turned in at the school gate he said, "You'll come over to see -Aurelia this evening, I suppose." - -She knew it wouldn't be possible, and was obliged to say so. And he was -going back to town by a morning train. There was a pause. - -As they got out he said, "Do you ever get up very early--as early as -six?" - -"I could always make a beginning," said Lita. - -And then, true to his promise, he turned the chairman of the -self-government committee over to the keeping of Miss Barton herself. - -One excellent way of waking early is not to sleep at all. Lita hardly -slept and was out of bed in time to watch the slow but fortunately -inevitable spreading of the dawn. The new day was evidently going -to be one of those days in late March when, though the earth has no -suggestion of spring, the sky and the air are as vernal as May. Lita -could see a light in the upper story of the infirmary. Dacer's perhaps. - -It was not yet six when she stole downstairs and across the green. She -had a good reason for being anxious about Aurelia--the stitches had -been taken out of the wound the night before. That's what she would -say if anyone asked her. But no one was awake, except far away in -the school kitchen. The door of the infirmary was locked, but as she -pressed noiselessly against it a figure faced her on the other side -of the glass--Dacer. He opened the door and came out. It shut behind -him, and as the night latch was still on, they were locked out. So they -sat down on the narrow steps of the cottage, each with a pillar to -lean against, and for the first time looked long and steadily at each -other, as people who have met by deliberate acknowledged plan. - -"Do you like the early morning?" he asked. - -"I never did before," she answered. - -He smiled at her. - -"Do you realize," he said, "that in this lifelong friendship of ours -that is the first decent thing you have ever said to me?" - -Why, it was true! To Lita it had been so clear that she was more -interested than he was; more eager; but it was true, she had given him -none of those poignant, unforgettable sentences which he had left with -her, to go over in his absence. She smiled, too--very slowly. - -"Perhaps it won't be the last," she said. - -At half past seven Dacer went in, and a few minutes later Lita arrived -at Room 11 to inquire after her friend. When it was time to go, she -shook hands with Doctor Dacer in the presence of Aurelia, Aurelia's -mother, who had just arrived, and the trained nurse. - -It was the last possible meeting before the Easter holidays. - - -III - -Immediately after breakfast Lita had geometry, and then a study period. -During this she received a message that Miss Barton wished to speak to -her. Such a message was not necessarily alarming; as chairman of the -self-government committee she was consulted on many school problems. It -was known that Miss Barton relied more on her judgment than on that of -the senior president. Still, with a poor classroom record for the past -week, and that unlicensed hour and a half on the infirmary steps, Lita -did feel a trifle nervous; not that she could care very much about such -minor matters. And then there was Matthew and the flivver---- - -The head mistress was sitting at her desk in her study, with its -latticed windows and the etchings of English cathedrals on the walls. -Her head was slightly on one side, which meant, according to school -lore, that she was going to be particularly airy. She was. - -"Oh, well, come, my dear Lita," she said. "This is really going rather -far--a bit thick, as our little English friend would say." - -"But what is it, Miss Barton?" Lita breathed, with all the pearly -innocence of young guilt. - -"Oh, dear, dear!" said Miss Barton. "So we have nothing on our -conscience!" - -"I have a great many things," said Lita quietly. She knew just how to -talk to her chief--if that would do any good. - -"One asks oneself whether girls are worth educating at all if this is -the way the more intelligent ones expend their time and energy." And -Miss Barton handed Lita the crumpled but familiar letter to Valentine. -"I've had a sharp note from your father this morning, and I must say -I don't blame him--really I don't. The grammar would be a sufficient -humiliation to any school, even if the letter were addressed to your -grandmother. And I may tell you that five different photographs of -Mr. Valentine have been discovered hidden about your room--most -ingeniously, it is true, but quite against our rules. Really, it's -a question whether the school can keep on if this sort of thing is -general." - -Lita listened in what appeared to be the most respectful silence. Her -relief was intense. Also she was trying to remember what Miss Barton -said word for word so as to repeat it to Aurelia, to whom, after all, -it justly belonged. Aurelia did a wonderful imitation of the head -mistress, and could make use of every phrase; she was always on the -lookout for material. - -Lita was dismissed with a warning that she was to be kept in bounds -until the holidays, and all her mail, outgoing and incoming, would be -watched. This was rather serious, as Dacer had distinctly intimated -that he intended to write. Still, a way could probably be found-- She -would speak to Aurelia about it. - -She did not see Aurelia until the late afternoon. Dacer, as she -expected, had gone; but he had left a message for her, Aurelia said--a -very particular message. - -With what extraordinary rapidity does the human imagination function! -Between the time Aurelia announced the fact that a message existed -and the giving of the message, Lita had time to envisage half a dozen -possibilities, from the announcement of his immediate return to an -offer of marriage. - -The message was this: "He said to tell you that he had no idea you were -so fond of the stage, or he would have behaved very differently. Do you -understand what that means?--for I don't." - -It meant, of course, that Miss Barton had told him about Valentine; -had possibly even shown him the letter. It was just the sort of thing -that she might do. Lita could almost hear her describing the comic -complications of a head mistress' life: "This note, for instance, -discovered in the pocket of one of my best girls; not even English; -that hurts us most." - -Why did Aurelia do such silly things--write such silly letters? Then, -her sense of justice reasserting itself, she admitted it was not her -friend's fault that the authorship of the letter had been mistaken. She -was conscious of a physical nausea at the idea that Dacer was going -about in the belief that she, Lita Hazlitt, had written thus to another -man. - -In the first few minutes she sketched an explanatory letter to him, and -then remembered that her mail--in and out--was watched. That wouldn't -do. In fact, there was nothing to do but to wait for two interminable -weeks to pass and bring the Friday of the Easter holiday. Once in the -same town with him, she could make him listen to her. There was nothing -agreeable in life except the recollection of a large hand on hers, and -even that memory was beginning to take on mortality. - -She had not even the attentions of her parents to console her--not that -forty thousand parents would have made up to her for the estrangement -of Dacer. Her mother wrote conscientiously, but coldly. If she had seen -her mother Lita would have told her everything, but the next Sunday was -Mr. Hazlitt's official visiting day. - -He came, but he came in a somewhat disciplinary mood. He gave Lita a -long talk on how men felt when women forced attentions upon them. Lita -did not dare take the risk of telling him; she had so little control -over him that he might possibly tell the whole story to Miss Barton and -involve Aurelia. At the same time she did not want him to find it out -for himself by a futile visit to Valentine. Before he left she asked -him point-blank if he contemplated such a step. - -"Of course not," he answered. - -And at almost that exact moment Freebody was ushering Valentine into -Mrs. Hazlitt's library. For Mrs. Hazlitt was not a woman to let -the grass grow under her feet, where her maternal obligations were -concerned. The more she thought the matter over the more obvious it -became that one or the other of Lita's parents must see Valentine and -let him know that, however silly and forthputting the child had been, -she was not without conventional protection. Of course, this was her -father's duty; but since men as fathers were complete failures, all the -disagreeable tasks of parenthood devolved inevitably on mothers. After -Dacer had put her on the train the Sunday before, she had gone home and -taken the powder he gave her and slept through a long night; and when -she waked the next morning she had seen her duty clearly--to interview -Valentine herself. It was a duty which implied a reproof to her former -husband. - -She looked for Valentine's name in the telephone book, but of course -he was not there. Then she called up the theater where he was acting, -and they refused to give her his address, but said a letter directed -to the theater would reach him. Mrs. Hazlitt was in no mood to brook -the mail's delays, and telegraphed him that it was necessary that she -should see him for a few minutes at any time or place convenient to -him, and signed her name with a comfortable conviction that all New -York knew just who Alita Hazlitt was. - -Now Valentine, like most people busy with a successful career, was -utterly uninterested in conventional social life; he hardly ever opened -his mail, rarely answered telegrams; and if, by mistake, he did make a -social engagement, he always told his secretary to call the people up -and break it. In the ordinary course of events Mrs. Hazlitt's telegram -would have been opened in his dressing room, and would have lain about -for a day or two until Valentine thought of saying to someone who -might know, "Who is this woman--Alita Hazlitt?" And then it would have -dropped on the floor, and would eventually have been swept up and put -in the theater ash can. - -But, as it happened, Valentine had always cherished a wish to play -the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet before he was too old to wear -a round-necked doublet; and a charitable institution, of which Mrs. -Hazlitt was a most negligent trustee, had made a suggestion that -Valentine should help them out in a benefit they were about to give. So -Valentine, remembering her name on the letterhead of the institution, -jumped at the conclusion that she had been selected to clinch the -arrangement. - -And so not more than three or four days went by before he answered her -telegram by calling her up on the telephone, and it was arranged that -he was to come and see her on Sunday at five. - -She felt nervous as the time approached. She kept saying to herself -that she had no idea how to deal with people like this. So awkward for -a woman alone; but she was alone--utterly alone. She had become rather -tearful by the time Valentine was announced. She waited a moment to -compose herself and became even more unnerved in the process. - -When she went down she found him standing by one of the bookcases, -reading. She saw with a distinct pang that he was a handsomer man off -the stage than on, with his fine hawklike profile and irrepressibly -thick, furrowed light hair. He slid a book back into place as she -entered, with the soft gesture of a book lover. - -"I see you have a first edition of Trivia," he said. "I envy you." - -Mrs. Hazlitt, who had thought up a greeting which was now rendered -utterly impossible, was obliged to make a quick mental bound. She had -never opened her edition of Gay, which she had inherited from her -grandfather, and had never suspected it of being a first. - -She said, "Oh, do you go in for first editions?" - -"Not any more," answered Valentine. "I've become more interested in -autographs and association books. I have a wonderful letter of Gay's -from--from--oh, you know, where he was staying when he wrote the -Beggar's Opera--that duke's place--well, it will come to me." - -But it never did come to him--not, at least, until he went home and -looked it up--because, glancing at his hostess, he saw in those -anxious, dark-fringed eyes that she wasn't a bit interested in his Gay -letter; and so, with that tact that all artists possess if they will -only use it, he said gently, "But it wasn't about autographs that you -wanted to see me, was it? It's about your benefit." - -"The benefit?" - -"No? Well, what is it then?" - -"Oh, I hoped you would understand without my being obliged to dot all -the _i_'s." - -She said this with a great deal of meaning. Leaning forward on her -elbow, in her mauve and silver tea gown, behind her silver tea tray, -she looked very charming. Valentine thought that he had never known a -woman who combined such perfection of appointments with such simplicity -of manner. He had a strong instinct for the best in any art. It struck -him that for a certain sort of thing this was the best. - -She went on: "Perhaps you will think I should not have sent for you; -but what could I do? I am so alone. My husband and I, as you perhaps -know, are divorced." - -Valentine achieved just the right sort of murmur at this, indicating -that he personally could not regret the fact, but found it of intense -interest. - -Mrs. Hazlitt hurried on: "I feel I must apologize for my silly -child--so vulgar and absurd, though I suppose girls must think they're -in love--not that I mean it's absurd to think--I mean in your case it's -natural enough--your last play--so romantic, dear Mr. Valentine--only, -would you mind telling me just how it was you brought my daughter home -a week ago Friday?" - -Valentine emerged from this like a dog from the surf, successive waves -had passed over him without his having had any idea what it meant. - -"I don't think I have the pleasure of knowing your daughter," he said. - -"Ah, not by name!" - -She was ready for him there. She rose, and taking a silver-framed -photograph from the table she thrust it into his hands. - -He studied it and said politely, "What a charming little face! How like -you, if I may say so!" - -"Don't you recognize it? Hasn't she sent it to you? Hasn't she written -you letters?" - -"Possibly," said Valentine, and he added apologetically, "You know, I -can't read all my letters. The telegrams I do try to manage, although--" - -Mrs. Hazlitt could not pretend to be interested in how Valentine -managed his telegrams. - -"You mean you didn't bring Lita home last Friday--a week ago?" she -said, and her eyes began to get large. - -Valentine leaned back and looked at the ceiling, stamped one foot -slightly on the floor and crossed the other leg over it. This seemed to -help him think, for almost immediately he said: - -"We were putting in our new villain"; and when he saw that Mrs. Hazlitt -did not grasp the information, he added, "We were rehearsing all that -afternoon." - -Of course, she told him the whole story, and heard in return many -interesting and surprising incidents of a popular actor's life. He was -extremely interesting and sympathetic; so different from what she had -expected--delightful. She felt she had made a real friend. In fact, -she had promised to have tea with him at his apartment the following -Thursday. She was so glad he had not said Friday. Lita would be back -for her holidays on Friday, and somehow it would be hard to explain -after all she had said against actors; though, of course, Lita herself -would be called on to explain how she had allowed--and who was the -man who had brought her home? Thursday would be safe, though; and she -did want to meet this new Spanish actress Doria for whom the party was -given. Valentine had assumed that Mrs. Hazlitt spoke Spanish, and when -she insisted that she did not he was perfectly tactful. His own, he -said, was getting rusty; but Doria was all right in French. He said he -would come for her himself on Thursday. She thought that very kind. - -She had a flurried, excited feeling when he had gone that she was -entering upon a new phase of life. She had had a delightful afternoon. -But the mystery of Lita's conduct was deeper than ever. Who was the -man? Had there been a man at all? She sat down to write to her child, -demanding to know the truth; but was interrupted by the entrance of -Freebody with a long, narrow box which looked as if it might contain a -boa constrictor, but did actually contain a dozen long-stemmed roses, -with Valentine's card. - -Mrs. Hazlitt tore up her letter. After all, it would be better to wait -until Friday, and when Lita returned they could have a long, clear -explanation. - -But, as things turned out, Lita came back on Thursday. A little girl in -one of the younger classes contrived to catch a light case of measles, -and the school was hurried home a day ahead of time. It was generally -mentioned that the child deserved a tablet in the common room; and she -did actually receive a laurel wreath tied with red, white and blue -ribbon, and bearing the inscription, "_Dulce et decora est_ to get -measles for the good of your schoolmates." - -The New York girls came back unheralded, for the school did not have -time to telephone every parent. Miss Jones went about in a bus dropping -the girls at their places of residence. - -Lita, for the first time in her life, hoped that her mother would not -be in. She wanted to be free to telephone Doctor Dacer without comment. -She knew her mother would disapprove of her telephoning. She had had -other glimpses of the last generation's method of dealing with romantic -complications. They had strange old conventions about letting the -advances come from the masculine side, or at least of maneuvering so -that they appeared to. Subtle, they called it. Lita thought it rather -sneaky. - -She learned from Freebody at the door that her mother was dressing -and was to be out to tea, but was to be home to dinner. Lita walked -straight to the library, and having looked up Dacer's number called the -office. The office nurse answered. Yes, the doctor was in. Who wished -to speak to him? Miss Hazlitt? Just a minute. There was a long silence. -What would she do if he refused to speak to her? Go there? - -"Oh, Doctor Dacer, I wanted to tell you that Miss Barton told you -something that wasn't true, though she thought it was. You know what -I mean.... I want to see you, please. I wish you would.... Now; the -sooner the better.... Yes; good-by." - -She hung up the receiver with a hand not absolutely steady. He was -coming at once. She took off her hat and dropped it on the sofa and -stood still in the middle of the floor. If only her mother would keep -on dressing for half an hour or so! It couldn't take him very long -to get from his office in Sixty-third Street near Park-- Now he was -putting on his hat, now he was in the street, now he was coming nearer -and nearer every minute-- - -Exactly eleven minutes by the watched clock after she had hung up the -telephone receiver the doorbell rang. The doorbell could just be heard -in the library by straining ears. - -And then Freebody said from the doorway, "Doctor Dacer to see you, -miss." - -Dacer was standing now in the doorway, looking at her darkly. Severity -was evidently going to temper his justice. - -"Well?" he said. - -The main thing was that he had come. - -"Didn't you think I could write a better love letter than that?" she -began. - -"Unfortunately I have had no opportunities of judging." - -"What does a head mistress know about girls?" - -"She tells a pretty well-documented story." - -It came over Lita that they were quarreling--almost--and that she liked -the process, but liked it only because she knew it must come out right. -Her case was so clear. - -"The letter and the photographs belonged to Aurelia," she said. "I hid -them for her when she was taken ill. That was why I was in such a hurry -to go that first day--when you patted me on the head. And if they told -you about a mysterious man who brought me home in a taxi--that was you, -and--" - -"You never wrote to Valentine?" - -"Never!" - -He took a step toward her. - -"Never sent him your photograph?" - -"No!" - -He took another step. - -"Never saw him except on the stage?" - -"No!" - -Another step would bring him to her; and what, she wondered, would -happen then? - -What happened was that the door opened and Freebody said, "Mr. -Valentine." - -And there he was, the man himself, more beautiful than the posters. - -Never before had the chairman of the self-government committee found -herself deserted by the powers of speech and action. She stood -helplessly staring at the great artist before her. And even then -the day might have been saved if Valentine had not been so kind, so -determined to put everything straight. - -"Ah," he said, supposing he had to do with an embarrassed child, -"you are Miss Hazlitt, and very like your picture. I should know you -anywhere." - -"You've seen my picture?" said Lita, with a sort of feeble hope that -the question would convey her complete innocence to Dacer. She could -hear her own voice twittering high and silly like a hysterical bird. - -"Yes, indeed," said Valentine; and the voice, which was only -kind, sounded in Dacer's ears significant. "This one, isn't -it? Photography"--he turned politely, including Dacer in the -conversation--"is only just getting back to where it was in the days of -the daguerreotype. How wonderful they were! So soft--" - -"Photography has always had its uses, I believe," answered Dacer in his -deepest voice. He made a slight bow in the general direction of Lita. -"Good-by, Miss Hazlitt," he said, and each word came with a terrible -distinctness. "If you and I don't meet for some time, you'll remember -me to Aurelia, I hope. She seemed to me a singularly candid, truthful -nature. I admire that." - -He bowed also to Valentine, and was gone. Something about his manner -struck Valentine as peculiar. He feared that he had interrupted one -of those conversations that do not bear interruption--an impression -somewhat confirmed when Miss Hazlitt snatched her hat from the sofa and -ran out of the room without a word. - -Left alone, Valentine returned to Trivia; but he began to be nervous -about the time. He did not want Doria to arrive at his apartment -before he and Mrs. Hazlitt got there; so that when Alita came down, -apologizing for being late, but in the tone of the habitually late, -as if no one really expected you to be on time, he hurried her grimly -downstairs. - -Freebody was waiting in the hall to open the door, and told her of -her daughter's return. She showed a disposition to stay and argue the -matter with him. How could it be, when she was not to come till the -next day? But Freebody wouldn't argue, and Valentine was firm--they -must go. - -"Tell Miss Lita I'll be back before seven," said Mrs. Hazlitt, and let -herself be hurried out to the car. - -Freebody stared at her. Did not she know that Miss Hazlitt had just -torn out of the house like a little mad witch? - -Lita had moved fast, but an angry man faster. As she left the house she -could see him swinging on the step of a moving Madison Avenue car. As -it was a southbound car, she hoped this meant that he was going back to -his office. - -She had seen the address only once, when she looked up his number -in the telephone book; but it was indelibly impressed on her mind, -although the date of the Battle of Bosworth Field, which she had spent -so much time memorizing, always escaped her. In her hurry she had -forgotten not only her gloves but her purse, so that she was obliged -to walk the eight or nine blocks. Walk? She almost ran, crossing all -necessary streets diagonally, dodging in and out between motors. -Suppose he should go out again before she got there! It was terrible! - -Doctor Burroughs' office was in an oyster-colored apartment house. In a -window on the ground floor she read the blue porcelain name of Doctor -Burroughs--very large; and Doctor Dacer--very small. She entered a hall -that was low and decorated in the style of a Florentine palace. Miss -Waverley, with her white hair brushed straighter than ever, answered -the door. - -"Have you an appointment with the doctor?" - -She spoke very politely, but there was a hint that without an -appointment-- - -"I think he'll see me for a minute," said Lita. - -She was far from feeling certain of this; and if he refused, she did -not know exactly what she could do except sit on the doorstep. - -She was shown into the waiting room. A complete silence fell upon the -room--the house--the city. Then a returning rustling of starched skirts -in the narrow passageway was heard. The doctor would see her. She was -led down the long corridor to a small room filled for the most part by -a desk. A door was standing open into a larger room beyond, which was -lined with white tiles and decorated with glass cases along the walls -in which hideous instruments were displayed as if they were objects of -art. The nurse having ushered Lita into the first room, retired to the -second, where she remained without shutting the door between, and could -be heard moving about and doing something with instruments that made a -soft, continual clinking. - -Dacer rose slowly from his desk, on which cards in several colors were -strewn. - -He said in his deep voice, "Yes, I thought it might be you." - -"Doctor Dacer--" Lita began. Her throat was dry. - -"Oh, don't explain," he said. "What's the use?" - -For the first time she saw that she had no explanation whatsoever to -offer. She could only say, "I haven't any idea why that man suddenly -appeared at the house." It sounded feeble, even to her. - -"Perhaps to inquire about Aurelia," answered Dacer, and permitted -himself a most disagreeable smile. - -"That's not funny," said Lita. - -"It's not original. I got the main idea from someone else." - -"Doctor Dacer, I never saw Mr. Valentine--nor wrote to him. The only -explanation I can think of is--" - -Miss Waverley entered. - -"Mr. Andrews on the telephone, doctor." - -Dacer snatched up the telephone as if it were a captured standard, -saying as he did so, "Perhaps while I'm telephoning you'll be able to -think of the explanation." - -But she wasn't able to think at all. She could just stare at him. - -"Yes," she heard him saying, "there is a--someone is here at the -moment, but I shall be free directly." He hung up the receiver and -replaced the telephone on the desk. "Well," he said, "have you got -something good ready for me?" - -She had one small idea. - -"Can't you see that if things were as you think I would hardly have -left Mr. Valentine to follow you, at once?" - -"Oh, quite a time has gone by!" - -"Because I had to walk--I had no money with me. Walk? No, I ran!" - -He was affected by the picture of her running after him through the -streets, and she pressed on: "Doctor Dacer, I want to tell you why -I let my parents and Miss Barton and everyone think that letter to -Valentine was from me." - -He sat down, shrugging his shoulders as if it were useless but he would -not forbid it. - -Truth in detail is almost inimitable. Lita told her story in great -detail--Aurelia's request--the hidden photographs--the story of -the tramp--the letter thrust into her pocket and discovered by -Margaret--the identical expressions of her parents on the subject of -her marriage and her own sudden inspiration that here, at least, was -one topic on which they agreed. - -"You see," she said eagerly, "it was only a few hours before that my -father had said just the same thing--that I must not think of marrying -for years; and then my mother--" - -"You had sounded both your parents on the subject of marriage?" - -Lita looked at him. His face was like a mask. - -"I had happened to mention in the course of conversation--" - -"You are thinking of getting married, Miss Hazlitt?" - -"No, Doctor Dacer." - -"No? The idea has never crossed your mind?" - -"No--at least not in connection with--no." - -Someone had told her that blushing could be prevented by a sharp pinch -in the back of the neck. It was a lie. She felt as if she were being -painted in a stinging crimson paint, while Dacer continued to regard -her with a cold, impassive stare. He rose and shut the door between the -two offices. - -"Am I to understand," he said, "that you have never considered the -possibility of marriage?" - -She shook her head. She felt as if she were drowning. - -"Then consider it now," he said, and took her up in his arms, her toes -dangling inches from the floor. - -Miss Waverley entered again. The apartment was well built and the doors -opened without any preliminary creaking. - -"Doctor Burroughs on the telephone, doctor," she said. - -There was nothing to do but to let Lita slide to her feet and to take -up the telephone from the desk. It was all very well for him, with his -attention immediately occupied; but Lita was left alone to encounter -the blank self-control of Miss Waverley's expression as she again -shut the door behind her. Dacer was giving his chief an account of a -professional visit, and was about to receive instructions. Lita heard -him say, "Yes, I'll hold the wire." - -In the pause that followed, Lita whispered, pointing toward the door, -"She saw!" - -"Unless stricken with blindness." - -"She took it so calmly." - -"Nothing in her life." - -"I mean as if it happened every day." - -Dacer shouted, still holding the telephone to his ear, "Miss Waverley!" -Miss Waverley returned, and Dacer went on, "Have you ever found a lady -in my arms before?" - -"No, not in yours, doctor," said the nurse, as if she would not wish to -be pressed about some of the people she had worked for. - -"Thanks," said Dacer. "Miss Hazlitt thought you were not quite enough -surprised." - -"I wasn't surprised at all," answered Miss Waverley, and as Dacer was -obliged to turn back to the telephone and take down some directions -in writing she added, "He's been so absent-minded lately--since -Elbridge--forgetting everything if I didn't follow him up." - -Dacer had finished telephoning. - -"Miss Hazlitt and I are going to be married," he said. "Get me a taxi, -will you?" - -"Not now!" said Lita. - -He laughed. - -"No, not tonight," he answered. "I've got to see a patient in -Washington Square. You'll go with me and wait in the cab. Then we'll -dine somewhere--and not get you back until late. We'll test this theory -of yours that parents can be reconciled through anxiety." - -"Oh, I couldn't!" said Lita. "It would drive my mother mad!" - -"Or to your father." - -"It would hurt her terribly." - -"I'm a surgeon. I know you've got to hurt people sometimes for their -own good. My bag, please, Miss Waverley. My book--thanks. Good-by." - -A moment later they had gone, and Miss Waverley was left alone, tidying -the office for the night. She shook her head. Her thought was: "And -they expect us to respect them as if they were grown men." She sighed. -"And the grown-up men aren't any better," she thought. - -In the meantime the pleasure of Mrs. Hazlitt's afternoon had been -spoiled by the idea that Lita was sitting at home, waiting for her. -Hers was a nature most open to self-reproach if no one reproached her. - -She returned about seven, eager to do her duty. She came running -upstairs, calling to her daughter as she ran, and felt distinctly -foolish when Freebody said coldly that Miss Hazlitt had not yet come in. - -"Hasn't come in?" cried Mrs. Hazlitt, and looked very severely at him -over the banisters. - -Freebody had been with her long enough to have learned to withstand the -implication that anything he told her was his fault. He moved about, -putting the card tray straight. - -"Miss Hazlitt went out before you did, madam." - -"Alone?" - -"After the other gentleman left. Not Mr. Valentine." - -"There was no other gentleman but Mr. Valentine." - -Freebody, in his irritating way, would not argue with her. She had to -begin all over again in order to elicit the facts--a gentleman had -come to the house soon after Miss Hazlitt's arrival, and just before -the arrival of Mr. Valentine. When he left, Miss Hazlitt had gone -directly--Freebody would infer that she had been trying to catch up -with him. - -"Did she?" asked Mrs. Hazlitt. - -"Ah, I couldn't say, madam." - -Mrs. Hazlitt was really alarmed. This was the other man--the real -danger. By half past eight she was convinced of disaster. She called -up her former husband at his club. He had gone out to dinner. How -characteristic! - -No one in the club seemed to know where he was dining; but the -telephone operator was ill-advised enough to say that if they did know -they were not allowed to give out the information. - -Nothing annoyed Mrs. Hazlitt so much as a rule. The idea that the -telephone operator of the club knew something which she wanted to -know and would not tell her was an idea utterly intolerable. Was her -child to be murdered--or worse--because the club had a silly rule? -She ordered her motor and drove down to interview the starter. He -fortunately had heard the address Mr. Hazlitt had given his chauffeur. -It was that of a small restaurant famous for quiet and for good food. - -A few minutes later Mrs. Hazlitt was standing in the doorway, fixing -her former husband with a significant stare. He was half through dinner -with a man from Baltimore. Baltimoreans believe that good food is only -terrapin and canvasback; and that terrapin and canvasbacks can only be -properly cooked in Baltimore, hence that no good food is obtainable -outside of their native city. Hazlitt was in process of proving his -friend wrong when he looked up and saw his former wife. He guessed at -once that something had happened to Lita, and began to feel guilty. - -Alita, in common with so many wives, had always possessed the power of -making her husband feel guilty. In old times, with just a glance or -an inflection of the voice she could make him feel like the lowest of -criminals. And, rage as he might, he found this power had persisted. -Love may not always endure until death do them part, but the ability of -married people to make each other feel guilty endures to the grave--and -possibly beyond. - -Hazlitt sprang to his feet, thinking that he ought to have seen -Valentine. It had been mere obstinacy on his part. If anything had -happened to Lita as a result-- - -Presently they were driving back to the house in Mrs. Hazlitt's car, -and so strong is the power of association that as they got out at -the house Hazlitt found himself feeling for his latchkey, though it -was thirteen years since he had had a key to that lock. Mrs. Hazlitt -saw it and felt rather inclined to cry. She herself was not without -a sense of guilt, for she had not told him about her interview with -Valentine. When he said repentantly that he ought to have seen the -fellow she answered that she was convinced his first judgment had been -correct--it wasn't necessary. He thought this very generous of her. - -It was after nine when they entered the house. Still nothing had been -heard of Lita. Activity for some common interest can make strangers -friends and may keep enemies from open quarrels. Mrs. Hazlitt admired -Hazlitt's methods--his instructions to his secretary--his possession of -a friend in the police department. He complimented her upon the placing -of her telephones, her pens and ink. He thought to himself as he looked -about the room that she had always had the power to make the material -side of life comfortable and agreeable; if only she had understood -mental peace as well-- - -Their intercourse was impersonal, but not hostile. Hazlitt bore -interruption calmly, and though she could not allow him to say that -Lita resembled him in temperament, she contradicted him without insult. -They came nearest to a disagreement over the question as to whether it -was or was not a good rule that club employes should not be allowed to -give information as to the whereabouts of the members. - -"Are all the members' lives so full of secrets?" she asked, and she -made the word "secrets" sound very sly. - -Fortunately at that moment the doorbell rang, and Lita and Dacer -entered. - -"Where have you been?" asked her father angrily. - -"Dining with Doctor Dacer," answered Lita. "He and I are engaged." - -"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Hazlitt. - -"My daughter is not old enough to know her own mind," said Hazlitt to -Dacer. - -"I know it all right," said Lita. - -"Of course," said Dacer temperately, "we understand that we could not -be married for some time, but we wanted you to know--" - -"Oh, that's what young people always say to begin with," Mrs. Hazlitt -answered; "but the first thing you know they are sending out their -wedding invitations." - -Lita and Dacer looked a trifle silly. This had been exactly their -idea--to get consent to a long, long engagement, and then by the summer -to start a campaign for an early marriage. - -Mr. Hazlitt rose and stood on the hearth rug--as if it were his own. - -"You two young people realize," he remarked, "that I have never seen or -heard of Doctor Dacer before, and that so far he has caused me nothing -but anxiety." - -"The whole thing has just been a web of deceit," said Mrs. Hazlitt. - -"Until I know a little more about him, and until Lita is a year or -so older and more mature, I should not be willing even to discuss an -engagement, and I'm sure my wife agrees with me." - -All four noticed that he had used the word without qualification, and -all four successfully ignored the fact. Indeed anyone entering the room -at that moment and seeing Mr. Hazlitt, so commanding on the hearth -rug, and Mrs. Hazlitt in a chair beside the fire, looking up at him -and nodding her head at the end of every sentence, would have supposed -them a married couple entering upon middle age without a thought of -disagreement. - -The discussion followed good orthodox lines. The older people, -Olympian above their distress, granted that in a year or so if all went -well an engagement might be discussed; but at present none existed. The -young people, really calm, knew that nothing but their own wills could -change the fact that they were engaged at that moment. - -When Dacer had gone home and Lita had gone to bed her parents outlined -their campaign. Delay without definite commitment was the idea--it -always is. In the meantime Hazlitt would have the young man thoroughly -looked up. Mrs. Hazlitt wagged her head despondently. - -"I'm afraid there's nothing really against him. Doctor Burroughs -wouldn't have an assistant with anything actually criminal in his -record." - -Lita was to be allowed to see him occasionally. To write? No, they -decided, after talking it over, that letters would be a mistake. -The point was, Mrs. Hazlitt explained, that the child must be left -perfectly free to change her mind. This might be just a fancy for the -first man who had asked her to marry him. Mrs. Hazlitt supposed it was -the first. Next winter Lita might meet a dozen men she preferred. She -had a sudden idea: Perhaps it would be wiser if the girl did go to -Italy with her father, to get her out of the way for a few months. - -"I'm afraid you'd miss her dreadfully." - -"I should cry all summer, but it doesn't matter." - -"There's nothing that I can see to prevent your going to Italy -yourself." - -"It's not usual to go junketing about Europe with your divorced -husband," she answered. - -"It need not be known that we went together; we might meet by -accident," said Mr. Hazlitt, at which his former wife laughed a little -and said it sounded to her like a very improper suggestion, and he -looked serious and blank and monumental. - -The Italian trip was left in abeyance, but the other details were -settled in a clear and definite manner. Dacer was to come to the -house once a month, never to write; and there were to be no flowers -or presents, or mention of an engagement. Certainly not! They parted -gravely, like people who had had their last long talk. - -But this campaign, like many others, worked better in theory than in -effect. Dacer came the next morning, and again in the afternoon, and -then again the next morning. Mrs. Hazlitt protested. She said three -times in twenty-four hours was not occasionally. Dacer only laughed -and said it seemed very occasional to him. The situation was made more -difficult for her, too, by the fact that she really liked Dacer, and -he and Lita were so friendly and seemed to value her company so much -that she enjoyed herself with them more than was consistent in a stern, -relentless parent. Besides, in old days she had told Lita a great many -clever things she had accomplished in the management of her own parents -when she had been first engaged; and Lita, horrible child, remembered -every word, and would repeat them all to Dacer in her mother's presence. - -Finding herself helpless, the second morning she telephoned to Hazlitt. -She said she thought it was almost impossible to forbid a man the house -partially; it ought to be one thing or the other. - -Hazlitt said, "Let it be the other then; don't let the fellow come at -all." - -Hearing a note of pitiable weakness in her voice, he offered to come in -himself. - -He came that afternoon about three--an excellent time, for Lita was -upstairs and Dacer was occupied with office hours. Mrs. Hazlitt sent -Freebody to ask her daughter to come down, while she apologized to her -former husband for troubling him again. - -"But the fact is," she said, "turning a young man out of the -house--that really is a father's job." - -"Even if it isn't the father's house?" - -"It's no affair of Doctor Dacer's whose house it is," answered Mrs. -Hazlitt with dignity. "You see, a mother's relation with a daughter is -too intimate, too tender--" - -"I hope a father's may be both." - -"I suppose it might, but it's not like a mother's. She respects you -deeply, Jim. I've brought her up to that." - -"Have you, Alita?" - -A hint of skepticism in his voice wounded Mr. Hazlitt. - -"Of course I have," she answered. "Why, what do you mean? Are you -trying to suggest--how unjust! Lita," she added, as her daughter -entered, "have I ever said a word that could in any way reflect on your -father? Haven't I always brought you up to respect him?" - -Lita looked at them reflectively. She had, in her time, told a great -many untruths for their sake. Now that she had them here together, she -rather thought it would be a good idea to tell them the truth. As she -paused, her mother repeated her question even more emphatically: "Have -I ever said anything to prejudice you against your father?" - -"Why, of course you have, mother," she said. Her father gave a short, -bitter laugh, and she turned on him. "And so have you, Pat--only not so -often as mother." - -"How can you be so disloyal?" cried her mother, her eyes getting larger -than ever. - -"How can I be anything else? You two make me disloyal." - -"Remember you are speaking to your mother," said Hazlitt protectingly. - -"And to you, too, Pat," answered his daughter calmly. "You've each -wanted me to hate the other one, and you've both been as open about -it as you dared to be. It was always like giving mother a Christmas -present if I said anything disagreeable about you. And your cold gray -eye would light up, Pat, if I criticized anything about her." - -"Divorced or not, we are your parents, please remember," said Hazlitt. - -"You don't always remember it yourselves," the girl answered. "Parents! -You seem sometimes as if you were just two enemies trying to injure -each other through me." - -Mrs. Hazlitt was already standing, and she drew a step nearer her -former husband. - -"Jim," she wailed, "aren't they terrible--these young people? And I -thought she loved me!" - -"I do love you, mother," said Lita; "I love you dearly--better than I -love Pat, only I can't help seeing that he behaves better. Or perhaps -not. Women understand the art of undermining better than men do. I -think Pat did all he knew how. You both filled my mind with poison -against the other, drop by drop. Oh, you don't know how dreadful it -is to be poisoned all the time by the two people you love best in the -world!" - -Mrs. Hazlitt looked up into the face of her former husband, as to an -oracle. - -"Do you think it's our divorce she's talking about?" - -"Of course it isn't, mother," Lita answered. "I see you had a perfect -right not to be husband and wife any more if you didn't want to be; but -you couldn't change the fact that you are still my parents. You ought -to be able to coöperate about me, to present a united front." - -"You'll find we present a united front on this issue," said Hazlitt -sternly. "I mean your engagement." - -"Indeed?" said his daughter. "Let me tell you, I could separate you -tomorrow on it. I'm an expert. I should only have to intimate to Pat -that mother was getting to like Luke so much that behind his back--but -I'm sick of being treacherous and untruthful. You two must face the -fact that I love you both; that I like to be with both of you; and that -I will not be made to feel lower than the wombat because I do love you -both. Now, there it is; settle it between you." - -After she had gone they continued to stare at each other, like the last -sane people in a world gone mad. - -"What," said her father, "do you gather that that incomprehensible -tirade was all about?" - -"I can't make out," answered her mother. "She never was like that -before--so excitable and rude. And I need not tell you that it's -all her fancy. I've been ridiculously scrupulous in never saying -anything to her but what a girl ought to hear about her father--a fixed -principle that our difficulties should not come between you and her." - -"Of course, I know," he answered. "I know, because I know how -absolutely without foundation her attack on me was. I've been most -punctilious. To hurt a child's ideal of her mother! No, I have a good -deal to reproach myself with in regard to my treatment of you, Alita; -but not that--not that." - -"I'm sure of it," and she gave him quite a starry glance. "The truth -is, I've spoiled her, Jim. I've treated her too much as a friend--as an -equal." - -"It can't be done," said Hazlitt, shaking his head. - -"It isn't possible to have an equal relation with the younger -generation. You've got to go to your contemporaries for friendship, -Alita. That was true since the world began; but these young people--" - -Mrs. Hazlitt, who was still treating him as if he were an oracle, -brightened at these words as if he were an oracle in excellent form. - -"Yes," she said, "they are different, aren't they? I can't imagine my -ever having spoken to my parents as Lita just spoke to us." - -"Your mother! I should say not. One of the greatest ladies I ever met -anywhere!" - -"Wasn't mother wonderful?" murmured Mrs. Hazlitt, and there was a pause -while they both reflected upon common memories. - -Then she went on: "I must say I think you are very generous not to -criticize me for the way I've brought Lita up. I feel humiliated." - -"My dear Alita," said Hazlitt, "I never have criticized you, and I -never shall." - -"She hurt me terribly, Jim. She seemed so hard, so ruthless, so -appraising of things that ought to be held sacred." - -These words were faintly reminiscent to Mr. Hazlitt, and he summoned -them up: "In short a little like me, after all." - -"Perhaps a little bit. I know what you mean," answered his former wife; -and then, as he laughed at this reply, she saw that it was funny, and -she began to laugh too. But laughter was too much for her strained -nerves, and as she laughed she also cried, and the most convenient -place to cry on was Hazlitt's shoulder. They clung together, feeling -their feet slipping on the brink of that unfathomable abyss--the -younger generation. - - - - -THE AMERICAN HUSBAND - - -Princesses are usually practical people, but we Americans, whose ideas -of princesses are founded rather on fairy tales than on history, allow -ourselves to be shocked and surprised when we discover this trait in -them. - -The Princess di Sangatano was practical; she was noble, dignified, -unselfish, patient, subtle, still extremely handsome at thirty-nine, -and--or but--practical. She had just married her young daughter -excellently. She had not done this, however, by sitting still and -being dignified and noble. She had done it by going pleasantly to the -houses of women whom she disliked; by flattering men in whom even her -subtlety found few subjects for flattery; by indorsing the policy of a -cardinal, of whose policy as a matter of fact she disapproved. Nor did -she feel that her conduct in this respect was open to criticism. On -the contrary, there was nothing which the princess viewed with a more -satisfactory sense of duty done than the marriage of her daughter. - -And now she was beginning to recognize that her son must be launched -by similar methods. The launching of Raimundo was something of a -problem. He had much to recommend him; he was good-looking, gay and -sweet-tempered; he loved his mother, and was not naughtier than other -boys of his age; but he lacked the determined industry likely to make -him successful. It was impossible to consider a learned profession -for him, and even for diplomacy, in which the princess could -easily have found him a place, Raimundo was a little too impulsive. -And so his mother, working it out, came to the conclusion that a -business--a business that would like to own a young prince and would -need Raimundo's knowledge of Italians and Italy--would be the best -chance; and so, of course, she thought of America--her native land. -Yes, though few people remembered the fact, the princess had been born -in the United States. She had left it as a small child, her mother -having remarried--an Italian--and she had been brought up in Italy -thenceforth. By circumstance and environment, by marriage and religion -and choice, she had become utterly an Italian. She betrayed this by -her belief that America--commercial America--would respect and desire -a prince. And hardly had she reached this conclusion when she met -Charlotte Haines. - -They met quite by accident. The princess during a short stay in Venice -was visiting her mother's old friend, the Contessa Carini-Bon. The -Carini-Bon palace, as all good sightseers know, is not on the Grand -Canal, but tucked away at the junction of two of the smaller canals. -It is a late Renaissance palace, built of the white granite that turns -blackest, and it is decorated with Turks' heads over the arches of -the windows, and contains the most beautiful tapestries in Italy. -The princess, who since the war did not commit the extravagance of -having her own gondola in Venice, had walked to the palace, through -many narrow streets over tiny bridges, and under porticos, and having -arrived at the side door was standing a minute in conversation with the -concierge--also an old friend--discussing his son who had been wounded -on the Piave, and the curse of motor boats on the Grand Canal, and the -peculiar habits of the _forestieri_, and other universal topics, when -she saw, across the empty courtyard, that a gondola had appeared at the -steps. - -It was a magnificent gondola; the two men were in white with blue -sashes edged with gold fringe; blue ribbons fluttered from their -broad-brimmed hats; their oars were striped blue and white; and the -gondola itself shone with fresh black paint relieved here and there -by heavy gold. In the front there was a small bouquet of roses and -daisies in the little brass stand that carried the lamp by night. Out -of this, hardly touching the proffered arm of the gondolier, stepped -a pretty woman, her white draperies and pearls contrasting with her -smooth dark hair and alert brown eyes. She asked in execrable Italian -whether it were possible to "visitare" the _palazzo_. The concierge, -in that liquid beautiful voice which so many Italians of all classes -possess, replied that it was utterly impossible--that occasionally, -when the contessa was not in Venice, certain people bringing letters -were permitted, but at present the contessa was at home. - -The lady did not understand all of this, and was not at her best when -crossed in her pursuit of ideal beauty and without a language in -which to argue the point. She kept repeating "_Non è possible?_" and -"_Perche?_" and never appearing to understand the answer, until in -despair the concierge looked pathetically at the princess. Following -his glance Charlotte, bursting with a sense that she was somehow being -done out of the rights of an American connoisseur, broke into fluent -French. Was it, she asked, really impossible to see the tapestries? How -could such things be? She was told they were the best tapestries in all -Italy; tapestries were her specialty. She knew herself in tapestries. - -The princess courteously repeated the concierge's explanation; and so -these two women, born not two hundred miles away from each other in the -state of Ohio, stood for a few minutes and conversed in Venice in the -language of the boulevards. Perhaps it was some latent sense of kinship -that made the princess feel sorry for Charlotte. She told her to wait a -moment, and went on up to see the contessa. - -When the first greetings were over she explained that there was a very -pretty young American woman downstairs who was bitterly disappointed at -not being able to see the tapestries. - -"Good," said the contessa. "I'm delighted to hear it." She was very -old and wrinkled and bright-eyed, and she had a habit of flicking the -end of her nose with her forefinger. "These Americans--I hear their -terrible voices all day long in the canals. They have all the money in -the world and most of the energy, but they cannot have everything. They -cannot see my tapestries." - -"And that is a pleasure to you?" - -The contessa nodded. "Certainly. One of the few I have left." - -The princess sighed. "I am more of an American than I supposed," she -said. - -The contessa hastened to reassure her: "My dear Lisa! You! There is -nothing of it about you." - -The princess was too remote from her native land to resent this -reassurance. - -She continued thoughtfully: "There must be. I am a little bit kind. -Americans are, you know. If anyone runs for the doctor in the middle of -the night at a Continental hotel it always turns out to be an American. -The English think they are officious and we Italians think they are -too stupid to know when they are imposed upon, but it isn't either. -It's kindness. The English are just, and the French are clear-sighted, -but Americans are kind. You know I can't bear to think of that young -creature loving tapestries and not being able ever to see yours." - -"My dear child, if you feel like that!" The contessa touched the bell, -and when in due time Luigi appeared, she gave orders that the lady -waiting below was to be allowed to see the tapestries in the dining -room and the salas. "But not in here, Luigi; no matter how much she -gives you--not in here--and let her know that these are much the best -ones. So, like that we are all satisfied." - -An evening or so after this the two women met again; this time at a -musicale given by a lady as international as the socialist party. -Charlotte, still in spotless white and pearls, came quickly across the -room to thank the princess, whom she recognized immediately. She said -quite the right things about the tapestries, about Venice, about Italy; -and the princess, who was susceptible to praise of the country which -had become her own, was pleased with Charlotte. - -"One is so starved for beauty in America," Mrs. Haines complained. -"I'm like a greedy child for it when I come here; you can form no -idea how terrible New York is." The princess dimly remembered rows of -chocolate-colored houses--the New York of the early '90's. She was -ready to sympathize with Charlotte. - -"Why don't you come here and live--such beautiful old palaces to be had -for nothing--for what Americans consider nothing," she suggested. - -Charlotte rolled her large brown eyes. "If only I could; but my husband -wouldn't hear of it. He actually likes America. Italy means nothing to -him." - -Lisa was destined to hear more of Charlotte's husband before she -took in the fact that he was the president of the Haines Heating -Corporations. It made a difference. It wasn't that she didn't really -like Charlotte--Lisa would never have been nice to her if she hadn't -really liked her; but neither would she have been so extremely nice to -her if Haines had not been at the head of such a hopeful company. It -was a wonderfully lucky combination of circumstances. - -And to no one did it appear more lucky than to Charlotte, to whom the -princess seemed so well-bred, so civilized, so expert and so wise--the -living embodiment of all that Charlotte herself wished to become. - -And then she knew Venice so wonderfully; she was better than any -guidebook. She knew of gardens and palaces that no one else had heard -of. She knew of old wellheads and courtyards. A few people went to -see the Giorgione in the Seminario, but only the princess insisted on -Charlotte's seeing the library, with its row of windows on the Canal, -and its beautiful old books going up to the ceiling, and the painted -panel that looked like books until, sliding it, you found it was the -stairway to the gallery--all these delights Charlotte owed to her new -friend. - -And as the moon grew larger--on the evenings when Charlotte wasn't -dining with Americans at the Lido or at that delightful new restaurant -on the other side of the Canal, where you sat in the open air and -ate at bare tables in such a primitive way--the two women would go -out in Charlotte's gondola--sometimes through the labyrinth of the -little canals, but more often the other way--past some tall, empty, -ocean-going steamer anchored off the steps of the church of the -Redentore--out to the Giudecca, where they could see the lighthouse at -the entrance to the port, past a huge dredge which looked in the misty -moonlight, as Charlotte said, like a dragon with its mouth open; on -and on with their two gondoliers, to where everything was marsh and -moonlight. - -The princess had often noticed that Americans in Europe explained -themselves a good deal. Perhaps citizens of a republic must explain -themselves socially; after all, a princess does not need explanation. -Charlotte on these evenings explained herself. Even as a child, she -said, she had been reaching out for beauty--a less sophisticated person -would have called it culture--when she had married she had thought only -of the romance of it--she had been very much in love with her husband, -ten years older than she, already successful; a dominating nature, -she had not thought then that they were out of sympathy about the -impersonal aspects of life--art, beauty. It was natural for Charlotte -to slip into the discussion of her own problem--the problem of the -American husband--so kind, so virtuous, so successful, but alas, so -indifferent to the finer arts of living. - -"What are we to do, we American women?" Charlotte wailed. "We grow -up, we educate ourselves to know the good from the bad, the ugly from -the beautiful--and then we fall in love and marry some man to whom it -is all a closed book; who is sometimes jealous of interests he cannot -share. Sometimes it seems as if we should crush all that is best in -us in order to be good wives to our husbands. You Europeans are so -lucky--you and your men have the same tastes and the same interests." - -"At least," said the princess politely, "your men are very generous in -allowing you to come abroad without them. Ours wouldn't have that for a -minute." - -Charlotte laughed. "Our men would rather we came alone than asked them -to go with us. You can't imagine how bored my husband is in Europe. -He speaks no language but his own, and instead of meeting interesting -people he goes to his nearest office and entirely reorganizes it." - -The princess had always wanted to know whether these deserted American -husbands had other love affairs; or, rather, not so much whether they -had them as whether they were permitted to have them. Here was an -excellent opportunity for finding out. She put her question, as she -felt, delicately, but Charlotte was obviously a little shocked. - -"Oh, no!" she said quickly. "At least Dan doesn't. Dan isn't a bit -horrid in ways like that." - -Lisa felt inclined to disagree with the adjective. Human, she would -have called it. At the same time she felt extremely sympathetic with -Charlotte's situation. She knew how she herself would have suffered -if she had married a competent business man who lived in a brownstone -front with a long drawing-room like a tunnel, and talked nothing but -business at dinner. She inquired whether Mr. Haines was in Wall Street, -and heard that he was the head of the Haines Heating Corporations. Then -making more extended inquiries in her practical Latin way, she saw that -she had found the right opening for Raimundo. - -Before Charlotte left Venice she invited the princess and her son to -pay her a visit in New York that winter; she urged it warmly. For to -be honest Charlotte was in somewhat the same position in regard to the -princess that the princess was in regard to Charlotte. The fact that -she was a princess warmed the younger woman's liking. - -Lisa did not jump at the invitation. It was her duty to accept it, but -she was not eager. - -"I haven't crossed the Atlantic since I was eight years old," she said. -"Besides, how would Mr. Haines feel about us? If Italy bores him, -wouldn't two resident Italians bore him more?" - -"You would start with the handicap of being my friends," Charlotte -answered, "but he'd be perfectly civil, and in the end he would learn -to appreciate you. He's not a fool, Dan. He's wise about people, if he -can only get over his prejudices. But he'd be away most of the time. -He always goes to California in January to look after his oil wells or -something." - -It was not quite the princess' idea that Dan Haines should be away all -the time. He must see Raimundo, and be charmed by his youth and gayety, -while she, the princess, would provide a background of solidity and -Old World standards. She talked the matter over with her son--a thin, -eagle-nosed boy of twenty. He was enthusiastic at the prospect, but -more, his mother feared, because he had fallen in love with Charlotte's -niece, whom he had met at the Lido, than because he took his future in -the Haines Heating Corporations seriously. Nevertheless Charlotte's -invitation was accepted. - -Yet many times before January came she woke up in the night, cold -with horror at the idea of this journey to an unknown land. She had -hardly been out of Italy for twenty years. And even after she had -actually sailed, walking the inclosed deck at night, while Raimundo was -playing bridge, she shrank from the undertaking. She was very lonely, -the poor princess. She and the prince had had their own troubles and -disagreements, but these had gradually passed, and she had come to -look forward to his companionship for her old age--a quiet prospect of -settling their children and bringing up grandchildren, and making two -ends meet at the dilapidated Sangatano villa. And then he had failed -her; he had died during the war; and the princess had found that all -her little world died about the same time. The old circle in Rome was -gone, ruined, embittered, changed and scattered. The pleasant clever -friendly educated group of her friends were a group no longer. And she -was changed too. The war--or, rather, the aftermath of war--had brought -out in her something different from her beloved country of adoption. -She was not willing to sit down and lament the passing of her own -order. She could not weep because the peasants no longer rose as you -passed their houses. She had even a suspicion that the new order was -not so terrible, and this put her old friends out of sympathy with her. -They remembered that she was, after all, an American. Perhaps it was as -well she was going away that winter, for she was very lonely at home. - -Her steamer chair was next that of an American gentleman, a short, fat, -round-faced man, who bore out her theory that Americans were kind, by -the most careful and unobtrusive attention. The name of Haines was -introduced into the conversation, and evidently inspired the fat man's -interest. She asked if he knew Mr. Haines. No, not really. She saw -that he would like to have been able to say that he did. He knew a -great deal about Haines, which he was more than ready to tell. Haines -was a man whom many people thought dangerously liberal in his ideas of -handling his labor, and yet ultra-conservative in his investments. His -ideas worked out, though--a brilliant man--creative--and then the usual -story of having begun life on nothing. - -"Really?" murmured the princess, not at all surprised, because she -supposed all rich Americans began life on nothing. - -Still, she was glad of this increase in her knowledge of her host. He -was evidently one of these tremendous commercial powers. Charlotte's -account had hardly prepared her for this, but then, she supposed -Charlotte lived so surrounded by these vigorous fortune-makers that she -had lost her sense of proportion about them. The possibility pleased -the princess. After all, there were other heads of large industries -besides Haines. - -She conveyed her extended hopes to Raimundo when about noon he appeared -on deck, having had already a game of squash, a swim, and a turn on -deck with a very pretty opera singer. - -"This is a great opportunity, Raimundo," she said, "if you take it in -the right way." - -"Oh, I shall take it right," said the boy, sitting down beside her and -studying his long, slim foot in profile. "I shall, of course, make love -to the beautiful Charlotte." - -"You will do nothing of the kind." - -"For what are we crossing the ocean?" replied her son. "Oh, I have -read transatlantic fiction. American men do not mind your making love -to their wives--because it saves them the time it would take to do -it themselves; and then also it confirms their belief that they have -acquired a valuable article." - -"You must not talk like this, even to me," said his mother. "You are -quite wrong. Charlotte, like most of the American women I have met, is -extremely cool and virtuous." - -"Of course," said Raimundo, "you offer them only a dumb doglike -devotion." And looking into her face he sketched a look of dumb doglike -devotion at which she could not help laughing. - -Charlotte was at the wharf to welcome them, accompanied by a competent -manservant to do the work of the customs. Mr. Haines, it appeared, was -in California. The princess expressed polite regret at hearing this. - -"Oh, he'll be back," answered his wife, and if she did not add "quite -soon enough" her tone conveyed it, and Raimundo darted a quick impish -glance at his mother. - -As they waited while the princess' maid put back the trays of the -trunks Lisa tried to convey her admiration of the harbor. Of course a -great deal has been written about the approach to New York by sea, but -as the princess, like most Europeans, had never read anything about -America, it all came as a great surprise to her. It seemed to come as a -surprise to Charlotte too. - -"Beautiful?" she said incredulously. "After Venice?" - -"Different," answered the princess. - -"I should say it was different," said Charlotte. "There--I think those -horrible men have finished mauling your trunks, and we can go." - -It was on the tip of Lisa's tongue to say that she found the American -customs officials perfectly civil, and that her experiences on European -frontiers had been much more disagreeable, but as she began to speak -she was suddenly conscious that Charlotte did not really want to think -well of her native land, and she stopped. - -"Oh, I say," cried the little prince as they came out of the cavelike -shadow of the pier into the cloudless light of the winter day, "what a -jolly day! I shan't be responsible for anything I do if you have many -days like this." - -"Oh, we have lots of these," returned Charlotte, signaling to her -footman. "We have nothing else--no half lights, no mists, no mystery." -And they got into her little French town car and started on their way -uptown. - -The princess stared out of her window in silence, noting the -disappearance of the chocolate-colored houses, the beauty of the -shops--and yes, even of the shoppers. But her son was not gifted with -reticence. If his impressions had been disagreeable he might have been -silent, but as they were flattering he saw no reason for suppressing -them. He thought Fifth Avenue wonderful. - -"And, my eye," he kept saying--an expression he had learned early in -life from an English groom--"what a lot of pretty girls, and what a lot -of cars! I did not know there were so many motor cars in the world." - -Charlotte smiled as if she knew he meant to be kind, and suddenly -laying her hand on the princess' knee, she said, "Oh, I'm so afraid -you're going to hate it all, but you don't know what it means to me to -have you here." - -The princess was touched. - -Yet it must be owned that Lisa found the next few weeks -confusing--confusing, that is, if Charlotte were to be regarded as -the starved prisoner of an alien culture. They were agreeable weeks; -Raimundo was in the seventh heaven. He dined, danced, lunched, and -danced again. He went into the country and tobogganed, and learned to -walk on snowshoes. When asked how he was enjoying America he always -made the same answer: "I shall never go home. My eye! What girls!" - -His mother enjoyed herself more mildly, and with certain reservations. -Erudite gentlemen were put next to her at dinner--a Frenchman who was -a specialist on Chinese porcelains; a painter of Spanish birth; and -several English novelists and poets who were either just beginning -or just completing successful lecture tours of the United States; -interesting men, in one way or another, yet--and yet--the princess -asked herself if she had crossed the wide Atlantic simply to see this -pale replica of a civilization she already knew. - -And something else puzzled and distressed her. Her friend Charlotte -seemed to her the freest of created beings--freer than any woman the -princess had ever known, to make of her life anything she wanted to -make of it. But Charlotte's life seemed to lack purpose and dignity. -Charlotte liked to feel that learned men came to her house, but her -state of nerves did not always allow her to listen to what they said. -Serious books were on her table, and sometimes in her hands, and yet -her day lacked those long safe hours of leisure in which such books are -read. - -There was no doubt that a realer, more vital Charlotte appeared buying -a new hat or playing a game of bridge or asking someone to dinner, than -the Charlotte who lamented the lost beauty of an old world. And yet she -wasn't just a fraud. - -She was not an early riser, and if toward eleven o'clock the princess -penetrated to Charlotte's bedroom, overlooking the park, she would find -her still in bed--a priceless Italian bed--said to have been made for -Bianca Capello--propped by lace pillows, and reading a fashion paper. -And something else worried the princess--the house, the way it was -managed. It was comfortable, well heated--too well; there was always -delicious food and too much of it, but Charlotte lived in her house -as in a hotel. If butchers overcharged or footmen stole, Charlotte's -only feeling was that they were tiresome dishonest people with whom she -wished to have nothing to do. Abroad, she said, one's servants did not -do such things. - -The princess disagreed. They did not have the same opportunities, she -said; the mistresses were more vigilant. The extravagance of the Haines -household actually hurt her, coming as she did from a group where -extravagance had ceased to be possible. But Charlotte would not admit -that she had any responsibility. - -"Really, dear Lisa," she said almost crossly, "I have better things to -think about than housekeeping." - -Well, the princess wondered what those things were. - -As the days went by and as small party succeeded small party, Lisa -noted that she met no American men--or hardly any--at Charlotte's -house, and she asked finally why this was. - -"Do they work so hard they can't dine out?" - -"No--or, rather, yes, they work hard; but that's not why I don't ask -them. They're so uninteresting--you would be bored to death by them." - -"I'd rather like to try," said the princess mildly. - -Charlotte contracted her straight eyebrows in thought. "I'll try to -think of some not too awful," she said. - -And a few evenings afterward the princess found herself next to a -nice little chattering gentleman who spoke Italian better than she -did, and made lace with his own hands. On the other side was a former -ambassador--a charming person, but of no nation or age. She had known -him in Paris for years. She sighed gently. She wanted to meet a -financial colossus. She liked men--real ones. - -Needless to say that in the Haines house she had her own sitting -room--a delightful little room hung in old crimson velvet, with a wood -fire always blazing on the hearth. The first day when Charlotte brought -her into it she apologized for a picture over the mantelpiece. - -"The things one puts in the spare room!" she said. "My husband bought -that picture at an auction once, because it reminded him of the farm he -was brought up on. I didn't dare give it away, but there's no reason -why you should be inflicted with it." And she raised her arm to take it -down. - -"No! Leave it; I like it," said the princess. "It's delightful--that -blue sky and clouds." - -She was quite sincere in saying she liked it. She did. Often she would -look up from her book and let her eyes fall with pleasure on the small -green and blue and white canvas, and wonder in what farming district -Mr. Haines had been brought up--and in what capacity. - -The New York climate affected the princess' ability to sleep. She read -often late into the night. One night--or rather morning--for it must -have been three o'clock--she was interrupted by a visit from her son. -He often dropped in on his way to bed to sketch for her the strange but -in his opinion agreeable habits of the American girl. But this evening -he did not burst out into his usual narrative. He entered silently, and -stood for some seconds silent. - -Then he said "Our host has returned." - -"Oh," said the princess with pleasure, for, after all, this was the -purpose of the long excursion. - -"How unexpected!" - -Her son gave a short laugh. "I believe you," he said. "Unexpected is -just the word. It sometimes seems as if, in spite of all that has been -written on the subject, husbands would never learn the tactlessness of -the unexpected return." - -"Raimundo, what do you mean?" asked his mother with a sinking heart. - -The boy hesitated. "The lovely Charlotte," he said, "is all that you -told me she was--cool and virtuous--so much so that it never occurs to -her that others may be different. Tonight I brought her home from a -dull party. We got talking; we sat down in the drawing-room. The back -of a lovely white neck bent over a table was so near my lips--and the -husband enters." - -"Was there a scene?" - -"Oh, no. It was worse. We chatted _à trois_ for a time." - -The princess drew a long breath. "Perhaps he did not see; but really, -Raimundo--" - -"Oh, he saw," said the prince. "He maneuvered the suspicious Charlotte -off to bed, and then he suggested without a trace of anger or criticism -that I should leave the house in the morning; and really, my dear -mother, I'm afraid I shall have to do it. I'm so sorry, I know you'll -feel annoyed with me, but it is hard to remember that no woman means -anything here. I just manage to remember it with the girls; but the -married women--well, one can't always be so sure; not so sure, at least -as one is with Charlotte. There was no excuse for me--none." - -"You're an awkward, ungrateful boy," said his mother, with an absence -of temper that made her pronouncement more severe. "I think I shall go -downstairs now myself and have a talk with Mr. Haines." - -"You'll do the talking," answered her son. "He isn't exactly a chatty -man." - -But the princess was not discouraged. She could not see that she could -do any harm to Raimundo's prospects, since evidently all was now lost, -and she felt she owed it to Charlotte to repair, if she could, any -damage the boy's folly had occasioned. - -The lights on the stairs and corridors were all going; they were -controlled by switches working, to the princess' continual surprise, -from all sorts of unexpected places. She had no difficulty in finding -her way to the drawing-room, on the second story, where Raimundo told -her the interview had taken place. - -As she opened the door she saw that a tall thin man in gray morning -clothes was standing alone in the middle of the room, with his hands -in his pockets and a cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth, quite in -the American manner. He was pale, pale as his blond smooth hair, now -beginning to be gray, and everything about him was long--his hands, his -jaw, his legs like a cavalryman's. He was turned three-quarters toward -the door, and he moved nothing but his eyes as the princess entered. - -There was always something neat and finished about the way Lisa moved, -and the way she held herself, the way she put her small steady feet on -the ground; and this was particularly evident now in the way she opened -the door, moved the train of her long tea gown out of the way and shut -the door again. She did all this in silence, for it was her theory to -let the other person speak first. It was a theory that she had had no -difficulty in putting into practice during her stay in America, but it -was now forced upon her attention that Haines had the same theory, for -he remained perfectly silent, and something told her that he was likely -to continue so. The fate of interviews is often decided thus in the -first few seconds. - -She spoke first. "I am the Princess di Sangatano," she said. - -He nodded. - -"My son has just told me about the incident of this evening." - -He nodded again, and then he said, "You want to discuss it?" - -His voice was low and not without a nasal drawl, but the baffling -thing about it was the entire absence of any added suggestion of -tone or emphasis. There were the bare words themselves and nothing -more--no hint as to whether he himself wished or didn't wish to discuss -it--approved or didn't approve of her intention. - -"Yes, I do," she replied. - -"Better sit down then." - -The princess did sit down, folding her hands in her lap, drawing her -elbows to her side, and sitting very erect. She did not say to herself, -like Cleopatra: "Hath he seen majesty?" but some such thought was not -far from her. - -For twenty years she had been acknowledged to be an important person, -and this had left its trace upon her manner. She knew it had. - -"Are you very angry at this silly boy of mine?" she said. - -Haines shook his head--that is to say, he wagged it twice from side to -side. - -"Not at Charlotte, I hope?" - -Another shake of the head. - -The princess felt a little annoyed. "Then what in heaven's name do you -feel, if anything?" she said. - -"I feel kinda bored," he answered; and as Lisa gave an exclamation that -expressed irritation and lack of comprehension he added, again without -any added color in his voice: "How did you expect me to feel?" - -"Oh, either more or less," answered Lisa. "Either you should be furious -and shake Charlotte until her teeth rattled, and fling my boy into the -street, or else you should be wise enough to see it doesn't make the -least difference--and be human--and sensible--and--and--" - -"--and give your son a job," said Haines quietly. - -The princess was startled. She drew herself up still more. "I have not -asked you to give my son a job," she said. - -He took his cigar out of his mouth, and she noticed that his strange -long pale hands were rather handsome. - -"Look here," he said, "answer this honestly: Didn't you have some such -idea in your head when you decided to come here? Look at me." - -She did look at him, at first rather expecting to look him down, and -then so much interested in what she saw--something intense and real and -fearless--that she forgot everything else--forgot everything except -that she was thirty-nine years old, and had lived a great deal in the -world and yet had not met very many real people, and now-- Then she -remembered that she must answer him. - -"Oh, yes," she said; "I had it in mind." - -"Well," said Haines, "that's what bores me." He began to walk up -and down the room, somewhat, Lisa thought, as if he were dictating -a letter. "Poor Charlotte! She's always making these wonderful -discoveries--and they always turn out the same way--they always -want something. You--why she's been talking about you--and writing -about you. You were the most noble, the most disinterested, the most -aristocratic-- She would hardly speak to me because I asked her why you -were making this long journey. For love of her society, she thought. -She thinks I'm a perfect bear, but, my God, how can a man sit round and -see his wife exploited by everyone she comes in contact with--from the -dealer who sells her fake antiques to the grandee who offers her fake -friendship?" - -"I can't let you say that," said the princess, too much interested to -be as angry as she felt she ought to be. "I have never offered anyone -fake friendship." - -"I didn't say you had." - -"Pooh!" said she. "That's beneath you. You should at least be as -honest, as you ask other people to be." - -This speech seemed to please him--to please him as a child might please -him. He came and sat down opposite to her, looked at her for a moment -and then smiled at her. His smile was sweet and intimate as a caress. - -"Come," he said, "I believe you're all right." - -"I am," she answered. "Even a little bit more than that." - -He sat there smoking and frankly studying her. "And yet," he said after -a moment, "they're mostly not--you know--Charlotte's discoveries. -They're mostly about as wrong as they can be." - -"And they kinda bore you?" said the princess, to whom the phrase seemed -amusing. He nodded, and she went on: "A good many things do, I imagine." - -"Almost everything but my business. You don't," he added after a -second; and there was something so simple and imperial in his manner -that she did not think him insolent; in fact, to tell the truth, she -was flattered. "You might tell me something about yourself," he added. - -The princess was too human not to be delighted to obey this suggestion, -and too well-bred to take an unfair advantage of it. She talked a long -time about herself, and then about the Haines Heating Corporations. - -And then they talked about him. In fact they talked all the rest of the -night--as continuously as schoolgirls, as honestly as old friends, as -ecstatically as lovers; and yet, of course, they were not schoolgirls -or old friends, and even less lovers. They were two middle-aged people, -so real and so fastidious in their different ways that they had not -found many people whom they liked; and they had suddenly and utterly -unexpectedly found each other. - -They were interrupted by the entrance of a housemaid with a broom and a -duster. She gave a smothered exclamation and withdrew. Haines looked at -his watch. It was half past seven. - -He got up and pulled the curtains back. A pale clear pink-and-green -winter morning was just beginning to shine upon the park, glittering in -snow and ice. - -"At home," said Lisa, "I should consider what we have just done as -rather irregular." - -"In this country," he answered, "you can do anything if you have -sufficient integrity to do it." - -"How can I tell whether I have or not?" she asked. - -He smiled again. "I have enough for both," he answered. "Luckily or -unluckily"--and he sighed as he repeated it--"luckily or unluckily." - -"Oh, luckily; luckily, of course," said Lisa, though there was just a -trace of annoyance in her voice that this was so clear. She held out -her hand. - -"Good-by," she said. - -He took her hand, and then from his great height he did something that -no one had ever done to the princess before--he patted her on the head. -"You're all right," he said, and sighed and turned away--as it were, -dismissing her. - -She went upstairs to her own room--which seemed altered, as backgrounds -do alter with changes in ourselves. It was no longer a room in -Charlotte's house but in Haines'; and she was leaving it, leaving -it in a few hours. She did not debate that at all. She was going -with her son, but there was something that must be done before she -went--something that she must do for this new friend of hers whom she -would never, probably, see again. - -She did not have much time to think it over, for when her breakfast -tray came in, as usual, at nine, Charlotte came with it--striking just -the note the princess hoped she wouldn't strike--apology. - -"I suppose your son told you what happened last night. So silly. I'm so -ashamed." - -"Ashamed?" said the princess, and she noted that her tone had something -of the neutrality of Haines' own. She had copied him. - -"Ashamed of Dan," answered Charlotte. "That's so like him--not to -understand--just to take the crude view of it. I haven't seen him -since, but I know so well how he would take a thing like that. As -a matter of fact, I must tell you, Lisa--though I promised that I -wouldn't--Raimundo was asking my help. He wants to marry the little -Haines girl; he wants me to bring you round. He knows you hate -everything American--" - -"I don't hate everything American," said the princess, and again her -voice sounded in her ears like Haines'. - -"This girl, you know, is Dan's niece, and exactly like him. And now I'm -afraid that will do for her, as far as you're concerned. Of course you -must hate Dan--the idea of him--and if you saw him--well, you will see -him at dinner tonight." - -The moment had come. The princess shook her head. - -"No," she said, "I shan't be at dinner tonight." - -Charlotte looked at her and then broke out into protest: "No, no, you -mustn't go. Let Raimundo go, if he must, but not you. Don't desert me, -Lisa, because I have the misfortune to be married to a man who does not -understand. Oh, to think that anything should have happened in my house -that has hurt your feelings! I shall never forgive Dan--never! But -don't go--for my sake, Lisa." - -"It's for your sake I'm going, my dear." - -"I don't understand." - -"I know you don't, and it is going to be so difficult to explain." -The princess rose and, going to the looking-glass, stared at herself, -pushed back her hair from her forehead, and then turned suddenly -back to her friend. "I suppose I seem to you a terribly worn-out old -creature." - -"My dear!" cried Charlotte. "You seem to me the most elegant, the most -mysterious, the most charming person I ever knew." - -Lisa could not help smiling at this spontaneous outburst. "Then," she -said, "let me tell you that the most charming person you ever knew has -fallen in love with your husband." Charlotte's jaw literally dropped, -and the princess went on: "Yes, last night when Raimundo came and told -me what had happened, I went downstairs. I wanted to do what I could -to protect you from his thoughtlessness. I went down expecting to see -the kind of man you have painted your husband. Oh, Charlotte, what a -terrible goose you are!" - -Even then Charlotte did not immediately understand. She continued to -stare. At last she said, "You mean you liked Dan?" - -"I did much more than that. I thought him the most vital, the most -exciting, the most romantic figure I had ever seen." - -"Dan?" - -The princess nodded. "The power of the world in his hands--and so -alone. I said just now I had fallen in love with him. Well, I suppose -at my age one doesn't fall in love, even if one talks to a man all -night--" - -"You and he talked all night?" - -"All night long--all night long." - -Charlotte looked quickly at her friend, blinked her eyes, looked away -and looked back again. It was not for nothing that her black eyebrows -almost met--a sign, the physiognomists tell us, of a jealous nature. - -The whole process of her thought was on her face. She had never been -jealous of her husband in all her life before--but then, she had never -before brought him face to face with perfection. She summed it up in -her first sentence. - -"Dan is no fool," she said. "He felt as you did?" - -The princess smiled. "Ah, Charlotte!" she said. "An Italian woman would -not have asked that. You must find that out for yourself." - -There was a short silence, and then Charlotte got up and walked toward -the door. - -It was evident that she was going to find out at once. But the princess -had one more salutary blow for her. She was standing now with her elbow -on the mantelpiece and her eyes fixed on the little spare-room picture, -and just as Charlotte reached the door Lisa spoke. - -"Oh!" she said. "One other thing. Don't despise this little picture -that your husband bought. It's the best thing you have." - -This was a little too much. "Not better than my Guardis," Charlotte -wailed, for she would never think of disputing the princess' judgment. - -"The Guardis are like you, Charlotte," said the princess; "they -are excellent copies. But this little picture is original--it's -American--it's the real thing." - - - - -DEVOTED WOMEN - - -Nan felt a sense of drama as she rang the bell of her friend's house. -The houses in the row were all exactly alike, built of a new small -dark-red brick, and each was set on a little square of new turf, as -smooth and neat as an emerald-green handkerchief. To make matters -harder, the house numbers were not honest numerals, but loops of silver -ribbon festooned above the front door bell, so that Nan had almost -mistaken the five she was looking for for the three next door. - -She had not seen her friend for four years; and four years is a long -time--a sixth of your entire life when you are only twenty-four. It -seemed to her that they had been immensely young when they had parted; -and yet she had never been too young to appreciate Letitia--even that -first day back in the dark ages of childhood when they had found -their desks next to each other at school. Even then Letitia had been -captivating--lovely to look at, and gay; and, though it seemed a -strange word to use about a child in short dresses, elegant. She came -of the best blood in America; indeed, in the American-history class it -was quite embarrassing because so many of the statesmen and generals -whom the teacher praised or condemned were ancestors of Letitia's. She -was a red-gold creature with deep sky-blue eyes, and, at that remote -period, freckles, which she had subsequently succeeded in getting rid -of. - -She had charmed Nan from the first moment--none the less that Nan -understood her weaknesses as well as her charms. No one could say that -Letitia was untruthful; to lie was quite outside her code; but if at -seven minutes past eight she was late, she said it was barely eight -o'clock, and if you were late she said it was almost a quarter past. -Someone had once observed to her mother that Letitia distorted facts, -and Mrs. Lewis, had replied, after an instant of deliberation, "Well, -undoubtedly she molds them." - -She molded them particularly in conversation with the opposite sex; she -could not bear any competition as far as her admirers were concerned. -Strangely enough, though Letitia was much the prettier and more amusing -of the two girls, she was always a little jealous of Nan, whereas Nan -was never at all jealous of her. Letty herself explained the reason -for this once in one of her flashes of vision: "It's because whatever -you get from people is your own--founded on a rock, Nan; but I fake it -so--I get a lot that doesn't belong to me--and so I'm always in terror -of being found out." - -After their schooldays the girls had seen a great deal of each other. -Nan's father was a professor in a small college, and it was pleasant -to be asked to stay with the Lewises in their tiny New York flat. It -was also agreeable to Letitia to be invited to share in commencement -festivities with their prolonged opportunities to fascinate. Then Nan's -father had accepted an appointment in China; but the separation did not -lessen the intimacy--perhaps it even increased it; you can write so -freely to a person living thousands of miles away. Letitia had written -with the utmost freedom to her friend, who at that distance could not -in any way be regarded as a competitor. - -Letitia always described the new people she was seeing, and Nan noticed -that the first mention of Roger in her letters had in it something -sharply defined and significant: - -"I sat next the most romantic-looking boy I ever saw. No, my dear, no -occasion for excitement; he must be years younger than I am; but the -most beautiful person you ever saw--hollow-cheeked, broad-browed like -that picture you adore so of Father Damien, oh perhaps I'm thinking of -an illustration of Rossetti; and he can talk, too, I promise you. He's -an experimental chemist in some great manufacturing company, which at -this age--" - -In the next letter it appeared that he wasn't really years -younger--hardly a year; in fact, nothing to speak of. Letitia began to -write a good deal about the scientific point of view--its stimulating -quality--its powers of observation--its justice--"almost as just as you -are, Nan." - -Nan waited for each letter as if it were the next installment of a -serial. She had seen Letitia through a good many such affairs, and -she knew that before long her friend would stage a quarrel. It was a -good way, Letty said, of finding out how much he cared; although, as -a matter of fact, Nan noticed that she never precipitated it until -she was sure the unfortunate man in question cared enough to be at a -disadvantage. - -But in Roger's case, when she had said sadly, "I'm afraid, Mr. -Rossiter, that this means our friendship is ended," he had answered -without a word of pleading, "Yes, I'm quite sure it does." - -Letitia, a little startled, had asked, "What? You wish it too?" - -"No," he had said; "but the fact that you do ends it automatically." - -She had some difficulty in extricating herself from her own ultimatum. -Naturally, her respect for him increased. - -"I'm almost glad you are not here, Nan," she wrote. "He is so honest he -could not help loving your honesty. I feel as if together, somehow, you -would both find me out." - -She inclosed a little photograph of him to show Nan what a -splendid-looking person he was; but it was not his beauty she dwelt -upon, but his straight, keen eyes and the fine firmness of his -mouth--not the determination of the self-conscious bulldog, which so -many people assume in a photograph, but just a nice steely fixity -of purpose. Yes, Nan, far away in China, with plenty of leisure for -reflection, found that for the first time she envied her friend. - -A little later a real honest quarrel was reported. Letitia, habitually -unpunctual, was three-quarters of an hour late for an appointment, and -he simply had not waited for her. Under her anger Nan could catch her -admiration for the first man who had dared not to wait. - -"I explained to him that I could not help it, and all he said was: 'You -could have helped it if I had been a train.' Of course, everything is -over--he does not know how to behave." - -No letter at all came in the next mail, and the announcement of her -engagement in the one following: - -"Fortunately--and wonderfully--mamma likes him, for, as you know, it -would have been awfully hard to marry a man if she hated him." - -It would indeed; or, rather, Nan thought, it would have been difficult -for Letitia to fall in love with a man Mrs. Lewis did not approve of, -for she had a wonderful gift of phrase--just, but cruel--by which -budding sentiments could be cut off as by a knife. Nan had seen her -more than once prune away a growing romance from Letitia's life with -a deft, hideously descriptive sentence. Each time Nan had been in -complete sympathy with her. - -She usually did agree with Mrs. Lewis, who was the most brilliant woman -she had ever known--and almost the most alarming. She saw life not only -steadily and whole, and in the darkest colors, but she reported most -frankly on what she saw. Frauds, or even people mildly artificial, -dreaded Mrs. Lewis as they did the plague. Letitia herself would have -dreaded her if she had not been her daughter. It said a great deal for -Roger Rossiter's integrity that his future mother-in-law liked him. It -also said something for his financial situation. Mrs. Lewis had always -intended her child to marry someone with money. - -"It is not exactly that I'm mercenary," she said. "I don't want Letitia -to be specially magnificent; but I want her to have everything else, -and money too. Why not?" - -So when Nan heard the marriage had actually taken place, she felt -pretty sure Roger must have enough to support Letty comfortably. It -was really astonishing, she thought, how much she knew about him, this -man she had never seen, more than she knew about lots of people she -saw constantly. And so, as she rang the bell of his house, she had -something of the same excitement that she might have had on seeing the -curtain rise on a play about which she had heard endless discussion. At -last she was going to be able to judge it for herself. - -A Swedish maidservant came to the door--a nice-looking woman with an -exaggerated opinion of her own knowledge of English. She almost refused -Nan admittance--just to be on the safe side; but Letitia's cheerful -shout intervened. - -"Is that you at last, Nan?" - -The two girls were quickly clasped in each other's arms--not so quickly -that Nan did not see that Letitia was lovelier than ever--happier--more -alive--more golden. - -It was about noon when Nan arrived. She was to stay not only for -luncheon but for dinner, so as to see Roger, who never got home until -five o'clock, and possibly later today, for he had been in Albany -the night before and might find extra things waiting for him at the -office when he returned to it. Both mothers were motoring from town -for lunch--in Mrs. Rossiter's car--so that the only time the friends -could count on was now, immediately, this hour and a half. Letitia -was awfully sorry, but she didn't see how she could have arranged it -differently. - -Nan smiled at that well-remembered phrase of her friend's. As a matter -of fact, she was not sorry the mothers were coming. She was curious to -see Roger's mother, who, for a mother with an only son, had behaved -with the most astonishing cordiality about the marriage. A well-to-do -widow, she had given Roger a good part of her income. Letty's letters -had referred to her as an angel; and Nan was always eager to see -Mrs. Lewis at any time. Only she and Letty must waste no time, but -set immediately about a process known to them as catching up. This -meant that they each asked questions, listening to the answers only -so long as they appeared to contain new matter, and then ruthlessly -interrupting with a new question. Thus: - -"Have you seen Bee since she--" - -"Oh, I meant to tell you--she never did." - -"Isn't that just like her? She always reminds me of--" - -"Yes, you wrote me--Roger simply loved it. You knew that Hubert--" - -"Yes, he cabled me. I thought it was you he--" - -"So did I--so did he, for that matter--only mamma once said of him--" - -"Oh, my dear, that heavenly thing about the scrubbing brush! Isn't she -priceless--your mother? And she really likes Roger?" - -"Crazy about him--thinks him too good for me." - -And so they came to talk about the really important subject--Letty's -marriage--Roger's wisdom and kindness and generosity. It amused and -delighted Nan to hear her friend talking of men from the point of view -of a person who owned one. Mrs. Lewis, who had long ago been obliged -to part from an impossible husband, had always been a little more -aloof from men, a little more contemptuous of them than of women; and -Letitia, although her life was occupied with nothing else, had regarded -them as an exciting, possibly hostile and certainly alien tribe. Now -it was wonderful to hear her identify herself with a man's point of -view-- "We think--" "We feel--" - -Not for a long time did the old remote tone creep in. They were -speaking of men in general, and Letitia said suddenly: - -"Tell me something, Nan--you have brothers--do you think the cleverest -of them are a little silly about women?" - -Nan's heart gave a leap. Letitia was looking intent. - -"Running after women, you mean?" - -"Oh, no!" Letty was quite shocked at the suggestion. "No, I mean -believing everything they say. Roger repeats the most fatuous things -women say to him, as if they had any importance." - -Letitia twisted her eyebrows in distress only half comic. - -Nan hesitated; she knew just the sort of thing Letitia must have in -mind. - -"Well," she said, "I think men often seem rather naïve--particularly -scientific men." - -"Yes," Letty agreed quickly, "and of course Roger has always been so -busy. He has never gone about much; but still, he'll say driving home, -'Did you ever think, Letty, that I was a specially dominating sort of -person? Mrs.'