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diff --git a/77875-h/77875-h.htm b/77875-h/77875-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5029f6 --- /dev/null +++ b/77875-h/77875-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,18379 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + +<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Marriage of Susan, +by Helen R. Martin +</title> + +<style> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 1.5em } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center; font-size: medium } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 2em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.capcenter { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + font-weight: normal; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-indent: 0%; + text-align: center } + +img.imgcenter { margin-left: auto; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: auto; } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77875 ***</div> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="capcenter"> +<a id="img-front"></a> +<br> +<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-front.jpg" alt=""You and I are going to be married. We need not live together. But <i>we are going to be married""> +<br> +"You and I are going to be married. We need not<br> +live together. But <i>we are going to be married</i>" +</p> + +<h1> +<br><br> + THE MARRIAGE<br> + OF SUSAN<br> +</h1> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + BY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t2"> + HELEN R. MARTIN<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + FRONTISPIECE<br> + BY<br> + WALTER DE MARIS<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + GARDEN CITY, N. Y., AND TORONTO<br> + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br> + 1921<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY<br> + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br> +<br> + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION<br> + INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + <i>Books by Helen R. Martin</i><br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent smcap"> + Barnabetta<br> + Betrothal of Elypholate, and Other Tales<br> + of the Pennsylvania Dutch<br> + Crossways<br> + Gertie Swartz: Fanatic or Christian<br> + Her Husband's Purse<br> + Her Courtship<br> + Maggie of Virginsburg<br> + Martha of the Mennonite Country<br> + Revolt of Anne Royle<br> + Sabina, Story of the Amish<br> + The Fighting Doctor<br> + The Marriage of Susan<br> + The Parasite<br> + Those Fitzenbergers<br> + Tillie, A Mennonite Maid<br> + When Half-Gods Go<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> + CONTENTS<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent smcap" style="line-height: 1.5"> + I. <a href="#chap01">Time, an October Afternoon</a><br> + II. <a href="#chap02">Evening of the Same Day</a><br> + III. <a href="#chap03">The Following Spring</a><br> + IV. <a href="#chap04">A Year Later</a><br> + V. <a href="#chap05">Face to Face</a><br> + VI. <a href="#chap06">The Tentacles Close in Upon Susan</a><br> + VII. <a href="#chap07">July, August, and September</a><br> + VIII. <a href="#chap08">Autumn</a><br> + IX. <a href="#chap09">The House Party</a><br> + X. <a href="#chap10">An Interlude</a><br> + XI. <a href="#chap11">Home Again</a><br> + XII. <a href="#chap12">A Few More Years at the Cottage</a><br> + XIII. <a href="#chap13">In the Big House</a><br> + XIV. <a href="#chap14">Five Years Later</a><br> + XV. <a href="#chap15">A Widow</a><br> + XVI. <a href="#chap16">Susan Realizes Her Freedom</a><br> + XVII. <a href="#chap17">Susan's Reaping</a><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> + +<p class="t2"> +THE MARRIAGE OF SUSAN +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER I +<br><br> +TIME, AN OCTOBER AFTERNOON +</h2> + +<p> +As she got off the train at Reifsville the +loafers about the little station and about the +General Store across the road divined, without +knowing just why, that she was too "different," +somehow, to be a "lady agent"; not young enough to +be an applicant for the school; and too +something-else-quite-indefinable to be a possible visitor to any +family of the village. So what was there left for her +to be? Why was she here? They did not usually +have any difficulty in "sizing up" the few daily +arrivals by the train. +</p> + +<p> +As she walked out of the station and up the one +street of the village, their sleepy eyes followed her +with mild curiosity. That any "female" could be +very simply dressed and yet not look poor, but, on +the contrary, elegant and prosperous, was puzzling. +The trig neatness of her hair, her clothing, her shoes, +her gloves, the light grace of her walk (though she +was at least middle-aged) her assured bearing, the +way she carried her head, all proclaimed her as being, +at one and the same time, both too grand and too +plain to be classified with any feminine species +familiar to Reifsville. +</p> + +<p> +"I got it!" exclaimed Abe Duttonhoffer, his tilted +chair falling forward suddenly from the shock of his +idea. "She's mebby a-goin' to buy Baursox' house +that's fur sale." +</p> + +<p> +"No-p. It's put out, now, that there house can't +be solt. The lawyer says it's got to lay till Charles +is in his age." +</p> + +<p> +"There ain't no funeral goin' on that she'd be +comin' to," speculated Jake Kuntz. "The only +funeral due in Reifsville, the party ain't dead yet." +</p> + +<p> +"What party are you got reference to? Hess's +Missus, mebby?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Her. I'm to haul fur her, when her +funeral is, Mister says." +</p> + +<p> +"It's to be hoped she won't keep you waitin' long +fur the job!" said a facetious one, provoking a +general laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"It wonders me what that there lady a-goin' up +the street there is after out here!" persisted Jake. +</p> + +<p> +"Local colour, mebby," suggested Abe. +</p> + +<p> +"What the hell is local colour?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>You</i> are, Jake," retorted Abe. "It's what female +authors that plans books, runs round after." +</p> + +<p> +"After <i>me</i>! A high-stepper like her?" said Jake +with a twirl of his thumb in the direction the lady had +taken. "She wouldn't want nothin' to do with me! +'Local colour?'" Jake shook his head. "It's new +to me." +</p> + +<p> +"It ain't familiar with me, neither," said another +of the loafers. +</p> + +<p> +The mysterious lady had by this time walked +beyond the line of their vision. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a wonder, Jake, you didn't schnauffle after +her and find out what she's here fur?—you want to +know so bad!" said Abe; to which Jake replied, +indignantly, "Do you suppose I <i>would</i>'a? Do you +suppose <i>you</i> would'a?" +</p> + +<p> +"Say!"—Abe had another bright idea—"Mebby +she's one of Susan Schrekengust's swell city friends!" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, Susan she never has none of them tony city +friends of hern wisit her out here, 'ceptin' her fellah; +that there 'ristocratic dood that comes to set up with +her Sa'rdays," said Jake. +</p> + +<p> +"I guess Susan she has ashamed, a little, of her +folks—her bein' a grad-yate," suggested one of the +men. +</p> + +<p> +"Susan Schrekengust ain't proud!" retorted a +young man among the group. "She's wery nice and +common—fur all she's so grand educated that way!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Susan she took lessons a'ready in both +Wocal and both Instrumental, and still she's +wonderful common," Jake Kuntz backed up the other young +man's statement. To still be "common"—that is, +not haughty—after having studied "both Wocal and +both Instrumental," was to be rather more than +human. +</p> + +<p> +"Our Katy she says Susan she kin play sich Liszt +Ee-toods on the pyannah!" +</p> + +<p> +"That ain't so much! There's others in Reifsville +kin play Ee-toods." +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, unconscious of the interest that +followed her, the lady walked slowly, almost shrinkingly, +through the silent, empty street of the village. +The houses she passed looked uninhabited, for every +front shutter was closed and bolted to exclude dust, +or sunlight which would fade carpets and furniture +coverings. Except on Sundays and at funerals the +inhabitants of Pennsylvania Dutch villages and farms +live in their kitchens. Mrs. Houghton shuddered +inwardly as she noted the crudity of the little homes +of the place, the flower-beds bordered with oyster +shells, the gay colouring of the wood and brick of the +houses, the universal cheapness. +</p> + +<p> +It was such a shock and disappointment that her +son, her only child, hitherto so entirely satisfactory, +should have got himself actually engaged to a girl +of a Pennsylvania Dutch community like this!—from +a home such as these! Mrs. Houghton was on her +way now to see the girl; to feel her way to saving +Sidney from a mistake so disastrous. It was surely +not his true self, but a lower, hitherto unrevealed +self that had led her fastidious boy into such a +relation! A little "Dutch" school teacher named +<i>Schrekengust</i>!—the daughter of an illiterate +Mennonite preacher! How such a thing could ever have +happened to Sidney, who had always been rather +over-sensitive to crudity, to commonness; whose +tastes and instincts were so true and fine; who had +sometimes seemed to her, for a man, almost too +discriminating in his sense of social values—— +</p> + +<p> +Even making all due allowance for youth's hot +blood and imprudence, how a son of hers could so +have forgotten his traditions, his pride, his +consideration for his mother, his ambitions (all of which +Sidney had always cherished excessively) as to have +let himself be carried away against his judgment, +against his self-interest (she had never before known +Sidney to act against his self-interest), and actually +propose marriage to a Pennsylvania Dutch "girl of +the people"—— +</p> + +<p> +"It would seem that sex is the strongest force in a +man's life," she thought. "It will make a man +sacrifice anything! Women ought to refuse to bear +sons, for between war and love, what good do we get +of them?" +</p> + +<p> +It was a most embarrassing and painful errand, +this on which she had come here to-day to Reifsville. +</p> + +<p> +"But I'd go through anything to save Sidney from +such a marriage!" she told herself, passionately. +</p> + +<p> +She was quite sure that when he recovered from +this vulgar infatuation and came to himself he would +thank her with all his soul for having rescued him. +</p> + +<p> +It was trying enough to have your only son, to +whom you yourself had always been all the world, +transfer his devotion to another; but to have him love +an impossible person, one whom, with the greatest +straining of your charity, you could not take into +your heart and life—this was indeed hard to bear. +</p> + +<p> +The straw to which she clung was the fact that +Sidney, though very much in love, was not so far +gone as not to be as aware as she herself was of the +disadvantages of his entanglement. +</p> + +<p> +"I believe he would be ready to break it off if he +had not put himself under such great obligations to +her—borrowing money from her!—gracious!—how +<i>could</i> he do that?" she marvelled for the hundredth +time. "To let a self-supporting girl lend him +money!—<i>my son</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +If he himself had not admitted it, she never would +have believed it possible. But she had surprised +him yesterday with a visit at his lodgings at the +university town where he was taking a post-graduate +course in International Law, and had found his +sitting-room furnished in beautiful mahogany, which +he had been obliged to acknowledge had been purchased +by him and Miss Schrekengust for their future +housekeeping, and paid for with her savings of three +years. He was meantime using it. Also his new +golf outfit—she had loaned him seventy-five dollars +for that! +</p> + +<p> +"But where is your <i>pride</i>, Sidney!" she had cried +out to him in shocked astonishment. "To let this +working-girl give you things you can't afford!" +</p> + +<p> +"She's not a working-girl, Mother," he had +protested. "She's a school teacher." +</p> + +<p> +"A village school teacher—named Schrekenbust!" +</p> + +<p> +"Schreken<i>gust</i>—not bust! Don't make it worse +than it is! It's bad enough, in heaven's name!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you admit that it's bad enough?" she had +hopefully commented. +</p> + +<p> +"Can there be any doubt of it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you see, you poor deluded boy, that this +vulgar girl has tried to make sure of you by <i>buying</i> +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"She's not vulgar!