--somebody or other whom he sat next to--'said I was the -kind of man who if I couldn't dominate a woman might kill her.' That -old stuff, Nan, that we've all used and discarded. Or he'll look in the -glass and say, 'Honestly, I can't see that my eyes--'It makes me feel -ashamed, Nan." - -Oh, dear, Nan thought, she could have made Letty understand, if she -had had brothers, that these were a man's moments of confidence, -attaching and friendly, like the talk she and Letty were having at that -moment. It wasn't fair to judge a man by such moments any more than to -judge girls by silly giggling confidences to one another. Yes, that was -it--men let down the bars of their egotism to the woman they loved, and -maintained a certain reserve with their men friends, while women, just -the other way-- - -"Oh, mercy, Nan, you're so just!" Letitia broke out. "If you were in -love with a man, you'd want him to appear well all the time." - -There was a ring at the bell and the sound of a motor panting at the -door. The two mothers had arrived, and the subject of man's gullibility -had to be dropped, as the two friends hurried downstairs. - -As they went Nan whispered, "Do the mothers like each other?" - -Letitia smiled, shaking her head. - -"No; but they think they do." - -No two women of the same age and country could have been more utterly -different than the two mothers. Mrs. Rossiter, who must have been -rather pretty once, was still ruffled and jeweled like a young beauty; -and her diction, though not exactly baby talk, had in it a lisp -somewhat reminiscent of the nursery. There was a lot of gentle fussing -about her wrap and gloves and lorgnette and purse--and a photograph of -Roger she had been having framed for Letty, and a basket of fruit she -had brought from town. The little hallway was quite filled with the -effort of getting her settled. Mrs. Lewis, on the contrary, who not -only had been but still was as beautiful as a cameo, was also as quiet -as a statue, watching with a sort of icy wonder the long process of -unwrapping Mrs. Rossiter. - -"Your dear little house," Mrs. Rossiter was saying, trying to blow the -mesh veil from between her lips, while she undid the pin at the back of -a frilled hat which would have looked equally well on a child of seven. -"It is a dear little house, isn't it, Miss Perkins? But you must let me -call you Nan. We all call you Nan--even Roger. He's so excited about -your coming home. He said to Letitia only yesterday, 'I feel as if I -had known Nan all my life.' Didn't he? You'll let me go up, dear, won't -you? One does get a little bit grubby motoring, doesn't one?" - -She was led upstairs by her daughter-in-law. - -Mrs. Lewis patted the hair behind her ear with a brisk gesture. - -"I don't confess to any special grubbiness," she said with her -remorselessly exact enunciation. "Well, Nan, that's what sons do to -their mothers; almost consoles me for never having had a son. Letty -thinks she's perfection--that's marriage, I suppose. How do you think -Letty seems?" - -"Wonderful--wonderfully happy, Mrs. Lewis." - -"She ought to be. Roger is a very splendid person." - -"You really like him?" - -"Yes," said Mrs. Lewis as one facing a possible charge of -sentimentality; "yes, I really do." - -"No criticisms at all?" - -"Oh, come, Nan," answered the older woman, "remember who it is you're -talking to. When you find me without criticisms you'll find me in my -grave. I have endless criticism of him--of that cooing aged seraph who -has just gone up to powder her elderly nose--even of my own daughter; -but still, I do say that Roger is a fine man as men go--and that is -saying a good deal." - -It was saying more than Nan had ever expected to hear Mrs. Lewis say of -her son-in-law, and she was content. - -Presently the nose powderer came down, still cooing, and they went -in to luncheon. It was a pleasant meal. The little room was full of -sunlight; the Swede, though a poor linguist, was a good waitress; the -food was excellent, and the talk, though not brilliant, for it was -absorbed by Mrs. Rossiter, was kind and friendly; and Nan had been so -many years away that she enjoyed just the sense of intimacy. They were -talking about Roger--his health--how hard he worked. - -"I really think," said his mother, shaking her head solemnly, "that you -and he ought to go abroad. I think it's your duty." - -"I'm not sure Roger means to take a holiday at all, Mrs. Rossiter," -answered Letitia. "You see, he did take two weeks in the winter when we -were married." - -"If that may be called a holiday," said Mrs. Lewis. No one noticed her, -and Mrs. Rossiter pressed on: - -"Not take a holiday! Oh, Letty, he must! You must make him! He'll break -down. Remember, he's only twenty-four. The strain at his age-- You -agree with me, don't you, Mrs. Lewis? If you had a son of twenty-four, -you would not want him to work steadily all the year round?" - -"If I had a son," replied Mrs. Lewis, "I should be surprised if he ever -found a job. The men of my family have always been out of a job." - -There was a ring at the front door and the Swede went to answer it. - -"Now that Meta is out of the room, Lett," said her mother, "might I -suggest that you never allow her to answer the telephone? She always -begins the conversation by stoutly denying that anyone of your name -lives here." - -Mrs. Rossiter gave a little scream of laughter and a gesture of her -hand with the fingers self-consciously crooked. - -"Oh," she exclaimed, "how perfect that is! How exact!" - -Mrs. Lewis looked at her coldly, as much as to say she had not intended -to be, and, as a matter of fact, had not been so humorous as all that. - -Then Meta returned to the room, and with the manner of beaming surprise -which never left her--except on the rare occasions when she simply -burst into tears--she announced that there was a policeman in the hall, -come after Mr. Rossiter. At least, this was what she seemed to say; but -there was enough doubt about it to keep the two mothers fairly calm, -while Letitia ran out of the room to find out the truth - -"Do you suppose he's met with some horrible accident?" Mrs. Rossiter -asked tremulously. - -"More likely to have parked his car somewhere he ought not to have," -answered Mrs. Lewis; but Letitia, knowing her well, saw that her secret -thought was darker than her words. All three women remained silent -after this, listening for some sound from the hall, until Letitia came -back. She was holding herself very straight and her face was white. - -She came straight to the table and said in a low firm voice, "There is -some mistake, of course; but this man has come to arrest Roger." - -"To arrest him!" cried his mother. "For what?" - -"For murder," answered Letitia simply. - -It is only men who break news with slow agony to women--women are more -direct in dealing with each other. - -Mrs. Rossiter gave a little cry, and then all four were silent, and in -the pause Meta came in from the pantry and, deceived, by the quietness, -began to clear the side table. - -When they were in the sitting room, with the door shut, Letitia -told them as much of the story as she had been able to get from the -policeman. According to his account, Roger had been not in Albany the -night before but in Paterson--yes, he did sometimes go there for the -company; but he never stayed there overnight. He had gone to a cheap -dance hall--no, not at all like Roger, though he did love dancing--and -afterward had gone to supper with a man and woman. She was a concert -hall singer, or something of the kind. There had been a row. The man -had first gone away in a fury and then put his pride in his pocket and -had come back--had drunk a cup of coffee of Roger's brewing--and had -dropped dead. The woman had confessed-- - -"It obviously isn't true," said Nan, and somehow her voice seemed to -ring out too loudly. - -"Of course not," answered three voices in varying tones; and none of -them had the trumpet ring of complete conviction. Nan stared from one -to the other, and saw that each was busy with a plan to save him. -Well, that perhaps was love--to be more concerned with the dear one's -physical safety than with his moral integrity. When the first shock was -over, when they had had time to think, they would see as clearly as she -did that the whole thing was utterly impossible. - -But they were not thinking it over. They were talking about telephoning -his office--whether it would be wise, whether the telephone wires could -be tapped. Mrs. Rossiter was pleading that something should be done at -once, and blocking every action that Letitia suggested. It was finally -decided to telephone his office. The telephone was upstairs in her -bedroom, and as Letitia opened the sitting-room door she revealed the -policeman on a hard William-and-Mary chair in the hall. He had taken -off his cap and showed a head of thinning fuzzy blond hair. He looked -undressed, out of place, menacing. Mrs. Rossiter was upset by the sight -and began to cry. Mrs. Lewis, who hated tears, cast a quick look at her -and followed her daughter out of the room. - -Nan, left alone with Roger's mother, felt the obligation of attempting -comfort. She patted her shoulder. - -"Don't cry, dear Mrs. Rossiter. It will turn out to be some stupid -mistake." - -"Oh, of course, of course, it's a mistake!" - -Mrs. Rossiter wiped her eyes bravely and put her handkerchief away. -"But he works so hard, Nan; up at seven and never back at home until -six--drudgery--and he's so young--so terribly young never to have any -fun." - -And, more touched by her word picture of facts than by the facts -themselves, the tears rose again in her eyes. - -"Some people would think it quite a lot of fun to be married to -Letitia," said Nan gently. - -But Mrs. Rossiter only shook her head, repeating, "It's all my -fault--all my fault!" - -"How can it be your fault, Mrs. Rossiter?" Nan asked a little sharply. - -Mrs. Rossiter glanced over her shoulder to be sure no one had reëntered -the room while her nose was in her handkerchief. - -"He never was in love with Letitia--not really, you know--not -romantically," she said. "And when a young, ardent boy like Roger is -tied for life--to an older woman--whom he doesn't really love--what can -you expect?" - -This view of the case was so unexpected to Nan that she could hardly -receive it. - -"Letitia believes he loves her," she said. - -"Does she?" answered Mrs. Rossiter in a tone that made the question a -contradiction. "Or does she only try to believe it? Or it may be she -doesn't know what it is to have a man really in love with her. These -modern girls--" - -"More men have been in love with Letitia than with any girl I ever -knew," said Nan firmly. "And unless your son has definitely told you -that he does not love her--" - -"Of course he hasn't done that," returned his mother, more shocked at -the idea than she had been at the suggestion of murder. "He's loyal, -poor boy. It wasn't necessary for him to tell me. I know my son, Nan, -and I know love. There wasn't a spark--not one--on his side at least. -But she never let him alone; every day a telephone or a letter, or -even a telegram. He was touched, I suppose, by her devotion. That -isn't love, though. I might have saved him. I ought to have spoken out -and said, 'Dear boy, you do not love this woman.' I did hint at it -several times, but he pretended to think I was in fun. Nan, they were -like brother and sister--or, no, more like an old married couple--no -romance. If they had been married twenty years, you would have said, -'It's nice to see them so companionable.' Now it's only natural that -love should come to him in some wild and terrible form like this--an -outlet--the poor child." There were steps in the hall, and she added -quickly, "But, of course, I would not have them know I thought the -thing possible." - -The footsteps belonged to Letitia. She entered, bringing word that -Roger had not been at the office; he had been expected about noon from -Albany--yes, they had said Albany, but it was only a clerk. They had -been expecting to hear from him, but knew nothing of his whereabouts. -Letty was too young to look aged by anxiety, but she looked like a -water color in process of being washed out. Not only her cheeks but her -hair and eyes, and even her skin, seemed to have lost their color. Nan -had never seen her friend suffering. She had seen her angry or jealous -or wounded, but never like this. Her heart went out to the girl. She -managed to get Mrs. Rossiter away to telephone to her son at his club, -on the unlikely possibility that he might have stopped there. Left -alone with Letty she said: - -"My dear, I know just how ugly and painful this is; but do remember -that in a few hours it will all be explained and you will be telling it -as an amusing story." - -"I know, of course," said Letitia, as if she were listening to a -platitude; and then she added, "Did you happen to bring any money with -you? You see, the banks are closed now." - -Nan could hardly believe her ears. - -"Yes," she said, "I have; but why should you need it just now?" - -"I shan't need it, of course," said Letitia hastily; "but in times like -this you think of all sorts of possibilities. If we did have to leave -the country at a second's notice--" - -Her voice died way under Nan's look of disapproval. - -"Would you go with him if he did?" said Nan, wondering how a woman -could love a man so much and understand him so little. - -"Go with him!" cried Letitia. "I'd hang with him if I could! Oh, Nan, -you don't know what it is to love a person as I love Roger! I believe -I could be perfectly happy exiled, hunted, poor, in some impossible -South Sea island, if I could only have him all to myself. While I was -upstairs I put a few things in a bag; I brought it down and left it in -the hall, and I thought that you could take it with you when you go. -That couldn't excite any suspicion, and then if I have to leave in a -hurry--" - -Nan could not let her go on like this. - -"Letitia," she said in a sharp tone, as if rousing a sleeper, "you -simply can't talk like that. You must believe in your husband's -innocence. Your face alone would hang him." - -"I do believe in it," answered Letitia; "only I can't help seeing some -terrible coincidences. There is no one in the world knows more about -poisons than Roger does. He is always talking about the Borgias and -what they used. And after all, Nan, I was brought up to face facts. -There is a streak of weakness in Roger where women are concerned--a -certain vanity." - -"There is in every man." - -"And then, Nan, I love my mother-in-law; but I can't help seeing she -did not bring him up right. She spoiled him; not that she made him -selfish or self-indulgent--no one could do that to Roger; but she -did give him too much confidence in his own ability to arrange any -situation. He jumps into anything-- Oh, can't you see how he might -easily be led on to do something like this?" - -"No," said Nan; "no. I'm not his wife--I never saw him, but I feel sure -he did not do this." - -Perhaps her manner was more offensive than she meant it to be; but for -some reason Letty's rather alarming calm suddenly broke into anger. - -"That's impertinent, Nan," she said. "Why should you always think you -understand better than anyone else? He's my husband. If you had any -delicacy of feeling, you'd admit that if anyone knew the truth about -him, I do--not you, who never saw him. It's easy enough for you to come -preaching the beauty of perfect faith. Don't you suppose I'd believe -in him if I could?" And so on and on. It was as if she hated Nan for -believing in him when she didn't. - -Nan let her talk for a few minutes, and then at the first pause she got -up and walked to the door. "I think I'll go and sit with your mother," -she said. - -"Don't tell her what I've been saying--don't tell her that I have doubt -of Roger." - -"You know I would not do that, Letty." - -"I don't know what you'd do in your eternal wish to know more about -people than anyone else knows." - -Nan left the room with a heavy heart. Did she want to be omniscient? -Was it impertinent to be surer of a man's innocence than his wife was? -Well, if he were innocent, Letitia would never forgive her--that was -clear. - -She found Mrs. Lewis alone in an upper room. She was standing looking -out the window, her arms folded, her body tilted slightly backward, -while she crooned sadly to herself. As Nan entered she shook her head -slowly at her. - -"The poor child," she said. - -"Roger or Letty?" - -"Oh, both; but, of course, I was thinking of my own." - -"Mrs. Lewis, do you believe he's guilty?" - -"No, my dear--nor innocent. I don't believe anything. I simply don't -know. When you get to be my age, Nan, you will understand that anything -is possible; the wicked do the most splendid things at times, and the -virtuous do the most awful. I don't know whether Roger did this or -not. He may have. It may even have been the right thing to do, although -poison--well, I'm surprised Roger descended to that." - -With this point of view Nan had some sympathy, although she felt -obliged to protest a little. - -"You said he was the finest man you had ever known." - -"I thought so--I think so still--but what does one know about such -people? An utterly different class, a different background. I'm as good -a democrat as anybody, but there is something in tradition. Oh, I see -you don't know. Well, the father was a plumber. Yes, my dear, little as -you might think it, that ruffled marquise downstairs is the widow of a -plumber. How do we know what people like that will do or not do when -their passions are roused? It nearly killed me to have Letitia marry -him." - -"I thought you liked the marriage, Mrs. Lewis." - -"That's where I blame myself, Nan. I let it get out of my control. I -hesitated. I admired the man. He had plenty of money; and of course the -mother was delighted to get such a wife for her son, and made it all -too terribly easy. And then he was mad about Letty." - -"Wasn't she mad about him too?" - -Mrs. Lewis shook her head. - -"Not at first; but he was always there--always writing and coming. I -don't suppose I ever came into the flat in those days without finding a -message that Letty was to call--whatever his number was--as soon as she -came in. He's a determined man and he meant to get her." - -"She is tremendously in love with him now." - -Mrs. Lewis sighed. - -"Ah, yes, now, poor child--of course. Don't betray me, Nan. Don't -let those two downstairs know that I have a doubt. She's a sweet -creature--the plumber's widow--though to me irritating; and she -wouldn't doubt anyone in the world, let alone her darling son; and, of -course, Letitia does not think it possible that her husband can have -killed a man, especially for the sake of another woman." - -"Have you ever heard a suspicion that there was another woman?" Nan -asked. - -"No; but then I shouldn't be likely to. We three women are the last -people in the world to hear it, even if it were notorious." - -Nan was obliged to admit the truth of this; and presently Mrs. Lewis, -fearing that her absence might appear unfriendly, decided to go back to -the sitting room. - -Nan said she was coming, too, but stood a minute staring at the carpet. -What was it, she wondered, made her so passionately eager that Roger -should be innocent? Was it love of her friend, or pride of opinion, or -interest in abstract truth, or interest in a man she had never seen? -She had a strange feeling of a bond between her and Roger. As she went -slowly down the stairs, her eye fell again upon the police officer, -shifting, patient, but uncomfortable on the William-and-Mary chair. A -sudden inspiration came to her. She asked to see the warrant. - -Well, it was just as she thought--not for Roger at all, but for a man -whose last name was Rogers, who lived in a house two away. The number -wasn't even right; but that was more the fault of the real-estate -company than of the police department. She took the officer outside -and showed him his mistake, and finally had the satisfaction of -shutting the door forever on that blue-coated figure. - -She turned toward the sitting room. To break good news is not always so -easy, either. She thought of those three doubters, each one trying to -show the others how full her heart was of complete confidence. - -Nan opened the door, went in, shut it behind her and leaned on the knob. - -"Now, you three," she said, "you've been wonderful in bad times; try to -be equally calm in good." They looked up at her, wondering what good -news was possible, and she hurried on: "The policeman has gone. The -warrant was not for Roger at all." - -There was a pause, hardly broken in any real sense by the sound of Mrs. -Rossiter repeating that she had always known it could not be true--had -always known it could not be Roger. - -"Still," said Mrs. Lewis with an amused sidelong glance, "it is a -comfort that now the police know it too." - -But Nan's eyes had never left her friend's face. Letty did not say a -word. She rose and stared straight at Nan, looking at her almost as -if she were an enemy. Nan knew that Mrs. Rossiter would forget that -she had ever doubted her son--had already forgotten and was crooning -her faith and joy. Mrs. Lewis had nothing to forget. She had merely -expressed an agnostic attitude; but Letitia had revealed to Nan the -very depths of her estimate of her husband--and she had been wrong and -Nan right. She would never forgive that. - -Except for this change in the relation between the two younger women, -in five minutes it was as if the whole incident had never occurred. -Mrs. Rossiter was again the devoted mother-in-law, Letitia the happy -bride, and Mrs. Lewis was saying, "Which brings us back to the point I -was making when the fatal ring came--it is a mistake to let Meta answer -either the door or the telephone." - -In a little while Mrs. Rossiter announced that she must be going, and -Nan was not surprised when Mrs. Lewis, who had had a few minutes alone -with her daughter, suggested that Nan should go back with them and -spend the night with her. - -"But I promised Letty--" she began, and then glancing at her friend she -saw that she was expected to accept. - -Letitia spoke civilly, kindly, as if she were doing everyone a favor. - -"Oh, I let you off," she said. "Mamma is all alone, and I know how you -and she enjoy picking all the rest of us to pieces." - -Nan hesitated rebelliously. It seemed hard that she was not to see -Roger just because she had understood him too well. - -She said, "But I want so much to see Roger." - -Mrs. Lewis glanced at her. It was not like a girl to be so obstinate. -Of course, poor Letty wanted her husband to herself after a shock like -this. - -"Roger will keep," she said firmly. - -She went into the hall and picked up her scarf from the companion chair -to that on which the policeman had sat. As she did so her eye fell -upon a bag standing as if ready for a journey. - -"Is that your bag, Nan?" she asked, trying to remember if the plan had -ever been that Nan was to spend the night. - -"No," said Letitia in a quick sharp voice; "that's something of mine." - -And then, without the least warning, the front door opened and Roger -himself walked in--walked in without any idea that he had been a -murderer, arrested, extradited, defended and freed since he had last -seen his own house. - -He was just as Nan knew he would be. She didn't care anything about -his mere beauty. It was that fine firm mouth of his--just like the -photograph. How could anyone imagine that a man with a mouth like that-- - -He greeted his wife, his mother, his mother-in-law casually, and came -straight to Nan. - -"So this is Nan--at last," he said, and he stooped and kissed her cheek. - -Well, Nan said to herself, she had a right to that; but she saw Letty's -brow contract; and Mrs. Lewis, who perhaps saw it, too, hurried her -toward the car. Roger protested. - -"But you're not taking Nan! I came home early especially to see her. I -did not even go back to the office for fear of being detained." But, of -course, his lonely protest accomplished nothing, and as he opened the -front door for the three departing women, he asked, "When am I to see -you, Nan?" - -Nan looked up at him very sweetly and said "Never." She said it -lightly, but she knew it was the bitter truth. She knew Letitia. -Letitia would never permit a second meeting. - -Just as she got into the car she heard him call, "Oh, isn't this your -bag?" and she heard Letty answer: - -"No, it's mine. It represents one of Nan's abandoned ideas." - - - - -THE RETURN TO NORMALCY - - -Strange, unnatural conventions were growing up about divorce, Cora -reflected. The world expected you to appear as completely indifferent -to a man when once your decree was granted as it had assumed you to be -uniquely devoted to him as long as the marriage tie held. Here she was, -sitting at her ease in her little apartment; she had bitten her toast, -poured out her coffee, opened her mail--a dinner invitation, a letter -from her architect about the plans for her new house, a bill for her -brocade slippers, an announcement of a picture exhibition, and-- As she -moved the last envelope from its position on the morning newspaper her -eye fell for the first time on the account of Valentine Bing's illness. - -"It was said at the Unitarian Hospital, where Mr. Bing was taken late -last night, that his condition was serious." - -A sketch--almost obituary--of him followed: "Valentine Bing was born -in 1880 at St. Albans, a small town on Lake Erie. He began life as a -printer. At twenty-one he became editor of the St. Albans Courier. -In 1907 he came to New York." She glanced along rapidly. "Great -consolidation of newspaper syndicate features--large fortune--three -times married--the last time to Miss Cora Enderby, of the prominent -New York family, from whom he was divorced in Paris in October of this -year." Nothing was said about the two other wives; that seemed natural -enough to Cora. But it did not seem natural that this man, who for two -years had made or marred every instant of her life, was ill--dying, -perhaps; and that she like any other stranger should read of it -casually in her morning paper. - -She did not often think kindly of Valentine--she tried not to think -of him at all--but now her thoughts went back to their first romance. -In those days--she was barely twenty--she had been in conflict with -her family, who represented all that was conservative in old New York. -She had wanted work, a career. She had gone to see Valentine in his -office, armed with a letter of introduction. He was a tall red-haired -man, long armed and large fisted, with intense blue eyes, clouded like -lapis lazuli; he was either ugly or rather beautiful, according as you -liked a sleek or rugged masculinity. For an instant she had had an -impression--the only time she ever did have it--that he was a silent -being. - -She had told her little story. "And as I really don't know much about -writing," she ended, "I thought--" - -"You thought you'd like to do newspaper work," he interrupted with a -sort of shout. - -He explained to her how newspaper writing was the most difficult of -all--the only kind that mattered. What was the object of writing -anyhow? To tell something, wasn't it? Well, in newspaper work-- On -and on he went, the torrent of his ideas sparkling and leaping like -a mountain brook. She was aware that she stimulated him. She learned -later that he was grateful for stimulation, particularly from women. - -Almost immediately afterward, it seemed to her, he was insisting that -she should marry him. At first she refused, and when her own resistance -had been broken down her family's stood out all the more firmly. - -They regarded two divorces and a vulgar newspaper syndicate as -insurmountable obstacles. But a family had very little chance against -Bing, and he and Cora were married within a few months of their first -meeting. - -On looking back at it she felt that she soon lost not his love but -his interest. He would always, she thought, have retained a sincere -affection for her if she had been content to remain the patient -springboard from which he leaped off into space. But she wasn't content -with any such rôle. She wanted to be the stimulus--the excitement of -his life. And so they had quarreled and quarreled and quarreled for two -horrible years which had just ended in their divorce. - -And now he, so vital, so egotistical, so dominating, was dying; -and she, the pale slim girl whose charm to him had been the joy of -conquering her, was alive and well and happy. It would annoy Valentine -to know that she was happy--fairly happy--without him. - -She wondered whether she should call up the hospital, or go there -herself to inquire about him. Wasn't it possible that he would send for -her? After all, it was only the other day that she was his wife. And at -that instant the telephone rang. - -She heard a suave voice saying, "Is that Mrs. Bing? Mrs. Enderby-Bing? -This is Doctor Creighton, at the Unitarian." - -Half an hour later she was at the hospital. She had expected to be -hurried at once to Valentine's bedside. Instead a little reception -room was indicated. At the door a figure was standing, head raised, -hands clasped behind the back. It was Thorpe, Valentine's servant. - -"In here, madam," he said, opened the door for her, and closed it, -shutting her in. - -The sight of him destroyed the last remnant of Cora's self-control. He -seemed like a little bit of Valentine himself. Thorpe had been with -them on their honeymoon; she could see him waiting at the gate under -the turquoise dome of the Grand Central Station, with their bags about -his feet, and their tickets in his hand--so cool and competent in -contrast to their own excitement that first day. - -She hurried into the room. It is not to be expected that a hospital -should waste sun and air on mere visitors, and yet the reception room, -painted a cold gray and dimly lighted by a shaft, was depressing. Some -logical interior decorator had hung one large Braun photograph on the -wall. It was a copy of the Lesson in Anatomy. - -Cora sat down and covering her face with her hands began to cry. A kind -voice said in her ear, "I'm afraid you've had bad news." - -Looking up Cora saw that a middle-aged woman was sitting beside her, a -woman with comfortably flowing lines and large soft brown eyes and hair -beginning to turn gray. - -"I'm afraid my husband is dying," answered Cora simply. She thought -it better not to mention divorce to a person who seemed like the very -genius of the family. - -"Why, you poor child," said the other, "you don't look old enough to -have a husband." - -"I'm twenty-four," replied Cora. "It's almost three years since I was -married." - -"Of course," said the other. "It's just because I'm getting old that -everyone seems so young to me." - -She smiled and Cora found herself smiling too. There was something -comforting in the presence of the older woman; Cora felt assured that -she knew her way about in all simple human crises like birth and -illness and death. - -Suddenly as they talked Cora saw the face of her companion stiffen; -Thorpe was ushering in another woman, sleek headed, with a skin like -white satin, wrapped in a mink cloak. Evidently the newcomer was -painfully known to Cora's friend, though the mink-clad lady gave no -sign. She sat down, holding the blank beauty of her face unruffled by -the least expression; and as she did so Doctor Creighton entered. - -"Mrs. Bing," he said. All three women rose. The doctor glanced at a -paper held in the palm of his hand. - -"Mrs. Johnson-Bing, Mrs. Moore-Bing, Mrs. Enderby-Bing." - -Even in her wild eagerness to know what the doctor had to tell them -of Valentine's condition Cora was aware of the excitement of at last -seeing those two others. Phrases that Valentine had used about them -came back to her: "A cold-hearted unfaithful Juno"--she in the mink -coat. "She was so relentlessly domestic"--Cora glanced at her new -friend. Yes, she was domestic--almost motherly. Cora's friendly feeling -toward her remained intact; but toward Hermione--Mrs. Moore-Bing--who -had so deceived and embittered Valentine, her hatred flamed as it had -flamed when Valentine first told her the story. - -How could she stand there, so calm, drooping her thick white eyelids -and moving her shoulders about in a way that made you aware that under -the mink coat they were as white as blanc mange. "She must know," Cora -thought, "that I know everything there is to know about her. Valentine -had no reserves about it. And Margaret, from whom she took him; and -Thorpe, whose testimony in the divorce case--" Instinctively she took -a step nearer to Margaret, as if wishing to form an alliance against -Hermione. - -Meantime the doctor was speaking rapidly, apologetically: "You must -forgive me, ladies. I might have arranged this better, but time is -short. You must help me. Mr. Bing's condition is serious--very serious. -He keeps demanding that his wife come and nurse him. He believes we -are keeping her from him. His temperature is going up, he is exciting -himself more and more. We must give him what he wants, but--" The -doctor paused and looked inquiringly from one to the other. - -Mrs. Johnson-Bing smiled her quiet maternal smile. "Poor Valentine," -she said; "he was always like that when he was ill." - -There was a pause. - -"But you don't help," said the doctor. "You don't tell me which one it -is that he wants." - -"Well," said Mrs. Moore-Bing in her cool drawl, "as I'm the only one -who left him against his will I'm probably the only one he wants back -again." - -Cora would not even glance in the direction of such a woman. She had -been kept silent heretofore by the trembling of her chin, but now she -managed to enunciate: "Mr. Bing and I were divorced only a few months -ago. Until October, you see, I was his wife." - -The logic of this, or perhaps his own individual preference for a slim -elegant young woman, evidently influenced the doctor. He nodded quickly. - -"If you'll come with me, then--" he began, and turned toward the door, -but there Thorpe was standing, and he did not move. - -"If you'd excuse me, sir," he said, "am I right in thinking it will be -bad for Mr. Bing if we mistake his wish in this matter?" - -"Yes, I'd like to get it right," said the doctor. - -"Then, sir, may I say it's not Mrs. Enderby-Bing that he wants, sir?" - -"What makes you think that?" said Doctor Creighton. - -"I could hardly explain it, sir. Twenty years of being with Mr. Bing--" - -There was an awkward pause. The obvious thing to do was to ask Thorpe -who it was Bing did want, and something in the poise of Thorpe's head -suggested that he was just waiting to set the whole matter straight, -when hurried footsteps were heard in the hall, and a nurse entered--an -eager panting young woman. She beckoned to Creighton and they spoke a -few seconds apart. Then he turned back to the group with brightened -face. - -"At last," he said, "Mr. Bing has spoken the first name. It is -Margaret." - -Cora caught a glimpse of Thorpe quietly bowing to himself--as much as -to say, "Just what I had expected." - -Mrs. Johnson-Bing rose. - -"My name is Margaret," she said, and left the room with the doctor. - -Hermione rose, too, hunching her cape into place. "Well," she said -without taking the least notice of Thorpe, who was opening the door for -her, "that's one chore you and I don't have to do. He was bad enough -healthy--sick he must be the limit." - -Cora did not so much ignore Hermione as she conveyed in her manner as -she turned to Thorpe that everyone must know that whoever might be the -object of Mrs. Moore-Bing's conversation it could not be herself. - -"Tell me, Thorpe," she said, "what do you think of Mr. Bing's -condition?" - -"Mr. Bing is ill, madam--very ill," Thorpe answered immediately; "but -not so ill as the doctors think." - -"No?" said Cora in some surprise. - -"No, madam. Mr. Bing, if I might use the expression, yields himself up -to illness; this assists him to recover." - -He opened the door for her at this point, and she went out of it. - -She returned home not so emotionally upset but more depressed than -before. There was a core of bitterness in her feeling that had not -been there when she went to the hospital, and at first she found -it difficult to discover the reason for this. Was it anxiety at -Valentine's illness? No, for he was a little better than she had -feared. Was it the realization that those two former wives, who had -always seemed to her like shadows, were, in fact, living beings like -herself? No, for they had turned out to be more unattractive, more -utterably unsuitable to Valentine than she had imagined. It was true -that her taste, her sheltered selectiveness--a passion which many -well-brought-up women mistake for morality--was outraged at being in -the same room with Hermione, but there was a certain satisfaction -in finding her to be worse even than Valentine's highly colored -descriptions of her. And as for Margaret, she felt no jealousy of her, -even though she had been chosen. No one could be jealous of any woman -so kind, so old and so badly dressed. - -It came to her gradually as she moved about her room, unable to look -at her plans, unable to read, unable to do anything but encourage -the toothache at her heart, which was like a memory of all her later -relations with Valentine. The reason was Thorpe--Thorpe's instant -conviction that it was not she whom Valentine wanted. Why was he so -sure? He had been right; Thorpe was always right. For twenty years -he had made it his business to know what Valentine wanted. That was -Thorpe's idea of the function of a good servant. He had always quietly -and consistently followed his line, while the wives had followed -others. Margaret had been concerned with what was best for Valentine; -Hermione had thought entirely of what was most agreeable to herself; -Cora had cared only to preserve the romance of her love. Thorpe's -specialty was knowing what at the moment Valentine wished for, and then -in getting it. Thorpe had survived all three. - -Cora could understand a sick man having a fancy to be nursed by -Margaret, but Thorpe's conviction that she, Cora, could not be the -wife called for had a deeper and more lasting significance. That was -the thought that made her heart ache. - -She tried to take up her life where she had left it that morning, but -everything had paled in interest--even her new house. She had bought -a little corner of land, within the city limits but near the river, -surrounded by trees. She saw wonderful possibilities--a walled garden -and a river view within twenty minutes of the theaters. She recognized -certain disadvantages--the proximity of a railroad track, and the fact -that the neighborhood was still unkempt; she enjoyed the idea of being -a pioneer. But now, though the plans were lying on the table, she did -not open them. It was as if that hour in the hospital had married her -again to Valentine, and there was no vividness left in the rest of life. - -For ten days the bulletins continued to be increasingly favorable, and -then--a sign that convalescence had set in--they ceased entirely. - -Cora found the silence trying. With the great question of life or -death answered there was so much else that she wanted to know--whether -he had been permanently weakened by his illness; whether he would -now be starting on one of his long-projected trips--to China or the -South Seas. China had always fired his imagination. Twice during her -short marriage they had had their trunks packed for China. Had he been -softened, or frightened, or in any way changed by the great adventure -of almost dying? - -There was one person who could tell her all these things, and that was -Margaret. Without exactly formulating a plan Cora went to the hospital -one day and inquired about him. The girl at the desk answered as if -Valentine were already a personage of the hospital. - -"He's getting along splendidly now. His wife's with him." - -"I wonder," Cora heard herself saying, "whether Mrs. Bing would see me -for a minute." - -She retired, rather frightened at her temerity, to the reception room, -where the Lesson in Anatomy still dominated the wall. "Margaret won't -mind," she kept telling herself. "She's so kind, and, anyhow, she's -more like his mother than his wife." It was on this maternal quality -that Cora depended. - -There was a footstep in the hall. A statuesque figure molded into blue -serge stood in the doorway--bare-headed with shiny bronze-colored hair -elaborately looped and curled. It was Hermione. - -"You wanted to see me?" she asked in her drawling, reconstructed voice. -She did not at once recognize Cora. - -"No," said Cora, "I certainly did not want to see you. I thought it was -Mrs. Johnson-Bing who was here." - -"Margaret?" replied Hermione. She drooped her thick eyelids and smiled, -as if the name itself were comic--she never broke her beautiful mask -with a laugh. - -"No, that didn't last long. He bounced Margaret as soon as he got over -being delirious." - -"And was it then that he sent for you?" asked Cora with an edge to her -voice that a Damascus blade might have envied. - -"As a matter of fact he didn't; it was Thorpe who sent for me," said -Hermione. "Thorpe had a wholesome recollection that I used to keep Val -in order. Nice little job, keeping Val in order. Ever tried it? No, I -remember Thorpe said that wasn't your line." - -Cora would have given a good deal to know just how Thorpe had -characterized her line, but not even curiosity could make her address -an unnecessary word to the coarse, cold woman before her. She was -not jealous as she understood the word, but the disgust she felt for -Hermione included Valentine, too, and made her hate him for the moment -with an intimate disturbing warmth. - -Hermione went on: "And, after all, as I said to Val yesterday, what -does it matter to me whether he gets well or not? It takes too much -vitality--making him mind. I'm through. I'm off for Palm Beach -to-morrow. Thorpe's taking him home." - -"It's amiable of you--to come and go as Thorpe orders." - -Hermione moved her eloquent shoulders. "Oh, Thorpe and I understand -each other." - -"I knew Thorpe understood you," said Cora insolently. - -But the woman was insensitive to anything but a bludgeon, for she -answered, "I understand Thorpe too. All he objects to is wives. He's -like the--whatever it is, you know--that fishes in troubled waters." - -Cora merely moved past her and went away. It wasn't until she was -outside that she took in how pleasant had been the unconscious -suggestion behind Hermione's last words. Thorpe objected to wives. That -was why he had not sent for her--she wasn't a mother like Margaret; -nor a vice, like Hermione. She was a wife. The story-teller, the magic -builder of castles that is in everyone, suddenly made for Cora a -splendid scene, in which she, reunited to Valentine, was dismissing -Thorpe. - -Ten days later she took title to her new property and her architects -filed the plans. Both events were announced in the newspapers. - -That very morning her telephone rang, and Thorpe's voice--a voice so -associated with all her emotional life that her nerves trembled even -before her mind recognized it--was heard saying, "I'm telephoning -for Mr. Bing, madam. Mr. Bing would be pleased if you could make it -convenient to stop in and see him this afternoon." - -"Tell Mr. Bing I'm sorry. I can't," answered Cora promptly. She was not -a Hermione to come and go at Thorpe's invitation. And then just to show -that she was not spiteful she added, "I hope Mr. Bing is better." - -"Yes, madam," said Thorpe, "he's better, but he hasn't thoroughly -regained his strength. He tests it every day." - -Cora hung up the receiver. Her thought was, "He can't test it on me." -She was aware of a certain self-satisfaction in having been able so -firmly to refuse, to set her will against Valentine's. In old times -she had been weak in yielding to every wish and opinion that he had -expressed, until she had almost ceased to be a person. Of course -in this case her ability to refuse had been strengthened by the -incredible impertinence of allowing Thorpe to be the one to communicate -Valentine's invitation. A few minutes later the telephone rang again. -This time she let the servant answer it, and when the woman came to -her with interested eyes and said that Mr. Bing was on the wire Cora -answered without a quaver, "Say I'm out." - -But she knew Valentine well enough to know she was not going to get -off so easily as that. He kept steadily calling until at last, chance, -or perhaps Cora's own wish, directed that he should catch her at the -telephone. - -He must see her; it was about this new house of hers. Her heart beat so -she could hardly breathe, while Valentine ran on as of old: - -"It's folly, Cora, absolute folly! Why didn't you consult me before you -bought? You can't live there--the railroad on one side and a gas tank -on the other. Besides, the railroad is going to enlarge its yards; in -two years you'll have switching engines in your drawing-room." - -On and on, giving her no chance to answer him, during the ten minutes -he kept her at the telephone. Yet when she hung up the receiver she -found she had spoken one important word: she had promised to come and -see him late the following afternoon. She had made him beg; she had -refused to come that day, she had put it off; she had, in fact, teased -him as much as was consistent with ultimately agreeing to do what he -wanted. Before she did agree the impertinence of Thorpe was explained. -Valentine had simply told him to get her on the telephone. Of course he -had meant to speak to her himself. Thorpe was an idiot--overzealous. -Cora had her own view about that, but she let it pass. Thorpe feared -her, and Thorpe knew what was to be feared. He knew that if she once -entered that house she might never be allowed to leave it. - -"No," she said to herself the next day, as she tried various hats, -and with hands that shook a little put on the dangling earrings that -Valentine had given her in Madrid, "it will be Thorpe who will leave." - -If there was fear in Thorpe's heart he did not betray it when he opened -the door and led her upstairs to the library. The room was empty. - -"Mr. Bing has been expecting you for sometime, madam," he said. - -The slight reproach was agreeable to Cora. She had waited long enough -for Valentine in old times, and sometimes he had not turned up at all. - -The room was familiar to her. They had not been much in New York -during their brief marriage, but she had spent part of the previous -winter in this house. She had left her own imprint in the decorations. -Valentine used his house as he might use a hotel--asking nothing but -that it should be convenient for the purposes of his stay. Cora had -been greeted on her first arrival by hideous tasseled gold cushions and -imitation Japanese lamp shades; remnants, she believed, of Hermione's -taste. She had instantly banished them, and now she saw with pleasure -that the shades of her own choosing were still on the lamps. Everything -had remained as she had arranged it; he had seen that her way was best. -A wood fire was burning on the hearth--not the detestable gas logs -which Hermione had left behind her. She found herself wondering for the -first time what Hermione had found--what Margaret had left. Then she -remembered that Valentine had not bought the house in the simple days -of Margaret's reign; he had had a small apartment far uptown and at -first Margaret had had no servant. - -A wish to know if Valentine had kept a paper cutter she had given -him--lapis lazuli, the color of his eyes--made her get up and go to the -desk. Yes, it was there, but something else was there, too: an unframed -photograph propped against a paper weight--the photograph of a woman. - -She bent cautiously to look at it, as one bends to examine the spot -where the trembling of the grass suggests the presence of a venomous -serpent. It was the picture of a slender woman with heavy dark hair and -long slanting eyes, the cruelty of her high cheek bones softened by the -sweet drooping curve of her mouth. A terrible and fascinating woman. -Then as the light struck across the surface of the picture she saw it -was a glossy print for reproduction. It might mean business--a feature -for the syndicate--not love. - -She was sitting far away from the desk when, a minute or two later, -Valentine entered--Valentine a little thinner than before, but no less -vital. He greeted her as if they had parted yesterday, or rather he did -not greet her at all. He simply began to talk to her as he came into -the room. He had a roll of blue prints in his hand. - -"Now, my dear girl, these plans of yours--have you thought them over -at all?... You practically made them? But don't you see what you've -done--sacrificed everything to a patio. A patio--only good for hot -weather, when you'll never be here anyhow. The whole comfort of the -house arranged for the season you'll be away. They are without -exception the most ridiculous plans-- Oh! Yes, I sent down for a copy -of them at once. I'm glad I did. If I hadn't--" - -"But, Valentine," she interrupted--she knew by experience that you were -forced to interrupt Valentine if you wished to speak at all--"it is my -house, you know." - -"And that's why I want it to be right for you," he answered. "But we'll -get it right--never fear." - -"It's exactly what I want as it is," she returned, and she heard with -a mixture of disgust and fear that the old tone of false determination -was creeping into her voice. - -"It isn't at all what you want," he said. "You only imagine it is, -Cora." - -"Valentine, I've thought it all out with the greatest care." - -"But it's absurd--you won't like it. Do listen to reason. Don't be -obstinate." - -Obstinate--the old accusation. - -"That's what you always say when I insist on doing anything my own way." - -"But your way is wrong. Now just listen to me, my dear girl--" - -It was, to the identical phrases, the quarrel of their whole short -turbulent married life. He had always made her feel that she was -pig-headed and unreasonable not to yield at once to his superior -knowledge of her own inmost wishes. The trouble was that the turmoil -and the fighting slowly extinguished her own wishes--they weren't -changed, they were killed--so that after a little while she was left -gallantly defending a corpse; she ceased to care what happened; whereas -Valentine's poignant interest grew with each word he uttered--and he -uttered a great many--until he seemed to burn with an almost religious -conviction that she must not do the thing in the way she wanted to do -it. - -It always ended the same way: "Now, my dear girl, don't be so -obstinate." Was she obstinate? she wondered; and as she wondered -Valentine rushed in like an army through a breach in the wall. He was -doing it now. - -"All I ask," he was saying, "is that you should look at the set of -plans I had my man draw--he's a real architect--not a bungalow wizard -like that fellow you employed. Now you might at least do that--it isn't -much to ask that you should just look at them. Oh, well, you'll see -they call for another piece of land, but honestly, Cora, I cannot let -you settle on that switching yard, that you picked out--" - -She could not refuse to look at his plans; in fact, she was not a -little touched by the idea that he had taken such an infinity of -trouble for her. - -And at this instant Thorpe entered. Valentine shouted at him to get -that other roll of plans from his room. - -"Yes, sir," said Thorpe, "directly; but the message has come that the -steamer is docking and I've sent for a taxi, sir." - -Valentine collected himself. "Oh, yes, the steamer," he said, and then -he glanced at Cora. "I don't think I'll go to the steamer, Thorpe." - -Cora's heart rose; she knew that look, that tone; he did not want to -go. She looked at Thorpe; not a muscle of his face had changed, and yet -she knew he was in opposition. - -"Yes, sir," he said. "Would you have any objection if I went to the -dock? I doubt if the princess will understand the American customs -without assistance, sir." - -There was a little pause. - -"The princess?" said Cora. - -Valentine waved toward the photograph on the desk. "She's -coming--Hungarian princess. Great stuff, if she's as per invoice. I'm -sending her to China for the syndicate. Hun to Hun, you know. Good -idea, isn't it? Thorpe told me about her. He lived with her uncle when -he was ambassador in London; the uncle, you know, not Thorpe--though -why not?" - -Valentine rose. The recital of the facts in the case of the princess -had revived his interest in her. - -"I'll just go and grasp her by the hand. We've got her transportation -for the Coast this evening, and she may not relish starting at once, -unless it's put just right. I'll show her it's the best thing for her -to do. Her last cable suggested she wished to linger in New York, but -she would enjoy it more on her way back. I'll explain that to her. It -won't take a minute. You'll wait, won't you? Stay and dine with me. I'm -alone. Or no; I see by Thorpe's face that I have someone to dinner." - -"Indeed, you have, sir.' - -"Who is it? I don't remember." - -"Mrs. Johnson-Bing, sir." - -"Oh, Margaret--good old Margaret--so it is." Thorpe and Cora, a -little embarrassed for him, averted their eyes, but Valentine was not -embarrassed at all. "You have no idea how good she was to me when I was -at the hospital. And I wasn't very grateful--out of my head, you know. -I thought I ought to tell her-- You'll wait, Cora; just give you time -to look over my plans, and when I come back I'll tell you about the -land I bought for you. Well, I have an option on it--" - -She lost the end of his sentence, for Thorpe, who during the speech had -been putting him into his overcoat and handing him his hat and gloves, -finally succeeded in hurrying him out of the door, still talking. But -Cora did not require the end of the sentence; no woman who has lived -two years with a man does. She knew what he was going to say, but even -more important, she knew what was in his mind--that her welfare was as -important to him as it had ever been. The marriage ceremony, she had -always known, did not unite people, but now she was discovering that a -decree of divorce did not always separate them. She was as much married -to Valentine as she had ever been--no more and no less. How astonishing! - -She sank into a chair. Perhaps the really astonishing fact was that -they should ever have parted. They parted because they quarreled, but -now she saw that their quarreling was the expression of their love. Her -relations with everyone in the world except Valentine were suave and -untroubled. And she was sure there was no one else with whom Valentine -enjoyed the struggle for mastery. The mere notion of attempting to -master the docile Margaret was comic, and as for Hermione, she was -like a dish of blanc mange--you liked it and ate it or else you let it -alone. No, it was useless to evade the truth that she, Cora, of all -women was to him unique. - -Thorpe returned presently and brought the new plans. She nodded without -looking at him and told him to leave them on the table. She had plenty -of time. Valentine's few minutes were always an hour. - -"If you don't care to wait, madam, I'm sure Mr. Bing would be very glad -to have you take them home with you," said Thorpe. - -Cora did not trouble to repress a smile. "I shall wait, Thorpe," she -said, with the good humor that comes from perfect confidence. - -Thorpe bent very slightly from the waist, and left the room. - -At last she rose and began to unroll the plans. She became immediately -absorbed in them; they were not only beautiful and ingenious but, -better to her than any beauty, they showed how he had remembered -her tastes, her needs. She had always loved growing plants, and he -had arranged a glassed passageway with sun and heat to be a small -conservatory for her; there was a place for her piano; a clever -arrangement for hanging her dresses. He had remembered, or rather he -had never forgotten. The idea came to her that this was not a house for -her alone, but for her and him together. How simply that would explain -his passionate interest in the prospect of her building. She began to -read the plans as if they were a love letter. - -She was still bending over them when later--much later--the door opened -and closed. She did not immediately look up. It was not her plan to -betray that she had guessed what lay behind his actions. She waited -with bent head for Valentine's accustomed opening, and then hearing -nothing she looked up, to find the newcomer was Margaret. - -In their last meeting the shadow of death had obliterated the pattern -of convention, but now both women were aware of an awkward moment. -Margaret smiled first. - -"I suppose, as no one sees us, we may shake hands," she said. Cora -looked at her predecessor. Even in the low becoming lights of -Valentine's big room she was frankly middle-aged, large waisted and -dowdy, and yet glowingly human. Cora held out her hand. - -"Is it so late?" she said. "Valentine mentioned that you were coming to -dinner. He said he hadn't thanked you for all you did for him when he -was ill." - -Mrs. Johnson-Bings smiled. "That isn't what he wants," she said. She -undid her coat and began to remove stout black gloves. She was in a -high dark dress--very different from what Cora would have worn if she -had decided to come back and dine with Valentine. - -"What does he want?" Cora asked. She was really curious to hear. - -"He's heard I'm going into business--supplying food to invalids. He -wants me to organize according to his ideas, and not according to -mine." Margaret smiled. "But poor Valentine doesn't know anything about -invalids; just wants the fun of having everything done his way." - -The words for some reason sounded like a knell in Cora's ears. Was that -all Valentine really cared about--getting his own way? There was a -brief silence; far away in some other part of the house she was dimly -aware of a clock striking and a telephone bell ringing. It must be -dinnertime, she thought--Margaret's hour. No, they couldn't both stay -to dinner. She found herself wondering which of them Val would put at -the head of the table. He would sit there himself, of course, with one -on each side of him. "I suppose you'll do it all just as he says," she -remarked mechanically. - -Margaret laughed; she had a pleasant laugh, almost a chuckle. "Indeed I -shan't!" she answered. "But I may let him think I'm going to. It saves -such a lot of trouble, as I suppose you found out too." - -No, Cora had not found that out. She felt shocked and admiring--as -a little boy feels who sees another one smoking. How was it that -Hermione, the faithless, and Margaret, the maternal, dared to treat -Valentine more carelessly than she did? Perhaps they did not understand -him as well as she did, with her more subtle reactions. - -Before she could answer, Thorpe was in the room. When she thought of -that moment afterwards she appreciated the power of the man, for there -was no trace of elation or excitement or even hurry about him. He -addressed Margaret: - -"Mr. Bing is very sorry, madam, he will not be able to get home to -dinner tonight." - -Cora's mind working with the quickness of lightning waited for a second -part of the message--something that would detain her and let Margaret -depart in peace. But Thorpe having delivered himself of this one -sentence turned to the desk and began collecting various objects--a -fountain pen, a package of letters. - -"When will Mr. Bing be back?" Cora asked. - -"Mr. Bing is obliged to start for China this evening, madam," said -Thorpe, and his eye just wavered across hers. "I'm packing for him now -as well as I can at such short notice." The reason, his tone suggested, -was sufficient excuse for leaving the two ladies to see each other out. -He left the room, his eyes still roving about in search of necessary -objects. - -In this bitter moment Cora felt vaguely envious of Margaret, who, -unmoved by the intelligence, was beginning to replace her heavy gloves. - -"To China," she observed placidly. "Now I wonder What the reason for -that is." - -Cora snatched up the glossy photograph and thrust it between -Margaret's shapeless black fingers. "That's the reason!" she said -passionately. "He left me for just half an hour to meet her steamer--a -princess--'great stuff if as per invoice.' Well, evidently she is as -'per invoice,' if he's going to China with her the first time they -meet--he and his princess!" - -Margaret took the photograph and studied it with irritating calm. - -"I don't suppose there ever lived a human male who would not enjoy -going to China with a princess," she said, and she almost smiled at the -thought of their departure. - -Tears were already running down Cora's cheeks. "What does it mean?" she -said. "Are men incapable of permanent attachments?" - -"Oh, no," replied Margaret. "Valentine's attachments are very -permanent--only they're not exclusive. He will always want me when he's -sick--and you when he wants to test his will power." - -She stopped, for Thorpe had come into the room again. He had come for -the photograph, which he now took gently out of Margaret's unresisting -hand. She hardly noticed his action, so intently was her mind working -upon the question of Valentine's health. - -"Thorpe," she said, as if consulting a fellow expert, "do you think Mr. -Bing is strong enough to make this journey?" - -For the first time Thorpe allowed himself a smile--a faint fleeting -lighting of the eyes. - -"Oh, yes, madam," he said. "I think now Mr. Bing is quite -himself--quite normal. And then, madam, I shall be with him." - - - - -THE RED CARPET - - -The Torbys were giving a large dinner-party, and a scarlet carpet was -rolled out from the glass and iron of their grilled door to the curb -of the Fifth Avenue gutter--a carpet as red as a cardinal's robe, as -the flags in the Bolshevist meeting which was being held simultaneously -two miles away in Madison Square and giving the police a good deal of -trouble. - -It was customary to put on new clothes and treasured jewels for the -Torby parties, for they gave very good parties; they were fashionable, -and as they had been important, financially and socially, in New York -for two generations, and as most other New Yorkers had only lived there -a year or two, the Torbys were generally assumed to be as aboriginal as -the rocks of Manhattan Island. - -As a matter of fact, the first identified Torby, Ephraim by name, had -strolled down to the great city from a Vermont farm just before the -Civil War, and had made his fortune in questionable real-estate deals -during the following years of unrest. But when the present Torby, -William, said, "My father used to say that when he held the property at -the corner of Twenty-third Street--" it sounded as if the family had -always been landed proprietors; and Trevillian Torby, William's son, -just twenty-four and not deeply interested in ancestry, had actually -come to believe, though he of course knew all the facts, that the -Torbys were the oldest and best family in America, and he was very -scornful of newcomers from other States or countries who drifted into -the metropolis to make their fortunes. - -Hewer, the Torby butler, stood in the hall, wearing the old-fashioned -livery the Torbys affected. Hewer was not the kind of butler who opens -the door; on the contrary, when the great double doors had been swung -open by two footmen, Hewer was discovered standing back center, doing -absolutely nothing, except, if a female guest should be so thoughtless -as to direct her steps to the men's dressing-room, or a male to the -women's, he set them right with a slight but autocratic gesture of the -hand. - -Hewer was rather a young man to be so very great. He was the son of one -of the gamekeepers on the Duke of Wessex's place, and being ambitious -and having a weak heart, he allowed it to be known through the proper -channels, when the Torbys were staying with the Duke, that he would -like to go to America; and the Torbys, who had had a great deal of -trouble with butlers, snapped him up at once. - -At first Hewer had found social distinctions in America somewhat -confusing. He had been brought up in the strictest sect of inherited -aristocracy, but some of his friends who had been in the United States -explained to him that there everything was plutocratic--that nothing -mattered but money. Hewer thought this not such a bad idea; but when he -reached New York, he found it wasn't true. Social distinctions were not -entirely based on money--not nearly as much so as in London. He had a -friend living second footman to the third or fourth richest family in -America, and it appeared that they were asked nowhere. Of course his -own Torbys were all right--absolutely all right; they not only had -visiting royalties to stay with them, but what did not always follow, -they stayed with those same royalties when they went abroad. - -As the motor doors began to slam, Hewer placed one foot on the lower -step of the Torbys' beautiful Italian stairway, banked on each side -with white lilies in honor of the party, and prepared to announce the -first guest who issued from the dressing-room. If he did not know the -name (though he almost always did, for he was intelligent, interested -in his job, and had been doing the telephoning for the Torby parties -for several years), he just drooped his ear toward the guest's mouth -for a dilatory second, and then having caught it, he moved straight -away upstairs, like a hunting-dog that had picked up the scent. - -Many of the guests--more than a dozen--had arrived before one came in -who spoke to Hewer by name. This was a small, erect old lady, with eyes -as bright as her diamonds in their old-fashioned settings, and a smile -as fine as her long old hands. - -"Ah, Hewer," she said with a brisk nod, "still here, are you? Do crowds -like this always collect for the Torbys' parties?" - -Hewer, standing on the lower step, seemed just twice as tall as the old -lady as he answered: "Crowds, madam!" And then as she waved her hand -toward the front door, he understood and added: "Oh, yes, madam, quite -often a crowd collects. And how is Mr. Richard?" - -"Oh, of course he's been wounded," said the old lady, as if that -had been the least of her expectations, "but he's well again now, -and on his way home." And then, noticing that other people were -waiting,--bejeweled creatures whom she did not know,--she nodded again, -to indicate that the conversation was over. Hewer mounted the stairs -five steps ahead of her and announced, as if this time he were really -saying something: - -"Mrs. John Grey." - -But all the time he was at work announcing other guests--"Admiral and -Mrs. Simpsom.... Lady Cecilia and Mr. Hume.... Mr. Lossing.... Miss -Watkins"--his mind was grappling with the problem of what Mrs. John -Grey was doing dining with the Torbys. - -About a year before this, Hewer had left the Torbys and had been -engaged by Mrs. Grey. He deeply respected Mrs. Grey, but her household -had not been congenial to him. In the first place there was an elderly -maid in spectacles who managed everything, and had even attempted to -manage Hewer. Then, Mrs. Grey was a widow with an only son, often away, -and when he was away, Mrs. Grey dined by the library fire on a chop and -rice pudding, and she sometimes omitted the chop; and though when Mr. -Richard was at home, he was very gay and good-tempered, on the whole -Hewer felt the position to be depressing; and when the Torbys humbly -asked him to come back at a higher wage, he had consented. - -But he retained a strong admiration for Mrs. Grey. She was afraid of -nothing, whereas he knew his present employers were afraid of many -things--afraid of being laughed at, afraid of missing the turn of the -social tide, afraid even of him, their butler, though they attempted to -conceal this fear under a studied insolence of manner. It was because -this insolence was not of the particular brand that Hewer admired that -he had left them. He had often noticed, as he waited on table, that -Mrs. Torby was afraid of having opinions; she always found out what -other people thought about art and politics, and only when strongly -backed by majority opinion would she express herself--with a good -deal of arrogance. She never confessed ignorance of any subject under -discussion--except possibly of a childhood friend. - -Mrs. Grey, on the other hand, ripped out her opinions with the utmost -confidence, and could say, "No, my dear, I never heard of it," when -some new school of art or thought was under discussion, in a tone that -made those who had been somewhat overpraising it wonder if they had -not, after all, been making fools of themselves. Mr. Richard was the -same way--never afraid of what people would think of him; perhaps it -might have been better if he had been, judging from what Hewer himself -had thought of some of Mr. Richard's more youthful escapades. - -Now, the last thing Mrs. Grey had said to Hewer when he left her -service was: "What, Mr. Hewer, back to those vulgar people?" The -words had been a shock to Hewer, for the Torbys were so fashionable, -so clearly sought-after, that he had not supposed anyone would apply -such a term as _vulgar_ to them. But he did know exactly what Mrs. -Grey meant, and he had never forgotten the words, and so he wondered -what Mrs. Grey was doing in the house of the people she had so -contemptuously described. She was not like the Torbys, who seemed to -go to their friends' houses chiefly for the sake of making an amusing -story afterward of how dull and badly done their parties had been. -Mrs. Grey did not go to the houses of those she considered her social -inferiors, and as she considered almost everyone her social inferiors, -and as most of them regarded her as a funny little old lady who didn't -matter anyhow, she ate most of her meals quietly in her own house. - -As so often happens, while Hewer was pondering the problem, the -explanation of it was walking into the house--walking in with her head -in the air, and a sapphire-blue satin cloak wrapped tightly about her. -Hewer recognized her at once, but he did not know her name. She was -the young lady who used to come and sit with Mrs. Grey and look pale -and tearless during the terrible weeks when Mr. Richard was fighting -in the Argonne--and would have liked to cry, Hewer had thought, if -only Mrs. Grey had not been so dreadfully heroic, remarking like the -Roman emperor, that after all, she had never been under the illusion -that her son was immortal. She was the young lady whose photograph -had dropped out of one of Mr. Richard's coats one day when he was -brushing it. She was beautiful, and she came from far enough West to -be aware of the existence of the letter _r_. She and Mrs. Grey used -to have long amiable arguments as to whether or not well-bred people -would recognize the letter _r_, except, of course, in such magnificent -words as _Richard_. Hewer did not know this lady's name until she told -it to him at the foot of the stairs--"Miss Evington." He repressed a -start. It was the gossip belowstairs in the Torby household that Mr. -Trevillian wanted to marry a Miss Evington, whom his family did not -consider quite up to the Torbys' matrimonial standard. When Mrs. -Torby had given Hewer the cards and the diagram of the table, and he -had seen that Miss Evington's place was next to Mr. Trevillian, he had -taken this as a sign that the thing was settled. He never knew how much -he had liked Mr. Richard until he felt a wave of contempt for this -beautiful young creature who preferred Trevillian and his millions. - -Hewer announced "Miss Evington" with quite a sniff. - -When he went downstairs, another guest had arrived and was taking -his dinner-card from the tray a footman was offering him. It was Mr. -Barnsell. Barnsell was a sleek, brown, middle-aged man whose only -interest in life was comfort; and as his means were limited and his -tastes luxurious, the attainment of supreme comfort had become both an -art and sport to him. - -"Ah, good evening, Hewer!" he said. - -"Good evening, sir," said Hewer without the slightest change of -expression. He hated and despised Barnsell, for the reason that he -was one of those people who demand a far higher standard of comfort -from other people's houses and servants than he did from his own. -When he stayed at the Torbys,--as he did for long periods,--he gave a -great deal of trouble, and had been known to send a suit of clothes -downstairs three times because it had not been properly pressed, -although Hewer knew very well that at home his clothes were very -sketchily taken care of by the housemaid. Hewer's only revenge was to -force upward the whole scale of Mr. Barnsell's tips. Hewer himself did -not care much about money and was very well paid by the Torbys, but in -the interests of pure justice, he received Mr. Barnsell's crinkled -bill with an air of cold surprise that made him double it next time. - -"Gad, Hewer," Mr. Barnsell was saying, "there's a pretty ugly situation -outside there--a crowd around the door, and marching up Fifth Avenue. -They nearly pulled my chauffeur off the box. If they'd laid a finger on -me, I'd have let them have it, I can tell you." - -"I hope they did not hurt the chauffeur, sir." - -"Oh, no," said Barnsell positively; but Hewer knew from his tone that -he had not waited to see. - -Immediately after this, terrible things began to happen to the Torbys' -nice party--things that had never happened to any of their parties -before. The meeting in Madison Square having been broken up by methods -which the participants described as being a little short of massacre, -and which the police said were too velvet-gloved to be effective, had -drifted away into smaller groups, all looking for trouble. Perhaps -it was the color of the Torby's carpet, or the size or ugliness of a -house built in the worst taste of the '80's, or the delicious smell -of terrapin which came floating out of the kitchen windows; but for -whatever reason, a crowd had collected about the door and was mocking -at and jostling the guests in such a threatening manner that the night -watchman rushed in to tell a footman to telephone at once to the -police, and poor fat little Mrs. McFarlane arrived with her tiara quite -on one side and a conviction that she had just escaped being strung up -to a lamp-post in the best style of the French Revolution. - -The McFarlanes, who took themselves seriously in every position, made -a dramatic entrance into the drawing-room. Mr. McFarlane held up his -hand for silence and then said: - -"We are in grave danger." - -He was a tall, solemn, hawk-nosed man, who had made a fortune after -forty, and had been elected president of a great bank after fifty--an -office which he accepted as if it were a sort of financial priesthood. -Mrs. McFarlane, who went in for jeweled crowns and sweeping velvets, -was suspected by her friends of a repressed wish to be queenly--nor -indeed was her height and figure so different from that of the late -Victoria. - -"Hewer, send down and have the outer doors closed," said Mr. Torby. And -Hewer, having announced the last guest, who was a good deal flustered -from having had his high hat smashed over his nose--left the room to -obey. - -"They are bloodthirsty, simply bloodthirsty," continued Mr. McFarlane. -"One villainous-looking fellow shouted at my wife: 'You don't look as -if you needed another square meal for a year; give us a chance.'" - -"Accurate observers, at least," said Mrs. Grey in a twinkling aside to -Miss Evington. "Come and sit down, my dear, and let us talk while these -people regain their poise." - -"Do you think we are in any danger from the mob, Mrs. Grey?" asked the -girl quietly. - -"The mob inside, or the mob out?" - -Miss Evington laughed. "Oh," she said. "Feeling like that about them, -why did you come?" - -"I came," answered Mrs. Grey, "because I knew these people are trying -to dazzle you with all their hideous possessions; and I wanted," she -added simply, "to give you some standard of comparison." - -Miss Evington turned away to hide a smile, or perhaps it was a tear, -at the old lady's self-confidence. She had an impulse to explain that -if she refused the Torby millions, it would not be on account of Mrs. -Grey's high breeding; and then she stopped to wonder whether, after -all, it had not something to do with the situation--indirectly. - -Mr. Barnsell approached them, shaking his head. "Well," he said, "now -I hope Washington will see the consequence of coddling the lower -classes." Mr. Barnsell's railroad investments had declined. - -"This should be a great lesson to the Administration," said Mr. -Lossing--a slim, elderly man, who seemed to have decreased in bulk -through constant shrinking from outrages against his notion of good -taste and good manners. "As my dear old father used to say--" - -"It's the French Revolution over again," said Mrs. McFarlane, -still panting a little. "It's the hatred of the common man for the -aristocrat." - -"The aristocrat, my dear!" murmured Mrs. Grey to her young friend. "Her -father-in-law was my father's gardener, and she must know I know it." - -At this moment a stone crashed through one of the long French windows -of the drawing-room. Trevillian Torby rushed to Miss Evington's side. -"Don't be alarmed," he said. "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Grey." - -"Thank you--I'm not," said Mrs. Grey, tossing her gray head slightly, -as if to say it was a pretty state of affairs when Trevillian Torby -could intervene in her fate. "If you won't think me rude, I must say -the evening is turning out more amusing than I had expected." - -Trevillian, fortunately, was not looking for malice from one so small -and gray and feminine, and he went on hotly: "I wonder what this -rabble thinks they could do with this country without us--without the -leadership of people like ourselves." - -"They'll soon find out, it seems," answered Mrs. Grey. - -"The trouble with this country," continued Trevillian, "is the growing -contempt for law and order. No one is brought up to respect the -state--the Government. What would the poor do without the ruling class? -Do you realize that the hospitals and charitable institutions of this -country would have to close? And what would happen then, I should like -to know?" - -"They would be run by the state, of course," said Miss Evington, who -knew her way about sociology. - -"The state!" cried Trevillian. "Do you mean government ownership? Well, -let me tell you that the state is about the most inefficient, the most -corrupt--" - -"I thought we ought to respect it," said Miss Evington. - -Mrs. Grey laughed out loud. "Ah, Mr. Torby," she said, "women ought not -to attempt argument, ought they?" - -Trevillian felt soothed by this remark. "I own," he replied, "that I -do not think a woman appears at her best in argument." And he never -understood why it was that he seemed to have made a very good joke. - -They now began to go in to dinner--the dining-room was safely situated -across the back of the house. The table was magnificent. Gold vases of -pink and white flowers alternated down its length with gold bowls of -yellow and orange fruit. Tall wineglasses of crystal engraved in gold -stood like little groves at each plate. The Torbys' engraved glass was -famous. - -"But I thought," Lady Cecilia was heard saying to her host, who was of -course taking her in to dinner, "I thought there were no classes in the -United States?" - -Mr. Torby was shocked that Lady Cecilia, who had had so many -opportunities, like the present, for observing, should make such a -mistake. - -"Oh," he said, "I should hardly say that. I yield to none in my belief -in the principles of democracy--from the political point of view; -but socially, my dear Lady Cecilia, every country in the world has a -class--how shall I define it--" - -He succeeded in defining it so that it included himself and excluded -most of the rest of the world. Aristocracy nowadays, he thought, -consisted in having had for two or three generations the advantages -of a large fortune with all the cultivation and refinement and -responsibility that it brings. A college president, who was present, -was equally sure that it was all a question of education. Mr. -McFarlane, the head of a large bank, thought it meant the group of men -in any country who control the financial destinies--and therefore all -the destinies--of a country. Mrs. Grey did not find it worth while to -define anything, but sat thinking: "It's being ladies and gentlemen, if -they only knew it." - -Suddenly there was a tremendous sound of cracking and tearing--a crash -as if the stout double outer doors had given way, a shouting, the noise -of an ambulance gong, or of a police-wagon. Some people sprang up from -the table, but Mr. Torby urged them to remain seated. - -"Hewer," he said, "go downstairs and see what is happening." - -Hewer immediately left the room, and did not return for a long time. - -In the downstairs hall Hewer found the night watchman with a dislocated -wrist, several policemen, a young man mopping his brow, whom he did not -at first notice, and a great deal of broken glass. - -The whole trouble, it appeared, had arisen over the red carpet--the -Bolshevist meeting not being able to understand why, if they were not -allowed to display red flags in Madison Square, Mr. Torby should be -allowed to display a carpet of exactly the same hue in Fifth Avenue. -In the interests of pure logic, the participants in the late meeting -decided to point out this inconsistency to the municipal authorities, -by cutting the Torby's carpet into small pieces and carrying them -away. A number of returned sailors and soldiers, who felt perhaps that -to fight for a poor cause was better than not fighting at all, had -decided to defend the carpet. The complete harmony of everyone was -proved by the fact that when driven away by the police-reserves, both -parties were soon jointly engaged in upsetting all the ash-cans in a -neighboring side-street. - -Hewer sent the night-watchman to the housekeeper to get his wrist -bandaged, got rid of the police by giving them some of Mr. Torby's -second-best cigars and a great deal of irrelevant information which -they said was necessary to the preservation of order, directed that -the broken glass should be swept up, and then turned his attention to -the young man. - -"Why, Mr. Richard!" he exclaimed. - -"Look here, Hewer," said Mr. Richard, "I know that Miss Evington is -dining here--I saw her going in, as I happened to be passing." He -glanced quickly at the butler to see if there was any criticism of an -officer in the United States Army hanging about doorways to watch young -ladies go in and out. "Is everyone in there frightened to death over -this shindy?" - -"Well, you know, sir," said Hewer temperately, "they have been very -nervous about this Bolshevist movement for a long time; and they do -seem anxious--all except Mrs. Grey, sir." - -"What!" cried the Captain. "Is my mother dining here?" And Hewer could -see that this was the last straw--that his mother should have gone -over to the enemy. Hewer was sorry, but felt it his duty to go back -to the dining-room. "They are anxious, sir, for fear the mob may have -overpowered the police, and I ought to go back and tell them that -everything is quiet." - -"No, Hewer," said the Captain firmly. "Go back, but tell them just the -opposite. Tell them that the police have been driven off, that the mob -is in control, that a soviet committee has been formed, which will send -a representative to question them and decide on the merits of each of -their cases, and say that if a finger is laid on the people's delegate, -the house will be blown up with T N T." - -Hewer could not help smiling at the plan, but he shook his head. "I'd -like to oblige you, sir," he said, "but I'd lose my job." - -"Oh, the cream's off your job anyhow, Hewer," said Mr. Richard -decisively. "You don't want to be a butler under the new order. I've -just got a good job with a Western railroad. Come with me and run our -dining-car service." - -The Great War has far-reaching effects. It was the war that made Hewer -yield to this insane suggestion--the sense of dissatisfaction with -himself because a weak heart had kept him from fighting, and the sense -of power in Grey which a year and a half of being obeyed had thrown -into his tone. - -"But you can't go upstairs like that, sir--they'd all know you." - -"You do your part, and I'll do mine," said Richard. - -When Hewer entered the dining-room again, the tension had increased. -Some of the guests had arisen from the table and were looking for -weapons. All had decided to behave nobly. The six footmen, as if -paralyzed by the consciousness that they had identified themselves -with the capitalistic class, were standing idly about the room, not -attempting to go on with the serving of dinner. Mrs. McFarlane had -almost fainted again, but finding that no one had time to bring her to, -she was coming to by herself. Only Mrs. Grey was finishing her soup in -a thorough but not inelegant manner. - -Hewer bent to whisper in Mr. Torby's ear. - -"Good God!" said Mr. Torby; and an electric thrill ran through the -company, who did not know that the exclamation expressed anger rather -than fear. - -"Don't be alarmed," said Mr. Torby, addressing the table. "Keep -perfectly calm. Hewer tells me the situation is this: the police have -been temporarily driven off. These Bolshevist rascals are in control -for a minute or two--nothing more, I am sure. I should advise our -yielding for the moment to their demands." - -"But what are their demands?" asked Mrs. McFarlane nervously, with -a vague recollection of a program about women which her respectable -morning paper had not been able to print in full, but which she had -looked up later in the chauffeur's more liberal journal, while he was -putting on the chains. - -Divining her fears, Mrs. Torby gracefully hastened to allay them. -"They demand nothing more than that we receive a delegate from their -committee, and answer his questions." - -"Receive him," said the Admiral with that terrible calm which seems to -have replaced the old quarter-deck manner. "We'll receive him a good -deal more warmly than he'll like." - -Mr. Torby held up his hand. "No," he said. "Our safety, the safety -of these ladies, is dependent upon the safe-conduct back of this -delegate. The mob, probably through the culpable carelessness of the -Administration--" - -"Not a word against the Administration, sir," cried the Admiral, "--the -Administration under whom this country has just won one of the most -signal tri--" - -"I'm afraid, sir," said Hewer most respectfully, "that the committee -is not inclined to wait very much longer." - -It was decided to admit the People's delegate at once. After all, -however detestable his philosophy, he would be only one man against -twenty-four guests, six footmen and Hewer. But when Hewer opened -the dining-room door and announced in his very best manner, "The -Representative of the Soviet Committee," everyone saw that confidence -had been premature. - -The delegate was an alarming figure. He was in his shirt-sleeves, -without collar and round his waist was tied a long strip of the Torby's -carpet; from this protruded the handle of an army revolver. The lower -part of his face was hidden by a black silk handkerchief; and a soft -hat, rather too large for him, was pulled down to his brows. It was a -hat which Trevillian had passed on to Hewer some months before, but -fortunately there is no way of identifying a soft felt hat. Below the -brim a pair of piercing gray eyes ran over the company like the glint -of steel. - -The delegate was tall, and he stood in the doorway with folded arms. -Mrs. McFarlane, declaring that at last the aristocracy knew how to die, -burst into tears; and Trevillian Torby, bending over Miss Evington, -declared in a passionate undertone that he would give his life for -hers. But Miss Evington, with her eye fixed on the delegate, drew back -almost rudely from Trevillian's protecting droop and said quite loudly: -"Nonsense, Trevillian! I don't feel myself in any danger." - -"I am here," said the delegate in a deep, rough voice, "as a -representative of the first soviet committee--a form of government -which, as you now doubtless understand, will soon take over this entire -country--indeed, the world. How dare you, a little, idle, parasitic -group, eat like this, drink like this--and," he added, snatching a -bottle of champagne from the nerveless hand of a footman and quickly -returning it, "and such a rotten brand, too? By what right, I say, do -you feast, while better people are starving? But we are not cruel or -unreasonable, and anyone here who can show that he or his immediate -family belong to the proletariat and has worked with his hands, will be -spared." - -A confused silence greeted this speech. The company did not really take -in the meaning of his words, for the reason that any identification of -themselves with the proletariat--what they would have called the lower -classes--seemed to them simply fantastic. Though they were continually -readjusting their social standing with each other, they no more doubted -their general superiority to the rest of humanity than they doubted the -fact of the skies being above the earth. - -Mr. Barnsell, who had had more practice than most of them in adapting -himself to his surroundings, spoke first. Getting up, with his hands in -his pockets, he said coolly: - -"Oh, come, my dear fellow! This is ridiculous. This is -un-American--extremely un-American. There are no class-distinctions in -this country. We all in a sense belong to the proletariat." - -"Speak for yourself," said Mrs. Grey. - -Mrs. Torby bent over to her next-door neighbor and whispered, "Exactly -what do they mean by proletariat?" with the manner of one who, being -about to be elected to a club, would like to know what the organization -signified. - -"You will have to offer proof of your assertions," said the delegate in -a more threatening tone. "A leisure class is a criminal class, and its -wealth will be confiscated for the common good. Are you or are you not -members of a leisure class?" - -At this the company, which had so far shown a good deal of courage, -in face of one of the most terrifying agencies in the world,--an -angry mob,--began to show evidence of panic. A threat to human life, -even their own, seemed to them less horrible than this danger to -the existing order of society. The right of property--not their own -property, but the divine right of property in general--seemed worth -defending at great cost. A babel of voices arose, out of which Mr. -McFarlane's soared like a lark: - -"I did, I did," he was saying. "I used to help my father pick the beets -and the rose-bugs. My father was a gardener. This lady"--indicating -Mrs. Grey--"knows that what I say is true. My father was her father's -gardener." - -"Is this true?" asked the delegate. - -"Yes," answered Mrs. Grey, "and a very coarse, uneducated man too, as I -remember him." - -"Thank you--oh, thank you," said Mr. McFarlane warmly; and his wife, -raising her tiara-ed head, added: - -"Yes, and as a girl I used to take in plain--" - -"Hush, Maria!" said her husband. "It is unnecessary. A wife always -takes the rank of her husband in any society." - -Mrs. McFarlane caught the idea at once, and leaning back with folded -hands, she looked about patronizingly on those whose position under the -new order was less solidly founded than her own. - -The complete success of Mr. McFarlane pointed the way to others, whose -training had made them quick to learn new methods of pleasing--when -they wanted to please. In a few minutes astounding revelations had been -made on all sides. Mr. Lossing, the haughty and exclusive Mr. Lossing, -confessed, or rather he loudly and repeatedly asserted, that he had -long been secretly married to his cook--than whom, he insisted, no one -was a more persistent and skillful manual worker. Mr. Barnsell, who had -always seemed to live remarkably well on the proceeds of a somewhat -tenuous law-practice, pleaded for publicity for the fact that his -father had kept a tailor's shop--and he offered to produce photographs -in proof of his statement. - -"Did you ever work in this shop?" asked the delegate. - -"I'm afraid not," answered Mr. Barnsell reluctantly. "My mother,--you -know how petty women are about class distinctions,--she wanted me to -rise in the world--" - -"_Rise!