—though of course I must +admit," Sidney had groaned, "that her people +<i>are</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"She can't be so very different from her people—you +say she <i>lives</i> with them. I never would have +believed it possible, Sidney, that <i>you</i> could fall in +love with a common girl!" +</p> + +<p> +"Mother, I've come to see that there's such a lot +of difference between common people and just plain, +simple people like the Schrekengusts." +</p> + +<p> +"You know you cannot afford to marry out of your +class! Remember, Sidney, you are still dependent +on me, and if you should marry beneath you I +certainly would not deny myself any least comfort in +order to help you and your Dutch wife!" +</p> + +<p> +"Mother, dear, you are wasting breath, for I see +it all just as you do! But Susanna's <i>got</i> me!" +</p> + +<p> +"Where did you meet her?" +</p> + +<p> +"At one of the university dances a year ago." +</p> + +<p> +"This thing has been going on a whole year and +you have never told me!" +</p> + +<p> +"I've been engaged to her only six months. It has +seemed impossible to tell you—I knew so well how +you'd take it, dear. I hated to worry and distress +you." +</p> + +<p> +"But why should you do anything that <i>can</i> worry +and distress me? Surely your standards and mine +cannot be different, Sidney, such close companions as +we have always been! I thought we understood +each other so perfectly—and now it seems that I did +not really know you!" +</p> + +<p> +"I hate to be such a disappointment to you, +Mother—but somehow I can't feel that I have +lowered my standards in falling in love with Susanna." +</p> + +<p> +"And yet you are more class-conscious than I am, +for you are a Houghton! You can't make that girl +happy. Such a name! Schrekengust! <i>Why</i> is her +name Schrekengust?" she exclaimed, despairingly. +"It seems so unnecessary!" +</p> + +<p> +"That objection to her will fortunately be removed +by her marriage to me." +</p> + +<p> +"Where does she live?" +</p> + +<p> +"Reifsville. Five miles from here." +</p> + +<p> +"I shall go to see her." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't!" Sidney had exclaimed protestingly; then +suddenly, unaccountably, he had laughed. "Really, +Mother, dear, I warn you—don't! Susanna'd upset +you dreadfully!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why doesn't she upset <i>you</i>, if the bare idea of my +meeting her strikes you as so incongruous?" +</p> + +<p> +"She has upset me! Bowled me over!" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton had suddenly resolved to say nothing +more about going to see the girl. She would take +her unawares, as she had taken Sidney to-day. +</p> + +<p> +So here she was in Reifsville, on the very next +afternoon, on her way to the home of the Schrekengusts. +</p> + +<p> +It was the last house of the village: a white frame +house with green shutters, shaded by great trees. It +was really picturesque; the only attractive house in +Reifsville. Mrs. Houghton, appraising it while she +waited for an answer to her knock on the door (a +delightful old-fashioned knocker, no bell), had to +admit that by a happy accident the girl's home was, +from the outside, very passable. +</p> + +<p> +A typical dialogue between two village women +parting from each other at the door of the next house +set her nerves on edge at the thought of her son's +close association with such people. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-by. Come back again soon. Ain't?" +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you. And you are to come over, mind!" +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you. <i>I</i> will. Good-by. Come over soon, +now!" +</p> + +<p> +"Good-by. And don't you forget to come over +soon. Ain't, you won't?" +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks; I won't forget. And don't you forget +neither to come back." +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks. I won't. I'll be over then again, when +it suits. Good-by." +</p> + +<p> +"Good-by. Don't make it too long till——" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton was just beginning to wonder +whether they ever would succeed in concluding their +leavetaking—when the Schrekengusts' door was +opened and there stood before her a sweet-faced +elderly woman in Mennonite garb who, with mingled +shyness and surprise, showed the stranger into the +parlour. +</p> + +<p> +And here Mrs. Houghton experienced genuine +astonishment. It was not at all the sort of room she +had expected to see. Old Sheraton furniture of +graceful lines and exquisite inlaid decoration, framed +copies of famous paintings, an old woven carpet of +the sort the colonists brought over—how had people +named "Schrekengust," living in this Pennsylvania +Dutch village, come by such things? The room +actually showed cultured taste! Could she be +mistaken and had Sidney not turned his back on his birth +and breeding in choosing this girl—— +</p> + +<p> +But that momentary hope was dashed—there was +the Mennonite mother who had answered her knock +at the door; and Sidney's own admission that his +marriage would be disadvantageous and outside his +own class. +</p> + +<p> +In a moment Miss Schrekengust appeared in the +doorway. +</p> + +<p> +She, too, like the room, was not just what +Mrs. Houghton had expected to see. At a first glance one +might have made the mistake of taking her, from her +dress and manner, for a thoroughbred; indeed, her +simplicity and self-possession as, with a slight inquiry +in her innocent eyes, she came into the room and +offered her hand to the stranger, lent her a certain +distinction. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton had been prepared graciously to put +an awkward country girl at her ease, as a necessary +preliminary to convincing her of the undesirability of +her marrying Sidney Houghton; but it was she herself +who, for a moment, felt confused and at a loss. +</p> + +<p> +"I—you are Miss Schrekengust?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes?" replied the girl on a questioning note. +"Will you sit down?" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton pulled herself together to focus her +forces upon her purpose to save her son (for however +presentable the girl might prove to be superficially, +she was nevertheless not of Sidney's world). +</p> + +<p> +"I don't believe she'll be difficult," she thought, +noting, as she sat down, the sweetness of the child's +mouth, the infantile look of her eyes, the soft drawl of +her speech. +</p> + +<p> +"You have something to sell?" inquired Miss +Schrekengust, encouragingly. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton smiled involuntarily at being taken +for a travelling saleswoman. The girl must, after all, +be unsophisticated not to recognize—— +</p> + +<p> +"I am Mrs. Houghton—Mr. Sidney Houghton's +mother. May I," she quickly added in a tone +impressively grave and reserved, to check the girl's +start of pleased surprise which seemed to threaten to +rush at her with a caress, "have a little talk with +you?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Schrekengust's intuitions were evidently not +dull; she recovered instantly from her impulsive +delight, folded her hands quietly in her lap, and without +speaking, her clear young eyes fixed upon +Mrs. Houghton's face, waited. +</p> + +<p> +"My son has told me of his—of your—friendship." +</p> + +<p> +"I appreciate your kindness in coming away out +here to see me," said Miss Schrekengust, gratefully. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton noted that she spoke without the +Pennsylvania Dutch accent. +</p> + +<p> +"But I am sorry to tell you, Miss Schrekengust, +that I don't approve of my son's relations with +you—his owing you money—his using your furniture! +He never went into debt in his life before he knew +you, Miss Schrekengust; he never thought of buying +things he couldn't afford; I didn't think him capable +of doing such things!—such things as he confessed to +me yesterday!" +</p> + +<p> +"Confessed?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course he feels the degradation of such a +relation!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I beg your pardon—you got a wrong +impression—Sidney does not feel that our relation is +'degrading'!" +</p> + +<p> +"I mean his relation of debtor to you. He was +horribly ashamed to admit it to me. Never before +in his life has he done anything that he was ashamed +to tell me, his mother. I can see that he has really +deteriorated; and naturally I am distressed and +worried." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton paused, feeling that she had put +it well. +</p> + +<p> +But Miss Schrekengust smiled upon her reassuringly. +"That is too bad, for of course you have +misunderstood. It's because Sidney and I have such a +high ideal of love that these material considerations +don't enter in at all, don't affect us." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton checked a smile at this youthfully +complacent idealism. It was evidently sincere +enough in the girl's case, but Mrs. Houghton could +not quite see Sidney so uplifted by love or anything +else as to be unaffected by "material considerations!" +</p> + +<p> +"An honourable man cannot ignore 'these material +considerations,' Miss Schrekengust, and I am very, +very sorry that you have encouraged Sidney to do so. +You have meant to be generous to him, no doubt, but +unfortunately you have led him to forget the standards +of a gentleman, and to do what men of his class, +Miss Schrekengust, do not do. Of course I'm quite +sure that you erred only in—well, in ignorance. But +that does not alter the fact that for the first time in +his life I am forced to be ashamed of my son!" +</p> + +<p> +"But I am sure you have no real cause to be," +Miss Schrekengust pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +"If your traditions and environment had been +just what Sidney's have been—if you had been +brought up with his standard—you would see it as +I do; as <i>he</i> really sees it." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you think you take it too seriously? It's +after all a very small matter." +</p> + +<p> +"I am extremely sorry," said Mrs. Houghton, +gravely, "that you have apparently led Sidney to +think it 'a small matter.' I am very much afraid, +Miss Schrekengust, that your influence on my son's +character does not seem to have been of the best. +And surely true love <i>should</i> bring out the best of a +man; don't you think so?" +</p> + +<p> +"It surely must," the girl assented. +</p> + +<p> +"That is why I cannot believe that Sidney's feeling +for you is quite true. I hope I don't hurt you +very much by saying so? If I could find him +improved by his relation to you instead of +deteriorated——" +</p> + +<p> +The girl's soft eyes met Mrs. Houghton's without a +flicker. "I'm afraid you flatter me, Mrs. Houghton." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Flatter</i> you!" +</p> + +<p> +"When you rate the influence of my short eleven +months' acquaintance with your son above your +twenty-five years in influencing and moulding him; +and above those traditions and that environment to +which you referred." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton caught her breath as she thought +of how "kindly and patiently" she had intended to +reason with a crude and probably over-awed country +girl! +</p> + +<p> +Miss Schrekengust, on her side, was saying to herself, +"Sidney is not doing very well by me in the way +of a mother-in-law." +</p> + +<p> +"Your parents are Mennonites?" asked Mrs. Houghton +rather abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"And you have always lived here in Reifsville?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, except during the four years that I spent +at a boarding school." +</p> + +<p> +"And do you know," asked Mrs. Houghton, +gently, "what a very, very different background +Sidney has had?" +</p> + +<p> +"In Middleburg?" +</p> + +<p> +Was there a note of laughter in the question? +Mrs. Houghton could not be quite sure; the girl's +face was serious enough. "My son's associations—at +home, in college, in society—his inherited tastes +and instincts, Miss Schrekengust, from a long line +of—— Oh, my child, marriage at best forces one to +so <i>much</i> compromising and adapting and adjusting, +that it is very necessary, if there's to be any least +chance of making a success of it, for the pair to at +least start on an equal footing, with as many points of +contact in their background as possible. If they +start with wide gaps and differences in their +experiences and their bringing-up they are doomed to +misunderstanding and failure." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton again felt she had put it well; +strongly though delicately. +</p> + +<p> +But Miss Schrekengust, continuing to gaze at her +with unwavering eyes, did not reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you agree with me, Miss Schrekengust?" +</p> + +<p> +"But surely two people who are very essentially +different are not apt to fall in love with each other. +And the merely superficial differences cannot kill +love. I think we can always trust ourselves to love." +</p> + +<p> +"Are you so very much in love with my son that +your faith in love is quite boundless?" asked +Mrs. Houghton, with a slightly supercilious lift of her +brows. +</p> + +<p> +"What seems a more important point to me is +that he is very much in love with me," smiled Miss +Schrekengust. +</p> + +<p> +"And you think it no drawback at all that you and +Sidney come from such different environments?" +</p> + +<p> +"We shouldn't dream of letting such nonsense +interfere with our love, Mrs. Houghton. If we did +we'd be unworthy of it! It's a gift of the gods!—and +not to be treated lightly or sordidly." +</p> + +<p> +"But 'such nonsense' <i>will</i> interfere with your love! +'Such nonsense' makes it quite impossible that you +should have the same outlook upon life, the same +instincts, the same friends, the same prestige. You +would differ at all points!" +</p> + +<p> +"You predict a lively time for us!" smiled Miss +Schrekengust. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton stared. Was it impossible to upset +the girl's serenity? +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose Sidney has told you, Miss Schrekengust, +that, after he has finished his work at the +university next May his Uncle George Houghton of +New York is going to secure for him a diplomatic +appointment?—his uncle being a man of influence +and in close touch with the Administration." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, of course I know of Sidney's prospects." +</p> + +<p> +"But don't you see," Mrs. Houghton earnestly +argued, "that Sidney being, as you know, quite poor, +can't marry a girl with no money—the diplomatic +salaries are too small; and Sidney's tastes are not +simple. And besides——" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes?" Miss Schrekengust prompted as Mrs. Houghton +hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +"Besides," she plunged in, courageously, "the +education of a wide social experience is surely a +prerequisite for being the wife of a diplomat to a foreign +country. A foreign diplomat, more than most men, +needs a real helpmate, a partner, in a wife. Do you +feel that you would be equal to filling such a social +position, Miss Schrekengust?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well," Miss Schrekengust thoughtfully replied in +her soft drawl, "I don't believe the foreign +governments will find me any worse than I shall find +them." +</p> + +<p> +"But I am serious, Miss Schrekengust! I am sure +that you and Sidney are making a terrible mistake +in thinking that you could possibly pull together, +when your rearing and inheritance have been so +widely different!" +</p> + +<p> +"I know Sidney's ideals and principles are not +quite so severe as mine—but I have hopes for him." +</p> + +<p> +"His marriage would drag him down!" exclaimed +Mrs. Houghton, losing a bit the restraint which thus +far she had tried hard to exercise. "His engagement +has already done so! Sidney admits as much!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but I am sure you do him injustice," said +Miss Schrekengust, serenely. +</p> + +<p> +"But the financial side of it? Sidney has nothing +of his own—not a dollar except what I choose to give +him. If he should marry out of his class, I shouldn't +dream of helping him." +</p> + +<p> +"Then I'm afraid I think it would be a very good +thing for him to 'marry out of his class,' for it's time +he stood on his own feet." +</p> + +<p> +"He could not possibly support a wife on a diplomat's +salary." +</p> + +<p> +"I've always been able to live on anything I've +had to live on." +</p> + +<p> +"But Sidney's tastes are not so simple." +</p> + +<p> +"I know he's inclined to be luxurious; but I'm sure +I shall be able to hold him in, never fear," said Miss +Schrekengust, again speaking reassuringly. +</p> + +<p> +"Has he told you that he and his half-brother are +the only natural heirs of their Uncle George +Houghton?—and that Mr. Houghton is a very eccentric as +well as a very rich old man who wouldn't leave a cent +of his money to any one who displeased him? +Mr. Houghton has a great deal of family pride and he is +very ambitious for Sidney, and it would certainly +displease him excessively to have Sidney marry +disadvantageously; so much so that he would undoubtedly +leave all his money to my step-son, though he has +always disliked Joe and been very fond of Sidney. +So you see, Miss Schrekengust, you have Sidney's +welfare in your hands; his undoing or his salvation." +</p> + +<p> +"And you are quite sure that Mr. George Houghton +would classify Sidney's marriage to me under that +head—'disadvantageous'?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think I have made it clear to you why he would +do to." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid you haven't. You have spoken of +backgrounds, environments, incomes—but Sidney +and I know that a great passion, any big emotional +experience, is not to be measured against such cheap +things as those. We are not so stupid as to give such +false values to the real things of life!" +</p> + +<p> +"Do you really think you would be worth more to +Sidney than all the things he would lose by marrying +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Heaps and oodels more!" +</p> + +<p> +"It is nice," said Mrs. Houghton in a hushed tone +which would have been rather crushing to a timid +soul, "to have such a high opinion of one's value!" +</p> + +<p> +"It is not so much a high opinion of my own value +as a low opinion of the values you would measure +against me." +</p> + +<p> +"Then, Miss Schrekengust," said Mrs. Houghton, +rising and looking pale and cold, "in spite of all I have +said to you, you refuse to give up my son?" +</p> + +<p> +"He has not asked me to give him up, Mrs. Houghton," +replied Miss Schrekengust, also rising. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> have asked you and have shown you clearly +why your marriage to him would be bad for you +both. If you love him you will release him!" +</p> + +<p> +"I know I would if I were the heroine of a melodrama. +At this point in the play I would tragically +and idiotically give up my true love for his best good, +and mysteriously disappear! But if I do that——" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Schrekengust paused, looking very thoughtful; +and Mrs. Houghton, unable to repress the eagerness +born of this hopeful pause, urged her on with a +rather breathless, "Well?" +</p> + +<p> +"If I do renounce Sidney," the girl sighed, "I +suppose I shall then seriously consider accepting another +proposal of marriage," she astoundingly announced, +"which I am afraid might injure Sidney's financial +prospects even more than his marriage with me +would do." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't quite follow you," said Mrs. Houghton, +repressing her eagerness. "How could your marriage +with any one else affect Sidney's financial prospects?" +</p> + +<p> +"My marriage with Mr. George Houghton might +quite seriously affect Sidney. For you see, I'd be +Sidney's Aunt Susan instead of his wife. I think +that would affect Sidney quite disagreeably." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton stared. "You—you know Mr. George +Houghton?—and he—he wants to <i>marry</i> you! +But he—why, his——" +</p> + +<p> +Her astonishment choked her. She could not +speak. Her brother-in-law's family pride was almost +an obsession With him! He had remained a bachelor +all his life because he had never found a woman +he considered quite worthy to marry a Houghton! +That proud old man to have become infatuated with +a young girl like this!—a village nobody! +</p> + +<p> +"He's in his dotage!" she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" breathed Miss Schrekengust, "thanks!" +</p> + +<p> +"I mean, Miss Schrekengust, that you are such a +child—and Mr. Houghton is over seventy! And +his family pride—he is such a—a——" +</p> + +<p> +"Snob?" Miss Schrekengust suggested. +</p> + +<p> +"A year ago George Houghton would have +thought he was stooping if he'd been marrying a +duchess!" +</p> + +<p> +"A year ago," said Miss Schrekengust quite +truthfully, "he had not met me." +</p> + +<p> +Again Mrs. Houghton stared helplessly. Anything +more extraordinary than this girl's complacency +she had never encountered. +</p> + +<p> +"But I promise you," added the girl, "that I'm +not going to marry Mr. George Houghton." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Miss Schrekengust, if Sidney takes you +from his uncle, then his uncle will have a double +reason for disinheriting him! This is really a +dreadful situation!" +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't it! I thought you would find it so." +</p> + +<p> +"But what shall we <i>do</i> about it?" cried Mrs. Houghton, +desperately. +</p> + +<p> +"We? You mean you and I?" +</p> + +<p> +"Surely, Miss Schrekengust, I can hardly believe +you would be so blind to your own interests as to +choose a penniless boy like Sidney if you can marry +his uncle!" +</p> + +<p> +"But doesn't love enter at <i>all</i> into your ideas of +marriage, Mrs. Houghton? I love Sidney and I do +not love his Uncle George. I don't love his Uncle +George at <i>all</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then you have already refused to marry +Mr. George Houghton?" Mrs. Houghton wonderingly +asked. +</p> + +<p> +"I shouldn't think of marrying a man seventy +years old. Unless, of course," she quickly added, +"I were driven to recklessness by losing the man I +love." +</p> + +<p> +"But how on earth did old George Houghton ever +take it, being refused by a—well, a girl without either +great fortune or great position?" cried Mrs. Houghton, +her amazed curiosity quite upsetting her dignity. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'm sure he knows, as any other old man +would know, that he can't expect to be wildly +attractive to a young girl of eighteen. Even a Houghton +must know that he has become a little slow at +seventy." +</p> + +<p> +"Well!" Mrs. Houghton exclaimed, unexpectedly, +"I do hope it has taken some of the conceit out of +him! George Houghton refused!—and by—— But I +must say, Miss Schrekengust, I think you are +extremely foolish! He can't live long." +</p> + +<p> +"That, of course, is an inducement. And +yet—well, you see, I love Sidney." +</p> + +<p> +"You must love him very, very much!" admitted +Sidney's mother, almost softened. +</p> + +<p> +"I do, Mrs. Houghton." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton quickly reflected, "If she marries +George, Sidney's certain not to get any of his money. +If she marries Sidney there's at least a chance——" +</p> + +<p> +Her glance swept the girl from head to foot. She +really was attractive, and more than presentable; +not at all what she had expected to find; although of +course her family would prove very embarrassing—— +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton suddenly held out her hand. "If +you love him enough to refuse a great fortune and a +great position for his sake, I suppose you must, after +all, be the girl he ought to marry." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sure I am," Miss Schrekengust said as she +took the offered hand. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When Mrs Houghton had gone, the young girl +collapsed helplessly in a little heap upon the old +davenport before the fire. "If only I see Sidney +before she does!—else what on earth will he think of +my yarn about his old uncle's wanting to marry me!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER II +<br><br> +EVENING OF THE SAME DAY +</h2> + +<p> +If Mrs. Houghton could have caught a +glimpse of the Schrekengust household at supper +a half hour later she would have felt that, after +all, rather than have her son marry into a family like +this, she would infinitely prefer that he give the girl +up to his Uncle George and thus lose all hope of +inheriting a fortune. For the good taste manifested +in the Schrekengust's parlour, which had so surprised +her, did not extend beyond that room to the rest of +the house. And the girl, Susan, herself, was a quite +unique member of her family. She had never tried +to make over her parents and her two elder sisters as +she had made over the parlour. She loved her family +very much as they were, though she was not above +finding them embarrassing sometimes. +</p> + +<p> +The large kitchen where they were gathered for +their substantial evening meal of fried "ponhaus," +fried potatoes, pie, and coffee, was also the family +living room. It was unpapered, bare of ornament, +the floor covered with a patched rag carpet, the +furniture of the plainest and cheapest. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. and Mrs. Schrekengust and the two elder +daughters, Lizzie and Addie, women of thirty-five +and thirty-two, all wore the plain garb of the +Mennonite faith, and their religion obliged them to shun +not only all personal adornment, but all beauty in +the home, as they would have shunned the very +devil himself. So that in conceding to Susan a free +hand in the parlour, they had gone as near the ragged +edge of perdition as they dared. +</p> + +<p> +Addie and Lizzie were both natural born spinsters, +tall, angular, homely, puritanic. Lizzie, like her +mother, was talkative, lively, almost boisterous, and +immensely energetic; her warm, generous impulses +constantly outran her means of gratifying them, and +her Pennsylvania Dutch prudence seemed always to +be at war with her big heart. +</p> + +<p> +Addie, on the contrary, was like her father, +economical, minutely calculating; yet just as kind and +unselfish as the less careful Lizzie. Her manner, also +like her father's, was quiet and gentle, and she +willingly let herself be dominated by her noisy sister +Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +"What fur didn't you ast Sidney's Mom to stay +and eat along, Susie?" her mother inquired in a +mildly reproachful tone as she helped herself from a +platter of "ponhaus" and then passed the dish to her +youngest daughter. "To leave her go and set +waitin' in the station fur the train to come, when it +don't come till away past supper time a'ready—when +she might be settin' here with us eatin' hot +wittles! What'll she <i>think</i> anyhow?—and you bein' +promised to her son yet! It don't look right—that +it don't!" +</p> + +<p> +It was a difficult question for Susan to meet +without betraying what her parents and sisters would be +quite unable to understand—that Sidney's mother +didn't think her "good enough" for Sidney. For the +Schrekengusts, on their side, didn't think any man +living quite worthy of their wonderful Susan. +</p> + +<p> +She was the child of her parents' old age, being +fourteen years younger than her sister Addie, and she +had always been the pet and idol of the family. +They had all denied themselves, ever since her birth, +to give her a chance in life such as none of them had +ever had. They had never let her drudge as they +had all drudged; they had sent her away to school, +had kept her well-dressed, had provided her with +enough pocket money to enable her to hold up her +end among her schoolmates, had given her her own +way always. Susan was all their happiness in life; +the one warm, bright, glowing spot in their otherwise +colourless existence. In the self-repression of their +Mennonite faith, the affection and care they gave to +her were the only outlet their hearts knew; their only +personal expression. +</p> + +<p> +And they thought themselves well repaid for all +their sacrifices by the charming, lovable result +achieved. For strangely enough, Susan was not +spoiled by their devotion and indulgence. Contrary +to the usual effect of such rearing, she deeply +appreciated all that had been done for her and was +passionately loyal and devoted to her family. +</p> + +<p> +As for her engagement to Sidney Houghton, far +from thinking that the young man had condescended, +the Schrekengusts considered it entirely natural that +a "stylish towner" should want to marry Susan, and +they deemed him a lucky man to have won her; for +being too simple and unsophisticated to draw subtle +distinctions, they did not perceive in Sidney any of +those variances from ordinary mortals which had +been pointed out that day to Susan by Sidney's +mother. +</p> + +<p> +There was something touching to Susan about this +childlike ignorance of the world's standards, in which +her people lived. She had already, at eighteen years +of age, seen enough of life to value, at its true and +high worth, their simple goodness and kindness, their +genuineness, their innocence. +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Houghton said she was not hungry, Mother, +and that she wanted to take a walk about the village +before train time," Susan readily improvised in reply +to her mother's question, being accustomed to +protect her parents thus from all the wounds and shocks +that constantly threatened them from the uncomfortable +differences between her and them in education +and experience and social relations. +</p> + +<p> +"But the train to town don't leave here till a +quarter over seven o'clock a'ready, Susie; and here last +night she was late a-whole hour yet, that there seven +o'clock train!" replied her mother. +</p> + +<p> +"I seen her when she come up the street from the +station," said Lizzie (it would have taken an expert +to tell whether she referred to the train or the lady), +"and it wondered me that a city person would be +that plain dressed." +</p> + +<p> +"That's why she dresses plainly—because she's +not a villager. You see, Lizzie, I'm right in not +letting you tog me up," Susan pointed out. +</p> + +<p> +"Even Sidney don't dress up when he comes to set +up with you, Susie, like the young fellahs here dresses +up to go to see their girls. Ain't, he don't?" said her +mother. +</p> + +<p> +"He considers himself a very well-dressed young +man," smiled Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, he anyhow always looks becoming and +wery genteel, no matter what he's got on," said +Lizzie, admiringly. "I do now like his shape and +the way his shoulders is so straight acrost like a +sojer's yet!" +</p> + +<p> +"He is an awful pretty man," agreed Mrs. Schrekengust. +</p> + +<p> +This was too much for Susan, "Oh, Mother, I +wouldn't marry a <i>pretty</i> man! Heavens! He's +handsome, not pretty! He's manly looking. And he +looks what he is—an aristocrat." +</p> + +<p> +"Aristocrats is fur out in the old country, not fur +America," protested her father. "We wouldn't +stand fur havin' no sich aristocrats here. What fur +do you call him an aristocrat? What's his title +then?" +</p> + +<p> +"I guess Susie means the nice manners he's got at +him," ventured Addie, who spoke seldom. "I like so +well to watch him use his manners," she blandly +added. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, well, if he don't pay so much attention to +'em that he forgets his morals!" warned the Mennonite +preacher gravely. "Manners is all wery well if +used in moderation. A body mustn't go to excesses +in 'em. Sometimes I have afraid Sidney goes a little +too fur with them manners of hisn." +</p> + +<p> +"Och, yes, he won't even leave our Susan open a +door fur herself; or even pick up a handkerchief he's +dropped!" cried Lizzie. "If I was Susie I'd keep +droppin' things just to see him pick 'em up so polite!" +</p> + +<p> +"He certainly is wery genteel," granted Mrs. Schrekengust. +</p> + +<p> +"It's to be hoped he'll make you a good purwider, +Susie, used as you are to full and plenty," said her +father. +</p> + +<p> +"But with the education you have given me, +Father, I am provided for—I can always support +myself if I need to." +</p> + +<p> +"But if you had young children to look after you +couldn't turn out and teach school," objected her +father. "It's wery important that your husband is +a good purwider; fur whiles it's awful honourable to +be poor, it's wery inconwenient." +</p> + +<p> +"And to live nice these days," added her mother, +"it takes so much more! Ain't, Pop, the times is +changed lately since a few years back a'ready?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, yes, and the young folks they want so much +towards what we used to want. Ain't, Mom?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, ain't!" +</p> + +<p> +When only a few hours after Mrs. Houghton's +departure Sidney unexpectedly arrived at Reifsville +on his bicycle, Susan's feelings as she greeted him +were a rather confusing compound of apprehension +and relief. +</p> + +<p> +"I came out to warn you, darling," he began as +soon as they were alone together (seated on the big old +davenport, his arm around her shoulders), "that my +mother may swoop down upon you!" +</p> + +<p> +"You came to '<i>warn</i>' me? Is she dangerous?" +</p> + +<p> +"Very!" he laughed uneasily, "to you and me. +Harmless enough otherwise." +</p> + +<p> +"But how can she be dangerous to us?" +</p> + +<p> +"She has other ideas for me. She wants me to +marry—well, money—and—oh, and family and all +that sort of thing." +</p> + +<p> +"I can't somehow associate such vulgarity with +you." +</p> + +<p> +"Vulgarity? But, my love! You are speaking of +my mother!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, no. Of you. But how can she, your +mother, imagine your doing a vulgar, sordid thing, +when I can't possibly see you like that? She has +known you longer." +</p> + +<p> +"And perhaps better. I've always told you, +Susanna" (he insisted upon the "old colonial" form +of her name as being less commonplace), "that you +see me through rose-coloured glasses. I'm not above +marrying for money—and other things. Only, I +happen to want you more than I want anything else." +</p> + +<p> +"And much, much more than you want to keep in +your Uncle George's good graces?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't mean to lose his favour. I need it too +much. He's only got to meet you to be won over. +He must meet you <i>before</i> he learns of our engagement, +so that he will judge you without prejudice. You +yourself will be all the argument I shall need to +convince him." +</p> + +<p> +"To convince him of what?" +</p> + +<p> +"That you are not my equal, but my superior." +</p> + +<p> +"But if he wants you to marry money and—and +family—and other things that have nothing to do +with my superiority?" +</p> + +<p> +"You'll make him realize, as you've made me, +that you're a prize worth more than all those things, +my love!" +</p> + +<p> +"What do you understand by <i>family</i>, Sidney? +And do you care a lot about family?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I do. I do care for family and money and +prestige and all the things I've been brought up to +consider of value." +</p> + +<p> +"None of which I bring to you!" +</p> + +<p> +"You know what you bring to me!" he said, +holding her close and kissing her. +</p> + +<p> +"And you are quite sure it makes up to you for +losing some of those other things?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't intend to lose any of them." +</p> + +<p> +"But if you did have to?" +</p> + +<p> +"But I shan't have to!" +</p> + +<p> +"Suppose, Sidney," she plunged in astonishingly, +"<i>that your Uncle George wanted to marry me himself</i>—would +you think me very heroic for refusing him and +cleaving unto you until death us do part?" +</p> + +<p> +Sidney, startled, took his arm from her shoulder, +tilted up her chin and looked into her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"What are you driving at, imp of Satan?" +</p> + +<p> +"You see, Mr. George Houghton can't possibly live +very long—he's over seventy; I'd soon be a rich +widow." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you <i>know</i> him?" exclaimed Sidney, amazed. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Tell</i> me—would I be proving myself quite worthy +of you, a Houghton, if I refused to marry Uncle +George?" +</p> + +<p> +"You'd be too damned unlike any Houghton I ever +knew! Excuse me! What's it all about, anyway?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sidney, I have charming news for you! Your +mother is quite reconciled to me; she consents to our +marriage!" +</p> + +<p> +"You've seen her? She's been here?" he cried, +agitatedly. +</p> + +<p> +"This afternoon. And when I pointed out to her +that it might injure your financial prospects much +more for me to marry Uncle George and become your +Aunt Susan than to marry <i>you</i>, she saw that I was so +noble as to be worthy to be her daughter-in-law." +</p> + +<p> +Sidney gaped at her quite idiotically for an instant; +then suddenly, his hand dropping from her chin, he +threw himself back upon the cushions of the couch +and roared with laughing. "You made her believe +that?" he shouted. "You little devil! By Jove, +you have nerve!" +</p> + +<p> +"She will tell you all about it. I'm glad I've seen +you first. What would you have thought about it if +you had heard your mother first?" +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose I should have been as gullible as she +was and <i>believed</i> it!" he said, still laughing. "I did +for a moment! You see I have such a large faith in +your power to charm that I could even find it credible +that a confirmed old bachelor like Uncle George had +succumbed to you!" +</p> + +<p> +"The amazing part of it all to your mother was +that he could so have forgotten his snobbery——" +</p> + +<p> +"Snobbery? Oh, I don't know that I'd call Uncle +George a snob, exactly." +</p> + +<p> +"I know <i>I</i> would; a man who has remained a +bachelor for seventy years because he couldn't find a +wife worthy of a Houghton! What <i>is</i> a snob if that +isn't?