_" exclaimed the delegate haughtily. "You are untrue to your -class, sir." - -"Perhaps--a little," murmured Mr. Barnsell meekly. - -"But we will pass you," said the delegate, "for the sake of your -father." - -By a somewhat unexpected application of Bolshevist principles, the -delegate exempted members of the military and naval services, and -visiting foreigners, from any examination. He showed a tendency -also to pass over Mrs. Grey, although she kept asserting that none -of her ancestors had ever done anything useful. "Unless," she added -thoughtfully, "Lionel Grey, whom they sent to the Tower for a day or -two in 1673 for killing his valet. He may have had to sweep out his -room. And I have a son," she added more loudly, "who is just as bad." - -"You mean your son does not work?" said the delegate, as if he felt the -statement so unlikely that he was ready to contradict it. - -"I shouldn't call him usefully employed at this moment," replied the -old lady. "Would you like me to describe what he is doing?" - -"Be silent, madam," said the delegate, and turned hastily away to the -examination of the Torby family. - -Asked rather roughly what he had to say for himself, Mr. Torby rose. -"I have to say," he began, "that I agree with my friend Mr. Barnsell, -that this whole movement is extremely un-American. This country is a -democracy--our forefathers died to make it so; and for you to attempt -to introduce all these dangerous ideas of class antagonism is opposed -to all the ideals of the founders of this nation. There are no class -distinctions in America. I may rise today, and you tomorrow--or you -might have, if you had not cast in your lot with these lawless rascals -who all will end in jail. Take the example of Mr. Barnsell here--proud -to own his father's trade." (Mr. Barnsell tried to oblige with a proud -look.) "And I too--my father was a farmer. He tilled the soil with his -own hands. That, ladies and gentlemen, is America." - -"Ah, that's easy to say," replied the delegate, strangely unimpressed -by an oration that had drawn tears to Mr. Barnsell's eyes. "It's -easy to say that your father was a farmer, but can you prove it? -Only yesterday I saw an interview with you in our capitalistic press -on the occasion of your being elected president of one of these -aristocratic social clubs,--which the people will raze to the ground -immediately,--and this interview stated on your own authority that -yours was one of the oldest and idlest families in this country." - -"The reporter misunderstood me," said Mr. Torby with the firmness of a -man whose public life has made him long familiar with the phrase. - -Trevillian Torby sprang to his feet. "Father," he said pleadingly, "let -me go upstairs and bring down Grandfather." - -"Goodness," exclaimed Mrs. Grey, "don't tell me that the original -Ephraim is still alive!" - -"My father-in-law is very old," murmured Mrs. Torby faintly. "He shuns -society." - -For the first time since the entrance of the People's delegate, the -interest of the company turned from him and rested on the door through -which Trevillian had departed. The idea that the great Ephraim--the -founder of the colossal Torby fortune, the ancestor who had become -almost a myth--was not only alive but living somewhere in the top of -the palace which his money had built, was an overwhelming surprise to -everyone. Everyone began calculating what his age must be, and having -reached the conclusion that he was well over eighty, they were prepared -to see Trevillian lead, wheel, or even carry him into the room; but the -reality was very different. - -Ephraim Torby strode in ahead of his grandson. He was tall, over six -feet, and the long plum-colored dressing-gown he was wearing made him -look taller. The whiskers, which he wore in accordance with the fashion -of his youth, gave to his shaven upper lip an added expression of -shrewd humor. A slight smile wrinkled the upper part of his face, and -his bright black eyes twinkled. From the moment he entered the room, -the situation was in his hands. - -"Well," he said in a leisurely tone, addressing the delegate, "what's -all this about?" - -The delegate in a few words, made less fluent by the fact that the old -man had put on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and was now studying -the delegate in detail, explained the principles of the Bolshevist -movement, and the relation of these principles to the present company. - -"Foolishness!" said the old man. "For the land's sake, what are clever -fellars like you doing wasting your time fighting these folks?" And he -waved his hand toward the dinner-table. "Ain't you got sense enough to -see that you're jest the same--jest the same? Both against justice and -law and order--both discontented-- Oh, yes, Bill, you are discontented, -and Trevillian too. They don't get any fun out of life--not out of -spending the money I had such a heap of fun making. And you'll find, -young fellar," he added to the delegate, "that there's only two kinds -of folks worth fussing over in this world--them that enjoys life, and -them that would jest as lief jump off the bridge tomorrow. You're both -discontented, and you're both narrer: you can't see anybody's interest -but your own, and you're both as selfish as the dickens--want to run -the world jest for the sake of your own folks. Why, you two ought to -be able to get together. But the fellars who are going to beat you -both--and you're going to be beaten--is the fellars with a cheap car -and a couple of acres, or a three-room flat, who are having too good -a time out of it to let you bust it up. And you'll never get past -them--never in your lifetime, young fellar." - -"We've got a good way already," said the delegate. - -"Oh, maybe, maybe," answered the old man. "And I presume you're -having a good time out of trying--and if you want any advice about -organization, you might drop in to see me some afternoon, when Bill -is out. You can't tell; I might even want to subscribe to your -campaign-fund--" - -"Father," said William Torby, displaying more feeling than at any time -during the evening, "that would be being untrue to your class." - -"Why, Trevillian was just a-telling me, Bill, that you said there were -no classes in America," answered his father. - -In the slight pause that followed, Mrs. Grey rose, and approaching -Ephraim, she said in her most gracious manner--and that was very -gracious: - -"Do come over and sit down, Mr. Torby. I should like so much to talk to -you." - -But the People's delegate interfered. "No, madam," he said fiercely. -"As you have shown no connection whatsoever with the proletariat, I -must trouble you to come with me." - -Mrs. Grey nodded at the terrified company. "Good night," she said. -"Such a pleasant evening! Do ask me again sometime, dear Mrs. Torby." -And then she added to the delegate: "I insist on Miss Evington's -accompanying me. She's quite as bad in her own way as I am in mine." - -"No," shouted Trevillian. - -"Yes, we'll take her along," said the delegate; and the three left the -room hastily, taking the precaution to lock the door behind them. - -When safely in the taxicab, which Hewer had waiting for them, Miss -Evington said: "Oh, Dick, can you ever forgive me for having been a -little bit dazzled by those people?" - -"Well, Richard," said his mother, "I should think this would mean a -jail-sentence for you when it comes out. But I shall always think it -was well worth while, well worth while." - -"They'll never tell if we don't," said Richard confidently. - -"Perhaps not," said Mrs. Grey, settling back comfortably in her corner. -"I want to say this--not that I don't know that you are holding -Evalina's hand behind my back, and I should know it, even if I were as -blind as a bat, which I'm thankful to say I am not--I want to say that -I think I believe in democracy, after all. The only really interesting -and agreeable man there this evening, except yourself, my dear -Richard, was that delightful old farmer. Evidently the thing that makes -American society so dull is not the people they let in nowadays, as I -had always imagined, but the people they keep out. Yes, Richard, you -have converted me to democracy." - -But Richard and Evalina were not paying as much attention to this -philosophy as it undoubtedly deserved. - - - - -THE WIDOW'S MIGHT - - - Fifth: To my executors hereinafter named, or to such of them as - shall qualify, and the survivors of them, I give and bequeath - the sum of one million dollars ($1,000,000) in trust to hold, - invest and reinvest the same and to collect the income, issues - and profits thereof and pay over the whole of said income, issues - and profits, accruing from the date of my death, in semiannual - payments, less proper charges and expenses, to my wife, Doris - Helen Southgate, as long as she shall remain my widow; and upon - the death or remarriage of my said wife, I direct that the - principal of said trust shall be paid over to my sister, Antonia - Southgate, or in the event of her death-- - - -It was this fifth clause that Vincent Williams, the dead man's lawyer, -found himself considering as he drove uptown with a copy of the will in -his pocket. Was or was not a man justified in cutting his wife off in -case of her remarriage? After all, why should a fellow work hard all -his life to support his successor and perhaps his successor's children? -The absolute possession of a large fortune may be a definite danger to -a young woman of twenty-five. Yes, there was much to be said in favor -of such a provision; and yet, when he had said it all, Williams found -himself feeling as he had felt when he drew the will--that it was an -unwarranted insult, an ungracious gesture of possession from the grave. -He himself couldn't imagine making such a will; but then he had not -married a girl thirty-five years his junior. Southgate may have had a -vision of some pale, sleek-headed professional dancer, or dark-skinned -South European with a criminal record-- - -Williams was shocked to find he was thinking that the widow would -have a right even to such companions as these, if these were what she -wanted. He had no clew as to what she did want, for he had never seen -her, although he had been Southgate's lawyer for many years. Southgate, -since his marriage five years before, had spent most of his time at -Pasadena, although he always kept the house on Riverside open. - -It was toward this house that Williams was now driving. There was a -touch of the mausoleum about it--just the kind of house that a man who -had made his fortune in coffins ought to have owned. It was built of -cold, smooth graystone, and the door was wider at the bottom than at -the top, in the manner of an Egyptian tomb. You went down a few steps -into the hall, and Williams always half expected to hear a trapdoor -clang behind him and find that, Rhadames in the last act of Aïda, he -was walled up for good. - -Nichols, Southgate's old manservant, opened the door for him and -conducted him to the drawing-room, which ran across the front of the -house on the second story, with three windows, somewhat contracted by -stone decorations, which looked on the river. - -It was an ugly, pretentious room, done in the period of modern -satinwood, striped silks and small oil paintings in immense gold -frames. Over the mantelpiece hung a portrait of Southgate by Bonnat--a -fine, blatant picture, against a red background, of a man in a frock -coat with a square beard. - -The house was well constructed and the carpets were deep, so that -complete silence reigned. Williams walked to the middle window and -looked out. It was the end of February and a wild wind was blowing -across the Hudson, but even a ruffled dark gray river was more -agreeable to look at than the drawing-room. He stood staring out at -an empty freighter making her way slowly upstream to her anchorage, -until a rustling of new crape garments made him turn, as Miss Southgate -entered. - -She was tall--her brother had been tall too; nearly six feet; her face -was white as alabaster, and her hair, though she was nearly sixty, was -still jet black. Her mourning made her seem more majestic than ever, -though Williams would have said she could not possibly have been more -majestic than she had been the last time he saw her. - -His first impression was that she was alone, but a second later he -saw that she was followed by a tiny creature, who looked as much out -of scale beside Antonia as if the Creator had been experimenting in -different sizes of human beings and had somehow got the two sets mixed -up--a little blond-headed doll with eyes the color of Delft china. Miss -Southgate held out a solid hand, white as a camellia. "I don't think -you know my sister-in-law," she said in her deep voice. "A very old -friend of Alexander's, my dear--Mr. Williams." - -Williams smiled encouragingly in answer, assuming that anything so -small must be timid; but little Mrs. Southgate betrayed no symptom of -alarm. She bent her slender throat and sat down on the sofa beside -Antonia, with her hands, palms up, in her lap. She did it with a -certain crispness, like a good child doing what it has been taught as -exactly the right thing to do. She sat perfectly still; whereas Antonia -kept up a slow, magnificent undulation of shoulders and hips, as -Williams took the will out of his pocket. - -"You are familiar with the terms of the will?" he asked, scrupulously -including both ladies in the question. - -"Yes," said Antonia, "my brother discussed the will with me in -great detail before he made it, and I told Doris what you had said -to me yesterday after the funeral. I think she understands. You do -understand, my dear, don't you, that my brother left you the income of -his estate during your life?" - -Mrs. Southgate nodded, without the least change of expression. - -"During her life or until her remarriage," said Williams, giving the -word full weight. - -"I shall not remarry," said Mrs. Southgate in a quick, sweet, -whispering voice--the sort of voice which made everyone lean forward, -although it was perfectly audible. - -Antonia looked down at her sister-in-law and smiled, and Williams -recognized with surprise that she was obviously attached to the little -creature. He was surprised, because he knew that Miss Southgate had -disapproved of the marriage; and even if the marriage had been less -open to hostile criticism than it was, no one would expect a sister, -who had for many years been at the head of her brother's house and -a partner in his business, to welcome the intrusion of a young -blond-headed wife. It really spoke well for both women, he thought, -that they had managed to get on. - -He began to go over the will, paragraph by paragraph. In the sixteenth -clause it was stated that the jewels now in possession of Mrs. -Southgate, in especial a string of pearls and pigeon's-blood rubies, -were not to be regarded as gifts, but as part of the estate. He glanced -at the widow. - -"I suppose that was your understanding," he said. - -"I never thought about it," she answered. "If Alexander says so, of -course he knew what he meant." - -At this moment the door softly opened and Nichols appeared with -a visiting card on a salver, which he presented to Antonia. Miss -Southgate began feeling for her lorgnette. - -"We can see no one," she said reprovingly to Nichols; then as she found -her glasses and read the card, she added, "I never heard of such a -person. Is it for me?" - -"No, madam," said Nichols; "the gentleman asked for Mrs. Southgate." - -"Explain to him that we can see no one," said Antonia; and then, as -Nichols left the room, she decided as an afterthought to give the card -to her sister-in-law--merely for information, however, for the door had -already shut behind Nichols. - -As the little widow read the card she looked up with large, startled -eyes, which from having been light blue suddenly turned without any -warning at all to a deep, shiny black, and she colored until not only -her face and neck but even her tiny wrists were pink. It was really, -Williams thought, very interesting to watch; all the more because -Antonia, who was talking about a legacy to an old servant, was utterly -unaware of what was going on at her elbow. Mrs. Southgate had made no -muscular movement at all, except to turn her palms over, so that her -two hands were now domed above the visiting card. She sat quite still, -gazing into vacancy and obviously not hearing a single word that was -said. - -But half an hour later, when Williams stood up to go, she came back to -life, and said to him without the least preamble, "You did not tell me -what would happen if I did remarry." - -Antonia turned the full front of her majesty upon her sister-in-law, -and said, "You would lose the name of Southgate." - -"I am glad you asked that question," said Williams. "You ought to -understand exactly what your situation is. In the event of your -remarriage, you would have an income from another small fund--amounting -to about forty-five hundred dollars a year, I should think." - -She nodded thoughtfully; and Antonia, laying her hand on her shoulder, -said gently: "Now I have still a few family matters to discuss with Mr. -Williams; but you need not wait, if you want to finish your letters, -although we shall be very glad to have you with us if you wish to stay." - -It was clear to Williams that she did not wish to stay. She held out -her hand to him--thin and narrow, but as strong as steel--gave him a -smile and left the room. She always had a little difficulty, like a -child, with the handle of a door. - -Williams and Miss Southgate smiled at each other, and he expressed a -common thought as he said, "If I met Mrs. Southgate unexpectedly in the -woods, I shouldn't need any photographs to make me believe in fairies." - -"She's a dear little thing," said Antonia as she seated herself again, -rather heavily. "Very intelligent in some ways, but in business -matters--almost a case of arrested development. My brother never even -gave her the trouble of signing a check." - -"He just paid her bills?" - -"She had very few. She has never been extravagant. She seems to have no -wishes at all. I often hope that she will learn to assert herself more -as she grows older." - -Williams doubted if Miss Southgate would enjoy the realization of this -hope, but he only said, "An income of fifty thousand is apt to increase -human assertiveness." - -"I sincerely hope so," said Miss Southgate. "It's a great care, Mr. -Williams, and no special pleasure to find yourself obliged to direct -every action, almost every thought, of another person's life. What I -wanted to say to you was that I think you had better consult me about -all the business details. You see how little grasp she has of them. My -brother never discussed anything of the kind with her. He was more like -a father than a husband--thirty-five years' difference in age--" - -Miss Southgate shook her head. - -"And yet," said Williams, "the marriage turned out well, wouldn't you -say?" - -Antonia's fine arched black brows went up in doubt. - -"It hadn't the disadvantages you ordinarily expect from such -marriages," she answered. "She did not run about flirting with young -men or spending my brother's money foolishly. On the other hand, she -did not introduce any of that gayety and youth into his daily life, any -of that humor and high spirits-- She is a curious little person, good -as gold, but not vital, not alive." - -Williams went away wondering. Corpses don't blush like that, he -thought. The wind had died down as the sun set; and now, with a red -sky over the Palisades, the Riverside was not a bad place for a walk. -He strolled southward, trying to remember, now that he had seen Doris -Helen Southgate in the flesh, all that he had heard about her in the -days when she was only a name--the folly of an otherwise shrewd client. - -He thought he remembered that she was some relation to the clergyman of -the Southgates' church--an orphan trying to support herself by one of -those extremely ill-paid occupations which are considered ladylike. He -thought she had come to the Southgate house to read to Antonia during -a temporary affliction of the eyes. Before he had seen her he had -thought of her as a serpent, insinuating herself into the household and -then coiling herself so firmly that she could never be driven out; but -now it seemed to him more as if a kitten had strayed into that great -mausoleum and had been shut up there for life. - -He remembered a frequent phrase of Southgate's, which he had never -noticed much at the time: "Yes, I read it with great interest--at -least my wife read it to me." He had been fond of being read aloud to, -especially at night, when he couldn't sleep. Williams wondered whether -Doris Helen had spent six years reading aloud--above the rustling of -the avenue of palms at Pasadena, above the rattle of the private car -as they went back and forth and across the continent. Mercy, it was -no wonder she wasn't much alive. And Southgate had never given her -the trouble of signing a check, hadn't he? Well, that was one way to -put it. No, of course, he said to himself, he did not want to see the -little widow break loose--to hear that she was gambling at Monte Carlo -or being robbed of her jewels at some café on the Left Bank; but he -would have been glad to see her acting on the emotion that had turned -her eyes so black that afternoon. - -Although he went to the house several times again in the course of the -next few days, he did not see Mrs. Southgate. She was always engaged -with the correspondence which had resulted from her husband's death. - -"She writes a very nice letter, if I give her a general idea of what -ought to be said," Antonia had explained to Williams. - -One afternoon about a month after Southgate's death, as Williams was -leaving his office in Nassau Street, a card was brought to him. He did -not know the name, and he sent word that he was just going home. If the -gentleman could give him some idea-- - -Word came back that the gentleman was an old friend of Mrs. Southgate. -Then Williams knew that he was holding in his hand the mate of the -card that Doris Helen had pressed down upon her lap so tenderly that -afternoon. The name was Dominic Hale. - -Even Antonia could not have complained of lack of vitality in the young -man who presently walked into Williams' private office. There was -something vigorous about the way he was built, the way he moved, the -way his thick brown hair grew, like a close dark cap on his head. He -spoke at once. - -"I wanted to see you, Mr. Williams, as a friend of Mrs. Southgate's. -You are a friend, aren't you?" - -"Yes," said Williams, speaking as a man; and then added as a lawyer, -"Though I must confess I have seen her only once in my life." - -"My goodness!" said Hale, with a shake of his head, "I never knew of -such a thing! I can't find that anyone has seen her more than once or -twice in the course of the last five years. Wasn't she allowed friends?" - -"Perhaps she did not want any." - -Hale gave what in a tiger would have been a growl, but which in a man -was merely a sound expressing complete disagreement. - -"A girl of twenty-five--" he said; and added without pause, "Mr. -Williams, I want to marry Mrs. Southgate." - -The exclamation "Good!" which rose to Williams' lips was suppressed in -favor of "I see." Then he went on, "And does she want to marry you?" - -"She says not." - -"But does not convince you of her sincerity?" - -"Well, she said not in just the same tone seven years ago, when we -became engaged." - -"Oh, you and she were engaged before her marriage?" - -"Yes, we called it that. We had no possible prospect of ever getting -married. Then just before I went abroad to study--" - -"And may I ask what it was you went abroad to study, Mr. Hale?" - -The young man looked at him a moment in surprise before he answered, -"Painting. I'm Dominic Hale." - -Williams shook his head. - -"Ought I to know?" - -Hale laughed. - -"You perfectly well might," he said. "Doris broke our engagement before -I went. We did not part in a very friendly spirit." - -"I see. She had already decided--" - -"Oh, no! This was months before she went to the Southgates. She thought -it was wrong for us to be tangled up with each other so hopelessly. It -made me furious. She was so firm and clear about-- She has a will of -iron, that girl." - -This last statement interested Williams almost more than anything Hale -had said, for he suddenly appreciated the fact that he himself had had -the same impression of the widow. - -"Miss Southgate finds her almost too pliable and docile," he said. - -"Then," answered Hale, "Miss Southgate has never tried to make her do -something she did not want to. Oh, she's not petty--Doris! She'll drift -quietly along with the stream, until something which makes a difference -to her comes along, and then--" - -He wagged his head, compressing his lips in thought. - -"I don't see exactly how I can help you in the matter--if she thinks -she does not want to marry you, and she has an iron will." - -"I don't want help; I want advice," said Hale. "I think she cares about -me, but how much? If she really loves me, losing the fortune makes -no difference. But if she doesn't--if she's just fond of me as an old -friend--can I urge her to give up a million for the fun of being poor -with me?" - -"Does it occur to you," asked Williams--"I don't want to say anything -painful, but we must face facts--that she might love you a great deal -and yet hesitate to give up the income from a million?" - -"Of course it has occurred to me," answered Hale, "and if I thought it -was true I'd kidnap her." - -"Well, of course, you can't do that," said the lawyer; but his tone -seemed to admit it wouldn't be a bad thing to do. - -He was surprised after his visitor had left to find how sincerely he -hoped that Hale would succeed in marrying the little widow. He owned -that he himself would not give up a million for any romance in the -world; but then he was a middle-aged man who had lived his life, not a -pretty young woman who had spent five years of her youth almost as an -upper servant. - -She ought, he thought, to be unafraid of the adventure of poverty; -though he was obliged to confess that there was an element of -adventure, too, in spending a large income; an adventure which would -appeal more strongly to most people. Only, he thought, there wouldn't -be much joy in riches if one remained forever under the iron rule of -Antonia. - -Soon after this, that first day of spring arrived which always comes to -deceive New Yorkers sometime in March; that day when the air is warm -and the sky a pale even blue, and the north side of the street is dry -and clear and the south side still runs in slush and rivulets. Then -almost everyone does something foolish--from wearing thin clothes and -letting the furnace go out to mistakes of a more devastating sort. - -Williams, who was prudent by nature, did nothing worse than, in -returning from arguing a case in Jersey City, to take the ferry -instead of the tube. As he stood watching the boat for which he was -waiting bumping its way into its slip, his attention was attracted -by two people seated on the upper deck, with their elbows hooked -over the rail and their bent heads close together, evidently at that -delightful stage of intimacy when it is possible to talk--or rather -whisper--simultaneously without either one losing a single word of -what the other is saying. They showed no disposition to get off, no -realization even that the boat had reached the shore, though the -process of winding up the dock and letting down the drawbridges and -opening the gates is not a quiet one. They were simply going to and fro -on the river, for when the deck hand came to collect their fare it was -obviously a repeated performance. - -Williams had recognized Hale first, but the next second he had seen -that the diminutive figure in black could be no other than Doris Helen. -He did not disturb them, but from the window of the upper cabin he -watched them--rather wistfully. Now and then they seemed to be saying -something of the most serious importance, and, looking at each other in -the middle of a sentence, they would forget to complete it. At other -times they were evidently extremely frivolous, speaking with a manner -common to those a little drunk and those deeply in love, a manner as -if only they themselves could appreciate how deliciously ridiculous -they were. - -Williams was not much surprised the very next day to be called on -the telephone by Miss Southgate, who wished to see him at once. She -said she would come to his office, where they could talk without -interruption. - -She came. Her handsome alabaster mask was never allowed to express -emotion, but she undulated her vast shoulders more than usual. A young -man by the name of Hale--a painter--was coming every day to the house, -and that morning Doris had admitted that he wanted to marry her. - -"And my brother hardly a month in his grave!" said Miss Southgate, with -all the concentrated bitterness of Hamlet's first soliloquy. - -She was so deeply outraged by the idea that Williams did not dare point -out to her that she would profit by the marriage. There was something -noble about her utter indifference to this aspect of it, but there was -something bitter and egotistical in her anger against her sister-in-law -for daring to suggest the control of her own destiny. Williams -remembered having seen Antonia show the same ruthless, pitiless -bitterness toward a servant who had left her voluntarily. She regarded -it as an insult from an inferior. Yet in her emotion there was also the -wish to protect her brother's memory. - -"It will make my brother ridiculous--an old man's widow," she said. -"It was bad enough when he married her, but he and I together managed -to keep the marriage on a dignified plane. No one could have found -anything to laugh at during his life; and now he is dead, after all -his kindness and generosity to her, she shall not insult his memory." - -"But has she any idea of doing it?" asked Williams. "There is a pretty -heavy weight on the other side of the scale." - -Miss Southgate clenched her hands. - -"I don't know," she said, as if that were extraordinary enough. "I -can't read her mind. She says not, and yet she sees him every day." - -Williams shook his head. - -"She won't do it," he said, and fortunately Miss Southgate did not -catch the note of regret in his voice. - -He promised to come and dine alone with the two women that evening. -He found the little widow more alive than before, more prone to smile -and talk, but no less docile in her attitude toward Antonia. There -was nothing of the rebel about her, no hint that she was preparing to -defy the lightning. And Williams admitted, as he saw the violence of -Antonia's determination that the marriage should not take place, that -a great deal of courage would be required. As he walked away from the -house that evening he said to himself that if he were Hale he would -kidnap her and take his chances of happiness. - -A day or so later, a jubilant though black-bordered note from Miss -Southgate announced that the decision had been made. - -"Doris has promised me that she will not marry this man, or any other, -without my consent. She is to see him this afternoon at four. I should -like you to be with me then, in case he makes a scene at his final -dismissal." - -Well, Williams said to himself, he was a lawyer; he had seen a good -deal of life; he had always known that that was the way the thing would -end. But how pitiful and how stupid! He thought of the ferryboat plying -unnoticed from one bank of the Hudson to the other. Did Doris Helen -suppose she would duplicate that afternoon for a million dollars? - -He went punctually at four, and was ushered into the back drawing-room. -The terrible room across the front of the house was already occupied -by the parting lovers, where presumably the portrait of Alexander -Southgate was dominating their farewells. - -Antonia received him with a manner of calm triumph, unshadowed by the -least doubt that her sister-in-law would keep her word. But after about -an hour a silence fell upon her, and Williams became aware that she was -listening with increasing eagerness for the sound of the opening of the -front drawing-room door. At last she rose to her feet. - -"This is unbearable," she said. - -"An hour isn't so very long," he returned, "for two people who love -each other to take an eternal good-by." - -"It's over two hours," said Antonia. "And she had nothing to say to him -but no." - -A suspicion suddenly came to Williams that perhaps the other room was -empty, that perhaps Hale had been driven to the alternative of carrying -her off. He sprang to his feet. - -"Just wait here," he said to Antonia. - -The hallway between the two rooms was in shadow. As he stepped into -it, the door of the front room opened and Doris and Hale came out of -it together. They did not see Williams, for they both turned at once -toward the staircase, Hale in order to descend it and Doris leaning on -the balustrade, raising her shoulders and almost taking her feet off -the ground. Their manner was not that of people who have parted forever. - -"There isn't another woman in the world would make such a sacrifice for -a fellow like me," Hale said. Williams could not see the smile she gave -him, but it must have been potent. He took her in his arms, wrenched -himself away, walked down about three steps, turned and walked up them -again, kissed her a second time--a good satisfactory hug, and then -exclaiming, "I can't bear to go," bounded down the stairs and was gone. -The front door banged behind him, and Doris Helen lifted her hands from -the balustrade. She hardly noticed Williams as he opened the door. - -Antonia was still standing. - -"Well, Doris," she said as the younger woman entered, and the tone of -her voice was deep and bell-like. - -Doris sat down on the edge of the sofa--she always sat on the edge of -her chair so that her feet could touch the ground. Her hands, folded as -usual in her lap, were perfectly quiet, yet something in the way her -eyes darted from point to point made Williams feel that she was nervous. - -"Well," he said briskly, "what did you decide?" - -She looked at him wonderingly. - -"I promised Antonia I would not marry without her consent. I shall keep -my word, of course." - -Her sister-in-law held out a hand to her, and with the other covered -her eyes. - -"Thank God!" she said. - -Williams looked at the widow. Obviously she was deceiving either Hale -or Antonia. That was no rejected lover who had just left the house. -He speculated how the drama was going to unfold. There was no special -purpose in deceiving Antonia. If there was to be a marriage, she would -necessarily know it. - -Perhaps Doris Helen was one of those people who couldn't say -disagreeable things, but could write them. - -Miss Southgate removed her hand from her eyes. - -"And now," she said, "that nightmare is over, let us go back to -Pasadena and begin our work editing my brother's memoirs." - -Williams was aware of a certain bitter satisfaction in the thought that -such a life was about all the little creature deserved, but the little -creature was calmly shaking her head. - -"No," she was saying gently; "no, I'm not going back to Pasadena, -Antonia. I'm going to Spain." - -Her sister-in-law stared at her. - -"To Spain? But I don't want to go to Spain, Doris, and you can hardly -go alone." - -"I'm not going alone," answered Doris. "Mr. Hale is going with me." - -Thirty years of training at the bar barely saved Williams from laughing -aloud; the solution was so simple and so complete. The recollection -flashed through his mind of the daughter of a friend of his, who -when discovered in the act of smoking a cigar explained that she had -promised her mother never to smoke a cigarette. He took himself in -hand. The thing was serious and must be stopped. Evidently the word -"sacrifice" had applied not to the loss of an income of fifty thousand -dollars but to the resignation of the less tangible asset--reputation. -Miss Southgate was already rolling out a magnificent invective. Doris -Helen did not attempt to interrupt her. She sat still, with her eyes -raised with interested surprise to Antonia's angry face. Only once she -spoke. - -She said quietly, "No, not as my lover, Antonia--as my secretary." - -"And what difference does it make--what you call it?" - -"Antonia!" Mrs. Southgate's tone protested. "It makes a great deal of -difference what it is." - -Her sister-in-law felt the reproach. - -"I mean, no one will believe it, no one will care--the scandal will be -the same." - -Doris made gesture with her thin hands as if one couldn't go changing -all one's plans for every shred of gossip that drifted across the -horizon. - -"One only cares what one's friends say," she explained, "and I haven't -any friends--except you, Antonia." - -"Are you utterly indifferent to the name of an honorable man who was -your husband?" - -"While my husband lived I tried to do my duty to him," said Doris -firmly. "I gave my whole life to it, and my reward is that he tries to -reach out of the grave and prevent my having the normal freedom that -any woman of my age ought to have." - -Williams had only to look into her set little face to see that it was -hopeless to argue with her, but he had hopes of Hale. He had formed a -favorable opinion of the young man and simply did not believe he was a -party to any such plan. - -"I should like to have a talk with Hale," he said. - -"He's gone out of town," answered Doris. "He won't be back until a day -or two before we sail." - -Antonia gave a sound between a bleat and a whinny. - -"You're sailing on the same steamer?" - -"Of course--with my secretary." - -She left the room. - -In the course of the next few minutes Williams was surprised to -discover the words included in the vocabulary of so majestic a woman as -Antonia. There was nothing she did not call her sister-in-law, although -she ended each sentence with an assertion that she wouldn't really do -it. - -"I wouldn't count on that," said Williams. "Most people are restrained -by the opinion of their social group; but, as Mrs. Southgate says, she -doesn't seem to have any group." - -"Do you forget there is such a thing as a moral sense?" asked Antonia. - -"If you had listened attentively," he replied, "you would have gathered -as I did that there is nothing contrary to morals in this plan of your -sister-in-law's--a lack of convention, yes." - -"We will not allow it," said Antonia. - -It was Williams' duty to point out that persuasion was the only method -open to them. His sympathies were with the lovers, but he felt it his -duty to mention to Miss Southgate his conviction that the best way to -stop the whole thing was to send for Dominic Hale. - -"This is not Hale's plan," he said. "I am sure he would not stand for -it. If you send for him and have a talk you will find that he believes -they are going to be married before they sail." - -But Miss Southgate was too angry to listen to him. She tossed the -suggestion aside with the utmost contempt. - -"How can you be so innocent?" she exclaimed. "The whole plan is his. -Doris would never have the imagination to think of such a thing. She -has simply fallen into the hands of a designing man. She has no will of -her own. You are utterly mistaken." - -Well, perhaps he was; but he wanted to find Hale and have a talk with -him; but as he could find no trace of the young man, he was obliged to -content himself with an interview with Doris. He wanted to point out to -her that she was ruining Hale irretrievably. It was the sort of thing a -man could never live down. It would be said that he preferred to live -on the dead husband's money rather than to make the widow his wife. He -put it as badly as he could, but Doris was unshaken. She nodded her -head. - -"Yes, I know," she said. "No one will understand. He sacrifices his -reputation too--not any more than I do, Mr. Williams, though perhaps -not any less. We must learn to live without the world, but we can--we -shall have each other." - -Williams thumped his hand on his knee. - -"I can't believe it of him," he said. "Such a disgusting rôle! So -unmanly!" - -Doris smiled at him sadly. - -"Does it seem unmanly to you?" she said meditatively. "It seems to me -it wouldn't be manly to say no to a woman who loves him and has been as -unhappy as I have been." - -Yes, Williams could see that point of view too. Hale might say to -himself that a girl who had lived those years of self-abnegation had a -right to his love and Southgate's money, if she wanted them both; that -it wasn't his part to take a noble stand for which she must pay. There -was a certain nobility in not caring what the world said of him. - -And yet-- - -He tried one last argument. - -"Well, then for yourself; can't you see that it's contemptible to cling -so to a fortune? What's poverty, after all? You're young. Marry the -young man." - -She stared at him. - -"But, Mr. Williams," she said, "that's exactly what I promised Antonia -I wouldn't do." - -"Break your promise." - -She looked really shocked. - -"What a funny thing for you to say--a lawyer!" She shook her head. -"I never broke my word in all my life. Besides, Antonia says that -Alexander particularly disliked the idea of my remarriage." - -Williams thought this was too trifling. - -"You can hardly suppose," he said stiffly, "that you will be -fulfilling the wishes of your husband by going to Spain with a man to -whom you are not married." - -She raised her shoulders as if beset by inconsistencies. - -"What can I do?" - -"You can give up the whole thing." - -"Give up Dominic? No! I gave him up once because I thought it was -better for him. I don't think I'd do it again, even for that--certainly -not for anything else. I love him, Mr. Williams, and I'm of rather a -persistent sort of nature." - -Williams reported his failure to Antonia. He began to feel sorry for -Antonia. Her age, her previous power and, above all, her mere bulk -made it seem somehow humiliating that she could make no impression on -this calm, steely chit of a girl. He was struck, too, by the depth and -sincerity of her emotion. - -"Don't care so much, my dear Miss Southgate," he said. "You've done -your best to protect your brother's memory. Wash your hands of it all -and go back to California. Forget there ever was such a person." - -And then he saw what perhaps he had been stupid not to see before, that -under all Miss Southgate's anger and family pride was a more creditable -feeling--a love of Doris Helen, an almost maternal desire to protect -her. As soon as Williams understood this--and he did not understand for -some weeks--he advised compromise. - -"Offer her half the income and let her marry the fellow." - -Antonia's eyes flashed. - -"Let myself be blackmailed?" she said. "You admit they are trying to -blackmail me?" - -"I admit they are in the stronger position," said Williams, as if in -the experience of a lawyer it was pretty much the same thing. - -"I shall not yield--for her own sake," answered Antonia. - -In spite of the bitter issue between them the two women continued to -live in the same house, and to discuss with interest and sometimes with -affection all those endless daily details which two people who live -in the same house must discuss. It was the preparations for the trip -that finally drove Antonia to the wall: Doris' passport, her letter of -credit from Southgate's bank, and the trunks all marked with the name -of Southgate--"in red, with a bright-red band," Antonia explained to -Williams, "so that no one can fail to notice them." - -The final item was a dozen black-bordered pocket handkerchiefs. -Williams, coming in late one afternoon, at the time when the shops are -making their last delivery, found Antonia sobbing on the sofa and the -little widow erect and pale, with the small, flat, square box open -between them. - -He looked questioningly at Doris, and she answered, pointing to the -handkerchiefs, "It seems as if she did not want me to wear mourning. -But I can hardly go into colors when Alexander has been dead such a -short time." - -Antonia sobbed out without raising her head, "Can she go careering -about Europe in widow's mourning with that dreadful young man in bright -colours?" - -"Dominic's clothes are not bright," said Doris gently. - -"They're not black like yours," returned Antonia. - -The widow looked up at Williams. - -"I don't think it's necessary for Dominic to wear black for my -husband," she said, as one open to reason. "One puts one's footman in -black, but not one's secretary." - -At that terrible word "secretary" Antonia gave way. - -"I can't let her do it!" she wailed. "In crape and he in colors--at -hotels! Oh, Doris, it's horrible--what you're doing, but I must save -you from utter ruin! I will make proper legal arrangements to give you -half the income from the estate, and you can marry this--this person." - -She covered her large statuesque face with her large white hands. Doris -patted the heaving shoulder, but she did not leap at the offer. For an -instant Williams thought she was going to bargain. She was, but not for -money. - -"Antonia, it's very kind of you," she said; "but I don't see how I -could take your money--money which at least legally would have become -yours--to do something that you hated." - -"You can't expect me to approve of your marriage." - -"If you don't, I won't do it," said Doris. "I'll just go--the way I -said." - -And on this she obstinately took her stand. Nor would she be content -with Antonia's cry that she disapproved less of marriage than of this -other horrible immoral plan. - -"There was nothing immoral in my plan," answered Doris proudly, "and I -cannot let you say so." - -She insisted on being approved, and at length Antonia approved of -her--or said she did. And so the papers were drawn up and signed, -and the arrangements for the wedding went forward, and at last Hale -returned. - -Williams had been waiting eagerly for this. He was more curious than -he had ever been in his life. His whole estimate of his own judgment -of men was at stake. Did Hale know, or didn't he? Five minutes alone -with the young artist would tell him, but those five minutes were -hard to get; Doris Helen was always there. Even when Williams made an -appointment with Hale at his office, the young widow was with him. - -They were married early one morning, and their vessel was to sail at -noon. Then at last, while Doris was changing her clothes, Hale was left -alone in the front drawing-room with Antonia and the lawyer. Antonia, -who still clung to her belief that her sister-in-law was an innocent -instrument in the hands of a wicked man, would not speak to Hale, but -sat erect, with her eyes fixed on her brother's portrait. It was Hale -who opened the conversation. - -"Miss Southgate," he said, with his engaging energy, "I can understand -you don't like me much for taking Doris away, but I do hope you'll let -me tell you how nobly I think you have behaved." - -Antonia stared at him as if in her emptied safe she had discovered a -bread-and-butter letter from the burglar. Then without an articulated -word she rose and swept out of the room. Hale sighed. - -"I do wish she didn't hate me so," he said. "Doris tells me she says -she approves of our marriage, but she doesn't behave as if she did." - -"At least," said Williams, "she made it possible." - -Hale took him up quickly. - -"Not a bit of it. It was settled quite irrespective of her--that day -when you saw me kiss Doris in the hall. It was all arranged then; only, -of course, we thought we were going to be hard up. I shall never forget -that, Mr. Williams--that Doris was willing to give up that enormous -income for me." - -"Was she?" said Williams. And as Hale nodded to himself he went on, -"Why did you go away like that for a month?" - -"Doris wanted me to," he answered. "She thought it was only fair to -Miss Southgate. I felt perfectly safe. I had her promise, and she -thought she might bring Miss Southgate round to approving of the -marriage. I never thought she'd succeed; but, you see, she did. She's a -very remarkable woman, is Doris." - -"She is, indeed," said Williams cordially. - -Presently she came downstairs--the very remarkable woman--hand in hand -with Antonia, and she and Hale drove away to the steamer. - -Williams found himself holding Antonia's large, heavy, white hand. - -"I think you've been wonderful, Miss Southgate," he said. - -She wiped her eyes. - -"I did not want to make it impossible for her to come back," she said, -"when she finds that man out." - -The lawyer did not answer, for it was his opinion that if there was to -be any finding out it would be done by Hale. - - - - -WHOSE PETARD WAS IT? - - -Aunt Georgy Hadley was rather unpopular with her own generation -because she did not think the younger one so terrible. "I can't see," -she insisted, "that they are so different from what we were." For -an unmarried lady of forty to admit that she had ever had anything -in common with the young people of the present day shocked her -contemporaries. - -Aunt Georgy was a pale, plain, brilliant-eyed woman, who liked to -talk, to listen to other people talk, and to read. She simply hated -to do anything else. As a girl she had always said that the dream of -her life was to be bedridden; and so when, after she had ceased to be -young, she had broken her hip so badly as to make walking difficult -many people regarded it as a judgment from heaven. Georgy herself said -it was a triumph of mind over matter; she was now freed from all active -obligations, while it became the duty of her friends and relations to -come and sit beside her sofa and tell her the news, of which, since she -lived in a small town, there was always a great deal. - -Her two sisters, married and mothers both, differed with her most -violently about the younger generation. Her sister Fanny, who had -produced three robust, handsome members of the gang under discussion, -asked passionately, "Did we carry flasks to parties?" - -"How silly it would have been if we had, when it was always there -waiting for us," answered Georgy. - -Her sister Evelyn, who had produced one perfect flower--little -Evie--demanded, "Did we motor thirty miles at midnight to dance in -disreputable road houses?" - -"No," said Georgina, "because in our day we did not have motors; but we -did pretty well with the environment at our disposal. I remember that -Evelyn was once becalmed on the Sound all night in a catboat with a -young man, and Fanny was caught just stepping off to a masked ball in -the Garden, only--" - -"I was not," said Fanny, as one who slams the door in the face of an -unwelcome guest. - -"Imagine Georgy's mind being just a sink for all those old scandals!" -said Evelyn pleasantly, but without taking up the question of the truth -or falsity of the facts stated. - -Although Georgy was the youngest of the three Hadley sisters she, being -unmarried, had inherited the red-brick house in Maple Street. It had a -small grass plot in front--at least, it would have been a grass plot -if the roots of the two maple trees which stood in it had not long ago -come through the soil. There was, however, a nice old-fashioned garden -at the back of the house; and the sitting room looked out on this. Here -Aunt Georgy's sofa stood, beside the fire in winter and beside the -window in summer. The room was rather crowded with books and light blue -satin furniture, and steel engravings of Raphael Madonnas and the Death -of Saint Jerome; and over the mantelpiece hung a portrait by Sully of -Aunt Georgy's grandmother, looking, everyone said, exactly as little -Evie looked today. - -It was to the circle round the blue satin sofa that people came, -bearing news--from nieces and nephews fresh from some new atrocity, -to the mayor of the town, worried over the gift of a too costly -museum. Jefferson was the sort of town that bred news. In the first -place, it was old--Washington had stopped there on his way to or from -Philadelphia once--so it had magnificent old-fashioned ideals and -traditions to be violated, as they constantly were. In the second -place, it was near New York; most of the population commuted daily, -thus keeping in close touch with all the more dangerous features of -metropolitan life. And last, everyone had known everyone else since the -cradle, and most of them were related to one another. - -There was never any dearth of news, and everyone came to recount, not -to consult. Aunt Georgy did not like to be consulted. One presented -life to her as a narrative, not as a problem. There was no use in -asking her for advice, because she simply would not give it. - -"No," she would say, holding up a thin, rather bony hand, "I can't -advise you. I lose all the wonderful surge and excitement of your story -if I know I shall have to do something useful about it at the end. It's -like reading a book for review--quite destroys my pleasure, my sense of -drama." - -That was exactly what she conveyed to those who talked to her--a -sense of the drama, not of her life but of their own. The smallest -incident--the sort that most of one's friends don't even hear when it -is told to them--became so significant, so amusing when recounted to -Aunt Georgy that you went on and on--and told her things. - -Even her sisters, shocked as they constantly were by something they -described as "Georgy's disloyalty to the way we were all brought up," -told her everything. Step by step, the progress, or the decadence, by -which the customs of one generation change into the customs of the next -one was fought out by the three ladies, _née_ Hadley, at the side of -that blue satin sofa. - -It began with cigarettes for girls and the new dances for both sexes. -At that remote epoch none of the nieces and nephews were old enough -either to smoke or dance; so, although the line of the battle had been -the same--Fanny and Evelyn anti and Georgy pro--the battle itself had -not been so bitter and personal as it afterward became. - -The first time that Fanny's life was permanently blighted was when -Norma, her eldest child, was called out and publicly rebuked in dancing -school for shimmying. She wept--Fanny of course, not Norma, who didn't -mind at all--and said that she could never hold up her head again. But -she must have lifted it, for it was bowed every few months for many -years subsequently. Aunt Georgy at once sent for her niece and insisted -on having a private performance of the offensive dance, over which she -laughed heartily. It looked to her, she said, so much like the old -horse trying to shake off a horsefly. - -The next time that the social fabric in Jefferson tottered and Fanny's -head was again bowed was at the discovery that the younger set was not -wearing corsets. Fanny tiptoed over and shut the sitting-room door -before she breathed this bad news into her sister's ear. - -"None of them," she said. - -"But you wouldn't want the boys to, would you?" answered Georgy. - -Fanny explained that she meant the girls didn't. - -"Mercy!" exclaimed her sister. "We were all scolded because we did. -Elderly gentlemen used to write embarrassing articles about how we were -sacrificing the health of the next generation to our vanity, and how -the Venus de Milo was the ideal feminine figure; and now these girls -are just as much scolded--" - -"The worst of it is," said Fanny, rolling her eyes and not listening, -"that they take them off and leave them in the dressing room. They say -that at the Brownes' the other evening there was a pile that high." - -Still, in spite of her disapproval, Fanny's head was not so permanently -bowed this time, because every mother in Jefferson was in the same -situation. But craps struck Fanny a shrewder blow, because her child, -Norma, was a conspicuous offender here, whereas little Evie, her -sister's child, didn't care for craps. She said it wasn't amusing. - -In order to decide the point Aunt Georgy asked Norma to teach her the -game, and they were thus engaged when Mr. Gordon, the hollow-cheeked -young clergyman, came to pay his first parochial visit. He said he -wasn't at all shocked, and turned to Evie, who was sitting demurely -behind the tea table eager to give him a cup of Aunt Georgy's excellent -tea. - -There was something a little mid-Victorian about Evie, and the only -blot on Aunt Georgy's perfect liberalism was that in her heart she -preferred her to the more modern nieces. Evie parted her thick -light-brown hair in the middle and had a little pointed chin, like a -picture in an old annual or a flattered likeness of Queen Victoria as a -girl. She was small and decidedly pretty, though not a beauty like her -large, rollicking, black-haired cousin Norma. - -Norma's love affairs--if they were love affairs, and whether they were -or not was a topic often discussed about the blue satin sofa--were -carried on with the utmost candor. Suddenly one day it would become -evident that Norma was dancing, golfing, motoring with a new young man. -Everybody would report to Aunt Gregory the number of hours a day that -he and Norma spent together, and Aunt Gregory would say to Norma, "Are -you in love with him, Norma?" and Norma would answer "Yes" or "No" or -"I'm trying to find out." - -"There's no mystery about this generation," Fanny would say. - -"Why should there be?" Norma would say, and would stamp out again, and -would be heard hailing the young man of the minute, "We're considered -minus on romance, Bill"; and ten of them would get into a car intended -for four and drive away, looking like a basketful of puppies. - -But about little Evie's love affairs there was some mystery. Aunt -Georgy did not know that Evie had ever spoken to the mayor--a -middle-aged banker of great wealth--and yet one day when he came to -tell Miss Hadley about the museum he told her instead about how Evie -had refused to marry him, and how unhappy he was. The nice young -clergyman, too, who preached so interestingly and pleased the parish in -every detail, was thinking of getting himself transferred to a city in -California because the sight of an attentive but unattainable Evie in -the front pew every Sunday almost broke his heart. - -Aunt Georgy exonerated Evie from blame as far as the mayor was -concerned, but she wasn't so sure about the Reverend Mr. Gordon. - -"Evie," she said, "did you try to enmesh that nice-looking man of God?" - -Evie shook her head. - -"I don't get anywhere if I try, Aunt Georgy," she answered. "It has to -come of itself or not at all. If Norma sees a man she fancies she swims -out after him like a Newfoundland dog. But I have to sit on the shore -until the tide washes something up at my feet. I don't always like what -it washes up either." - -The simile amused Aunt Georgy, but the more she reflected the more she -doubted its accuracy. Those tides that washed things up--Evie had some -mysterious control of them, whether she knew it or not. Evie's method -and Norma's differed enormously in technic, but wasn't the elemental -aggression about the same? - -Life in Jefferson was never more interesting to Aunt Georgy than when -psychoanalysis swept over them. Of course, they had all known about -it, and read Freud, or articles about Freud; but the whole subject was -revived and made personal by the arrival of Lisburn. Lisburn was not -a doctor of medicine but of philosophy. He was an assistant professor -of psychology in a New York college. He had written his dissertation -on The Unconscious as Portrayed in Poetic Images. With an astonishing -erudition he brought all poetry from Homer to Edna St. Vincent Millay -into line with the new psychology. Besides this, he was an exceedingly -handsome young man--tall, dark, decided, and a trifle offhand and -contemptuous in his manner. What girl could ask more? Norma did not -ask a bit more. The moment she saw him she--in Evie's language--swam -out after him. She met him at dinner one evening, and the next day -her conversation was all about dreams and fixations and inhibitions. -Mothers began to assemble rapidly about the blue satin sofa. Craps had -been vulgar, the shimmy immoral, but this was the worst of all. - -"Georgy," said Fanny solemnly, "they go and sit on that young man's -piazza, and they talk about things--things which you and I did not know -existed, and if we did know they existed we did not know words for -them; and if we did know words for them we did not take the slightest -interest in them." - -"Then there can't be any harm in them," said Georgy, "because I'm sure -when we were girls we took an interest in everything there was any harm -in. But it sounds to me just like a new way of holding hands--like -palmistry in our day. You remember when you took up palmistry, Evelyn. -It made me so jealous to see you holding my young men's hands!" - -"It's not at all the same thing," answered Evelyn. "There was nothing -in palmistry that wasn't perfectly nice." - -"Oh, yes, there was," said Georgy. "There was that line, you know, -round the base of the two middle fingers. We all felt a little shocked -if we had it and a little disappointed if we hadn't." - -But her sisters were too much worried to be amused. Their children, -they said, were talking about things that could not be named. Fanny did -name them, however, and was grimly glad to see that even Georgy, the -liberal, reeled under the blow. - -She recovered enough to say, "Well, after all, is it so different? We -called people Puritans instead of saying that they had inhibitions. -We didn't say a boy had a fixation on the mother, but we called him -mother's little carpet knight. And as for dreams, Fanny, when a -young man told me he had a dream about me I did not need a doctor of -philosophy to tell me what that meant." - -Even Fanny was obliged to confess that her younger son Robert had been -cured of his incipient stammer after a few interviews with Lisburn. And -the young Carters, who, after three months of marriage, were confiding -to everyone their longing for divorce, had been reconciled. There was a -dream in this--about a large white gardenia--and there was an incident -connected with it--a girl in a florist's shop-- - -About this time the mayor, still worrying over the upkeep of the -museum, wanted some sort of entertainment given in order to raise -money. It was suggested that a lecture on psychoanalysis by Lisburn -would be popular. Norma was delegated to go and ask him--make him, was -the way the committee put it. Needless to say, she returned triumphant. - -Aunt Georgy was among the first to arrive at the town hall on the -evening the lecture took place. She had become curious about the young -man and wanted a front seat. She limped up the aisle, leaning on her -grandfather's heavy ivory-headed cane, with little Evie beside her. -Norma was busy taking--one might almost say snatching--tickets at the -door. It is a peculiar feature of modern life that so much time is -spent first in getting lecturers to consent to lecture and then in -drumming up an audience to hear them. But this time the audience was -not difficult to get. They came in crowds. - -The mayor opened the meeting. He was not a ready speaker, and the -sight of Evie, sitting so attentive in the front row, embarrassed him -hideously. He said a few panting words about the needs of the museum -and turned the meeting over to the Reverend Mr. Gordon, who was going -to introduce the speaker--who was going, in fact, to do a little bit -more than that. - -He advanced to the edge of the platform, looked down at Evie and -smiled--after all, he wasn't in the pulpit--folded his hands as if lawn -frills ought to have been dripping from them, and began: - -"It is my great pleasure and privilege to introduce the speaker of the -evening, although I myself am not at all in sympathy with the subject -about which--which--about which he--" - -Aunt Georgy had a second of agony. Could he avoid using the verb "to -speak"? It seemed impossible; but she underrated his mental agility. - -"--about which he is to make his interesting and instructive address." -Mr. Gordon pulled down his waistcoat with a slight gesture of triumph. -"The church," he continued, "has never been in very cordial sympathy -with what I may be permitted, perhaps, to call these lay miracle -workers." - -Here he threw a smile over his shoulder to Lisburn--a smile intended -to be friendly and reassuring; but as it had in it something acid and -scornful, it only served to make his words more hostile. "The church -endures," he went on, "and watches in each generation the rise and fall -of a new science, a new philosophy, a new panacea, a new popular fad -like this one." - -Having done what he could to discredit the lecture, he gave the -lecturer himself a flattering sentence: "A professor in one of our -great universities, a new resident in this community, and my very good -friend, Mr. Kenneth Lisburn." - -The Reverend Mr. Gordon had been standing between Aunt Georgy and the -speaker, so that she did not really get a good look at him until he -stood up. - -Then she said "Mercy!" in a hissing whisper in Evie's ear. - -"Mercy what?" asked little Evie, rather coldly. - -"So good-looking!" murmured Aunt Georgy. - -Evie moved her shoulders about. - -"Roughhewn," she whispered back. - -Perhaps his features were a trifle rugged; but Aunt Georgy admired his -hair--black as a crow under the bright though sometimes intermittent -light of the Jefferson Light and Power Company. His eyes--black -also--gleamed from deep sockets--"Like a rat's in a cave," Evie said. -Lecturing was evidently nothing of an adventure to him. It did not -embarrass him as it had embarrassed the mayor; it did not stimulate -him to an eloquence too suave and fluent as it did Mr. Gordon. It -created not the least change in his personality. He stood on the -platform as he swung in his chair in his college room, ready to say -what he had to say as simply and as clearly as he could. - -He wasn't so sure, he began, that his subject was popular. He found -most people enjoyed the exploration of other people's unconscious, not -of their own. In fact you could generally tell whether you were right -in a diagnosis or not by the passion with which the victim contradicted -you and the rapidity with which he invented explanations other than -the true one. He was not, however, going to talk about psychoanalysis -in general--rather too large a subject--with its relations to art and -medicine. He was going to talk about the simple, commonplace actions of -everyday life as clews to the unconscious--first, the so-called trivial -ones. Nothing is really trivial. The tunes we whistle, the songs we -sing, nine times out of ten have a wish-thought behind them. An amusing -case of this had come to him the other day. A man had consulted him -because he was being driven mad by a tune that ran in his head night -and day. It was the Funeral March of a Marionette. Well, when it turned -out that he was unhappily married and that his wife's name was Dolly -it wasn't very hard to see whose funeral it was that he was mentally -staging. - -Aunt Georgy was perfectly delighted. She saw that psychoanalysis was -going to make life in Jefferson infinitely more entertaining. The -sphere of gossip was so remarkably extended. In old times one could -only talk about what had been done, said or written; but now what was -dreamed, what was desired, and, best of all, what was entirely omitted -could be made as interesting as a crime. She wriggled down into her -chair with pleasure as he went on to take up the question of the types -that people fell in love with. Of course, we have all noticed how -people tend to fall in love again and again with the same type. The -spoiled weak son is forever looking for a mother type to take care of -him; the girl brought up under the domination of the father idea is -attracted by nothing but protective older types of men. - -Lisburn went on to describe such cases in greater detail so accurately -that all through the audience married couples were nodding to one -another and themselves. He described also a variant of this: How some -people always abused the type that attracted them most; the virile man -who is forever making fun of feminine weaknesses, the womanly woman -always taking on about man's wickedness; they're afraid of the black -magic they attack; they are trying to exorcise the spell-- - -As soon as the lecture was over, and while eager members of the -audience were crowding to the platform to discuss with the speaker the -cases of mysterious friends who had dreamed this and forgotten that, -Aunt Georgy beckoned to Norma. - -"Do," she said, "go and disentangle that interesting young man from his -votaries, or whatever they are, and bring him down to be introduced to -me." - -"It was interesting, wasn't it?" said Norma, with an effort at -detachment. - -"I can never be sufficiently grateful," answered Aunt Georgy. "It is so -satisfactory the way he lays the strictly virtuous open to attack--the -sort of people we've wanted to catch in a scandal and never been able -to." - -Norma nodded. - -"Oh, yes," she said, "Ken thinks people like that have a very foul -unconscious." - -Aunt Georgy gave a slight snort and asked Norma if she remembered the -Bab Ballad about: - - - _For only scoundrels dare to do_ - _What we consider just and true;_ - _And only good men do in fact,_ - _What we should think a dirty act._ - - -But Norma did not enjoy a humorous approach to a subject which she had -only recently made her own. She withdrew; frowning slightly, and saying -that she would try to get a word with him. - -"Oh, don't let's wait," said Evie after a few minutes, during which the -crowd on the platform increased. - -And so Aunt Georgy was led home by the mayor and her small niece -without getting a word with the speaker. But she was a determined -woman; and though Lisburn was a busy man, between lecturing at his -college in the daytime and conferences with mentally maladjusted in -Jefferson in the evening and giving a good many spare hours to Norma, -a free afternoon was finally found and Norma brought him to tea. -Little Evie, who happened to be spending a week or two with her aunt, -immediately announced her intention of being out. - -"I don't like that man," she said. - -Aunt Georgy, always eager for information, inquired why she didn't. - -Evie thought a long time, and then said, "Because he invades one's -private life." - -"Does Norma feel that way?" - -Little Evie laughed. "Norma hasn't got a private life," she answered. - -At five o'clock, when Aunt Georgy was settled on her blue sofa, with -her cane beside her and her tea set in front, Evie stole quietly out -of the back door into the garden as Norma and the seer entered at the -front. - -"Well, here he is, Aunt Georgy," Norma shouted from the threshold, as -if she had done a good deal for an elderly relation. - -He came in and shook hands, unruffled by Norma's introduction. - -"Where's Evie?" Norma went on in a tone rather like a sheriff's officer. - -"She was so sorry--she had an engagement," said Aunt Georgy, quite as -if it were true. - -Norma gave a short shout. - -"Oh, Ken knows she doesn't like him," she said; "and as a matter of -fact, he isn't very keen about her." - -Lisburn looked at Miss Hadley, not exactly embarrassed, but as if to -say that when you told a thing to Norma you told it to the whole world. -Aunt Georgy was interested in his not denying the accusation. She had -never before happened to meet a man who actually did not like Evie. - -"You don't admire my little niece?" she said, in her tone of seeking -information merely. - -"No," shouted Norma from the hearthrug. "He thinks she's too colorless, -too much tied up with inhibitions to be interesting." - -"Of course, I see your niece's great charm," he answered; "but, as -I said the other night, we all have our own type--the type that -particularly appeals--and I am attracted to a more active, aggressive -type." - -"That's why he likes me," said Norma, with her mouth not empty of -chocolate cake--"because I lead a great, free, ramping life. Isn't that -true, Ken?" - -"I'm sure it's true you lead a great, free, ramping life, Norma," said -her aunt. - -"Yes, and that's why I'm so healthy," answered Norma, and she danced a -little on her flat-heeled shoes. They were large shoes, but then, she -was a large woman. - -Aunt Georgy was surprised to find herself a partisan. It annoyed her to -hear her favorite niece dismissed as attractive to other men but not to -this reader of human hearts. - -She said almost pettishly, "Evie is healthy, too--one of the healthiest -people I ever knew." - -"I bet she has dreams," said Norma. - -"I doubt it." - -"Everybody dreams, Aunt Georgy," said Norma, really astonished at her -aunt's ignorance of the facts of life. "If you don't remember your -dreams, that only shows that they are so awful that you don't allow -them to come up into your conscious at all." - -Aunt Georgy was opening her mouth to contradict, but found that Lisburn -was speaking. - -"That's the theory, Miss Hadley," he said, less positively than Norma; -"that everyone dreams, and that our dreams represent our unfulfilled -and unacknowledged desires. A type like--like Miss--" - -"Like Evie," said Norma, a foe to last names. - -"That type," Lisburn went on--"so restrained, so inhibited, so what -is called well-bred, is particularly likely to have dreams and almost -certain to be unwilling to admit having them." - -He stopped as a slight sound at the door that led to the garden made -them all turn. Little Evie was standing there--had evidently been -standing there for some time. She had on a sky-blue dress, a large -childish hat and her arms were full of cherry blossoms. She looked more -than usually like a fashion plate of the '40's. - -Norma immediately shouted at her, "You do dream, don't you, Evie? Be -honest for once in your life." - -Aunt Georgy, who was herself an honest person, was aware of an utterly -unsuppressed wish that, whatever the facts were, Evie would say that -she had never had a dream in her life. Instead the girl, with her blue -eyes fixed on Lisburn, was nodding slowly. - -"I've begun to dream lately," she said in a low tone. - -Norma was delighted. - -"I knew it," she said. "I'd have bet on it. It's extraordinary how one -gets to know these things. Tell us what your dream is about, Evie." - -"Mercy!" exclaimed Aunt Georgy. "Isn't a person allowed more than one -dream nowadays?" - -Evie sank down on the sofa at her aunt's feet. - -"Mine's always the same," she murmured. - -"Ah," said Lisburn, "a recurrent dream." He looked at her with -interest. "Does it trouble you?" - -Evie made a cooing sound like a dove, in doubt. Norma began to tease -her to tell. Aunt Georgy thought she was tiresome, nagging and -bothering like that. She told her to let Evie alone. Norma shrugged her -shoulders. - -"It's so characteristic of that introverted type," she said, "not to be -willing to be frank enough to be cured." - -"Can one be cured?" asked Evie, and she raised her eyes to Lisburn. - -He was a busy man, and he had stood up to go. - -"I might--if it troubles you--be able to help you." - -"Even," said Evie, "though you are not interested in my type?" - -"Oh," cried Norma, "isn't that like you, Evie! You overheard the whole -thing, and instead of having it out then and there, as I should have, -you wait and give him a poisoned dig in the ribs when he's trying to be -nice to you." - -Evie repeated in exactly the same tone: "Even though you are not -interested in my type?" - -"I'm always interested in a case," he answered. - -They exchanged unfriendly looks. Then he came to the sofa to say -good-by to Aunt Georgy. She was rummaging for a pencil among the litter -of papers and books beside her. She wanted to write down the name of -his book, but he insisted very civilly on sending it to her. - -When he and Norma had gone Aunt Georgy turned to Evie. - -"I'm glad," she said, "that you did not tell them what your dream was -about. They would have been sure to make something horrid out of it." - -"I couldn't tell them." - -"You mean it is horrid?" - -"I hadn't made it up yet," answered Evie. "Dear Aunt Georgy, I never, -never dream. I'm always asleep before I get the covers well tucked in -at the nape of my neck, and I never wake up until someone comes in -and opens the shutters. Norma was so determined that I should have a -dream--perhaps she won't be so pleased. Mine is going to be a hard one -to interpret. Interested in cases, is he? Well, mine is going to be an -interesting one. Wait till we get his book." - -The book was left at the door after dinner, and Aunt Georgy plunged at -once into it. She habitually read as a famished animal eats, tearing -the heart out of a book, utterly oblivious of the world until she had -finished. At last she looked up. - -"Really, Evie," she exclaimed, "I'm afraid you can't get a dream out of -this. I'm not old-fashioned, but I must say--" She did not say what it -was she must say. - -Evie took the book calmly. - -"Of course, I shall be perfectly innocent as to what my dream means, -Aunt Georgy," she said. "Let's see. X, a young employe in a shoe -factory, dreamed-- My goodness, what an unpleasant man X must have -been! Now this isn't bad-- Or, no, that would involve mother. I -don't want to drag poor mother into it. Something wonderful might be -done with a tune--Old Black Joe, if only his name were Joe, which it -isn't.... And I shall begin to do a strange and apparently meaningless -thing--to have a compulsion. I mean--like buttering my bread on both -sides--" - -"Don't you think it's a little dangerous?" said Aunt Georgy. "They -interpret everything so oddly." - -"Yes, it's dangerous; but everything is. If you do nothing, that's the -worst of all." And Evie sank into the book. - -A few days later, when Lisburn reached home in the late afternoon, he -found a note waiting for him at his house. It was written in Evie's -neat, fine hand, and said: - - - _Dear Mr. Lisburn_: Do you remember offering to help me in case - the dream--of which I think I spoke to you--began to give me - trouble? I must say I hesitate to take up your time, as the whole - thing seems so trivial [Lisburn gave a little shake of his head, - an indication that such experiences were far from trivial] but it - would be a relief to me to talk it over with you, and I shall stop - at your house for a few minutes this evening on the chance that - you may have a spare minute. - - -He laid the letter on the table and eyed it sideways as he lit his -pipe. Then he went to the telephone and called up Norma. He said he was -sorry, but that he wouldn't be able to come that evening for bridge. -Norma, as she herself had observed, did not suffer from inhibitions. -Her emotions found easy expression, and her emotion on this occasion -was disappointment mingled with anger. She expressed it freely over -the telephone. Lisburn hung up the receiver sharply. Self-expression -was all very well, he thought; but there was such a thing as having no -self-control. It was necessary for him to have a calm and receptive -mind in order to be of any assistance to this child who was coming -to consult him. He must make a mental picture of her personality and -recall her gestures, her vocabulary. - -Soon after eight he heard her step on the piazza and went to the door -himself. She entered with that timid, conscious, apologetic manner -which had become so familiar to him in his patients. It seemed as if -she would have liked to make fun of herself for coming if only she had -been less frightened at finding herself there. The hand she gave him -shook. He drew forward a deep comfortable chair for her. - -"Now tell me everything you can think of," he said; "your own way; I -won't interrupt." - -She drew an uncertain breath. - -"Well, I didn't think anything about it--you know how casually I spoke -the other day--but now I find it is beginning to affect my conduct. -I find I cannot bring myself to get into an automobile. I have never -driven a car myself, but I have always enjoyed driving with other -people; but now-- This dream of mine is about a car." - -She described the dream at great length, though it was strangely -lacking in incident. It was merely that she was driving a small car of -her own--a very pretty white car with a good deal of blue about it. She -was driving along a wide street, and suddenly the car began to skid, -slowly at first and then faster and faster; and though her agony became -extreme and she turned the steering wheel more and more, she could do -nothing--the car made straight for the bushes, where some terrific but -unseen and unknown object was lurking. - -He made her go over the details of it two or three times. The shade -of blue was about the same shade as the dress she was wearing, but he -elicited very little more. She could not, she said, get any clew as to -what was hidden in the bushes, except that it was something she was -horribly afraid of. - -"And yet," he said, "you go toward it?" - -"Yes; but entirely against my will, Mr. Lisburn." - -"You're sure you go against your will?" - -Her voice was almost hysterical as she protested, "Yes--yes, indeed!" - -"And yet you go?" - -"No, Mr. Lisburn, the car goes." - -"Don't you think you and the car are the same?" - -She gave him a long wondering stare, and presently insisted that she -must go. She promised, however, that she would do everything in her -power to find out what was hidden in those sinister bushes. She was to -keep a pencil and paper beside her bed and write down everything she -could remember as soon as she waked up in the morning. - -She hurried home to tell Aunt Georgy all that had occurred and was -disappointed to find her aunt established at the bridge table with -Norma and two of Norma's friends. It seemed that Mr. Lisburn had been -expected as a fourth and they had been obliged to come to Aunt Georgy -at the last minute to make up the table. Norma was still angry. - -"They can't have it both ways--these psychoanalysts," Norma was saying. -"It's always a Freudian forgetting--a wish-thought--when you forget an -engagement with them, and something quite professional and unavoidable -when they break an engagement with you." - -"What Norma means, Evie," said Aunt Georgy, without raising her eyes -from the interesting hand which had just been dealt her, "is that she -suspects Mr. Lisburn of having had something more amusing to do." - -Evie shook her head as if you couldn't be sure with men like that. - -"Perhaps he had," she said. - -Then Aunt Georgy knew the interview had gone well. - -Three days later, not having heard anything more from her, he came -to the house late in the afternoon. He was in his own car, and he -suggested that perhaps he could help her to overcome her repugnance to -motoring. At first she refused with every appearance of terror; but -soon she admitted that with him she would feel perfectly safe, and so -she yielded and got in. - -She spoke little, and he could hear that she drew her breath in a -tremulous and disturbing manner. At last, in a lonely road, her terror -seemed to overmaster her, and she opened the door and would have sprung -out while the car was going thirty-five miles an hour if Lisburn had -not held her in. - -As soon as he had brought the car to a standstill he took his arm -away, while little Evie cowered in the seat beside him. - -"You see," she said at last, "how it is with me? If you had not been -there I should have jumped out and been killed. It's stronger than I -am." - -"I see," he answered gently. "Well, if it happens again I won't force -you to stay in the car. You shall get out and walk home." - -She thanked him warmly for his concession, but it did not happen again. - -After this they had conferences every evening, as her stay at Jefferson -was coming to an end, and she still did not seem to be able to see what -was the emotional center of her dream. - -The fact that Lisburn was trying to help little Evie soon began to be -known, and the knowledge affected different people differently. Norma -said that she should think Evie would be ashamed to take up so much of -Mr. Lisburn's time, considering how contemptuous she had been about -the whole science of psychoanalysis. The Reverend Mr. Gordon said -that he had never been in any doubt that the human spirit needed the -confessional, but that only a man in holy orders was fit to receive -confession. The mayor was a little more violent. He said that it -appeared to him that this fellow was practicing medicine without a -license, and that if the law could not reach him it ought to be able -to. He hoped it wasn't doing little Miss Evie any harm. Aunt Georgy -tried to reassure him, and said Evie seemed in the best of health and -spirits, at which the mayor, looking gloomier than ever, said he was -much relieved. Aunt Georgy had just been telling this to Evie as she -was about to start for her last conference. She was going away the next -day. - -"Have you decided what it is that is hidden in the bushes?" her aunt -asked her. - -Evie nodded. - -"Yes," she said; "it's a black panther--a beautiful, lithe, vigorous, -graceful, dangerous wild animal." - -"Mercy!" exclaimed Aunt Georgy. "He'll think it's himself." - -"Do you think he's a vain man, Aunt Georgy?" - -"Everyone's as vain as that." - -"Well, that isn't my fault," said Evie, and went on her way. - -Aunt Georgy shook her head. Life was often like that, she thought--a -woman despised a man for believing something that she had exercised all -her ingenuity to make him believe. - -Lisburn was on his feet when Evie entered, and as soon as he had seen -her settled in the deep chair he began to pace up and down; like a -panther, she thought, but did not say so; that would have been crude. - -"Well," he said, fixing his black eyes on her, "you've found out what -it is, haven't you?" - -She nodded. - -"You are clever," she answered. "I don't know what you'll make of -it--it sounds so silly." She looked up at him, rubbing the back of -one hand against the palm of the other. "It's--it's a panther; just a -beautiful black panther; a splendid, lithe, graceful, dangerous wild -animal." Even little Evie was susceptible at times to embarrassment, -and at this moment she could not endure the piercing stare of those -black eyes. She dropped her eyes modestly and murmured, "Oh, Mr. -Lisburn, do you think you can help me?" - -"I'm sure I can," he answered; "at least, I can if I may be perfectly -candid." - -Evie said that was all she asked--candor. - -"In that case--" said he. He walked to the door and leaned against it -as if the revelations he was about to make were such that she might -try to escape before she heard him out. "In that case," he repeated, -in that smooth, almost honeyed tone in which the psychoanalyst clothes -even the most shocking statements, "let me say that you are the most -phenomenal little liar, little Evie, that I have ever met--yes, among -all the many I have known I gladly hand you the palm." - -"Mr. Lisburn!" said Evie, but she was so much surprised and interested -that she did not do justice to her protest. - -"What makes me angry," he went on in his civil tone, "is that you -should imagine you could get away with it. However much of an ass you -may consider me, you ought to have known that there was enough in the -science of psychoanalysis to show from the very beginning that you were -a fraud." - -"Not from the beginning!" said Evie. - -"From the first evening. You haven't one single symptom of a person -with a neurosis--not one. If you knew a little bit more--pooh, if you -knew anything at all about the subject--" - -"I read your book," she answered, as if this put the blame on him. - -"Not very intelligently, then, or you would have done a better fraud." - -"You were willing to waste a lot of time on a fraud." - -"It hasn't been wasted. And that brings me to my second point. I will -now tell you what perhaps you don't know, and that is why you did it." - -"I know perfectly well, thank you," replied Evie. "I did it because you -were so poisonous about me that afternoon at Aunt Georgy's. I thought -I'd like to show you--" - -"That is a rationalization," he interrupted, waving it away with one -hand. "You did it because you are strongly attracted to me." - -"Attracted to you!" said Evie in a most offensive tone. - -"I am the panther in the bushes." - -Evie laughed contemptuously. - -"I knew you'd think you were the panther," she said; "I simply knew it." - -"Of course you did," he answered. "That's the very reason you dreamed -it." - -"But I didn't dream it," she returned triumphantly. "I thought you had -grasped that. I didn't dream it. I never dream." - -He was not triumphed over. - -"Well," he said, "you made it up; that's the same thing--a daydream, a -romance." - -"I made it up particularly in order to deceive you," Evie explained. - -"That's what you think," he answered; "but it isn't true. You made it -up in order to let me know you were attracted to me, for I repeat that -you are attracted to me." - -Little Evie sprang up from the deep chair in which she had sat at ease -during so many evening conferences. - -"You may repeat it until you are black in the face," she said; "but I'm -not, I'm not, I'm not!" - -"Don't you see that the emotion with which you repudiate the idea -proves that it's the truth?" - -An inspiration came to her. - -"Then why," she demanded--"the other afternoon when you explained -so much why you didn't like me--why doesn't that prove that you are -attracted to me?" - -"Little Evie," he said, "it does. That's the truth. You are almost -everything of which I disapprove in woman. I love you." - -He approached and took her in his arms. - -"I hate you," said Evie, in a tone too conversational to be impressive. - -He behaved as if she had not spoken. She drew away from him, though not -wholly out of the circle of his arms. - -"I don't think you can have understood me," she remarked coldly. "I -said I hated you." - -"I feel more sure of you than if you had said you loved me." - -"Then I'll say I love you." - -"Yes, dear, I know you do." - -She sighed. - -"You're not a very consistent man, are you?" she said. - -She spoke in a tone of remote philosophy, but she leaned her forehead -against his chest. - -When the story came out, as of course it was bound to do--for both Evie -and Lisburn seemed to think they had been rather clever about the whole -thing, and they told everybody--Fanny was deeply shocked. In fact, she -owned that if she had been Evie's mother she would never have held up -her head again. - -"To think," she said, "of Evie, who has always seemed so dignified and -well-bred and not of this generation at all--to think that she invented -the whole thing in order to attract Mr. Lisburn's attention!" - -"Fanny," said Aunt Georgy, "do you remember the first day you met your -present husband? You twisted your ankle just so that he might have to -carry you upstairs to your room. Well, my dear, you recovered entirely -as soon as he had gone, and walked all over everywhere. A strange young -man carried you in his arms, Fanny. If you ask me, I call the new -technique more delicate and modest than the old." - - - - -THE NEW STOICS - - -Mr. Brougham stood waiting in the wings. Never before had he made a -speech; never had he been upon a stage, except to sit safely with a -delegation, in a row, behind the ice-water pitcher. He had a small dry -patch in his throat which constant swallowing failed to improve, and -the tips of his fingers kept getting cold and very distant. He was -about to make a Liberty Loan speech, and he was suffering more than he -had expected; but, as he kept murmuring to himself, "_Dulce et decorum -est_." - -At twenty-eight he had volunteered among the first in the Spanish War, -and it had been no fault of his that he had never got any nearer the -front than Chattanooga. At forty-eight he could still speak for his -country--at least he hoped he could. How absurd to be nervous! This -was no time to be thinking of one's own feelings. He took out his -handkerchief and wiped the palms of his hands. "Well, Mr. Brougham," -said the loud bold voice of the local chairman, "shall we go on?" What -was one victim more or less to him in his insatiable campaign for -speakers? - -"By all means," answered Brougham in a tone which even in his own ears -sounded like that of a total stranger. - -His only conscious thought was grateful remembrance that his wife was -kept at the canteen that evening, and couldn't be in the audience, -which he found himself regarding as a hostile body waiting to devour -him. He sat trying to relax the muscles of his face during the -chairman's short address; and then the fatal sentence began: " ... the -great pleasure ... introduce ... so well known ... Mr. Walter Brougham, -who will say a few rousing words to you on this great subject." - -What a silly adjective "rousing" was, Brougham thought as he came -forward. He had no intention whatever of being rousing. He wondered if -he had the intention of being anything except absolutely silent. He -lifted the lid and looked into his mind as into an unexplored box. Was -there anything in it? Why, yes; rather to his surprise he found there -was. - -"My friends," he began, "this is no time for oratory." Hearty, and to -Brougham totally unexpected, applause greeted this sentiment. "This is -a time for cool, steady, clear-eyed vision." That was a mistake; of -course vision was clear-eyed. "This is a time to ask ourselves this -question: How is it that we hesitate to give our money, and yet stand -ready--every one of us--to give our lives and--harder still--our sons' -lives?" - -"Hear, hear!" cried a voice from the audience, fresh, young and -familiar. Brougham looked down; yes, there they were--his own two -boys, David, not eighteen, and Lawrence, hardly fifteen. Their blond, -well-brushed heads towered above the rest of the row and were easily -recognizable. He could see the expressions of their faces--cool, -serene, friendly approval. They're too damned philosophical, he said -to himself; and as he went on speaking, with all that was mortal in -him concentrated on his words, in some entirely different part of his -being a veil was suddenly lifted and he saw something that he had -been trying not to see for months--namely, that he was dissatisfied -with his elder son's attitude toward the war--it was cool; cool like -his approval of the speech. Not that Mr. Brougham wanted his son to -volunteer at his age--quite the contrary; he sincerely believed it was -every man's duty to wait until he had reached the age designated by -his country; but he did want the boy to want to volunteer. He wanted -to be able to say at the club as other fathers were saying: "What gets -into these young fellows? I've had to forbid my boy--" Perhaps if -his self-vision had been perfect he would have admitted that he had -sometimes said it. - -And then it occurred to him that this was the moment to stir their -hearts--to make one of those speeches which might not touch the -audience but which would inflame the patriotism of youth. Forgetting -his recent pledge he plunged into oratory--the inherited oratory of the -Fourth of July, he snatched up any adjectives as long as they came in -threes, called patriotism by name, and spoke of the flag as Old Glory. -Hurried on by his own warmth he reached his climax too soon, ended his -speech before the audience expected and began asking for subscriptions -before anyone was ready. - -There was an awkward silence. Then a young voice spoke up: "One -one-hundred-dollar bond." Yes, it was David. Mr. Brougham's heart -leaped with hope; had the boy been moved? Was this the first fruit -of repentance? He looked down, hoping to meet the upward glance of a -devotee, but David was whispering something to his younger brother -which made the latter giggle foolishly. - -The ball once set rolling went fast. Subscriptions poured in; it was -a successful evening--almost as successful as the evening made famous -by a great screen artist. Mr. Brougham was warmly congratulated by the -local chairman. - -"We shall call on you again, Brougham," he said gayly. - -Mr. Brougham nodded, but his thought was: Is nothing enough for these -fellows? - -His two boys were waiting for him at the stage door. "You're good, sir, -you're good!" they cried, patting him on the back. - -"I never thought he'd let them have it so mild," said Lawrence. - -Mr. Brougham did not mind being laughed at--at least he always said he -didn't--but he couldn't bear to have patriotism in any form held up to -ridicule. He thought to himself: - -"They don't know what it costs a man of my age to go on a stage and -make a speech. I don't enjoy making myself conspicuous." - -"We'll stop and get your mother at the canteen," he said sternly. - -"Oh, yes, this is mother's night for saving the country, isn't it?" -said Lawrence. - -"Did you know," said David to his brother, across his father's head, -for they were both taller than he, "did you know that a gob tipped -mother the other evening? So pleased with his coffee that he flicked -her a dime for herself." - -"Oh, you sailor-boys!" said Lawrence in a high falsetto. - -This was really more than Mr. Brougham could bear in his exalted state. -"I don't like that, boys," he said. - -"No, father," answered David; "but you know we never tipped mother; in -fact, it's always been quite the other way." - -"I mean I don't like your tone of ridicule, of--of--of--" He couldn't -think of the word he wanted, and felt conscious that David had it on -the tip of his tongue but was too tactful to interrupt. "You boys don't -seem to appreciate the sacrifice, the physical strain for a woman of -your mother's age--standing all evening handing out sandwiches--not -accustomed to hard work either." - -Both boys looked gravely ahead of them, and Mr. Brougham had a -sickening conviction they were both trying to think of something to say -that would calm him. - -The canteen was just closing, and the two boys made themselves useful -in putting things away. "Just as if it were a school picnic," their -father thought. - -As soon as they were on their way home Mrs. Brougham asked about the -speech. Had it gone well? - -"Oh, father was great, mother," David answered. "He took it from them -in wads, and presented Lawrence and me to his country with every bond." - -"A lady behind us was awfully affected," said Lawrence. "She kept -whispering that she understood the speaker had two lovely boys of his -own." - -"I could hardly keep Lawrence from telling her that she had not been -misinformed." - -Mr. Brougham sighed. This was not the tone of young men suddenly -roused to a new vision of patriotism. He said aloud: "I was glad you -felt financially able to take a bond yourself, David." - -"Oh, yes," answered his son. "I sold my boat yesterday." - -Mr. Brougham was not so Spartan a parent that he did not feel a pang to -think of the boy without his favorite pastime on this perhaps his last -summer. - -"Quite right," he said. "This is no year for pleasure boats." - -"You get a good price for boats this year," said David. - -There it was again--that note Mr. Brougham didn't like. Even if David's -motives had been financial and not patriotic he might have allowed -Lawrence to see an example of self-sacrifice. Instead Lawrence was -getting just like his brother. - -Brougham was not a man who habitually eased his burdens by casting them -on his wife, but that night when they went upstairs he took her into -his confidence. - -"Are you satisfied with David's attitude toward the war?" he began. - -She was a silent, deep woman whose actions always astonished those who -had no intuitive knowledge of the great general trends of her nature. -She and David usually understood each other fairly well. - -Now she shook her head. "No," she said. - -"Good Lord!" said poor Mr. Brougham. "I don't want the boy shot in a -trench. I think it's his duty to wait a year or two; but I can't see -that he has any enthusiasm, any eagerness, hardly any interest. He -seized the paper last evening, and I supposed that he wanted to read -about the offensive. Not at all! After a glance at the headlines he -turned to the baseball news. Do you understand him?" - -"No," said his mother. - -"At his age I should have been in this war, with or without my parents' -consent. Mind you, I don't want him in it--not for a year or two. But -why doesn't he want to get in? He's not a coward." - -"No," said his mother, and then she added: "I've thought a great deal -about it, and I think it's because he's so young--so immature." - -"Immature!" cried Mr. Brougham. "Why, he's always using words I don't -know the meaning of!" - -"Perhaps he doesn't either," said his wife. "That's immature, isn't it? -But I meant the immaturity of not seeing responsibilities--not taking -them up, at least. You see, my dear, he's very young--only a year out -of school. It's natural enough." - -"It's not natural at all," answered Mr. Brougham. "Just out of -school--school is the very place to learn patriotism--drilling and all -that--and I'm sure Granby is one of the most patriotic men I ever knew. -He inspires most of his boys. No, I don't understand. I shall speak to -David about his attitude." - -"Oh, don't! You'll have him enlisting to-morrow." - -"No; for I shall explain to him that he must wait." - -She smiled. "You're going to stir him up to want to do something which -you won't allow him to do. Is that sensible, dear?" - -It wasn't sensible, but--more important--it was inevitable. Mr. -Brougham, feeling as he did, could not be silent. He had always been -proud of his boys, had always assumed they were stuff to be proud of. -They had done decently in their lessons, well in their athletics. -What could a father ask more? Now for the first time he found himself -questioning his right to be proud, and the doubt was like poison in his -system. He must speak to his son. - -The difficulty of "speaking to" people is that we either take too -portentous a tone, and thus ruffle the minds we mean to impress, or -else that we speak so casually as to make no impression at all. Mr. -Brougham's leanings were all to the former manner, and recognizing -this weakness he made one more effort at the indirect attack. Hearing -that his nephew, a lieutenant of infantry, was about to sail, he sent -for him to come and dine. In his greeting of the young man he tried to -express his respect for the uniform, even when decorated by nothing -more than a gold bar. - -"I envy you, my boy," he said. "I remember how I felt when I first put -on those clothes in 1898--not that we can compare that war with this, -but the emotion is the same--the emotion is always the same. We all -envy you in this house." - -David looked rather impish. "Envy him!" he said. "And him such a bad -sailor!" - -At this Brougham's brows contracted, but the lieutenant smiled. - -"Yes," he said; "won't I wish I had stayed at home!" - -This sentiment would have shocked Mr. Brougham except that he believed -he recognized in it the decent Anglo-Saxon cloak of a profound -feeling--very different from David's cold inaction. - -As soon as dinner was over he left the boys alone and took a chair on -the piazza, from which he could watch the expressions of their faces. -They fell at once into a conversation of the deepest interest; so -interesting that they began to move their hands about in unaccustomed -gestures. Once David lifted his and brought it down with a sidewise -swoop. - -"That's it!" a voice rang out. "It's great!" - -Mr. Brougham felt justified in moving a little nearer. He then found -that the subject of discussion was jazz-band records for the phonograph. - -The next morning, looking out of his window early, he saw David in -his bathing suit trying, with a seriousness that might have drilled -a company, to teach a new handspring to Lawrence. And this made it -impossible for Mr. Brougham to be silent any longer. - -When David came back to the house, dressed, but with his hair still -dark and wet from his swim, his father stopped him. - -"Sit down a minute," he said. "I want to speak to you. I want you to -explain your attitude toward this war." - -This opening sentence, which he had thought of while the handsprings -were going on, would have been excellent if he could have given his son -time to answer it, but he couldn't; his emotions swept him on, and at -the end of five minutes he was still talking: - -"The Civil War was fought by boys your age or younger. I don't say -it was best, but it's the fact. And here you are--you've had every -advantage--of education, of luxury, of protection. Don't you care for -the traditions of your country? You're not a child any more. You're -old enough to understand that a hideous catastrophe has come upon the -world, and before long you must take your part in remedying it. What's -your attitude to the war?" - -"I think we're going to win it, sir, in the end." - -"Other people are going to win it?" - -"Would you approve of my enlisting at once? I understood--" - -"No, I would not approve of it, as I've told you," answered his father, -feeling that somehow he was being unjustly cornered. "But because a -man's too young to make a soldier, that doesn't mean he shouldn't have -any patriotism in his make-up--should be absolutely indifferent, with -his head full of handsprings and jazz bands." - -"I'm not indifferent," said David; "and as for jazz bands, even the men -at the Front like them." - -"But you're not at the Front--if you get my point." - -"I don't believe I do," said David. - -Civil as David's tone was there was of course a trace of hostility in -the words themselves, and in his distress Mr. Brougham decided to go -and consult Granby, the head of the school where David had been for -five years and where Lawrence still was. - -Brougham only went to Granby in desperate straits, for he was a little -afraid of his son's schoolmaster. Granby was a tall bald man of fifty, -with an expression at once stern and humble--stern with the habit -of innumerable decisions, humble with the consciousness that half -of them had been wrong. Brougham admired him, but could not be his -friend, owing to the fact that he always became in Granby's presence an -essential parent and nothing else. Mrs. Brougham, with the protection -of her long silences, managed better to retain her individuality in his -presence. - -"I've come to consult you about David," he began. - -Granby visibly shrank. "Don't tell me he's gone too!" - -"No--he hasn't; that's it." - -Brougham managed to tell his story very satisfactorily, for Granby had -the power, rarer than is supposed, of extracting an idea from spoken -words. - -"He has no enthusiasm--no emotion. I can't understand him. At his age, -I venture to say, I would-- Well, I've come to you. You've had thirty -years' experience of boys." - -"Yes," said Granby with his reserved, pedagogic manner. "I've been at -it thirty years." He stared at the floor and then, looking up, added: -"But I've only had four years of boys as they are now." - -This was a new idea to Brougham. - -"You mean boys are different?" - -"Of course, they're different!" said Granby. "Even we are different, -and they-- Boys I was giving demerits to and scolding about Latin prose -last winter are fighting the war for us to-day. Roberts--I used to make -Roberts' life a burden to him about the dative of reference--he was -killed last month rescuing his machine gun; and here I am doing the -same safe task-- Well, I never felt like that about my work before. -Different? Of course they're different! They are not boys any more. -They are men; and we are old men." - -There was, naturally enough, a pause, for this was by no means a -conception of life which Mr. Brougham could accept offhand; and in the -silence the door opened and David himself strode in--and stopped with -every appearance of disappointment on seeing his father. - -"I beg your pardon," he said. "I'm afraid I'm interrupting you. I'll -come back." - -"What did you want?" said Mr. Granby. - -David paused, looking less like a man and more like a boy in his -indecision. Then his jaw set as he took his determination. - -"I wanted you to tell my father something, but as long as he's here -I'd better tell him myself. I took the examinations last month for an -aviation camp, and I've just heard that I'm accepted." - -Relief and horror struggling in Mr. Brougham like opposing waves -resulted in calm. - -"But, my son," he said, "why have you concealed it? You did not think -I'd oppose you?" - -David moved restlessly. - -"Oh, no," he answered. "It wasn't that." He looked at Mr. Granby and -smiled. "Father's awfully tyrannical about this war," he said. "He -wants everyone to feel just as he does." - -"But don't you feel as I do?" asked his father. "Why, you've just -proved that you do!" - -"Not a bit!" said David, and he spoke with a force neither of the men -had ever heard from him before. "I don't feel a bit as you do, sir, and -what's more, I don't want to!" He stopped. "But we needn't go into -that," he added, and seemed about to leave the room. - -Granby looked at Brougham. "It must be right here if we could get at -it," he said. "Tell us, David, what is it in your father's attitude -that you don't sympathize with?" - -"And my mother's too." - -"And mine?" asked Granby. - -David hesitated an instant. - -"You don't seem to care so much about having us all feel the way you do -if what we do is right. But my father and mother don't care what I do -unless I get excited about it." - -"A healthy emotion is not excitement," said Mr. Brougham. "But you have -been cold, absolutely cold to the horror of the world's bleeding to -death, to all this unnatural disaster that has come upon us." - -"It doesn't seem exactly unnatural to me," answered the boy slowly. -"At least I've got used to it. You see, sir, ever since I knew -anything--ever since I was Lawrence's age--war has been about the most -natural thing going. I suppose it's very different for all of you. -Coming at the end of a perfectly peaceful life, it must seem like a -sort of dirty accident; but even so, it's awfully queer to me the way -you and mother have to lash yourselves up to doing anything--" - -"Lash ourselves up?" exclaimed Mr. Brougham. - -"Yes, with the idea of patriotism and self-sacrifice, when it's so -perfectly clear what we all have to do. Why, father, I feel just -as if I were a policeman, or, no, a fireman--I feel as if I were a -fireman and you expected me to get off something about patriotism and -self-sacrifice every time I went to put out a fire. A fireman goes, all -right--it's his job; but I dare say he often wishes he could stay in -bed. No one says his heart is cold, and no more it is, to my mind. It -must be fun to go off in a burst of patriotic enthusiasm. I know, for -I've often felt like that about football. But this is different. This -isn't a sport--it's a long disagreeable job. And I must say, father, it -makes me pretty tired to have you think me a slacker because I don't -get, and don't want to get, excited about it." - -"You misunderstand me," said his father. "I don't think any man -a slacker who waits to think it over before he makes the supreme -sacrifice and offers"--Mr. Brougham's voice took a deeper note--"his -life." - -David turned sharply to Granby. - -"There," he said, "that's what I hate! I hate that attitude toward -death--as if it were something you couldn't speak of in the -drawing-room. Death isn't so bad," he added, as if saying what he could -for an absent friend. - -With this Mr. Brougham couldn't even pretend to agree; death seemed to -him very bad indeed--about the worst possible, though not to be evaded -by brave men on that account. - -"Ah," he said to Granby, "that's the beauty of youth--it doesn't think -about death at all." - -"Nonsense," said David. "I beg your pardon, sir, but isn't it nonsense? -Of course, we think of it--a lot more than you do. The chances are -about one in twenty that I'll be killed. When you were my age you -were planning your career, and college, and you thought you'd be -married sometime, and you were getting your name put up at clubs you -couldn't get into for years. But fellows of my age aren't making any -plans--it would be pretty foolish if we did. We haven't got any future, -as you had it. I don't know if you call that thinking about death. I -do--thinking about it as a fact, not a horror. We've been up against -it for the last four years, and we've got used to it. That's what none -of you older people seem to be able to get into your heads. We don't -particularly mind the idea of dying. And now I think I'll run home and -tell my mother." - -Neither of the men spoke for a few minutes after he had gone. Mr. -Brougham was shocked. He had just caught himself back from telling -David that he ought to be afraid of dying--which of course was not at -all what he meant. He himself had always feared death--most of the -men he knew feared it--only hadn't allowed that fear to influence -their actions. He had always regarded this fear as a great universal -limitation. He felt as if a great gulf had suddenly opened between him -and his son. More than that, he felt that to live free from the terror -was too great an emancipation for one so young. - -"If they're not afraid of death, what are they afraid of?" he found -himself thinking. - -He himself in his youth had never thought about dying--except sometimes -in church in connection with music and crowns and glassy seas. Then -once, when he was only a little younger than David, he had been very -ill in the school infirmary; another boy had died, and then, he -remembered, he did for the first time consider the possibility of his, -Walter Brougham's, coming to an end, stopping, going out perhaps like -a candle. It had been an uncomfortable experience, and when his mother -had come to take care of him he had distinctly clung to her--as if she -could have done any good. Had these boys gone through that and come out -on the other side? He found it alarmed him to think that David wasn't -afraid. - -Good heavens, what would they do--this new generation, young and -healthy and unafraid of death, not because they had never thought about -it but because they had been familiar with it since they went into long -trousers? - -Mr. Granby broke the silence. He said: "To order ourselves lowly and -reverently to all our betters?" - -Brougham was puzzled by these words, and he felt that it was no time -for puzzling him. - -"Did you think David was impertinent to me, Mr. Granby?" he asked. "Is -that what you meant?" - -"No, that isn't what I meant, Mr. Brougham." - -Brougham didn't inquire any further. He shook his head and went home. -He found his wife and David sitting hand in hand on the piazza looking -out to sea, with the same blank grave look on both their faces. Yet -they were thinking very different thoughts. - -Mrs. Brougham was thinking that she had been strangely stupid not -to know that this was just exactly the way David would do it; but -she added to herself she had allowed her vision to be clouded by her -husband. - -David was carefully reviewing the small stock of his technical -knowledge of aëroplanes. - - - - -WORSE THAN MARRIED - - -Miss Wilbur sat up and wrung the water out of her hair. Most of us have -looked about a dinner-table and wondered which of the party would make -the pleasantest companion on a desert island; Juliana had done it often -enough, but now the comic touch was lacking. Far out, hung on some -unknown reef, the prow of the vessel stuck up black and tall, almost -as if she were still pursuing a triumphant course landward, though a -list to starboard betrayed her desperate condition, and a second glance -showed that the waves were breaking over her stern. The heavy swell was -all that was left of the storm. The sun had just risen in a cloudless -sky, above a dark-blue sea. It was perhaps that bright horizontal ray -which had waked Miss Wilbur. It had not disturbed her rescuer, who, -more provident, had hidden his face in his arm. - -It seems hardly possible for a young lady to be dragged from her berth -in the dead of night, hauled to the deck, and literally dumped into a -small boat, to be tossed out of the boat and dragged to shore--all by a -man whose face and name were equally unknown. But the more she looked -at the back of that damp head, and the line of those shoulders, the -less familiar did they appear. This was hardly surprising, for since -she and her maid had taken the steamer at Trinidad, she had made so -little effort at _rapprochement_ with her fellow passengers that she -could hardly call any of them to mind--a great German from a banking -house in Caracas; a sunburnt native botanist bound for the Smithsonian; -a little Englishman from the Argentine; these were the only three -figures she could remember. Who was this man? A sailor? A commercial -traveler? Of what standing and what nationality? - -She coughed presently: "I wish you'd wake up," she said, "and let me -thank you for saving my life." - -The first result of this remark was that the man grunted and buried -his nose deeper in the sand. Then he rolled over, stood up, and -comprehensively hitching up what remained of his trousers, he looked -carefully round the horizon, then at the wall of palm-trees behind -them, and last of all at Miss Wilbur, without the smallest change of -expression. - -"Did I save you?" he asked. - -"Yes, don't you remember? You caught me up in the dark--" - -"I had a notion it was Mrs. Morale's son." Again his eyes sought the -horizon, and he turned to move away, but she arrested him with a -question. - -"Do you think we shall be rescued?" she said. - -He stopped, eyed her, and again turned away. His silence annoyed her. -"Why don't you answer my question?" - -"Because I thought it just about worthy of someone who wakes up a tired -man to thank him for saving her life. Do I think we'll be rescued? That -depends on whether we are in the track of vessels; and I know neither -the track of vessels nor where we are. It depends on whether any of the -other boats lived through the night. But I'll tell you one thing. It -looks to me as if they needn't trouble to come at all, if they don't -come soon. I'm going to hunt up breakfast." - -He disappeared into the forest of palms, leaving her alone. She -would have liked to call him back and ask him what he thought of the -probabilities of snakes on the island. Tact, however, that civilized -substitute for terror, restrained her. She thought him very peculiar. -"I wonder if he's a little crazy," she thought. "I wonder if something -hit him on the head." - -He was gone a long time, and when he returned carried a bunch of -bananas and three cocoanuts. He stopped short on seeing her. "Do you -mean to say," he cried, "that you haven't been drying your clothes? -What do you suppose I stayed away so long for? But no matter. Have your -breakfast first." - -She refrained from expressing, at once, a profound distaste for -cocoanuts, but when he cut one and handed it to her, the smell overcame -her resolutions. "Oh!" she said, drawing back, "I can't bear them." - -"You will order something else on the menu?" - -The tone was not agreeable, and Miss Wilbur eyed the speaker. No -wonder she was at a loss, for hitherto her measure of men had been the -people they knew, the clothes they wore, and, more especially, their -friendliness to herself. In the present case, none of these were much -help, and she decided to resort to the simpler means of the direct -question. Besides, it had always been Juliana's custom to converse -during her meals and, peculiar though this one appeared, she saw no -reason for making it an exception. - -"Doesn't it seem strange," she began, "that I don't even know your -name?" - -"Nathaniel or Spens?" - -"Oh! Spens, of course," she answered, quite as if they had met in a -ballroom. "And don't you think," she went on, "that it would be nice if -we knew a little more about each other than just our names?" - -"A little more?" he exclaimed. "My idea was we were getting near the -too much point." - -"But I meant our past selves, our everyday selves--our _real_ selves." - -"So did I. I hope we sha'n't get any realler. This is real enough to -suit me." He continued under his breath to ring the changes on this -idea to his own intense satisfaction. - -Miss Wilbur gave up and began again. "I think it would be interesting -to tell each other a little of our lives--who we are, and where we came -from. For instance I'm willing to begin--I'm a New Yorker. My mother -died when I was sixteen, and I have been at the head of my father's -house ever since--he has retired from business. We are quite free, and -we travel a great deal. I came down here on a yacht. You may ask why I -left it--well, a little difficulty arose--a situation. The owner, one -of my best and oldest friends--" She paused. As she talked, questions -had floated through her mind. Does he take in the sort of person I am -at home? Does he realize how his toil is lightened by the contrast of -my presence in the benighted spot? Does he know what a privilege it is -to be cast away with me? He was saying to himself: "If only I can get -home before the first, I'll increase that quarterly dividend." - -She took up her narrative. "The owner, as I say, was one of my best and -oldest friends; and yet, you know--" - -"And yet you quarreled like one o'clock." - -"Oh, no," said Miss Wilbur. "We did not quarrel. It would have been -better if we had." - -"Just sulked, you mean?" - -This was more than she could bear. "He wanted to marry me," she said -firmly. - -"Not really!" he exclaimed, and then, studying her more carefully, he -added: "But of course--very naturally. I am sure to some types of men -you would be excessively desirable." - -This was the nearest approach to a compliment that she had had since -the ship struck, and she gulped at it eagerly. - -"Desirable is not quite the word," she answered. "But perhaps I should -rather have you think of me as desirable than not at all," and she -smiled fascinatingly. - -"Great Cæsar's ghost!" he exclaimed. "Did I say I was thinking of you? -But there, I mean--I mean--" But it was unnecessary to complete the -sentence, for Miss Wilbur rose, with what dignity a tattered dressing -gown allowed, and moved away. He followed her and explained with the -utmost civility where there was another beach, how she should spread -out her clothes to the sun, and added gravely, holding up one finger: -"And remember to keep in the shade yourself." - -"Oh, the sun never affects me," said Juliana. - -This answer plainly tried him, but with some self-control he merely -repeated his injunction in exactly the same words. - -Miss Wilbur's costume was not elaborate. It comprised, all told, a -night-gown, a pink quilted dressing-gown, a pair of men's sneakers, -and a bit of Cartier jewelry about her throat. She wished that -dressing-gown had been more becoming. Just before she sailed she had -sent her maid out to buy something warm, and the pink atrocity had -been the result. She had thought it did not matter then, but, now that -she might have to spend the rest of her life in it, she wished she had -taken the trouble to choose it herself. - -Even if she had been completely alone on this Caribbean island, she was -too much a child of civilization to remove all her clothes at once. -The process took time. As she sat under the trees and waited, she -considered her position. - -Feelings of dislike for, and dependence upon, her rescuer grew together -in her mind. She did not say, even to herself, that she was afraid -of him, very much in the same way in which she had once been afraid -of her schoolmistress--afraid of his criticism and his contempt, but -she expressed the same idea by saying "he was not very nice to her." -That he "was rather rude"! She thought how differently any of the men -she had left on the yacht at Trinidad would have behaved. Alfred, for -instance. It would have been rather fun to have been cast away with -Alfred. He would have been tender and solicitous. Poor Alfred! She -began to think it had been an absurd scruple that had made her leave -the party. It had seemed as if she could not cruise another day on the -yacht of a man she had refused so decidedly to marry. After such a -scene, too! Miss Wilbur frowned and shook her head at the recollection. -As a matter of fact, she liked scenes. - -She had so far used the freedom of her life in eliminating from -her consciousness those who did not contribute to her self-esteem. -Sometimes she created admiration where it had not existed. Sometimes, -when this seemed impossible, she simply withdrew. The latter method was -obviously out of the question on this little dot of an island. - -But the other? One of the unquestioned facts in Miss Wilbur's life was -her own extreme charm; and this thought brought another to her mind. -The picture of the traditional male--the beast of prey! In spite of the -American girl's strange mixture of inexperience and sophistication, -she is not entirely without the instinct of self-preservation. She -remembered his long Yankee jaw with relief. - -When she returned she found he had erected four poles with cross -beams and was attempting to thatch it with banana-leaves, to the -accompaniment of a low sibilant whistle. - -"What's that?" she asked. He completed the phrase diminuendo before -answering. - -"This," he said, "is where you are going to sleep, and, if it doesn't -fall in on you in the night, I'll build another for myself to-morrow. -Look out where you step. I'm drying two vestas on that rock. If they -light, we'll have a fire, and perhaps some day something to eat. -Suppose you go and find some wood?" - -She hesitated. "Do you think there are snakes on this island?" she -hazarded; and oh, with what enthusiasm such a suggestion of femininity -would have been received on the yacht! - -"Think not," said her companion; "but I'd look out for scorpions and -centipedes and things like that, you know." - -The suggestion did not increase her enthusiasm for her task. She hung -about a few minutes longer and then collected a few twigs along the -beach, raising them carefully between her thumb and forefinger. They -did not make an imposing pile, as she felt when her rescuer came to -inspect it, looking first at it and then at her, with his hands in his -pockets. - -"I hope you won't overdo?" he said. - -Juliana colored. "Did you expect me to carry great logs?" she asked. -"Women can't do that sort of thing." - -He moved away without answering, and presently had collected enough -wood for many fires. - -"I'd like to see you lay a fire," he said. - -She threw some of the small sticks together, then the larger ones, as -she had seen the housemaid do at home. Then, embarrassed at his silent -observation, she drew back. - -"Of course I can't do it, if you watch me," she exclaimed. - -"You can't do it anyhow, because you don't know the principle. The -first thing a fire needs is air. It's done like this." He tore down -and re-erected her structure. - -If Miss Wilbur had followed her impulse, she would have kicked it down -as he finished, but she managed a fine aloofness instead. He did not -appear to notice her chin in the air. - -"Yes," he observed as he rose from his knees, "it's a handy thing to -know--how to lay a fire, and as you say, one is naturally grateful to -the fellow who teaches one. I'm going to look for food. Keep a lookout -for ships." - -He had hardly gone when he came bounding back again, waving two small -fish by the tails. "Got 'em," he shouted. "Dug out some ponds this -morning, but never thought it would work, but here they are. Now we'll -light the fire." - -His excitement was contagious. She sprang up, held the skirt of her -dressing-gown to shield the match, blew the flame, almost blew it out. -Finally, with the help of both matches the fire was lit. - -"I'm so hungry," she said. "Do you think they'll taste good?" - -He did not answer. She could not but be impressed by the deftness with -which he split and boned the fish, and the invention he displayed in -evolving cooking utensils out of shells and sticks. - -"You know," he said suddenly, "this fire must never go out. This will -be your job. Sort of vestal-virgin idea." - -The charge made her nervous. The responsibility was serious. During one -of his absences she began to think the flame was dying down. She put in -a stick. It blazed too quickly. A crash followed and one of the fish -disappeared into the fire. - -After a time she managed to drag it out, black and sandy. She dreaded -his return. How could she make clear to him that it had not been her -fault? She decided on a comic manner. Holding it up by the tail, she -smiled at him. "Doesn't that look delicious?" she asked gayly. - -His brow darkened. "All right, if you like them that way," he returned. - -"Don't you think the other is large enough for two?" - -His answer was to remove the other from the fire and to eat it himself. - -Miss Wilbur watched him to the end, and then she could contain herself -no longer. She had been extremely hungry. - -"Upon my word," she said, "I've known a good many selfish men, but I -never before saw one who would not have taken the bread out of his -mouth to give to a hungry woman." - -Her rescuer looked at her unshaken. "You don't think that was just?" he -inquired. - -"I am not talking of justice, but of chivalry," replied Miss Wilbur -passionately. "Of consideration for the weak. You are physically -stronger than I--" - -"And I intend to remain so." - -"At my expense?" - -"If you fell ill, I should be sorry. If I fell ill, you would die." He -turned away sharply, but half-way up to the beach thought better of it -and returned. - -"See here," he said, "I'm an irritable man, and a tired man. This whole -thing isn't going to be easy for either of us. And what do we find, -the first crack out of the box? That you are not only incompetent, -but that you want to be social and pleasant over it. Great Scott! -what folly! Well, if it's any satisfaction to you, I know I'm not -behaving well either. But you don't seem aware of even that much, or of -anything, indeed"--he smiled faintly--"except your own good looks." - -He left her to meditate. - -Battle, murder, and sudden death are not as great a shock to some -people as their own failure to please. Miss Wilbur, being incapable -of looking within for the cause of this phenomenon, looked at her -companion. Evidently he _was_ a peculiar, nervous sort of a creature, -and, after all, had he been so successful? He hardly came up to the -desert-island standard set by the father of the Swiss Family Robinson. -She reviewed him with a critical eye. He was a nice-looking young man -of the clean-shaven type. He lacked the great air, she told herself, -which was not surprising, since eighteen months before there had been -nothing whatever to distinguish him from any of the other shrewd young -men produced in such numbers by the State of Connecticut. But chance -had waved her wand, and it had fallen to his lot to head a congenial -band of patriots who, controlling a group of trolleys, had parted with -them at a barefaced price to the New York, New Haven and Hartford -Railway. Since this _coup_ he had rather rested on his laurels, -spending most of his time with a classmate in New York, where he had -acquired a tailor and had succeeded in getting himself elected to the -directorate of The General Fruit Company--an organization which, as -every Italian vender knows, deals in such miscellaneous commodities as -bananas, hides, coffee, rubber, sugar, copper-mines, and narrow-gauge -railroads along the Caribbean shores, with an argosy for transportation -to Spokane, New Orleans, Baltimore, Boston, Bristol, or Bordeaux. - -For some reason his mastery of the desert island was not complete. His -race's traditional handiness seemed to be slightly in abeyance; perhaps -because luck was against him, perhaps on account of a too pervasive -feminine presence. But for whatever reason, things did not improve. -Nothing came ashore from the wreck--not even when, after a small gale, -it turned over and disappeared. The banana shelter leaked in the rain, -and as Miss Wilbur sat steaming in the sunshine which immediately -succeeded she felt inclined to attribute all her discomforts to Spens. -He seemed to have no faculty whatever for evolving things out of -nothing, which, she had always understood, was the great occupation of -desert-island life. Their food continued to be bananas and cocoanuts, -varied by an occasional fish; and, instead of being apologetic for such -meagre fare, he seemed to think she ought to be grateful. - -Now Miss Wilbur could have been grateful, if he had not roused her -antagonism by his continual adverse criticism of herself. She wished -to show him that she could be critical too; and so she sniffed at his -fish, and took no interest in his roofing arrangements, and treated -him, in short, exactly as the providing male should not be treated. -Man cannot stoop to ask for praise, but he can eternally sulk if he -does not get it. The domestic atmosphere of the island was anything but -cordial. - -After all, she used to say to herself, why should she labor under any -profound sense of obligation? Even when he appeared to be considering -her comfort she saw an ulterior motive. He came, for instance, one day, -civilly enough, and pointed out a little row of white stones marking -off a portion of the island. - -"The beach beyond this line is ceded to you," he observed gravely. -"No fooling. I'm in earnest. Of course I understand that you like to -be alone sometimes. Here you'll never be disturbed. When I annoy you -past bearing, you can come here." For a moment she was touched by his -kindness, the next he had added: "And would you mind allowing me a -similar privilege on the other side of the island?" - -His tone was a trifle more nipping than he had intended, but no suavity -could have concealed his meaning. His plan had been designed not to -please her, but to protect himself. No one before had ever plotted to -relieve himself of Miss Wilbur's company. Subterfuges had always had an -opposite intention. She had been clamored for and quarreled over. She -withdrew immediately to the indicated asylum. - -"I'm not accustomed to such people," she said to herself. "He makes me -feel different--horrid. I can't be myself." It was not the first time -she had talked to herself, and she wondered if her mind were beginning -to give way under the strain of the situation. "I'd like to box his -ears until they rang. Until they rang!" she repeated, and felt like a -criminal. Who would have supposed she had such instincts! - -For the tenth time that day she caught together the sleeve of the -detested dressing-gown. How shocked Alfred and her father would be -to think a man lived who could treat her so! but the thought of their -horror soothed her less as it became more and more unlikely that they -would ever know anything about it. - -She stayed behind her stones until he called her to luncheon. They ate -in silence. Toward the end she said gently: - -"Would you mind not whistling quite so loud?" - -"Certainly not, if the sound annoys you." - -"Oh, it isn't the sound so much, only"--and she smiled angelically--"it -always seems to me a little flat." - -She had a great success. Spens colored. - -"Well," he said, "I don't pretend to be a musician, but it has always -been agreed that I had an excellent ear." - -"In Green Springs, Connecticut?" - -He did not answer, but moved gloomily away. Two or three times she -heard him start an air and cut it short. A smile flickered across her -face. So sweet to her was it to be the aggressor that she did not -return behind the white stones, but remained, like a cat at a rat-hole, -waiting beside the fire to which Spens would have to return eventually. - -She had resolved that it must be kindly yet firmly made clear to him -that he was not behaving like a gentleman, and if, as seemed possible, -he did not understand all that the word implied, she felt quite -competent to explain it to him. - -Perhaps the idea that his conduct was not quite up even to his own -standards had already occurred to him, for when he returned he carried -a peace-offering. - -He stood before her, holding something toward her. "I notice," he said, -"that you go about in the sun bare-headed. You oughtn't to do that, and -so I have made you this," and she saw the green mass in his hands was -leaves carefully fashioned into the shape of a hat. - -It may perhaps be forgiven to Miss Wilbur that her heart sank. -Nevertheless, she took the offering, expressing her gratitude with a -little too much volubility. "I must put it on at once," she said. Green -had never become her, but she placed it firmly on her head. - -Spens studied it critically. "It fits you exactly," he observed with -pleasure. "You see I could only guess at the size. Isn't it fortunate -that I guessed so exactly right!" - -She saw that he was immensely gratified and, trying to enter into the -spirit of the thing she said: - -"What a pity I can't see the effect!" - -"You can." He drew his watch from his pocket, and opened the back of -the case. "It doesn't keep time any longer," he said, "but it can still -serve as a looking-glass," and he held it up. - -Now any one who has ever looked at himself in the back of a watch-case -knows that it does not make a becoming mirror; it enlarges the tip of -the nose, and decreases the size of the eyes. Juliana had not so far -had any vision of herself. Now, for the first time, in this unfavorable -reflection, she took in her flattened hair, her tattered dressing-gown, -and, above all, the flapping, intoxicated head-gear which she had just -received. She snatched it from her head with a gesture quicker than -thought. - -"I believe you enjoy making me ridiculous," she said passionately. - -"Nothing could be more ridiculous than to say that," he answered. -"I wanted to save your health, but if you prefer sunstroke to an -unbecoming hat--not that I thought it unbecoming--" - -"It was hideous." - -"I can only say that I don't think so." - -Miss Wilbur slowly crushed the offending object and dropped it into the -fire. Ridiculous or not, there would never be any question about that -again. - -"Of course," she observed after a pause, "I don't expect you to -understand how I feel about this--how I feel about anything--how any -lady feels about anything." - -"Is it particularly ladylike not to wish to wear an unbecoming hat?" - -This of course was war, and Miss Wilbur took it up with spirit. -"Unhappily, it is ladylike," she answered, "to have been so sheltered -from hardships that when rudeness and stupidity are added--" - -"Come, come," said Spens, "we each feel we have too good a case to -spoil by losing our tempers. Sit down, and let us discuss it calmly. -You first. I promise not to interrupt. You object to my being rude and -stupid. So far so good, but develop your idea." - -The tone steadied Juliana. "I don't complain of the hardships," she -began. "I don't speak of the lack of shelter and food. These are not -your fault, although," she could not resist adding, "some people -might have managed a little better, I fancy. What I complain of is -your total lack of appreciation of what this situation means to me. -I haven't knocked about the world like a man. I've never been away -from home without my maid. I've never before been without everything -that love and money could get me, and instead of pitying me for this -you do everything in your power to make it harder. Instead of being -considerate you are not even civil. No one could think you civil--no -one that I know, at least. You do everything you can to make me feel -that my presence, instead of being a help and a pleasure, is an -unmitigated bother." - -There was a pause. "Well," said Spens, "since we are being so candid, -have you been a help? Have you even done your own share? Certainly not. -I don't speak of the things you can't help--your burning of the fish--" - -"The fish! I don't see how you have the effrontery to mention the fish." - -"Nor of your upsetting our first supply of rain-water. Constitutional -clumsiness is something no one can help, I suppose. But it does -irritate me that you seem to find it all so confoundedly fascinating in -you. You seemed to think it was cunning to burn the fish, and playful -to upset the water. In other words, though I don't mind carrying a dead -weight, I'm hanged if I'll regard it as a beauteous burden." - -Miss Wilbur rose to her feet. "The trouble with you is," she said, -"that you haven't the faintest idea how a gentleman behaves." - -"Well, I'm learning all right how a lady behaves," he retorted. - -After this it was impossible to give any consistent account of their -conversation. They both spoke at once, phrases such as these emerging -from the confusion: "--you talk about ladies and gentlemen." "Thank -Heaven, I know something of men and women"; "--civilized life and the -people I know"; "--never been tested before." "Do you think you have -survived the test so well?" - -The last sentence was Miss Wilbur's, and under cover of it she -retreated to her own domains. Spens, left in possession of the field, -presently withdrew to the other side of the island. - -Here for two or three days he had had a secret from Juliana. He had -invented, constructed, and was in process of perfecting himself in a -game with shells and cocoanuts which bore a family resemblance to both -quoits and hop-scotch. He turned to it now to soothe and distract him. -It was a delightful game, and exactly suited his purpose, requiring -as it did skill, concentration, and agility. He had just accomplished -a particularly difficult feat which left him in the attitude of the -Flying Mercury, when his eye fell upon a smutch of smoke upon the -horizon, beneath which the funnel of a vessel was already apparent. - -Spen's methods of showing joy were all his own. He threw the tattered -remnants of his cap in the air, and when it came down he jumped on it -again and again. - -His next impulse was to run and call Juliana, but he did not follow it. -Instead he piled wood on the fire until it was a veritable column of -flame, and then with folded arms he took his stand on the beach. - -Within a few minutes he became convinced that the vessel, a steamer of -moderate size, had sighted his signal. They were going to be rescued. -Very soon he and Juliana would be sailing back to civilization. He -would be fitted out by the ship's officers, and Juliana would be very -self-conscious about appearing in the stewardess's clothes. They would -figure in the papers--a rising young capitalist, and a society girl. -Her father would be on the pier. There would be explanations. He -himself would be a child in their hands. A vision of engraved cards, a -faint smell of orange-blossoms, floated through his mind. His resolve -was taken. He sprang up, ran through the palms, and penetrated without -knocking to where Miss Wilbur was sitting, with her back against a -tree. She glanced up at him with the utmost detestation. - -"I thought that here, at least--" she began, but he paid no attention. - -"Juliana," he exclaimed in his excitement, "there is a vessel on the -other side of the island. She'll be here in twenty minutes, and you -are going home in her. Now, don't make any mistake. _You_ are going -home. I stay here. No, don't say anything. I've thought it over, and -this is the only way. We can't both go home. Think of landing, think of -the papers, think of introducing me to that distinguished bunch--the -people you know. No, no, you've been here all alone, and you're an -extraordinarily clever, capable girl, and have managed to make yourself -wonderfully comfortable, considering. No, don't protest. I am not -taking any risk. Here's a vessel at the end of ten days. Another may -be here tomorrow. Anyhow, be sure it's what I prefer. A cocoanut and -liberty. Good-by. Better be getting down to the beach to wave." - -Miss Wilbur hesitated. "At least," she said, "let me know when you do -get home." - -"I'll telephone from Green Springs. Now run along," and taking her by -the shoulders, he turned her toward the path. - -She had, however, scarcely reached the beach, and seen the vessel -now looming large and near, when she heard a hoarse whisper: "I've -forgotten my tobacco." A face and arm gleamed out from the bush. He -snatched the pouch, and this time was finally gone. - -The keel of the ship's boat grated on the sand, and a flustered young -officer sprang out. Juliana was inclined to make a moment of it, but -it was getting dark, and the captain, what with carrying the mails and -being well out of his course, was cross enough as it was. - -"One of you men go up there and stamp out that fire," he said. "No use -in bringing anyone else in here." - -An expression of terror crossed Miss Wilbur's face, and a cry burst -from her: "Oh, he'll be so angry." The officer caught only the terror, -and, setting it down to natural hysteria, pushed off without more ado. - -Night fell, and the stars came out with the startling rapidity of the -tropics. There was no wind, but puffs of salt air lifted the fronds of -the palms. - -Suddenly over the water was borne the sharp jangle of an engine-room -bell, and the beat of a vessel's propellers. - - -THE END - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARE PARENTS PEOPLE? *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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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="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Are Parents People?</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Alice Duer Miller</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 24, 2021 [eBook #64917]<br /> -[Most recently updated: August 24, 2021]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARE PARENTS PEOPLE? ***</div> - -<div class="mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:<br /><br /> -Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.<br /></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="front" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<h1>ARE PARENTS PEOPLE?</h1> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p class="bold2">ARE PARENTS<br />PEOPLE?</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2">ALICE DUER MILLER</p> - -<p class="bold">AUTHOR OF<br />"THE HAPPIEST TIMES OF THEIR LIVES," "THE CHARM SCHOOL,"<br /> -"COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN," AND "MANSLAUGHTER"</p> - -<div class="center space-above"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" /></div> - -<p class="bold space-above">NEW YORK<br />DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY<br />1924</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1914, 1918, 1919, 1922, 1923, 1924<br /> -<span class="smcap">By</span> ALICE DUER MILLER</p> - -<p class="center space-above">PRINTED IN U. S. A.</p> - -<p class="center">VAIL-BALLOU PRESS, INC.<br />BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center">To<br />MY MOTHER-IN-LAW</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"That little person and small stature was quickly</div> -<div>founde to contayne a greate hearte."</div> -<div class="right">—<span class="smcap">Clarendon.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr /> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Are Parents People?</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The American Husband</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Devoted Women</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Return to Normalcy</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Red Carpet</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Widow's Might</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Whose Petard Was It?</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The New Stoics</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Worse than Married</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<h2>ARE PARENTS PEOPLE?</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>The girls marched into chapel singing Jerusalem the Golden. Some of -the voices were shrill and piping, and some were clear and sweet; but -all had that peculiar young freshness which always makes old hearts -ache, and which now drew tears to the eyes of many visiting parents -looking down from the gallery, and trying not to crane their necks -conspicuously when their own offspring appeared in the aisle below.</p> - -<p>On Sundays the whole school came out in blue serge and black velvet -tam-o'-shanters. The little girls marched first—some as young as -eleven years—and as they came from the main school buildings and -marched up the long aisle they were holding the high notes, "Jerusalem -the golden," and their voices sounded like young birds', before the -older girls came crashing in with the next line, "With milk and honey -blest." They marched quickly—it was a tradition of the school—divided -to right and left, and filed into their appointed places.</p> - -<p>Last of all came the tall senior president, and beside her a little -figure that hardly reached her shoulder, and seemed as if one of -the younger children were out of place; yet this was an important -figure in the life of the school—Lita Hazlitt, the chairman of the -self-government committee. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> - -<p>Her face was almost round except for a small point that was her chin; -her hair—short curls, not ringlets—curved up on her black velvet tam, -and was blond, but a dusky blond. There was something alert, almost -naughty in her expression, although at the moment this was mitigated -by an air of discretion hardly avoidable by the chairman of the -self-government committee in church.</p> - -<p>In this, her last year at Elbridge Hall, she had come to love the -chapel. Its gray stone and dark narrow windows of blue or amethyst, -the organ and the voices, gave her a sense of peace almost mystic—a -mood she could never have attained unaided, for hers was a nature -essentially practical. Like most practical people, she was kind. It was -so easy for Lita to see what was needed—to do a problem in geometry -or mend a typewriter or knit a sweater—that she was always doing such -things for her friends, not so much from unselfishness as from sheer -competence.</p> - -<p>The seniors sat in the carved stalls against the wall, and Lita liked -to rest her hand on the rounded head of a dragon which made the arm of -her chair. It had a polished surface and the knobs of the ears fitted -into her fingers.</p> - -<p>"Dearly beloved brethren, the Scripture moveth us, in sundry places, to -acknowledge and confess—"</p> - -<p>Lita loved the words of the service, and she noted that part of -their beauty was the needless doubling of words—dissemble and -cloak—assemble and meet together—requisite and necessary. Yet Miss -Fraser, who taught English at Elbridge, would call that tautology in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> -theme.... She sank on her knees, burying her small nose in her hands -for the general confession.</p> - -<p>As they rose from their knees and the choir broke out into O Come, -let us sing unto the Lord, Lita allowed herself one glance at the -gallery, where her lovely mother was just rising, slim and erect, with -a bearing polite rather than devout. Lita could see one immaculate gray -glove holding her prayerbook. She was a beautifully dressed person. -The whole school had an orgy of retrimming hats and remaking dresses -after Mrs. Hazlitt had spent a Sunday at Elbridge. She was as blond as -her daughter, except that somehow in the transmission of the family -coloring she had acquired a pair of enormous black eyes from some -contradictory ancestor. Even across the chapel Lita could see the dark -splotches that were her mother's eyes. It was great fun—the Sundays -that Mrs. Hazlitt came to the school, and yet Lita was always a little -nervous. Her mother said anything that came into her head—simply -anything, commenting on teachers and making fun of rules. The girls -loved it, of course, but sometimes— The First Lesson had begun.</p> - -<p>The service went on. It was not until the Second Lesson was being -read that Lita, glancing idly toward the ante-chapel, saw that a -terrible thing had happened: Her father had arrived too—unexpected -and unannounced. He was standing there under the gallery, his hat and -stick and gloves all held in one hand, and his mouth just not smiling -as he at last contrived to meet her eyes. There they were—her mother -looking down at her so calmly from the gallery and her father waiting -so <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>confidently for her below, each unaware of the other's presence. -What in thunder was she going to do?</p> - -<p>Their divorce had taken place a great many years before, when Lita was -so young that her mother was not much more important to her than her -nurse, and her father very much less so. She was accustomed to the idea -of their divorce; but she did wish they were divorced as Aurelia's -parents were—quite amicably, even meeting now and then to talk over -questions of Aurelia's welfare. Or the way Carrie Waldron's were—each -remarried happily to someone else, so that Carrie had two amusing sets -of half brothers and sisters growing up in different parts of the -country. But Lita was aware of a constrained bitterness, a repressed -hatred between her parents. When they said, "Perhaps your father does -not quite take in, my dear—" or "I would not interfere with any plan -of your mother's; but I must say—" Lita was conscious of a poisoned -miasma that seemed to rise from old battlegrounds.</p> - -<p>And now, in a few minutes, these two people who had not spoken for -thirteen years would come face to face in the cheerful group of parents -which every Sunday brought to the school. The few minutes after the -service when everyone stood about on the grass outside the church and -chatted was a time of public friendliness between three inharmonious -classes—parents, teachers and pupils; and there these two dear foes -of hers would be, each waiting so confidently to claim her undivided -attention. She must prevent it.</p> - -<p>She had the sermon to think it out, and for the first time in her life -she hoped it would be a long sermon. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> preacher, a fine-looking old -missionary bishop, with a long upper lip like a lawyer, and a deep-set -eye like a fanatic, was going up into the pulpit, turning on the -reading light, shaking back the fine frills of his episcopal sleeves.</p> - -<p>"My text," he was saying, "will be taken from the eleventh chapter of -Isaiah, the sixth verse: 'The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and -the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young -lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.' The -eleventh chapter of Isaiah, the sixth verse."</p> - -<p>Well, the text was not inappropriate, Lita thought; but she had -no intention of listening. The situation, besides its practical -difficulties, brought all the emotion of her childhood's worries and -confusions. One of her very earliest recollections went back to a time -when her parents still loved each other. She and her mother had been -sitting on the floor playing with paper dolls, and suddenly her father -had appeared unexpectedly in the doorway—returned ahead of time from a -journey. What Lita specially remembered was the way her mother sprang -up in one single long motion and flung herself into his arms, and how -they had clung together and gone out of the room without a word to her, -leaving her conscious, even at four, that she was forgotten. Presently -her mother had sent her nurse, Margaret, to finish the game; but the -game was already over. Margaret was desirable when one was tired or -hungry or sleepy, but absolutely useless at games of the imagination.</p> - -<p>After that Lita could just remember days when she would see her mother -crying—peculiar conduct for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> grown-up person, since grown-up people -were never naughty or afraid and could do anything they wanted to do, -and did. It shocked Lita to see her mother cry; it was contrary to the -plan of the universe. And then, soon after this, her father, as far -as she was concerned, ceased to be; and it must be owned she did not -greatly miss him.</p> - -<p>He ceased to be as a visible presence; but at immensely long -intervals—that is to say, once a year, at Christmas—magical presents -arrived for her, which she knew came from him. The first was the -largest doll she had ever seen. It came from Paris and brought a -trousseau in a French trunk. It was an incredible delight. She dreamed -about it at night, and could hardly believe each morning on waking -that it was reality. The only mitigation of her delight was that her -mother did not admire the doll. She said it had an ugly, stary face. -Lita, beginning the stupendous task of writing a letter of thanks, -with a lead pencil on ruled paper, wrote, "Dear Father: Mother thinks -the doll has a stary face, but I love her—" Only Margaret said that -wouldn't do, and she had to begin all over again, her round, cramped -hand pressing on the pencil until her nails were white.</p> - -<p>When she was eight a gold bracelet arrived, set with red stones. This -time her mother was even more outspoken. She said to Aunt Minnie, "Of -course, she bought it! Isn't it just what you'd expect?" Lita guessed -that "she" meant her father's new wife, for she knew vaguely that -he had married again and was living abroad. She herself thought the -bracelet beautiful; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> it was put away, and she was never allowed to -wear it. And now, only a little while before, she had seen it in an old -jewelry case of her mother's and had been surprised to find it was just -what her mother had said it was.</p> - -<p>Then two years later a set of sables had come. This, too, her mother -had utterly condemned.</p> - -<p>"Sables for a child of ten!"</p> - -<p>Aunt Minnie had suggested that Lita's mother wear them herself and -had been well scolded for the suggestion. Lita was content that these -should be confiscated. She preferred her own little ermine set.</p> - -<p>Until she was sixteen, except for presents, she lived the life of a -child with only one parent, and a very satisfactory life it was. Even -when her father was in the United States he did not always take the -trouble to see her. Perhaps it was not made too easy for him to do so. -But within the last two years things had changed. His second wife had -died and he had come back to New York to live. He was older, he was -lonely, and a pretty daughter almost grown up was very different from -a troublesome child who couldn't walk as fast as he did, who required -meals at strange hours and could eat only innocuous food. In his own -silent way Mr. Hazlitt began to bid for his daughter's affection.</p> - -<p>Lita liked the process and she liked him, although she felt immediately -that the feeling was a betrayal of her lovely, devoted mother. It -wasn't right, she reflected, that her father, who had forgotten her -existence for so many years, should come back, and just because he was -nice looking and well off and knew the art of life should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> be able to -capture her affection as much or more than if he had stayed at home and -been a good parent. It wasn't right, but it was a fact.</p> - -<p>For two years the struggle had been going on, steadily rising in -intensity. Her father had begun by asking for very little—hardly more -than an outlawed parent could ask—but Lita knew that she was becoming -dearer and dearer to him, and that her parents were now contending for -first place in her heart. Soon it would be for her exclusive love. -The pain of the situation to her was that she was to them not only -a battlefield but a weapon and the final trophy of the war. As they -never met, and wrote only through their lawyers, she was their most -vivid channel of communication. She loved her mother the best—much -the best—but her mother was a presupposition of her life, part of the -background, whereas her father was an excitement, a stranger, a totally -new experience.</p> - -<p>When she dined with her mother, that was the solid comfort of -everyday life; but when she went out to a restaurant to dine with her -father—that was a party.</p> - -<p>When her mother told her she was looking well the compliment often -meant only that Mrs. Hazlitt approved of her own taste in clothes; but -if her father said so it was the reaction of an outsider, a critic, a -man of the world; it raised the whole level of her self-esteem. She -couldn't help valuing it more.</p> - -<p>The sermon was nearing its end. Twice already the bishop had begun a -sentence, "And now in conclusion—" The next time, Lita thought, it -might take. If only Aurelia were about! Aurelia was an authority on -the management of divorced parents, though usually with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> mercenary -intent. Aurelia had studied the art of intimating to one parent -that the other did you rather better. It brought Aurelia great -affluence; but Lita did not quite approve. She thought it too easy to -be sportsmanlike; the poor dears were so innocent. But Aurelia was -stern. She said children ought to get something out of the situation. -Unfortunately, this Sunday, of all Sundays, Aurelia was laid up in the -infirmary with a strange and violent form of indigestion which Lita -was afraid would turn out to be appendicitis. Miss Barton, the head -of the school, believed it to be indigestion merely because she had -discovered that Aurelia the night before had eaten peanuts, peanut -butter, chocolate cake and tomato mayonnaise. What of course one could -not tell Miss Barton was that Aurelia had been eating just such illicit -Saturday-night suppers ever since she came to Elbridge.</p> - -<p>Lita had only said very gently "I'm afraid it's more than indigestion," -and Miss Barton had just glanced at her as if she were a silly ass.</p> - -<p>If Aurelia had been about she would have been sent bounding up the -gallery stairs to detain Mrs. Hazlitt, while Lita herself would have -run out and explained the situation to Mr. Hazlitt. Well, as it was, -she would have a minute or two. The gallery stairs were narrow and it -took people a little while to come down.</p> - -<p>The sermon was over. The organ rolled out into Praise God, from whom -all blessings flow, an anthem which Lita in her childhood had always -supposed was introduced at this point in order to express gratitude -that the sermon was over. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> - -<p>The girls sprang up as if on wires. Presently they were all marching -down the aisle again. Lita looked up in the gallery and smiled at her -mother, looked down and smiled at her father; and then, as soon as she -was back again in the main school building, she turned and ran as fast -as she could go to the main door of the chapel.</p> - -<p>A crowd of parents and teachers had already gathered, all being as -civil to one another as if they were not naturally hostile. Lita had -once overheard Miss Barton exclaiming, "Of course, anyone could keep a -good school if it weren't for these parents!" Her father was standing -a little apart, waiting. He had put on his hat at the slight angle at -which he wore it—a sort of defiance to his forty-two years. She ran up -to him and flung herself into his arms.</p> - -<p>"Pat, darling," she said—Mr. Hazlitt's name was James; Pat was a -corruption of Lita's early attempts upon the Latin tongue—"it's simply -great to see you back; but—"</p> - -<p>"I only got back last night," said Mr. Hazlitt, as if he himself were -surprised at his own eagerness. "I have Miss Barton's permission for -you to lunch with me—"</p> - -<p>"Pat dear!"</p> - -<p>"—and spend the afternoon."</p> - -<p>"Father!"</p> - -<p>Out of the narrow doorway that led from the gallery stairs Lita could -now see her mother emerging. She was dressed in soft blues and grays -like a pigeon's breast, and her eyes, dazzled by the March sunlight, -were darting about in search of her daughter among all the other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> -figures in blue serge. Then Lita saw that Miss Barton had stopped her -and introduced the bishop. That meant another minute or two; her mother -would feel she simply must be civil to the bishop.</p> - -<p>"Father."</p> - -<p>"Don't interrupt me, Lita. You're just like—it's a very disagreeable -habit."</p> - -<p>"But you see mother's here, too, father."</p> - -<p>Every trace of expression vanished from Mr. Hazlitt's face—his own way -of expressing emotion.</p> - -<p>Then he said in a hard, even voice, "My first Sunday!"</p> - -<p>"I know, dear, but you see it's her regular Sunday."</p> - -<p>"Of course. I'm not criticizing your mother," he answered, in that -tone in which the phrase is so often used, as if he could do it -magnificently if he let himself go. "Only I must say that after three -months' absence I did hope—" He stopped; his face, which had been -blank before, now became set like steel, and Lita saw that his eyes had -fallen on the former partner of his life. It was most alarming. At any -instant her mother might grow weary of the bishop and turn from him. -Lita laid her hand on her father's arm.</p> - -<p>"So, you see, dear," she said rather glibly, "I can't possibly lunch -with you."</p> - -<p>"I don't see it at all," replied her father. "Your mother has had you -to herself all this winter. I'm afraid I shall have to insist. There is -something I want to talk over with you."</p> - -<p>Lita had not anticipated the least difficulty with her father. He -usually yielded his rights in silence, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> afterward her mother -explained to her how mistaken he had been in supposing he had any -rights. She sighed, and he caught the sigh.</p> - -<p>"Unless," he added, "you don't want to lunch with me."</p> - -<p>His feelings were hurt. She couldn't bear that.</p> - -<p>"Of course, I always want to lunch with you," she said, and she was -glad this hearty assurance did not carry so far as her mother's ears. -"I'll run and explain, and I'll meet you at the main gate in half an -hour."</p> - -<p>She turned away. Miss Barton, to whom Sunday was a terrible day, -devoted to placating visiting parents, who always had one disagreeable -thing to say before they left, had rather mistakenly abandoned the -bishop entirely to Mrs. Hazlitt. As Lita approached them she heard her -mother saying: "But I think it's so much nicer for wolves to be wolfish -and leopards leopardy. I'm sure the heathen are ever so much happier -the way they are, sharpening their teeth and eating one another up, -poor dears."</p> - -<p>"But they are not happy, my dear madam," said the bishop, driven by a -sense of duty into correcting her mistake, and yet discouraged by a -sense that whatever he said she would interrupt him before he had said -it. "They are not happy. They are full of terror. Darkness and night -are to them just a recurring fear."</p> - -<p>"To me too," said Mrs. Hazlitt. "The heathen have nothing on me, as -these girls would say. I look under my bed every night for a giant -spider I read about when I was a child. You ought to be so careful what -children read. So interesting—your sermon, bishop. I'm sure you could -convert me if I were a heathen. Oh, I see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> you think I practically am. -Oh, bishop, your face! Lita, the bishop thinks I'm a heathen. This is -my child. May we go to your room before luncheon? Well, I never know. -I'm so afraid of breaking some of their silly rules in this place. Oh, -I hope Miss Barton did not hear me say that. I've asked that nice fat -girl with the red hair to lunch with us at the inn. I'd rather like -to ask the bishop too—he's rather sweet," she added regretfully as -Lita began to lead her away in the direction of her dormitory. "But I -suppose you girls wouldn't be amused by a bishop."</p> - -<p>"Mother dear," said Lita, "prepare yourself for a shock."</p> - -<p>"You've been expelled," said Mrs. Hazlitt as if it had come at last, as -she always knew it would.</p> - -<p>"No, it's almost worse. Father is here too."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt stopped short and looked at her child.</p> - -<p>"What?" she exclaimed, and the final t of the word was like a bullet. -"But this is my Sunday."</p> - -<p>"But he didn't know that."</p> - -<p>"Didn't he, indeed? It's been my experience that your father usually -contrives to know anything that it's to his advantage to know—and the -other way round. He just thought he could get away with it. Well, he -can't!"</p> - -<p>"He's been away on business for three months, mother."</p> - -<p>"Has he so? Fortunately I am no longer obliged to keep track of your -father's comings and goings—especially the latter. When I did attempt -to—"</p> - -<p>She paused, bitterly brooding on her past anxieties; and Lita, taking -her again by the arm, succeeded in setting her in motion. They entered -the building where Lita<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> lived, mounted the stairs in silence and went -to Lita's room. Aurelia, who shared the room, being in the infirmary, -secured them from interruption.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt walked at once to the window and peered out in all -directions; but the window did not command that part of the grounds -which lay between the chapel and the main gate. Finding the object of -her hostile interest was not in sight, she turned back to her child.</p> - -<p>"It's really too much," she said, "that I cannot have my one quiet -Sunday a month with you. I never wanted you to go to boarding school at -all. I only yielded because your coming here gave your father a place -where he could see you without being obliged to come to my house—not -pleasant for either of us. But it's a mistake to yield an inch to some -people, as I ought to have known. I insist on my own Sunday. All other -days are open to him, except this one, and so, of course, that's just -the only one—"</p> - -<p>"Only, mother dear, while he's been away I have been coming down to you -in New York for most of my Sundays."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt had a way of opening her large black eyes until her curved -lashes were flattened against her lids and looked as if they trimmed -her eyes with black fringe. She did it now.</p> - -<p>"And does he complain of that?" she asked. "Isn't it natural for a girl -to spend her Sundays with her mother; or does he expect while he's away -you and I—"</p> - -<p>"No, no, mother. He doesn't complain. Father isn't a complainer." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Lita! You hurt my feelings very much, criticizing me like that."</p> - -<p>"Dearest mums, I didn't criticize you."</p> - -<p>"You did! You said I was always complaining."</p> - -<p>"No, dear, I only said that father did not."</p> - -<p>This was so true that Mrs. Hazlitt could not deny it, and so with great -quickness she shifted her ground.</p> - -<p>"Isn't it something new," she said, "for you to feel it necessary to -defend your father at every sentence?"</p> - -<p>"I wasn't exactly defending him. I only—"</p> - -<p>"My dear, you don't need to apologize for defending your father—very -laudable, I'm sure. I feel deeply sorry for him myself—over forty, -without a natural human tie. Only I do not feel called on to give up -one of my few opportunities of being with you in order to suit his -caprices."</p> - -<p>"Is it exactly a—"</p> - -<p>"It is exactly that. Rather late in the day for him to begin to -discover the responsibilities of parenthood. Is he to have all the -rewards?"</p> - -<p>It did not seem a promising beginning; and Lita, in whom her mother's -rapidly reflected changes of idea always set up a sort of baffled -confusion, sighed. Her mother caught instantly that long-drawn-in -breath and went through a complete change of mood—as rapid as her -mental changes.</p> - -<p>"Oh, well, of course you must lunch with him. I suppose that is what he -wants, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>Lita simply adored her mother when she was suddenly kind and reasonable -like this. It was, the girl knew, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> striking triumph of the maternal -instinct over the hardly less fundamental human instinct to stick up -for one's rights.</p> - -<p>"Oh, mums, you are awfully good," she said.</p> - -<p>This was not the right thing to say; perhaps nothing would have been.</p> - -<p>"Don't thank me," her mother answered sharply, "as if I were doing you -a favor. I didn't suppose you were so crazy to leave me. Oh, I know; -and, after all, we have all the rest of our lives to spend together. Be -sure to get back in time to walk to the train with me."</p> - -<p>Lita promised to be back immediately after luncheon was over, and she -added that she did really feel it was better to go to her father, as he -had said he had something he wished to discuss with her.</p> - -<p>At this, Mrs. Hazlitt, who, strictly against the rules of the school, -had been sitting on Lita's bed, sprang up, and the girl at once began -to smooth the bed. She was always destroying evidence of Mrs. Hazlitt's -illegal conduct after one of her visits.</p> - -<p>"Lita," exclaimed her mother, quite unconscious of any reproof in her -daughter's action, "he's going to be married again! Oh! I suppose I -should not have said that, but what else could he want to discuss? I do -hope he is."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I hope not!" said Lita, astonished to find how disagreeable the -idea was to her.</p> - -<p>"But don't you see how it would get him out of our way? He could hardly -expect you to see much of a new bride, particularly the kind— Women -pursue him so; they think that manner of his covers such a lot; they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> -learn different.... No, Lita, not that hat—like Tweedle-dee in the -saucepan. If you come down to me next Sunday I'll get you one that -matches the foulard."</p> - -<p>Suddenly they began to talk about clothes, and spoke of nothing else -until it was time for Lita to go.</p> - -<p>She thought as she ran across the green that she of all people ought -to understand why her parents couldn't get on. Sometimes her mother -made her feel as if she were clinging to a slippery hillside while an -avalanche passed over her; and sometimes her father made her feel as -if she were trying to roll a gigantic stone up that same hill. But -then, on the other hand, sometimes her mother made her feel gay and -stimulated, and her father gave her calm and serenity. And, after all, -she hadn't chosen them; and they had chosen each other.</p> - -<p>Her father was already waiting for her in his little car, a runabout -body on a powerful foreign chassis. Everything that Mr. Hazlitt had was -good of its kind and well kept up. He was sitting in the driver's seat, -reading the sporting sheet of a morning paper, his knees crossed and -one elbow over the back of the seat. He looked young and smart. Other -cars were waiting—closed cars full of heavy bald parents. Lita felt -a glow of pride. To go out with her father was like going out with a -dangerous young man. Fortunately the diversity of tastes between her -parents extended to their places of lodging. Her mother always stayed -at an old-fashioned inn near the school grounds, whereas her father, -who motored the forty miles from New York, and so never spent the -night, preferred to eat at the hotel in the nearest town.</p> - -<p>She got in beside him and they drove for some time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> in silence. Then he -said, and she saw he had been thinking it over for some time:</p> - -<p>"Lita, I want to speak to you about interrupting. It's a habit a great -many women allow themselves to form. It's not only rude, but it's -extremely irritating—alienating, indeed." He went on to assert that -such a habit might even wreck her married life. A man, he said, who was -interrupted every time he opened his mouth might get so that he never -spoke at all; never told his wife things she ought to know.</p> - -<p>Lita glanced at him sympathetically. Did the poor dear suppose she -did not know just what he meant? She had suffered herself. Her mother -often accused her of concealing things which she had tried repeatedly -to tell; only her mother, with her mind running like a hound on some -other idea, did not even hear. And yet on the other hand she had -felt sympathetic when, not long before, her mother had delivered a -short lecture on the treachery of silence; she had said—and quite -truly—that a silence could be just as much of a lie as a spoken word. -She wondered if she were a weak nature, agreeing with everyone who -spoke to her.</p> - -<p>At the hotel she found her father had ordered a special luncheon for -her delight, composed of all the things he liked best himself. The -regular hotel dinner, with its immense opportunities for choice, would -have been a treat to Lita after the monotony of school fare; but she -enjoyed the prestige that the special order gave them in the eyes of -the dragoonlike head waitress, who never left their table. That was one -of the amusing things about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> going out with her father. He had a quiet -assumption of importance which made everyone think him important.</p> - -<p>They had been at table several minutes before he spoke. He said, "If -you take so much sauce you lose the flavor of the fish."</p> - -<p>"I like the flavor of the sauce best," said Lita, and he smiled, a -little sadly, as if he were at a loss to understand how his child could -be such an utter barbarian.</p> - -<p>Conscious that she had not quite so much time as he thought she had, -she hurried to the point and asked him what it was he wanted to -discuss. He seemed to be thinking deeply, which alarmed her; then he -reached out and added a dash of pepper to his fish.</p> - -<p>"Oh," he said, "I find I must go to Italy on business next summer. I -wonder if you could arrange it with your mother so that you could go -with me."</p> - -<p>"Mercy!" exclaimed Lita. "I was afraid you were going to tell me you -were going to be married again."</p> - -<p>He looked up with a swift dark glance.</p> - -<p>"Who put that idea into your head?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"No one; it just occurred to me."</p> - -<p>Where opposing affections exist, a lady, as much as a gentleman, is -obliged to lie.</p> - -<p>"That was your mother's idea," said her father, and gave a short, -bitter laugh, as if human depravity could hardly go lower than to have -made such a suggestion.</p> - -<p>Well, Lita thought, perhaps her mother ought not to have said it; and -yet, why not? Her father had remarried once. It made her feel old and -cold, always to be obliged to weigh criticisms and complaints, to -decide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> which of the two people she loved best in the world was right -and which was wrong, every other minute. How she envied girls who could -accept their parents as a unit!</p> - -<p>Seeing her father's mind still occupied with his wrongs, she turned the -conversation back to Italy. Of course, she would adore going—at least -she would if her mother would agree to it.</p> - -<p>"Of course, we could not go otherwise," said her father, and there was -somehow in his tone the suggestion that he and his poor child were in -the grip of an irrational and arbitrary power. After a moment he added, -"And we'd stop in Paris on our way back and get you a lot of things." -He smiled—he had a delightful, merry smile, quite at variance to his -habitual blankness. "I don't suppose that idea is exactly repugnant to -you?"</p> - -<p>It wasn't, though Lita knew it was practically bribery. She adored -shopping with her father. His method was simple. He went to the best -shop and asked for their best things. If he liked them he bought them. -If he didn't like them he went to the next-best shop. There was no -haggling, no last-minute doubts whether, since the expense was so -great, she really needed to get the things after all. Her father in -Paris! It was a delirious thought.</p> - -<p>"I should enjoy Paris with you, Pat," she said. He smiled with a faint -suggestion that others had felt the same way. "If only mother approves."</p> - -<p>"I don't see that there is anything to disapprove of, even for your -mother, in a man's taking his daughter to Paris." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What I mean is if she is really cordial about it. I could not go if -she weren't cordial."</p> - -<p>"Then," said her father, "we may as well give it up at once. For, of -course, your mother won't be cordial. She won't want you to go. She -never wants you out of her sight if she can help it."</p> - -<p>"Father, mother isn't a bit selfish like that."</p> - -<p>"I never said she was. It is natural she should want you to be with -her. Please get it into your head, Lita, that I should never under any -circumstances criticize your mother—least of all to you."</p> - -<p>Lita looked at him reflectively. If he had been Aurelia she would have -said "Bunk, my dear, and you know it." That was the way she and Aurelia -carried on their relation—in the open. Candor cleared the air; but -older people, Lita had found, did not really want the air cleared. -They could not stand criticism; perhaps that was why they were always -insisting that they did not criticize, when as a matter of fact they -never did anything else.</p> - -<p>Luncheon pursued its delicious but somewhat leisurely way. Mr. Hazlitt -lit a cigar and sent the coffee back to be heated. It was a pleasant -moment. Lita was conscious that he was treating her more as an equal -companion than ever before. She was enjoying herself, and yet in the -back of her mind was a distressing awareness that time was passing and -she ought to be getting back to school to her mother.</p> - -<p>"The truth is," her father was saying, "that as one gets older one -loses the power, or perhaps the wish, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> make new friends; and one -clings to the old ties. I hope you will arrange eventually, when you -are twenty-one, to spend at least half the year with me. I shall be in -a position then to make some long expeditions—China and Patagonia, and -I should like you to go with me."</p> - -<p>Lita's imagination took fire, but she said loyally, "But how about -mother, Pat? I suppose she's lonely too."</p> - -<p>Mr. Hazlitt laughed shortly.</p> - -<p>"Your mother," he said, "unless she has changed very much, probably -does not spend one waking hour in the twenty-four alone. I doubt if she -ever loses the power of making new friends—quite indiscriminately. -And, after all, I am only asking for half your time."</p> - -<p>"But, father, suppose I should marry?"</p> - -<p>Her father looked at her with startled eyes, as if she had suggested -something unnatural and wrong.</p> - -<p>"Marry!" he said. "I hope you have no such idea in your head."</p> - -<p>She had not. Indeed her immunity from the crushes which occupied so -much of the time and attention of her schoolmates occasioned her some -concern. She feared her nature was a cold one. She disclaimed the idea -of marriage, except as she had observed it in common.</p> - -<p>"People do, you know," she said.</p> - -<p>"A good many would be wiser if they didn't," said her father. "I am -particularly opposed to young marriages."</p> - -<p>He and her mother had married when they were young.</p> - -<p>Presently she was obliged to tell him that she must go. He did not -gainsay her decision, but she saw he took it as meaning that she had -not really enjoyed herself. Yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> when she tried to say she had—that -she was sorry to leave him—it kept sounding as if she were saying it -was a bore to go back and walk to the station with her mother. If only -she could be loyal to one parent without being disloyal to the other!</p> - -<p>She was a little bit late at the school. Her mother was just starting -without her.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I understand," she said, without listening to Lita's explanation. -"Very natural. You were enjoying yourself; you don't need to explain."</p> - -<p>Lita saw she was hurt but had determined to be nice about it.</p> - -<p>They started on their walk. First they crossed the athletic fields; -then their way would lie through the school woods, and then across -stony fields, and then they would come out on the macadam road to the -station—about three miles across country.</p> - -<p>The Italian trip, which had seemed so simple and pleasant when her -father mentioned it, now began to take on the appearance of a dark -conspiracy. Lita thought that she would far rather give it up than -mention it, only she had promised her father that she would speak of -it that afternoon so that he might have plenty of time to make his -arrangements. He was very particular about special cabins on a special -boat. Oh, dear, with her mother's feelings already a little hurt, it -wasn't going to be easy! Mrs. Hazlitt herself started conversation.</p> - -<p>"And so you had a delightful lunch?" she said, trying to be nice, but -also trying to find out what it was her child's father had wanted to -discuss, for she was curious by nature. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, very nice. Pat's going to Italy next summer on business."</p> - -<p>"Really?" said her mother, without special interest. "Some people's -business does take them to the nicest places."</p> - -<p>Lita suddenly wondered how it would work if she forced these -insinuations of her parents to their logical conclusions.</p> - -<p>"Don't you believe father really has business in Italy?" she inquired -mildly.</p> - -<p>"Of course he has if he says so. What funny things you say, Lita! Your -father is one of the most accurate people I ever knew—if he makes an -assertion. Well, if he goes to Italy that will leave us entirely free. -I thought perhaps it would amuse you if I took a house at Southampton -this summer. Of course, when I was young Newport was the place; but now -I'm told the young people prefer—"</p> - -<p>"But, mother," said Lita, and she felt just the way she did before she -dived into cold water, "he wants to take me with him."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt merely laughed.</p> - -<p>"A likely idea!" she said.</p> - -<p>"And I told him I would ask you how you felt about it."</p> - -<p>Her mother stopped short and looked at her. Then she said, and each -syllable dropped lower and lower like pebbles falling down a well, "In -fact—you want—to go."</p> - -<p>It was hard to be truthful.</p> - -<p>"Well, yes, in a way, I should like to go; at least I thought so when -Pat spoke of it." She thought she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> ought to go as far as this, but even -this moderate statement was fatal.</p> - -<p>"You shall not go!" said her mother, her eyes beginning to enlarge as -they did in moments of emotion until they seemed to fill her whole -face. "I won't hear of it—or go—go if you want to. I never want -anyone to stay with me as a duty."</p> - -<p>"Mother dear, I don't care. I don't really want to go; it was just an -idea."</p> - -<p>"Do at least be honest about it. Of course you want to go, or you would -not have promised to try to work me round to agreeing to it—conspiring -together. No, of course I don't mean that. Nothing could be more -natural at your age than to snatch at any pleasure that comes. I don't -blame you—a child—but him—trying to steal you—"</p> - -<p>Her nostrils began to tremble on her quick intaken breaths.</p> - -<p>"Father did not mean—"</p> - -<p>"Of course you don't think so; but you don't know him as well as I -do," said her mother. "I suppose you've utterly forgotten how little -he cared for you when you were a child; but now that all the care and -responsibility is over—"</p> - -<p>She simply could not go on.</p> - -<p>Lita, a little constrained by this display of emotion, said, smiling, -"It's nice to know I'm no care, mother." But as an effort at the light -touch it was not a success.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt did not even hear her. She went on: "Now he's ready to -charm you and tempt you away so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> as to leave me alone again. Oh, never -love anyone, Lita, when you grow up! It's all pain. Be like your -father; take what you want and go on your own horrible way, leaving -destruction behind you." She covered her face with her hands, not -because she was crying, but to hide the chattering of her teeth; and -then as a new idea swept over her she dropped them again and continued: -"It's all my own fault. I've been too absurdly honorable. I've brought -you up to respect and admire him, when all the weapons were in my hands -and I might just as well have taught you to despise him as he deserves. -I wish I had. Oh, how I wish I had! I've never said a word against your -father, have I, Lita?"</p> - -<p>"Never—never, dearest," said Lita. She thought to herself, "They are -making me a liar between them, but I couldn't say anything else to her -just now."</p> - -<p>She was not a prig, but she could hardly help feeling that sense of -superiority—of being in control of the situation—that the calm are so -apt to experience in the presence of turgid emotions.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt suddenly turned back to her.</p> - -<p>"But you don't really want to go with him?" she said as hopefully as if -a minute before she had not considered the contrary as proved.</p> - -<p>"No, mother, I don't."</p> - -<p>"These silent people! Fortunately I know him like a book. He's probably -been plotting this for months. I see what he's up to. He wants to get -things so that by the time that you're twenty-one you'll be willing to -spend some of your time with him; but you wouldn't do that, would you?"</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Nothing could ever come between you and me, mother. That's the solid -comfort of a mo—"</p> - -<p>"You don't answer what I say; you are keeping back some of your -thoughts, just like your father. Oh, I couldn't bear it if you grew -like him! No one is ever so candid as I am. What is in your mind?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, mother. It crossed my mind that I might marry some day."</p> - -<p>"Marry!" Her mother's tone, given the difference of sex and -temperament, was identical with her father's; as if marriage were a -crime other people's daughters might commit, but not her lovely child. -"What in heaven's name are you talking about, Lita?"</p> - -<p>"Well, mother, you were mar—"</p> - -<p>"And do you quote my case? Marriage! No, not until you are twenty-five -at least. Don't mention the word to me!"</p> - -<p>At least there was one subject on which her parents were in hearty -agreement—the first, as far as she could remember, that she had ever -found. They did not want her to marry. But, she reflected, as she -joggled home alone on the back seat of the school flivver, was it -entirely interest in her welfare that made them opposed? Wasn't it -rather that they needed her to fill the gap in their lives that their -own separation had made? This, she thought, was the real objection -to divorce—that it made parents too emotionally dependent on their -children. Suppose she died. She considered the possibility steadily. -Why, yes, if she died they would probably come together in their grief.</p> - -<p>She saw a little picture of herself in the infirmary, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> her parents -standing hand in hand at the foot of the bed. And yet one really could -not commit suicide in order to reconcile one's parents.</p> - -<p>Well, Italy was now out of the question; Italy was canned. She must -write to her father immediately that she could not go, and she must do -it so as not to make her mother seem selfish, and so as not to hurt her -father's feelings. Some letter, she thought. She saw herself walking -the deck of an enormous steamer, hanging on his arm, ordering meals in -amusing restaurants, the Paris shops gleaming with hats and jewels and -beaded bags and fans, all for her. Of course it was natural that she -wanted to go....</p> - -<p>The car stopped at the door of the main school building, and she sprang -out, free at last to give her attention to Aurelia. Strangely enough, -though she did not love her friend so much as she did her parents, she -worried more about her, as one equal about another.</p> - -<p>The infirmary, a neat white cottage, was set in a remote corner of the -grounds. As Lita bounded up the steps she met Miss Barton coming out.</p> - -<p>Every head of a school, perhaps every head of an institution, perhaps -everyone in the world, acquires an artificial manner to serve as -a method of holding off crises. Some adopt the genial, some the -meditative, some the stern. Miss Barton had chosen the intellectually -airy. As a problem was presented to her she would say "Ah, yes," with a -faint, calm smile, as if that special problem were so easy and familiar -she might float away to something more stimulating without remembering -to give you the answer. She was a tall, good-looking woman, pale<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> eyed, -pale skinned, with thick, crinkly gray hair, parted and drawn down to a -knot at the nape of her neck; it looked exactly like a wig, but wasn't. -She stopped Lita.</p> - -<p>"Oh," she said with her habitual gay casualness, "we have been looking -for you. Don't be alarmed, but it seems that Aurelia has appendicitis."</p> - -<p>"Yes I felt pretty sure she had," answered Lita.</p> - -<p>Miss Barton did not think it worth while to contradict this absurd -assertion. She merely smiled on one side of her face and replied that -the doctors themselves had only decided it fifteen minutes before. It -appeared that Aurelia was eager to see her friend before the operation.</p> - -<p>"She's in Room 11," said Miss Barton. "They will operate as soon as -they can get things ready. Don't alarm her. There is no risk nowadays, -nothing to be excited about."</p> - -<p>"Is she excited?"</p> - -<p>"I think not."</p> - -<p>"Of course she isn't."</p> - -<p>It is hard sometimes to be patient with older people, playing their own -rôles so busily they lose all sense of other individualities. Aurelia, -Lita imagined, was probably the calmest person in the infirmary.</p> - -<p>In Room 11 she found her roommate lying on her side, very pale, with -her dark hair dragged back and tightly braided. The nurse was moving in -and out and the two girls were practically alone, while the following -dialogue took place.</p> - -<p>"Pain?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, my!"</p> - -<p>"Poor kid!" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Lita, in my shoe box there are five pictures of Gene Valentine, and a -note—"</p> - -<p>"From him?"</p> - -<p>"No, dodo, from me—a rough draft. Get them, will you?"</p> - -<p>"You bet!"</p> - -<p>"Thanks."</p> - -<p>Then the nurse came in to say that everything was ready, and Lita -was hurried out of the room. She kept telling herself that there was -nothing to worry about, but her heart was beating oddly.</p> - -<p>In the hall a young man was standing; or rather, from Lita's point of -view, an older man, for he must have been twenty-eight or nine. He was -attired in a long white robe rather like a cook—or an angel. The sight -of him dressed thus for his work upset Lita and made her feel like -crying; in fact she did cry.</p> - -<p>"Don't you worry," said the young man in a deep voice—a splendid, -rolling, velvet sort of voice. "We've got the best man in the country -to operate; there's no danger."</p> - -<p>"Is that you—the best man in the country?"</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>"To be candid, no," he said. "I'm Doctor Burroughs' assistant. He's the -best there is. There is nothing to cry about."</p> - -<p>"If people only cried when there was something to cry about," said -Lita; and added in an exclamation of the deepest concern, "Oh, -goodness!"</p> - -<p>Her tone alarmed the young man.</p> - -<p>"What is it?"</p> - -<p>"I haven't got a handkerchief." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - -<p>He lifted his apron and from the pocket of his blue serge trousers he -produced an unfolded handkerchief, which he gave her.</p> - -<p>"I have a little sister just about your age," he said.</p> - -<p>Lita's face was in the handkerchief as she asked. "How old?"</p> - -<p>"Let me see," said the doctor. "I think she must be twelve."</p> - -<p>A slight sound that might have been a sob escaped from Lita, and the -doctor was so moved with compassion that he patted her on the head. -Then the door of Room 11 opened and his professional duties called him -away.</p> - -<p>A moment later he came out, bearing Aurelia away to the operating room, -and Lita went into Room 11 to wait. He promised as he passed to come -and tell her as soon as it was over.</p> - -<p>She felt perfectly calm now as she sat grasping his handkerchief in her -hand. It was fine and embroidered in two letters—L. D. She ran over -the L names and found she liked nearly all of them—Lawrence, Lionel, -Leopold—not so good, though Leo was all right—Lewis—oh, of course, -it was Lewis! She said the word aloud.</p> - -<p>How still the house was! Now they were probably giving Aurelia the -anæsthetic; now—</p> - -<p>There was no use speculating about what D stood for. He thought she was -twelve, did he? She put her hand up to where his had rested on the top -of her head. She could not begin to make hers cover the same area. He -must have a large hand. Well, that was all right; he was a large man. -She could see his face before her, smooth as to skin and rather jutty -as to outline of brows and jaw,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> and his heavy, thick, short, black -hair, almost like an Indian's in texture. And she had thought that she -preferred blond men. L. D.—Lita D.... She wondered if she ought to go -immediately and hunt up those photographs of Aurelia's. What a time it -would make if they should be found before she got there! How long would -this take—an hour? Would he really come back himself, or would he send -that light-hearted, gray-haired nurse who looked like Marie Antoinette? -If he patted her on the head he might even—Lawrence—Leonard—</p> - -<p>Suddenly he was in the room again, smelling horribly of disinfectants.</p> - -<p>"It's all right—all over," he said. He began to pluck ineffectually at -the back buttons of his white robe. "Help me, there's a good child," he -said, stooping so that she could reach.</p> - -<p>She undid the buttons, the garment slipped to the floor, and he stood -revealed as a normal young man in his shirt and dark blue serge -trousers. He began rolling down his shirt sleeves, talking as he did so.</p> - -<p>"Your friend has good nerve—brave and calm. Your sister? No? What's -your name?"</p> - -<p>"Hazlitt."</p> - -<p>Too kind to smile at this infantile assumption of importance, his eyes -did laugh a little, but he said, "I meant your first name."</p> - -<p>"Lita. What's yours?"</p> - -<p>"Luke— Well, Lita, I'm going to write to Effie about you. Wait! Where -are you off to in such a hurry?"</p> - -<p>She could not tell him that she was going to destroy the patient's -compromising correspondence. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - -<p>She said mysteriously, "I must go. You've been so kind. Good-by." For -one tense moment she thought he was going to kiss her.</p> - -<p>Evidently there is such a thing as thought transference, for as she -drew back she heard him saying, "No, certainly not. I should not dream -of kissing a lady of your mature years."</p> - -<p>"You never kiss ladies of mature years?" murmured Lita in the manner of -a six-year child.</p> - -<p>"Well, I know how Effie feels on the subject. She boxed the ears of -our local congressman for a salute which he offered merely as a vote -getter. It was a terrible shock to him."</p> - -<p>"You have a shock coming to <i>you</i>," she answered gently, and left the -room.</p> - -<p>She had a shock of her own on entering her bedroom, for Miss Jones, the -house mistress, was already busy with Aurelia's bureau drawers. Had she -or had she not lifted the top of the shoe box? It was necessary to act -quickly; but fortunately Miss Jones was young and pleasant and easy to -get round. If it had been Miss Barton— The school often commented with -a sort of wondering irritation on the fact that in dealing with girls -Miss Barton was not absolutely an idiot.</p> - -<p>"Halloo, Jonesy dear," said Lita with a soft friendliness which in -pupils is somewhat like the bearing of gifts by Greeks. "She's all -right. The operation's over, the doctor told me."</p> - -<p>Miss Jones was winding pink ribbon on a card, and answered, "Oh, -isn't he wonderful? Of all the great men I ever met Doctor Burroughs -inspires—" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> - -<p>"It wasn't Doctor Burroughs. It was the other one, his -assistant—what's his name? It begins with a D."</p> - -<p>But Miss Jones didn't know anything about the assistant, and drew -Lita's attention from a subject tolerably absorbing by asking if she -knew where Aurelia kept her bedroom slippers.</p> - -<p>"Look here, Jonesy," said Lita. "Who is that queer-looking man—like a -tramp—on the piazza downstairs?"</p> - -<p>"I'll run down and see," said Miss Jones.</p> - -<p>She was small, but there was something about her manner which would -have made anything but a mythical tramp tremble.</p> - -<p>When she had gone Lita opened the shoe box and found five large -photographs of Eugene Valentine lying on top of the shoes: one in the -aviator's uniform of his new play; one in his coronation robes in -his last success, The King is Bored; and the other three just Eugene -Valentine, with the light shining on the ridges of his wavy light hair. -He was an awfully good-looking man, Lita thought—if you liked blonds. -She laid the photographs under the paper in the bureau drawer Miss -Jones had finished tidying. The draft of the letter had slipped down -among the shoes, and Lita had only time to thrust it into the pocket of -the coat she was wearing before Miss Jones was back again, saying that -the tramp must have gone away.</p> - -<p>Supper that evening was exciting. The great Doctor Burroughs had driven -magnificently back to town in his car before Aurelia was fairly out -of the anæsthetic; but he had left his assistant behind him—a clever -young fellow. Miss Barton murmured she hoped he was tactful,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> discreet; -one had to be careful in a school—parents, you know. Doctor Burroughs -assured her she need give herself no concern; Doctor Dacer was quite -safe—minded his own business—no trouble with the nurses or anything -like that—just the sort of young man to leave in a girls' school. Even -the wisest may be betrayed into sweeping statements when in a hurry to -get away to Sunday dinner.</p> - -<p>Lita, as chairman of the self-government committee, sat at the head of -one of the senior tables—a conspicuous position. The girls were all in -their places before Miss Barton came in with the tactful and discreet -young fellow. It was the school's first view of him, and Lita could -hear the comments of her peers rising about her:</p> - -<p>"Looks a little like Doug."</p> - -<p>"Isn't Aurelia the lucky stiff?"</p> - -<p>"What are the symptoms of appendicitis? I feel them coming on."</p> - -<p>She tried not to look at Miss Barton's table, and when she did she -met his eye. He nodded and smiled with open friendliness; and bending -toward Miss Jones, with his eyes still on hers, asked quite obviously -for details about his little friend. Lita saw the smile fade from -his face as he received them. Then a quite different smile flickered -across his face; the smile of a man who says to himself, "To have even -mentioned kissing the chairman of the self-government committee!"</p> - -<p>As they were all moving out of the dining room again, Miss Barton -called Lita to her.</p> - -<p>"You will be glad to know," she said, "that Doctor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> Dacer says Aurelia -will be up within two weeks—no complications—no danger. This is Lita -Hazlitt, Doctor Dacer, Aurelia's best friend."</p> - -<p>The doctor showed some of his advertised caution by merely bowing, but -Lita answered, "Oh, yes, Doctor Dacer was so kind this afternoon." And -looking up at him she asked, "Have you written to Effie yet?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet," he returned politely; but below the level of the teacher's -eyes a clenched fist made a distinctly menacing gesture in Lita's -direction, and the corner of Lita's mouth, which occasionally created a -dimple, just trembled. The doctor turned to Miss Barton, and it would -be hard to imagine anything more professional than his manner as he -said, "My patient seems to be very dependent on Miss Hazlitt. She was -just asking for her. I think it would be a good idea if Miss Hazlitt -could be in and out of the infirmary a good deal during the next few -days."</p> - -<p>"Of course, of course," said Miss Barton, who, though trained to -distrust girls, was not trained to distrust doctors. "Aurelia is so -alone, poor child." And lowering her voice as she moved away, with the -doctor bending politely so as not to miss a syllable, Lita could hear a -murmur:</p> - -<p>"These terrible divorces! Do you know that over twenty of my girls—"</p> - -<p>Lita found herself excused from sacred reading that evening so that she -might sit with her friend.</p> - -<p>Yet oddly enough, when she reached the infirmary the white-haired nurse -seemed surprised to see her, and said that the doctor had given the -patient something to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> her sleep before he had gone to supper, and -that she ought not to wake until morning—at least they hoped not.</p> - -<p>But at that moment Dacer came out of another room, where he had -evidently been smoking a pipe, and said, "Oh, well, stick round a -little. She might wake up."</p> - -<p>The nurse gave him a sharp look; and then, being really discreet and -tactful, retired into Room 11 and shut the door. Lita and the doctor -were left facing each other in the hall.</p> - -<p>"Let's go out," he said, "where I can smoke. It's a good sort of -evening—with a moon."</p> - -<p>"Mercy!" answered Lita. "How do you think a girls' school is run? I -couldn't do that."</p> - -<p>"I thought the chairman of the self-government committee could do -anything."</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, she has to be particularly careful, and not go about -exposing herself to being patted on the head."</p> - -<p>"She was lucky worse than that didn't happen, masquerading as an -infant." And then, without the slightest pause, but with a complete -change of tone, Lita heard him saying: "No, I'm sorry; but I think it -would be better not tonight.... Ah, Miss Barton, I was just saying to -Miss Hazlitt that as the patient had fallen asleep it would be better -not to disturb her again tonight."</p> - -<p>"Of course," said Miss Barton, who, it appeared, was coming upstairs -behind Lita's back. "I think if you ran back to the study, Lita, you'd -get in for the end of the reading."</p> - -<p>And as she turned obediently away she heard Miss Barton suggesting that -if Doctor Dacer found the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>infirmary dull, the sitting room in her -cottage was at his service. No, Doctor Dacer had a good deal of work -to do. Lita smiled to herself. He had not seemed so busy a few minutes -before.</p> - -<p>She had never been in love—never even deeply interested before. She -had looked with surprise and envy on her classmates; not only Aurelia, -with her devouring passion for Valentine; but Carrie Waldron, the -senior president, who worshiped a dark-eyed motion-picture actor; and -Doris Payne, who loved a great violinist to whom she never expected -to speak. The authorities were terribly down on this sort of thing; -but Lita, who knew more about it than the authorities, was not sure. -Would Carrie be studying Spanish at odd moments so as to know more -about her idol's great bull-fighter part—would Doris work so hard at -her music—would Aurelia be learning Romeo and Juliet by heart as she -did her hair in the morning—Romeo was a part Valentine was always -contemplating—if it were not for love? More, would Miss Barton's -course in English constitutional history be so interesting if Miss -Barton did not feel—as the school had discovered—a romantic passion -for Oliver Cromwell? Certainly not!</p> - -<p>Her mother thought these excitements vulgar. She said if girls must be -silly, why not be silly about people in their own class of life? But -Lita explained that the boys they knew were not so thrilling. Had her -mother, she asked, never bought the picture of an actor? "Never!" said -her mother with conviction; but Aunt Minnie, who happened to be there, -said, "Nonsense, Alita! You had a picture of Sothern as the Prisoner -of Zenda."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> Mrs. Hazlitt said that she hadn't, and that was entirely -different anyhow.</p> - -<p>The only result of the conversation was that Mrs. Hazlitt began to -suspect Lita of some such ill-bred passion—most unjustly. The whole -subject had had merely a theoretical interest for Lita. She was too -practical to be fired by these intangible heroes—dream, dead or -dramatic.</p> - -<p>But now, even that first Sunday, as she stepped out of the infirmary -into the bare March moonlight, she found that real life could hold the -same thrill for her that dreams did for these others.</p> - -<p>"And that," she said to herself, "is where I have the best of it."</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Lita had developed a technic by which she slept through the rising gong -and for the next twenty-five minutes, allowing herself thus exactly -five minutes to get up, dress and reach the dining room. But the -morning after her friend's operation she woke with the gong, and five -minutes later was on her way to the infirmary, first tying her tie and -then smoothing down her hair as she went.</p> - -<p>As she ran up the stairs of the infirmary, a voice—whose owner must -have recognized the almost inaudible patter of her feet—called to her -from the small dining room of the cottage. She put her face, flushed -with running, round the jamb of the door and saw Doctor Dacer seated -at breakfast. The nurse was toasting bread on an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> electric toaster, -and he was spreading a piece, just finished, with a thick crimson jam. -"Damson," Lita said to herself.</p> - -<p>He looked at her.</p> - -<p>"Youth's a great thing," he said.</p> - -<p>"So the old are always saying," Lita answered. "But there's a catch in -it; they get back at you for being young."</p> - -<p>"Does that mean you think I'm old?" Dacer asked patiently; and the -nurse with the white hair exclaimed to herself "Goodness!" as if to her -they both seemed about the same age.</p> - -<p>Lita cocked her head on one side.</p> - -<p>"Well," she said, "you are too old to be my equal—I mean contemporary. -I mean contemporary," she added as they both laughed. Dacer, with -a more complete answer, gave her the piece of toast he had been -preparing. It was delicious—cool and smooth and sweet on top, and hot -and buttery below. Lita consumed it in silence, and then with a deep -sigh as she sucked a drop of jam from her forefinger, she said, "How -noble that was! Sometimes I'm afraid I'm greedy."</p> - -<p>"Of course you are," said Dacer, as if greed were a splendid quality. -"Sit down and have some coffee.... Have you been introduced to Miss -Waverley? She hates men."</p> - -<p>"Goodness!" said Miss Waverley, glancing over her shoulder, as if it -were mildly amusing that a man should think he knew anything about how -she felt.</p> - -<p>"Or is it only doctors?" Dacer went on.</p> - -<p>"Men patients are worse," said Miss Waverley. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Don't go away," said Dacer to Lita. "You are always going away."</p> - -<p>"I came to see Aurelia."</p> - -<p>"I know, but it's customary to discuss the case first with the -surgeon—in some detail too. Sit down."</p> - -<p>But she would not do that; her first duty was to her friend. She knew -Aurelia would want to know that the photographs and the letter were -safe. She stayed by her bedside until it was time to leap downstairs -and run across the campus to the dining room, her appetite merely edged -by the toast and jam.</p> - -<p>Monday was a busy day for Lita. Immediately after luncheon her -committee met and went over the reports of the monitors for the week; -and then there was basket ball for two hours, and then study. The -tennis courts were near the athletic field, and as Lita played with the -first team she could hear a deep voice booming out the score as Doctor -Dacer and Miss Jones played set after set. Miss Jones had been tennis -champion of her college the year before. Lita sent out a young scout -to bring her word how the games were going, and learned that Dacer was -winning. He must be pretty good, then—Jonesy was no slouch. She would -have taunted him in the evening, when she went to say good night to -Aurelia, if he had let himself be beaten by Jonesy.</p> - -<p>Every Monday evening Miss Fraser, the English teacher, read aloud -to the senior members of her class. Miss Fraser was something of a -problem, because she was so much more a lover of literature than a -teacher. She inspired the girls with a fine enthusiasm for the best; -but in the process she often incited them to read gems of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> language -which their parents considered unsuited to their youth. Shakspere she -read quite recklessly, sometimes forgetting to use the expurgated -edition. When Miss Barton suggested pleasantly that perhaps Antony and -Cleopatra was not quite the most appropriate of the plays, Miss Fraser -answered, "Don't they read worse in the newspapers in bad prose?"</p> - -<p>At present she was conservatively engaged in reading Much Ado About -Nothing. No one could object to that, she said. She made it seem witty -and contemporary.</p> - -<p>Lita slipped over to the infirmary between supper and the reading to -bid Aurelia good night. Dacer wasn't there. She stayed, talking a few -minutes with Aurelia, who was well enough to hear about the tramp and -the bedroom slippers and a little school gossip. Lita asked casually -where the doctor was, but no one seemed to know.</p> - -<p>When a little later she entered Miss Fraser's study she found to her -surprise that he was there, settled in a corner. Miss Fraser explained -that Doctor Dacer was the son of an old friend of hers; he had been -kind enough to say that it would be a pleasure to him to stay and hear -the reading. She need not have felt under the necessity of apologizing -to the six or seven members of her class. They felt no objection to his -presence.