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, he's a mighty fine old chap, anyway," +insisted Sidney, growing sober as he wondered, with a +sinking of his heart, how much his mother had seen +of the household here. If she had not gotten beyond +this room and Susan, she had yet much to learn! +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me all about Mother's visit, dearest," he +urged, leaning back and again slipping his arm to its +comfortable and delightful resting place on her +shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +Throughout her dramatic and graphic report +of her afternoon's experience, Sidney's mingled +amusement and anxiety made him alternately +chuckle and frown—until she came to repeat his +mother's views as to the bad influence Susan had had +upon his character, when the frown remained fixed. +</p> + +<p> +"I tried to make her see how she misjudged you," +said Susan; "how the furniture you are using is just +some of our aus tire——" +</p> + +<p> +"Our which?" exclaimed Sidney. +</p> + +<p> +"Pennsylvania Dutch for household furnishings. +She told me I was undermining those fine instincts +which all gentlemen of your class possess by +inheritance; and that if your fineness was united to my +coarse lack of sensibility, we'd be more like Kilkenny +cats than turtle doves; and it was just then that I had +the happy inspiration to have Uncle George crazy to +marry me. It worked. I'm quite worthy of you, +Sidney." +</p> + +<p> +"Are you aware, dear," he asked, gravely, "that +you are making fun of my mother?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm stating facts. If the facts are funny—well, +they'd better be funny than sad. I might be as bad +as your mother evidently expected to find me: +talking Pennsylvania Dutch and chewing gum and wearing +my hair in a weird design—instead of the simple, +sweet Maud Muller I am! Be thankful!" +</p> + +<p> +"I am! Did Mother—stay long?" +</p> + +<p> +He had started to say, "see any of the rest of the +family?"—but checked himself in time. +</p> + +<p> +"About an hour. <i>My</i> mother thought it dreadful +that I didn't ask her to stop and have supper with us, +since her train wasn't due until long after she left +here. But you see, Sidney," said Susan, her voice +falling a note, "I couldn't explain to Mother why she +had come; and that her reason for coming made it +rather impossible for me to ask her to break bread +with us! We, too, have our pride." +</p> + +<p> +"Susan, dear!" he said, gently, kissing her again, +even while feeling very glad in his heart that his +mother had escaped a meal at the Schrekengusts'—the +effect of which would have been tragic! "It's +all such nonsense, dear! Don't let us allow it to +disturb our happiness and our love!" +</p> + +<p> +"I shan't," she promised, nestling into his +embrace. "For of course it <i>is</i> all nonsense, Sidney. +And our love isn't, is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm very curious, Susanna," he remarked after a +moment's palpitating silence in each other's arms, +"to hear Mother's account of your love affair with +Uncle George! You are a rascal!" +</p> + +<p> +"When I was a child, Sidney, I used to have a little +way of entertaining myself by experimenting upon +my playmates or my family to note the effect upon +them of sudden surprising announcements—announcements +of purely imaginary adventures I had +had or discoveries I had made. I would say to a mob +of children, 'I was a waif left on Mr. Schrekengust's +doorstep; I am not his child at all; my rich aunt is +coming to fetch me this after, with a coach and +four.' 'Four what?' some wretchedly literal child would +inquire. I didn't know. Or I would personally +conduct a group of children up into the attic of our +house to point out to them the signs of a buried +treasure under the floor—a blood stain in the shape +of an arrow pointing to a certain spot in the boards. +This particular invention became so real to me that I +once persuaded Lizzie to help me tear up the flooring. +So to-day, while your mother was trying in vain to +convince me of my total unworthiness of you, it +suddenly struck me that it would be an interestingly +complicated situation if rich old bachelor Uncle +George who must be placated were (unsuspected by +the Houghton family) in love with me and wanting +to marry me. 'Now,' I said to myself adventurously, +'I'll give dear Mother-in-law something to worry +<i>about</i>! It was not that I bore her any ill will, +Sidney, dear, but only that I was curious to see how +such an unlooked-for complication would strike her." +</p> + +<p> +"But what's going to happen when she finds you +out?—that's the question!" exclaimed Sidney, rather +ruefully. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps you'd better take me to New York right +away and let me beguile Uncle George into proposing +to me. You seem to think I'd be a good bait for big +fish." +</p> + +<p> +"I can't let you tamper with his young affections! +But I do think we shall have to get married before +Mother finds you out. I'll take you to New York +and contrive to introduce Uncle George to you quite +casually; and you'll be your charmingest; and while +his impression of you is still fresh and delightful we'll +run around the corner and get married and then run +back and get his blessing. How does it strike you?" +</p> + +<p> +Susan shook her head. "We can't think of getting +married until you are earning enough to be +independent of your mother." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Susanna, I can't wait that long before I take +you unto myself for better, for worse!" +</p> + +<p> +"It would be exclusively 'for worse' if we married +with nothing to live on. I couldn't consent to such +recklessness. The Pennsylvania Dutch were ever a +prudent race, you know." +</p> + +<p> +Sidney controlled his inclination to wince at her +reference to her objectionable Pennsylvania Dutch +blood. He did not like it a bit better than his mother +did. +</p> + +<p> +"I wonder, Susanna," he said, "what Mother +really thought of you!" +</p> + +<p> +"All too soon you'll know!" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I shan't; that's the rub. Of course I do know +already that she thinks you charming. But she will +be slow to admit it to me." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Sidney?" +</p> + +<p> +"She was so prejudiced!—because you see, dear, +she so hated your having loaned me money; and my +secrecy about you—and all the rest of it." +</p> + +<p> +"I never did understand why you would never tell +her about me. Were you only trying to spare my +feelings when you said she would be opposed to your +being engaged until you were self-supporting? Was +your real reason my—my family?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, my dear, Mother is so full of the prejudices +of her class! This room must have surprised her," +he hastily changed the subject. "You'll admit that +it's not just what one would expect to find in a little +village like this. Did you tell her how you and I +collected this old furniture from old farmhouses +about here and had it done up?—and that it, too, is +part of our—what do you call it? 'Aus tire?'" +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me, no! She took it for my natural setting. +Sidney, you never told me you had a brother." +</p> + +<p> +"A half-brother. Did Mother speak of him? +Joe and I never felt in the least like brothers. He +never lived at home after I was born. Mother told +you, I suppose, how Uncle George cut him when he +married a farmhouse servant girl?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, she only told me that if you married me your +brother would probably inherit your half of your +uncle's money." +</p> + +<p> +"When Joe's wife died two months ago, leaving a +baby a week old, Uncle George relented and took him +back into favour." +</p> + +<p> +"Did that console Joe?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I think it did a little. Joe loves money +more than he loves anything in the world. Not as I +do, for what I can get out of it. He loves to hoard +it. He's a miser. When Uncle George told him, +after his marriage, that he'd not leave him a cent, I +think Joe had an attack of yellow jaundice!" +</p> + +<p> +"And do you think he wouldn't have married the +girl if he had known that would happen?" +</p> + +<p> +"I really can't say. I've never been intimate +with Joe." +</p> + +<p> +"What an exciting family you belong to, Sidney!—with +your misers and rich uncles and backgrounds +and traditions and standards and getting disinherited +for marrying persons your distant relatives don't +approve! I didn't know such romantic things +happened in the U.S.A. It sounds so early Victorian." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, of course Uncle George is a gentleman of +the old school." +</p> + +<p> +"A good thing it's an <i>old</i> school and passing out!" +</p> + +<p> +"But it was picturesque, Susanna." +</p> + +<p> +"But nothing else very useful." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I couldn't expect you to see these +things just as I do." +</p> + +<p> +"Please, Sidney, don't talk like that; it sounds so +like——" +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" he asked as she checked herself. +</p> + +<p> +"Surely you feel that in the fundamental things of +life we <i>are</i> in sympathy, don't you?" she pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +"Naturally," he responded with a kiss. "Else I +shouldn't be here, holding you in my arms!" +</p> + +<p> +His answer satisfied her completely. +</p> + +<p> +"Sidney," she said after a moment, "tell me some +more about your brother Joe. I'm so surprised to +discover him! It seems so queer you never told me of +him. Tell me where he lives, what's his business, +who takes care of the motherless baby, why he's a +miser when you're a spendthrift (for you are, you +know). Go ahead—talk!" urged Susan with the +breathless interest of a child demanding the +continuance of a story. +</p> + +<p> +Sidney told off the answers to her questions on his +fingers. "Joe's a farmer; lives at White Oak Farm, +the old Houghton homestead between here and +Middleburg; Uncle George owns it; Joe works it on +shares, and hoards every dollar he earns; the +housekeeper he now employs takes care of his baby. +Anything more you want to know, Miss Question-Box?" +</p> + +<p> +"Is it a nice baby?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm no judge. Anyway, I've never seen it." +</p> + +<p> +"Is Joe, then, so very dreadful?" +</p> + +<p> +"He's a grouch and a screw. I fancy his wife +didn't mind dying—after living a whole year with +Joe." +</p> + +<p> +"Was Joe grown up when you were born?—since +you say he didn't live at home after you were born." +</p> + +<p> +"He's only ten years older than I am. His mother +died at his birth. He claims that Father left him +entirely to servants and that he was awfully neglected +always. So at the age of nine, when he acquired a +step-mother who tried to take him in hand and make +something of him, she could not do a thing with him. +He was a hopeless little tough. A cub! Mother +simply couldn't have him about. When I was born +her dread of Joe's contaminating me made Father +send him off to boarding school. He was expelled +from three schools in five years, for insubordination. +Then Father died bankrupt, leaving Mother nothing +but his life insurance. She had some income of her +own, so we've worried along. Joe was fifteen when +Father died and had gone to school so little that he +could scarcely read and write! So he hired himself +out to learn farming. Lived at a Pennsylvania +Dutch farm as one of the family for eight years and +married their maid servant; so that now you couldn't +tell him from a born Pennsylvania Dutchman. +Talks and thinks and acts like one. Even his ideas +about women are 'Dutch': a woman is a breeder and +a beast of burden! But he likes farming, and he's +done awfully well, though he works like a dog and +never spends a cent—just hoards and hoards!" +</p> + +<p> +"And you and your mother have nothing to do +with him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not more than we must. We have to borrow +money from him occasionally when we're short. But +he never lends us a nickel without security and +interest. Tells us he doesn't see why he should provide +us with luxuries that he denies himself; that he's +slaved like a Chinese coolie for every dollar he has +and he doesn't propose to hand it out to people who +don't work at all and who despise him. He's a quite +impossible grouch, you see!" +</p> + +<p> +"Did you know his wife at all?" +</p> + +<p> +"Never saw her. I never could see why Uncle +George resented Joe's marrying a farmer's servant +girl—no lady would have married him! But you see, +what Uncle George hated was that no sooner had he +employed Joe to manage White Oak Farm than Joe +up and married that common girl and took her to live +at that lovely old, historic, ancestral home made +sacred by seven generations of Houghtons having +lived there. To desecrate it by putting such a +mistress there! Uncle George was all for kicking him +out. I suppose, however, Joe was too valuable to +him, for it seems that Joe's a quite exceptionally good +farmer. But anyway, Uncle George wouldn't let +him and his Dutch wife use the front of the house at +all. He made Joe keep the front rooms locked up—the +beautiful drawing room and library and portrait +parlour and some of the gorgeous old bedrooms. +Some day I want to show you the place, Susanna: +the tapestries, the old rugs, the colonial beds, the old +sideboard. I hope Uncle George wills it to me! Joe +and his wife preferred living in their kitchen. They +were used to it. It was the only place in that house +where they'd feel at home!