</p> - -<p>Lita was knitting a golf sweater for her father. She could do it at -school, but not at home, for her mother was so discouraging about it. -She had already objected to its color, shape and pattern; had felt sure -that Lita's father wouldn't appreciate the sentiment, and wouldn't wear -anything that did not come from a good shop. Probably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> after all Lita's -trouble he'd give it to his manservant. But Lita did not think he would.</p> - -<p>The nice thing about knitting is that it leaves the eyes disengaged—at -least to an expert, and Lita was expert. She resolved that she would -not look at Dacer; and did not for the first half hour or so, for she -had a comfortable knowledge that he was looking at her. Then, just -once, their eyes met. It was while Miss Fraser was reading these lines:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div><i>But nature never fram'd a woman's heart</i></div> -<div><i>Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice:</i></div> -<div><i>Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,</i></div> -<div><i>Misprising what they look on; and her wit</i></div> -<div><i>Values itself so highly, that to her</i></div> -<div><i>All matter else seems weak.</i></div> -<div><i>She cannot love——</i></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Holding her glance, he seemed to nod his head as if to say that was a -perfect description of her. Could he mean that? Did he mean that? She -averted her eyes hastily, and when she looked back again he had folded -his arms and was staring off over everybody's head, very blank and -magnificent, unaware of the existence of little schoolgirls. Had she -offended him?</p> - -<p>She decided that the next morning at the infirmary, while she was -eating his toast and jam, she would ask him a pointed question about -the character of Beatrice. She gave a good deal of time to framing the -question—wasted time, for when she reached the infirmary she found he -had gone—had taken a late train to New York<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> the night before. Lita -remembered he had looked at his watch once or twice toward the end of -the reading.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the nurse cheerfully, "we're doing so well we don't need -him." It was the second nurse. Miss Waverley had gone with the doctor.</p> - -<p>Lita's frightened eyes sought Aurelia's, who framed the words: "Back -Thursday."</p> - -<p>She framed them as if two—almost three days were nothing. Lita, who -knew no more of the Einstein theory than the name, discovered that -time was relative; that Tuesday morning took what in old times she -would have considered several weeks in passing; and that each study -period—in the words of William James—lay down like a cow on the -doorstep and refused to get up and go on. The truth was that time had -never been time to Lita; it had been action. Now it was emptiness, -something to be filled; and yet she couldn't fill it; it was a -bottomless abyss. Worse still, she couldn't concentrate. She went to -the blackboard to do an original—a simple thing she would have tossed -off in a minute in old times—and couldn't think how to begin; she, the -best geometer in the class. This was serious, and it was queer. Lita -couldn't, as she said to Aurelia, get the hang of it. Time being her -problem—this sudden unexpected accumulation of time on her hands—she -might have been expected to spend it doing the practical, obvious -things that had to be done. Not at all. She was incapable of exertion. -She could not study; and even the letter to her father, saying the -Italian trip was impossible, was never written. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - -<p>She had a letter from him Wednesday morning in which he assumed that -she had not been able to bring her mother to any conclusion. He said he -would call her up when she came to town on Friday. Perhaps she would -dine with him on Saturday, and do a play. Ordinarily this would have -seemed an agreeable prospect; but now, since it was farther away than -Thursday, it had no real existence.</p> - -<p>Late Wednesday afternoon her unalterable decision not to discuss Doctor -Dacer with anyone broke down, and she told Aurelia the whole story. -It took an hour—their meeting, everything that he had said, done and -looked, and all that she had felt. She paid a great price, however, -for this enjoyment—and she did enjoy it—for afterward the whole -experience became more a narrative and less a vital memory.</p> - -<p>Thursday morning was the worst of all. Thursday morning was simply -unbearable, until about noon, when she heard the whistle of the first -possible New York train. After that things went very well until about -five, when she had a moment to run over to see Aurelia and heard that -the doctor had not come—had decided not to come until the next day, -Friday.</p> - -<p>As far as she was concerned, he might as well not have come at all. All -her joy in the anticipated meeting was dead; but this might possibly -have reawakened, except that on Friday she did not have a minute until -the three-o'clock train, which she was taking to New York. Of course, -she could develop a cold or some mysterious ailment which would keep -her at school over Sunday, even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> in the infirmary; but deceit was not -attractive to her; though, as she would have said herself, she was not -narrow-minded about it.</p> - -<p>The girls of Elbridge Hall were not supposed to make the trip to New -York by themselves; but sometimes a prudent senior—and who is prudent -if not the chairman of the self-government committee?—might be put -on the train at Elbridge by a teacher and sent off alone, on the -telephoned promise of a parent to meet her on her arrival at the Grand -Central.</p> - -<p>When, under the chaperonage of Jonesy, Lita stepped out of the school -flivver at the station she saw that Doctor Dacer was there before her. -He must have come up in a morning train, seen his patient and walked to -the station. Wild possibilities rose at once in the girl's mind. Could -he have known from Aurelia? Could he have arranged— No, for he took -no interest in her arrival; hardly glanced in her direction. He was -smoking, and when the train came he got into the smoking car without so -much as glancing back to see where Jonesy was bestowing Lita.</p> - -<p>The train, which was a slow one, was empty. Lita settled herself by a -window and opened her geometry. She said to herself:</p> - -<p>"I simply will not sit and watch the door. If he means to come he'll -come, and my watching won't change things one way or the other."</p> - -<p>She set her little jaw and turned to Monday's lesson: "To prove that -similar triangles are to each other as the squares of the medians drawn -to their homologous sides." The words conveyed absolutely nothing -to her. She read them three times. It wasn't that she couldn't do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> -the problem—she couldn't even think about it. She drew two similar -triangles. They seemed to sit side by side like a cat and a kitten. She -gave them whiskers and tails. Then, annoyed with herself, she produced -a ruler and constructed a neat figure. She tried reading the theorem -again, this time in a conversational tone, as if it were the beginning -of a story: "Similar triangles are to each other—"</p> - -<p>The door opened, letting in the roar of the train and a disagreeable -smell of coal smoke.</p> - -<p>"I will not look up," thought Lita; "I will not! I will not!" And -raising her eyes she saw that Dacer was there. She smiled not so much -in greeting as from pure joy.</p> - -<p>He hadn't wasted much time. He took her books and bag from the seat -beside her and put them on the rack. Then he sat down and said, "Isn't -it dangerous to let such little girls travel by themselves?"</p> - -<p>She found speech difficult between her heart's beating too fast and her -breath's coming too slow, but she did manage to say, "What does Effie -do?"</p> - -<p>"Just what you do—she expects me to be on hand to look out for her."</p> - -<p>"I didn't expect you."</p> - -<p>"No? Can it be you are not such a clever girl as teacher always -thought?"</p> - -<p>"I thought you were spending the night at Elbridge."</p> - -<p>"So did I when I arrived, but my plans changed. I found that it would -be better for me to take the three-o'clock to town and go back on -Sunday afternoon, by the—what is the train that we take back on -Sunday?" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was almost too serious for jests, and Lita said in a voice that just -didn't tremble that she took the 4:08.</p> - -<p>Life is not often just right, not only in the present, but promising -in forty-eight hours to be just as good or better. Lita spent two -wonderful hours. First they talked about Aurelia—her courage, her -loneliness, her parents, divorce in general—and then Lita found -herself telling him the whole story of her own position in regard to -her parents. Even to Aurelia, with whom she talked so frankly, she -had never told the whole story—her own deep emotional reactions. She -found to her surprise that it was easier to tell a story of an intimate -nature to this stranger of an opposite sex than to her lifelong friend. -He understood so perfectly. He did not blame them; if he had she would -have felt called on to defend them; and he did not blame her; if he had -she would have been forced into attacking them. He just listened, and -seemed to think it was a normal and deeply interesting bit of life.</p> - -<p>He interrupted her once to say, "But you must remember that they are -people as well as parents."</p> - -<p>It seemed to her an inspired utterance. She did not always remember -that. She offered the excuse: "Yes, but I don't mind their being -divorced. Only why do they hate each other so?"</p> - -<p>"How do you know they hate each other?"</p> - -<p>Lita thought this was a queer thing to say after all that she had told -him—almost stupid. She explained again: They were always abusing each -other; nothing the other did was right; neither could bear her to speak -well of—</p> - -<p>"They sound to me," said Dacer, "as if they were still fond of each -other." Then, as Lita just stared at him, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> went on: "Didn't you know -that? The only people it's any fun to quarrel with are the people you -love."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'm glad you haven't found it out as yet, but it's true."</p> - -<p>"I never quarrel," said Lita.</p> - -<p>"You will some day. I expect to quarrel a lot with my wife."</p> - -<p>"I shall never quarrel with my husband."</p> - -<p>"No? Well, perhaps I'm wrong then."</p> - -<p>She was angry at herself for glancing up so quickly to see what he -could possibly mean by that except—he was looking at her gravely.</p> - -<p>"Look here!" he said. "That's a mistake about Italy. You don't want to -go to Italy next summer."</p> - -<p>She was aware of two contradictory impressions during the entire -journey—one that this was the most extraordinary and dramatic event, -and that no heroine in fiction had ever such an adventure; and the -other that it was absolutely inevitable, and that she was now for the -first time a normal member of the human species.</p> - -<p>Nothing in the whole experience thrilled her more than the calm, almost -martial way in which he said as they were getting off the train at the -Grand Central, "Now we'll get a taxi."</p> - -<p>She was obliged to explain to him that they couldn't; her mother would -be at the gate waiting for her—she always was.</p> - -<p>Only this time she wasn't.</p> - -<p>Meeting trains in the Grand Central, though it has not the phrenetic -difficulty of meeting trains in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>Pennsylvania Station, where you -must watch two crowded stairways and a disgorging elevator in three -different directions, is not made too easy. To meet a train in the -Grand Central you must be in two widely separated spots at the same -time.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt, approaching the bulletin board through devious -subterranean routes, was caught in a stampede of those hurrying to -meet a belated Boston express; and when at last she wormed her way -to the front she saw that the impressive official with the glasses -well down on his nose and the extraordinary ability for making neat -figures had written down Track 12 for Lita's train. She turned liked -a hunted animal; and at the moment when Lita and Dacer were emerging -from the gate Mrs. Hazlitt was running from a point far to the west of -Vanderbilt Avenue to a track almost at Lexington. It was five o'clock, -and many heavier and more determined people were running for their -trains, so that she had a good many collisions and apologies before she -reached the gate where her daughter ought to have been.</p> - -<p>The last passenger, carrying a bunch of flowers and a cardboard box -tied up with two different kinds of string, was just staggering through -on oddly shaped flat feet. Everyone else had disappeared. Mrs. Hazlitt -questioned the gateman. Had he seen a small young lady all alone who -seemed to be looking for someone? The gateman said that he could not -say he had, but would not care to say he had not. He possessed to -perfection the railroad man's art of not telling a passenger anything -he doesn't have to tell. His manner irritated Mrs. Hazlitt. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I suppose you know," she said, "that you have horrible arrangements -for meeting trains."</p> - -<p>"If some of us had our way we wouldn't have any arrangements at all," -answered the gateman.</p> - -<p>This shocked Mrs. Hazlitt; it seemed so autocratic. She opened her eyes -to their widest and felt she must argue the matter out with him.</p> - -<p>"Do you mean," she asked, "that you would not let people meet trains?"</p> - -<p>"I would not," said the gateman calmly, and having locked his gate he -went his way.</p> - -<p>This had taken a few minutes, and by the time Mrs. Hazlitt had gone -back to the Vanderbilt Avenue entrance and found her car and driven -home, Lita was already in the library—alone.</p> - -<p>One of the disadvantages experienced by people who express themselves -quickly is that while they are explaining how everything happened the -silent people of the world are making up their minds how much they will -tell. Mrs. Hazlitt was talking as she entered the room.</p> - -<p>"I'm so sorry, my dear," she was saying. "Don't let's ever tell Miss -Barton. I wasn't really late—at least I would not have been if I had -not had to run miles and miles, knocking down commuters as I went. And -do you know what a gateman said to me, Lita, when I found I had missed -you? That people oughtn't to meet trains. I could have killed him. I -don't suppose you were frightened though. I suppose you took a taxi?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Lita.</p> - -<p>She had had every intention of telling her mother <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>everything—well, -certainly that she had met Doctor Dacer on the train and that he had -been kind enough to see her home; but the words did not come instantly, -and as she paused, her mother rushed on to something else—clothes, and -what Lita wanted to see if they went to the theater the next day. The -moment for telling slipped away from her in the most unexpected way; it -was getting farther and farther; in fact it was nothing but a speck on -the horizon.</p> - -<p>They had an amusing dinner together. One of the pleasantest features in -her parents' divorce was that Mrs. Hazlitt felt not the least restraint -about discussing the Hazlitt family.</p> - -<p>"My dear," she would say, with her eyes dancing, "don't tell me you -never heard about why your Uncle Elbert was driven out of Portland."</p> - -<p>Lita enjoyed these anecdotes extremely. Sometimes they contained -illuminating phrases: "Of course, your father and I preferred to be -alone." "Naturally I knew just how Jim—your father—felt about it, -but—"</p> - -<p>When her mother was like this Lita was content that her father and -the whole world should remain outsiders. Her mother was a sufficient -companion.</p> - -<p>When they were back in the library after dinner her father telephoned -to her. It was about Italy. She took up the receiver with a sinking -heart. Now she wished she had written to him. Her mother was holding -the paper as if she were reading it, but Lita knew that she couldn't -help hearing the faltering sentences she was murmuring into the -mouthpiece:</p> - -<p>"Yes, Pat, I spoke to her, and I'm afraid we can't.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> I mean that, under -the circumstances—" She heard the paper rustling to the floor, and her -mother standing beside her whispered to her: "Don't be so timid; don't -say you're afraid."</p> - -<p>Then both parents were talking to her at once, one over the wire and -one in her ear. Now, it is possible to listen while you talk yourself, -but it is not possible to listen to two people at once.</p> - -<p>Her father was saying: "Of course, if you don't want to go say so, but -if you do, and will put the matter as I suggested—"</p> - -<p>And her mother was whispering sibilantly, "You're giving the idea you -wish to go—so unjust to me. Say straight out you won't leave me."</p> - -<p>It was one of those minutes that epitomized her life, and her nerves -were distinctly on edge as she hung up the receiver, to find that her -mother was only waiting for this, to go over the whole matter more at -length.</p> - -<p>"There are times, my dear," she was saying, "when it is really -necessary to speak out, even at the risk of hurting a person's -feelings. I do hope you are not one of those weak natures who can never -tell a disagreeable truth. It will save your father future suffering if -you can make him understand once and for all he cannot come in between -us—not because I forbid it, but because you won't have it."</p> - -<p>The evening never regained its gayety.</p> - -<p>The next morning—Saturday—was devoted entirely to clothes, and Lita -now discovered a curious fact. She found she knew exactly how Dacer -liked her to dress. In their few interviews they had never mentioned -clothes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> and yet she did not buy a hat or reject a model without a -sure conviction that she was following his taste. Heretofore her main -interest in the subject had been a desire to knock her schoolmates in -the eye.</p> - -<p>She thought of an epigram: "Women dress for all women—and one man."</p> - -<p>The morning saw a triumph of her diplomacy too. She and her mother were -going to the theater together that afternoon. Coming down in the train, -she had learned that Dacer was taking Effie and some of her friends to -the matinée to see Eugene Valentine's new play, The Winged Victory. It -had not been easy to steer Mrs. Hazlitt toward this popular success; -she was displeased with anything that fell short of the Comédie -Française. Lita was obliged to stoop to tactics suggested by Aurelia. -She intimated very gently that when her father took her to the play he -never cared what it was so long as she was amused, and so she wouldn't -bore her mother with the Valentine play: she'd wait until she and Pat -were going on a spree—that very evening, perhaps—</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt came to terms at once and sent for the tickets.</p> - -<p>They came in a little late. The play had already begun, but Lita's -first glance was not at the stage. Yes, he was there—three nice little -girls in a row in the front of the box, and he in the back—but not -alone. A woman was whispering in his ear. Who was she? His fiancée? -His wife? Had he said anything which actually precluded the idea of -his being married? "I expect to quarrel a great deal with my wife." -That did not say more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> than that he had not quarreled with her so far. -These two were certainly not quarreling. She sat in great agony; not of -spirit only, for gradually a distinct physical ache developed in her -left side. She tried to glue her eyes to the stage, and did not hear a -word, except an occasional murmur from her mother: "What a silly play!"</p> - -<p>The lights went up at the end of the act. Lita saw that the woman was -rather fat and not at all young—thirty at least—and yet she knew -that these sophisticated older women— There was something sleek and -sumptuous about this one, all in black velvet and diamonds and fur. A -slight respite came to her when Dacer went out to smoke a cigarette. -Did this indicate indifference or merely intimacy? The white-skinned -woman moved to the front of the box and began making herself agreeable -to the children, particularly to the girl Lita had picked out as -Effie—a regular sister-in-law-to-be manner. She had looked forward -to the theater as a good time to tell her mother all about it, with a -casual "Oh, do you see that man over there—" She was suffering too -much to permit it. She became aware that her mother felt something -tense and portentous in the air; and she said suddenly, with a sound -instinct for red herrings, that she thought Valentine the handsomest -creature that she had ever seen. Her mother's reaction to this took up -most of the entr'acte.</p> - -<p>Doctor Dacer never saw them at all. Mrs. Hazlitt was an adept at -getting out of a theater and finding her car before anyone else. She -and Lita were on their way uptown before the little girls in the box -had sorted out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> their coats and hats. A good many people, mostly men, -came in to tea; and when they had gone it was time for Lita to dress to -go and dine with her father. Dine! She felt she would never be able to -eat again—a very curious feeling.</p> - -<p>When Mrs. Hazlitt went to her room Margaret was as usual waiting to -help her dress, but it was not usual for Margaret to wear such a long -face. She had entered the family as Lita's nurse, but was now Mrs. -Hazlitt's maid and the pivot on which all domestic machinery revolved.</p> - -<p>As she unhooked Mrs. Hazlitt's dress her solemn voice came from the -middle of Mrs. Hazlitt's back: "I think you ought to know, mum, that -when I was brushing that heavy coat of Miss Lita's this afternoon I -found something in the pocket."</p> - -<p>"Goodness, Margaret! What?"</p> - -<p>Margaret fumbled under her apron and produced a folded, typewritten -sheet a little grimy about the edges. Mrs. Hazlitt seized it and read:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>Dear Eugene Valentine:</i> May I not tell you what an inspiration -your art is to me in my daily life? I think I have every -photograph of you that was ever published, and one I bought at a -fair with your signature. Only this is not my favorite. I like -best the one as a miner from The Emerald Light. It is so strong -and virile. Oh, Mr. Valentine, you cannot guess how happy it would -make me if you would autograph one of these for me! I am not at -present living in New York, but I am often there for week-ends, -and could easily bring one of these pictures to the theater after -a matinée, if that would be easiest for you.</p> - -<p>I shall not attempt to tell you what your art means to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> me, and -how you make other men seem, and I fear they always will seem like -they was pigmies beside you.</p> - -<p>I take the great liberty of inclosing my own picture in case it -would interest you to see what a great admirer of yours looks like.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Being merely a rough draft, it was unsigned.</p> - -<p>Of all the possibilities that crossed Mrs. Hazlitt's mind on reading -this document, the possibility that her daughter had not written it -was not one. Several suspicious circumstances at once popped into her -head—Lita's insistence on going to Valentine's play; her admiration -of him; her tentative suggestion about marriage; her alternate high -spirits and abstraction.</p> - -<p>"And who was he?" Margaret went on. "That young fellar brought her home -yesterday?"</p> - -<p>"A man brought her home yesterday?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—the two of them in a taxi."</p> - -<p>"What did he look like?"</p> - -<p>"I couldn't see him very good; but I heard him say 'Until Sunday' as he -got back into the taxi; and when I opened the door for Miss Lita you -could see she was smiling all over her face, but not letting it out."</p> - -<p>Ah, how well, in other days, Mrs. Hazlitt had known that beatific state!</p> - -<p>She walked to her door and called, "Lita! Lita!"</p> - -<p>Probably if one read the memoirs of Napoleon, the dispatches of -Wellington and the commentaries of Cæsar one would find a place where -the author asserts that the best general is he who takes quickest -advantage of chance. Lita, entering her mother's room with her -head bent over a fastening of her dress, was wondering what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> made -some fasteners cling like leeches and others droop apart like limp -handshakes. For the first few minutes she had no idea what her mother -was talking about. She was prepared to feel guilty—she was guilty, but -she had written no letter.</p> - -<p>"Writing a letter like that—a vulgar letter—and making me take you -to his play—and coming home with him, when I was actually waiting at -the gate for you. Perhaps you were not even on that train at all—so -terribly deceitful—as if I were your enemy instead of your mother. I -felt there was something queer about you at the play! An actor! I wish -you knew something about actors in private life. And Valentine of all -people! A man—"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt paused. She knew nothing about Valentine's private life; -but she thought it was pretty safe to make that pause as if it were all -too awful to discuss.</p> - -<p>"Your father must be told of this. It will shock him very much."</p> - -<p>That was the phrase that gave Lita her great idea. Not since she was -four years old had she heard the words "your father" spoken in that -tone. Perhaps after all, it was not necessary to die in order to -reconcile your parents; perhaps it was enough to let them think you -were undesirably in love. She had a moment to consider this notion -while her mother, in a short frilled petticoat, with her blond hair -about her shoulders, was running on about what Mr. Hazlitt would say to -this man.</p> - -<p>Lita said at a venture, "Mr. Valentine doesn't even know my name. He -won't have any idea what father is talking about."</p> - -<p>"Indeed?" cried Mrs. Hazlitt. "Your father is not a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> man who talks -without contriving to make himself understood. And as to Valentine's -not knowing your name, you'll find he knows it—and the amount of -your fortune, too, probably. Little schoolgirls have very little -interest for older men, I can tell you, unless— And such a letter too. -'Like they was pigmies.' If you must be vulgar, at least try to be -grammatical."</p> - -<p>"Shall you see my father when he comes for me?"</p> - -<p>"Of course I shall not see him; but I shall take care that he knows -the facts." At the same time, Lita could not help noticing that Mrs. -Hazlitt refused to wear the garment Margaret had left out for her, and -put on, with apparent unconsciousness, a new French tea gown in mauve -and silver. "He will tell you better than I can what sort of a man this -Valentine is."</p> - -<p>"But, mother, is father's judgment of men to be depended on? You said -about his lawyers that he had the faculty of collecting about him the -most inefficient—"</p> - -<p>"I never said any such thing—or rather, it was entirely different. How -can you speak like that of your father? But it's my own fault, treating -you as if you were a companion instead of a silly child."</p> - -<p>This was war. Lita withdrew into herself. Parents, she reflected, did -not really quite play the game; they couldn't belittle a fellow parent -one day, and the next, when they needed to use force, rush away into -the wings and dress him up as an ogre. After all the things her mother -had said about her father, how could she expect him to inspire fear? -And yet Lita knew that she was a little afraid.</p> - -<p>Then Freebody the butler came up to say that Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> Hazlitt was waiting -in his car for Miss Hazlitt. Freebody had been with the Hazlitts -before their divorce, and when the split came had preferred to remain -with Mrs. Hazlitt, although he had been offered inducements by the -other side. In her bitterness of spirit she had felt it a triumph that -Freebody had chosen her household. She had particularly valued his -reason for staying with her. He had said he did not care to work for -stage people. This was wonderful to quote. It let people know that -her husband's second wife had been an actress, and moreover a kind of -actress that Freebody did not care to work for; and it could be told so -good-temperedly, as if it were a joke on Freebody. She had always felt -grateful to him.</p> - -<p>Now she sealed the incriminating note in another envelope and gave it -to Freebody.</p> - -<p>"Give this to Mr. Hazlitt," she said, "and tell him it was found in -the pocket of Miss Lita's coat"; and she added, when he had gone down -again, "You can explain the rest yourself."</p> - -<p>"No, mother," said Lita; "if you want any explaining done you must do -it yourself."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt was still protesting against this suggestion when Freebody -came back and said that Mr. Hazlitt was in the drawing-room, and would -be very much obliged to Mrs. Hazlitt if she could arrange to see him -for just five minutes. There was a pause; Mrs. Hazlitt and Lita looked -at each other; and Freebody, just as much interested as anyone, looked -at no one. Then Mrs. Hazlitt said they would both go down.</p> - -<p>And so for the first time since she was five years old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> Lita stood in -the room with both her parents—her mother trembling so that the silk -lining of her tea gown rustled with a soft, continuous whispering like -the wind in dead leaves, and her father, white and impressive, with his -crush hat under one arm and the open letter held at arm's length so -that he could read it without his glasses. Something hurt and twisted -came to rest in Lita by the mere fact that the three of them were -together.</p> - -<p>Her father spoke first, and his voice was not quite natural, as he -said, "It was kind of you to come down, Alita. I know it is exceedingly -painful to you—"</p> - -<p>"I've done a good many painful things in my life for Lita."</p> - -<p>"I know, I know," he answered gently; "and this not the least. But this -letter—I don't exactly understand it."</p> - -<p>"Have you read it?"</p> - -<p>"Not entirely."</p> - -<p>"Well, read it—read it," said Mrs. Hazlitt, as if he ought to see -that he couldn't understand anything until he had read it; but every -time he began to read it she began to explain all the hideousness of -Lita's conduct; and when he looked up to listen to her she said, with a -sort of weary patience, "Won't you please read the letter? Then we can -discuss it."</p> - -<p>At last he said quietly, "Alita, I cannot read it while you talk to me."</p> - -<p>She did not answer. She moved her neck back like an offended swan, and -glanced at Lita as much as to say, "You see the sort of man he is?" -She did, however, remain silent until he had finished, and looking had -said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> "But this isn't even good grammar—'Like they was pigmies.' -Don't they teach her grammar at this school?"</p> - -<p>Alita Hazlitt was one of those people who, when blame is going about, -assume it is intended for them and consider the accusation most unjust.</p> - -<p>"Well, really," she said now, "it wasn't my wish that she should go to -boarding school. It has turned out exactly as I prophesied it would. -Common girls have taught her to run after actors, and inefficient -teachers have failed—"</p> - -<p>"I don't remember your prophesying that, Alita."</p> - -<p>"You mean to say I did not?"</p> - -<p>"I mean to say I have no recollection of it. I do remember that you -said it would make it easier for me to kidnap her. I shall never forget -that."</p> - -<p>"You cannot deny that I was opposed to school. I only yielded to your -wishes—such a mistake."</p> - -<p>"You have not many of that kind to reproach yourself with."</p> - -<p>Lita, who had felt a profound filial emotion at seeing her parents -together, was now distressingly conscious that they had never seemed -less her parents than at this moment. They seemed in fact rather -dreadful people—childish, unjust, lacking in essential self-control. -The last remnant of her childhood seemed to perish with this scene, and -she became hard, matured and to a certain degree orphaned.</p> - -<p>"What I am trying to say," Mr. Hazlitt went on, "is that we can hardly -attribute this unfortunate episode entirely to the influence of the -school. I mean that if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> there had not been some inherent silliness in -the child herself—"</p> - -<p>This was too good a point for Mrs. Hazlitt to let slip.</p> - -<p>"It was not from me," she said, "that Lita inherited a tendency to run -after people of the stage."</p> - -<p>"We need not discuss inherited tendencies, I think."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt laughed.</p> - -<p>"Ah, that is so like you! We may criticize the child or the school -or my bringing up, but the instant we begin to talk about your -shortcomings it is discovered that we are going too far."</p> - -<p>"Alita," he said, "I came here in the most coöperative spirit—"</p> - -<p>"And do you make it a favor that you should be willing to try to save -your child?"</p> - -<p>That was unjust of her mother, Lita thought. Her father was trying to -be nice. It was her mother who kept making the interview bitter, and -yet in essentials her mother had behaved so much better. Why did she -suffer so much in the atmosphere of their anger? Why did she wish so -passionately that they should treat each other at least fairly? She -couldn't understand.</p> - -<p>"You have not met me in a coöperative spirit," her father was saying, -"and I see no point in my staying. Good night."</p> - -<p>"And you're going—just like that—without doing anything at all?"</p> - -<p>"Of course, I shall write to Miss Barton—and if you are not able to -take Lita back to school tomorrow I'll go myself."</p> - -<p>Lita noticed that though an instant before her mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> had reproached -him with indifference, she treated his last suggestion as if it were -impertinent.</p> - -<p>"I think I shall be able to take my daughter safely to school," she -said. "But you must see this man; that I cannot do."</p> - -<p>"I shall do nothing so ridiculous," said Mr. Hazlitt. "Valentine! Why, -a man like that gets a basketful a day of letters from idiotic women of -all ages! He's bored to death by them."</p> - -<p>"I have yet to find a man who is bored by the adoration of idiotic -women," said Mrs. Hazlitt, and there was no mistake in anybody's mind -as to what she meant by that.</p> - -<p>A discussion on the relative idiocy of the sexes broke out with -extraordinary violence. Lita's conduct was utterly forgotten. She might -have slipped out of the room without being noticed, except that her -father was standing between her and the door. She tried to remember -Dacer's saying that quarreling meant love, and found to her surprise -that that idea was almost as shocking. Could it be that she did not -want her parents to have any emotions at all?</p> - -<p>When her father had gone, her mother burst into tears.</p> - -<p>"I am so sorry," she said, "that you should have seen him like that—at -his very worst."</p> - -<p>Lita had just been thinking how much the better of the two he -had appeared. She felt as hard as a stone. She had no wish to be -continually appraising her parents; they left her no choice. Her -childish acceptance of them had been destroyed, and at the moment her -friendly emotion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> towards them as companions and human beings had not -yet flowered. Instead of wanting to tell her mother about Dacer, she -wanted to tell Dacer about her mother.</p> - -<p>She saw that her whole scheme about Valentine had been ridiculous—a -complete failure. She ought to clear that up at once, but she did not -feel up to explaining it; an explanation with her mother involved -so much. Mrs. Hazlitt would give those she loved anything in the -world—except her attention. It was necessary to hold her attention -with one hand and feed her your confidence with the other. Lita was too -exhausted to attempt it that evening. She would do it the next day, of -course.</p> - -<p>The next morning—Sunday—Mrs. Hazlitt awoke with a severe headache. -Though she insisted on Lita's remaining in sight—for fear that she -would rush to the arms of Valentine—it was made clear that no friendly -intercourse between parent and child was possible. Lita felt herself to -be the direct cause of the agony of mind which had led to the headache.</p> - -<p>After luncheon, looking like carved marble, Mrs. Hazlitt got up and -announced her intention of escorting Lita back to school. The girl saw -that her mother was not well enough to make the double journey, and -suggested that it would be better for her father to go with her. Mrs. -Hazlitt treated this proposal with the coldest scorn.</p> - -<p>"I think we will not trouble your father further," she said.</p> - -<p>At times like this she used a flat, remote voice; as dead, Lita -thought, as a corpse talking on a disconnected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> telephone. In old times -it had nearly broken her heart when her mother spoke to her in that -tone. Today it had lost its power.</p> - -<p>They drove to the station in silence, every jar of the car sending a -tremor through Mrs. Hazlitt's eyelids. In the train, she put Lita's -knitting bag behind her head and shut her eyes. Lita, sitting in -silence beside, felt so wooden—inside and out—that, she said to -herself, not even the appearance of Doctor Dacer would make any -difference to her. But when, before they were out of the tunnel, he did -pass through the car—not stopping, just raising his hat—she found it -did affect her.</p> - -<p>Her mother opened her eyes.</p> - -<p>"Who's that man?" she said in an almost human tone.</p> - -<p>"I think he's one of the surgeons who is taking care of Aurelia," Lita -answered, and instantly regretted the "I think." It was positively -deceitful, where she had intended to be merely noncommittal. But all -the relations of her life seemed to have gone wrong.</p> - -<p>She had not done any of her work for the next day; not the original -in geometry or the sonnet she should have learned by heart; in fact -she had not opened a book. She couldn't concentrate her mind now on -mathematics or poetry, but she might do some of the collateral reading -for Greek History. She slipped the book out of its strap and opened it.</p> - -<p>"Of Lycurgus the lawgiver, we have nothing to relate that is certain -and uncontroverted—" Lita thought: that's at least a candid way to -begin a biography. The door opened, letting in the roar of the train -and the smell of coal smoke, and Lita's nerves remembered it, as if -only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> once before in her life had she ever known a car door open, and -looked up—to see the conductor. She dropped her eyes and went on: "For -there are different accounts of his birth, his death—" The door again; -this time a passenger in search of a seat. She made a vow to herself to -read three pages without looking up—and did. "Endeavoring to part some -persons who were concerned in a fray, he received a wound by a kitchen -knife, of which he died, and left the kingdom—"</p> - -<p>She was aware that something in blue serge was stationary beside her. -She looked slowly up. Yes, there he was.</p> - -<p>She introduced him to her mother. The seat in front of them was now -free, and Dacer, turning it over, sat down. Mrs. Hazlitt was not sorry -to show that her coldness concerned her daughter only. She was very -willing to talk agreeably to a stranger. The conversation was carried -on between them as if Lita were too young to be expected to take -part. She was not sorry, and went on glancing at a sentence here and -there: "He set sail, therefore, and landed in Crete—" "—in which the -priestess called him beloved of the gods, and rather a god than a man."</p> - -<p>At this she really could not help looking at Dacer, and finding his -eyes on her, she said, "I saw you at the theater yesterday."</p> - -<p>He was interested.</p> - -<p>"I didn't see you."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, we were there," said Mrs. Hazlitt languidly. "Such a poor -play! And as for Valentine—these popular actors in America—" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - -<p>"He was thought very handsome and dashing, in our box," said Dacer.</p> - -<p>And then Lita was surprised to hear her own voice saying, "Was that -lady your wife?"</p> - -<p>He stared at her for a second as if he had not heard, or could not -understand what he seemed to have heard, and then answered quietly, -"No, I don't care for them by the cubic foot."</p> - -<p>Never had such a perfect reply been made, Lita thought. It -reconstructed their relation and the whole world, and yet it took place -so gently that her mother had hardly noticed that they had spoken to -each other. Life was simply immense, she said to herself; she had been -quite wrong about it before.</p> - -<p>Then presently Dacer drew from Mrs. Hazlitt the admission that she -had a wretched headache—hadn't slept—had had a disagreeable day—so -foolish, but she was affected by scenes—</p> - -<p>"Everybody is, you know," said Dacer.</p> - -<p>She should not have come on such an expedition. The idea of her -driving four miles out to the school in a jiggling car—and right back -again—was absurd. He spoke almost sternly. He had a time-table in -his pocket; a train left for New York five minutes after their train -arrived at Elbridge; Mrs. Hazlitt must take that back, go straight to -bed; he would give her a powder. Of course he would see Miss Hazlitt -safely to the school—yes, even into Miss Barton's presence. He wrote -his prescription. Lita saw that her mother was going to obey.</p> - -<p>As they got out at the station they saw the New York train already -waiting. Dacer put Mrs. Hazlitt on it;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> and Lita, watching them, saw -Mrs. Hazlitt turn at the steps and give him some special injunction. -Well, she probably would not confide to him so soon the scandal of -the letter to Valentine; and if she did, it would be easy to explain. -Dacer's face was untroubled as he returned to her.</p> - -<p>"She's all in," he said.</p> - -<p>A sharp self-reproach clutched at Lita's heart, the capacity for -emotion having unexpectedly returned to her.</p> - -<p>"Did it really do her harm to come out here?"</p> - -<p>"It really is better for her to go straight home," he answered, as if -admitting other motives had entered into his advice.</p> - -<p>They got into the school flivver, which was waiting for them. Rain had -just stopped and the back curtains were down. It was dark.</p> - -<p>As they wheeled away from the station lights Lita heard him saying, -"Didn't you know I wasn't married?" She did not immediately answer. Her -hand was taken. "Didn't you know?" he said again.</p> - -<p>A strange thing was happening to Lita. She formed the resolution of -withdrawing her hand; she sent the impulse out from her brain, but it -seemed only to reach her elbow; her hand, limp and willing, continued -to remain in his.</p> - -<p>They spoke hardly at all. The near presence of Matthew, the driver, a -well-known school gossip, made speech undesirable. Besides, it wasn't -necessary. Lita was perfectly content with silence as long as that -large, solid hand enveloped hers. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> - -<p>As they turned in at the school gate he said, "You'll come over to see -Aurelia this evening, I suppose."</p> - -<p>She knew it wouldn't be possible, and was obliged to say so. And he was -going back to town by a morning train. There was a pause.</p> - -<p>As they got out he said, "Do you ever get up very early—as early as -six?"</p> - -<p>"I could always make a beginning," said Lita.</p> - -<p>And then, true to his promise, he turned the chairman of the -self-government committee over to the keeping of Miss Barton herself.</p> - -<p>One excellent way of waking early is not to sleep at all. Lita hardly -slept and was out of bed in time to watch the slow but fortunately -inevitable spreading of the dawn. The new day was evidently going -to be one of those days in late March when, though the earth has no -suggestion of spring, the sky and the air are as vernal as May. Lita -could see a light in the upper story of the infirmary. Dacer's perhaps.</p> - -<p>It was not yet six when she stole downstairs and across the green. She -had a good reason for being anxious about Aurelia—the stitches had -been taken out of the wound the night before. That's what she would -say if anyone asked her. But no one was awake, except far away in -the school kitchen. The door of the infirmary was locked, but as she -pressed noiselessly against it a figure faced her on the other side -of the glass—Dacer. He opened the door and came out. It shut behind -him, and as the night latch was still on, they were locked out. So they -sat down on the narrow steps of the cottage, each with a pillar to -lean against, and for the first time looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> long and steadily at each -other, as people who have met by deliberate acknowledged plan.</p> - -<p>"Do you like the early morning?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"I never did before," she answered.</p> - -<p>He smiled at her.</p> - -<p>"Do you realize," he said, "that in this lifelong friendship of ours -that is the first decent thing you have ever said to me?"</p> - -<p>Why, it was true! To Lita it had been so clear that she was more -interested than he was; more eager; but it was true, she had given him -none of those poignant, unforgettable sentences which he had left with -her, to go over in his absence. She smiled, too—very slowly.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps it won't be the last," she said.</p> - -<p>At half past seven Dacer went in, and a few minutes later Lita arrived -at Room 11 to inquire after her friend. When it was time to go, she -shook hands with Doctor Dacer in the presence of Aurelia, Aurelia's -mother, who had just arrived, and the trained nurse.</p> - -<p>It was the last possible meeting before the Easter holidays.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Immediately after breakfast Lita had geometry, and then a study period. -During this she received a message that Miss Barton wished to speak to -her. Such a message was not necessarily alarming; as chairman of the -self-government committee she was consulted on many school problems. It -was known that Miss Barton relied more on her judgment than on that of -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> senior president. Still, with a poor classroom record for the past -week, and that unlicensed hour and a half on the infirmary steps, Lita -did feel a trifle nervous; not that she could care very much about such -minor matters. And then there was Matthew and the flivver——</p> - -<p>The head mistress was sitting at her desk in her study, with its -latticed windows and the etchings of English cathedrals on the walls. -Her head was slightly on one side, which meant, according to school -lore, that she was going to be particularly airy. She was.</p> - -<p>"Oh, well, come, my dear Lita," she said. "This is really going rather -far—a bit thick, as our little English friend would say."</p> - -<p>"But what is it, Miss Barton?" Lita breathed, with all the pearly -innocence of young guilt.</p> - -<p>"Oh, dear, dear!" said Miss Barton. "So we have nothing on our -conscience!"</p> - -<p>"I have a great many things," said Lita quietly. She knew just how to -talk to her chief—if that would do any good.</p> - -<p>"One asks oneself whether girls are worth educating at all if this is -the way the more intelligent ones expend their time and energy." And -Miss Barton handed Lita the crumpled but familiar letter to Valentine. -"I've had a sharp note from your father this morning, and I must say -I don't blame him—really I don't. The grammar would be a sufficient -humiliation to any school, even if the letter were addressed to your -grandmother. And I may tell you that five different photographs of -Mr. Valentine have been discovered hidden about your room—most -ingeniously, it is true, but quite against our rules. Really,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> it's -a question whether the school can keep on if this sort of thing is -general."</p> - -<p>Lita listened in what appeared to be the most respectful silence. Her -relief was intense. Also she was trying to remember what Miss Barton -said word for word so as to repeat it to Aurelia, to whom, after all, -it justly belonged. Aurelia did a wonderful imitation of the head -mistress, and could make use of every phrase; she was always on the -lookout for material.</p> - -<p>Lita was dismissed with a warning that she was to be kept in bounds -until the holidays, and all her mail, outgoing and incoming, would be -watched. This was rather serious, as Dacer had distinctly intimated -that he intended to write. Still, a way could probably be found— She -would speak to Aurelia about it.</p> - -<p>She did not see Aurelia until the late afternoon. Dacer, as she -expected, had gone; but he had left a message for her, Aurelia said—a -very particular message.</p> - -<p>With what extraordinary rapidity does the human imagination function! -Between the time Aurelia announced the fact that a message existed -and the giving of the message, Lita had time to envisage half a dozen -possibilities, from the announcement of his immediate return to an -offer of marriage.</p> - -<p>The message was this: "He said to tell you that he had no idea you were -so fond of the stage, or he would have behaved very differently. Do you -understand what that means?—for I don't."</p> - -<p>It meant, of course, that Miss Barton had told him about Valentine; -had possibly even shown him the letter. It was just the sort of thing -that she might do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> Lita could almost hear her describing the comic -complications of a head mistress' life: "This note, for instance, -discovered in the pocket of one of my best girls; not even English; -that hurts us most."</p> - -<p>Why did Aurelia do such silly things—write such silly letters? Then, -her sense of justice reasserting itself, she admitted it was not her -friend's fault that the authorship of the letter had been mistaken. She -was conscious of a physical nausea at the idea that Dacer was going -about in the belief that she, Lita Hazlitt, had written thus to another -man.</p> - -<p>In the first few minutes she sketched an explanatory letter to him, and -then remembered that her mail—in and out—was watched. That wouldn't -do. In fact, there was nothing to do but to wait for two interminable -weeks to pass and bring the Friday of the Easter holiday. Once in the -same town with him, she could make him listen to her. There was nothing -agreeable in life except the recollection of a large hand on hers, and -even that memory was beginning to take on mortality.</p> - -<p>She had not even the attentions of her parents to console her—not that -forty thousand parents would have made up to her for the estrangement -of Dacer. Her mother wrote conscientiously, but coldly. If she had seen -her mother Lita would have told her everything, but the next Sunday was -Mr. Hazlitt's official visiting day.</p> - -<p>He came, but he came in a somewhat disciplinary mood. He gave Lita a -long talk on how men felt when women forced attentions upon them. Lita -did not dare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> take the risk of telling him; she had so little control -over him that he might possibly tell the whole story to Miss Barton and -involve Aurelia. At the same time she did not want him to find it out -for himself by a futile visit to Valentine. Before he left she asked -him point-blank if he contemplated such a step.</p> - -<p>"Of course not," he answered.</p> - -<p>And at almost that exact moment Freebody was ushering Valentine into -Mrs. Hazlitt's library. For Mrs. Hazlitt was not a woman to let -the grass grow under her feet, where her maternal obligations were -concerned. The more she thought the matter over the more obvious it -became that one or the other of Lita's parents must see Valentine and -let him know that, however silly and forthputting the child had been, -she was not without conventional protection. Of course, this was her -father's duty; but since men as fathers were complete failures, all the -disagreeable tasks of parenthood devolved inevitably on mothers. After -Dacer had put her on the train the Sunday before, she had gone home and -taken the powder he gave her and slept through a long night; and when -she waked the next morning she had seen her duty clearly—to interview -Valentine herself. It was a duty which implied a reproof to her former -husband.</p> - -<p>She looked for Valentine's name in the telephone book, but of course -he was not there. Then she called up the theater where he was acting, -and they refused to give her his address, but said a letter directed -to the theater would reach him. Mrs. Hazlitt was in no mood to brook -the mail's delays, and telegraphed him that it was necessary that she -should see him for a few minutes at any time or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> place convenient to -him, and signed her name with a comfortable conviction that all New -York knew just who Alita Hazlitt was.</p> - -<p>Now Valentine, like most people busy with a successful career, was -utterly uninterested in conventional social life; he hardly ever opened -his mail, rarely answered telegrams; and if, by mistake, he did make a -social engagement, he always told his secretary to call the people up -and break it. In the ordinary course of events Mrs. Hazlitt's telegram -would have been opened in his dressing room, and would have lain about -for a day or two until Valentine thought of saying to someone who -might know, "Who is this woman—Alita Hazlitt?" And then it would have -dropped on the floor, and would eventually have been swept up and put -in the theater ash can.</p> - -<p>But, as it happened, Valentine had always cherished a wish to play -the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet before he was too old to wear -a round-necked doublet; and a charitable institution, of which Mrs. -Hazlitt was a most negligent trustee, had made a suggestion that -Valentine should help them out in a benefit they were about to give. So -Valentine, remembering her name on the letterhead of the institution, -jumped at the conclusion that she had been selected to clinch the -arrangement.</p> - -<p>And so not more than three or four days went by before he answered her -telegram by calling her up on the telephone, and it was arranged that -he was to come and see her on Sunday at five.</p> - -<p>She felt nervous as the time approached. She kept saying to herself -that she had no idea how to deal with people like this. So awkward for -a woman alone; but she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> alone—utterly alone. She had become rather -tearful by the time Valentine was announced. She waited a moment to -compose herself and became even more unnerved in the process.</p> - -<p>When she went down she found him standing by one of the bookcases, -reading. She saw with a distinct pang that he was a handsomer man off -the stage than on, with his fine hawklike profile and irrepressibly -thick, furrowed light hair. He slid a book back into place as she -entered, with the soft gesture of a book lover.</p> - -<p>"I see you have a first edition of Trivia," he said. "I envy you."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt, who had thought up a greeting which was now rendered -utterly impossible, was obliged to make a quick mental bound. She had -never opened her edition of Gay, which she had inherited from her -grandfather, and had never suspected it of being a first.</p> - -<p>She said, "Oh, do you go in for first editions?"</p> - -<p>"Not any more," answered Valentine. "I've become more interested in -autographs and association books. I have a wonderful letter of Gay's -from—from—oh, you know, where he was staying when he wrote the -Beggar's Opera—that duke's place—well, it will come to me."</p> - -<p>But it never did come to him—not, at least, until he went home and -looked it up—because, glancing at his hostess, he saw in those -anxious, dark-fringed eyes that she wasn't a bit interested in his Gay -letter; and so, with that tact that all artists possess if they will -only use it, he said gently, "But it wasn't about autographs that you -wanted to see me, was it? It's about your benefit."</p> - -<p>"The benefit?" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No? Well, what is it then?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I hoped you would understand without my being obliged to dot all -the <i>i</i>'s."</p> - -<p>She said this with a great deal of meaning. Leaning forward on her -elbow, in her mauve and silver tea gown, behind her silver tea tray, -she looked very charming. Valentine thought that he had never known a -woman who combined such perfection of appointments with such simplicity -of manner. He had a strong instinct for the best in any art. It struck -him that for a certain sort of thing this was the best.</p> - -<p>She went on: "Perhaps you will think I should not have sent for you; -but what could I do? I am so alone. My husband and I, as you perhaps -know, are divorced."</p> - -<p>Valentine achieved just the right sort of murmur at this, indicating -that he personally could not regret the fact, but found it of intense -interest.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt hurried on: "I feel I must apologize for my silly -child—so vulgar and absurd, though I suppose girls must think they're -in love—not that I mean it's absurd to think—I mean in your case it's -natural enough—your last play—so romantic, dear Mr. Valentine—only, -would you mind telling me just how it was you brought my daughter home -a week ago Friday?"</p> - -<p>Valentine emerged from this like a dog from the surf, successive waves -had passed over him without his having had any idea what it meant.</p> - -<p>"I don't think I have the pleasure of knowing your daughter," he said.</p> - -<p>"Ah, not by name!"</p> - -<p>She was ready for him there. She rose, and taking a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> silver-framed -photograph from the table she thrust it into his hands.</p> - -<p>He studied it and said politely, "What a charming little face! How like -you, if I may say so!"</p> - -<p>"Don't you recognize it? Hasn't she sent it to you? Hasn't she written -you letters?"</p> - -<p>"Possibly," said Valentine, and he added apologetically, "You know, I -can't read all my letters. The telegrams I do try to manage, although—"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt could not pretend to be interested in how Valentine -managed his telegrams.</p> - -<p>"You mean you didn't bring Lita home last Friday—a week ago?" she -said, and her eyes began to get large.</p> - -<p>Valentine leaned back and looked at the ceiling, stamped one foot -slightly on the floor and crossed the other leg over it. This seemed to -help him think, for almost immediately he said:</p> - -<p>"We were putting in our new villain"; and when he saw that Mrs. Hazlitt -did not grasp the information, he added, "We were rehearsing all that -afternoon."</p> - -<p>Of course, she told him the whole story, and heard in return many -interesting and surprising incidents of a popular actor's life. He was -extremely interesting and sympathetic; so different from what she had -expected—delightful. She felt she had made a real friend. In fact, -she had promised to have tea with him at his apartment the following -Thursday. She was so glad he had not said Friday. Lita would be back -for her holidays on Friday, and somehow it would be hard to explain -after all she had said against actors; though, of course, Lita herself -would be called on to explain how she had allowed—and who was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> the -man who had brought her home? Thursday would be safe, though; and she -did want to meet this new Spanish actress Doria for whom the party was -given. Valentine had assumed that Mrs. Hazlitt spoke Spanish, and when -she insisted that she did not he was perfectly tactful. His own, he -said, was getting rusty; but Doria was all right in French. He said he -would come for her himself on Thursday. She thought that very kind.</p> - -<p>She had a flurried, excited feeling when he had gone that she was -entering upon a new phase of life. She had had a delightful afternoon. -But the mystery of Lita's conduct was deeper than ever. Who was the -man? Had there been a man at all? She sat down to write to her child, -demanding to know the truth; but was interrupted by the entrance of -Freebody with a long, narrow box which looked as if it might contain a -boa constrictor, but did actually contain a dozen long-stemmed roses, -with Valentine's card.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt tore up her letter. After all, it would be better to wait -until Friday, and when Lita returned they could have a long, clear -explanation.</p> - -<p>But, as things turned out, Lita came back on Thursday. A little girl in -one of the younger classes contrived to catch a light case of measles, -and the school was hurried home a day ahead of time. It was generally -mentioned that the child deserved a tablet in the common room; and she -did actually receive a laurel wreath tied with red, white and blue -ribbon, and bearing the inscription, "<i>Dulce et decora est</i> to get -measles for the good of your schoolmates."</p> - -<p>The New York girls came back unheralded, for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> school did not have -time to telephone every parent. Miss Jones went about in a bus dropping -the girls at their places of residence.</p> - -<p>Lita, for the first time in her life, hoped that her mother would not -be in. She wanted to be free to telephone Doctor Dacer without comment. -She knew her mother would disapprove of her telephoning. She had had -other glimpses of the last generation's method of dealing with romantic -complications. They had strange old conventions about letting the -advances come from the masculine side, or at least of maneuvering so -that they appeared to. Subtle, they called it. Lita thought it rather -sneaky.</p> - -<p>She learned from Freebody at the door that her mother was dressing -and was to be out to tea, but was to be home to dinner. Lita walked -straight to the library, and having looked up Dacer's number called the -office. The office nurse answered. Yes, the doctor was in. Who wished -to speak to him? Miss Hazlitt? Just a minute. There was a long silence. -What would she do if he refused to speak to her? Go there?</p> - -<p>"Oh, Doctor Dacer, I wanted to tell you that Miss Barton told you -something that wasn't true, though she thought it was. You know what -I mean.... I want to see you, please. I wish you would.... Now; the -sooner the better.... Yes; good-by."</p> - -<p>She hung up the receiver with a hand not absolutely steady. He was -coming at once. She took off her hat and dropped it on the sofa and -stood still in the middle of the floor. If only her mother would keep -on dressing for half an hour or so! It couldn't take him very long -to get from his office in Sixty-third Street near Park—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> Now he was -putting on his hat, now he was in the street, now he was coming nearer -and nearer every minute—</p> - -<p>Exactly eleven minutes by the watched clock after she had hung up the -telephone receiver the doorbell rang. The doorbell could just be heard -in the library by straining ears.</p> - -<p>And then Freebody said from the doorway, "Doctor Dacer to see you, -miss."</p> - -<p>Dacer was standing now in the doorway, looking at her darkly. Severity -was evidently going to temper his justice.</p> - -<p>"Well?" he said.</p> - -<p>The main thing was that he had come.</p> - -<p>"Didn't you think I could write a better love letter than that?" she -began.</p> - -<p>"Unfortunately I have had no opportunities of judging."</p> - -<p>"What does a head mistress know about girls?"</p> - -<p>"She tells a pretty well-documented story."</p> - -<p>It came over Lita that they were quarreling—almost—and that she liked -the process, but liked it only because she knew it must come out right. -Her case was so clear.</p> - -<p>"The letter and the photographs belonged to Aurelia," she said. "I hid -them for her when she was taken ill. That was why I was in such a hurry -to go that first day—when you patted me on the head. And if they told -you about a mysterious man who brought me home in a taxi—that was you, -and—"</p> - -<p>"You never wrote to Valentine?"</p> - -<p>"Never!"</p> - -<p>He took a step toward her.</p> - -<p>"Never sent him your photograph?" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No!"</p> - -<p>He took another step.</p> - -<p>"Never saw him except on the stage?"</p> - -<p>"No!"</p> - -<p>Another step would bring him to her; and what, she wondered, would -happen then?</p> - -<p>What happened was that the door opened and Freebody said, "Mr. -Valentine."</p> - -<p>And there he was, the man himself, more beautiful than the posters.</p> - -<p>Never before had the chairman of the self-government committee found -herself deserted by the powers of speech and action. She stood -helplessly staring at the great artist before her. And even then -the day might have been saved if Valentine had not been so kind, so -determined to put everything straight.</p> - -<p>"Ah," he said, supposing he had to do with an embarrassed child, -"you are Miss Hazlitt, and very like your picture. I should know you -anywhere."</p> - -<p>"You've seen my picture?" said Lita, with a sort of feeble hope that -the question would convey her complete innocence to Dacer. She could -hear her own voice twittering high and silly like a hysterical bird.</p> - -<p>"Yes, indeed," said Valentine; and the voice, which was only -kind, sounded in Dacer's ears significant. "This one, isn't -it? Photography"—he turned politely, including Dacer in the -conversation—"is only just getting back to where it was in the days of -the daguerreotype. How wonderful they were! So soft—"</p> - -<p>"Photography has always had its uses, I believe," answered Dacer in his -deepest voice. He made a slight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> bow in the general direction of Lita. -"Good-by, Miss Hazlitt," he said, and each word came with a terrible -distinctness. "If you and I don't meet for some time, you'll remember -me to Aurelia, I hope. She seemed to me a singularly candid, truthful -nature. I admire that."</p> - -<p>He bowed also to Valentine, and was gone. Something about his manner -struck Valentine as peculiar. He feared that he had interrupted one -of those conversations that do not bear interruption—an impression -somewhat confirmed when Miss Hazlitt snatched her hat from the sofa and -ran out of the room without a word.</p> - -<p>Left alone, Valentine returned to Trivia; but he began to be nervous -about the time. He did not want Doria to arrive at his apartment -before he and Mrs. Hazlitt got there; so that when Alita came down, -apologizing for being late, but in the tone of the habitually late, -as if no one really expected you to be on time, he hurried her grimly -downstairs.</p> - -<p>Freebody was waiting in the hall to open the door, and told her of -her daughter's return. She showed a disposition to stay and argue the -matter with him. How could it be, when she was not to come till the -next day? But Freebody wouldn't argue, and Valentine was firm—they -must go.</p> - -<p>"Tell Miss Lita I'll be back before seven," said Mrs. Hazlitt, and let -herself be hurried out to the car.</p> - -<p>Freebody stared at her. Did not she know that Miss Hazlitt had just -torn out of the house like a little mad witch?</p> - -<p>Lita had moved fast, but an angry man faster. As she left the house she -could see him swinging on the step<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> of a moving Madison Avenue car. As -it was a southbound car, she hoped this meant that he was going back to -his office.</p> - -<p>She had seen the address only once, when she looked up his number -in the telephone book; but it was indelibly impressed on her mind, -although the date of the Battle of Bosworth Field, which she had spent -so much time memorizing, always escaped her. In her hurry she had -forgotten not only her gloves but her purse, so that she was obliged -to walk the eight or nine blocks. Walk? She almost ran, crossing all -necessary streets diagonally, dodging in and out between motors. -Suppose he should go out again before she got there! It was terrible!</p> - -<p>Doctor Burroughs' office was in an oyster-colored apartment house. In a -window on the ground floor she read the blue porcelain name of Doctor -Burroughs—very large; and Doctor Dacer—very small. She entered a hall -that was low and decorated in the style of a Florentine palace. Miss -Waverley, with her white hair brushed straighter than ever, answered -the door.</p> - -<p>"Have you an appointment with the doctor?"</p> - -<p>She spoke very politely, but there was a hint that without an -appointment—</p> - -<p>"I think he'll see me for a minute," said Lita.</p> - -<p>She was far from feeling certain of this; and if he refused, she did -not know exactly what she could do except sit on the doorstep.</p> - -<p>She was shown into the waiting room. A complete silence fell upon the -room—the house—the city. Then a returning rustling of starched skirts -in the narrow passageway was heard. The doctor would see her. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> was -led down the long corridor to a small room filled for the most part by -a desk. A door was standing open into a larger room beyond, which was -lined with white tiles and decorated with glass cases along the walls -in which hideous instruments were displayed as if they were objects of -art. The nurse having ushered Lita into the first room, retired to the -second, where she remained without shutting the door between, and could -be heard moving about and doing something with instruments that made a -soft, continual clinking.</p> - -<p>Dacer rose slowly from his desk, on which cards in several colors were -strewn.</p> - -<p>He said in his deep voice, "Yes, I thought it might be you."</p> - -<p>"Doctor Dacer—" Lita began. Her throat was dry.</p> - -<p>"Oh, don't explain," he said. "What's the use?"</p> - -<p>For the first time she saw that she had no explanation whatsoever to -offer. She could only say, "I haven't any idea why that man suddenly -appeared at the house." It sounded feeble, even to her.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps to inquire about Aurelia," answered Dacer, and permitted -himself a most disagreeable smile.</p> - -<p>"That's not funny," said Lita.</p> - -<p>"It's not original. I got the main idea from someone else."</p> - -<p>"Doctor Dacer, I never saw Mr. Valentine—nor wrote to him. The only -explanation I can think of is—"</p> - -<p>Miss Waverley entered.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Andrews on the telephone, doctor."</p> - -<p>Dacer snatched up the telephone as if it were a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>captured standard, -saying as he did so, "Perhaps while I'm telephoning you'll be able to -think of the explanation."</p> - -<p>But she wasn't able to think at all. She could just stare at him.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she heard him saying, "there is a—someone is here at the -moment, but I shall be free directly." He hung up the receiver and -replaced the telephone on the desk. "Well," he said, "have you got -something good ready for me?"</p> - -<p>She had one small idea.</p> - -<p>"Can't you see that if things were as you think I would hardly have -left Mr. Valentine to follow you, at once?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, quite a time has gone by!"</p> - -<p>"Because I had to walk—I had no money with me. Walk? No, I ran!"</p> - -<p>He was affected by the picture of her running after him through the -streets, and she pressed on: "Doctor Dacer, I want to tell you why -I let my parents and Miss Barton and everyone think that letter to -Valentine was from me."</p> - -<p>He sat down, shrugging his shoulders as if it were useless but he would -not forbid it.</p> - -<p>Truth in detail is almost inimitable. Lita told her story in great -detail—Aurelia's request—the hidden photographs—the story of -the tramp—the letter thrust into her pocket and discovered by -Margaret—the identical expressions of her parents on the subject of -her marriage and her own sudden inspiration that here, at least, was -one topic on which they agreed. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You see," she said eagerly, "it was only a few hours before that my -father had said just the same thing—that I must not think of marrying -for years; and then my mother—"</p> - -<p>"You had sounded both your parents on the subject of marriage?"</p> - -<p>Lita looked at him. His face was like a mask.</p> - -<p>"I had happened to mention in the course of conversation—"</p> - -<p>"You are thinking of getting married, Miss Hazlitt?"</p> - -<p>"No, Doctor Dacer."</p> - -<p>"No? The idea has never crossed your mind?"</p> - -<p>"No—at least not in connection with—no."</p> - -<p>Someone had told her that blushing could be prevented by a sharp pinch -in the back of the neck. It was a lie. She felt as if she were being -painted in a stinging crimson paint, while Dacer continued to regard -her with a cold, impassive stare. He rose and shut the door between the -two offices.</p> - -<p>"Am I to understand," he said, "that you have never considered the -possibility of marriage?"</p> - -<p>She shook her head. She felt as if she were drowning.</p> - -<p>"Then consider it now," he said, and took her up in his arms, her toes -dangling inches from the floor.</p> - -<p>Miss Waverley entered again. The apartment was well built and the doors -opened without any preliminary creaking.</p> - -<p>"Doctor Burroughs on the telephone, doctor," she said.</p> - -<p>There was nothing to do but to let Lita slide to her feet and to take -up the telephone from the desk. It was all very well for him, with his -attention immediately <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>occupied; but Lita was left alone to encounter -the blank self-control of Miss Waverley's expression as she again -shut the door behind her. Dacer was giving his chief an account of a -professional visit, and was about to receive instructions. Lita heard -him say, "Yes, I'll hold the wire."</p> - -<p>In the pause that followed, Lita whispered, pointing toward the door, -"She saw!"</p> - -<p>"Unless stricken with blindness."</p> - -<p>"She took it so calmly."</p> - -<p>"Nothing in her life."</p> - -<p>"I mean as if it happened every day."</p> - -<p>Dacer shouted, still holding the telephone to his ear, "Miss Waverley!" -Miss Waverley returned, and Dacer went on, "Have you ever found a lady -in my arms before?"</p> - -<p>"No, not in yours, doctor," said the nurse, as if she would not wish to -be pressed about some of the people she had worked for.</p> - -<p>"Thanks," said Dacer. "Miss Hazlitt thought you were not quite enough -surprised."</p> - -<p>"I wasn't surprised at all," answered Miss Waverley, and as Dacer was -obliged to turn back to the telephone and take down some directions -in writing she added, "He's been so absent-minded lately—since -Elbridge—forgetting everything if I didn't follow him up."</p> - -<p>Dacer had finished telephoning.</p> - -<p>"Miss Hazlitt and I are going to be married," he said. "Get me a taxi, -will you?"</p> - -<p>"Not now!" said Lita.</p> - -<p>He laughed. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No, not tonight," he answered. "I've got to see a patient in -Washington Square. You'll go with me and wait in the cab. Then we'll -dine somewhere—and not get you back until late. We'll test this theory -of yours that parents can be reconciled through anxiety."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I couldn't!" said Lita. "It would drive my mother mad!"</p> - -<p>"Or to your father."</p> - -<p>"It would hurt her terribly."</p> - -<p>"I'm a surgeon. I know you've got to hurt people sometimes for their -own good. My bag, please, Miss Waverley. My book—thanks. Good-by."</p> - -<p>A moment later they had gone, and Miss Waverley was left alone, tidying -the office for the night. She shook her head. Her thought was: "And -they expect us to respect them as if they were grown men." She sighed. -"And the grown-up men aren't any better," she thought.</p> - -<p>In the meantime the pleasure of Mrs. Hazlitt's afternoon had been -spoiled by the idea that Lita was sitting at home, waiting for her. -Hers was a nature most open to self-reproach if no one reproached her.</p> - -<p>She returned about seven, eager to do her duty. She came running -upstairs, calling to her daughter as she ran, and felt distinctly -foolish when Freebody said coldly that Miss Hazlitt had not yet come in.</p> - -<p>"Hasn't come in?" cried Mrs. Hazlitt, and looked very severely at him -over the banisters.</p> - -<p>Freebody had been with her long enough to have learned to withstand the -implication that anything he told her was his fault. He moved about, -putting the card tray straight. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Miss Hazlitt went out before you did, madam."</p> - -<p>"Alone?"</p> - -<p>"After the other gentleman left. Not Mr. Valentine."</p> - -<p>"There was no other gentleman but Mr. Valentine."</p> - -<p>Freebody, in his irritating way, would not argue with her. She had to -begin all over again in order to elicit the facts—a gentleman had -come to the house soon after Miss Hazlitt's arrival, and just before -the arrival of Mr. Valentine. When he left, Miss Hazlitt had gone -directly—Freebody would infer that she had been trying to catch up -with him.</p> - -<p>"Did she?" asked Mrs. Hazlitt.</p> - -<p>"Ah, I couldn't say, madam."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt was really alarmed. This was the other man—the real -danger. By half past eight she was convinced of disaster. She called -up her former husband at his club. He had gone out to dinner. How -characteristic!</p> - -<p>No one in the club seemed to know where he was dining; but the -telephone operator was ill-advised enough to say that if they did know -they were not allowed to give out the information.</p> - -<p>Nothing annoyed Mrs. Hazlitt so much as a rule. The idea that the -telephone operator of the club knew something which she wanted to -know and would not tell her was an idea utterly intolerable. Was her -child to be murdered—or worse—because the club had a silly rule? -She ordered her motor and drove down to interview the starter. He -fortunately had heard the address Mr. Hazlitt had given his chauffeur. -It was that of a small restaurant famous for quiet and for good food. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> - -<p>A few minutes later Mrs. Hazlitt was standing in the doorway, fixing -her former husband with a significant stare. He was half through dinner -with a man from Baltimore. Baltimoreans believe that good food is only -terrapin and canvasback; and that terrapin and canvasbacks can only be -properly cooked in Baltimore, hence that no good food is obtainable -outside of their native city. Hazlitt was in process of proving his -friend wrong when he looked up and saw his former wife. He guessed at -once that something had happened to Lita, and began to feel guilty.</p> - -<p>Alita, in common with so many wives, had always possessed the power of -making her husband feel guilty. In old times, with just a glance or -an inflection of the voice she could make him feel like the lowest of -criminals. And, rage as he might, he found this power had persisted. -Love may not always endure until death do them part, but the ability of -married people to make each other feel guilty endures to the grave—and -possibly beyond.</p> - -<p>Hazlitt sprang to his feet, thinking that he ought to have seen -Valentine. It had been mere obstinacy on his part. If anything had -happened to Lita as a result—</p> - -<p>Presently they were driving back to the house in Mrs. Hazlitt's car, -and so strong is the power of association that as they got out at -the house Hazlitt found himself feeling for his latchkey, though it -was thirteen years since he had had a key to that lock. Mrs. Hazlitt -saw it and felt rather inclined to cry. She herself was not without -a sense of guilt, for she had not told him about her interview with -Valentine. When he said repentantly that he ought to have seen the -fellow she answered that she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> convinced his first judgment had been -correct—it wasn't necessary. He thought this very generous of her.</p> - -<p>It was after nine when they entered the house. Still nothing had been -heard of Lita. Activity for some common interest can make strangers -friends and may keep enemies from open quarrels. Mrs. Hazlitt admired -Hazlitt's methods—his instructions to his secretary—his possession of -a friend in the police department. He complimented her upon the placing -of her telephones, her pens and ink. He thought to himself as he looked -about the room that she had always had the power to make the material -side of life comfortable and agreeable; if only she had understood -mental peace as well—</p> - -<p>Their intercourse was impersonal, but not hostile. Hazlitt bore -interruption calmly, and though she could not allow him to say that -Lita resembled him in temperament, she contradicted him without insult. -They came nearest to a disagreement over the question as to whether it -was or was not a good rule that club employes should not be allowed to -give information as to the whereabouts of the members.</p> - -<p>"Are all the members' lives so full of secrets?" she asked, and she -made the word "secrets" sound very sly.</p> - -<p>Fortunately at that moment the doorbell rang, and Lita and Dacer -entered.</p> - -<p>"Where have you been?" asked her father angrily.</p> - -<p>"Dining with Doctor Dacer," answered Lita. "He and I are engaged."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Hazlitt.</p> - -<p>"My daughter is not old enough to know her own mind," said Hazlitt to -Dacer. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I know it all right," said Lita.</p> - -<p>"Of course," said Dacer temperately, "we understand that we could not -be married for some time, but we wanted you to know—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's what young people always say to begin with," Mrs. Hazlitt -answered; "but the first thing you know they are sending out their -wedding invitations."</p> - -<p>Lita and Dacer looked a trifle silly. This had been exactly their -idea—to get consent to a long, long engagement, and then by the summer -to start a campaign for an early marriage.</p> - -<p>Mr. Hazlitt rose and stood on the hearth rug—as if it were his own.</p> - -<p>"You two young people realize," he remarked, "that I have never seen or -heard of Doctor Dacer before, and that so far he has caused me nothing -but anxiety."</p> - -<p>"The whole thing has just been a web of deceit," said Mrs. Hazlitt.</p> - -<p>"Until I know a little more about him, and until Lita is a year or -so older and more mature, I should not be willing even to discuss an -engagement, and I'm sure my wife agrees with me."</p> - -<p>All four noticed that he had used the word without qualification, and -all four successfully ignored the fact. Indeed anyone entering the room -at that moment and seeing Mr. Hazlitt, so commanding on the hearth -rug, and Mrs. Hazlitt in a chair beside the fire, looking up at him -and nodding her head at the end of every sentence, would have supposed -them a married couple entering upon middle age without a thought of -disagreement.</p> - -<p>The discussion followed good orthodox lines. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> older people, -Olympian above their distress, granted that in a year or so if all went -well an engagement might be discussed; but at present none existed. The -young people, really calm, knew that nothing but their own wills could -change the fact that they were engaged at that moment.</p> - -<p>When Dacer had gone home and Lita had gone to bed her parents outlined -their campaign. Delay without definite commitment was the idea—it -always is. In the meantime Hazlitt would have the young man thoroughly -looked up. Mrs. Hazlitt wagged her head despondently.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid there's nothing really against him. Doctor Burroughs -wouldn't have an assistant with anything actually criminal in his -record."</p> - -<p>Lita was to be allowed to see him occasionally. To write? No, they -decided, after talking it over, that letters would be a mistake. -The point was, Mrs. Hazlitt explained, that the child must be left -perfectly free to change her mind. This might be just a fancy for the -first man who had asked her to marry him. Mrs. Hazlitt supposed it was -the first. Next winter Lita might meet a dozen men she preferred. She -had a sudden idea: Perhaps it would be wiser if the girl did go to -Italy with her father, to get her out of the way for a few months.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid you'd miss her dreadfully."</p> - -<p>"I should cry all summer, but it doesn't matter."</p> - -<p>"There's nothing that I can see to prevent your going to Italy -yourself."</p> - -<p>"It's not usual to go junketing about Europe with your divorced -husband," she answered.</p> - -<p>"It need not be known that we went together; we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> might meet by -accident," said Mr. Hazlitt, at which his former wife laughed a little -and said it sounded to her like a very improper suggestion, and he -looked serious and blank and monumental.</p> - -<p>The Italian trip was left in abeyance, but the other details were -settled in a clear and definite manner. Dacer was to come to the -house once a month, never to write; and there were to be no flowers -or presents, or mention of an engagement. Certainly not! They parted -gravely, like people who had had their last long talk.</p> - -<p>But this campaign, like many others, worked better in theory than in -effect. Dacer came the next morning, and again in the afternoon, and -then again the next morning. Mrs. Hazlitt protested. She said three -times in twenty-four hours was not occasionally. Dacer only laughed -and said it seemed very occasional to him. The situation was made more -difficult for her, too, by the fact that she really liked Dacer, and -he and Lita were so friendly and seemed to value her company so much -that she enjoyed herself with them more than was consistent in a stern, -relentless parent. Besides, in old days she had told Lita a great many -clever things she had accomplished in the management of her own parents -when she had been first engaged; and Lita, horrible child, remembered -every word, and would repeat them all to Dacer in her mother's presence.</p> - -<p>Finding herself helpless, the second morning she telephoned to Hazlitt. -She said she thought it was almost impossible to forbid a man the house -partially; it ought to be one thing or the other. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hazlitt said, "Let it be the other then; don't let the fellow come at -all."</p> - -<p>Hearing a note of pitiable weakness in her voice, he offered to come in -himself.</p> - -<p>He came that afternoon about three—an excellent time, for Lita was -upstairs and Dacer was occupied with office hours. Mrs. Hazlitt sent -Freebody to ask her daughter to come down, while she apologized to her -former husband for troubling him again.</p> - -<p>"But the fact is," she said, "turning a young man out of the -house—that really is a father's job."</p> - -<p>"Even if it isn't the father's house?"</p> - -<p>"It's no affair of Doctor Dacer's whose house it is," answered Mrs. -Hazlitt with dignity. "You see, a mother's relation with a daughter is -too intimate, too tender—"</p> - -<p>"I hope a father's may be both."</p> - -<p>"I suppose it might, but it's not like a mother's. She respects you -deeply, Jim. I've brought her up to that."</p> - -<p>"Have you, Alita?"</p> - -<p>A hint of skepticism in his voice wounded Mr. Hazlitt.</p> - -<p>"Of course I have," she answered. "Why, what do you mean? Are you -trying to suggest—how unjust! Lita," she added, as her daughter -entered, "have I ever said a word that could in any way reflect on your -father? Haven't I always brought you up to respect him?"</p> - -<p>Lita looked at them reflectively. She had, in her time, told a great -many untruths for their sake. Now that she had them here together, she -rather thought it would be a good idea to tell them the truth. As she -paused, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> mother repeated her question even more emphatically: "Have -I ever said anything to prejudice you against your father?"</p> - -<p>"Why, of course you have, mother," she said. Her father gave a short, -bitter laugh, and she turned on him. "And so have you, Pat—only not so -often as mother."</p> - -<p>"How can you be so disloyal?" cried her mother, her eyes getting larger -than ever.</p> - -<p>"How can I be anything else? You two make me disloyal."</p> - -<p>"Remember you are speaking to your mother," said Hazlitt protectingly.</p> - -<p>"And to you, too, Pat," answered his daughter calmly. "You've each -wanted me to hate the other one, and you've both been as open about -it as you dared to be. It was always like giving mother a Christmas -present if I said anything disagreeable about you. And your cold gray -eye would light up, Pat, if I criticized anything about her."</p> - -<p>"Divorced or not, we are your parents, please remember," said Hazlitt.</p> - -<p>"You don't always remember it yourselves," the girl answered. "Parents! -You seem sometimes as if you were just two enemies trying to injure -each other through me."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt was already standing, and she drew a step nearer her -former husband.</p> - -<p>"Jim," she wailed, "aren't they terrible—these young people? And I -thought she loved me!"</p> - -<p>"I do love you, mother," said Lita; "I love you dearly—better than I -love Pat, only I can't help seeing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> that he behaves better. Or perhaps -not. Women understand the art of undermining better than men do. I -think Pat did all he knew how. You both filled my mind with poison -against the other, drop by drop. Oh, you don't know how dreadful it -is to be poisoned all the time by the two people you love best in the -world!"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt looked up into the face of her former husband, as to an -oracle.</p> - -<p>"Do you think it's our divorce she's talking about?"</p> - -<p>"Of course it isn't, mother," Lita answered. "I see you had a perfect -right not to be husband and wife any more if you didn't want to be; but -you couldn't change the fact that you are still my parents. You ought -to be able to coöperate about me, to present a united front."</p> - -<p>"You'll find we present a united front on this issue," said Hazlitt -sternly. "I mean your engagement."</p> - -<p>"Indeed?" said his daughter. "Let me tell you, I could separate you -tomorrow on it. I'm an expert. I should only have to intimate to Pat -that mother was getting to like Luke so much that behind his back—but -I'm sick of being treacherous and untruthful. You two must face the -fact that I love you both; that I like to be with both of you; and that -I will not be made to feel lower than the wombat because I do love you -both. Now, there it is; settle it between you."</p> - -<p>After she had gone they continued to stare at each other, like the last -sane people in a world gone mad.</p> - -<p>"What," said her father, "do you gather that that incomprehensible -tirade was all about?"</p> - -<p>"I can't make out," answered her mother. "She never was like that -before—so excitable and rude. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> I need not tell you that it's -all her fancy. I've been ridiculously scrupulous in never saying -anything to her but what a girl ought to hear about her father—a fixed -principle that our difficulties should not come between you and her."</p> - -<p>"Of course, I know," he answered. "I know, because I know how -absolutely without foundation her attack on me was. I've been most -punctilious. To hurt a child's ideal of her mother! No, I have a good -deal to reproach myself with in regard to my treatment of you, Alita; -but not that—not that."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure of it," and she gave him quite a starry glance. "The truth -is, I've spoiled her, Jim. I've treated her too much as a friend—as an -equal."</p> - -<p>"It can't be done," said Hazlitt, shaking his head.</p> - -<p>"It isn't possible to have an equal relation with the younger -generation. You've got to go to your contemporaries for friendship, -Alita. That was true since the world began; but these young people—"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hazlitt, who was still treating him as if he were an oracle, -brightened at these words as if he were an oracle in excellent form.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, "they are different, aren't they? I can't imagine my -ever having spoken to my parents as Lita just spoke to us."</p> - -<p>"Your mother! I should say not. One of the greatest ladies I ever met -anywhere!"</p> - -<p>"Wasn't mother wonderful?" murmured Mrs. Hazlitt, and there was a pause -while they both reflected upon common memories.</p> - -<p>Then she went on: "I must say I think you are very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> generous not to -criticize me for the way I've brought Lita up. I feel humiliated."</p> - -<p>"My dear Alita," said Hazlitt, "I never have criticized you, and I -never shall."</p> - -<p>"She hurt me terribly, Jim. She seemed so hard, so ruthless, so -appraising of things that ought to be held sacred."</p> - -<p>These words were faintly reminiscent to Mr. Hazlitt, and he summoned -them up: "In short a little like me, after all."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps a little bit. I know what you mean," answered his former wife; -and then, as he laughed at this reply, she saw that it was funny, and -she began to laugh too. But laughter was too much for her strained -nerves, and as she laughed she also cried, and the most convenient -place to cry on was Hazlitt's shoulder. They clung together, feeling -their feet slipping on the brink of that unfathomable abyss—the -younger generation.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE AMERICAN HUSBAND</h2> - -<p>Princesses are usually practical people, but we Americans, whose ideas -of princesses are founded rather on fairy tales than on history, allow -ourselves to be shocked and surprised when we discover this trait in -them.</p> - -<p>The Princess di Sangatano was practical; she was noble, dignified, -unselfish, patient, subtle, still extremely handsome at thirty-nine, -and—or but—practical. She had just married her young daughter -excellently. She had not done this, however, by sitting still and -being dignified and noble. She had done it by going pleasantly to the -houses of women whom she disliked; by flattering men in whom even her -subtlety found few subjects for flattery; by indorsing the policy of a -cardinal, of whose policy as a matter of fact she disapproved. Nor did -she feel that her conduct in this respect was open to criticism. On -the contrary, there was nothing which the princess viewed with a more -satisfactory sense of duty done than the marriage of her daughter.</p> - -<p>And now she was beginning to recognize that her son must be launched -by similar methods. The launching of Raimundo was something of a -problem. He had much to recommend him; he was good-looking, gay and -sweet-tempered; he loved his mother, and was not naughtier than other -boys of his age; but he lacked the determined industry likely to make -him successful. It was impossible to consider a learned profession -for him, and even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> for diplomacy, in which the princess could -easily have found him a place, Raimundo was a little too impulsive. -And so his mother, working it out, came to the conclusion that a -business—a business that would like to own a young prince and would -need Raimundo's knowledge of Italians and Italy—would be the best -chance; and so, of course, she thought of America—her native land. -Yes, though few people remembered the fact, the princess had been born -in the United States. She had left it as a small child, her mother -having remarried—an Italian—and she had been brought up in Italy -thenceforth. By circumstance and environment, by marriage and religion -and choice, she had become utterly an Italian. She betrayed this by -her belief that America—commercial America—would respect and desire -a prince. And hardly had she reached this conclusion when she met -Charlotte Haines.</p> - -<p>They met quite by accident. The princess during a short stay in Venice -was visiting her mother's old friend, the Contessa Carini-Bon. The -Carini-Bon palace, as all good sightseers know, is not on the Grand -Canal, but tucked away at the junction of two of the smaller canals. -It is a late Renaissance palace, built of the white granite that turns -blackest, and it is decorated with Turks' heads over the arches of -the windows, and contains the most beautiful tapestries in Italy. -The princess, who since the war did not commit the extravagance of -having her own gondola in Venice, had walked to the palace, through -many narrow streets over tiny bridges, and under porticos, and having -arrived at the side door was standing a minute in conversation with the -concierge—also an old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> friend—discussing his son who had been wounded -on the Piave, and the curse of motor boats on the Grand Canal, and the -peculiar habits of the <i>forestieri</i>, and other universal topics, when -she saw, across the empty courtyard, that a gondola had appeared at the -steps.</p> - -<p>It was a magnificent gondola; the two men were in white with blue -sashes edged with gold fringe; blue ribbons fluttered from their -broad-brimmed hats; their oars were striped blue and white; and the -gondola itself shone with fresh black paint relieved here and there -by heavy gold. In the front there was a small bouquet of roses and -daisies in the little brass stand that carried the lamp by night. Out -of this, hardly touching the proffered arm of the gondolier, stepped -a pretty woman, her white draperies and pearls contrasting with her -smooth dark hair and alert brown eyes. She asked in execrable Italian -whether it were possible to "visitare" the <i>palazzo</i>. The concierge, -in that liquid beautiful voice which so many Italians of all classes -possess, replied that it was utterly impossible—that occasionally, -when the contessa was not in Venice, certain people bringing letters -were permitted, but at present the contessa was at home.</p> - -<p>The lady did not understand all of this, and was not at her best when -crossed in her pursuit of ideal beauty and without a language in -which to argue the point. She kept repeating "<i>Non è possible?</i>" and -"<i>Perche?</i>" and never appearing to understand the answer, until in -despair the concierge looked pathetically at the princess. Following -his glance Charlotte, bursting with a sense that she was somehow being -done out of the rights of an American <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>connoisseur, broke into fluent -French. Was it, she asked, really impossible to see the tapestries? How -could such things be? She was told they were the best tapestries in all -Italy; tapestries were her specialty. She knew herself in tapestries.</p> - -<p>The princess courteously repeated the concierge's explanation; and so -these two women, born not two hundred miles away from each other in the -state of Ohio, stood for a few minutes and conversed in Venice in the -language of the boulevards. Perhaps it was some latent sense of kinship -that made the princess feel sorry for Charlotte. She told her to wait a -moment, and went on up to see the contessa.</p> - -<p>When the first greetings were over she explained that there was a very -pretty young American woman downstairs who was bitterly disappointed at -not being able to see the tapestries.</p> - -<p>"Good," said the contessa. "I'm delighted to hear it." She was very -old and wrinkled and bright-eyed, and she had a habit of flicking the -end of her nose with her forefinger. "These Americans—I hear their -terrible voices all day long in the canals. They have all the money in -the world and most of the energy, but they cannot have everything. They -cannot see my tapestries."</p> - -<p>"And that is a pleasure to you?"</p> - -<p>The contessa nodded. "Certainly. One of the few I have left."</p> - -<p>The princess sighed. "I am more of an American than I supposed," she -said.</p> - -<p>The contessa hastened to reassure her: "My dear Lisa! You! There is -nothing of it about you." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> - -<p>The princess was too remote from her native land to resent this -reassurance.</p> - -<p>She continued thoughtfully: "There must be. I am a little bit kind. -Americans are, you know. If anyone runs for the doctor in the middle of -the night at a Continental hotel it always turns out to be an American. -The English think they are officious and we Italians think they are -too stupid to know when they are imposed upon, but it isn't either. -It's kindness. The English are just, and the French are clear-sighted, -but Americans are kind. You know I can't bear to think of that young -creature loving tapestries and not being able ever to see yours."</p> - -<p>"My dear child, if you feel like that!" The contessa touched the bell, -and when in due time Luigi appeared, she gave orders that the lady -waiting below was to be allowed to see the tapestries in the dining -room and the salas. "But not in here, Luigi; no matter how much she -gives you—not in here—and let her know that these are much the best -ones. So, like that we are all satisfied."</p> - -<p>An evening or so after this the two women met again; this time at a -musicale given by a lady as international as the socialist party. -Charlotte, still in spotless white and pearls, came quickly across the -room to thank the princess, whom she recognized immediately. She said -quite the right things about the tapestries, about Venice, about Italy; -and the princess, who was susceptible to praise of the country which -had become her own, was pleased with Charlotte.</p> - -<p>"One is so starved for beauty in America," Mrs. Haines complained. -"I'm like a greedy child for it when I come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> here; you can form no -idea how terrible New York is." The princess dimly remembered rows of -chocolate-colored houses—the New York of the early '90's. She was -ready to sympathize with Charlotte.</p> - -<p>"Why don't you come here and live—such beautiful old palaces to be had -for nothing—for what Americans consider nothing," she suggested.</p> - -<p>Charlotte rolled her large brown eyes. "If only I could; but my husband -wouldn't hear of it. He actually likes America. Italy means nothing to -him."</p> - -<p>Lisa was destined to hear more of Charlotte's husband before she -took in the fact that he was the president of the Haines Heating -Corporations. It made a difference. It wasn't that she didn't really -like Charlotte—Lisa would never have been nice to her if she hadn't -really liked her; but neither would she have been so extremely nice to -her if Haines had not been at the head of such a hopeful company. It -was a wonderfully lucky combination of circumstances.</p> - -<p>And to no one did it appear more lucky than to Charlotte, to whom the -princess seemed so well-bred, so civilized, so expert and so wise—the -living embodiment of all that Charlotte herself wished to become.</p> - -<p>And then she knew Venice so wonderfully; she was better than any -guidebook. She knew of gardens and palaces that no one else had heard -of. She knew of old wellheads and courtyards. A few people went to -see the Giorgione in the Seminario, but only the princess insisted on -Charlotte's seeing the library, with its row of windows on the Canal, -and its beautiful old books going up to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> ceiling, and the painted -panel that looked like books until, sliding it, you found it was the -stairway to the gallery—all these delights Charlotte owed to her new -friend.</p> - -<p>And as the moon grew larger—on the evenings when Charlotte wasn't -dining with Americans at the Lido or at that delightful new restaurant -on the other side of the Canal, where you sat in the open air and -ate at bare tables in such a primitive way—the two women would go -out in Charlotte's gondola—sometimes through the labyrinth of the -little canals, but more often the other way—past some tall, empty, -ocean-going steamer anchored off the steps of the church of the -Redentore—out to the Giudecca, where they could see the lighthouse at -the entrance to the port, past a huge dredge which looked in the misty -moonlight, as Charlotte said, like a dragon with its mouth open; on -and on with their two gondoliers, to where everything was marsh and -moonlight.</p> - -<p>The princess had often noticed that Americans in Europe explained -themselves a good deal. Perhaps citizens of a republic must explain -themselves socially; after all, a princess does not need explanation. -Charlotte on these evenings explained herself. Even as a child, she -said, she had been reaching out for beauty—a less sophisticated person -would have called it culture—when she had married she had thought only -of the romance of it—she had been very much in love with her husband, -ten years older than she, already successful; a dominating nature, -she had not thought then that they were out of sympathy about the -impersonal aspects of life—art, beauty. It was natural for Charlotte -to slip into the discussion of her own problem—the problem of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>American husband—so kind, so virtuous, so successful, but alas, so -indifferent to the finer arts of living.</p> - -<p>"What are we to do, we American women?" Charlotte wailed. "We grow -up, we educate ourselves to know the good from the bad, the ugly from -the beautiful—and then we fall in love and marry some man to whom it -is all a closed book; who is sometimes jealous of interests he cannot -share. Sometimes it seems as if we should crush all that is best in -us in order to be good wives to our husbands. You Europeans are so -lucky—you and your men have the same tastes and the same interests."</p> - -<p>"At least," said the princess politely, "your men are very generous in -allowing you to come abroad without them. Ours wouldn't have that for a -minute."</p> - -<p>Charlotte laughed. "Our men would rather we came alone than asked them -to go with us. You can't imagine how bored my husband is in Europe. -He speaks no language but his own, and instead of meeting interesting -people he goes to his nearest office and entirely reorganizes it."</p> - -<p>The princess had always wanted to know whether these deserted American -husbands had other love affairs; or, rather, not so much whether they -had them as whether they were permitted to have them. Here was an -excellent opportunity for finding out. She put her question, as she -felt, delicately, but Charlotte was obviously a little shocked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no!" she said quickly. "At least Dan doesn't. Dan isn't a bit -horrid in ways like that."</p> - -<p>Lisa felt inclined to disagree with the adjective. Human, she would -have called it. At the same time she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> felt extremely sympathetic with -Charlotte's situation. She knew how she herself would have suffered -if she had married a competent business man who lived in a brownstone -front with a long drawing-room like a tunnel, and talked nothing but -business at dinner. She inquired whether Mr. Haines was in Wall Street, -and heard that he was the head of the Haines Heating Corporations. Then -making more extended inquiries in her practical Latin way, she saw that -she had found the right opening for Raimundo.</p> - -<p>Before Charlotte left Venice she invited the princess and her son to -pay her a visit in New York that winter; she urged it warmly. For to -be honest Charlotte was in somewhat the same position in regard to the -princess that the princess was in regard to Charlotte. The fact that -she was a princess warmed the younger woman's liking.</p> - -<p>Lisa did not jump at the invitation. It was her duty to accept it, but -she was not eager.</p> - -<p>"I haven't crossed the Atlantic since I was eight years old," she said. -"Besides, how would Mr. Haines feel about us? If Italy bores him, -wouldn't two resident Italians bore him more?"</p> - -<p>"You would start with the handicap of being my friends," Charlotte -answered, "but he'd be perfectly civil, and in the end he would learn -to appreciate you. He's not a fool, Dan. He's wise about people, if he -can only get over his prejudices. But he'd be away most of the time. -He always goes to California in January to look after his oil wells or -something."</p> - -<p>It was not quite the princess' idea that Dan Haines<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> should be away all -the time. He must see Raimundo, and be charmed by his youth and gayety, -while she, the princess, would provide a background of solidity and -Old World standards. She talked the matter over with her son—a thin, -eagle-nosed boy of twenty. He was enthusiastic at the prospect, but -more, his mother feared, because he had fallen in love with Charlotte's -niece, whom he had met at the Lido, than because he took his future in -the Haines Heating Corporations seriously. Nevertheless Charlotte's -invitation was accepted.</p> - -<p>Yet many times before January came she woke up in the night, cold -with horror at the idea of this journey to an unknown land. She had -hardly been out of Italy for twenty years. And even after she had -actually sailed, walking the inclosed deck at night, while Raimundo was -playing bridge, she shrank from the undertaking. She was very lonely, -the poor princess. She and the prince had had their own troubles and -disagreements, but these had gradually passed, and she had come to -look forward to his companionship for her old age—a quiet prospect of -settling their children and bringing up grandchildren, and making two -ends meet at the dilapidated Sangatano villa. And then he had failed -her; he had died during the war; and the princess had found that all -her little world died about the same time. The old circle in Rome was -gone, ruined, embittered, changed and scattered. The pleasant clever -friendly educated group of her friends were a group no longer. And she -was changed too. The war—or, rather, the aftermath of war—had brought -out in her something different from her beloved country of adoption. -She was not willing to sit down and lament the passing of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> her own -order. She could not weep because the peasants no longer rose as you -passed their houses. She had even a suspicion that the new order was -not so terrible, and this put her old friends out of sympathy with her. -They remembered that she was, after all, an American. Perhaps it was as -well she was going away that winter, for she was very lonely at home.</p> - -<p>Her steamer chair was next that of an American gentleman, a short, fat, -round-faced man, who bore out her theory that Americans were kind, by -the most careful and unobtrusive attention. The name of Haines was -introduced into the conversation, and evidently inspired the fat man's -interest. She asked if he knew Mr. Haines. No, not really. She saw -that he would like to have been able to say that he did. He knew a -great deal about Haines, which he was more than ready to tell. Haines -was a man whom many people thought dangerously liberal in his ideas of -handling his labor, and yet ultra-conservative in his investments. His -ideas worked out, though—a brilliant man—creative—and then the usual -story of having begun life on nothing.</p> - -<p>"Really?" murmured the princess, not at all surprised, because she -supposed all rich Americans began life on nothing.</p> - -<p>Still, she was glad of this increase in her knowledge of her host. He -was evidently one of these tremendous commercial powers. Charlotte's -account had hardly prepared her for this, but then, she supposed -Charlotte lived so surrounded by these vigorous fortune-makers that she -had lost her sense of proportion about them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> The possibility pleased -the princess. After all, there were other heads of large industries -besides Haines.</p> - -<p>She conveyed her extended hopes to Raimundo when about noon he appeared -on deck, having had already a game of squash, a swim, and a turn on -deck with a very pretty opera singer.</p> - -<p>"This is a great opportunity, Raimundo," she said, "if you take it in -the right way."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I shall take it right," said the boy, sitting down beside her and -studying his long, slim foot in profile. "I shall, of course, make love -to the beautiful Charlotte."</p> - -<p>"You will do nothing of the kind."</p> - -<p>"For what are we crossing the ocean?" replied her son. "Oh, I have -read transatlantic fiction. American men do not mind your making love -to their wives—because it saves them the time it would take to do -it themselves; and then also it confirms their belief that they have -acquired a valuable article."</p> - -<p>"You must not talk like this, even to me," said his mother. "You are -quite wrong. Charlotte, like most of the American women I have met, is -extremely cool and virtuous."</p> - -<p>"Of course," said Raimundo, "you offer them only a dumb doglike -devotion." And looking into her face he sketched a look of dumb doglike -devotion at which she could not help laughing.</p> - -<p>Charlotte was at the wharf to welcome them, accompanied by a competent -manservant to do the work of the customs. Mr. Haines, it appeared, was -in California. The princess expressed polite regret at hearing this. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, he'll be back," answered his wife, and if she did not add "quite -soon enough" her tone conveyed it, and Raimundo darted a quick impish -glance at his mother.</p> - -<p>As they waited while the princess' maid put back the trays of the -trunks Lisa tried to convey her admiration of the harbor. Of course a -great deal has been written about the approach to New York by sea, but -as the princess, like most Europeans, had never read anything about -America, it all came as a great surprise to her. It seemed to come as a -surprise to Charlotte too.</p> - -<p>"Beautiful?" she said incredulously. "After Venice?"</p> - -<p>"Different," answered the princess.</p> - -<p>"I should say it was different," said Charlotte. "There—I think those -horrible men have finished mauling your trunks, and we can go."</p> - -<p>It was on the tip of Lisa's tongue to say that she found the American -customs officials perfectly civil, and that her experiences on European -frontiers had been much more disagreeable, but as she began to speak -she was suddenly conscious that Charlotte did not really want to think -well of her native land, and she stopped.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I say," cried the little prince as they came out of the cavelike -shadow of the pier into the cloudless light of the winter day, "what a -jolly day! I shan't be responsible for anything I do if you have many -days like this."</p> - -<p>"Oh, we have lots of these," returned Charlotte, signaling to her -footman. "We have nothing else—no half lights, no mists, no mystery." -And they got into her little French town car and started on their way -uptown.</p> - -<p>The princess stared out of her window in silence, noting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> the -disappearance of the chocolate-colored houses, the beauty of the -shops—and yes, even of the shoppers. But her son was not gifted with -reticence. If his impressions had been disagreeable he might have been -silent, but as they were flattering he saw no reason for suppressing -them. He thought Fifth Avenue wonderful.</p> - -<p>"And, my eye," he kept saying—an expression he had learned early in -life from an English groom—"what a lot of pretty girls, and what a lot -of cars! I did not know there were so many motor cars in the world."</p> - -<p>Charlotte smiled as if she knew he meant to be kind, and suddenly -laying her hand on the princess' knee, she said, "Oh, I'm so afraid -you're going to hate it all, but you don't know what it means to me to -have you here."</p> - -<p>The princess was touched.</p> - -<p>Yet it must be owned that Lisa found the next few weeks -confusing—confusing, that is, if Charlotte were to be regarded as -the starved prisoner of an alien culture. They were agreeable weeks; -Raimundo was in the seventh heaven. He dined, danced, lunched, and -danced again. He went into the country and tobogganed, and learned to -walk on snowshoes. When asked how he was enjoying America he always -made the same answer: "I shall never go home. My eye! What girls!"</p> - -<p>His mother enjoyed herself more mildly, and with certain reservations. -Erudite gentlemen were put next to her at dinner—a Frenchman who was -a specialist on Chinese porcelains; a painter of Spanish birth; and -several English novelists and poets who were either just beginning -or just completing successful lecture tours of the United States; -interesting men, in one way or another,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> yet—and yet—the princess -asked herself if she had crossed the wide Atlantic simply to see this -pale replica of a civilization she already knew.</p> - -<p>And something else puzzled and distressed her. Her friend Charlotte -seemed to her the freest of created beings—freer than any woman the -princess had ever known, to make of her life anything she wanted to -make of it. But Charlotte's life seemed to lack purpose and dignity. -Charlotte liked to feel that learned men came to her house, but her -state of nerves did not always allow her to listen to what they said. -Serious books were on her table, and sometimes in her hands, and yet -her day lacked those long safe hours of leisure in which such books are -read.</p> - -<p>There was no doubt that a realer, more vital Charlotte appeared buying -a new hat or playing a game of bridge or asking someone to dinner, than -the Charlotte who lamented the lost beauty of an old world. And yet she -wasn't just a fraud.</p> - -<p>She was not an early riser, and if toward eleven o'clock the princess -penetrated to Charlotte's bedroom, overlooking the park, she would find -her still in bed—a priceless Italian bed—said to have been made for -Bianca Capello—propped by lace pillows, and reading a fashion paper. -And something else worried the princess—the house, the way it was -managed. It was comfortable, well heated—too well; there was always -delicious food and too much of it, but Charlotte lived in her house -as in a hotel. If butchers overcharged or footmen stole, Charlotte's -only feeling was that they were tiresome dishonest people with whom she -wished to have nothing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> do. Abroad, she said, one's servants did not -do such things.</p> - -<p>The princess disagreed. They did not have the same opportunities, she -said; the mistresses were more vigilant. The extravagance of the Haines -household actually hurt her, coming as she did from a group where -extravagance had ceased to be possible. But Charlotte would not admit -that she had any responsibility.</p> - -<p>"Really, dear Lisa," she said almost crossly, "I have better things to -think about than housekeeping."</p> - -<p>Well, the princess wondered what those things were.</p> - -<p>As the days went by and as small party succeeded small party, Lisa -noted that she met no American men—or hardly any—at Charlotte's -house, and she asked finally why this was.</p> - -<p>"Do they work so hard they can't dine out?"</p> - -<p>"No—or, rather, yes, they work hard; but that's not why I don't ask -them. They're so uninteresting—you would be bored to death by them."</p> - -<p>"I'd rather like to try," said the princess mildly.</p> - -<p>Charlotte contracted her straight eyebrows in thought. "I'll try to -think of some not too awful," she said.</p> - -<p>And a few evenings afterward the princess found herself next to a -nice little chattering gentleman who spoke Italian better than she -did, and made lace with his own hands. On the other side was a former -ambassador—a charming person, but of no nation or age. She had known -him in Paris for years. She sighed gently. She wanted to meet a -financial colossus. She liked men—real ones.</p> - -<p>Needless to say that in the Haines house she had her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> own sitting -room—a delightful little room hung in old crimson velvet, with a wood -fire always blazing on the hearth. The first day when Charlotte brought -her into it she apologized for a picture over the mantelpiece.</p> - -<p>"The things one puts in the spare room!" she said. "My husband bought -that picture at an auction once, because it reminded him of the farm he -was brought up on. I didn't dare give it away, but there's no reason -why you should be inflicted with it." And she raised her arm to take it -down.</p> - -<p>"No! Leave it; I like it," said the princess. "It's delightful—that -blue sky and clouds."</p> - -<p>She was quite sincere in saying she liked it. She did. Often she would -look up from her book and let her eyes fall with pleasure on the small -green and blue and white canvas, and wonder in what farming district -Mr. Haines had been brought up—and in what capacity.</p> - -<p>The New York climate affected the princess' ability to sleep. She read -often late into the night. One night—or rather morning—for it must -have been three o'clock—she was interrupted by a visit from her son. -He often dropped in on his way to bed to sketch for her the strange but -in his opinion agreeable habits of the American girl. But this evening -he did not burst out into his usual narrative. He entered silently, and -stood for some seconds silent.</p> - -<p>Then he said "Our host has returned."</p> - -<p>"Oh," said the princess with pleasure, for, after all, this was the -purpose of the long excursion.</p> - -<p>"How unexpected!"</p> - -<p>Her son gave a short laugh. "I believe you," he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> "Unexpected is -just the word. It sometimes seems as if, in spite of all that has been -written on the subject, husbands would never learn the tactlessness of -the unexpected return."</p> - -<p>"Raimundo, what do you mean?" asked his mother with a sinking heart.</p> - -<p>The boy hesitated. "The lovely Charlotte," he said, "is all that you -told me she was—cool and virtuous—so much so that it never occurs to -her that others may be different. Tonight I brought her home from a -dull party. We got talking; we sat down in the drawing-room. The back -of a lovely white neck bent over a table was so near my lips—and the -husband enters."</p> - -<p>"Was there a scene?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no. It was worse. We chatted <i>à trois</i> for a time."</p> - -<p>The princess drew a long breath. "Perhaps he did not see; but really, -Raimundo—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, he saw," said the prince. "He maneuvered the suspicious Charlotte -off to bed, and then he suggested without a trace of anger or criticism -that I should leave the house in the morning; and really, my dear -mother, I'm afraid I shall have to do it. I'm so sorry, I know you'll -feel annoyed with me, but it is hard to remember that no woman means -anything here. I just manage to remember it with the girls; but the -married women—well, one can't always be so sure; not so sure, at least -as one is with Charlotte. There was no excuse for me—none."</p> - -<p>"You're an awkward, ungrateful boy," said his mother, with an absence -of temper that made her pronouncement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> more severe. "I think I shall go -downstairs now myself and have a talk with Mr. Haines."</p> - -<p>"You'll do the talking," answered her son. "He isn't exactly a chatty -man."</p> - -<p>But the princess was not discouraged. She could not see that she could -do any harm to Raimundo's prospects, since evidently all was now lost, -and she felt she owed it to Charlotte to repair, if she could, any -damage the boy's folly had occasioned.</p> - -<p>The lights on the stairs and corridors were all going; they were -controlled by switches working, to the princess' continual surprise, -from all sorts of unexpected places. She had no difficulty in finding -her way to the drawing-room, on the second story, where Raimundo told -her the interview had taken place.</p> - -<p>As she opened the door she saw that a tall thin man in gray morning -clothes was standing alone in the middle of the room, with his hands -in his pockets and a cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth, quite in -the American manner. He was pale, pale as his blond smooth hair, now -beginning to be gray, and everything about him was long—his hands, his -jaw, his legs like a cavalryman's. He was turned three-quarters toward -the door, and he moved nothing but his eyes as the princess entered.</p> - -<p>There was always something neat and finished about the way Lisa moved, -and the way she held herself, the way she put her small steady feet on -the ground; and this was particularly evident now in the way she opened -the door, moved the train of her long tea gown out of the way and shut -the door again. She did all this in silence, for it was her theory to -let the other person speak first.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> It was a theory that she had had no -difficulty in putting into practice during her stay in America, but it -was now forced upon her attention that Haines had the same theory, for -he remained perfectly silent, and something told her that he was likely -to continue so. The fate of interviews is often decided thus in the -first few seconds.</p> - -<p>She spoke first. "I am the Princess di Sangatano," she said.</p> - -<p>He nodded.</p> - -<p>"My son has just told me about the incident of this evening."</p> - -<p>He nodded again, and then he said, "You want to discuss it?"</p> - -<p>His voice was low and not without a nasal drawl, but the baffling -thing about it was the entire absence of any added suggestion of -tone or emphasis. There were the bare words themselves and nothing -more—no hint as to whether he himself wished or didn't wish to discuss -it—approved or didn't approve of her intention.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I do," she replied.</p> - -<p>"Better sit down then."</p> - -<p>The princess did sit down, folding her hands in her lap, drawing her -elbows to her side, and sitting very erect. She did not say to herself, -like Cleopatra: "Hath he seen majesty?" but some such thought was not -far from her.</p> - -<p>For twenty years she had been acknowledged to be an important person, -and this had left its trace upon her manner. She knew it had.</p> - -<p>"Are you very angry at this silly boy of mine?" she said. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> - -<p>Haines shook his head—that is to say, he wagged it twice from side to -side.</p> - -<p>"Not at Charlotte, I hope?"</p> - -<p>Another shake of the head.</p> - -<p>The princess felt a little annoyed. "Then what in heaven's name do you -feel, if anything?" she said.</p> - -<p>"I feel kinda bored," he answered; and as Lisa gave an exclamation that -expressed irritation and lack of comprehension he added, again without -any added color in his voice: "How did you expect me to feel?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, either more or less," answered Lisa. "Either you should be furious -and shake Charlotte until her teeth rattled, and fling my boy into the -street, or else you should be wise enough to see it doesn't make the -least difference—and be human—and sensible—and—and—"</p> - -<p>"—and give your son a job," said Haines quietly.</p> - -<p>The princess was startled. She drew herself up still more. "I have not -asked you to give my son a job," she said.</p> - -<p>He took his cigar out of his mouth, and she noticed that his strange -long pale hands were rather handsome.</p> - -<p>"Look here," he said, "answer this honestly: Didn't you have some such -idea in your head when you decided to come here? Look at me."</p> - -<p>She did look at him, at first rather expecting to look him down, and -then so much interested in what she saw—something intense and real and -fearless—that she forgot everything else—forgot everything except -that she was thirty-nine years old, and had lived a great deal in the -world and yet had not met very many real people, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> now— Then she -remembered that she must answer him.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," she said; "I had it in mind."</p> - -<p>"Well," said Haines, "that's what bores me." He began to walk up -and down the room, somewhat, Lisa thought, as if he were dictating -a letter. "Poor Charlotte! She's always making these wonderful -discoveries—and they always turn out the same way—they always -want something. You—why she's been talking about you—and writing -about you. You were the most noble, the most disinterested, the most -aristocratic— She would hardly speak to me because I asked her why you -were making this long journey. For love of her society, she thought. -She thinks I'm a perfect bear, but, my God, how can a man sit round and -see his wife exploited by everyone she comes in contact with—from the -dealer who sells her fake antiques to the grandee who offers her fake -friendship?"</p> - -<p>"I can't let you say that," said the princess, too much interested to -be as angry as she felt she ought to be. "I have never offered anyone -fake friendship."</p> - -<p>"I didn't say you had."</p> - -<p>"Pooh!" said she. "That's beneath you. You should at least be as -honest, as you ask other people to be."</p> - -<p>This speech seemed to please him—to please him as a child might please -him. He came and sat down opposite to her, looked at her for a moment -and then smiled at her. His smile was sweet and intimate as a caress.</p> - -<p>"Come," he said, "I believe you're all right."</p> - -<p>"I am," she answered. "Even a little bit more than that." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> - -<p>He sat there smoking and frankly studying her. "And yet," he said after -a moment, "they're mostly not—you know—Charlotte's discoveries. -They're mostly about as wrong as they can be."</p> - -<p>"And they kinda bore you?" said the princess, to whom the phrase seemed -amusing. He nodded, and she went on: "A good many things do, I imagine."</p> - -<p>"Almost everything but my business. You don't," he added after a -second; and there was something so simple and imperial in his manner -that she did not think him insolent; in fact, to tell the truth, she -was flattered. "You might tell me something about yourself," he added.</p> - -<p>The princess was too human not to be delighted to obey this suggestion, -and too well-bred to take an unfair advantage of it. She talked a long -time about herself, and then about the Haines Heating Corporations.</p> - -<p>And then they talked about him. In fact they talked all the rest of the -night—as continuously as schoolgirls, as honestly as old friends, as -ecstatically as lovers; and yet, of course, they were not schoolgirls -or old friends, and even less lovers. They were two middle-aged people, -so real and so fastidious in their different ways that they had not -found many people whom they liked; and they had suddenly and utterly -unexpectedly found each other.</p> - -<p>They were interrupted by the entrance of a housemaid with a broom and a -duster. She gave a smothered exclamation and withdrew. Haines looked at -his watch. It was half past seven.</p> - -<p>He got up and pulled the curtains back. A pale clear pink-and-green -winter morning was just beginning to shine upon the park, glittering in -snow and ice. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> - -<p>"At home," said Lisa, "I should consider what we have just done as -rather irregular."</p> - -<p>"In this country," he answered, "you can do anything if you have -sufficient integrity to do it."</p> - -<p>"How can I tell whether I have or not?" she asked.</p> - -<p>He smiled again. "I have enough for both," he answered. "Luckily or -unluckily"—and he sighed as he repeated it—"luckily or unluckily."</p> - -<p>"Oh, luckily; luckily, of course," said Lisa, though there was just a -trace of annoyance in her voice that this was so clear. She held out -her hand.</p> - -<p>"Good-by," she said.</p> - -<p>He took her hand, and then from his great height he did something that -no one had ever done to the princess before—he patted her on the head. -"You're all right," he said, and sighed and turned away—as it were, -dismissing her.</p> - -<p>She went upstairs to her own room—which seemed altered, as backgrounds -do alter with changes in ourselves. It was no longer a room in -Charlotte's house but in Haines'; and she was leaving it, leaving -it in a few hours. She did not debate that at all. She was going -with her son, but there was something that must be done before she -went—something that she must do for this new friend of hers whom she -would never, probably, see again.</p> - -<p>She did not have much time to think it over, for when her breakfast -tray came in, as usual, at nine, Charlotte came with it—striking just -the note the princess hoped she wouldn't strike—apology. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I suppose your son told you what happened last night. So silly. I'm so -ashamed."</p> - -<p>"Ashamed?" said the princess, and she noted that her tone had something -of the neutrality of Haines' own. She had copied him.</p> - -<p>"Ashamed of Dan," answered Charlotte. "That's so like him—not to -understand—just to take the crude view of it. I haven't seen him -since, but I know so well how he would take a thing like that. As -a matter of fact, I must tell you, Lisa—though I promised that I -wouldn't—Raimundo was asking my help. He wants to marry the little -Haines girl; he wants me to bring you round. He knows you hate -everything American—"</p> - -<p>"I don't hate everything American," said the princess, and again her -voice sounded in her ears like Haines'.</p> - -<p>"This girl, you know, is Dan's niece, and exactly like him. And now I'm -afraid that will do for her, as far as you're concerned. Of course you -must hate Dan—the idea of him—and if you saw him—well, you will see -him at dinner tonight."</p> - -<p>The moment had come. The princess shook her head.</p> - -<p>"No," she said, "I shan't be at dinner tonight."</p> - -<p>Charlotte looked at her and then broke out into protest: "No, no, you -mustn't go. Let Raimundo go, if he must, but not you. Don't desert me, -Lisa, because I have the misfortune to be married to a man who does not -understand. Oh, to think that anything should have happened in my house -that has hurt your feelings! I shall never forgive Dan—never! But -don't go—for my sake, Lisa."</p> - -<p>"It's for your sake I'm going, my dear." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I don't understand."</p> - -<p>"I know you don't, and it is going to be so difficult to explain." -The princess rose and, going to the looking-glass, stared at herself, -pushed back her hair from her forehead, and then turned suddenly -back to her friend. "I suppose I seem to you a terribly worn-out old -creature."</p> - -<p>"My dear!" cried Charlotte. "You seem to me the most elegant, the most -mysterious, the most charming person I ever knew."</p> - -<p>Lisa could not help smiling at this spontaneous outburst. "Then," she -said, "let me tell you that the most charming person you ever knew has -fallen in love with your husband." Charlotte's jaw literally dropped, -and the princess went on: "Yes, last night when Raimundo came and told -me what had happened, I went downstairs. I wanted to do what I could -to protect you from his thoughtlessness. I went down expecting to see -the kind of man you have painted your husband. Oh, Charlotte, what a -terrible goose you are!"</p> - -<p>Even then Charlotte did not immediately understand. She continued to -stare. At last she said, "You mean you liked Dan?"</p> - -<p>"I did much more than that. I thought him the most vital, the most -exciting, the most romantic figure I had ever seen."</p> - -<p>"Dan?"</p> - -<p>The princess nodded. "The power of the world in his hands—and so -alone. I said just now I had fallen in love with him. Well, I suppose -at my age one doesn't fall in love, even if one talks to a man all -night—" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You and he talked all night?"</p> - -<p>"All night long—all night long."</p> - -<p>Charlotte looked quickly at her friend, blinked her eyes, looked away -and looked back again. It was not for nothing that her black eyebrows -almost met—a sign, the physiognomists tell us, of a jealous nature.</p> - -<p>The whole process of her thought was on her face. She had never been -jealous of her husband in all her life before—but then, she had never -before brought him face to face with perfection. She summed it up in -her first sentence.</p> - -<p>"Dan is no fool," she said. "He felt as you did?"</p> - -<p>The princess smiled. "Ah, Charlotte!" she said. "An Italian woman would -not have asked that. You must find that out for yourself."</p> - -<p>There was a short silence, and then Charlotte got up and walked toward -the door.</p> - -<p>It was evident that she was going to find out at once. But the princess -had one more salutary blow for her. She was standing now with her elbow -on the mantelpiece and her eyes fixed on the little spare-room picture, -and just as Charlotte reached the door Lisa spoke.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she said. "One other thing. Don't despise this little picture -that your husband bought. It's the best thing you have."</p> - -<p>This was a little too much. "Not better than my Guardis," Charlotte -wailed, for she would never think of disputing the princess' judgment.</p> - -<p>"The Guardis are like you, Charlotte," said the princess; "they -are excellent copies. But this little picture is original—it's -American—it's the real thing."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> - -<h2>DEVOTED WOMEN</h2> - -<p>Nan felt a sense of drama as she rang the bell of her friend's house. -The houses in the row were all exactly alike, built of a new small -dark-red brick, and each was set on a little square of new turf, as -smooth and neat as an emerald-green handkerchief. To make matters -harder, the house numbers were not honest numerals, but loops of silver -ribbon festooned above the front door bell, so that Nan had almost -mistaken the five she was looking for for the three next door.</p> - -<p>She had not seen her friend for four years; and four years is a long -time—a sixth of your entire life when you are only twenty-four. It -seemed to her that they had been immensely young when they had parted; -and yet she had never been too young to appreciate Letitia—even that -first day back in the dark ages of childhood when they had found -their desks next to each other at school. Even then Letitia had been -captivating—lovely to look at, and gay; and, though it seemed a -strange word to use about a child in short dresses, elegant. She came -of the best blood in America; indeed, in the American-history class it -was quite embarrassing because so many of the statesmen and generals -whom the teacher praised or condemned were ancestors of Letitia's. She -was a red-gold creature with deep sky-blue eyes, and, at that remote -period, freckles, which she had subsequently succeeded in getting rid -of.</p> - -<p>She had charmed Nan from the first moment—none<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> the less that Nan -understood her weaknesses as well as her charms. No one could say that -Letitia was untruthful; to lie was quite outside her code; but if at -seven minutes past eight she was late, she said it was barely eight -o'clock, and if you were late she said it was almost a quarter past. -Someone had once observed to her mother that Letitia distorted facts, -and Mrs. Lewis, had replied, after an instant of deliberation, "Well, -undoubtedly she molds them."</p> - -<p>She molded them particularly in conversation with the opposite sex; she -could not bear any competition as far as her admirers were concerned. -Strangely enough, though Letitia was much the prettier and more amusing -of the two girls, she was always a little jealous of Nan, whereas Nan -was never at all jealous of her. Letty herself explained the reason -for this once in one of her flashes of vision: "It's because whatever -you get from people is your own—founded on a rock, Nan; but I fake it -so—I get a lot that doesn't belong to me—and so I'm always in terror -of being found out."</p> - -<p>After their schooldays the girls had seen a great deal of each other. -Nan's father was a professor in a small college, and it was pleasant -to be asked to stay with the Lewises in their tiny New York flat. It -was also agreeable to Letitia to be invited to share in commencement -festivities with their prolonged opportunities to fascinate. Then Nan's -father had accepted an appointment in China; but the separation did not -lessen the intimacy—perhaps it even increased it; you can write so -freely to a person living thousands of miles away. Letitia had written -with the utmost freedom to her friend, who at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> that distance could not -in any way be regarded as a competitor.</p> - -<p>Letitia always described the new people she was seeing, and Nan noticed -that the first mention of Roger in her letters had in it something -sharply defined and significant:</p> - -<p>"I sat next the most romantic-looking boy I ever saw. No, my dear, no -occasion for excitement; he must be years younger than I am; but the -most beautiful person you ever saw—hollow-cheeked, broad-browed like -that picture you adore so of Father Damien, oh perhaps I'm thinking of -an illustration of Rossetti; and he can talk, too, I promise you. He's -an experimental chemist in some great manufacturing company, which at -this age—"</p> - -<p>In the next letter it appeared that he wasn't really years -younger—hardly a year; in fact, nothing to speak of. Letitia began to -write a good deal about the scientific point of view—its stimulating -quality—its powers of observation—its justice—"almost as just as you -are, Nan."</p> - -<p>Nan waited for each letter as if it were the next installment of a -serial. She had seen Letitia through a good many such affairs, and -she knew that before long her friend would stage a quarrel. It was a -good way, Letty said, of finding out how much he cared; although, as -a matter of fact, Nan noticed that she never precipitated it until -she was sure the unfortunate man in question cared enough to be at a -disadvantage.</p> - -<p>But in Roger's case, when she had said sadly, "I'm afraid, Mr. -Rossiter, that this means our friendship is ended," he had answered -without a word of pleading, "Yes, I'm quite sure it does." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> - -<p>Letitia, a little startled, had asked, "What? You wish it too?"</p> - -<p>"No," he had said; "but the fact that you do ends it automatically."</p> - -<p>She had some difficulty in extricating herself from her own ultimatum. -Naturally, her respect for him increased.</p> - -<p>"I'm almost glad you are not here, Nan," she wrote. "He is so honest he -could not help loving your honesty. I feel as if together, somehow, you -would both find me out."</p> - -<p>She inclosed a little photograph of him to show Nan what a -splendid-looking person he was; but it was not his beauty she dwelt -upon, but his straight, keen eyes and the fine firmness of his -mouth—not the determination of the self-conscious bulldog, which so -many people assume in a photograph, but just a nice steely fixity -of purpose. Yes, Nan, far away in China, with plenty of leisure for -reflection, found that for the first time she envied her friend.</p> - -<p>A little later a real honest quarrel was reported. Letitia, habitually -unpunctual, was three-quarters of an hour late for an appointment, and -he simply had not waited for her. Under her anger Nan could catch her -admiration for the first man who had dared not to wait.</p> - -<p>"I explained to him that I could not help it, and all he said was: 'You -could have helped it if I had been a train.' Of course, everything is -over—he does not know how to behave."</p> - -<p>No letter at all came in the next mail, and the announcement of her -engagement in the one following: </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Fortunately—and wonderfully—mamma likes him, for, as you know, it -would have been awfully hard to marry a man if she hated him."</p> - -<p>It would indeed; or, rather, Nan thought, it would have been difficult -for Letitia to fall in love with a man Mrs. Lewis did not approve of, -for she had a wonderful gift of phrase—just, but cruel—by which -budding sentiments could be cut off as by a knife. Nan had seen her -more than once prune away a growing romance from Letitia's life with -a deft, hideously descriptive sentence. Each time Nan had been in -complete sympathy with her.</p> - -<p>She usually did agree with Mrs. Lewis, who was the most brilliant woman -she had ever known—and almost the most alarming. She saw life not only -steadily and whole, and in the darkest colors, but she reported most -frankly on what she saw. Frauds, or even people mildly artificial, -dreaded Mrs. Lewis as they did the plague. Letitia herself would have -dreaded her if she had not been her daughter. It said a great deal for -Roger Rossiter's integrity that his future mother-in-law liked him. It -also said something for his financial situation. Mrs. Lewis had always -intended her child to marry someone with money.</p> - -<p>"It is not exactly that I'm mercenary," she said. "I don't want Letitia -to be specially magnificent; but I want her to have everything else, -and money too. Why not?"</p> - -<p>So when Nan heard the marriage had actually taken place, she felt -pretty sure Roger must have enough to support Letty comfortably. It -was really astonishing, she thought, how much she knew about him, this -man she had never seen, more than she knew about lots of people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> she -saw constantly. And so, as she rang the bell of his house, she had -something of the same excitement that she might have had on seeing the -curtain rise on a play about which she had heard endless discussion. At -last she was going to be able to judge it for herself.</p> - -<p>A Swedish maidservant came to the door—a nice-looking woman with an -exaggerated opinion of her own knowledge of English. She almost refused -Nan admittance—just to be on the safe side; but Letitia's cheerful -shout intervened.</p> - -<p>"Is that you at last, Nan?"</p> - -<p>The two girls were quickly clasped in each other's arms—not so quickly -that Nan did not see that Letitia was lovelier than ever—happier—more -alive—more golden.</p> - -<p>It was about noon when Nan arrived. She was to stay not only for -luncheon but for dinner, so as to see Roger, who never got home until -five o'clock, and possibly later today, for he had been in Albany -the night before and might find extra things waiting for him at the -office when he returned to it. Both mothers were motoring from town -for lunch—in Mrs. Rossiter's car—so that the only time the friends -could count on was now, immediately, this hour and a half. Letitia -was awfully sorry, but she didn't see how she could have arranged it -differently.</p> - -<p>Nan smiled at that well-remembered phrase of her friend's. As a matter -of fact, she was not sorry the mothers were coming. She was curious to -see Roger's mother, who, for a mother with an only son, had behaved -with the most astonishing cordiality about the marriage. A well-to-do -widow, she had given Roger a good part of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> her income. Letty's letters -had referred to her as an angel; and Nan was always eager to see -Mrs. Lewis at any time. Only she and Letty must waste no time, but -set immediately about a process known to them as catching up. This -meant that they each asked questions, listening to the answers only -so long as they appeared to contain new matter, and then ruthlessly -interrupting with a new question. Thus:</p> - -<p>"Have you seen Bee since she—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I meant to tell you—she never did."</p> - -<p>"Isn't that just like her? She always reminds me of—"</p> - -<p>"Yes, you wrote me—Roger simply loved it. You knew that Hubert—"</p> - -<p>"Yes, he cabled me. I thought it was you he—"</p> - -<p>"So did I—so did he, for that matter—only mamma once said of him—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, my dear, that heavenly thing about the scrubbing brush! Isn't she -priceless—your mother? And she really likes Roger?"</p> - -<p>"Crazy about him—thinks him too good for me."</p> - -<p>And so they came to talk about the really important subject—Letty's -marriage—Roger's wisdom and kindness and generosity. It amused and -delighted Nan to hear her friend talking of men from the point of view -of a person who owned one. Mrs. Lewis, who had long ago been obliged -to part from an impossible husband, had always been a little more -aloof from men, a little more contemptuous of them than of women; and -Letitia, although her life was occupied with nothing else, had regarded -them as an exciting, possibly hostile and certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> alien tribe. Now -it was wonderful to hear her identify herself with a man's point of -view— "We think—" "We feel—"</p> - -<p>Not for a long time did the old remote tone creep in. They were -speaking of men in general, and Letitia said suddenly:</p> - -<p>"Tell me something, Nan—you have brothers—do you think the cleverest -of them are a little silly about women?"</p> - -<p>Nan's heart gave a leap. Letitia was looking intent.</p> - -<p>"Running after women, you mean?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no!" Letty was quite shocked at the suggestion. "No, I mean -believing everything they say. Roger repeats the most fatuous things -women say to him, as if they had any importance."</p> - -<p>Letitia twisted her eyebrows in distress only half comic.</p> - -<p>Nan hesitated; she knew just the sort of thing Letitia must have in -mind.</p> - -<p>"Well," she said, "I think men often seem rather naïve—particularly -scientific men."</p> - -<p>"Yes," Letty agreed quickly, "and of course Roger has always been so -busy. He has never gone about much; but still, he'll say driving home, -'Did you ever think, Letty, that I was a specially dominating sort of -person? Mrs.'—somebody or other whom he sat next to—'said I was the -kind of man who if I couldn't dominate a woman might kill her.' That -old stuff, Nan, that we've all used and discarded. Or he'll look in the -glass and say, 'Honestly, I can't see that my eyes—'It makes me feel -ashamed, Nan."</p> - -<p>Oh, dear, Nan thought, she could have made Letty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> understand, if she -had had brothers, that these were a man's moments of confidence, -attaching and friendly, like the talk she and Letty were having at that -moment. It wasn't fair to judge a man by such moments any more than to -judge girls by silly giggling confidences to one another. Yes, that was -it—men let down the bars of their egotism to the woman they loved, and -maintained a certain reserve with their men friends, while women, just -the other way—</p> - -<p>"Oh, mercy, Nan, you're so just!" Letitia broke out. "If you were in -love with a man, you'd want him to appear well all the time."</p> - -<p>There was a ring at the bell and the sound of a motor panting at the -door. The two mothers had arrived, and the subject of man's gullibility -had to be dropped, as the two friends hurried downstairs.</p> - -<p>As they went Nan whispered, "Do the mothers like each other?"</p> - -<p>Letitia smiled, shaking her head.</p> - -<p>"No; but they think they do."</p> - -<p>No two women of the same age and country could have been more utterly -different than the two mothers. Mrs. Rossiter, who must have been -rather pretty once, was still ruffled and jeweled like a young beauty; -and her diction, though not exactly baby talk, had in it a lisp -somewhat reminiscent of the nursery. There was a lot of gentle fussing -about her wrap and gloves and lorgnette and purse—and a photograph of -Roger she had been having framed for Letty, and a basket of fruit she -had brought from town. The little hallway was quite filled with the -effort of getting her settled. Mrs. Lewis, on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> contrary, who not -only had been but still was as beautiful as a cameo, was also as quiet -as a statue, watching with a sort of icy wonder the long process of -unwrapping Mrs. Rossiter.</p> - -<p>"Your dear little house," Mrs. Rossiter was saying, trying to blow the -mesh veil from between her lips, while she undid the pin at the back of -a frilled hat which would have looked equally well on a child of seven. -"It is a dear little house, isn't it, Miss Perkins? But you must let me -call you Nan. We all call you Nan—even Roger. He's so excited about -your coming home. He said to Letitia only yesterday, 'I feel as if I -had known Nan all my life.' Didn't he? You'll let me go up, dear, won't -you? One does get a little bit grubby motoring, doesn't one?"</p> - -<p>She was led upstairs by her daughter-in-law.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Lewis patted the hair behind her ear with a brisk gesture.</p> - -<p>"I don't confess to any special grubbiness," she said with her -remorselessly exact enunciation. "Well, Nan, that's what sons do to -their mothers; almost consoles me for never having had a son. Letty -thinks she's perfection—that's marriage, I suppose. How do you think -Letty seems?"</p> - -<p>"Wonderful—wonderfully happy, Mrs. Lewis."</p> - -<p>"She ought to be. Roger is a very splendid person."</p> - -<p>"You really like him?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Lewis as one facing a possible charge of -sentimentality; "yes, I really do."</p> - -<p>"No criticisms at all?" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, come, Nan," answered the older woman, "remember who it is you're -talking to. When you find me without criticisms you'll find me in my -grave. I have endless criticism of him—of that cooing aged seraph who -has just gone up to powder her elderly nose—even of my own daughter; -but still, I do say that Roger is a fine man as men go—and that is -saying a good deal."</p> - -<p>It was saying more than Nan had ever expected to hear Mrs. Lewis say of -her son-in-law, and she was content.</p> - -<p>Presently the nose powderer came down, still cooing, and they went -in to luncheon. It was a pleasant meal. The little room was full of -sunlight; the Swede, though a poor linguist, was a good waitress; the -food was excellent, and the talk, though not brilliant, for it was -absorbed by Mrs. Rossiter, was kind and friendly; and Nan had been so -many years away that she enjoyed just the sense of intimacy. They were -talking about Roger—his health—how hard he worked.</p> - -<p>"I really think," said his mother, shaking her head solemnly, "that you -and he ought to go abroad. I think it's your duty."</p> - -<p>"I'm not sure Roger means to take a holiday at all, Mrs. Rossiter," -answered Letitia. "You see, he did take two weeks in the winter when we -were married."</p> - -<p>"If that may be called a holiday," said Mrs. Lewis. No one noticed her, -and Mrs. Rossiter pressed on:</p> - -<p>"Not take a holiday! Oh, Letty, he must! You must make him! He'll break -down. Remember, he's only twenty-four. The strain at his age— You -agree<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> with me, don't you, Mrs. Lewis? If you had a son of twenty-four, -you would not want him to work steadily all the year round?"</p> - -<p>"If I had a son," replied Mrs. Lewis, "I should be surprised if he ever -found a job. The men of my family have always been out of a job."</p> - -<p>There was a ring at the front door and the Swede went to answer it.</p> - -<p>"Now that Meta is out of the room, Lett," said her mother, "might I -suggest that you never allow her to answer the telephone? She always -begins the conversation by stoutly denying that anyone of your name -lives here."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Rossiter gave a little scream of laughter and a gesture of her -hand with the fingers self-consciously crooked.</p> - -<p>"Oh," she exclaimed, "how perfect that is! How exact!"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Lewis looked at her coldly, as much as to say she had not intended -to be, and, as a matter of fact, had not been so humorous as all that.</p> - -<p>Then Meta returned to the room, and with the manner of beaming surprise -which never left her—except on the rare occasions when she simply -burst into tears—she announced that there was a policeman in the hall, -come after Mr. Rossiter. At least, this was what she seemed to say; but -there was enough doubt about it to keep the two mothers fairly calm, -while Letitia ran out of the room to find out the truth</p> - -<p>"Do you suppose he's met with some horrible accident?" Mrs. Rossiter -asked tremulously. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> - -<p>"More likely to have parked his car somewhere he ought not to have," -answered Mrs. Lewis; but Letitia, knowing her well, saw that her secret -thought was darker than her words. All three women remained silent -after this, listening for some sound from the hall, until Letitia came -back. She was holding herself very straight and her face was white.</p> - -<p>She came straight to the table and said in a low firm voice, "There is -some mistake, of course; but this man has come to arrest Roger."</p> - -<p>"To arrest him!" cried his mother. "For what?"</p> - -<p>"For murder," answered Letitia simply.</p> - -<p>It is only men who break news with slow agony to women—women are more -direct in dealing with each other.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Rossiter gave a little cry, and then all four were silent, and in -the pause Meta came in from the pantry and, deceived, by the quietness, -began to clear the side table.</p> - -<p>When they were in the sitting room, with the door shut, Letitia -told them as much of the story as she had been able to get from the -policeman. According to his account, Roger had been not in Albany the -night before but in Paterson—yes, he did sometimes go there for the -company; but he never stayed there overnight. He had gone to a cheap -dance hall—no, not at all like Roger, though he did love dancing—and -afterward had gone to supper with a man and woman. She was a concert -hall singer, or something of the kind. There had been a row. The man -had first gone away in a fury and then put his pride in his pocket and -had come back—had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> drunk a cup of coffee of Roger's brewing—and had -dropped dead. The woman had confessed—</p> - -<p>"It obviously isn't true," said Nan, and somehow her voice seemed to -ring out too loudly.</p> - -<p>"Of course not," answered three voices in varying tones; and none of -them had the trumpet ring of complete conviction. Nan stared from one -to the other, and saw that each was busy with a plan to save him. -Well, that perhaps was love—to be more concerned with the dear one's -physical safety than with his moral integrity. When the first shock was -over, when they had had time to think, they would see as clearly as she -did that the whole thing was utterly impossible.</p> - -<p>But they were not thinking it over. They were talking about telephoning -his office—whether it would be wise, whether the telephone wires could -be tapped. Mrs. Rossiter was pleading that something should be done at -once, and blocking every action that Letitia suggested. It was finally -decided to telephone his office. The telephone was upstairs in her -bedroom, and as Letitia opened the sitting-room door she revealed the -policeman on a hard William-and-Mary chair in the hall. He had taken -off his cap and showed a head of thinning fuzzy blond hair. He looked -undressed, out of place, menacing. Mrs. Rossiter was upset by the sight -and began to cry. Mrs. Lewis, who hated tears, cast a quick look at her -and followed her daughter out of the room.</p> - -<p>Nan, left alone with Roger's mother, felt the obligation of attempting -comfort. She patted her shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Don't cry, dear Mrs. Rossiter. It will turn out to be some stupid -mistake." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, of course, of course, it's a mistake!"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Rossiter wiped her eyes bravely and put her handkerchief away. -"But he works so hard, Nan; up at seven and never back at home until -six—drudgery—and he's so young—so terribly young never to have any -fun."</p> - -<p>And, more touched by her word picture of facts than by the facts -themselves, the tears rose again in her eyes.</p> - -<p>"Some people would think it quite a lot of fun to be married to -Letitia," said Nan gently.</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Rossiter only shook her head, repeating, "It's all my -fault—all my fault!"</p> - -<p>"How can it be your fault, Mrs. Rossiter?" Nan asked a little sharply.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Rossiter glanced over her shoulder to be sure no one had reëntered -the room while her nose was in her handkerchief.</p> - -<p>"He never was in love with Letitia—not really, you know—not -romantically," she said. "And when a young, ardent boy like Roger is -tied for life—to an older woman—whom he doesn't really love—what can -you expect?"</p> - -<p>This view of the case was so unexpected to Nan that she could hardly -receive it.</p> - -<p>"Letitia believes he loves her," she said.</p> - -<p>"Does she?" answered Mrs. Rossiter in a tone that made the question a -contradiction. "Or does she only try to believe it? Or it may be she -doesn't know what it is to have a man really in love with her. These -modern girls—"</p> - -<p>"More men have been in love with Letitia than with any girl I ever -knew," said Nan firmly. "And unless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> your son has definitely told you -that he does not love her—"</p> - -<p>"Of course he hasn't done that," returned his mother, more shocked at -the idea than she had been at the suggestion of murder. "He's loyal, -poor boy. It wasn't necessary for him to tell me. I know my son, Nan, -and I know love. There wasn't a spark—not one—on his side at least. -But she never let him alone; every day a telephone or a letter, or -even a telegram. He was touched, I suppose, by her devotion. That -isn't love, though. I might have saved him. I ought to have spoken out -and said, 'Dear boy, you do not love this woman.' I did hint at it -several times, but he pretended to think I was in fun. Nan, they were -like brother and sister—or, no, more like an old married couple—no -romance. If they had been married twenty years, you would have said, -'It's nice to see them so companionable.' Now it's only natural that -love should come to him in some wild and terrible form like this—an -outlet—the poor child." There were steps in the hall, and she added -quickly, "But, of course, I would not have them know I thought the -thing possible."</p> - -<p>The footsteps belonged to Letitia. She entered, bringing word that -Roger had not been at the office; he had been expected about noon from -Albany—yes, they had said Albany, but it was only a clerk. They had -been expecting to hear from him, but knew nothing of his whereabouts. -Letty was too young to look aged by anxiety, but she looked like a -water color in process of being washed out. Not only her cheeks but her -hair and eyes, and even her skin, seemed to have lost their color. Nan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> -had never seen her friend suffering. She had seen her angry or jealous -or wounded, but never like this. Her heart went out to the girl. She -managed to get Mrs. Rossiter away to telephone to her son at his club, -on the unlikely possibility that he might have stopped there. Left -alone with Letty she said:</p> - -<p>"My dear, I know just how ugly and painful this is; but do remember -that in a few hours it will all be explained and you will be telling it -as an amusing story."</p> - -<p>"I know, of course," said Letitia, as if she were listening to a -platitude; and then she added, "Did you happen to bring any money with -you? You see, the banks are closed now."</p> - -<p>Nan could hardly believe her ears.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, "I have; but why should you need it just now?"</p> - -<p>"I shan't need it, of course," said Letitia hastily; "but in times like -this you think of all sorts of possibilities. If we did have to leave -the country at a second's notice—"</p> - -<p>Her voice died way under Nan's look of disapproval.</p> - -<p>"Would you go with him if he did?" said Nan, wondering how a woman -could love a man so much and understand him so little.</p> - -<p>"Go with him!" cried Letitia. "I'd hang with him if I could! Oh, Nan, -you don't know what it is to love a person as I love Roger! I believe -I could be perfectly happy exiled, hunted, poor, in some impossible -South Sea island, if I could only have him all to myself. While I was -upstairs I put a few things in a bag; I brought it down and left it in -the hall, and I thought that you could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> take it with you when you go. -That couldn't excite any suspicion, and then if I have to leave in a -hurry—"</p> - -<p>Nan could not let her go on like this.</p> - -<p>"Letitia," she said in a sharp tone, as if rousing a sleeper, "you -simply can't talk like that. You must believe in your husband's -innocence. Your face alone would hang him."</p> - -<p>"I do believe in it," answered Letitia; "only I can't help seeing some -terrible coincidences. There is no one in the world knows more about -poisons than Roger does. He is always talking about the Borgias and -what they used. And after all, Nan, I was brought up to face facts. -There is a streak of weakness in Roger where women are concerned—a -certain vanity."</p> - -<p>"There is in every man."</p> - -<p>"And then, Nan, I love my mother-in-law; but I can't help seeing she -did not bring him up right. She spoiled him; not that she made him -selfish or self-indulgent—no one could do that to Roger; but she -did give him too much confidence in his own ability to arrange any -situation. He jumps into anything— Oh, can't you see how he might -easily be led on to do something like this?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Nan; "no. I'm not his wife—I never saw him, but I feel sure -he did not do this."</p> - -<p>Perhaps her manner was more offensive than she meant it to be; but for -some reason Letty's rather alarming calm suddenly broke into anger.</p> - -<p>"That's impertinent, Nan," she said. "Why should you always think you -understand better than anyone else? He's my husband. If you had any -delicacy of feeling, you'd admit that if anyone knew the truth about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> -him, I do—not you, who never saw him. It's easy enough for you to come -preaching the beauty of perfect faith. Don't you suppose I'd believe -in him if I could?" And so on and on. It was as if she hated Nan for -believing in him when she didn't.</p> - -<p>Nan let her talk for a few minutes, and then at the first pause she got -up and walked to the door. "I think I'll go and sit with your mother," -she said.</p> - -<p>"Don't tell her what I've been saying—don't tell her that I have doubt -of Roger."</p> - -<p>"You know I would not do that, Letty."</p> - -<p>"I don't know what you'd do in your eternal wish to know more about -people than anyone else knows."</p> - -<p>Nan left the room with a heavy heart. Did she want to be omniscient? -Was it impertinent to be surer of a man's innocence than his wife was? -Well, if he were innocent, Letitia would never forgive her—that was -clear.</p> - -<p>She found Mrs. Lewis alone in an upper room. She was standing looking -out the window, her arms folded, her body tilted slightly backward, -while she crooned sadly to herself. As Nan entered she shook her head -slowly at her.</p> - -<p>"The poor child," she said.</p> - -<p>"Roger or Letty?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, both; but, of course, I was thinking of my own."</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Lewis, do you believe he's guilty?"</p> - -<p>"No, my dear—nor innocent. I don't believe anything. I simply don't -know. When you get to be my age, Nan, you will understand that anything -is possible; the wicked do the most splendid things at times, and the -virtuous do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> the most awful. I don't know whether Roger did this or -not. He may have. It may even have been the right thing to do, although -poison—well, I'm surprised Roger descended to that."</p> - -<p>With this point of view Nan had some sympathy, although she felt -obliged to protest a little.</p> - -<p>"You said he was the finest man you had ever known."</p> - -<p>"I thought so—I think so still—but what does one know about such -people? An utterly different class, a different background. I'm as good -a democrat as anybody, but there is something in tradition. Oh, I see -you don't know. Well, the father was a plumber. Yes, my dear, little as -you might think it, that ruffled marquise downstairs is the widow of a -plumber. How do we know what people like that will do or not do when -their passions are roused? It nearly killed me to have Letitia marry -him."</p> - -<p>"I thought you liked the marriage, Mrs. Lewis."</p> - -<p>"That's where I blame myself, Nan. I let it get out of my control. I -hesitated. I admired the man. He had plenty of money; and of course the -mother was delighted to get such a wife for her son, and made it all -too terribly easy. And then he was mad about Letty."</p> - -<p>"Wasn't she mad about him too?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Lewis shook her head.</p> - -<p>"Not at first; but he was always there—always writing and coming. I -don't suppose I ever came into the flat in those days without finding a -message that Letty was to call—whatever his number was—as soon as she -came in. He's a determined man and he meant to get her."</p> - -<p>"She is tremendously in love with him now." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Lewis sighed.</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes, now, poor child—of course. Don't betray me, Nan. Don't -let those two downstairs know that I have a doubt. She's a sweet -creature—the plumber's widow—though to me irritating; and she -wouldn't doubt anyone in the world, let alone her darling son; and, of -course, Letitia does not think it possible that her husband can have -killed a man, especially for the sake of another woman."</p> - -<p>"Have you ever heard a suspicion that there was another woman?" Nan -asked.</p> - -<p>"No; but then I shouldn't be likely to. We three women are the last -people in the world to hear it, even if it were notorious."</p> - -<p>Nan was obliged to admit the truth of this; and presently Mrs. Lewis, -fearing that her absence might appear unfriendly, decided to go back to -the sitting room.</p> - -<p>Nan said she was coming, too, but stood a minute staring at the carpet. -What was it, she wondered, made her so passionately eager that Roger -should be innocent? Was it love of her friend, or pride of opinion, or -interest in abstract truth, or interest in a man she had never seen? -She had a strange feeling of a bond between her and Roger. As she went -slowly down the stairs, her eye fell again upon the police officer, -shifting, patient, but uncomfortable on the William-and-Mary chair. A -sudden inspiration came to her. She asked to see the warrant.</p> - -<p>Well, it was just as she thought—not for Roger at all, but for a man -whose last name was Rogers, who lived in a house two away. The number -wasn't even right; but that was more the fault of the real-estate -company than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> of the police department. She took the officer outside -and showed him his mistake, and finally had the satisfaction of -shutting the door forever on that blue-coated figure.</p> - -<p>She turned toward the sitting room. To break good news is not always so -easy, either. She thought of those three doubters, each one trying to -show the others how full her heart was of complete confidence.</p> - -<p>Nan opened the door, went in, shut it behind her and leaned on the knob.</p> - -<p>"Now, you three," she said, "you've been wonderful in bad times; try to -be equally calm in good." They looked up at her, wondering what good -news was possible, and she hurried on: "The policeman has gone. The -warrant was not for Roger at all."</p> - -<p>There was a pause, hardly broken in any real sense by the sound of Mrs. -Rossiter repeating that she had always known it could not be true—had -always known it could not be Roger.</p> - -<p>"Still," said Mrs. Lewis with an amused sidelong glance, "it is a -comfort that now the police know it too."</p> - -<p>But Nan's eyes had never left her friend's face. Letty did not say a -word. She rose and stared straight at Nan, looking at her almost as -if she were an enemy. Nan knew that Mrs. Rossiter would forget that -she had ever doubted her son—had already forgotten and was crooning -her faith and joy. Mrs. Lewis had nothing to forget. She had merely -expressed an agnostic attitude; but Letitia had revealed to Nan the -very depths of her estimate of her husband—and she had been wrong and -Nan right. She would never forgive that. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> - -<p>Except for this change in the relation between the two younger women, -in five minutes it was as if the whole incident had never occurred. -Mrs. Rossiter was again the devoted mother-in-law, Letitia the happy -bride, and Mrs. Lewis was saying, "Which brings us back to the point I -was making when the fatal ring came—it is a mistake to let Meta answer -either the door or the telephone."</p> - -<p>In a little while Mrs. Rossiter announced that she must be going, and -Nan was not surprised when Mrs. Lewis, who had had a few minutes alone -with her daughter, suggested that Nan should go back with them and -spend the night with her.</p> - -<p>"But I promised Letty—" she began, and then glancing at her friend she -saw that she was expected to accept.</p> - -<p>Letitia spoke civilly, kindly, as if she were doing everyone a favor.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I let you off," she said. "Mamma is all alone, and I know how you -and she enjoy picking all the rest of us to pieces."</p> - -<p>Nan hesitated rebelliously. It seemed hard that she was not to see -Roger just because she had understood him too well.</p> - -<p>She said, "But I want so much to see Roger."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Lewis glanced at her. It was not like a girl to be so obstinate. -Of course, poor Letty wanted her husband to herself after a shock like -this.</p> - -<p>"Roger will keep," she said firmly.</p> - -<p>She went into the hall and picked up her scarf from the companion chair -to that on which the policeman had sat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> As she did so her eye fell -upon a bag standing as if ready for a journey.</p> - -<p>"Is that your bag, Nan?" she asked, trying to remember if the plan had -ever been that Nan was to spend the night.</p> - -<p>"No," said Letitia in a quick sharp voice; "that's something of mine."</p> - -<p>And then, without the least warning, the front door opened and Roger -himself walked in—walked in without any idea that he had been a -murderer, arrested, extradited, defended and freed since he had last -seen his own house.</p> - -<p>He was just as Nan knew he would be. She didn't care anything about -his mere beauty. It was that fine firm mouth of his—just like the -photograph. How could anyone imagine that a man with a mouth like that—</p> - -<p>He greeted his wife, his mother, his mother-in-law casually, and came -straight to Nan.</p> - -<p>"So this is Nan—at last," he said, and he stooped and kissed her cheek.</p> - -<p>Well, Nan said to herself, she had a right to that; but she saw Letty's -brow contract; and Mrs. Lewis, who perhaps saw it, too, hurried her -toward the car. Roger protested.</p> - -<p>"But you're not taking Nan! I came home early especially to see her. I -did not even go back to the office for fear of being detained." But, of -course, his lonely protest accomplished nothing, and as he opened the -front door for the three departing women, he asked, "When am I to see -you, Nan?"</p> - -<p>Nan looked up at him very sweetly and said "Never."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> She said it -lightly, but she knew it was the bitter truth. She knew Letitia. -Letitia would never permit a second meeting.</p> - -<p>Just as she got into the car she heard him call, "Oh, isn't this your -bag?" and she heard Letty answer:</p> - -<p>"No, it's mine. It represents one of Nan's abandoned ideas."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE RETURN TO NORMALCY</h2> - -<p>Strange, unnatural conventions were growing up about divorce, Cora -reflected. The world expected you to appear as completely indifferent -to a man when once your decree was granted as it had assumed you to be -uniquely devoted to him as long as the marriage tie held. Here she was, -sitting at her ease in her little apartment; she had bitten her toast, -poured out her coffee, opened her mail—a dinner invitation, a letter -from her architect about the plans for her new house, a bill for her -brocade slippers, an announcement of a picture exhibition, and— As she -moved the last envelope from its position on the morning newspaper her -eye fell for the first time on the account of Valentine Bing's illness.</p> - -<p>"It was said at the Unitarian Hospital, where Mr. Bing was taken late -last night, that his condition was serious."</p> - -<p>A sketch—almost obituary—of him followed: "Valentine Bing was born -in 1880 at St. Albans, a small town on Lake Erie. He began life as a -printer. At twenty-one he became editor of the St. Albans Courier. -In 1907 he came to New York." She glanced along rapidly. "Great -consolidation of newspaper syndicate features—large fortune—three -times married—the last time to Miss Cora Enderby, of the prominent -New York family, from whom he was divorced in Paris in October of this -year." Nothing was said about the two other wives;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> that seemed natural -enough to Cora. But it did not seem natural that this man, who for two -years had made or marred every instant of her life, was ill—dying, -perhaps; and that she like any other stranger should read of it -casually in her morning paper.</p> - -<p>She did not often think kindly of Valentine—she tried not to think -of him at all—but now her thoughts went back to their first romance. -In those days—she was barely twenty—she had been in conflict with -her family, who represented all that was conservative in old New York. -She had wanted work, a career. She had gone to see Valentine in his -office, armed with a letter of introduction. He was a tall red-haired -man, long armed and large fisted, with intense blue eyes, clouded like -lapis lazuli; he was either ugly or rather beautiful, according as you -liked a sleek or rugged masculinity. For an instant she had had an -impression—the only time she ever did have it—that he was a silent -being.</p> - -<p>She had told her little story. "And as I really don't know much about -writing," she ended, "I thought—"</p> - -<p>"You thought you'd like to do newspaper work," he interrupted with a -sort of shout.</p> - -<p>He explained to her how newspaper writing was the most difficult of -all—the only kind that mattered. What was the object of writing -anyhow? To tell something, wasn't it? Well, in newspaper work— On -and on he went, the torrent of his ideas sparkling and leaping like -a mountain brook. She was aware that she stimulated him. She learned -later that he was grateful for stimulation, particularly from women.</p> - -<p>Almost immediately afterward, it seemed to her, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> was insisting that -she should marry him. At first she refused, and when her own resistance -had been broken down her family's stood out all the more firmly.</p> - -<p>They regarded two divorces and a vulgar newspaper syndicate as -insurmountable obstacles. But a family had very little chance against -Bing, and he and Cora were married within a few months of their first -meeting.</p> - -<p>On looking back at it she felt that she soon lost not his love but -his interest. He would always, she thought, have retained a sincere -affection for her if she had been content to remain the patient -springboard from which he leaped off into space. But she wasn't content -with any such rôle. She wanted to be the stimulus—the excitement of -his life. And so they had quarreled and quarreled and quarreled for two -horrible years which had just ended in their divorce.</p> - -<p>And now he, so vital, so egotistical, so dominating, was dying; -and she, the pale slim girl whose charm to him had been the joy of -conquering her, was alive and well and happy. It would annoy Valentine -to know that she was happy—fairly happy—without him.</p> - -<p>She wondered whether she should call up the hospital, or go there -herself to inquire about him. Wasn't it possible that he would send for -her? After all, it was only the other day that she was his wife. And at -that instant the telephone rang.</p> - -<p>She heard a suave voice saying, "Is that Mrs. Bing? Mrs. Enderby-Bing? -This is Doctor Creighton, at the Unitarian."</p> - -<p>Half an hour later she was at the hospital. She had expected to be -hurried at once to Valentine's bedside.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> Instead a little reception -room was indicated. At the door a figure was standing, head raised, -hands clasped behind the back. It was Thorpe, Valentine's servant.</p> - -<p>"In here, madam," he said, opened the door for her, and closed it, -shutting her in.</p> - -<p>The sight of him destroyed the last remnant of Cora's self-control. He -seemed like a little bit of Valentine himself. Thorpe had been with -them on their honeymoon; she could see him waiting at the gate under -the turquoise dome of the Grand Central Station, with their bags about -his feet, and their tickets in his hand—so cool and competent in -contrast to their own excitement that first day.</p> - -<p>She hurried into the room. It is not to be expected that a hospital -should waste sun and air on mere visitors, and yet the reception room, -painted a cold gray and dimly lighted by a shaft, was depressing. Some -logical interior decorator had hung one large Braun photograph on the -wall. It was a copy of the Lesson in Anatomy.</p> - -<p>Cora sat down and covering her face with her hands began to cry. A kind -voice said in her ear, "I'm afraid you've had bad news."</p> - -<p>Looking up Cora saw that a middle-aged woman was sitting beside her, a -woman with comfortably flowing lines and large soft brown eyes and hair -beginning to turn gray.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid my husband is dying," answered Cora simply. She thought -it better not to mention divorce to a person who seemed like the very -genius of the family.</p> - -<p>"Why, you poor child," said the other, "you don't look old enough to -have a husband." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I'm twenty-four," replied Cora. "It's almost three years since I was -married."</p> - -<p>"Of course," said the other. "It's just because I'm getting old that -everyone seems so young to me."</p> - -<p>She smiled and Cora found herself smiling too. There was something -comforting in the presence of the older woman; Cora felt assured that -she knew her way about in all simple human crises like birth and -illness and death.</p> - -<p>Suddenly as they talked Cora saw the face of her companion stiffen; -Thorpe was ushering in another woman, sleek headed, with a skin like -white satin, wrapped in a mink cloak. Evidently the newcomer was -painfully known to Cora's friend, though the mink-clad lady gave no -sign. She sat down, holding the blank beauty of her face unruffled by -the least expression; and as she did so Doctor Creighton entered.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Bing," he said. All three women rose. The doctor glanced at a -paper held in the palm of his hand.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Johnson-Bing, Mrs. Moore-Bing, Mrs. Enderby-Bing."</p> - -<p>Even in her wild eagerness to know what the doctor had to tell them -of Valentine's condition Cora was aware of the excitement of at last -seeing those two others. Phrases that Valentine had used about them -came back to her: "A cold-hearted unfaithful Juno"—she in the mink -coat. "She was so relentlessly domestic"—Cora glanced at her new -friend. Yes, she was domestic—almost motherly. Cora's friendly feeling -toward her remained intact; but toward Hermione—Mrs. Moore-Bing—who -had so deceived and embittered Valentine, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> hatred flamed as it had -flamed when Valentine first told her the story.</p> - -<p>How could she stand there, so calm, drooping her thick white eyelids -and moving her shoulders about in a way that made you aware that under -the mink coat they were as white as blanc mange. "She must know," Cora -thought, "that I know everything there is to know about her. Valentine -had no reserves about it. And Margaret, from whom she took him; and -Thorpe, whose testimony in the divorce case—" Instinctively she took -a step nearer to Margaret, as if wishing to form an alliance against -Hermione.</p> - -<p>Meantime the doctor was speaking rapidly, apologetically: "You must -forgive me, ladies. I might have arranged this better, but time is -short. You must help me. Mr. Bing's condition is serious—very serious. -He keeps demanding that his wife come and nurse him. He believes we -are keeping her from him. His temperature is going up, he is exciting -himself more and more. We must give him what he wants, but—" The -doctor paused and looked inquiringly from one to the other.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Johnson-Bing smiled her quiet maternal smile. "Poor Valentine," -she said; "he was always like that when he was ill."</p> - -<p>There was a pause.</p> - -<p>"But you don't help," said the doctor. "You don't tell me which one it -is that he wants."</p> - -<p>"Well," said Mrs. Moore-Bing in her cool drawl, "as I'm the only one -who left him against his will I'm probably the only one he wants back -again." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> - -<p>Cora would not even glance in the direction of such a woman. She had -been kept silent heretofore by the trembling of her chin, but now she -managed to enunciate: "Mr. Bing and I were divorced only a few months -ago. Until October, you see, I was his wife."</p> - -<p>The logic of this, or perhaps his own individual preference for a slim -elegant young woman, evidently influenced the doctor. He nodded quickly.</p> - -<p>"If you'll come with me, then—" he began, and turned toward the door, -but there Thorpe was standing, and he did not move.</p> - -<p>"If you'd excuse me, sir," he said, "am I right in thinking it will be -bad for Mr. Bing if we mistake his wish in this matter?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I'd like to get it right," said the doctor.</p> - -<p>"Then, sir, may I say it's not Mrs. Enderby-Bing that he wants, sir?"</p> - -<p>"What makes you think that?" said Doctor Creighton.</p> - -<p>"I could hardly explain it, sir. Twenty years of being with Mr. Bing—"</p> - -<p>There was an awkward pause. The obvious thing to do was to ask Thorpe -who it was Bing did want, and something in the poise of Thorpe's head -suggested that he was just waiting to set the whole matter straight, -when hurried footsteps were heard in the hall, and a nurse entered—an -eager panting young woman. She beckoned to Creighton and they spoke a -few seconds apart. Then he turned back to the group with brightened -face.</p> - -<p>"At last," he said, "Mr. Bing has spoken the first name. It is -Margaret." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - -<p>Cora caught a glimpse of Thorpe quietly bowing to himself—as much as -to say, "Just what I had expected."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Johnson-Bing rose.</p> - -<p>"My name is Margaret," she said, and left the room with the doctor.</p> - -<p>Hermione rose, too, hunching her cape into place. "Well," she said -without taking the least notice of Thorpe, who was opening the door for -her, "that's one chore you and I don't have to do. He was bad enough -healthy—sick he must be the limit."</p> - -<p>Cora did not so much ignore Hermione as she conveyed in her manner as -she turned to Thorpe that everyone must know that whoever might be the -object of Mrs. Moore-Bing's conversation it could not be herself.</p> - -<p>"Tell me, Thorpe," she said, "what do you think of Mr. Bing's -condition?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Bing is ill, madam—very ill," Thorpe answered immediately; "but -not so ill as the doctors think."</p> - -<p>"No?" said Cora in some surprise.</p> - -<p>"No, madam. Mr. Bing, if I might use the expression, yields himself up -to illness; this assists him to recover."</p> - -<p>He opened the door for her at this point, and she went out of it.</p> - -<p>She returned home not so emotionally upset but more depressed than -before. There was a core of bitterness in her feeling that had not -been there when she went to the hospital, and at first she found -it difficult to discover the reason for this. Was it anxiety at -Valentine's illness? No, for he was a little better than she had -feared. Was it the realization that those two former wives, who had -always seemed to her like shadows, were, in fact, living<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> beings like -herself? No, for they had turned out to be more unattractive, more -utterably unsuitable to Valentine than she had imagined. It was true -that her taste, her sheltered selectiveness—a passion which many -well-brought-up women mistake for morality—was outraged at being in -the same room with Hermione, but there was a certain satisfaction -in finding her to be worse even than Valentine's highly colored -descriptions of her. And as for Margaret, she felt no jealousy of her, -even though she had been chosen. No one could be jealous of any woman -so kind, so old and so badly dressed.</p> - -<p>It came to her gradually as she moved about her room, unable to look -at her plans, unable to read, unable to do anything but encourage -the toothache at her heart, which was like a memory of all her later -relations with Valentine. The reason was Thorpe—Thorpe's instant -conviction that it was not she whom Valentine wanted. Why was he so -sure? He had been right; Thorpe was always right. For twenty years -he had made it his business to know what Valentine wanted. That was -Thorpe's idea of the function of a good servant. He had always quietly -and consistently followed his line, while the wives had followed -others. Margaret had been concerned with what was best for Valentine; -Hermione had thought entirely of what was most agreeable to herself; -Cora had cared only to preserve the romance of her love. Thorpe's -specialty was knowing what at the moment Valentine wished for, and then -in getting it. Thorpe had survived all three.</p> - -<p>Cora could understand a sick man having a fancy to be nursed by -Margaret, but Thorpe's conviction that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> she, Cora, could not be the -wife called for had a deeper and more lasting significance. That was -the thought that made her heart ache.</p> - -<p>She tried to take up her life where she had left it that morning, but -everything had paled in interest—even her new house. She had bought -a little corner of land, within the city limits but near the river, -surrounded by trees. She saw wonderful possibilities—a walled garden -and a river view within twenty minutes of the theaters. She recognized -certain disadvantages—the proximity of a railroad track, and the fact -that the neighborhood was still unkempt; she enjoyed the idea of being -a pioneer. But now, though the plans were lying on the table, she did -not open them. It was as if that hour in the hospital had married her -again to Valentine, and there was no vividness left in the rest of life.</p> - -<p>For ten days the bulletins continued to be increasingly favorable, and -then—a sign that convalescence had set in—they ceased entirely.</p> - -<p>Cora found the silence trying. With the great question of life or -death answered there was so much else that she wanted to know—whether -he had been permanently weakened by his illness; whether he would -now be starting on one of his long-projected trips—to China or the -South Seas. China had always fired his imagination. Twice during her -short marriage they had had their trunks packed for China. Had he been -softened, or frightened, or in any way changed by the great adventure -of almost dying?</p> - -<p>There was one person who could tell her all these things, and that was -Margaret. Without exactly formulating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> a plan Cora went to the hospital -one day and inquired about him. The girl at the desk answered as if -Valentine were already a personage of the hospital.</p> - -<p>"He's getting along splendidly now. His wife's with him."</p> - -<p>"I wonder," Cora heard herself saying, "whether Mrs. Bing would see me -for a minute."</p> - -<p>She retired, rather frightened at her temerity, to the reception room, -where the Lesson in Anatomy still dominated the wall. "Margaret won't -mind," she kept telling herself. "She's so kind, and, anyhow, she's -more like his mother than his wife." It was on this maternal quality -that Cora depended.</p> - -<p>There was a footstep in the hall. A statuesque figure molded into blue -serge stood in the doorway—bare-headed with shiny bronze-colored hair -elaborately looped and curled. It was Hermione.</p> - -<p>"You wanted to see me?" she asked in her drawling, reconstructed voice. -She did not at once recognize Cora.</p> - -<p>"No," said Cora, "I certainly did not want to see you. I thought it was -Mrs. Johnson-Bing who was here."</p> - -<p>"Margaret?" replied Hermione. She drooped her thick eyelids and smiled, -as if the name itself were comic—she never broke her beautiful mask -with a laugh.</p> - -<p>"No, that didn't last long. He bounced Margaret as soon as he got over -being delirious."</p> - -<p>"And was it then that he sent for you?" asked Cora with an edge to her -voice that a Damascus blade might have envied.</p> - -<p>"As a matter of fact he didn't; it was Thorpe who sent for me," said -Hermione. "Thorpe had a wholesome<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> recollection that I used to keep Val -in order. Nice little job, keeping Val in order. Ever tried it? No, I -remember Thorpe said that wasn't your line."</p> - -<p>Cora would have given a good deal to know just how Thorpe had -characterized her line, but not even curiosity could make her address -an unnecessary word to the coarse, cold woman before her. She was -not jealous as she understood the word, but the disgust she felt for -Hermione included Valentine, too, and made her hate him for the moment -with an intimate disturbing warmth.</p> - -<p>Hermione went on: "And, after all, as I said to Val yesterday, what -does it matter to me whether he gets well or not? It takes too much -vitality—making him mind. I'm through. I'm off for Palm Beach -to-morrow. Thorpe's taking him home."</p> - -<p>"It's amiable of you—to come and go as Thorpe orders."</p> - -<p>Hermione moved her eloquent shoulders. "Oh, Thorpe and I understand -each other."</p> - -<p>"I knew Thorpe understood you," said Cora insolently.</p> - -<p>But the woman was insensitive to anything but a bludgeon, for she -answered, "I understand Thorpe too. All he objects to is wives. He's -like the—whatever it is, you know—that fishes in troubled waters."</p> - -<p>Cora merely moved past her and went away. It wasn't until she was -outside that she took in how pleasant had been the unconscious -suggestion behind Hermione's last words. Thorpe objected to wives. That -was why he had not sent for her—she wasn't a mother like Margaret; -nor a vice, like Hermione. She was a wife. The story-teller, the magic -builder of castles that is in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>everyone, suddenly made for Cora a -splendid scene, in which she, reunited to Valentine, was dismissing -Thorpe.</p> - -<p>Ten days later she took title to her new property and her architects -filed the plans. Both events were announced in the newspapers.</p> - -<p>That very morning her telephone rang, and Thorpe's voice—a voice so -associated with all her emotional life that her nerves trembled even -before her mind recognized it—was heard saying, "I'm telephoning -for Mr. Bing, madam. Mr. Bing would be pleased if you could make it -convenient to stop in and see him this afternoon."</p> - -<p>"Tell Mr. Bing I'm sorry. I can't," answered Cora promptly. She was not -a Hermione to come and go at Thorpe's invitation. And then just to show -that she was not spiteful she added, "I hope Mr. Bing is better."</p> - -<p>"Yes, madam," said Thorpe, "he's better, but he hasn't thoroughly -regained his strength. He tests it every day."</p> - -<p>Cora hung up the receiver. Her thought was, "He can't test it on me." -She was aware of a certain self-satisfaction in having been able so -firmly to refuse, to set her will against Valentine's. In old times -she had been weak in yielding to every wish and opinion that he had -expressed, until she had almost ceased to be a person. Of course -in this case her ability to refuse had been strengthened by the -incredible impertinence of allowing Thorpe to be the one to communicate -Valentine's invitation. A few minutes later the telephone rang again. -This time she let the servant answer it, and when the woman came to -her with interested eyes and said that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> Mr. Bing was on the wire Cora -answered without a quaver, "Say I'm out."</p> - -<p>But she knew Valentine well enough to know she was not going to get -off so easily as that. He kept steadily calling until at last, chance, -or perhaps Cora's own wish, directed that he should catch her at the -telephone.</p> - -<p>He must see her; it was about this new house of hers. Her heart beat so -she could hardly breathe, while Valentine ran on as of old:</p> - -<p>"It's folly, Cora, absolute folly! Why didn't you consult me before you -bought? You can't live there—the railroad on one side and a gas tank -on the other. Besides, the railroad is going to enlarge its yards; in -two years you'll have switching engines in your drawing-room."</p> - -<p>On and on, giving her no chance to answer him, during the ten minutes -he kept her at the telephone. Yet when she hung up the receiver she -found she had spoken one important word: she had promised to come and -see him late the following afternoon. She had made him beg; she had -refused to come that day, she had put it off; she had, in fact, teased -him as much as was consistent with ultimately agreeing to do what he -wanted. Before she did agree the impertinence of Thorpe was explained. -Valentine had simply told him to get her on the telephone. Of course he -had meant to speak to her himself. Thorpe was an idiot—overzealous. -Cora had her own view about that, but she let it pass. Thorpe feared -her, and Thorpe knew what was to be feared. He knew that if she once -entered that house she might never be allowed to leave it. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No," she said to herself the next day, as she tried various hats, -and with hands that shook a little put on the dangling earrings that -Valentine had given her in Madrid, "it will be Thorpe who will leave."</p> - -<p>If there was fear in Thorpe's heart he did not betray it when he opened -the door and led her upstairs to the library. The room was empty.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Bing has been expecting you for sometime, madam," he said.</p> - -<p>The slight reproach was agreeable to Cora. She had waited long enough -for Valentine in old times, and sometimes he had not turned up at all.</p> - -<p>The room was familiar to her. They had not been much in New York -during their brief marriage, but she had spent part of the previous -winter in this house. She had left her own imprint in the decorations. -Valentine used his house as he might use a hotel—asking nothing but -that it should be convenient for the purposes of his stay. Cora had -been greeted on her first arrival by hideous tasseled gold cushions and -imitation Japanese lamp shades; remnants, she believed, of Hermione's -taste. She had instantly banished them, and now she saw with pleasure -that the shades of her own choosing were still on the lamps. Everything -had remained as she had arranged it; he had seen that her way was best. -A wood fire was burning on the hearth—not the detestable gas logs -which Hermione had left behind her. She found herself wondering for the -first time what Hermione had found—what Margaret had left. Then she -remembered that Valentine had not bought the house in the simple<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> days -of Margaret's reign; he had had a small apartment far uptown and at -first Margaret had had no servant.</p> - -<p>A wish to know if Valentine had kept a paper cutter she had given -him—lapis lazuli, the color of his eyes—made her get up and go to the -desk. Yes, it was there, but something else was there, too: an unframed -photograph propped against a paper weight—the photograph of a woman.</p> - -<p>She bent cautiously to look at it, as one bends to examine the spot -where the trembling of the grass suggests the presence of a venomous -serpent. It was the picture of a slender woman with heavy dark hair and -long slanting eyes, the cruelty of her high cheek bones softened by the -sweet drooping curve of her mouth. A terrible and fascinating woman. -Then as the light struck across the surface of the picture she saw it -was a glossy print for reproduction. It might mean business—a feature -for the syndicate—not love.</p> - -<p>She was sitting far away from the desk when, a minute or two later, -Valentine entered—Valentine a little thinner than before, but no less -vital. He greeted her as if they had parted yesterday, or rather he did -not greet her at all. He simply began to talk to her as he came into -the room. He had a roll of blue prints in his hand.</p> - -<p>"Now, my dear girl, these plans of yours—have you thought them over -at all?... You practically made them? But don't you see what you've -done—sacrificed everything to a patio. A patio—only good for hot -weather, when you'll never be here anyhow. The whole comfort of the -house arranged for the season you'll be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> away. They are without -exception the most ridiculous plans— Oh! Yes, I sent down for a copy -of them at once. I'm glad I did. If I hadn't—"</p> - -<p>"But, Valentine," she interrupted—she knew by experience that you were -forced to interrupt Valentine if you wished to speak at all—"it is my -house, you know."</p> - -<p>"And that's why I want it to be right for you," he answered. "But we'll -get it right—never fear."</p> - -<p>"It's exactly what I want as it is," she returned, and she heard with -a mixture of disgust and fear that the old tone of false determination -was creeping into her voice.</p> - -<p>"It isn't at all what you want," he said. "You only imagine it is, -Cora."</p> - -<p>"Valentine, I've thought it all out with the greatest care."</p> - -<p>"But it's absurd—you won't like it. Do listen to reason. Don't be -obstinate."</p> - -<p>Obstinate—the old accusation.</p> - -<p>"That's what you always say when I insist on doing anything my own way."</p> - -<p>"But your way is wrong. Now just listen to me, my dear girl—"</p> - -<p>It was, to the identical phrases, the quarrel of their whole short -turbulent married life. He had always made her feel that she was -pig-headed and unreasonable not to yield at once to his superior -knowledge of her own inmost wishes. The trouble was that the turmoil -and the fighting slowly extinguished her own wishes—they weren't -changed, they were killed—so that after a little while she was left -gallantly defending a corpse; she ceased to care what happened; whereas -Valentine's poignant interest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> grew with each word he uttered—and he -uttered a great many—until he seemed to burn with an almost religious -conviction that she must not do the thing in the way she wanted to do -it.</p> - -<p>It always ended the same way: "Now, my dear girl, don't be so -obstinate." Was she obstinate? she wondered; and as she wondered -Valentine rushed in like an army through a breach in the wall. He was -doing it now.</p> - -<p>"All I ask," he was saying, "is that you should look at the set of -plans I had my man draw—he's a real architect—not a bungalow wizard -like that fellow you employed. Now you might at least do that—it isn't -much to ask that you should just look at them. Oh, well, you'll see -they call for another piece of land, but honestly, Cora, I cannot let -you settle on that switching yard, that you picked out—"</p> - -<p>She could not refuse to look at his plans; in fact, she was not a -little touched by the idea that he had taken such an infinity of -trouble for her.</p> - -<p>And at this instant Thorpe entered. Valentine shouted at him to get -that other roll of plans from his room.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," said Thorpe, "directly; but the message has come that the -steamer is docking and I've sent for a taxi, sir."</p> - -<p>Valentine collected himself. "Oh, yes, the steamer," he said, and then -he glanced at Cora. "I don't think I'll go to the steamer, Thorpe."</p> - -<p>Cora's heart rose; she knew that look, that tone; he did not want to -go. She looked at Thorpe; not a muscle of his face had changed, and yet -she knew he was in opposition. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," he said. "Would you have any objection if I went to the -dock? I doubt if the princess will understand the American customs -without assistance, sir."</p> - -<p>There was a little pause.</p> - -<p>"The princess?" said Cora.</p> - -<p>Valentine waved toward the photograph on the desk. "She's -coming—Hungarian princess. Great stuff, if she's as per invoice. I'm -sending her to China for the syndicate. Hun to Hun, you know. Good -idea, isn't it? Thorpe told me about her. He lived with her uncle when -he was ambassador in London; the uncle, you know, not Thorpe—though -why not?"</p> - -<p>Valentine rose. The recital of the facts in the case of the princess -had revived his interest in her.</p> - -<p>"I'll just go and grasp her by the hand. We've got her transportation -for the Coast this evening, and she may not relish starting at once, -unless it's put just right. I'll show her it's the best thing for her -to do. Her last cable suggested she wished to linger in New York, but -she would enjoy it more on her way back. I'll explain that to her. It -won't take a minute. You'll wait, won't you? Stay and dine with me. I'm -alone. Or no; I see by Thorpe's face that I have someone to dinner."</p> - -<p>"Indeed, you have, sir.'</p> - -<p>"Who is it? I don't remember."</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Johnson-Bing, sir."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Margaret—good old Margaret—so it is." Thorpe and Cora, a -little embarrassed for him, averted their eyes, but Valentine was not -embarrassed at all. "You have no idea how good she was to me when I was -at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> the hospital. And I wasn't very grateful—out of my head, you know. -I thought I ought to tell her— You'll wait, Cora; just give you time -to look over my plans, and when I come back I'll tell you about the -land I bought for you. Well, I have an option on it—"</p> - -<p>She lost the end of his sentence, for Thorpe, who during the speech had -been putting him into his overcoat and handing him his hat and gloves, -finally succeeded in hurrying him out of the door, still talking. But -Cora did not require the end of the sentence; no woman who has lived -two years with a man does. She knew what he was going to say, but even -more important, she knew what was in his mind—that her welfare was as -important to him as it had ever been. The marriage ceremony, she had -always known, did not unite people, but now she was discovering that a -decree of divorce did not always separate them. She was as much married -to Valentine as she had ever been—no more and no less. How astonishing!</p> - -<p>She sank into a chair. Perhaps the really astonishing fact was that -they should ever have parted. They parted because they quarreled, but -now she saw that their quarreling was the expression of their love. Her -relations with everyone in the world except Valentine were suave and -untroubled. And she was sure there was no one else with whom Valentine -enjoyed the struggle for mastery. The mere notion of attempting to -master the docile Margaret was comic, and as for Hermione, she was -like a dish of blanc mange—you liked it and ate it or else you let it -alone. No, it was useless to evade the truth that she, Cora, of all -women was to him unique. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> - -<p>Thorpe returned presently and brought the new plans. She nodded without -looking at him and told him to leave them on the table. She had plenty -of time. Valentine's few minutes were always an hour.</p> - -<p>"If you don't care to wait, madam, I'm sure Mr. Bing would be very glad -to have you take them home with you," said Thorpe.</p> - -<p>Cora did not trouble to repress a smile. "I shall wait, Thorpe," she -said, with the good humor that comes from perfect confidence.</p> - -<p>Thorpe bent very slightly from the waist, and left the room.</p> - -<p>At last she rose and began to unroll the plans. She became immediately -absorbed in them; they were not only beautiful and ingenious but, -better to her than any beauty, they showed how he had remembered -her tastes, her needs. She had always loved growing plants, and he -had arranged a glassed passageway with sun and heat to be a small -conservatory for her; there was a place for her piano; a clever -arrangement for hanging her dresses. He had remembered, or rather he -had never forgotten. The idea came to her that this was not a house for -her alone, but for her and him together. How simply that would explain -his passionate interest in the prospect of her building. She began to -read the plans as if they were a love letter.</p> - -<p>She was still bending over them when later—much later—the door opened -and closed. She did not immediately look up. It was not her plan to -betray that she had guessed what lay behind his actions. She waited -with bent head for Valentine's accustomed opening, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> then hearing -nothing she looked up, to find the newcomer was Margaret.</p> - -<p>In their last meeting the shadow of death had obliterated the pattern -of convention, but now both women were aware of an awkward moment. -Margaret smiled first.</p> - -<p>"I suppose, as no one sees us, we may shake hands," she said. Cora -looked at her predecessor. Even in the low becoming lights of -Valentine's big room she was frankly middle-aged, large waisted and -dowdy, and yet glowingly human. Cora held out her hand.</p> - -<p>"Is it so late?" she said. "Valentine mentioned that you were coming to -dinner. He said he hadn't thanked you for all you did for him when he -was ill."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Johnson-Bings smiled. "That isn't what he wants," she said. She -undid her coat and began to remove stout black gloves. She was in a -high dark dress—very different from what Cora would have worn if she -had decided to come back and dine with Valentine.</p> - -<p>"What does he want?" Cora asked. She was really curious to hear.</p> - -<p>"He's heard I'm going into business—supplying food to invalids. He -wants me to organize according to his ideas, and not according to -mine." Margaret smiled. "But poor Valentine doesn't know anything about -invalids; just wants the fun of having everything done his way."</p> - -<p>The words for some reason sounded like a knell in Cora's ears. Was that -all Valentine really cared about—getting his own way? There was a -brief silence; far away in some other part of the house she was dimly -aware of a clock striking and a telephone bell ringing. It must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> be -dinnertime, she thought—Margaret's hour. No, they couldn't both stay -to dinner. She found herself wondering which of them Val would put at -the head of the table. He would sit there himself, of course, with one -on each side of him. "I suppose you'll do it all just as he says," she -remarked mechanically.</p> - -<p>Margaret laughed; she had a pleasant laugh, almost a chuckle. "Indeed I -shan't!" she answered. "But I may let him think I'm going to. It saves -such a lot of trouble, as I suppose you found out too."</p> - -<p>No, Cora had not found that out. She felt shocked and admiring—as -a little boy feels who sees another one smoking. How was it that -Hermione, the faithless, and Margaret, the maternal, dared to treat -Valentine more carelessly than she did? Perhaps they did not understand -him as well as she did, with her more subtle reactions.</p> - -<p>Before she could answer, Thorpe was in the room. When she thought of -that moment afterwards she appreciated the power of the man, for there -was no trace of elation or excitement or even hurry about him. He -addressed Margaret:</p> - -<p>"Mr. Bing is very sorry, madam, he will not be able to get home to -dinner tonight."</p> - -<p>Cora's mind working with the quickness of lightning waited for a second -part of the message—something that would detain her and let Margaret -depart in peace. But Thorpe having delivered himself of this one -sentence turned to the desk and began collecting various objects—a -fountain pen, a package of letters. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> - -<p>"When will Mr. Bing be back?" Cora asked.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Bing is obliged to start for China this evening, madam," said -Thorpe, and his eye just wavered across hers. "I'm packing for him now -as well as I can at such short notice." The reason, his tone suggested, -was sufficient excuse for leaving the two ladies to see each other out. -He left the room, his eyes still roving about in search of necessary -objects.</p> - -<p>In this bitter moment Cora felt vaguely envious of Margaret, who, -unmoved by the intelligence, was beginning to replace her heavy gloves.</p> - -<p>"To China," she observed placidly. "Now I wonder What the reason for -that is."</p> - -<p>Cora snatched up the glossy photograph and thrust it between -Margaret's shapeless black fingers. "That's the reason!" she said -passionately. "He left me for just half an hour to meet her steamer—a -princess—'great stuff if as per invoice.' Well, evidently she is as -'per invoice,' if he's going to China with her the first time they -meet—he and his princess!"</p> - -<p>Margaret took the photograph and studied it with irritating calm.</p> - -<p>"I don't suppose there ever lived a human male who would not enjoy -going to China with a princess," she said, and she almost smiled at the -thought of their departure.</p> - -<p>Tears were already running down Cora's cheeks. "What does it mean?" she -said. "Are men incapable of permanent attachments?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no," replied Margaret. "Valentine's attachments<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> are very -permanent—only they're not exclusive. He will always want me when he's -sick—and you when he wants to test his will power."</p> - -<p>She stopped, for Thorpe had come into the room again. He had come for -the photograph, which he now took gently out of Margaret's unresisting -hand. She hardly noticed his action, so intently was her mind working -upon the question of Valentine's health.</p> - -<p>"Thorpe," she said, as if consulting a fellow expert, "do you think Mr. -Bing is strong enough to make this journey?"</p> - -<p>For the first time Thorpe allowed himself a smile—a faint fleeting -lighting of the eyes.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, madam," he said. "I think now Mr. Bing is quite -himself—quite normal. And then, madam, I shall be with him."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE RED CARPET</h2> - -<p>The Torbys were giving a large dinner-party, and a scarlet carpet was -rolled out from the glass and iron of their grilled door to the curb -of the Fifth Avenue gutter—a carpet as red as a cardinal's robe, as -the flags in the Bolshevist meeting which was being held simultaneously -two miles away in Madison Square and giving the police a good deal of -trouble.</p> - -<p>It was customary to put on new clothes and treasured jewels for the -Torby parties, for they gave very good parties; they were fashionable, -and as they had been important, financially and socially, in New York -for two generations, and as most other New Yorkers had only lived there -a year or two, the Torbys were generally assumed to be as aboriginal as -the rocks of Manhattan Island.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, the first identified Torby, Ephraim by name, had -strolled down to the great city from a Vermont farm just before the -Civil War, and had made his fortune in questionable real-estate deals -during the following years of unrest. But when the present Torby, -William, said, "My father used to say that when he held the property at -the corner of Twenty-third Street—" it sounded as if the family had -always been landed proprietors; and Trevillian Torby, William's son, -just twenty-four and not deeply interested in ancestry, had actually -come to believe, though he of course knew all the facts, that the -Torbys were the oldest and best family in America, and he was very -scornful of newcomers from other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> States or countries who drifted into -the metropolis to make their fortunes.</p> - -<p>Hewer, the Torby butler, stood in the hall, wearing the old-fashioned -livery the Torbys affected. Hewer was not the kind of butler who opens -the door; on the contrary, when the great double doors had been swung -open by two footmen, Hewer was discovered standing back center, doing -absolutely nothing, except, if a female guest should be so thoughtless -as to direct her steps to the men's dressing-room, or a male to the -women's, he set them right with a slight but autocratic gesture of the -hand.</p> - -<p>Hewer was rather a young man to be so very great. He was the son of one -of the gamekeepers on the Duke of Wessex's place, and being ambitious -and having a weak heart, he allowed it to be known through the proper -channels, when the Torbys were staying with the Duke, that he would -like to go to America; and the Torbys, who had had a great deal of -trouble with butlers, snapped him up at once.</p> - -<p>At first Hewer had found social distinctions in America somewhat -confusing. He had been brought up in the strictest sect of inherited -aristocracy, but some of his friends who had been in the United States -explained to him that there everything was plutocratic—that nothing -mattered but money. Hewer thought this not such a bad idea; but when he -reached New York, he found it wasn't true. Social distinctions were not -entirely based on money—not nearly as much so as in London. He had a -friend living second footman to the third or fourth richest family in -America, and it appeared that they were asked nowhere. Of course his -own <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>Torbys were all right—absolutely all right; they not only had -visiting royalties to stay with them, but what did not always follow, -they stayed with those same royalties when they went abroad.</p> - -<p>As the motor doors began to slam, Hewer placed one foot on the lower -step of the Torbys' beautiful Italian stairway, banked on each side -with white lilies in honor of the party, and prepared to announce the -first guest who issued from the dressing-room. If he did not know the -name (though he almost always did, for he was intelligent, interested -in his job, and had been doing the telephoning for the Torby parties -for several years), he just drooped his ear toward the guest's mouth -for a dilatory second, and then having caught it, he moved straight -away upstairs, like a hunting-dog that had picked up the scent.</p> - -<p>Many of the guests—more than a dozen—had arrived before one came in -who spoke to Hewer by name. This was a small, erect old lady, with eyes -as bright as her diamonds in their old-fashioned settings, and a smile -as fine as her long old hands.</p> - -<p>"Ah, Hewer," she said with a brisk nod, "still here, are you? Do crowds -like this always collect for the Torbys' parties?"</p> - -<p>Hewer, standing on the lower step, seemed just twice as tall as the old -lady as he answered: "Crowds, madam!" And then as she waved her hand -toward the front door, he understood and added: "Oh, yes, madam, quite -often a crowd collects. And how is Mr. Richard?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, of course he's been wounded," said the old lady, as if that -had been the least of her expectations, "but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> he's well again now, -and on his way home." And then, noticing that other people were -waiting,—bejeweled creatures whom she did not know,—she nodded again, -to indicate that the conversation was over. Hewer mounted the stairs -five steps ahead of her and announced, as if this time he were really -saying something:</p> - -<p>"Mrs. John Grey."</p> - -<p>But all the time he was at work announcing other guests—"Admiral and -Mrs. Simpsom.... Lady Cecilia and Mr. Hume.... Mr. Lossing.... Miss -Watkins"—his mind was grappling with the problem of what Mrs. John -Grey was doing dining with the Torbys.</p> - -<p>About a year before this, Hewer had left the Torbys and had been -engaged by Mrs. Grey. He deeply respected Mrs. Grey, but her household -had not been congenial to him. In the first place there was an elderly -maid in spectacles who managed everything, and had even attempted to -manage Hewer. Then, Mrs. Grey was a widow with an only son, often away, -and when he was away, Mrs. Grey dined by the library fire on a chop and -rice pudding, and she sometimes omitted the chop; and though when Mr. -Richard was at home, he was very gay and good-tempered, on the whole -Hewer felt the position to be depressing; and when the Torbys humbly -asked him to come back at a higher wage, he had consented.</p> - -<p>But he retained a strong admiration for Mrs. Grey. She was afraid of -nothing, whereas he knew his present employers were afraid of many -things—afraid of being laughed at, afraid of missing the turn of the -social tide, afraid even of him, their butler, though they attempted to -conceal this fear under a studied insolence of manner.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> It was because -this insolence was not of the particular brand that Hewer admired that -he had left them. He had often noticed, as he waited on table, that -Mrs. Torby was afraid of having opinions; she always found out what -other people thought about art and politics, and only when strongly -backed by majority opinion would she express herself—with a good -deal of arrogance. She never confessed ignorance of any subject under -discussion—except possibly of a childhood friend.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Grey, on the other hand, ripped out her opinions with the utmost -confidence, and could say, "No, my dear, I never heard of it," when -some new school of art or thought was under discussion, in a tone that -made those who had been somewhat overpraising it wonder if they had -not, after all, been making fools of themselves. Mr. Richard was the -same way—never afraid of what people would think of him; perhaps it -might have been better if he had been, judging from what Hewer himself -had thought of some of Mr. Richard's more youthful escapades.</p> - -<p>Now, the last thing Mrs. Grey had said to Hewer when he left her -service was: "What, Mr. Hewer, back to those vulgar people?" The -words had been a shock to Hewer, for the Torbys were so fashionable, -so clearly sought-after, that he had not supposed anyone would apply -such a term as <i>vulgar</i> to them. But he did know exactly what Mrs. -Grey meant, and he had never forgotten the words, and so he wondered -what Mrs. Grey was doing in the house of the people she had so -contemptuously described. She was not like the Torbys, who seemed to -go to their friends' houses chiefly for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> sake of making an amusing -story afterward of how dull and badly done their parties had been. -Mrs. Grey did not go to the houses of those she considered her social -inferiors, and as she considered almost everyone her social inferiors, -and as most of them regarded her as a funny little old lady who didn't -matter anyhow, she ate most of her meals quietly in her own house.</p> - -<p>As so often happens, while Hewer was pondering the problem, the -explanation of it was walking into the house—walking in with her head -in the air, and a sapphire-blue satin cloak wrapped tightly about her. -Hewer recognized her at once, but he did not know her name. She was -the young lady who used to come and sit with Mrs. Grey and look pale -and tearless during the terrible weeks when Mr. Richard was fighting -in the Argonne—and would have liked to cry, Hewer had thought, if -only Mrs. Grey had not been so dreadfully heroic, remarking like the -Roman emperor, that after all, she had never been under the illusion -that her son was immortal. She was the young lady whose photograph -had dropped out of one of Mr. Richard's coats one day when he was -brushing it. She was beautiful, and she came from far enough West to -be aware of the existence of the letter <i>r</i>. She and Mrs. Grey used -to have long amiable arguments as to whether or not well-bred people -would recognize the letter <i>r</i>, except, of course, in such magnificent -words as <i>Richard</i>. Hewer did not know this lady's name until she told -it to him at the foot of the stairs—"Miss Evington." He repressed a -start. It was the gossip belowstairs in the Torby household that Mr. -Trevillian wanted to marry a Miss Evington, whom his family did not -consider quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> up to the Torbys' matrimonial standard. When Mrs. -Torby had given Hewer the cards and the diagram of the table, and he -had seen that Miss Evington's place was next to Mr. Trevillian, he had -taken this as a sign that the thing was settled. He never knew how much -he had liked Mr. Richard until he felt a wave of contempt for this -beautiful young creature who preferred Trevillian and his millions.</p> - -<p>Hewer announced "Miss Evington" with quite a sniff.</p> - -<p>When he went downstairs, another guest had arrived and was taking -his dinner-card from the tray a footman was offering him. It was Mr. -Barnsell. Barnsell was a sleek, brown, middle-aged man whose only -interest in life was comfort; and as his means were limited and his -tastes luxurious, the attainment of supreme comfort had become both an -art and sport to him.</p> - -<p>"Ah, good evening, Hewer!" he said.</p> - -<p>"Good evening, sir," said Hewer without the slightest change of -expression. He hated and despised Barnsell, for the reason that he -was one of those people who demand a far higher standard of comfort -from other people's houses and servants than he did from his own. -When he stayed at the Torbys,—as he did for long periods,—he gave a -great deal of trouble, and had been known to send a suit of clothes -downstairs three times because it had not been properly pressed, -although Hewer knew very well that at home his clothes were very -sketchily taken care of by the housemaid. Hewer's only revenge was to -force upward the whole scale of Mr. Barnsell's tips. Hewer himself did -not care much about money and was very well paid by the Torbys, but in -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> interests of pure justice, he received Mr. Barnsell's crinkled -bill with an air of cold surprise that made him double it next time.</p> - -<p>"Gad, Hewer," Mr. Barnsell was saying, "there's a pretty ugly situation -outside there—a crowd around the door, and marching up Fifth Avenue. -They nearly pulled my chauffeur off the box. If they'd laid a finger on -me, I'd have let them have it, I can tell you."</p> - -<p>"I hope they did not hurt the chauffeur, sir."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no," said Barnsell positively; but Hewer knew from his tone that -he had not waited to see.</p> - -<p>Immediately after this, terrible things began to happen to the Torbys' -nice party—things that had never happened to any of their parties -before. The meeting in Madison Square having been broken up by methods -which the participants described as being a little short of massacre, -and which the police said were too velvet-gloved to be effective, had -drifted away into smaller groups, all looking for trouble. Perhaps -it was the color of the Torby's carpet, or the size or ugliness of a -house built in the worst taste of the '80's, or the delicious smell -of terrapin which came floating out of the kitchen windows; but for -whatever reason, a crowd had collected about the door and was mocking -at and jostling the guests in such a threatening manner that the night -watchman rushed in to tell a footman to telephone at once to the -police, and poor fat little Mrs. McFarlane arrived with her tiara quite -on one side and a conviction that she had just escaped being strung up -to a lamp-post in the best style of the French Revolution.</p> - -<p>The McFarlanes, who took themselves seriously in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> every position, made -a dramatic entrance into the drawing-room. Mr. McFarlane held up his -hand for silence and then said:</p> - -<p>"We are in grave danger."</p> - -<p>He was a tall, solemn, hawk-nosed man, who had made a fortune after -forty, and had been elected president of a great bank after fifty—an -office which he accepted as if it were a sort of financial priesthood. -Mrs. McFarlane, who went in for jeweled crowns and sweeping velvets, -was suspected by her friends of a repressed wish to be queenly—nor -indeed was her height and figure so different from that of the late -Victoria.</p> - -<p>"Hewer, send down and have the outer doors closed," said Mr. Torby. And -Hewer, having announced the last guest, who was a good deal flustered -from having had his high hat smashed over his nose—left the room to -obey.</p> - -<p>"They are bloodthirsty, simply bloodthirsty," continued Mr. McFarlane. -"One villainous-looking fellow shouted at my wife: 'You don't look as -if you needed another square meal for a year; give us a chance.'"</p> - -<p>"Accurate observers, at least," said Mrs. Grey in a twinkling aside to -Miss Evington. "Come and sit down, my dear, and let us talk while these -people regain their poise."</p> - -<p>"Do you think we are in any danger from the mob, Mrs. Grey?" asked the -girl quietly.</p> - -<p>"The mob inside, or the mob out?"</p> - -<p>Miss Evington laughed. "Oh," she said. "Feeling like that about them, -why did you come?"</p> - -<p>"I came," answered Mrs. Grey, "because I knew these people are trying -to dazzle you with all their hideous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> possessions; and I wanted," she -added simply, "to give you some standard of comparison."</p> - -<p>Miss Evington turned away to hide a smile, or perhaps it was a tear, -at the old lady's self-confidence. She had an impulse to explain that -if she refused the Torby millions, it would not be on account of Mrs. -Grey's high breeding; and then she stopped to wonder whether, after -all, it had not something to do with the situation—indirectly.</p> - -<p>Mr. Barnsell approached them, shaking his head. "Well," he said, "now -I hope Washington will see the consequence of coddling the lower -classes." Mr. Barnsell's railroad investments had declined.</p> - -<p>"This should be a great lesson to the Administration," said Mr. -Lossing—a slim, elderly man, who seemed to have decreased in bulk -through constant shrinking from outrages against his notion of good -taste and good manners. "As my dear old father used to say—"</p> - -<p>"It's the French Revolution over again," said Mrs. McFarlane, -still panting a little. "It's the hatred of the common man for the -aristocrat."</p> - -<p>"The aristocrat, my dear!" murmured Mrs. Grey to her young friend. "Her -father-in-law was my father's gardener, and she must know I know it."</p> - -<p>At this moment a stone crashed through one of the long French windows -of the drawing-room. Trevillian Torby rushed to Miss Evington's side. -"Don't be alarmed," he said. "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Grey."</p> - -<p>"Thank you—I'm not," said Mrs. Grey, tossing her gray head slightly, -as if to say it was a pretty state of affairs when Trevillian Torby -could intervene in her fate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> "If you won't think me rude, I must say -the evening is turning out more amusing than I had expected."</p> - -<p>Trevillian, fortunately, was not looking for malice from one so small -and gray and feminine, and he went on hotly: "I wonder what this -rabble thinks they could do with this country without us—without the -leadership of people like ourselves."</p> - -<p>"They'll soon find out, it seems," answered Mrs. Grey.</p> - -<p>"The trouble with this country," continued Trevillian, "is the growing -contempt for law and order. No one is brought up to respect the -state—the Government. What would the poor do without the ruling class? -Do you realize that the hospitals and charitable institutions of this -country would have to close? And what would happen then, I should like -to know?"</p> - -<p>"They would be run by the state, of course," said Miss Evington, who -knew her way about sociology.</p> - -<p>"The state!" cried Trevillian. "Do you mean government ownership? Well, -let me tell you that the state is about the most inefficient, the most -corrupt—"</p> - -<p>"I thought we ought to respect it," said Miss Evington.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Grey laughed out loud. "Ah, Mr. Torby," she said, "women ought not -to attempt argument, ought they?"</p> - -<p>Trevillian felt soothed by this remark. "I own," he replied, "that I -do not think a woman appears at her best in argument." And he never -understood why it was that he seemed to have made a very good joke.</p> - -<p>They now began to go in to dinner—the dining-room was safely situated -across the back of the house. The table was magnificent. Gold vases of -pink and white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> flowers alternated down its length with gold bowls of -yellow and orange fruit. Tall wineglasses of crystal engraved in gold -stood like little groves at each plate. The Torbys' engraved glass was -famous.</p> - -<p>"But I thought," Lady Cecilia was heard saying to her host, who was of -course taking her in to dinner, "I thought there were no classes in the -United States?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Torby was shocked that Lady Cecilia, who had had so many -opportunities, like the present, for observing, should make such a -mistake.</p> - -<p>"Oh," he said, "I should hardly say that. I yield to none in my belief -in the principles of democracy—from the political point of view; -but socially, my dear Lady Cecilia, every country in the world has a -class—how shall I define it—"</p> - -<p>He succeeded in defining it so that it included himself and excluded -most of the rest of the world. Aristocracy nowadays, he thought, -consisted in having had for two or three generations the advantages -of a large fortune with all the cultivation and refinement and -responsibility that it brings. A college president, who was present, -was equally sure that it was all a question of education. Mr. -McFarlane, the head of a large bank, thought it meant the group of men -in any country who control the financial destinies—and therefore all -the destinies—of a country. Mrs. Grey did not find it worth while to -define anything, but sat thinking: "It's being ladies and gentlemen, if -they only knew it."</p> - -<p>Suddenly there was a tremendous sound of cracking and tearing—a crash -as if the stout double outer doors had given way, a shouting, the noise -of an ambulance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> gong, or of a police-wagon. Some people sprang up from -the table, but Mr. Torby urged them to remain seated.</p> - -<p>"Hewer," he said, "go downstairs and see what is happening."</p> - -<p>Hewer immediately left the room, and did not return for a long time.</p> - -<p>In the downstairs hall Hewer found the night watchman with a dislocated -wrist, several policemen, a young man mopping his brow, whom he did not -at first notice, and a great deal of broken glass.</p> - -<p>The whole trouble, it appeared, had arisen over the red carpet—the -Bolshevist meeting not being able to understand why, if they were not -allowed to display red flags in Madison Square, Mr. Torby should be -allowed to display a carpet of exactly the same hue in Fifth Avenue. -In the interests of pure logic, the participants in the late meeting -decided to point out this inconsistency to the municipal authorities, -by cutting the Torby's carpet into small pieces and carrying them -away. A number of returned sailors and soldiers, who felt perhaps that -to fight for a poor cause was better than not fighting at all, had -decided to defend the carpet. The complete harmony of everyone was -proved by the fact that when driven away by the police-reserves, both -parties were soon jointly engaged in upsetting all the ash-cans in a -neighboring side-street.</p> - -<p>Hewer sent the night-watchman to the housekeeper to get his wrist -bandaged, got rid of the police by giving them some of Mr. Torby's -second-best cigars and a great deal of irrelevant information which -they said was necessary to the preservation of order, directed that -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> broken glass should be swept up, and then turned his attention to -the young man.</p> - -<p>"Why, Mr. Richard!" he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"Look here, Hewer," said Mr. Richard, "I know that Miss Evington is -dining here—I saw her going in, as I happened to be passing." He -glanced quickly at the butler to see if there was any criticism of an -officer in the United States Army hanging about doorways to watch young -ladies go in and out. "Is everyone in there frightened to death over -this shindy?"</p> - -<p>"Well, you know, sir," said Hewer temperately, "they have been very -nervous about this Bolshevist movement for a long time; and they do -seem anxious—all except Mrs. Grey, sir."</p> - -<p>"What!" cried the Captain. "Is my mother dining here?" And Hewer could -see that this was the last straw—that his mother should have gone -over to the enemy. Hewer was sorry, but felt it his duty to go back -to the dining-room. "They are anxious, sir, for fear the mob may have -overpowered the police, and I ought to go back and tell them that -everything is quiet."</p> - -<p>"No, Hewer," said the Captain firmly. "Go back, but tell them just the -opposite. Tell them that the police have been driven off, that the mob -is in control, that a soviet committee has been formed, which will send -a representative to question them and decide on the merits of each of -their cases, and say that if a finger is laid on the people's delegate, -the house will be blown up with T N T."</p> - -<p>Hewer could not help smiling at the plan, but he shook<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> his head. "I'd -like to oblige you, sir," he said, "but I'd lose my job."</p> - -<p>"Oh, the cream's off your job anyhow, Hewer," said Mr. Richard -decisively. "You don't want to be a butler under the new order. I've -just got a good job with a Western railroad. Come with me and run our -dining-car service."</p> - -<p>The Great War has far-reaching effects. It was the war that made Hewer -yield to this insane suggestion—the sense of dissatisfaction with -himself because a weak heart had kept him from fighting, and the sense -of power in Grey which a year and a half of being obeyed had thrown -into his tone.</p> - -<p>"But you can't go upstairs like that, sir—they'd all know you."</p> - -<p>"You do your part, and I'll do mine," said Richard.</p> - -<p>When Hewer entered the dining-room again, the tension had increased. -Some of the guests had arisen from the table and were looking for -weapons. All had decided to behave nobly. The six footmen, as if -paralyzed by the consciousness that they had identified themselves -with the capitalistic class, were standing idly about the room, not -attempting to go on with the serving of dinner. Mrs. McFarlane had -almost fainted again, but finding that no one had time to bring her to, -she was coming to by herself. Only Mrs. Grey was finishing her soup in -a thorough but not inelegant manner.</p> - -<p>Hewer bent to whisper in Mr. Torby's ear.</p> - -<p>"Good God!" said Mr. Torby; and an electric thrill<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> ran through the -company, who did not know that the exclamation expressed anger rather -than fear.</p> - -<p>"Don't be alarmed," said Mr. Torby, addressing the table. "Keep -perfectly calm. Hewer tells me the situation is this: the police have -been temporarily driven off. These Bolshevist rascals are in control -for a minute or two—nothing more, I am sure. I should advise our -yielding for the moment to their demands."</p> - -<p>"But what are their demands?" asked Mrs. McFarlane nervously, with -a vague recollection of a program about women which her respectable -morning paper had not been able to print in full, but which she had -looked up later in the chauffeur's more liberal journal, while he was -putting on the chains.</p> - -<p>Divining her fears, Mrs. Torby gracefully hastened to allay them. -"They demand nothing more than that we receive a delegate from their -committee, and answer his questions."</p> - -<p>"Receive him," said the Admiral with that terrible calm which seems to -have replaced the old quarter-deck manner. "We'll receive him a good -deal more warmly than he'll like."</p> - -<p>Mr. Torby held up his hand. "No," he said. "Our safety, the safety -of these ladies, is dependent upon the safe-conduct back of this -delegate. The mob, probably through the culpable carelessness of the -Administration—"</p> - -<p>"Not a word against the Administration, sir," cried the Admiral, "—the -Administration under whom this country has just won one of the most -signal tri—"</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid, sir," said Hewer most respectfully,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> "that the committee -is not inclined to wait very much longer."</p> - -<p>It was decided to admit the People's delegate at once. After all, -however detestable his philosophy, he would be only one man against -twenty-four guests, six footmen and Hewer. But when Hewer opened -the dining-room door and announced in his very best manner, "The -Representative of the Soviet Committee," everyone saw that confidence -had been premature.</p> - -<p>The delegate was an alarming figure. He was in his shirt-sleeves, -without collar and round his waist was tied a long strip of the Torby's -carpet; from this protruded the handle of an army revolver. The lower -part of his face was hidden by a black silk handkerchief; and a soft -hat, rather too large for him, was pulled down to his brows. It was a -hat which Trevillian had passed on to Hewer some months before, but -fortunately there is no way of identifying a soft felt hat. Below the -brim a pair of piercing gray eyes ran over the company like the glint -of steel.</p> - -<p>The delegate was tall, and he stood in the doorway with folded arms. -Mrs. McFarlane, declaring that at last the aristocracy knew how to die, -burst into tears; and Trevillian Torby, bending over Miss Evington, -declared in a passionate undertone that he would give his life for -hers. But Miss Evington, with her eye fixed on the delegate, drew back -almost rudely from Trevillian's protecting droop and said quite loudly: -"Nonsense, Trevillian! I don't feel myself in any danger."</p> - -<p>"I am here," said the delegate in a deep, rough voice, "as a -representative of the first soviet committee—a form<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> of government -which, as you now doubtless understand, will soon take over this entire -country—indeed, the world. How dare you, a little, idle, parasitic -group, eat like this, drink like this—and," he added, snatching a -bottle of champagne from the nerveless hand of a footman and quickly -returning it, "and such a rotten brand, too? By what right, I say, do -you feast, while better people are starving? But we are not cruel or -unreasonable, and anyone here who can show that he or his immediate -family belong to the proletariat and has worked with his hands, will be -spared."</p> - -<p>A confused silence greeted this speech. The company did not really take -in the meaning of his words, for the reason that any identification of -themselves with the proletariat—what they would have called the lower -classes—seemed to them simply fantastic. Though they were continually -readjusting their social standing with each other, they no more doubted -their general superiority to the rest of humanity than they doubted the -fact of the skies being above the earth.</p> - -<p>Mr. Barnsell, who had had more practice than most of them in adapting -himself to his surroundings, spoke first. Getting up, with his hands in -his pockets, he said coolly:</p> - -<p>"Oh, come, my dear fellow! This is ridiculous. This is -un-American—extremely un-American. There are no class-distinctions in -this country. We all in a sense belong to the proletariat."</p> - -<p>"Speak for yourself," said Mrs. Grey.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Torby bent over to her next-door neighbor and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> whispered, "Exactly -what do they mean by proletariat?" with the manner of one who, being -about to be elected to a club, would like to know what the organization -signified.</p> - -<p>"You will have to offer proof of your assertions," said the delegate in -a more threatening tone. "A leisure class is a criminal class, and its -wealth will be confiscated for the common good. Are you or are you not -members of a leisure class?"</p> - -<p>At this the company, which had so far shown a good deal of courage, -in face of one of the most terrifying agencies in the world,—an -angry mob,—began to show evidence of panic. A threat to human life, -even their own, seemed to them less horrible than this danger to -the existing order of society. The right of property—not their own -property, but the divine right of property in general—seemed worth -defending at great cost. A babel of voices arose, out of which Mr. -McFarlane's soared like a lark:</p> - -<p>"I did, I did," he was saying. "I used to help my father pick the beets -and the rose-bugs. My father was a gardener. This lady"—indicating -Mrs. Grey—"knows that what I say is true. My father was her father's -gardener."</p> - -<p>"Is this true?" asked the delegate.</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered Mrs. Grey, "and a very coarse, uneducated man too, as I -remember him."</p> - -<p>"Thank you—oh, thank you," said Mr. McFarlane warmly; and his wife, -raising her tiara-ed head, added:</p> - -<p>"Yes, and as a girl I used to take in plain—" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Hush, Maria!" said her husband. "It is unnecessary. A wife always -takes the rank of her husband in any society."</p> - -<p>Mrs. McFarlane caught the idea at once, and leaning back with folded -hands, she looked about patronizingly on those whose position under the -new order was less solidly founded than her own.</p> - -<p>The complete success of Mr. McFarlane pointed the way to others, whose -training had made them quick to learn new methods of pleasing—when -they wanted to please. In a few minutes astounding revelations had been -made on all sides. Mr. Lossing, the haughty and exclusive Mr. Lossing, -confessed, or rather he loudly and repeatedly asserted, that he had -long been secretly married to his cook—than whom, he insisted, no one -was a more persistent and skillful manual worker. Mr. Barnsell, who had -always seemed to live remarkably well on the proceeds of a somewhat -tenuous law-practice, pleaded for publicity for the fact that his -father had kept a tailor's shop—and he offered to produce photographs -in proof of his statement.</p> - -<p>"Did you ever work in this shop?" asked the delegate.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid not," answered Mr. Barnsell reluctantly. "My mother,—you -know how petty women are about class distinctions,—she wanted me to -rise in the world—"</p> - -<p>"<i>Rise!</i>" exclaimed the delegate haughtily. "You are untrue to your -class, sir."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps—a little," murmured Mr. Barnsell meekly. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> - -<p>"But we will pass you," said the delegate, "for the sake of your -father."</p> - -<p>By a somewhat unexpected application of Bolshevist principles, the -delegate exempted members of the military and naval services, and -visiting foreigners, from any examination. He showed a tendency -also to pass over Mrs. Grey, although she kept asserting that none -of her ancestors had ever done anything useful. "Unless," she added -thoughtfully, "Lionel Grey, whom they sent to the Tower for a day or -two in 1673 for killing his valet. He may have had to sweep out his -room. And I have a son," she added more loudly, "who is just as bad."</p> - -<p>"You mean your son does not work?" said the delegate, as if he felt the -statement so unlikely that he was ready to contradict it.</p> - -<p>"I shouldn't call him usefully employed at this moment," replied the -old lady. "Would you like me to describe what he is doing?"</p> - -<p>"Be silent, madam," said the delegate, and turned hastily away to the -examination of the Torby family.</p> - -<p>Asked rather roughly what he had to say for himself, Mr. Torby rose. -"I have to say," he began, "that I agree with my friend Mr. Barnsell, -that this whole movement is extremely un-American. This country is a -democracy—our forefathers died to make it so; and for you to attempt -to introduce all these dangerous ideas of class antagonism is opposed -to all the ideals of the founders of this nation. There are no class -distinctions in America. I may rise today, and you tomorrow—or you -might have, if you had not cast in your lot with these lawless rascals -who all will end in jail. Take the example of Mr. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>Barnsell here—proud -to own his father's trade." (Mr. Barnsell tried to oblige with a proud -look.) "And I too—my father was a farmer. He tilled the soil with his -own hands. That, ladies and gentlemen, is America."</p> - -<p>"Ah, that's easy to say," replied the delegate, strangely unimpressed -by an oration that had drawn tears to Mr. Barnsell's eyes. "It's -easy to say that your father was a farmer, but can you prove it? -Only yesterday I saw an interview with you in our capitalistic press -on the occasion of your being elected president of one of these -aristocratic social clubs,—which the people will raze to the ground -immediately,—and this interview stated on your own authority that -yours was one of the oldest and idlest families in this country."</p> - -<p>"The reporter misunderstood me," said Mr. Torby with the firmness of a -man whose public life has made him long familiar with the phrase.</p> - -<p>Trevillian Torby sprang to his feet. "Father," he said pleadingly, "let -me go upstairs and bring down Grandfather."</p> - -<p>"Goodness," exclaimed Mrs. Grey, "don't tell me that the original -Ephraim is still alive!"</p> - -<p>"My father-in-law is very old," murmured Mrs. Torby faintly. "He shuns -society."</p> - -<p>For the first time since the entrance of the People's delegate, the -interest of the company turned from him and rested on the door through -which Trevillian had departed. The idea that the great Ephraim—the -founder of the colossal Torby fortune, the ancestor who had become -almost a myth—was not only alive but living somewhere in the top of -the palace which his money had built,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> was an overwhelming surprise to -everyone. Everyone began calculating what his age must be, and having -reached the conclusion that he was well over eighty, they were prepared -to see Trevillian lead, wheel, or even carry him into the room; but the -reality was very different.</p> - -<p>Ephraim Torby strode in ahead of his grandson. He was tall, over six -feet, and the long plum-colored dressing-gown he was wearing made him -look taller. The whiskers, which he wore in accordance with the fashion -of his youth, gave to his shaven upper lip an added expression of -shrewd humor. A slight smile wrinkled the upper part of his face, and -his bright black eyes twinkled. From the moment he entered the room, -the situation was in his hands.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said in a leisurely tone, addressing the delegate, "what's -all this about?"</p> - -<p>The delegate in a few words, made less fluent by the fact that the old -man had put on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and was now studying -the delegate in detail, explained the principles of the Bolshevist -movement, and the relation of these principles to the present company.</p> - -<p>"Foolishness!" said the old man. "For the land's sake, what are clever -fellars like you doing wasting your time fighting these folks?" And he -waved his hand toward the dinner-table. "Ain't you got sense enough to -see that you're jest the same—jest the same? Both against justice and -law and order—both discontented— Oh, yes, Bill, you are discontented, -and Trevillian too. They don't get any fun out of life—not out of -spending the money I had such a heap of fun making. And you'll find, -young fellar," he added to the delegate, "that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> there's only two kinds -of folks worth fussing over in this world—them that enjoys life, and -them that would jest as lief jump off the bridge tomorrow. You're both -discontented, and you're both narrer: you can't see anybody's interest -but your own, and you're both as selfish as the dickens—want to run -the world jest for the sake of your own folks. Why, you two ought to -be able to get together. But the fellars who are going to beat you -both—and you're going to be beaten—is the fellars with a cheap car -and a couple of acres, or a three-room flat, who are having too good -a time out of it to let you bust it up. And you'll never get past -them—never in your lifetime, young fellar."</p> - -<p>"We've got a good way already," said the delegate.</p> - -<p>"Oh, maybe, maybe," answered the old man. "And I presume you're -having a good time out of trying—and if you want any advice about -organization, you might drop in to see me some afternoon, when Bill -is out. You can't tell; I might even want to subscribe to your -campaign-fund—"</p> - -<p>"Father," said William Torby, displaying more feeling than at any time -during the evening, "that would be being untrue to your class."</p> - -<p>"Why, Trevillian was just a-telling me, Bill, that you said there were -no classes in America," answered his father.</p> - -<p>In the slight pause that followed, Mrs. Grey rose, and approaching -Ephraim, she said in her most gracious manner—and that was very -gracious:</p> - -<p>"Do come over and sit down, Mr. Torby. I should like so much to talk to -you." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> - -<p>But the People's delegate interfered. "No, madam," he said fiercely. -"As you have shown no connection whatsoever with the proletariat, I -must trouble you to come with me."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Grey nodded at the terrified company. "Good night," she said. -"Such a pleasant evening! Do ask me again sometime, dear Mrs. Torby." -And then she added to the delegate: "I insist on Miss Evington's -accompanying me. She's quite as bad in her own way as I am in mine."</p> - -<p>"No," shouted Trevillian.</p> - -<p>"Yes, we'll take her along," said the delegate; and the three left the -room hastily, taking the precaution to lock the door behind them.</p> - -<p>When safely in the taxicab, which Hewer had waiting for them, Miss -Evington said: "Oh, Dick, can you ever forgive me for having been a -little bit dazzled by those people?"</p> - -<p>"Well, Richard," said his mother, "I should think this would mean a -jail-sentence for you when it comes out. But I shall always think it -was well worth while, well worth while."</p> - -<p>"They'll never tell if we don't," said Richard confidently.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps not," said Mrs. Grey, settling back comfortably in her corner. -"I want to say this—not that I don't know that you are holding -Evalina's hand behind my back, and I should know it, even if I were as -blind as a bat, which I'm thankful to say I am not—I want to say that -I think I believe in democracy, after all. The only really interesting -and agreeable man there this evening,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> except yourself, my dear -Richard, was that delightful old farmer. Evidently the thing that makes -American society so dull is not the people they let in nowadays, as I -had always imagined, but the people they keep out. Yes, Richard, you -have converted me to democracy."</p> - -<p>But Richard and Evalina were not paying as much attention to this -philosophy as it undoubtedly deserved.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE WIDOW'S MIGHT</h2> - -<blockquote><p>Fifth: To my executors hereinafter named, or to such of them as -shall qualify, and the survivors of them, I give and bequeath -the sum of one million dollars ($1,000,000) in trust to hold, -invest and reinvest the same and to collect the income, issues -and profits thereof and pay over the whole of said income, issues -and profits, accruing from the date of my death, in semiannual -payments, less proper charges and expenses, to my wife, Doris -Helen Southgate, as long as she shall remain my widow; and upon -the death or remarriage of my said wife, I direct that the -principal of said trust shall be paid over to my sister, Antonia -Southgate, or in the event of her death—</p></blockquote> - -<p>It was this fifth clause that Vincent Williams, the dead man's lawyer, -found himself considering as he drove uptown with a copy of the will in -his pocket. Was or was not a man justified in cutting his wife off in -case of her remarriage? After all, why should a fellow work hard all -his life to support his successor and perhaps his successor's children? -The absolute possession of a large fortune may be a definite danger to -a young woman of twenty-five. Yes, there was much to be said in favor -of such a provision; and yet, when he had said it all, Williams found -himself feeling as he had felt when he drew the will—that it was an -unwarranted insult, an ungracious gesture of possession from the grave. -He himself couldn't imagine making such a will; but then he had not -married a girl thirty-five years his junior.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> Southgate may have had a -vision of some pale, sleek-headed professional dancer, or dark-skinned -South European with a criminal record—</p> - -<p>Williams was shocked to find he was thinking that the widow would -have a right even to such companions as these, if these were what she -wanted. He had no clew as to what she did want, for he had never seen -her, although he had been Southgate's lawyer for many years. Southgate, -since his marriage five years before, had spent most of his time at -Pasadena, although he always kept the house on Riverside open.</p> - -<p>It was toward this house that Williams was now driving. There was a -touch of the mausoleum about it—just the kind of house that a man who -had made his fortune in coffins ought to have owned. It was built of -cold, smooth graystone, and the door was wider at the bottom than at -the top, in the manner of an Egyptian tomb. You went down a few steps -into the hall, and Williams always half expected to hear a trapdoor -clang behind him and find that, Rhadames in the last act of Aïda, he -was walled up for good.</p> - -<p>Nichols, Southgate's old manservant, opened the door for him and -conducted him to the drawing-room, which ran across the front of the -house on the second story, with three windows, somewhat contracted by -stone decorations, which looked on the river.</p> - -<p>It was an ugly, pretentious room, done in the period of modern -satinwood, striped silks and small oil paintings in immense gold -frames. Over the mantelpiece hung a portrait of Southgate by Bonnat—a -fine, blatant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> picture, against a red background, of a man in a frock -coat with a square beard.</p> - -<p>The house was well constructed and the carpets were deep, so that -complete silence reigned. Williams walked to the middle window and -looked out. It was the end of February and a wild wind was blowing -across the Hudson, but even a ruffled dark gray river was more -agreeable to look at than the drawing-room. He stood staring out at -an empty freighter making her way slowly upstream to her anchorage, -until a rustling of new crape garments made him turn, as Miss Southgate -entered.</p> - -<p>She was tall—her brother had been tall too; nearly six feet; her face -was white as alabaster, and her hair, though she was nearly sixty, was -still jet black. Her mourning made her seem more majestic than ever, -though Williams would have said she could not possibly have been more -majestic than she had been the last time he saw her.</p> - -<p>His first impression was that she was alone, but a second later he -saw that she was followed by a tiny creature, who looked as much out -of scale beside Antonia as if the Creator had been experimenting in -different sizes of human beings and had somehow got the two sets mixed -up—a little blond-headed doll with eyes the color of Delft china. Miss -Southgate held out a solid hand, white as a camellia. "I don't think -you know my sister-in-law," she said in her deep voice. "A very old -friend of Alexander's, my dear—Mr. Williams."</p> - -<p>Williams smiled encouragingly in answer, assuming that anything so -small must be timid; but little Mrs. Southgate betrayed no symptom of -alarm. She bent her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> slender throat and sat down on the sofa beside -Antonia, with her hands, palms up, in her lap. She did it with a -certain crispness, like a good child doing what it has been taught as -exactly the right thing to do. She sat perfectly still; whereas Antonia -kept up a slow, magnificent undulation of shoulders and hips, as -Williams took the will out of his pocket.</p> - -<p>"You are familiar with the terms of the will?" he asked, scrupulously -including both ladies in the question.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Antonia, "my brother discussed the will with me in -great detail before he made it, and I told Doris what you had said -to me yesterday after the funeral. I think she understands. You do -understand, my dear, don't you, that my brother left you the income of -his estate during your life?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Southgate nodded, without the least change of expression.</p> - -<p>"During her life or until her remarriage," said Williams, giving the -word full weight.</p> - -<p>"I shall not remarry," said Mrs. Southgate in a quick, sweet, -whispering voice—the sort of voice which made everyone lean forward, -although it was perfectly audible.</p> - -<p>Antonia looked down at her sister-in-law and smiled, and Williams -recognized with surprise that she was obviously attached to the little -creature. He was surprised, because he knew that Miss Southgate had -disapproved of the marriage; and even if the marriage had been less -open to hostile criticism than it was, no one would expect a sister, -who had for many years been at the head of her brother's house and -a partner in his business, to welcome the intrusion of a young -blond-headed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>wife. It really spoke well for both women, he thought, -that they had managed to get on.</p> - -<p>He began to go over the will, paragraph by paragraph. In the sixteenth -clause it was stated that the jewels now in possession of Mrs. -Southgate, in especial a string of pearls and pigeon's-blood rubies, -were not to be regarded as gifts, but as part of the estate. He glanced -at the widow.</p> - -<p>"I suppose that was your understanding," he said.</p> - -<p>"I never thought about it," she answered. "If Alexander says so, of -course he knew what he meant."</p> - -<p>At this moment the door softly opened and Nichols appeared with -a visiting card on a salver, which he presented to Antonia. Miss -Southgate began feeling for her lorgnette.</p> - -<p>"We can see no one," she said reprovingly to Nichols; then as she found -her glasses and read the card, she added, "I never heard of such a -person. Is it for me?"</p> - -<p>"No, madam," said Nichols; "the gentleman asked for Mrs. Southgate."</p> - -<p>"Explain to him that we can see no one," said Antonia; and then, as -Nichols left the room, she decided as an afterthought to give the card -to her sister-in-law—merely for information, however, for the door had -already shut behind Nichols.</p> - -<p>As the little widow read the card she looked up with large, startled -eyes, which from having been light blue suddenly turned without any -warning at all to a deep, shiny black, and she colored until not only -her face and neck but even her tiny wrists were pink. It was really, -Williams thought, very interesting to watch; all the more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> because -Antonia, who was talking about a legacy to an old servant, was utterly -unaware of what was going on at her elbow. Mrs. Southgate had made no -muscular movement at all, except to turn her palms over, so that her -two hands were now domed above the visiting card. She sat quite still, -gazing into vacancy and obviously not hearing a single word that was -said.</p> - -<p>But half an hour later, when Williams stood up to go, she came back to -life, and said to him without the least preamble, "You did not tell me -what would happen if I did remarry."</p> - -<p>Antonia turned the full front of her majesty upon her sister-in-law, -and said, "You would lose the name of Southgate."</p> - -<p>"I am glad you asked that question," said Williams. "You ought to -understand exactly what your situation is. In the event of your -remarriage, you would have an income from another small fund—amounting -to about forty-five hundred dollars a year, I should think."</p> - -<p>She nodded thoughtfully; and Antonia, laying her hand on her shoulder, -said gently: "Now I have still a few family matters to discuss with Mr. -Williams; but you need not wait, if you want to finish your letters, -although we shall be very glad to have you with us if you wish to stay."</p> - -<p>It was clear to Williams that she did not wish to stay. She held out -her hand to him—thin and narrow, but as strong as steel—gave him a -smile and left the room. She always had a little difficulty, like a -child, with the handle of a door.</p> - -<p>Williams and Miss Southgate smiled at each other, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> he expressed a -common thought as he said, "If I met Mrs. Southgate unexpectedly in the -woods, I shouldn't need any photographs to make me believe in fairies."</p> - -<p>"She's a dear little thing," said Antonia as she seated herself again, -rather heavily. "Very intelligent in some ways, but in business -matters—almost a case of arrested development. My brother never even -gave her the trouble of signing a check."</p> - -<p>"He just paid her bills?"</p> - -<p>"She had very few. She has never been extravagant. She seems to have no -wishes at all. I often hope that she will learn to assert herself more -as she grows older."</p> - -<p>Williams doubted if Miss Southgate would enjoy the realization of this -hope, but he only said, "An income of fifty thousand is apt to increase -human assertiveness."</p> - -<p>"I sincerely hope so," said Miss Southgate. "It's a great care, Mr. -Williams, and no special pleasure to find yourself obliged to direct -every action, almost every thought, of another person's life. What I -wanted to say to you was that I think you had better consult me about -all the business details. You see how little grasp she has of them. My -brother never discussed anything of the kind with her. He was more like -a father than a husband—thirty-five years' difference in age—"</p> - -<p>Miss Southgate shook her head.</p> - -<p>"And yet," said Williams, "the marriage turned out well, wouldn't you -say?"</p> - -<p>Antonia's fine arched black brows went up in doubt.</p> - -<p>"It hadn't the disadvantages you ordinarily expect from such -marriages," she answered. "She did not run about flirting with young -men or spending my brother's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> money foolishly. On the other hand, she -did not introduce any of that gayety and youth into his daily life, any -of that humor and high spirits— She is a curious little person, good -as gold, but not vital, not alive."</p> - -<p>Williams went away wondering. Corpses don't blush like that, he -thought. The wind had died down as the sun set; and now, with a red -sky over the Palisades, the Riverside was not a bad place for a walk. -He strolled southward, trying to remember, now that he had seen Doris -Helen Southgate in the flesh, all that he had heard about her in the -days when she was only a name—the folly of an otherwise shrewd client.</p> - -<p>He thought he remembered that she was some relation to the clergyman of -the Southgates' church—an orphan trying to support herself by one of -those extremely ill-paid occupations which are considered ladylike. He -thought she had come to the Southgate house to read to Antonia during -a temporary affliction of the eyes. Before he had seen her he had -thought of her as a serpent, insinuating herself into the household and -then coiling herself so firmly that she could never be driven out; but -now it seemed to him more as if a kitten had strayed into that great -mausoleum and had been shut up there for life.</p> - -<p>He remembered a frequent phrase of Southgate's, which he had never -noticed much at the time: "Yes, I read it with great interest—at -least my wife read it to me." He had been fond of being read aloud to, -especially at night, when he couldn't sleep. Williams wondered whether -Doris Helen had spent six years reading aloud—above the rustling of -the avenue of palms at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> Pasadena, above the rattle of the private car -as they went back and forth and across the continent. Mercy, it was -no wonder she wasn't much alive. And Southgate had never given her -the trouble of signing a check, hadn't he? Well, that was one way to -put it. No, of course, he said to himself, he did not want to see the -little widow break loose—to hear that she was gambling at Monte Carlo -or being robbed of her jewels at some café on the Left Bank; but he -would have been glad to see her acting on the emotion that had turned -her eyes so black that afternoon.</p> - -<p>Although he went to the house several times again in the course of the -next few days, he did not see Mrs. Southgate. She was always engaged -with the correspondence which had resulted from her husband's death.</p> - -<p>"She writes a very nice letter, if I give her a general idea of what -ought to be said," Antonia had explained to Williams.</p> - -<p>One afternoon about a month after Southgate's death, as Williams was -leaving his office in Nassau Street, a card was brought to him. He did -not know the name, and he sent word that he was just going home. If the -gentleman could give him some idea—</p> - -<p>Word came back that the gentleman was an old friend of Mrs. Southgate. -Then Williams knew that he was holding in his hand the mate of the -card that Doris Helen had pressed down upon her lap so tenderly that -afternoon. The name was Dominic Hale.</p> - -<p>Even Antonia could not have complained of lack of vitality in the young -man who presently walked into Williams' private office. There was -something vigorous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> about the way he was built, the way he moved, the -way his thick brown hair grew, like a close dark cap on his head. He -spoke at once.</p> - -<p>"I wanted to see you, Mr. Williams, as a friend of Mrs. Southgate's. -You are a friend, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Williams, speaking as a man; and then added as a lawyer, -"Though I must confess I have seen her only once in my life."</p> - -<p>"My goodness!" said Hale, with a shake of his head, "I never knew of -such a thing! I can't find that anyone has seen her more than once or -twice in the course of the last five years. Wasn't she allowed friends?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps she did not want any."</p> - -<p>Hale gave what in a tiger would have been a growl, but which in a man -was merely a sound expressing complete disagreement.</p> - -<p>"A girl of twenty-five—" he said; and added without pause, "Mr. -Williams, I want to marry Mrs. Southgate."</p> - -<p>The exclamation "Good!" which rose to Williams' lips was suppressed in -favor of "I see." Then he went on, "And does she want to marry you?"</p> - -<p>"She says not."</p> - -<p>"But does not convince you of her sincerity?"</p> - -<p>"Well, she said not in just the same tone seven years ago, when we -became engaged."</p> - -<p>"Oh, you and she were engaged before her marriage?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, we called it that. We had no possible prospect of ever getting -married. Then just before I went abroad to study—"</p> - -<p>"And may I ask what it was you went abroad to study, Mr. Hale?" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> - -<p>The young man looked at him a moment in surprise before he answered, -"Painting. I'm Dominic Hale."</p> - -<p>Williams shook his head.</p> - -<p>"Ought I to know?"</p> - -<p>Hale laughed.</p> - -<p>"You perfectly well might," he said. "Doris broke our engagement before -I went. We did not part in a very friendly spirit."</p> - -<p>"I see. She had already decided—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no! This was months before she went to the Southgates. She thought -it was wrong for us to be tangled up with each other so hopelessly. It -made me furious. She was so firm and clear about— She has a will of -iron, that girl."</p> - -<p>This last statement interested Williams almost more than anything Hale -had said, for he suddenly appreciated the fact that he himself had had -the same impression of the widow.</p> - -<p>"Miss Southgate finds her almost too pliable and docile," he said.</p> - -<p>"Then," answered Hale, "Miss Southgate has never tried to make her do -something she did not want to. Oh, she's not petty—Doris! She'll drift -quietly along with the stream, until something which makes a difference -to her comes along, and then—"</p> - -<p>He wagged his head, compressing his lips in thought.</p> - -<p>"I don't see exactly how I can help you in the matter—if she thinks -she does not want to marry you, and she has an iron will."</p> - -<p>"I don't want help; I want advice," said Hale. "I think she cares about -me, but how much? If she really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> loves me, losing the fortune makes -no difference. But if she doesn't—if she's just fond of me as an old -friend—can I urge her to give up a million for the fun of being poor -with me?"</p> - -<p>"Does it occur to you," asked Williams—"I don't want to say anything -painful, but we must face facts—that she might love you a great deal -and yet hesitate to give up the income from a million?"</p> - -<p>"Of course it has occurred to me," answered Hale, "and if I thought it -was true I'd kidnap her."</p> - -<p>"Well, of course, you can't do that," said the lawyer; but his tone -seemed to admit it wouldn't be a bad thing to do.</p> - -<p>He was surprised after his visitor had left to find how sincerely he -hoped that Hale would succeed in marrying the little widow. He owned -that he himself would not give up a million for any romance in the -world; but then he was a middle-aged man who had lived his life, not a -pretty young woman who had spent five years of her youth almost as an -upper servant.</p> - -<p>She ought, he thought, to be unafraid of the adventure of poverty; -though he was obliged to confess that there was an element of -adventure, too, in spending a large income; an adventure which would -appeal more strongly to most people. Only, he thought, there wouldn't -be much joy in riches if one remained forever under the iron rule of -Antonia.</p> - -<p>Soon after this, that first day of spring arrived which always comes to -deceive New Yorkers sometime in March; that day when the air is warm -and the sky a pale even blue, and the north side of the street is dry -and clear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> and the south side still runs in slush and rivulets. Then -almost everyone does something foolish—from wearing thin clothes and -letting the furnace go out to mistakes of a more devastating sort.</p> - -<p>Williams, who was prudent by nature, did nothing worse than, in -returning from arguing a case in Jersey City, to take the ferry -instead of the tube. As he stood watching the boat for which he was -waiting bumping its way into its slip, his attention was attracted -by two people seated on the upper deck, with their elbows hooked -over the rail and their bent heads close together, evidently at that -delightful stage of intimacy when it is possible to talk—or rather -whisper—simultaneously without either one losing a single word of -what the other is saying. They showed no disposition to get off, no -realization even that the boat had reached the shore, though the -process of winding up the dock and letting down the drawbridges and -opening the gates is not a quiet one. They were simply going to and fro -on the river, for when the deck hand came to collect their fare it was -obviously a repeated performance.</p> - -<p>Williams had recognized Hale first, but the next second he had seen -that the diminutive figure in black could be no other than Doris Helen. -He did not disturb them, but from the window of the upper cabin he -watched them—rather wistfully. Now and then they seemed to be saying -something of the most serious importance, and, looking at each other in -the middle of a sentence, they would forget to complete it. At other -times they were evidently extremely frivolous, speaking with a manner -common to those a little drunk and those deeply in love,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> a manner as -if only they themselves could appreciate how deliciously ridiculous -they were.</p> - -<p>Williams was not much surprised the very next day to be called on -the telephone by Miss Southgate, who wished to see him at once. She -said she would come to his office, where they could talk without -interruption.</p> - -<p>She came. Her handsome alabaster mask was never allowed to express -emotion, but she undulated her vast shoulders more than usual. A young -man by the name of Hale—a painter—was coming every day to the house, -and that morning Doris had admitted that he wanted to marry her.</p> - -<p>"And my brother hardly a month in his grave!" said Miss Southgate, with -all the concentrated bitterness of Hamlet's first soliloquy.</p> - -<p>She was so deeply outraged by the idea that Williams did not dare point -out to her that she would profit by the marriage. There was something -noble about her utter indifference to this aspect of it, but there was -something bitter and egotistical in her anger against her sister-in-law -for daring to suggest the control of her own destiny. Williams -remembered having seen Antonia show the same ruthless, pitiless -bitterness toward a servant who had left her voluntarily. She regarded -it as an insult from an inferior. Yet in her emotion there was also the -wish to protect her brother's memory.</p> - -<p>"It will make my brother ridiculous—an old man's widow," she said. -"It was bad enough when he married her, but he and I together managed -to keep the marriage on a dignified plane. No one could have found -anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> to laugh at during his life; and now he is dead, after all -his kindness and generosity to her, she shall not insult his memory."</p> - -<p>"But has she any idea of doing it?" asked Williams. "There is a pretty -heavy weight on the other side of the scale."</p> - -<p>Miss Southgate clenched her hands.</p> - -<p>"I don't know," she said, as if that were extraordinary enough. "I -can't read her mind. She says not, and yet she sees him every day."</p> - -<p>Williams shook his head.</p> - -<p>"She won't do it," he said, and fortunately Miss Southgate did not -catch the note of regret in his voice.</p> - -<p>He promised to come and dine alone with the two women that evening. -He found the little widow more alive than before, more prone to smile -and talk, but no less docile in her attitude toward Antonia. There -was nothing of the rebel about her, no hint that she was preparing to -defy the lightning. And Williams admitted, as he saw the violence of -Antonia's determination that the marriage should not take place, that -a great deal of courage would be required. As he walked away from the -house that evening he said to himself that if he were Hale he would -kidnap her and take his chances of happiness.</p> - -<p>A day or so later, a jubilant though black-bordered note from Miss -Southgate announced that the decision had been made.</p> - -<p>"Doris has promised me that she will not marry this man, or any other, -without my consent. She is to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> him this afternoon at four. I should -like you to be with me then, in case he makes a scene at his final -dismissal."</p> - -<p>Well, Williams said to himself, he was a lawyer; he had seen a good -deal of life; he had always known that that was the way the thing would -end. But how pitiful and how stupid! He thought of the ferryboat plying -unnoticed from one bank of the Hudson to the other. Did Doris Helen -suppose she would duplicate that afternoon for a million dollars?</p> - -<p>He went punctually at four, and was ushered into the back drawing-room. -The terrible room across the front of the house was already occupied -by the parting lovers, where presumably the portrait of Alexander -Southgate was dominating their farewells.</p> - -<p>Antonia received him with a manner of calm triumph, unshadowed by the -least doubt that her sister-in-law would keep her word. But after about -an hour a silence fell upon her, and Williams became aware that she was -listening with increasing eagerness for the sound of the opening of the -front drawing-room door. At last she rose to her feet.</p> - -<p>"This is unbearable," she said.</p> - -<p>"An hour isn't so very long," he returned, "for two people who love -each other to take an eternal good-by."</p> - -<p>"It's over two hours," said Antonia. "And she had nothing to say to him -but no."</p> - -<p>A suspicion suddenly came to Williams that perhaps the other room was -empty, that perhaps Hale had been driven to the alternative of carrying -her off. He sprang to his feet. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Just wait here," he said to Antonia.</p> - -<p>The hallway between the two rooms was in shadow. As he stepped into -it, the door of the front room opened and Doris and Hale came out of -it together. They did not see Williams, for they both turned at once -toward the staircase, Hale in order to descend it and Doris leaning on -the balustrade, raising her shoulders and almost taking her feet off -the ground. Their manner was not that of people who have parted forever.</p> - -<p>"There isn't another woman in the world would make such a sacrifice for -a fellow like me," Hale said. Williams could not see the smile she gave -him, but it must have been potent. He took her in his arms, wrenched -himself away, walked down about three steps, turned and walked up them -again, kissed her a second time—a good satisfactory hug, and then -exclaiming, "I can't bear to go," bounded down the stairs and was gone. -The front door banged behind him, and Doris Helen lifted her hands from -the balustrade. She hardly noticed Williams as he opened the door.</p> - -<p>Antonia was still standing.</p> - -<p>"Well, Doris," she said as the younger woman entered, and the tone of -her voice was deep and bell-like.</p> - -<p>Doris sat down on the edge of the sofa—she always sat on the edge of -her chair so that her feet could touch the ground. Her hands, folded as -usual in her lap, were perfectly quiet, yet something in the way her -eyes darted from point to point made Williams feel that she was nervous.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said briskly, "what did you decide?"</p> - -<p>She looked at him wonderingly. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I promised Antonia I would not marry without her consent. I shall keep -my word, of course."</p> - -<p>Her sister-in-law held out a hand to her, and with the other covered -her eyes.</p> - -<p>"Thank God!" she said.</p> - -<p>Williams looked at the widow. Obviously she was deceiving either Hale -or Antonia. That was no rejected lover who had just left the house. -He speculated how the drama was going to unfold. There was no special -purpose in deceiving Antonia. If there was to be a marriage, she would -necessarily know it.</p> - -<p>Perhaps Doris Helen was one of those people who couldn't say -disagreeable things, but could write them.</p> - -<p>Miss Southgate removed her hand from her eyes.</p> - -<p>"And now," she said, "that nightmare is over, let us go back to -Pasadena and begin our work editing my brother's memoirs."</p> - -<p>Williams was aware of a certain bitter satisfaction in the thought that -such a life was about all the little creature deserved, but the little -creature was calmly shaking her head.</p> - -<p>"No," she was saying gently; "no, I'm not going back to Pasadena, -Antonia. I'm going to Spain."</p> - -<p>Her sister-in-law stared at her.</p> - -<p>"To Spain? But I don't want to go to Spain, Doris, and you can hardly -go alone."</p> - -<p>"I'm not going alone," answered Doris. "Mr. Hale is going with me."</p> - -<p>Thirty years of training at the bar barely saved Williams from laughing -aloud; the solution was so simple and so complete. The recollection -flashed through his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> mind of the daughter of a friend of his, who -when discovered in the act of smoking a cigar explained that she had -promised her mother never to smoke a cigarette. He took himself in -hand. The thing was serious and must be stopped. Evidently the word -"sacrifice" had applied not to the loss of an income of fifty thousand -dollars but to the resignation of the less tangible asset—reputation. -Miss Southgate was already rolling out a magnificent invective. Doris -Helen did not attempt to interrupt her. She sat still, with her eyes -raised with interested surprise to Antonia's angry face. Only once she -spoke.</p> - -<p>She said quietly, "No, not as my lover, Antonia—as my secretary."</p> - -<p>"And what difference does it make—what you call it?"</p> - -<p>"Antonia!" Mrs. Southgate's tone protested. "It makes a great deal of -difference what it is."</p> - -<p>Her sister-in-law felt the reproach.</p> - -<p>"I mean, no one will believe it, no one will care—the scandal will be -the same."</p> - -<p>Doris made gesture with her thin hands as if one couldn't go changing -all one's plans for every shred of gossip that drifted across the -horizon.</p> - -<p>"One only cares what one's friends say," she explained, "and I haven't -any friends—except you, Antonia."</p> - -<p>"Are you utterly indifferent to the name of an honorable man who was -your husband?"</p> - -<p>"While my husband lived I tried to do my duty to him," said Doris -firmly. "I gave my whole life to it, and my reward is that he tries to -reach out of the grave and prevent my having the normal freedom that -any woman of my age ought to have." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> - -<p>Williams had only to look into her set little face to see that it was -hopeless to argue with her, but he had hopes of Hale. He had formed a -favorable opinion of the young man and simply did not believe he was a -party to any such plan.</p> - -<p>"I should like to have a talk with Hale," he said.</p> - -<p>"He's gone out of town," answered Doris. "He won't be back until a day -or two before we sail."</p> - -<p>Antonia gave a sound between a bleat and a whinny.</p> - -<p>"You're sailing on the same steamer?"</p> - -<p>"Of course—with my secretary."</p> - -<p>She left the room.</p> - -<p>In the course of the next few minutes Williams was surprised to -discover the words included in the vocabulary of so majestic a woman as -Antonia. There was nothing she did not call her sister-in-law, although -she ended each sentence with an assertion that she wouldn't really do -it.</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't count on that," said Williams. "Most people are restrained -by the opinion of their social group; but, as Mrs. Southgate says, she -doesn't seem to have any group."</p> - -<p>"Do you forget there is such a thing as a moral sense?" asked Antonia.</p> - -<p>"If you had listened attentively," he replied, "you would have gathered -as I did that there is nothing contrary to morals in this plan of your -sister-in-law's—a lack of convention, yes."</p> - -<p>"We will not allow it," said Antonia.</p> - -<p>It was Williams' duty to point out that persuasion was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> the only method -open to them. His sympathies were with the lovers, but he felt it his -duty to mention to Miss Southgate his conviction that the best way to -stop the whole thing was to send for Dominic Hale.</p> - -<p>"This is not Hale's plan," he said. "I am sure he would not stand for -it. If you send for him and have a talk you will find that he believes -they are going to be married before they sail."</p> - -<p>But Miss Southgate was too angry to listen to him. She tossed the -suggestion aside with the utmost contempt.</p> - -<p>"How can you be so innocent?" she exclaimed. "The whole plan is his. -Doris would never have the imagination to think of such a thing. She -has simply fallen into the hands of a designing man. She has no will of -her own. You are utterly mistaken."</p> - -<p>Well, perhaps he was; but he wanted to find Hale and have a talk with -him; but as he could find no trace of the young man, he was obliged to -content himself with an interview with Doris. He wanted to point out to -her that she was ruining Hale irretrievably. It was the sort of thing a -man could never live down. It would be said that he preferred to live -on the dead husband's money rather than to make the widow his wife. He -put it as badly as he could, but Doris was unshaken. She nodded her -head.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I know," she said. "No one will understand. He sacrifices his -reputation too—not any more than I do, Mr. Williams, though perhaps -not any less. We must learn to live without the world, but we can—we -shall have each other." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> - -<p>Williams thumped his hand on his knee.</p> - -<p>"I can't believe it of him," he said. "Such a disgusting rôle! So -unmanly!"</p> - -<p>Doris smiled at him sadly.</p> - -<p>"Does it seem unmanly to you?" she said meditatively. "It seems to me -it wouldn't be manly to say no to a woman who loves him and has been as -unhappy as I have been."</p> - -<p>Yes, Williams could see that point of view too. Hale might say to -himself that a girl who had lived those years of self-abnegation had a -right to his love and Southgate's money, if she wanted them both; that -it wasn't his part to take a noble stand for which she must pay. There -was a certain nobility in not caring what the world said of him.</p> - -<p>And yet—</p> - -<p>He tried one last argument.</p> - -<p>"Well, then for yourself; can't you see that it's contemptible to cling -so to a fortune? What's poverty, after all? You're young. Marry the -young man."</p> - -<p>She stared at him.</p> - -<p>"But, Mr. Williams," she said, "that's exactly what I promised Antonia -I wouldn't do."</p> - -<p>"Break your promise."</p> - -<p>She looked really shocked.</p> - -<p>"What a funny thing for you to say—a lawyer!" She shook her head. -"I never broke my word in all my life. Besides, Antonia says that -Alexander particularly disliked the idea of my remarriage."</p> - -<p>Williams thought this was too trifling.</p> - -<p>"You can hardly suppose," he said stiffly, "that you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> will be -fulfilling the wishes of your husband by going to Spain with a man to -whom you are not married."</p> - -<p>She raised her shoulders as if beset by inconsistencies.</p> - -<p>"What can I do?"</p> - -<p>"You can give up the whole thing."</p> - -<p>"Give up Dominic? No! I gave him up once because I thought it was -better for him. I don't think I'd do it again, even for that—certainly -not for anything else. I love him, Mr. Williams, and I'm of rather a -persistent sort of nature."</p> - -<p>Williams reported his failure to Antonia. He began to feel sorry for -Antonia. Her age, her previous power and, above all, her mere bulk -made it seem somehow humiliating that she could make no impression on -this calm, steely chit of a girl. He was struck, too, by the depth and -sincerity of her emotion.</p> - -<p>"Don't care so much, my dear Miss Southgate," he said. "You've done -your best to protect your brother's memory. Wash your hands of it all -and go back to California. Forget there ever was such a person."</p> - -<p>And then he saw what perhaps he had been stupid not to see before, that -under all Miss Southgate's anger and family pride was a more creditable -feeling—a love of Doris Helen, an almost maternal desire to protect -her. As soon as Williams understood this—and he did not understand for -some weeks—he advised compromise.</p> - -<p>"Offer her half the income and let her marry the fellow."</p> - -<p>Antonia's eyes flashed.</p> - -<p>"Let myself be blackmailed?" she said. "You admit they are trying to -blackmail me?" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I admit they are in the stronger position," said Williams, as if in -the experience of a lawyer it was pretty much the same thing.</p> - -<p>"I shall not yield—for her own sake," answered Antonia.</p> - -<p>In spite of the bitter issue between them the two women continued to -live in the same house, and to discuss with interest and sometimes with -affection all those endless daily details which two people who live -in the same house must discuss. It was the preparations for the trip -that finally drove Antonia to the wall: Doris' passport, her letter of -credit from Southgate's bank, and the trunks all marked with the name -of Southgate—"in red, with a bright-red band," Antonia explained to -Williams, "so that no one can fail to notice them."</p> - -<p>The final item was a dozen black-bordered pocket handkerchiefs. -Williams, coming in late one afternoon, at the time when the shops are -making their last delivery, found Antonia sobbing on the sofa and the -little widow erect and pale, with the small, flat, square box open -between them.</p> - -<p>He looked questioningly at Doris, and she answered, pointing to the -handkerchiefs, "It seems as if she did not want me to wear mourning. -But I can hardly go into colors when Alexander has been dead such a -short time."</p> - -<p>Antonia sobbed out without raising her head, "Can she go careering -about Europe in widow's mourning with that dreadful young man in bright -colours?"</p> - -<p>"Dominic's clothes are not bright," said Doris gently.</p> - -<p>"They're not black like yours," returned Antonia.</p> - -<p>The widow looked up at Williams. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I don't think it's necessary for Dominic to wear black for my -husband," she said, as one open to reason. "One puts one's footman in -black, but not one's secretary."</p> - -<p>At that terrible word "secretary" Antonia gave way.</p> - -<p>"I can't let her do it!" she wailed. "In crape and he in colors—at -hotels! Oh, Doris, it's horrible—what you're doing, but I must save -you from utter ruin! I will make proper legal arrangements to give you -half the income from the estate, and you can marry this—this person."</p> - -<p>She covered her large statuesque face with her large white hands. Doris -patted the heaving shoulder, but she did not leap at the offer. For an -instant Williams thought she was going to bargain. She was, but not for -money.</p> - -<p>"Antonia, it's very kind of you," she said; "but I don't see how I -could take your money—money which at least legally would have become -yours—to do something that you hated."</p> - -<p>"You can't expect me to approve of your marriage."</p> - -<p>"If you don't, I won't do it," said Doris. "I'll just go—the way I -said."</p> - -<p>And on this she obstinately took her stand. Nor would she be content -with Antonia's cry that she disapproved less of marriage than of this -other horrible immoral plan.</p> - -<p>"There was nothing immoral in my plan," answered Doris proudly, "and I -cannot let you say so."</p> - -<p>She insisted on being approved, and at length Antonia approved of -her—or said she did. And so the papers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> were drawn up and signed, -and the arrangements for the wedding went forward, and at last Hale -returned.</p> - -<p>Williams had been waiting eagerly for this. He was more curious than -he had ever been in his life. His whole estimate of his own judgment -of men was at stake. Did Hale know, or didn't he? Five minutes alone -with the young artist would tell him, but those five minutes were -hard to get; Doris Helen was always there. Even when Williams made an -appointment with Hale at his office, the young widow was with him.</p> - -<p>They were married early one morning, and their vessel was to sail at -noon. Then at last, while Doris was changing her clothes, Hale was left -alone in the front drawing-room with Antonia and the lawyer. Antonia, -who still clung to her belief that her sister-in-law was an innocent -instrument in the hands of a wicked man, would not speak to Hale, but -sat erect, with her eyes fixed on her brother's portrait. It was Hale -who opened the conversation.</p> - -<p>"Miss Southgate," he said, with his engaging energy, "I can understand -you don't like me much for taking Doris away, but I do hope you'll let -me tell you how nobly I think you have behaved."</p> - -<p>Antonia stared at him as if in her emptied safe she had discovered a -bread-and-butter letter from the burglar. Then without an articulated -word she rose and swept out of the room. Hale sighed.</p> - -<p>"I do wish she didn't hate me so," he said. "Doris tells me she says -she approves of our marriage, but she doesn't behave as if she did."</p> - -<p>"At least," said Williams, "she made it possible." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hale took him up quickly.</p> - -<p>"Not a bit of it. It was settled quite irrespective of her—that day -when you saw me kiss Doris in the hall. It was all arranged then; only, -of course, we thought we were going to be hard up. I shall never forget -that, Mr. Williams—that Doris was willing to give up that enormous -income for me."</p> - -<p>"Was she?" said Williams. And as Hale nodded to himself he went on, -"Why did you go away like that for a month?"</p> - -<p>"Doris wanted me to," he answered. "She thought it was only fair to -Miss Southgate. I felt perfectly safe. I had her promise, and she -thought she might bring Miss Southgate round to approving of the -marriage. I never thought she'd succeed; but, you see, she did. She's a -very remarkable woman, is Doris."</p> - -<p>"She is, indeed," said Williams cordially.</p> - -<p>Presently she came downstairs—the very remarkable woman—hand in hand -with Antonia, and she and Hale drove away to the steamer.</p> - -<p>Williams found himself holding Antonia's large, heavy, white hand.</p> - -<p>"I think you've been wonderful, Miss Southgate," he said.</p> - -<p>She wiped her eyes.</p> - -<p>"I did not want to make it impossible for her to come back," she said, -"when she finds that man out."</p> - -<p>The lawyer did not answer, for it was his opinion that if there was to -be any finding out it would be done by Hale.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> - -<h2>WHOSE PETARD WAS IT?</h2> - -<p>Aunt Georgy Hadley was rather unpopular with her own generation -because she did not think the younger one so terrible. "I can't see," -she insisted, "that they are so different from what we were." For -an unmarried lady of forty to admit that she had ever had anything -in common with the young people of the present day shocked her -contemporaries.</p> - -<p>Aunt Georgy was a pale, plain, brilliant-eyed woman, who liked to -talk, to listen to other people talk, and to read. She simply hated -to do anything else. As a girl she had always said that the dream of -her life was to be bedridden; and so when, after she had ceased to be -young, she had broken her hip so badly as to make walking difficult -many people regarded it as a judgment from heaven. Georgy herself said -it was a triumph of mind over matter; she was now freed from all active -obligations, while it became the duty of her friends and relations to -come and sit beside her sofa and tell her the news, of which, since she -lived in a small town, there was always a great deal.</p> - -<p>Her two sisters, married and mothers both, differed with her most -violently about the younger generation. Her sister Fanny, who had -produced three robust, handsome members of the gang under discussion, -asked passionately, "Did we carry flasks to parties?"</p> - -<p>"How silly it would have been if we had, when it was always there -waiting for us," answered Georgy. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> - -<p>Her sister Evelyn, who had produced one perfect flower—little -Evie—demanded, "Did we motor thirty miles at midnight to dance in -disreputable road houses?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Georgina, "because in our day we did not have motors; but we -did pretty well with the environment at our disposal. I remember that -Evelyn was once becalmed on the Sound all night in a catboat with a -young man, and Fanny was caught just stepping off to a masked ball in -the Garden, only—"</p> - -<p>"I was not," said Fanny, as one who slams the door in the face of an -unwelcome guest.</p> - -<p>"Imagine Georgy's mind being just a sink for all those old scandals!" -said Evelyn pleasantly, but without taking up the question of the truth -or falsity of the facts stated.</p> - -<p>Although Georgy was the youngest of the three Hadley sisters she, being -unmarried, had inherited the red-brick house in Maple Street. It had a -small grass plot in front—at least, it would have been a grass plot -if the roots of the two maple trees which stood in it had not long ago -come through the soil. There was, however, a nice old-fashioned garden -at the back of the house; and the sitting room looked out on this. Here -Aunt Georgy's sofa stood, beside the fire in winter and beside the -window in summer. The room was rather crowded with books and light blue -satin furniture, and steel engravings of Raphael Madonnas and the Death -of Saint Jerome; and over the mantelpiece hung a portrait by Sully of -Aunt Georgy's grandmother, looking, everyone said, exactly as little -Evie looked today.</p> - -<p>It was to the circle round the blue satin sofa that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> people came, -bearing news—from nieces and nephews fresh from some new atrocity, -to the mayor of the town, worried over the gift of a too costly -museum. Jefferson was the sort of town that bred news. In the first -place, it was old—Washington had stopped there on his way to or from -Philadelphia once—so it had magnificent old-fashioned ideals and -traditions to be violated, as they constantly were. In the second -place, it was near New York; most of the population commuted daily, -thus keeping in close touch with all the more dangerous features of -metropolitan life. And last, everyone had known everyone else since the -cradle, and most of them were related to one another.</p> - -<p>There was never any dearth of news, and everyone came to recount, not -to consult. Aunt Georgy did not like to be consulted. One presented -life to her as a narrative, not as a problem. There was no use in -asking her for advice, because she simply would not give it.</p> - -<p>"No," she would say, holding up a thin, rather bony hand, "I can't -advise you. I lose all the wonderful surge and excitement of your story -if I know I shall have to do something useful about it at the end. It's -like reading a book for review—quite destroys my pleasure, my sense of -drama."</p> - -<p>That was exactly what she conveyed to those who talked to her—a -sense of the drama, not of her life but of their own. The smallest -incident—the sort that most of one's friends don't even hear when it -is told to them—became so significant, so amusing when recounted to -Aunt Georgy that you went on and on—and told her things. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> - -<p>Even her sisters, shocked as they constantly were by something they -described as "Georgy's disloyalty to the way we were all brought up," -told her everything. Step by step, the progress, or the decadence, by -which the customs of one generation change into the customs of the next -one was fought out by the three ladies, <i>née</i> Hadley, at the side of -that blue satin sofa.</p> - -<p>It began with cigarettes for girls and the new dances for both sexes. -At that remote epoch none of the nieces and nephews were old enough -either to smoke or dance; so, although the line of the battle had been -the same—Fanny and Evelyn anti and Georgy pro—the battle itself had -not been so bitter and personal as it afterward became.</p> - -<p>The first time that Fanny's life was permanently blighted was when -Norma, her eldest child, was called out and publicly rebuked in dancing -school for shimmying. She wept—Fanny of course, not Norma, who didn't -mind at all—and said that she could never hold up her head again. But -she must have lifted it, for it was bowed every few months for many -years subsequently. Aunt Georgy at once sent for her niece and insisted -on having a private performance of the offensive dance, over which she -laughed heartily. It looked to her, she said, so much like the old -horse trying to shake off a horsefly.</p> - -<p>The next time that the social fabric in Jefferson tottered and Fanny's -head was again bowed was at the discovery that the younger set was not -wearing corsets. Fanny tiptoed over and shut the sitting-room door -before she breathed this bad news into her sister's ear. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> - -<p>"None of them," she said.</p> - -<p>"But you wouldn't want the boys to, would you?" answered Georgy.</p> - -<p>Fanny explained that she meant the girls didn't.</p> - -<p>"Mercy!" exclaimed her sister. "We were all scolded because we did. -Elderly gentlemen used to write embarrassing articles about how we were -sacrificing the health of the next generation to our vanity, and how -the Venus de Milo was the ideal feminine figure; and now these girls -are just as much scolded—"</p> - -<p>"The worst of it is," said Fanny, rolling her eyes and not listening, -"that they take them off and leave them in the dressing room. They say -that at the Brownes' the other evening there was a pile that high."</p> - -<p>Still, in spite of her disapproval, Fanny's head was not so permanently -bowed this time, because every mother in Jefferson was in the same -situation. But craps struck Fanny a shrewder blow, because her child, -Norma, was a conspicuous offender here, whereas little Evie, her -sister's child, didn't care for craps. She said it wasn't amusing.</p> - -<p>In order to decide the point Aunt Georgy asked Norma to teach her the -game, and they were thus engaged when Mr. Gordon, the hollow-cheeked -young clergyman, came to pay his first parochial visit. He said he -wasn't at all shocked, and turned to Evie, who was sitting demurely -behind the tea table eager to give him a cup of Aunt Georgy's excellent -tea.</p> - -<p>There was something a little mid-Victorian about Evie, and the only -blot on Aunt Georgy's perfect liberalism was that in her heart she -preferred her to the more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> modern nieces. Evie parted her thick -light-brown hair in the middle and had a little pointed chin, like a -picture in an old annual or a flattered likeness of Queen Victoria as a -girl. She was small and decidedly pretty, though not a beauty like her -large, rollicking, black-haired cousin Norma.</p> - -<p>Norma's love affairs—if they were love affairs, and whether they were -or not was a topic often discussed about the blue satin sofa—were -carried on with the utmost candor. Suddenly one day it would become -evident that Norma was dancing, golfing, motoring with a new young man. -Everybody would report to Aunt Gregory the number of hours a day that -he and Norma spent together, and Aunt Gregory would say to Norma, "Are -you in love with him, Norma?" and Norma would answer "Yes" or "No" or -"I'm trying to find out."</p> - -<p>"There's no mystery about this generation," Fanny would say.</p> - -<p>"Why should there be?" Norma would say, and would stamp out again, and -would be heard hailing the young man of the minute, "We're considered -minus on romance, Bill"; and ten of them would get into a car intended -for four and drive away, looking like a basketful of puppies.</p> - -<p>But about little Evie's love affairs there was some mystery. Aunt -Georgy did not know that Evie had ever spoken to the mayor—a -middle-aged banker of great wealth—and yet one day when he came to -tell Miss Hadley about the museum he told her instead about how Evie -had refused to marry him, and how unhappy he was. The nice young -clergyman, too, who preached so interestingly and pleased the parish in -every detail, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> thinking of getting himself transferred to a city in -California because the sight of an attentive but unattainable Evie in -the front pew every Sunday almost broke his heart.</p> - -<p>Aunt Georgy exonerated Evie from blame as far as the mayor was -concerned, but she wasn't so sure about the Reverend Mr. Gordon.</p> - -<p>"Evie," she said, "did you try to enmesh that nice-looking man of God?"</p> - -<p>Evie shook her head.</p> - -<p>"I don't get anywhere if I try, Aunt Georgy," she answered. "It has to -come of itself or not at all. If Norma sees a man she fancies she swims -out after him like a Newfoundland dog. But I have to sit on the shore -until the tide washes something up at my feet. I don't always like what -it washes up either."</p> - -<p>The simile amused Aunt Georgy, but the more she reflected the more she -doubted its accuracy. Those tides that washed things up—Evie had some -mysterious control of them, whether she knew it or not. Evie's method -and Norma's differed enormously in technic, but wasn't the elemental -aggression about the same?</p> - -<p>Life in Jefferson was never more interesting to Aunt Georgy than when -psychoanalysis swept over them. Of course, they had all known about -it, and read Freud, or articles about Freud; but the whole subject was -revived and made personal by the arrival of Lisburn. Lisburn was not -a doctor of medicine but of philosophy. He was an assistant professor -of psychology in a New York college. He had written his dissertation -on The <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>Unconscious as Portrayed in Poetic Images. With an astonishing -erudition he brought all poetry from Homer to Edna St. Vincent Millay -into line with the new psychology. Besides this, he was an exceedingly -handsome young man—tall, dark, decided, and a trifle offhand and -contemptuous in his manner. What girl could ask more? Norma did not -ask a bit more. The moment she saw him she—in Evie's language—swam -out after him. She met him at dinner one evening, and the next day -her conversation was all about dreams and fixations and inhibitions. -Mothers began to assemble rapidly about the blue satin sofa. Craps had -been vulgar, the shimmy immoral, but this was the worst of all.</p> - -<p>"Georgy," said Fanny solemnly, "they go and sit on that young man's -piazza, and they talk about things—things which you and I did not know -existed, and if we did know they existed we did not know words for -them; and if we did know words for them we did not take the slightest -interest in them."</p> - -<p>"Then there can't be any harm in them," said Georgy, "because I'm sure -when we were girls we took an interest in everything there was any harm -in. But it sounds to me just like a new way of holding hands—like -palmistry in our day. You remember when you took up palmistry, Evelyn. -It made me so jealous to see you holding my young men's hands!"</p> - -<p>"It's not at all the same thing," answered Evelyn. "There was nothing -in palmistry that wasn't perfectly nice."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, there was," said Georgy. "There was that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> line, you know, -round the base of the two middle fingers. We all felt a little shocked -if we had it and a little disappointed if we hadn't."</p> - -<p>But her sisters were too much worried to be amused. Their children, -they said, were talking about things that could not be named. Fanny did -name them, however, and was grimly glad to see that even Georgy, the -liberal, reeled under the blow.</p> - -<p>She recovered enough to say, "Well, after all, is it so different? We -called people Puritans instead of saying that they had inhibitions. -We didn't say a boy had a fixation on the mother, but we called him -mother's little carpet knight. And as for dreams, Fanny, when a -young man told me he had a dream about me I did not need a doctor of -philosophy to tell me what that meant."</p> - -<p>Even Fanny was obliged to confess that her younger son Robert had been -cured of his incipient stammer after a few interviews with Lisburn. And -the young Carters, who, after three months of marriage, were confiding -to everyone their longing for divorce, had been reconciled. There was a -dream in this—about a large white gardenia—and there was an incident -connected with it—a girl in a florist's shop—</p> - -<p>About this time the mayor, still worrying over the upkeep of the -museum, wanted some sort of entertainment given in order to raise -money. It was suggested that a lecture on psychoanalysis by Lisburn -would be popular. Norma was delegated to go and ask him—make him, was -the way the committee put it. Needless to say, she returned triumphant.</p> - -<p>Aunt Georgy was among the first to arrive at the town<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> hall on the -evening the lecture took place. She had become curious about the young -man and wanted a front seat. She limped up the aisle, leaning on her -grandfather's heavy ivory-headed cane, with little Evie beside her. -Norma was busy taking—one might almost say snatching—tickets at the -door. It is a peculiar feature of modern life that so much time is -spent first in getting lecturers to consent to lecture and then in -drumming up an audience to hear them. But this time the audience was -not difficult to get. They came in crowds.</p> - -<p>The mayor opened the meeting. He was not a ready speaker, and the -sight of Evie, sitting so attentive in the front row, embarrassed him -hideously. He said a few panting words about the needs of the museum -and turned the meeting over to the Reverend Mr. Gordon, who was going -to introduce the speaker—who was going, in fact, to do a little bit -more than that.</p> - -<p>He advanced to the edge of the platform, looked down at Evie and -smiled—after all, he wasn't in the pulpit—folded his hands as if lawn -frills ought to have been dripping from them, and began:</p> - -<p>"It is my great pleasure and privilege to introduce the speaker of the -evening, although I myself am not at all in sympathy with the subject -about which—which—about which he—"</p> - -<p>Aunt Georgy had a second of agony. Could he avoid using the verb "to -speak"? It seemed impossible; but she underrated his mental agility.</p> - -<p>"—about which he is to make his interesting and instructive address." -Mr. Gordon pulled down his waistcoat with a slight gesture of triumph. -"The church," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> continued, "has never been in very cordial sympathy -with what I may be permitted, perhaps, to call these lay miracle -workers."</p> - -<p>Here he threw a smile over his shoulder to Lisburn—a smile intended -to be friendly and reassuring; but as it had in it something acid and -scornful, it only served to make his words more hostile. "The church -endures," he went on, "and watches in each generation the rise and fall -of a new science, a new philosophy, a new panacea, a new popular fad -like this one."</p> - -<p>Having done what he could to discredit the lecture, he gave the -lecturer himself a flattering sentence: "A professor in one of our -great universities, a new resident in this community, and my very good -friend, Mr. Kenneth Lisburn."</p> - -<p>The Reverend Mr. Gordon had been standing between Aunt Georgy and the -speaker, so that she did not really get a good look at him until he -stood up.</p> - -<p>Then she said "Mercy!" in a hissing whisper in Evie's ear.</p> - -<p>"Mercy what?" asked little Evie, rather coldly.</p> - -<p>"So good-looking!" murmured Aunt Georgy.</p> - -<p>Evie moved her shoulders about.</p> - -<p>"Roughhewn," she whispered back.</p> - -<p>Perhaps his features were a trifle rugged; but Aunt Georgy admired his -hair—black as a crow under the bright though sometimes intermittent -light of the Jefferson Light and Power Company. His eyes—black -also—gleamed from deep sockets—"Like a rat's in a cave," Evie said. -Lecturing was evidently nothing of an adventure to him. It did not -embarrass him as it had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>embarrassed the mayor; it did not stimulate -him to an eloquence too suave and fluent as it did Mr. Gordon. It -created not the least change in his personality. He stood on the -platform as he swung in his chair in his college room, ready to say -what he had to say as simply and as clearly as he could.</p> - -<p>He wasn't so sure, he began, that his subject was popular. He found -most people enjoyed the exploration of other people's unconscious, not -of their own. In fact you could generally tell whether you were right -in a diagnosis or not by the passion with which the victim contradicted -you and the rapidity with which he invented explanations other than -the true one. He was not, however, going to talk about psychoanalysis -in general—rather too large a subject—with its relations to art and -medicine. He was going to talk about the simple, commonplace actions of -everyday life as clews to the unconscious—first, the so-called trivial -ones. Nothing is really trivial. The tunes we whistle, the songs we -sing, nine times out of ten have a wish-thought behind them. An amusing -case of this had come to him the other day. A man had consulted him -because he was being driven mad by a tune that ran in his head night -and day. It was the Funeral March of a Marionette. Well, when it turned -out that he was unhappily married and that his wife's name was Dolly -it wasn't very hard to see whose funeral it was that he was mentally -staging.</p> - -<p>Aunt Georgy was perfectly delighted. She saw that psychoanalysis was -going to make life in Jefferson infinitely more entertaining. The -sphere of gossip was so remarkably extended. In old times one could -only talk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> about what had been done, said or written; but now what was -dreamed, what was desired, and, best of all, what was entirely omitted -could be made as interesting as a crime. She wriggled down into her -chair with pleasure as he went on to take up the question of the types -that people fell in love with. Of course, we have all noticed how -people tend to fall in love again and again with the same type. The -spoiled weak son is forever looking for a mother type to take care of -him; the girl brought up under the domination of the father idea is -attracted by nothing but protective older types of men.</p> - -<p>Lisburn went on to describe such cases in greater detail so accurately -that all through the audience married couples were nodding to one -another and themselves. He described also a variant of this: How some -people always abused the type that attracted them most; the virile man -who is forever making fun of feminine weaknesses, the womanly woman -always taking on about man's wickedness; they're afraid of the black -magic they attack; they are trying to exorcise the spell—</p> - -<p>As soon as the lecture was over, and while eager members of the -audience were crowding to the platform to discuss with the speaker the -cases of mysterious friends who had dreamed this and forgotten that, -Aunt Georgy beckoned to Norma.</p> - -<p>"Do," she said, "go and disentangle that interesting young man from his -votaries, or whatever they are, and bring him down to be introduced to -me."</p> - -<p>"It was interesting, wasn't it?" said Norma, with an effort at -detachment. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I can never be sufficiently grateful," answered Aunt Georgy. "It is so -satisfactory the way he lays the strictly virtuous open to attack—the -sort of people we've wanted to catch in a scandal and never been able -to."</p> - -<p>Norma nodded.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," she said, "Ken thinks people like that have a very foul -unconscious."</p> - -<p>Aunt Georgy gave a slight snort and asked Norma if she remembered the -Bab Ballad about:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div><i>For only scoundrels dare to do</i></div> -<div><i>What we consider just and true;</i></div> -<div><i>And only good men do in fact,</i></div> -<div><i>What we should think a dirty act.</i></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But Norma did not enjoy a humorous approach to a subject which she had -only recently made her own. She withdrew; frowning slightly, and saying -that she would try to get a word with him.</p> - -<p>"Oh, don't let's wait," said Evie after a few minutes, during which the -crowd on the platform increased.</p> - -<p>And so Aunt Georgy was led home by the mayor and her small niece -without getting a word with the speaker. But she was a determined -woman; and though Lisburn was a busy man, between lecturing at his -college in the daytime and conferences with mentally maladjusted in -Jefferson in the evening and giving a good many spare hours to Norma, -a free afternoon was finally found and Norma brought him to tea. -Little Evie, who happened to be spending a week or two with her aunt, -immediately announced her intention of being out. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I don't like that man," she said.</p> - -<p>Aunt Georgy, always eager for information, inquired why she didn't.</p> - -<p>Evie thought a long time, and then said, "Because he invades one's -private life."</p> - -<p>"Does Norma feel that way?"</p> - -<p>Little Evie laughed. "Norma hasn't got a private life," she answered.</p> - -<p>At five o'clock, when Aunt Georgy was settled on her blue sofa, with -her cane beside her and her tea set in front, Evie stole quietly out -of the back door into the garden as Norma and the seer entered at the -front.</p> - -<p>"Well, here he is, Aunt Georgy," Norma shouted from the threshold, as -if she had done a good deal for an elderly relation.</p> - -<p>He came in and shook hands, unruffled by Norma's introduction.</p> - -<p>"Where's Evie?" Norma went on in a tone rather like a sheriff's officer.</p> - -<p>"She was so sorry—she had an engagement," said Aunt Georgy, quite as -if it were true.</p> - -<p>Norma gave a short shout.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Ken knows she doesn't like him," she said; "and as a matter of -fact, he isn't very keen about her."</p> - -<p>Lisburn looked at Miss Hadley, not exactly embarrassed, but as if to -say that when you told a thing to Norma you told it to the whole world. -Aunt Georgy was interested in his not denying the accusation. She had -never before happened to meet a man who actually did not like Evie. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You don't admire my little niece?" she said, in her tone of seeking -information merely.</p> - -<p>"No," shouted Norma from the hearthrug. "He thinks she's too colorless, -too much tied up with inhibitions to be interesting."</p> - -<p>"Of course, I see your niece's great charm," he answered; "but, as -I said the other night, we all have our own type—the type that -particularly appeals—and I am attracted to a more active, aggressive -type."</p> - -<p>"That's why he likes me," said Norma, with her mouth not empty of -chocolate cake—"because I lead a great, free, ramping life. Isn't that -true, Ken?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure it's true you lead a great, free, ramping life, Norma," said -her aunt.</p> - -<p>"Yes, and that's why I'm so healthy," answered Norma, and she danced a -little on her flat-heeled shoes. They were large shoes, but then, she -was a large woman.</p> - -<p>Aunt Georgy was surprised to find herself a partisan. It annoyed her to -hear her favorite niece dismissed as attractive to other men but not to -this reader of human hearts.</p> - -<p>She said almost pettishly, "Evie is healthy, too—one of the healthiest -people I ever knew."</p> - -<p>"I bet she has dreams," said Norma.</p> - -<p>"I doubt it."</p> - -<p>"Everybody dreams, Aunt Georgy," said Norma, really astonished at her -aunt's ignorance of the facts of life. "If you don't remember your -dreams, that only shows that they are so awful that you don't allow -them to come up into your conscious at all." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> - -<p>Aunt Georgy was opening her mouth to contradict, but found that Lisburn -was speaking.</p> - -<p>"That's the theory, Miss Hadley," he said, less positively than Norma; -"that everyone dreams, and that our dreams represent our unfulfilled -and unacknowledged desires. A type like—like Miss—"</p> - -<p>"Like Evie," said Norma, a foe to last names.</p> - -<p>"That type," Lisburn went on—"so restrained, so inhibited, so what -is called well-bred, is particularly likely to have dreams and almost -certain to be unwilling to admit having them."</p> - -<p>He stopped as a slight sound at the door that led to the garden made -them all turn. Little Evie was standing there—had evidently been -standing there for some time. She had on a sky-blue dress, a large -childish hat and her arms were full of cherry blossoms. She looked more -than usually like a fashion plate of the '40's.</p> - -<p>Norma immediately shouted at her, "You do dream, don't you, Evie? Be -honest for once in your life."</p> - -<p>Aunt Georgy, who was herself an honest person, was aware of an utterly -unsuppressed wish that, whatever the facts were, Evie would say that -she had never had a dream in her life. Instead the girl, with her blue -eyes fixed on Lisburn, was nodding slowly.</p> - -<p>"I've begun to dream lately," she said in a low tone.</p> - -<p>Norma was delighted.</p> - -<p>"I knew it," she said. "I'd have bet on it. It's extraordinary how one -gets to know these things. Tell us what your dream is about, Evie."</p> - -<p>"Mercy!" exclaimed Aunt Georgy. "Isn't a person allowed more than one -dream nowadays?" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> - -<p>Evie sank down on the sofa at her aunt's feet.</p> - -<p>"Mine's always the same," she murmured.</p> - -<p>"Ah," said Lisburn, "a recurrent dream." He looked at her with -interest. "Does it trouble you?"</p> - -<p>Evie made a cooing sound like a dove, in doubt. Norma began to tease -her to tell. Aunt Georgy thought she was tiresome, nagging and -bothering like that. She told her to let Evie alone. Norma shrugged her -shoulders.</p> - -<p>"It's so characteristic of that introverted type," she said, "not to be -willing to be frank enough to be cured."</p> - -<p>"Can one be cured?" asked Evie, and she raised her eyes to Lisburn.</p> - -<p>He was a busy man, and he had stood up to go.</p> - -<p>"I might—if it troubles you—be able to help you."</p> - -<p>"Even," said Evie, "though you are not interested in my type?"</p> - -<p>"Oh," cried Norma, "isn't that like you, Evie! You overheard the whole -thing, and instead of having it out then and there, as I should have, -you wait and give him a poisoned dig in the ribs when he's trying to be -nice to you."</p> - -<p>Evie repeated in exactly the same tone: "Even though you are not -interested in my type?"</p> - -<p>"I'm always interested in a case," he answered.</p> - -<p>They exchanged unfriendly looks. Then he came to the sofa to say -good-by to Aunt Georgy. She was rummaging for a pencil among the litter -of papers and books beside her. She wanted to write down the name of -his book, but he insisted very civilly on sending it to her. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> - -<p>When he and Norma had gone Aunt Georgy turned to Evie.</p> - -<p>"I'm glad," she said, "that you did not tell them what your dream was -about. They would have been sure to make something horrid out of it."</p> - -<p>"I couldn't tell them."</p> - -<p>"You mean it is horrid?"</p> - -<p>"I hadn't made it up yet," answered Evie. "Dear Aunt Georgy, I never, -never dream. I'm always asleep before I get the covers well tucked in -at the nape of my neck, and I never wake up until someone comes in -and opens the shutters. Norma was so determined that I should have a -dream—perhaps she won't be so pleased. Mine is going to be a hard one -to interpret. Interested in cases, is he? Well, mine is going to be an -interesting one. Wait till we get his book."</p> - -<p>The book was left at the door after dinner, and Aunt Georgy plunged at -once into it. She habitually read as a famished animal eats, tearing -the heart out of a book, utterly oblivious of the world until she had -finished. At last she looked up.</p> - -<p>"Really, Evie," she exclaimed, "I'm afraid you can't get a dream out of -this. I'm not old-fashioned, but I must say—" She did not say what it -was she must say.</p> - -<p>Evie took the book calmly.</p> - -<p>"Of course, I shall be perfectly innocent as to what my dream means, -Aunt Georgy," she said. "Let's see. X, a young employe in a shoe -factory, dreamed— My goodness, what an unpleasant man X must have -been! Now this isn't bad— Or, no, that would involve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> mother. I -don't want to drag poor mother into it. Something wonderful might be -done with a tune—Old Black Joe, if only his name were Joe, which it -isn't.... And I shall begin to do a strange and apparently meaningless -thing—to have a compulsion. I mean—like buttering my bread on both -sides—"</p> - -<p>"Don't you think it's a little dangerous?" said Aunt Georgy. "They -interpret everything so oddly."</p> - -<p>"Yes, it's dangerous; but everything is. If you do nothing, that's the -worst of all." And Evie sank into the book.</p> - -<p>A few days later, when Lisburn reached home in the late afternoon, he -found a note waiting for him at his house. It was written in Evie's -neat, fine hand, and said:</p> - -<blockquote><p><i>Dear Mr. Lisburn</i>: Do you remember offering to help me in case -the dream—of which I think I spoke to you—began to give me -trouble? I must say I hesitate to take up your time, as the whole -thing seems so trivial [Lisburn gave a little shake of his head, -an indication that such experiences were far from trivial] but it -would be a relief to me to talk it over with you, and I shall stop -at your house for a few minutes this evening on the chance that -you may have a spare minute.</p></blockquote> - -<p>He laid the letter on the table and eyed it sideways as he lit his -pipe. Then he went to the telephone and called up Norma. He said he was -sorry, but that he wouldn't be able to come that evening for bridge. -Norma, as she herself had observed, did not suffer from inhibitions. -Her emotions found easy expression, and her emotion on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> this occasion -was disappointment mingled with anger. She expressed it freely over -the telephone. Lisburn hung up the receiver sharply. Self-expression -was all very well, he thought; but there was such a thing as having no -self-control. It was necessary for him to have a calm and receptive -mind in order to be of any assistance to this child who was coming -to consult him. He must make a mental picture of her personality and -recall her gestures, her vocabulary.</p> - -<p>Soon after eight he heard her step on the piazza and went to the door -himself. She entered with that timid, conscious, apologetic manner -which had become so familiar to him in his patients. It seemed as if -she would have liked to make fun of herself for coming if only she had -been less frightened at finding herself there. The hand she gave him -shook. He drew forward a deep comfortable chair for her.</p> - -<p>"Now tell me everything you can think of," he said; "your own way; I -won't interrupt."</p> - -<p>She drew an uncertain breath.</p> - -<p>"Well, I didn't think anything about it—you know how casually I spoke -the other day—but now I find it is beginning to affect my conduct. -I find I cannot bring myself to get into an automobile. I have never -driven a car myself, but I have always enjoyed driving with other -people; but now— This dream of mine is about a car."</p> - -<p>She described the dream at great length, though it was strangely -lacking in incident. It was merely that she was driving a small car of -her own—a very pretty white car with a good deal of blue about it. She -was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> driving along a wide street, and suddenly the car began to skid, -slowly at first and then faster and faster; and though her agony became -extreme and she turned the steering wheel more and more, she could do -nothing—the car made straight for the bushes, where some terrific but -unseen and unknown object was lurking.</p> - -<p>He made her go over the details of it two or three times. The shade -of blue was about the same shade as the dress she was wearing, but he -elicited very little more. She could not, she said, get any clew as to -what was hidden in the bushes, except that it was something she was -horribly afraid of.</p> - -<p>"And yet," he said, "you go toward it?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; but entirely against my will, Mr. Lisburn."</p> - -<p>"You're sure you go against your will?"</p> - -<p>Her voice was almost hysterical as she protested, "Yes—yes, indeed!"</p> - -<p>"And yet you go?"</p> - -<p>"No, Mr. Lisburn, the car goes."</p> - -<p>"Don't you think you and the car are the same?"</p> - -<p>She gave him a long wondering stare, and presently insisted that she -must go. She promised, however, that she would do everything in her -power to find out what was hidden in those sinister bushes. She was to -keep a pencil and paper beside her bed and write down everything she -could remember as soon as she waked up in the morning.</p> - -<p>She hurried home to tell Aunt Georgy all that had occurred and was -disappointed to find her aunt established at the bridge table with -Norma and two of Norma's friends. It seemed that Mr. Lisburn had been -expected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> as a fourth and they had been obliged to come to Aunt Georgy -at the last minute to make up the table. Norma was still angry.</p> - -<p>"They can't have it both ways—these psychoanalysts," Norma was saying. -"It's always a Freudian forgetting—a wish-thought—when you forget an -engagement with them, and something quite professional and unavoidable -when they break an engagement with you."</p> - -<p>"What Norma means, Evie," said Aunt Georgy, without raising her eyes -from the interesting hand which had just been dealt her, "is that she -suspects Mr. Lisburn of having had something more amusing to do."</p> - -<p>Evie shook her head as if you couldn't be sure with men like that.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps he had," she said.</p> - -<p>Then Aunt Georgy knew the interview had gone well.</p> - -<p>Three days later, not having heard anything more from her, he came -to the house late in the afternoon. He was in his own car, and he -suggested that perhaps he could help her to overcome her repugnance to -motoring. At first she refused with every appearance of terror; but -soon she admitted that with him she would feel perfectly safe, and so -she yielded and got in.</p> - -<p>She spoke little, and he could hear that she drew her breath in a -tremulous and disturbing manner. At last, in a lonely road, her terror -seemed to overmaster her, and she opened the door and would have sprung -out while the car was going thirty-five miles an hour if Lisburn had -not held her in.</p> - -<p>As soon as he had brought the car to a standstill he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> took his arm -away, while little Evie cowered in the seat beside him.</p> - -<p>"You see," she said at last, "how it is with me? If you had not been -there I should have jumped out and been killed. It's stronger than I -am."</p> - -<p>"I see," he answered gently. "Well, if it happens again I won't force -you to stay in the car. You shall get out and walk home."</p> - -<p>She thanked him warmly for his concession, but it did not happen again.</p> - -<p>After this they had conferences every evening, as her stay at Jefferson -was coming to an end, and she still did not seem to be able to see what -was the emotional center of her dream.</p> - -<p>The fact that Lisburn was trying to help little Evie soon began to be -known, and the knowledge affected different people differently. Norma -said that she should think Evie would be ashamed to take up so much of -Mr. Lisburn's time, considering how contemptuous she had been about -the whole science of psychoanalysis. The Reverend Mr. Gordon said -that he had never been in any doubt that the human spirit needed the -confessional, but that only a man in holy orders was fit to receive -confession. The mayor was a little more violent. He said that it -appeared to him that this fellow was practicing medicine without a -license, and that if the law could not reach him it ought to be able -to. He hoped it wasn't doing little Miss Evie any harm. Aunt Georgy -tried to reassure him, and said Evie seemed in the best of health and -spirits, at which the mayor, looking gloomier than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> ever, said he was -much relieved. Aunt Georgy had just been telling this to Evie as she -was about to start for her last conference. She was going away the next -day.</p> - -<p>"Have you decided what it is that is hidden in the bushes?" her aunt -asked her.</p> - -<p>Evie nodded.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said; "it's a black panther—a beautiful, lithe, vigorous, -graceful, dangerous wild animal."</p> - -<p>"Mercy!" exclaimed Aunt Georgy. "He'll think it's himself."</p> - -<p>"Do you think he's a vain man, Aunt Georgy?"</p> - -<p>"Everyone's as vain as that."</p> - -<p>"Well, that isn't my fault," said Evie, and went on her way.</p> - -<p>Aunt Georgy shook her head. Life was often like that, she thought—a -woman despised a man for believing something that she had exercised all -her ingenuity to make him believe.</p> - -<p>Lisburn was on his feet when Evie entered, and as soon as he had seen -her settled in the deep chair he began to pace up and down; like a -panther, she thought, but did not say so; that would have been crude.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, fixing his black eyes on her, "you've found out what -it is, haven't you?"</p> - -<p>She nodded.</p> - -<p>"You are clever," she answered. "I don't know what you'll make of -it—it sounds so silly." She looked up at him, rubbing the back of -one hand against the palm of the other. "It's—it's a panther; just a -beautiful black panther; a splendid, lithe, graceful, dangerous wild -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>animal." Even little Evie was susceptible at times to embarrassment, -and at this moment she could not endure the piercing stare of those -black eyes. She dropped her eyes modestly and murmured, "Oh, Mr. -Lisburn, do you think you can help me?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I can," he answered; "at least, I can if I may be perfectly -candid."</p> - -<p>Evie said that was all she asked—candor.</p> - -<p>"In that case—" said he. He walked to the door and leaned against it -as if the revelations he was about to make were such that she might -try to escape before she heard him out. "In that case," he repeated, -in that smooth, almost honeyed tone in which the psychoanalyst clothes -even the most shocking statements, "let me say that you are the most -phenomenal little liar, little Evie, that I have ever met—yes, among -all the many I have known I gladly hand you the palm."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Lisburn!" said Evie, but she was so much surprised and interested -that she did not do justice to her protest.</p> - -<p>"What makes me angry," he went on in his civil tone, "is that you -should imagine you could get away with it. However much of an ass you -may consider me, you ought to have known that there was enough in the -science of psychoanalysis to show from the very beginning that you were -a fraud."</p> - -<p>"Not from the beginning!" said Evie.</p> - -<p>"From the first evening. You haven't one single symptom of a person -with a neurosis—not one. If you knew a little bit more—pooh, if you -knew anything at all about the subject—" </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I read your book," she answered, as if this put the blame on him.</p> - -<p>"Not very intelligently, then, or you would have done a better fraud."</p> - -<p>"You were willing to waste a lot of time on a fraud."</p> - -<p>"It hasn't been wasted. And that brings me to my second point. I will -now tell you what perhaps you don't know, and that is why you did it."</p> - -<p>"I know perfectly well, thank you," replied Evie. "I did it because you -were so poisonous about me that afternoon at Aunt Georgy's. I thought -I'd like to show you—"</p> - -<p>"That is a rationalization," he interrupted, waving it away with one -hand. "You did it because you are strongly attracted to me."</p> - -<p>"Attracted to you!" said Evie in a most offensive tone.</p> - -<p>"I am the panther in the bushes."</p> - -<p>Evie laughed contemptuously.</p> - -<p>"I knew you'd think you were the panther," she said; "I simply knew it."</p> - -<p>"Of course you did," he answered. "That's the very reason you dreamed -it."</p> - -<p>"But I didn't dream it," she returned triumphantly. "I thought you had -grasped that. I didn't dream it. I never dream."</p> - -<p>He was not triumphed over.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, "you made it up; that's the same thing—a daydream, a -romance."</p> - -<p>"I made it up particularly in order to deceive you," Evie explained.</p> - -<p>"That's what you think," he answered; "but it isn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> true. You made it -up in order to let me know you were attracted to me, for I repeat that -you are attracted to me."</p> - -<p>Little Evie sprang up from the deep chair in which she had sat at ease -during so many evening conferences.</p> - -<p>"You may repeat it until you are black in the face," she said; "but I'm -not, I'm not, I'm not!"</p> - -<p>"Don't you see that the emotion with which you repudiate the idea -proves that it's the truth?"</p> - -<p>An inspiration came to her.</p> - -<p>"Then why," she demanded—"the other afternoon when you explained -so much why you didn't like me—why doesn't that prove that you are -attracted to me?"</p> - -<p>"Little Evie," he said, "it does. That's the truth. You are almost -everything of which I disapprove in woman. I love you."</p> - -<p>He approached and took her in his arms.</p> - -<p>"I hate you," said Evie, in a tone too conversational to be impressive.</p> - -<p>He behaved as if she had not spoken. She drew away from him, though not -wholly out of the circle of his arms.</p> - -<p>"I don't think you can have understood me," she remarked coldly. "I -said I hated you."</p> - -<p>"I feel more sure of you than if you had said you loved me."</p> - -<p>"Then I'll say I love you."</p> - -<p>"Yes, dear, I know you do."</p> - -<p>She sighed.</p> - -<p>"You're not a very consistent man, are you?" she said. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> - -<p>She spoke in a tone of remote philosophy, but she leaned her forehead -against his chest.</p> - -<p>When the story came out, as of course it was bound to do—for both Evie -and Lisburn seemed to think they had been rather clever about the whole -thing, and they told everybody—Fanny was deeply shocked. In fact, she -owned that if she had been Evie's mother she would never have held up -her head again.</p> - -<p>"To think," she said, "of Evie, who has always seemed so dignified and -well-bred and not of this generation at all—to think that she invented -the whole thing in order to attract Mr. Lisburn's attention!"</p> - -<p>"Fanny," said Aunt Georgy, "do you remember the first day you met your -present husband? You twisted your ankle just so that he might have to -carry you upstairs to your room. Well, my dear, you recovered entirely -as soon as he had gone, and walked all over everywhere. A strange young -man carried you in his arms, Fanny. If you ask me, I call the new -technique more delicate and modest than the old."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE NEW STOICS</h2> - -<p>Mr. Brougham stood waiting in the wings. Never before had he made a -speech; never had he been upon a stage, except to sit safely with a -delegation, in a row, behind the ice-water pitcher. He had a small dry -patch in his throat which constant swallowing failed to improve, and -the tips of his fingers kept getting cold and very distant. He was -about to make a Liberty Loan speech, and he was suffering more than he -had expected; but, as he kept murmuring to himself, "<i>Dulce et decorum -est</i>."</p> - -<p>At twenty-eight he had volunteered among the first in the Spanish War, -and it had been no fault of his that he had never got any nearer the -front than Chattanooga. At forty-eight he could still speak for his -country—at least he hoped he could. How absurd to be nervous! This -was no time to be thinking of one's own feelings. He took out his -handkerchief and wiped the palms of his hands. "Well, Mr. Brougham," -said the loud bold voice of the local chairman, "shall we go on?" What -was one victim more or less to him in his insatiable campaign for -speakers?</p> - -<p>"By all means," answered Brougham in a tone which even in his own ears -sounded like that of a total stranger.</p> - -<p>His only conscious thought was grateful remembrance that his wife was -kept at the canteen that evening, and couldn't be in the audience, -which he found himself regarding as a hostile body waiting to devour -him. He sat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> trying to relax the muscles of his face during the -chairman's short address; and then the fatal sentence began: " ... the -great pleasure ... introduce ... so well known ... Mr. Walter Brougham, -who will say a few rousing words to you on this great subject."</p> - -<p>What a silly adjective "rousing" was, Brougham thought as he came -forward. He had no intention whatever of being rousing. He wondered if -he had the intention of being anything except absolutely silent. He -lifted the lid and looked into his mind as into an unexplored box. Was -there anything in it? Why, yes; rather to his surprise he found there -was.</p> - -<p>"My friends," he began, "this is no time for oratory." Hearty, and to -Brougham totally unexpected, applause greeted this sentiment. "This is -a time for cool, steady, clear-eyed vision." That was a mistake; of -course vision was clear-eyed. "This is a time to ask ourselves this -question: How is it that we hesitate to give our money, and yet stand -ready—every one of us—to give our lives and—harder still—our sons' -lives?"</p> - -<p>"Hear, hear!" cried a voice from the audience, fresh, young and -familiar. Brougham looked down; yes, there they were—his own two -boys, David, not eighteen, and Lawrence, hardly fifteen. Their blond, -well-brushed heads towered above the rest of the row and were easily -recognizable. He could see the expressions of their faces—cool, -serene, friendly approval. They're too damned philosophical, he said -to himself; and as he went on speaking, with all that was mortal in -him concentrated on his words, in some entirely different part of his -being a veil was suddenly lifted and he saw something that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> had -been trying not to see for months—namely, that he was dissatisfied -with his elder son's attitude toward the war—it was cool; cool like -his approval of the speech. Not that Mr. Brougham wanted his son to -volunteer at his age—quite the contrary; he sincerely believed it was -every man's duty to wait until he had reached the age designated by -his country; but he did want the boy to want to volunteer. He wanted -to be able to say at the club as other fathers were saying: "What gets -into these young fellows? I've had to forbid my boy—" Perhaps if -his self-vision had been perfect he would have admitted that he had -sometimes said it.</p> - -<p>And then it occurred to him that this was the moment to stir their -hearts—to make one of those speeches which might not touch the -audience but which would inflame the patriotism of youth. Forgetting -his recent pledge he plunged into oratory—the inherited oratory of the -Fourth of July, he snatched up any adjectives as long as they came in -threes, called patriotism by name, and spoke of the flag as Old Glory. -Hurried on by his own warmth he reached his climax too soon, ended his -speech before the audience expected and began asking for subscriptions -before anyone was ready.</p> - -<p>There was an awkward silence. Then a young voice spoke up: "One -one-hundred-dollar bond." Yes, it was David. Mr. Brougham's heart -leaped with hope; had the boy been moved? Was this the first fruit -of repentance? He looked down, hoping to meet the upward glance of a -devotee, but David was whispering something to his younger brother -which made the latter giggle foolishly. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> - -<p>The ball once set rolling went fast. Subscriptions poured in; it was -a successful evening—almost as successful as the evening made famous -by a great screen artist. Mr. Brougham was warmly congratulated by the -local chairman.</p> - -<p>"We shall call on you again, Brougham," he said gayly.</p> - -<p>Mr. Brougham nodded, but his thought was: Is nothing enough for these -fellows?</p> - -<p>His two boys were waiting for him at the stage door. "You're good, sir, -you're good!" they cried, patting him on the back.</p> - -<p>"I never thought he'd let them have it so mild," said Lawrence.</p> - -<p>Mr. Brougham did not mind being laughed at—at least he always said he -didn't—but he couldn't bear to have patriotism in any form held up to -ridicule. He thought to himself:</p> - -<p>"They don't know what it costs a man of my age to go on a stage and -make a speech. I don't enjoy making myself conspicuous."</p> - -<p>"We'll stop and get your mother at the canteen," he said sternly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, this is mother's night for saving the country, isn't it?" -said Lawrence.</p> - -<p>"Did you know," said David to his brother, across his father's head, -for they were both taller than he, "did you know that a gob tipped -mother the other evening? So pleased with his coffee that he flicked -her a dime for herself." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, you sailor-boys!" said Lawrence in a high falsetto.</p> - -<p>This was really more than Mr. Brougham could bear in his exalted state. -"I don't like that, boys," he said.</p> - -<p>"No, father," answered David; "but you know we never tipped mother; in -fact, it's always been quite the other way."</p> - -<p>"I mean I don't like your tone of ridicule, of—of—of—" He couldn't -think of the word he wanted, and felt conscious that David had it on -the tip of his tongue but was too tactful to interrupt. "You boys don't -seem to appreciate the sacrifice, the physical strain for a woman of -your mother's age—standing all evening handing out sandwiches—not -accustomed to hard work either."</p> - -<p>Both boys looked gravely ahead of them, and Mr. Brougham had a -sickening conviction they were both trying to think of something to say -that would calm him.</p> - -<p>The canteen was just closing, and the two boys made themselves useful -in putting things away. "Just as if it were a school picnic," their -father thought.</p> - -<p>As soon as they were on their way home Mrs. Brougham asked about the -speech. Had it gone well?</p> - -<p>"Oh, father was great, mother," David answered. "He took it from them -in wads, and presented Lawrence and me to his country with every bond."</p> - -<p>"A lady behind us was awfully affected," said Lawrence. "She kept -whispering that she understood the speaker had two lovely boys of his -own."</p> - -<p>"I could hardly keep Lawrence from telling her that she had not been -misinformed."</p> - -<p>Mr. Brougham sighed. This was not the tone of young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> men suddenly -roused to a new vision of patriotism. He said aloud: "I was glad you -felt financially able to take a bond yourself, David."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," answered his son. "I sold my boat yesterday."</p> - -<p>Mr. Brougham was not so Spartan a parent that he did not feel a pang to -think of the boy without his favorite pastime on this perhaps his last -summer.</p> - -<p>"Quite right," he said. "This is no year for pleasure boats."</p> - -<p>"You get a good price for boats this year," said David.</p> - -<p>There it was again—that note Mr. Brougham didn't like. Even if David's -motives had been financial and not patriotic he might have allowed -Lawrence to see an example of self-sacrifice. Instead Lawrence was -getting just like his brother.</p> - -<p>Brougham was not a man who habitually eased his burdens by casting them -on his wife, but that night when they went upstairs he took her into -his confidence.</p> - -<p>"Are you satisfied with David's attitude toward the war?" he began.</p> - -<p>She was a silent, deep woman whose actions always astonished those who -had no intuitive knowledge of the great general trends of her nature. -She and David usually understood each other fairly well.</p> - -<p>Now she shook her head. "No," she said.</p> - -<p>"Good Lord!" said poor Mr. Brougham. "I don't want the boy shot in a -trench. I think it's his duty to wait a year or two; but I can't see -that he has any enthusiasm, any eagerness, hardly any interest. He -seized the paper last evening, and I supposed that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> wanted to read -about the offensive. Not at all! After a glance at the headlines he -turned to the baseball news. Do you understand him?"</p> - -<p>"No," said his mother.</p> - -<p>"At his age I should have been in this war, with or without my parents' -consent. Mind you, I don't want him in it—not for a year or two. But -why doesn't he want to get in? He's not a coward."</p> - -<p>"No," said his mother, and then she added: "I've thought a great deal -about it, and I think it's because he's so young—so immature."</p> - -<p>"Immature!" cried Mr. Brougham. "Why, he's always using words I don't -know the meaning of!"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps he doesn't either," said his wife. "That's immature, isn't it? -But I meant the immaturity of not seeing responsibilities—not taking -them up, at least. You see, my dear, he's very young—only a year out -of school. It's natural enough."</p> - -<p>"It's not natural at all," answered Mr. Brougham. "Just out of -school—school is the very place to learn patriotism—drilling and all -that—and I'm sure Granby is one of the most patriotic men I ever knew. -He inspires most of his boys. No, I don't understand. I shall speak to -David about his attitude."</p> - -<p>"Oh, don't! You'll have him enlisting to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"No; for I shall explain to him that he must wait."</p> - -<p>She smiled. "You're going to stir him up to want to do something which -you won't allow him to do. Is that sensible, dear?"</p> - -<p>It wasn't sensible, but—more important—it was inevitable. Mr. -Brougham, feeling as he did, could not be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> silent. He had always been -proud of his boys, had always assumed they were stuff to be proud of. -They had done decently in their lessons, well in their athletics. -What could a father ask more? Now for the first time he found himself -questioning his right to be proud, and the doubt was like poison in his -system. He must speak to his son.</p> - -<p>The difficulty of "speaking to" people is that we either take too -portentous a tone, and thus ruffle the minds we mean to impress, or -else that we speak so casually as to make no impression at all. Mr. -Brougham's leanings were all to the former manner, and recognizing -this weakness he made one more effort at the indirect attack. Hearing -that his nephew, a lieutenant of infantry, was about to sail, he sent -for him to come and dine. In his greeting of the young man he tried to -express his respect for the uniform, even when decorated by nothing -more than a gold bar.</p> - -<p>"I envy you, my boy," he said. "I remember how I felt when I first put -on those clothes in 1898—not that we can compare that war with this, -but the emotion is the same—the emotion is always the same. We all -envy you in this house."</p> - -<p>David looked rather impish. "Envy him!" he said. "And him such a bad -sailor!"</p> - -<p>At this Brougham's brows contracted, but the lieutenant smiled.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said; "won't I wish I had stayed at home!"</p> - -<p>This sentiment would have shocked Mr. Brougham except that he believed -he recognized in it the decent Anglo-Saxon <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>cloak of a profound -feeling—very different from David's cold inaction.</p> - -<p>As soon as dinner was over he left the boys alone and took a chair on -the piazza, from which he could watch the expressions of their faces. -They fell at once into a conversation of the deepest interest; so -interesting that they began to move their hands about in unaccustomed -gestures. Once David lifted his and brought it down with a sidewise -swoop.</p> - -<p>"That's it!" a voice rang out. "It's great!"</p> - -<p>Mr. Brougham felt justified in moving a little nearer. He then found -that the subject of discussion was jazz-band records for the phonograph.</p> - -<p>The next morning, looking out of his window early, he saw David in -his bathing suit trying, with a seriousness that might have drilled -a company, to teach a new handspring to Lawrence. And this made it -impossible for Mr. Brougham to be silent any longer.</p> - -<p>When David came back to the house, dressed, but with his hair still -dark and wet from his swim, his father stopped him.</p> - -<p>"Sit down a minute," he said. "I want to speak to you. I want you to -explain your attitude toward this war."</p> - -<p>This opening sentence, which he had thought of while the handsprings -were going on, would have been excellent if he could have given his son -time to answer it, but he couldn't; his emotions swept him on, and at -the end of five minutes he was still talking:</p> - -<p>"The Civil War was fought by boys your age or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> younger. I don't say -it was best, but it's the fact. And here you are—you've had every -advantage—of education, of luxury, of protection. Don't you care for -the traditions of your country? You're not a child any more. You're -old enough to understand that a hideous catastrophe has come upon the -world, and before long you must take your part in remedying it. What's -your attitude to the war?"</p> - -<p>"I think we're going to win it, sir, in the end."</p> - -<p>"Other people are going to win it?"</p> - -<p>"Would you approve of my enlisting at once? I understood—"</p> - -<p>"No, I would not approve of it, as I've told you," answered his father, -feeling that somehow he was being unjustly cornered. "But because a -man's too young to make a soldier, that doesn't mean he shouldn't have -any patriotism in his make-up—should be absolutely indifferent, with -his head full of handsprings and jazz bands."</p> - -<p>"I'm not indifferent," said David; "and as for jazz bands, even the men -at the Front like them."</p> - -<p>"But you're not at the Front—if you get my point."</p> - -<p>"I don't believe I do," said David.</p> - -<p>Civil as David's tone was there was of course a trace of hostility in -the words themselves, and in his distress Mr. Brougham decided to go -and consult Granby, the head of the school where David had been for -five years and where Lawrence still was.</p> - -<p>Brougham only went to Granby in desperate straits, for he was a little -afraid of his son's schoolmaster. Granby was a tall bald man of fifty, -with an expression at once stern and humble—stern with the habit -of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>innumerable decisions, humble with the consciousness that half -of them had been wrong. Brougham admired him, but could not be his -friend, owing to the fact that he always became in Granby's presence an -essential parent and nothing else. Mrs. Brougham, with the protection -of her long silences, managed better to retain her individuality in his -presence.</p> - -<p>"I've come to consult you about David," he began.</p> - -<p>Granby visibly shrank. "Don't tell me he's gone too!"</p> - -<p>"No—he hasn't; that's it."</p> - -<p>Brougham managed to tell his story very satisfactorily, for Granby had -the power, rarer than is supposed, of extracting an idea from spoken -words.</p> - -<p>"He has no enthusiasm—no emotion. I can't understand him. At his age, -I venture to say, I would— Well, I've come to you. You've had thirty -years' experience of boys."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Granby with his reserved, pedagogic manner. "I've been at -it thirty years." He stared at the floor and then, looking up, added: -"But I've only had four years of boys as they are now."</p> - -<p>This was a new idea to Brougham.</p> - -<p>"You mean boys are different?"</p> - -<p>"Of course, they're different!" said Granby. "Even we are different, -and they— Boys I was giving demerits to and scolding about Latin prose -last winter are fighting the war for us to-day. Roberts—I used to make -Roberts' life a burden to him about the dative of reference—he was -killed last month rescuing his machine gun; and here I am doing the -same safe task— Well, I never felt like that about my work before. -Different? Of course<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> they're different! They are not boys any more. -They are men; and we are old men."</p> - -<p>There was, naturally enough, a pause, for this was by no means a -conception of life which Mr. Brougham could accept offhand; and in the -silence the door opened and David himself strode in—and stopped with -every appearance of disappointment on seeing his father.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," he said. "I'm afraid I'm interrupting you. I'll -come back."</p> - -<p>"What did you want?" said Mr. Granby.</p> - -<p>David paused, looking less like a man and more like a boy in his -indecision. Then his jaw set as he took his determination.</p> - -<p>"I wanted you to tell my father something, but as long as he's here -I'd better tell him myself. I took the examinations last month for an -aviation camp, and I've just heard that I'm accepted."</p> - -<p>Relief and horror struggling in Mr. Brougham like opposing waves -resulted in calm.</p> - -<p>"But, my son," he said, "why have you concealed it? You did not think -I'd oppose you?"</p> - -<p>David moved restlessly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no," he answered. "It wasn't that." He looked at Mr. Granby and -smiled. "Father's awfully tyrannical about this war," he said. "He -wants everyone to feel just as he does."</p> - -<p>"But don't you feel as I do?" asked his father. "Why, you've just -proved that you do!"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit!" said David, and he spoke with a force neither of the men -had ever heard from him before. "I don't feel a bit as you do, sir, and -what's more, I don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> want to!" He stopped. "But we needn't go into -that," he added, and seemed about to leave the room.</p> - -<p>Granby looked at Brougham. "It must be right here if we could get at -it," he said. "Tell us, David, what is it in your father's attitude -that you don't sympathize with?"</p> - -<p>"And my mother's too."</p> - -<p>"And mine?" asked Granby.</p> - -<p>David hesitated an instant.</p> - -<p>"You don't seem to care so much about having us all feel the way you do -if what we do is right. But my father and mother don't care what I do -unless I get excited about it."</p> - -<p>"A healthy emotion is not excitement," said Mr. Brougham. "But you have -been cold, absolutely cold to the horror of the world's bleeding to -death, to all this unnatural disaster that has come upon us."</p> - -<p>"It doesn't seem exactly unnatural to me," answered the boy slowly. -"At least I've got used to it. You see, sir, ever since I knew -anything—ever since I was Lawrence's age—war has been about the most -natural thing going. I suppose it's very different for all of you. -Coming at the end of a perfectly peaceful life, it must seem like a -sort of dirty accident; but even so, it's awfully queer to me the way -you and mother have to lash yourselves up to doing anything—"</p> - -<p>"Lash ourselves up?" exclaimed Mr. Brougham.</p> - -<p>"Yes, with the idea of patriotism and self-sacrifice, when it's so -perfectly clear what we all have to do. Why, father, I feel just -as if I were a policeman, or, no, a fireman—I feel as if I were a -fireman and you expected me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> to get off something about patriotism and -self-sacrifice every time I went to put out a fire. A fireman goes, all -right—it's his job; but I dare say he often wishes he could stay in -bed. No one says his heart is cold, and no more it is, to my mind. It -must be fun to go off in a burst of patriotic enthusiasm. I know, for -I've often felt like that about football. But this is different. This -isn't a sport—it's a long disagreeable job. And I must say, father, it -makes me pretty tired to have you think me a slacker because I don't -get, and don't want to get, excited about it."</p> - -<p>"You misunderstand me," said his father. "I don't think any man -a slacker who waits to think it over before he makes the supreme -sacrifice and offers"—Mr. Brougham's voice took a deeper note—"his -life."</p> - -<p>David turned sharply to Granby.</p> - -<p>"There," he said, "that's what I hate! I hate that attitude toward -death—as if it were something you couldn't speak of in the -drawing-room. Death isn't so bad," he added, as if saying what he could -for an absent friend.</p> - -<p>With this Mr. Brougham couldn't even pretend to agree; death seemed to -him very bad indeed—about the worst possible, though not to be evaded -by brave men on that account.</p> - -<p>"Ah," he said to Granby, "that's the beauty of youth—it doesn't think -about death at all."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense," said David. "I beg your pardon, sir, but isn't it nonsense? -Of course, we think of it—a lot more than you do. The chances are -about one in twenty that I'll be killed. When you were my age you -were <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>planning your career, and college, and you thought you'd be -married sometime, and you were getting your name put up at clubs you -couldn't get into for years. But fellows of my age aren't making any -plans—it would be pretty foolish if we did. We haven't got any future, -as you had it. I don't know if you call that thinking about death. I -do—thinking about it as a fact, not a horror. We've been up against -it for the last four years, and we've got used to it. That's what none -of you older people seem to be able to get into your heads. We don't -particularly mind the idea of dying. And now I think I'll run home and -tell my mother."</p> - -<p>Neither of the men spoke for a few minutes after he had gone. Mr. -Brougham was shocked. He had just caught himself back from telling -David that he ought to be afraid of dying—which of course was not at -all what he meant. He himself had always feared death—most of the -men he knew feared it—only hadn't allowed that fear to influence -their actions. He had always regarded this fear as a great universal -limitation. He felt as if a great gulf had suddenly opened between him -and his son. More than that, he felt that to live free from the terror -was too great an emancipation for one so young.</p> - -<p>"If they're not afraid of death, what are they afraid of?" he found -himself thinking.</p> - -<p>He himself in his youth had never thought about dying—except sometimes -in church in connection with music and crowns and glassy seas. Then -once, when he was only a little younger than David, he had been very -ill in the school infirmary; another boy had died, and then, he -remembered, he did for the first time consider the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>possibility of his, -Walter Brougham's, coming to an end, stopping, going out perhaps like -a candle. It had been an uncomfortable experience, and when his mother -had come to take care of him he had distinctly clung to her—as if she -could have done any good. Had these boys gone through that and come out -on the other side? He found it alarmed him to think that David wasn't -afraid.</p> - -<p>Good heavens, what would they do—this new generation, young and -healthy and unafraid of death, not because they had never thought about -it but because they had been familiar with it since they went into long -trousers?</p> - -<p>Mr. Granby broke the silence. He said: "To order ourselves lowly and -reverently to all our betters?"</p> - -<p>Brougham was puzzled by these words, and he felt that it was no time -for puzzling him.</p> - -<p>"Did you think David was impertinent to me, Mr. Granby?" he asked. "Is -that what you meant?"</p> - -<p>"No, that isn't what I meant, Mr. Brougham."</p> - -<p>Brougham didn't inquire any further. He shook his head and went home. -He found his wife and David sitting hand in hand on the piazza looking -out to sea, with the same blank grave look on both their faces. Yet -they were thinking very different thoughts.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brougham was thinking that she had been strangely stupid not -to know that this was just exactly the way David would do it; but -she added to herself she had allowed her vision to be clouded by her -husband.</p> - -<p>David was carefully reviewing the small stock of his technical -knowledge of aëroplanes.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> - -<h2>WORSE THAN MARRIED</h2> - -<p>Miss Wilbur sat up and wrung the water out of her hair. Most of us have -looked about a dinner-table and wondered which of the party would make -the pleasantest companion on a desert island; Juliana had done it often -enough, but now the comic touch was lacking. Far out, hung on some -unknown reef, the prow of the vessel stuck up black and tall, almost -as if she were still pursuing a triumphant course landward, though a -list to starboard betrayed her desperate condition, and a second glance -showed that the waves were breaking over her stern. The heavy swell was -all that was left of the storm. The sun had just risen in a cloudless -sky, above a dark-blue sea. It was perhaps that bright horizontal ray -which had waked Miss Wilbur. It had not disturbed her rescuer, who, -more provident, had hidden his face in his arm.</p> - -<p>It seems hardly possible for a young lady to be dragged from her berth -in the dead of night, hauled to the deck, and literally dumped into a -small boat, to be tossed out of the boat and dragged to shore—all by a -man whose face and name were equally unknown. But the more she looked -at the back of that damp head, and the line of those shoulders, the -less familiar did they appear. This was hardly surprising, for since -she and her maid had taken the steamer at Trinidad, she had made so -little effort at <i>rapprochement</i> with her fellow passengers that she -could hardly call any of them to mind—a great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> German from a banking -house in Caracas; a sunburnt native botanist bound for the Smithsonian; -a little Englishman from the Argentine; these were the only three -figures she could remember. Who was this man? A sailor? A commercial -traveler? Of what standing and what nationality?</p> - -<p>She coughed presently: "I wish you'd wake up," she said, "and let me -thank you for saving my life."</p> - -<p>The first result of this remark was that the man grunted and buried -his nose deeper in the sand. Then he rolled over, stood up, and -comprehensively hitching up what remained of his trousers, he looked -carefully round the horizon, then at the wall of palm-trees behind -them, and last of all at Miss Wilbur, without the smallest change of -expression.</p> - -<p>"Did I save you?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, don't you remember? You caught me up in the dark—"</p> - -<p>"I had a notion it was Mrs. Morale's son." Again his eyes sought the -horizon, and he turned to move away, but she arrested him with a -question.</p> - -<p>"Do you think we shall be rescued?" she said.</p> - -<p>He stopped, eyed her, and again turned away. His silence annoyed her. -"Why don't you answer my question?"</p> - -<p>"Because I thought it just about worthy of someone who wakes up a tired -man to thank him for saving her life. Do I think we'll be rescued? That -depends on whether we are in the track of vessels; and I know neither -the track of vessels nor where we are. It depends on whether any of the -other boats lived through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> night. But I'll tell you one thing. It -looks to me as if they needn't trouble to come at all, if they don't -come soon. I'm going to hunt up breakfast."</p> - -<p>He disappeared into the forest of palms, leaving her alone. She -would have liked to call him back and ask him what he thought of the -probabilities of snakes on the island. Tact, however, that civilized -substitute for terror, restrained her. She thought him very peculiar. -"I wonder if he's a little crazy," she thought. "I wonder if something -hit him on the head."</p> - -<p>He was gone a long time, and when he returned carried a bunch of -bananas and three cocoanuts. He stopped short on seeing her. "Do you -mean to say," he cried, "that you haven't been drying your clothes? -What do you suppose I stayed away so long for? But no matter. Have your -breakfast first."</p> - -<p>She refrained from expressing, at once, a profound distaste for -cocoanuts, but when he cut one and handed it to her, the smell overcame -her resolutions. "Oh!" she said, drawing back, "I can't bear them."</p> - -<p>"You will order something else on the menu?"</p> - -<p>The tone was not agreeable, and Miss Wilbur eyed the speaker. No -wonder she was at a loss, for hitherto her measure of men had been the -people they knew, the clothes they wore, and, more especially, their -friendliness to herself. In the present case, none of these were much -help, and she decided to resort to the simpler means of the direct -question. Besides, it had always been Juliana's custom to converse -during her meals and, peculiar though this one appeared, she saw no -reason for making it an exception. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Doesn't it seem strange," she began, "that I don't even know your -name?"</p> - -<p>"Nathaniel or Spens?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! Spens, of course," she answered, quite as if they had met in a -ballroom. "And don't you think," she went on, "that it would be nice if -we knew a little more about each other than just our names?"</p> - -<p>"A little more?" he exclaimed. "My idea was we were getting near the -too much point."</p> - -<p>"But I meant our past selves, our everyday selves—our <i>real</i> selves."</p> - -<p>"So did I. I hope we sha'n't get any realler. This is real enough to -suit me." He continued under his breath to ring the changes on this -idea to his own intense satisfaction.</p> - -<p>Miss Wilbur gave up and began again. "I think it would be interesting -to tell each other a little of our lives—who we are, and where we came -from. For instance I'm willing to begin—I'm a New Yorker. My mother -died when I was sixteen, and I have been at the head of my father's -house ever since—he has retired from business. We are quite free, and -we travel a great deal. I came down here on a yacht. You may ask why I -left it—well, a little difficulty arose—a situation. The owner, one -of my best and oldest friends—" She paused. As she talked, questions -had floated through her mind. Does he take in the sort of person I am -at home? Does he realize how his toil is lightened by the contrast of -my presence in the benighted spot? Does he know what a privilege it is -to be cast away with me? He was saying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> to himself: "If only I can get -home before the first, I'll increase that quarterly dividend."</p> - -<p>She took up her narrative. "The owner, as I say, was one of my best and -oldest friends; and yet, you know—"</p> - -<p>"And yet you quarreled like one o'clock."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no," said Miss Wilbur. "We did not quarrel. It would have been -better if we had."</p> - -<p>"Just sulked, you mean?"</p> - -<p>This was more than she could bear. "He wanted to marry me," she said -firmly.</p> - -<p>"Not really!" he exclaimed, and then, studying her more carefully, he -added: "But of course—very naturally. I am sure to some types of men -you would be excessively desirable."</p> - -<p>This was the nearest approach to a compliment that she had had since -the ship struck, and she gulped at it eagerly.</p> - -<p>"Desirable is not quite the word," she answered. "But perhaps I should -rather have you think of me as desirable than not at all," and she -smiled fascinatingly.</p> - -<p>"Great Cæsar's ghost!" he exclaimed. "Did I say I was thinking of you? -But there, I mean—I mean—" But it was unnecessary to complete the -sentence, for Miss Wilbur rose, with what dignity a tattered dressing -gown allowed, and moved away. He followed her and explained with the -utmost civility where there was another beach, how she should spread -out her clothes to the sun, and added gravely, holding up one finger: -"And remember to keep in the shade yourself."</p> - -<p>"Oh, the sun never affects me," said Juliana. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> - -<p>This answer plainly tried him, but with some self-control he merely -repeated his injunction in exactly the same words.</p> - -<p>Miss Wilbur's costume was not elaborate. It comprised, all told, a -night-gown, a pink quilted dressing-gown, a pair of men's sneakers, -and a bit of Cartier jewelry about her throat. She wished that -dressing-gown had been more becoming. Just before she sailed she had -sent her maid out to buy something warm, and the pink atrocity had -been the result. She had thought it did not matter then, but, now that -she might have to spend the rest of her life in it, she wished she had -taken the trouble to choose it herself.</p> - -<p>Even if she had been completely alone on this Caribbean island, she was -too much a child of civilization to remove all her clothes at once. -The process took time. As she sat under the trees and waited, she -considered her position.</p> - -<p>Feelings of dislike for, and dependence upon, her rescuer grew together -in her mind. She did not say, even to herself, that she was afraid -of him, very much in the same way in which she had once been afraid -of her schoolmistress—afraid of his criticism and his contempt, but -she expressed the same idea by saying "he was not very nice to her." -That he "was rather rude"! She thought how differently any of the men -she had left on the yacht at Trinidad would have behaved. Alfred, for -instance. It would have been rather fun to have been cast away with -Alfred. He would have been tender and solicitous. Poor Alfred! She -began to think it had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> an absurd scruple that had made her leave -the party. It had seemed as if she could not cruise another day on the -yacht of a man she had refused so decidedly to marry. After such a -scene, too! Miss Wilbur frowned and shook her head at the recollection. -As a matter of fact, she liked scenes.</p> - -<p>She had so far used the freedom of her life in eliminating from -her consciousness those who did not contribute to her self-esteem. -Sometimes she created admiration where it had not existed. Sometimes, -when this seemed impossible, she simply withdrew. The latter method was -obviously out of the question on this little dot of an island.</p> - -<p>But the other? One of the unquestioned facts in Miss Wilbur's life was -her own extreme charm; and this thought brought another to her mind. -The picture of the traditional male—the beast of prey! In spite of the -American girl's strange mixture of inexperience and sophistication, -she is not entirely without the instinct of self-preservation. She -remembered his long Yankee jaw with relief.</p> - -<p>When she returned she found he had erected four poles with cross -beams and was attempting to thatch it with banana-leaves, to the -accompaniment of a low sibilant whistle.</p> - -<p>"What's that?" she asked. He completed the phrase diminuendo before -answering.</p> - -<p>"This," he said, "is where you are going to sleep, and, if it doesn't -fall in on you in the night, I'll build another for myself to-morrow. -Look out where you step.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> I'm drying two vestas on that rock. If they -light, we'll have a fire, and perhaps some day something to eat. -Suppose you go and find some wood?"</p> - -<p>She hesitated. "Do you think there are snakes on this island?" she -hazarded; and oh, with what enthusiasm such a suggestion of femininity -would have been received on the yacht!</p> - -<p>"Think not," said her companion; "but I'd look out for scorpions and -centipedes and things like that, you know."</p> - -<p>The suggestion did not increase her enthusiasm for her task. She hung -about a few minutes longer and then collected a few twigs along the -beach, raising them carefully between her thumb and forefinger. They -did not make an imposing pile, as she felt when her rescuer came to -inspect it, looking first at it and then at her, with his hands in his -pockets.</p> - -<p>"I hope you won't overdo?" he said.</p> - -<p>Juliana colored. "Did you expect me to carry great logs?" she asked. -"Women can't do that sort of thing."</p> - -<p>He moved away without answering, and presently had collected enough -wood for many fires.</p> - -<p>"I'd like to see you lay a fire," he said.</p> - -<p>She threw some of the small sticks together, then the larger ones, as -she had seen the housemaid do at home. Then, embarrassed at his silent -observation, she drew back.</p> - -<p>"Of course I can't do it, if you watch me," she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"You can't do it anyhow, because you don't know the principle. The -first thing a fire needs is air. It's done<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> like this." He tore down -and re-erected her structure.</p> - -<p>If Miss Wilbur had followed her impulse, she would have kicked it down -as he finished, but she managed a fine aloofness instead. He did not -appear to notice her chin in the air.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he observed as he rose from his knees, "it's a handy thing to -know—how to lay a fire, and as you say, one is naturally grateful to -the fellow who teaches one. I'm going to look for food. Keep a lookout -for ships."</p> - -<p>He had hardly gone when he came bounding back again, waving two small -fish by the tails. "Got 'em," he shouted. "Dug out some ponds this -morning, but never thought it would work, but here they are. Now we'll -light the fire."</p> - -<p>His excitement was contagious. She sprang up, held the skirt of her -dressing-gown to shield the match, blew the flame, almost blew it out. -Finally, with the help of both matches the fire was lit.</p> - -<p>"I'm so hungry," she said. "Do you think they'll taste good?"</p> - -<p>He did not answer. She could not but be impressed by the deftness with -which he split and boned the fish, and the invention he displayed in -evolving cooking utensils out of shells and sticks.</p> - -<p>"You know," he said suddenly, "this fire must never go out. This will -be your job. Sort of vestal-virgin idea."</p> - -<p>The charge made her nervous. The responsibility was serious. During one -of his absences she began to think the flame was dying down. She put in -a stick. It blazed too quickly. A crash followed and one of the fish -disappeared into the fire. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> - -<p>After a time she managed to drag it out, black and sandy. She dreaded -his return. How could she make clear to him that it had not been her -fault? She decided on a comic manner. Holding it up by the tail, she -smiled at him. "Doesn't that look delicious?" she asked gayly.</p> - -<p>His brow darkened. "All right, if you like them that way," he returned.</p> - -<p>"Don't you think the other is large enough for two?"</p> - -<p>His answer was to remove the other from the fire and to eat it himself.</p> - -<p>Miss Wilbur watched him to the end, and then she could contain herself -no longer. She had been extremely hungry.</p> - -<p>"Upon my word," she said, "I've known a good many selfish men, but I -never before saw one who would not have taken the bread out of his -mouth to give to a hungry woman."</p> - -<p>Her rescuer looked at her unshaken. "You don't think that was just?" he -inquired.</p> - -<p>"I am not talking of justice, but of chivalry," replied Miss Wilbur -passionately. "Of consideration for the weak. You are physically -stronger than I—"</p> - -<p>"And I intend to remain so."</p> - -<p>"At my expense?"</p> - -<p>"If you fell ill, I should be sorry. If I fell ill, you would die." He -turned away sharply, but half-way up to the beach thought better of it -and returned.</p> - -<p>"See here," he said, "I'm an irritable man, and a tired man. This whole -thing isn't going to be easy for either of us. And what do we find, -the first crack out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> the box? That you are not only incompetent, -but that you want to be social and pleasant over it. Great Scott! -what folly! Well, if it's any satisfaction to you, I know I'm not -behaving well either. But you don't seem aware of even that much, or of -anything, indeed"—he smiled faintly—"except your own good looks."</p> - -<p>He left her to meditate.</p> - -<p>Battle, murder, and sudden death are not as great a shock to some -people as their own failure to please. Miss Wilbur, being incapable -of looking within for the cause of this phenomenon, looked at her -companion. Evidently he <i>was</i> a peculiar, nervous sort of a creature, -and, after all, had he been so successful? He hardly came up to the -desert-island standard set by the father of the Swiss Family Robinson. -She reviewed him with a critical eye. He was a nice-looking young man -of the clean-shaven type. He lacked the great air, she told herself, -which was not surprising, since eighteen months before there had been -nothing whatever to distinguish him from any of the other shrewd young -men produced in such numbers by the State of Connecticut. But chance -had waved her wand, and it had fallen to his lot to head a congenial -band of patriots who, controlling a group of trolleys, had parted with -them at a barefaced price to the New York, New Haven and Hartford -Railway. Since this <i>coup</i> he had rather rested on his laurels, -spending most of his time with a classmate in New York, where he had -acquired a tailor and had succeeded in getting himself elected to the -directorate of The General Fruit Company—an organization which, as -every Italian vender knows, deals in such miscellaneous commodities<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> as -bananas, hides, coffee, rubber, sugar, copper-mines, and narrow-gauge -railroads along the Caribbean shores, with an argosy for transportation -to Spokane, New Orleans, Baltimore, Boston, Bristol, or Bordeaux.</p> - -<p>For some reason his mastery of the desert island was not complete. His -race's traditional handiness seemed to be slightly in abeyance; perhaps -because luck was against him, perhaps on account of a too pervasive -feminine presence. But for whatever reason, things did not improve. -Nothing came ashore from the wreck—not even when, after a small gale, -it turned over and disappeared. The banana shelter leaked in the rain, -and as Miss Wilbur sat steaming in the sunshine which immediately -succeeded she felt inclined to attribute all her discomforts to Spens. -He seemed to have no faculty whatever for evolving things out of -nothing, which, she had always understood, was the great occupation of -desert-island life. Their food continued to be bananas and cocoanuts, -varied by an occasional fish; and, instead of being apologetic for such -meagre fare, he seemed to think she ought to be grateful.</p> - -<p>Now Miss Wilbur could have been grateful, if he had not roused her -antagonism by his continual adverse criticism of herself. She wished -to show him that she could be critical too; and so she sniffed at his -fish, and took no interest in his roofing arrangements, and treated -him, in short, exactly as the providing male should not be treated. -Man cannot stoop to ask for praise, but he can eternally sulk if he -does not get it. The domestic atmosphere of the island was anything but -cordial.</p> - -<p>After all, she used to say to herself, why should she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> labor under any -profound sense of obligation? Even when he appeared to be considering -her comfort she saw an ulterior motive. He came, for instance, one day, -civilly enough, and pointed out a little row of white stones marking -off a portion of the island.</p> - -<p>"The beach beyond this line is ceded to you," he observed gravely. -"No fooling. I'm in earnest. Of course I understand that you like to -be alone sometimes. Here you'll never be disturbed. When I annoy you -past bearing, you can come here." For a moment she was touched by his -kindness, the next he had added: "And would you mind allowing me a -similar privilege on the other side of the island?"</p> - -<p>His tone was a trifle more nipping than he had intended, but no suavity -could have concealed his meaning. His plan had been designed not to -please her, but to protect himself. No one before had ever plotted to -relieve himself of Miss Wilbur's company. Subterfuges had always had an -opposite intention. She had been clamored for and quarreled over. She -withdrew immediately to the indicated asylum.</p> - -<p>"I'm not accustomed to such people," she said to herself. "He makes me -feel different—horrid. I can't be myself." It was not the first time -she had talked to herself, and she wondered if her mind were beginning -to give way under the strain of the situation. "I'd like to box his -ears until they rang. Until they rang!" she repeated, and felt like a -criminal. Who would have supposed she had such instincts!</p> - -<p>For the tenth time that day she caught together the sleeve of the -detested dressing-gown. How shocked <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>Alfred and her father would be -to think a man lived who could treat her so! but the thought of their -horror soothed her less as it became more and more unlikely that they -would ever know anything about it.</p> - -<p>She stayed behind her stones until he called her to luncheon. They ate -in silence. Toward the end she said gently:</p> - -<p>"Would you mind not whistling quite so loud?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly not, if the sound annoys you."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it isn't the sound so much, only"—and she smiled angelically—"it -always seems to me a little flat."</p> - -<p>She had a great success. Spens colored.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, "I don't pretend to be a musician, but it has always -been agreed that I had an excellent ear."</p> - -<p>"In Green Springs, Connecticut?"</p> - -<p>He did not answer, but moved gloomily away. Two or three times she -heard him start an air and cut it short. A smile flickered across her -face. So sweet to her was it to be the aggressor that she did not -return behind the white stones, but remained, like a cat at a rat-hole, -waiting beside the fire to which Spens would have to return eventually.</p> - -<p>She had resolved that it must be kindly yet firmly made clear to him -that he was not behaving like a gentleman, and if, as seemed possible, -he did not understand all that the word implied, she felt quite -competent to explain it to him.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the idea that his conduct was not quite up even to his own -standards had already occurred to him, for when he returned he carried -a peace-offering. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> - -<p>He stood before her, holding something toward her. "I notice," he said, -"that you go about in the sun bare-headed. You oughtn't to do that, and -so I have made you this," and she saw the green mass in his hands was -leaves carefully fashioned into the shape of a hat.</p> - -<p>It may perhaps be forgiven to Miss Wilbur that her heart sank. -Nevertheless, she took the offering, expressing her gratitude with a -little too much volubility. "I must put it on at once," she said. Green -had never become her, but she placed it firmly on her head.</p> - -<p>Spens studied it critically. "It fits you exactly," he observed with -pleasure. "You see I could only guess at the size. Isn't it fortunate -that I guessed so exactly right!"</p> - -<p>She saw that he was immensely gratified and, trying to enter into the -spirit of the thing she said:</p> - -<p>"What a pity I can't see the effect!"</p> - -<p>"You can." He drew his watch from his pocket, and opened the back of -the case. "It doesn't keep time any longer," he said, "but it can still -serve as a looking-glass," and he held it up.</p> - -<p>Now any one who has ever looked at himself in the back of a watch-case -knows that it does not make a becoming mirror; it enlarges the tip of -the nose, and decreases the size of the eyes. Juliana had not so far -had any vision of herself. Now, for the first time, in this unfavorable -reflection, she took in her flattened hair, her tattered dressing-gown, -and, above all, the flapping, intoxicated head-gear which she had just -received. She snatched it from her head with a gesture quicker than -thought. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I believe you enjoy making me ridiculous," she said passionately.</p> - -<p>"Nothing could be more ridiculous than to say that," he answered. -"I wanted to save your health, but if you prefer sunstroke to an -unbecoming hat—not that I thought it unbecoming—"</p> - -<p>"It was hideous."</p> - -<p>"I can only say that I don't think so."</p> - -<p>Miss Wilbur slowly crushed the offending object and dropped it into the -fire. Ridiculous or not, there would never be any question about that -again.</p> - -<p>"Of course," she observed after a pause, "I don't expect you to -understand how I feel about this—how I feel about anything—how any -lady feels about anything."</p> - -<p>"Is it particularly ladylike not to wish to wear an unbecoming hat?"</p> - -<p>This of course was war, and Miss Wilbur took it up with spirit. -"Unhappily, it is ladylike," she answered, "to have been so sheltered -from hardships that when rudeness and stupidity are added—"</p> - -<p>"Come, come," said Spens, "we each feel we have too good a case to -spoil by losing our tempers. Sit down, and let us discuss it calmly. -You first. I promise not to interrupt. You object to my being rude and -stupid. So far so good, but develop your idea."</p> - -<p>The tone steadied Juliana. "I don't complain of the hardships," she -began. "I don't speak of the lack of shelter and food. These are not -your fault, although," she could not resist adding, "some people -might have managed a little better, I fancy. What I complain of is -your total lack of appreciation of what this situation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> means to me. -I haven't knocked about the world like a man. I've never been away -from home without my maid. I've never before been without everything -that love and money could get me, and instead of pitying me for this -you do everything in your power to make it harder. Instead of being -considerate you are not even civil. No one could think you civil—no -one that I know, at least. You do everything you can to make me feel -that my presence, instead of being a help and a pleasure, is an -unmitigated bother."</p> - -<p>There was a pause. "Well," said Spens, "since we are being so candid, -have you been a help? Have you even done your own share? Certainly not. -I don't speak of the things you can't help—your burning of the fish—"</p> - -<p>"The fish! I don't see how you have the effrontery to mention the fish."</p> - -<p>"Nor of your upsetting our first supply of rain-water. Constitutional -clumsiness is something no one can help, I suppose. But it does -irritate me that you seem to find it all so confoundedly fascinating in -you. You seemed to think it was cunning to burn the fish, and playful -to upset the water. In other words, though I don't mind carrying a dead -weight, I'm hanged if I'll regard it as a beauteous burden."</p> - -<p>Miss Wilbur rose to her feet. "The trouble with you is," she said, -"that you haven't the faintest idea how a gentleman behaves."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'm learning all right how a lady behaves," he retorted.</p> - -<p>After this it was impossible to give any consistent account of their -conversation. They both spoke at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> once, phrases such as these emerging -from the confusion: "—you talk about ladies and gentlemen." "Thank -Heaven, I know something of men and women"; "—civilized life and the -people I know"; "—never been tested before." "Do you think you have -survived the test so well?"</p> - -<p>The last sentence was Miss Wilbur's, and under cover of it she -retreated to her own domains. Spens, left in possession of the field, -presently withdrew to the other side of the island.</p> - -<p>Here for two or three days he had had a secret from Juliana. He had -invented, constructed, and was in process of perfecting himself in a -game with shells and cocoanuts which bore a family resemblance to both -quoits and hop-scotch. He turned to it now to soothe and distract him. -It was a delightful game, and exactly suited his purpose, requiring -as it did skill, concentration, and agility. He had just accomplished -a particularly difficult feat which left him in the attitude of the -Flying Mercury, when his eye fell upon a smutch of smoke upon the -horizon, beneath which the funnel of a vessel was already apparent.</p> - -<p>Spen's methods of showing joy were all his own. He threw the tattered -remnants of his cap in the air, and when it came down he jumped on it -again and again.</p> - -<p>His next impulse was to run and call Juliana, but he did not follow it. -Instead he piled wood on the fire until it was a veritable column of -flame, and then with folded arms he took his stand on the beach.</p> - -<p>Within a few minutes he became convinced that the vessel, a steamer of -moderate size, had sighted his signal.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> They were going to be rescued. -Very soon he and Juliana would be sailing back to civilization. He -would be fitted out by the ship's officers, and Juliana would be very -self-conscious about appearing in the stewardess's clothes. They would -figure in the papers—a rising young capitalist, and a society girl. -Her father would be on the pier. There would be explanations. He -himself would be a child in their hands. A vision of engraved cards, a -faint smell of orange-blossoms, floated through his mind. His resolve -was taken. He sprang up, ran through the palms, and penetrated without -knocking to where Miss Wilbur was sitting, with her back against a -tree. She glanced up at him with the utmost detestation.</p> - -<p>"I thought that here, at least—" she began, but he paid no attention.</p> - -<p>"Juliana," he exclaimed in his excitement, "there is a vessel on the -other side of the island. She'll be here in twenty minutes, and you -are going home in her. Now, don't make any mistake. <i>You</i> are going -home. I stay here. No, don't say anything. I've thought it over, and -this is the only way. We can't both go home. Think of landing, think of -the papers, think of introducing me to that distinguished bunch—the -people you know. No, no, you've been here all alone, and you're an -extraordinarily clever, capable girl, and have managed to make yourself -wonderfully comfortable, considering. No, don't protest. I am not -taking any risk. Here's a vessel at the end of ten days. Another may -be here tomorrow. Anyhow, be sure it's what I prefer. A cocoanut and -liberty. Good-by. Better be getting down to the beach to wave." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p> - -<p>Miss Wilbur hesitated. "At least," she said, "let me know when you do -get home."</p> - -<p>"I'll telephone from Green Springs. Now run along," and taking her by -the shoulders, he turned her toward the path.</p> - -<p>She had, however, scarcely reached the beach, and seen the vessel -now looming large and near, when she heard a hoarse whisper: "I've -forgotten my tobacco." A face and arm gleamed out from the bush. He -snatched the pouch, and this time was finally gone.</p> - -<p>The keel of the ship's boat grated on the sand, and a flustered young -officer sprang out. Juliana was inclined to make a moment of it, but -it was getting dark, and the captain, what with carrying the mails and -being well out of his course, was cross enough as it was.</p> - -<p>"One of you men go up there and stamp out that fire," he said. "No use -in bringing anyone else in here."</p> - -<p>An expression of terror crossed Miss Wilbur's face, and a cry burst -from her: "Oh, he'll be so angry." The officer caught only the terror, -and, setting it down to natural hysteria, pushed off without more ado.</p> - -<p>Night fell, and the stars came out with the startling rapidity of the -tropics. There was no wind, but puffs of salt air lifted the fronds of -the palms.</p> - -<p>Suddenly over the water was borne the sharp jangle of an engine-room -bell, and the beat of a vessel's propellers.</p> - -<p class="center space-above">THE END</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARE PARENTS PEOPLE? ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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