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan was silent for a while when Sidney paused, +thinking how different had been the lives of these two +boys born of the same father. +</p> + +<p> +"Most men are not fit to be fathers," she presently +remarked. "I wonder whether Joe will do as badly +by his child as your father did by him." +</p> + +<p> +"Probably worse, Father having been a gentleman +and Joe being a boor. Joe hates respectability as an +owl hates daylight; as much as I hate toughness. He +says Mother drove him to hating 'gentility' even more +than he naturally hated it." +</p> + +<p> +Susan felt that she could quite understand that. +But before she could reply they were interrupted by +the entrance of her mother. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Schrekengust, wearing the black hood and +shawl prescribed by the Mennonite faith for outdoor +apparel, carried into the parlour a tray bearing two +bottles of ginger ale, two glasses, and a plate of +molasses cake. +</p> + +<p> +Sidney, rising to relieve her of it and place it on +a table, so embarrassed and confused her by his +gallantry that she almost dropped the tray before +he could take it. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't used myself to your so polite manners, +Sidney!" she said, apologetically. "I wasn't never +used to 'em. It wonders me how you kin remember +'em still." +</p> + +<p> +Susan was intensely sensitive to Sidney's invariable +wincing from her mother and father and sisters. Try +as he would he could not conceal it from her, and +though she strove to make excuses for him to herself +and to understand, yet she knew that deep down in +her heart she resented it. +</p> + +<p> +"Where are you going, Mother?" she asked in +surprise at sight of the hood and shawl Mrs. Schrekengust +was wearing at this hour when she was usually +in bed asleep. Suddenly she noticed that her mother +was looking white and frightened. "What is it, +Mother?" she exclaimed, rising and going to her side. +"What's the matter?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, Susie, an awful thing happened out in our +backyard whiles you and Sidney was settin' in here +keepin' company! Hogenbach's Missus come runnin' +over just at supper time to ketch one of her chickens +that jumped the fence over and she fell down in one +of them fits she gets and smothered to death! Yes, +anyhow!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" exclaimed Susan, "Mrs. Hogenbach is dead?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, yes, three hours ago she died! Out in our +backyard yet! And now they are got a jury settin' +up at Hogenbach's to see what she died of and I got +to go fur such a witness." +</p> + +<p> +She turned to explain to Sidney: "Missus she +used to have spells—sich fits, you mind; she'd throw +a fit most any time; and I often says to her Mister, +'You don't watch Missus good enough. Some day +she'll smother fur you in one of them spells!' But he +didn't listen on me. So here this evening when she +didn't get home from chasin' her chicken, he come +schnaufflin' over to our place after a whiles to see why +she didn't come home. She'd been away a full hour. +And I tol' him, I says, 'If Missus was off that long, +Hen Hogenbach, then this time you carry her in +dead.' 'Och,' he says, 'how often'll you tell me +that—that I'll carry her in dead? She <i>never</i> dies in +them spells!' 'But this time, Hen, it <i>is</i>!' I says. +'If it's went a whole hour since she didn't get home +a'ready, Hen, then you mind, this time it <i>is</i>!' And +it was! Hen he went out with a lantern and found +her by the pig sty with her face down, smothered +to death. She looked awful! So Pop he fetched +the coroner. And the coroner he says he must +now send fur a jury to set on her and find out what +she died of. 'But it ain't necessary,' I argued him, +'to have no jury set; I kin tell you what she died +of.' So I tol' him how Missus she gets spells fur ten +years back a'ready and this evening she smothered +in one of 'em. 'That's what she died of—now you +know,' I says. But would you believe it, that there +stubborn-headed coroner he wouldn't have it no +other way but that a jury must set to find out what +she died of. 'But I did tell you a'ready what +she died of,' I argued him. 'She has spells! Fur ten +years she has 'em! And to-night she smothered +in one of 'em!' I says. But no, a jury must come and +set on her to find out what she died of! Ain't, Susie, +it's awful dumb of that there coroner to have a jury +set to see what she died of when I <i>tol'</i> him what—she +had spells and smothered." +</p> + +<p> +"Would you like me to go with you?" Sidney +politely inquired. "Can I be of any help?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, no, you stay settin' with Susie and enjoy +yourself pickin' a piece," replied Mrs. Schrekengust, +indicating the tray—"picking a piece" meaning a +light luncheon. +</p> + +<p> +When a few moments later Susan and Sidney were +again alone, partaking of the ginger ale and cake, +Susan said with a sigh, "This death will be the only +thing talked of in Reifsville for the next six months! +Oh, how they'll revel in every gruesome detail! I +foresee that it's going to drive me to commit a crime, +to give them something else to talk about!" +</p> + +<p> +"How glad you'll be, dear, when I take you away +into another world!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but, Sidney, dear, I am very much a part of +this world, too. I discovered something about +myself when I went away to school: I found out how +dependent I am upon affection. I've always had so +much of it lavished on me here. So even if I do have +interests that my parents and sisters don't share, +they do fill the biggest part of me—and that's my +heart!" +</p> + +<p> +"That's awfully sweet of you, dear. You are a +loyal little soul!" +</p> + +<p> +"More than that! My heart is so <i>tenacious</i> where +once it has been given!" she sighed. "I can't seem to +wrench it loose!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why that sigh?" he quickly asked. "You wish +you could stop loving me, but you can't—is that it? +Doesn't that prove," he argued, renewing a discussion +which for weeks had kept them both on the +rack, and which now suddenly drove the colour from +their faces, "that I am right and you are wrong, +dearest? If <i>I</i> were in the wrong about this matter, +wouldn't it have killed your love for me, Susanna, +dear?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Sidney!" pleaded Susan, piteously, "don't! +Please, please, don't let us talk of that again!" +</p> + +<p> +"But, dearest, you don't understand," he persisted, +his voice quivering. "You're so obsessed with +the conventional view of love and marriage that +you won't look at it simply and naturally, as the +spontaneous, emotional relation that God ordained +it to be!" +</p> + +<p> +"You surely don't believe that it is <i>right</i>, Sidney, +to bring a child into the world handicapped from the +start with illegitimacy!" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I don't! That need not happen—must +not! I only mean that the union of natural rather +than legalized love is higher, finer, purer! You and +I, Susanna, will never love more hotly, more humanly +than we do now! Why, then, deny ourselves the full +expression of our love for so material a consideration +as an insufficient income on which to legalize our +union? We are losing weeks and months of our +precious youth!—of the ecstasy of youth! How can +a broad-minded girl like you think that a few ceremonial +words can alter the great eternal fact of Love? +<i>Why shouldn't</i> you give yourself to me now as well as +after the marriage ceremony?" +</p> + +<p> +"But why should I? My love for you, Sidney, is +something so far above a mere appetite!" +</p> + +<p> +Sidney winced. Susan did sometimes offend his +taste. "You speak of our love as 'a mere appetite'!" +</p> + +<p> +She so often found him, in any discussion between +them that tended to get out of his hands, twisting +her statements out of their obvious meaning; +condemning her candid recognition of what he himself +had suggested or implied. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm protesting, dear," she answered, "against +your having that idea of love. To me it is something +so different!" +</p> + +<p> +"Sometimes I think, Susanna, dear, that you don't +know what real love is, when you can say a—yes, a +really coarse thing about it like what you just said! +Love is no more an experience wholly of the spirit +than it is wholly of the senses. It is a full expression +of the entire being!" +</p> + +<p> +"But, Sidney, dear, if the thing you wish is what +you keep saying in your letters it is—'a holy +expression of love'—why is secrecy necessary?" asked +Susan, her voice so pained, her eyes so strained and +tortured, that Sidney involuntarily took her hand +reassuringly in his. "Why," she continued, "not +proclaim such a Gospel to all the world, if it is so true +and beautiful?" +</p> + +<p> +"You know the price we'd have to pay for acting +openly, dearest!" +</p> + +<p> +"If it's not worth that price, it's not what you +claim for it!" +</p> + +<p> +"It's the highest, the most exquisite thing in life, +Susanna!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then don't let us desecrate it! To lose our +self-control is not high or beautiful or holy!—whatever +fine phrases you may use about it, dear!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yet you think a legal marriage is all that!" +exclaimed Sidney. +</p> + +<p> +"I still believe in the 'institution of the family'—at +least until some better plan for rearing children is +suggested. I've never heard of any that would not +be much worse for the children than being brought +up in families—faulty as family life may be." +</p> + +<p> +"We're talking about love, dear; not about family +life and children!" +</p> + +<p> +"But children happen to be the fruit of love, dear; +so we can't leave them out of this." +</p> + +<p> +"If you have no higher idea of love than to believe +that it is merely for the begetting of children——" +</p> + +<p> +"But that's what Nature uses it for. And, dear, +you who have such inordinate family pride—what do +you mean by 'family pride'? What becomes of it in a +relation such as you wish? You are proud of a line of +<i>well-born</i> ancestors!" +</p> + +<p> +"Damn my ancestors! When you and I, Susanna, +dearest, are yearning for the fullest, the most +exquisite expression of ourselves, why should we deny +ourselves? Why, why? I love you with every part +of me—with all my heart and all my mind and all my +senses!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, my dear, my dear," she tremulously protested, +"I cannot, <i>cannot</i> believe that what you want +is so essential to any demand of our spirits that we +can't wait! There is nothing I would refuse to go +through for the sake of our love; there is nothing in all +my life I would count too high a price to pay for it. +But to me love is so much more than mere possession. +It is a life shared in the open!—our work, our ideals, +our ambitions lived out together harmoniously. +That's what marriage means to me. And you would +lead me into secrecy, hiding, <i>shame</i>!—leading to +nothing—nothing but satiety and disgust!" +</p> + +<p> +"Susanna, dearest! How can you sit there and +philosophize about a thing that consumes one like a +living fire! I want you, Susanna!" he whispered, +drawing her into his arms. "You are mine and I am +yours—and nothing, nothing else matters! Nothing! +Nothing!" +</p> + +<p> +But she forced herself out of his embrace. "Tell +me this, Sidney," she said, her face a deathly white, +"would you ask this thing of me if I were a girl of +your mother's choosing? Of your own social world? +Would you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps I shouldn't have to plead so hard," he +said, chokingly, "with a more worldly girl! Dearest! +Don't be so cruel to me! Come to me! Love me!" +he begged, taking her again to his heart. "How can +you deny me when——" +</p> + +<p> +A voice in the hall without made them draw apart +guiltily. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Schrekengust opened the door and stood on +the threshold. "The jury's still settin'," she +announced; and Susan, with a sense of deep relief at the +interruption, thanked heaven in her heart for +Mrs. Hogenbach's timely death. "They're gettin' along, +though—that there jury is. They're got it settled +that Missus is anyhow dead. They ain't got it +made out, though, what she died of. They're still +arguin' that—for all I <i>tol'</i> 'em a'ready how she had +spells and smothered. But it seems my word fur it +ain't enough. They have to set awhile till they know +oncet what she died of—that dumb they are——" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Schrekengust seemed suddenly to sense the +fact that she was interrupting a lover's tête-à -tête. +She stopped with embarrassing abruptness, closed +the door sharply, and they heard her walk away down +the hall. +</p> + +<p> +Neither of them moved or spoke until the sound of +her step had passed on to the back of the house and +was lost. +</p> + +<p> +Soon the deep silence of the house, penetrating +even to this room apart, proclaimed that all the +family slept. +</p> + +<p> +But Sidney stayed on. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER III +<br><br> +THE FOLLOWING SPRING +</h2> + +<p class="noindent"> +March Sixth. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +DEAREST SIDNEY: +</p> + +<p> +The time has come at last when I can no longer +hold back the question which for weeks and weeks I +have not allowed myself to ask you—and which you +must have wondered why I have not asked you. It +has been because I have been afraid to face your +answer. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, Sidney, my love, put me out of the agony of suspense +that I've been suffering these many weeks and tell me what +it is that has come between you and me! Surely I have +not merely <i>imagined</i> that you have changed to me?—your +visits so far apart and so hasty; your short notes once a +week or less often; your altered manner when you are +with me—what is it, Sidney? If you have grown to +love me less, why have you? Is it anything I have said +or done? Are you disappointed in me? <i>Can</i> such love +as ours grow cold and die? If it can, I can never +again trust anything in life! Oh, my love, I am so wholly +yours—every beat of my heart, every thought of my +mind is for you—I have no life apart from you—I have +given myself to you so entirely! It surely is not possible +that you <i>could</i> take yourself out of my life, as you seem to +be doing! +</p> + +<p> +Do you know that yesterday you came and went without +kissing me, after not seeing me or writing to me for three +weeks? +</p> + +<p> +Can it be, Sidney, that if I had <i>not</i> given you all that a +woman can give, you might still be my devoted lover? +Can it be that having satisfied and sated your desire for +me, you are <i>through</i> with me? +</p> + +<p> +Susan paused here, as she thought how "coarse" +Sidney would consider that question. But she did +not change it. +</p> + +<p> +She wrote on feverishly: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +I implore you, dearest, not to treat this letter as all my +letters to you have been treated lately—but to answer +it as soon as you get it and tell me that I have been +torturing myself for nothing; that you are mine—as I am yours. +</p> + +<p> +Or if you cannot truthfully say that, at least let me have +the truth. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +SUSANNA. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Ten days later, her letter having remained +unanswered, Susan sent a telegram to Sidney: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +<i>Did you get my letter of March sixth? Wire answer.</i> S. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was two days before she received a reply: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +<i>Letter received. Very busy. Spring exams. Will write +soon.</i> SIDNEY. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +After a long, dark, despairing week, his letter at +last arrived. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +DEAR SUSAN: +</p> + +<p> +Why let yourself get morbid and hysterical and imagine +things?—just because I relax now and then from the strain +of our first ardour. Naturally, one can't live at fever heat +all the time. Be sensible, my dear girl, and please, please +don't stir me up, at this critical time of my spring exams, +with such forlorn wails, such wild telegrams! Be your +old, jolly, funny self, can't you? You've become so +serious and solemn, it quite gives me the blues to go to +Reifsville. +</p> + +<p> +I'm afraid you must not look for me for the next few +weeks; I shall be too busy to get away. I shan't have +time for much writing, either. So don't go off on a tangent, +my dear, if you don't hear from me. +</p> + +<p> +Take care of yourself. Write me one of your old-time +funny letters that used to make me roar so that the +housekeeper here would come running to see what ailed me! +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + Yours,<br> + SIDNEY.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Susan had recently subscribed for the daily paper +published in the university town where Sidney +studied and she had learned from it that he was not +too busy with his spring examinations to attend +dances and theatre parties, to play in golf and tennis +tournaments, and to take automobile trips. +</p> + +<p> +The "jolly-funny" letter that he requested was +not written and nothing further passed between them +for two weeks. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, the newspapers from the university +town were revealing to Susan a fact that made her +heart turn to lead. Day after day she read in the +"Social Column" of the newspaper a certain name +coupled with Sidney's. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Miss Laura Beresford, daughter of the newly elected +President of the University, and Mr. Sidney Houghton, a +student in the school of International Law, led in an +old-fashioned German given last night at Phillipps Hall. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Or, +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Miss Laura Beresford gave a dinner on Tuesday night +in honour of her house guest, Mrs. Joseph Houghton of +Middleburg, Pa., mother of Mr. Sidney Houghton of the +Law School. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Or, +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Mrs. Joseph Houghton gave a small dinner dance on +Thursday night at Hotel Mortimer in honour of Miss +Laura Beresford and of her son, Mr. Sidney Houghton of +the Law School. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Always when Sidney's name was listed "among +those present," at any social affair, the name of Miss +Laura Beresford was sure to be there. +</p> + +<p> +Was Mrs. Houghton trying to separate Sidney +from her? Susan wretchedly speculated. And was +he only too ready to be enticed away? +</p> + +<p> +At last, when she could no longer bear his silence +and his continued remaining away from her, she +wrote again, a long, heart-broken letter, a passionate +outcry, pleading with him for her life's happiness, +her honour—— +</p> + +<p> +But no sooner was it written than she tore it into +bits. +</p> + +<p> +"I won't beg! I won't cringe! Nothing that I +can say to him can alter the fact that he no longer +loves me!" +</p> + +<p> +It added much to her suffering, during these dark +days, to realize the dumb misery of her doting family +in their consciousness of her unhappiness. That she +should be a source of pain instead of comfort to them +who had sacrificed so much for her, hurt her bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +She suddenly resolved, one day, that, as Sidney +would not come to her or answer her letters, and as +she had somewhat to say to him which must be said, +at whatever cost to her of wounded pride, she would +have to go to him. +</p> + +<p> +The tragic extent of his alienation from her seemed +to her to be measured by her instinctive conviction +that if she should notify him of her coming, he would +manage to get out of her way. It seemed to her, +when this conviction had burned its way into her +heart, that nothing further which she might be called +upon to endure could add to the humiliation and +agony of that hour. +</p> + +<p> +It took all the resolution she could command to +coerce herself to the self-crucifixion of forcing an +interview upon him. +</p> + +<p> +"But it will be the last time; I shall never, never +appeal to him again!" +</p> + +<p> +She arrived at his rooms at four o'clock in the +afternoon, the hour when he would be due to come in +from his last lecture. +</p> + +<p> +The Pennsylvania Dutch landlady of the house, +a red-faced woman of ample proportions, recognized +her as the young girl who, over a year ago, had helped +"Mr. Sidney" buy and place the lovely furniture for +his study. So she readily consented to let her wait +for him there. +</p> + +<p> +"You're his sister, mebby? Or his cousin—ain't?" +she asked curiously as she unlocked the door of the +study and stood aside to let Susan pass in. +</p> + +<p> +But Susan did not answer. For the fact that +jumped at her and struck her in the face the moment +she crossed the threshold of Sidney's study, made +her speechless. +</p> + +<p> +The furniture which she and Sidney had bought +(which she was still paying for in installments out of +her salary as the village teacher) was not here; not +one piece of it. It had all been replaced with the +cheap oak suit which had been here in the beginning +and which Sidney had so loathed that it had made, +him bitter. +</p> + +<p> +"But this is not Mr. Houghton's room," she +faltered, turning to Mrs. Eschbach. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it is hisn; only it ain't so grand no more, +since he solt all his nice furn-shure he used to have in +here. Didn't he tell you," asked Mrs. Eschbach, +following Susan into the room, her curiosity fairly +radiating from all her large person, "how he got so +hard up he had to sell his furn-shure?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," Susan managed to answer with dry lips. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he couldn't afford to keep it no more. You +see, it had cost awful expensive and I think it fetched +a good price when he solt it. But och," she added, +sympathetically, "it went so hard with him to part +with it! He's so much fur havin' things grand +around him, that way." +</p> + +<p> +"When did he—how long ago did he—sell it?" +Susan asked, scarcely above a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, he done it graj-ally; one piece at a time just +as he needed the money, till it was all solt a'ready." +</p> + +<p> +A wild hope rose in Susan's breast that perhaps +<i>this</i> was all that was keeping Sidney away from +her—embarrassment because of money difficulties; he was +so unpractical and foolish about money! Oh, if this +were indeed all that was alienating him! +</p> + +<p> +"You see," Mrs. Eschbach explained, "he's in so +thick with the new college President's daughter, and +she's sich a rich swell, he's just got to spend on her to +keep in with her. Fur a-plenty of others would run +with her if he didn't. So he's got to spend on her." +</p> + +<p> +Susan sank limply into the nearest chair. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a pity he ain't a rich young man—ain't?—sich +tony friends as he runs with and sich taste as he's +got fur grandness! Och, but he hates this here +common furn-shure I had to put back here when he +solt hisn! But I tol' him it ain't reasonable fur him +to expec' no better fur as cheap rent as what he pays +yet. Nor it <i>ain't</i>, either." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think he will come in soon?" asked Susan, +faintly. +</p> + +<p> +"Mebby he will and again mebby he won't. You +can't never count on him fur nothin' since he's been +runnin' with that there Miss Beresford." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll wait for him." +</p> + +<p> +"All right. When he does come in I'll right aways +tell him you're here," said Mrs. Eschbach, kindly. +"You ain't lookin' just so hearty." +</p> + +<p> +"Please don't tell him I'm here—I—want to +surprise him." +</p> + +<p> +"All right. <i>Ain't</i> you his cousin or sister or what?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. Just his——" +</p> + +<p> +Susan hesitated; should she tell this woman that +she was Sidney's promised wife? +</p> + +<p> +"Just—a friend of his," she concluded. +</p> + +<p> +"A friend?" repeated Mrs. Eschbach, dubiously. +"Say," she added, tentatively, "it's put out all over +this here town that him and Miss Beresford's promised +to each other." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it?" Susan feebly smiled. "But I think that +must be only gossip, Mrs. Eschbach. I have not +heard of it and I am a—a very close friend of +Mr. Houghton's." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he used to have your pitcher on his bureau +settin'. I don't know what's become of that there +pitcher; I ain't seen it this good whiles back a'ready. +So you don't believe it that him and her's promised?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I must say she ain't the wife I'd pick out +for my son. She's too much all fur herself that +way. They say it got her so spoilt, havin' her own +big fortune that she inherited off of her gran'pop, her +mom bein' dead. Her mom was a old school friend of +Mr. Sidney's mom, and as soon as President Beresford +got his job at the college here (he's the new +President) Mrs. Houghton she come on to wisit her +son and interdooced him to Miss Beresford, her old +friend's daughter, you understand. And now +Mrs. Houghton she's that tickled at the way them two +young folks takes to each other. To be sure, it +certainly is wery nice fur Mr. Sidney, him bein' so +hard up and Miss Beresford her bein' so good-fixed. +They say she's awful rich in her own right." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Eschbach paused after this long speech, to +get her breath, her huge bosom heaving asthmatically. +</p> + +<p> +Susan, sitting rigid, made no comment. +</p> + +<p> +"Here's her pitcher on his bureau settin'," the +landlady added when she had recovered a bit. +"Want to take a look?" she asked, starting across +the floor. +</p> + +<p> +But she was checked by the sound of the sudden +opening of the front door in the hall below. +</p> + +<p> +She turned back to Susan, whose face, at the sound, +had gone deadly white. +</p> + +<p> +"It's him," Mrs. Eschbach announced, making for +the door as steps came bounding up the stairs, +accompanied by gay and noisy whistling. +</p> + +<p> +Susan's hand clutched her breast—that he could +be joyously whistling when her heart was breaking! +</p> + +<p> +"You're got comp'ny, Mister Sidney," Mrs. Eschbach +informed him, on the threshold of his +room. +</p> + +<p> +"Have I?" he brightly answered, stepping back to +let her pass out, then entering the room, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +Susan's burning eyes, the only living part of her +colourless face, met his smiling glance. +</p> + +<p> +At sight of her, the smile disappeared; the blood +mounted to his forehead; he sank into a chair in +front of her. +</p> + +<p> +Susan did not speak. She would leave it all to +him—to explain himself. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" he began, defensively, almost aggressively. +</p> + +<p> +"How do you do?" she said, pleasantly, her voice +as soft as velvet. +</p> + +<p> +Sidney, at all times peculiarly sensitive to the +modulations of a woman's voice, had always thought +Susan's the most pleasing voice he had ever heard. +It had been many weeks since its music had charmed +him, and now it suddenly stirred his pulse as he had +not supposed Susan could ever stir it again. +</p> + +<p> +"Why did you come here, Susanna?" he asked, huskily. +</p> + +<p> +"Aren't you pleased to see me, dear?" she asked, +almost coquettishly. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course—but what's the idea?" +</p> + +<p> +"By the way, what's become of my—our furniture, dear?" +</p> + +<p> +"Susanna!" he exclaimed, a deeper colour dyeing +his face, his tone ashamed and apologetic. "I'll not +rest until I have paid you back every dollar that that +furniture cost us!" +</p> + +<p> +"'Cost us?' But before you begin to pay me, +dear, please pay the dealer, to whom I'm still paying, +as you know, fifteen dollars a month. I still owe +him one hundred dollars of the three hundred which +the furniture cost—me. Will you take over that +debt of one hundred dollars?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I shall. You must not pay another +dollar of it!" +</p> + +<p> +"All right," she quietly agreed, folding her hands +in her lap, "I won't." +</p> + +<p> +She said nothing more. He waited. But, her +friendly glance resting upon him peacefully (while +her heart beat suffocatingly), she also waited. +</p> + +<p> +"I never meant to sell the furniture, Susanna," he +began, miserably, "but I——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you sold it?" she asked as he floundered. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," he admitted, his eyes falling, unable to +meet hers: +</p> + +<p> +"All of it?" +</p> + +<p> +"To the last piece! But I shall pay you back! +Every dollar of it! It may take me a long time, +but I shan't let you lose what you paid for it, +Susanna!" +</p> + +<p> +"Really?" +</p> + +<p> +"Please, Susanna! Of course I know how the +thing must look to you——" +</p> + +<p> +"Why did you sell it? Didn't you like it any +more, dear?" +</p> + +<p> +"I know you'll find it hard to forgive me! I +needed money, Susanna." +</p> + +<p> +"What for, Sidney?" +</p> + +<p> +"For my running expenses. Mother, you see, is a +rather luxurious person and so am I, and the fact is, +our income isn't big enough for our needs." +</p> + +<p> +"Didn't you think about consulting me before you +sold my—our furniture?" +</p> + +<p> +"Susanna!" he said, abjectly, his head bowed like +a guilty child's. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall hardly be able, Sidney, to buy another aus +tire; I worked so long to earn money enough for what +I did buy. We shall have to marry without much +furniture. Mother and Father and my sisters will +think that a disgrace. But then, we need not tell +them, need we? We may as well spare their feelings." +</p> + +<p> +Sidney glanced at her uneasily; then his eyes fell +again; he could not meet her clear gaze. +</p> + +<p> +"When are we to be married, Sydney?" +</p> + +<p> +"I—I don't know." +</p> + +<p> +"You finish here in two months. What are your plans?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have none. That is, no definite plans—I——" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes?" she urged, as he paused. +</p> + +<p> +"It would be years before I earned enough to +support you, Susanna." +</p> + +<p> +"The diplomatic appointment—won't your uncle +get it for you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not if I married you, Susanna!" +</p> + +<p> +"The only thing left for you to do, then, Sidney, is +to work up a law practice and I shall go on teaching +until you are able to support your—your family." +</p> + +<p> +"I've no intention whatever of displeasing Uncle +George and living like a beggar!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then what do you propose to do?" +</p> + +<p> +"Keep in Uncle George's good graces." +</p> + +<p> +"But how?—seeing that I am your promised wife, Sidney." +</p> + +<p> +"My—promised—wife?" he repeated, slowly, dubiously. +</p> + +<p> +"More than that—I <i>am</i> your wife." +</p> + +<p> +Sidney's feelings at this moment were a strangely +conflicting medley. Susanna had not ceased to be +extremely attractive to him. Her hold upon his +imagination as well as upon his heart was still so +strong that no other woman would ever mean quite +so much to him. But having somewhat sated his +passion for her, it no longer outmeasured his worldly +ambition, as it had done at first. +</p> + +<p> +The somewhat abnormal selfishness of his character +usually took the form of disliking rather spitefully +any person or thing that blocked his desires. Susan, +as the one great obstacle to a marriage which would +be in every way highly advantageous to him, to a girl +of beauty, distinction, wealth, and position, to whom +he was also greatly attracted, who would more than +satisfy Uncle George's severe standards; Susan as the +woman in whose heart he knew he stood revealed as a +cad, a liar, a scoundrel, whose respect he had valued +and whose scorn stung him to the quick and filled +him with self-contempt; Susan had now become to +him a thorn in the flesh, an irritant that he would +ruthlessly tear out and cast off. For his own +gratification and comfort were always to Sidney paramount +to every other consideration. In this riot of +conflicting emotions then—on the one side, remorse, +compassion, attraction, conscience; on the other, +ambition, family pride, love of ease and luxury, +impatient irritation and anger at the whole +situation—Sidney stood bewildered, his self-control shaken, +the evil feelings in his heart getting the better of +him. +</p> + +<p> +"Susanna! Can't you see that my feelings have +changed?" +</p> + +<p> +It stabbed him to see how white she looked as, +after an instant, she answered, "It's too late to +consider that now. I am your wife." +</p> + +<p> +"I never dreamed that <i>you</i> would try to hold a man +against his will!" +</p> + +<p> +"You've never gone through the formality of +asking me to release you. You wrote to me not to +imagine that you had changed; not to grow 'hysterical' +at your neglect." +</p> + +<p> +"I was trying to let you down easily." +</p> + +<p> +"Easily?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course it's awfully hard on both of us!" +</p> + +<p> +"Let me down to <i>what</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"To the fact that I cannot marry you, Susan." +</p> + +<p> +"Why not?" +</p> + +<p> +"I could never love any woman enough to suffer +poverty for her." +</p> + +<p> +"But we <i>are</i> married! You know how you +persuaded me that the mere marriage ceremony +meant nothing to such a 'holy relation' as yours and +mine!" +</p> + +<p> +"To bring up all that trumpery spoken in the heat +of passion, and try to use it to force my hand! Where +is your <i>pride</i>, Susan?" +</p> + +<p> +"In your keeping, Sidney. I put my pride into +your care and keeping when I gave you myself!" she +said, piteously. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant he was silenced, his eyes again downcast. +</p> + +<p> +But the situation was critical; he dared not soften. +The moment had come (so long delayed) when he +must fight it out. +</p> + +<p> +"Since I no longer feel as I did, you would be <i>willing</i> +to marry me?" he asked, incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +"Very unwilling. But you and I have no longer +any choice about it; we've gone too far. <i>I am your +wife</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"You <i>were</i> my <i>mistress</i>, Susan." +</p> + +<p> +He saw her hand, resting on the arm of her chair, +tighten its clasp until the knuckles showed white. +</p> + +<p> +"You see, that's just the point," he hastened to +say. "A gentleman," with the faintest possible +emphasis on the word, "doesn't marry his mistress." +</p> + +<p> +"Nor keep his word?" +</p> + +<p> +"Love promises! Who ever remembers them or +considers them binding? The mother of my possible +daughters cannot be the woman who has been my +mistress." +</p> + +<p> +It sounded cruelly convincing even to himself. +But her answer came swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +"I'd prefer the father of my possible sons to be a +man of honour. But it's too late for us to select our +children's parents now." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, it's not." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. That's what brought me here to-day. +You and I must be married <i>at once</i>. For, Sidney, I +am with child. Our child will be born in July." +</p> + +<p> +There was a deathlike stillness in the room for a +moment. Sidney looked utterly confounded; utterly +helpless before a situation that seemed to have got +out of his hands. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Susanna! You poor girl!" he stammered. +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly, seeing himself trapped, his bright +prospects destroyed, himself condemned to privation +and hard labour, Sidney's pity for himself killed the +compassion which for a moment he had felt for the +woman who would drag him down from the sunny +heights in which he had for weeks past been basking, +and would force him to drudge for her in obscurity +and deprivation. +</p> + +<p> +"But why have you <i>let</i> such a thing happen?" he +burst out. "I trusted to your prudence not to get +me (and yourself) into a wretched hole like this! +The low vulgarity of it! It will ruin me! <i>Ruin</i> me!" +</p> + +<p> +"It's not of ourselves that you and I may think +now. We dare not wrong our child! We are not +<i>going</i> to wrong it! Understand me, Sidney, I am +going to protect it! It is not for myself that I am +here with you to-day. But my child is going to have +a father, a name, a home!" +</p> + +<p> +The cold fear that clutched Sidney's heart at her +words made him brutal. +</p> + +<p> +"This is, I suppose, the way girls of your class +manage these matters, in order to make sure of +marriage?" +</p> + +<p> +"And how do gentlemen of your class manage +them?" she asked, calmly. "Don't make yourself +ridiculous, Sidney. But be quite clear on this +point—<i>my child is going to be protected</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"What good would marriage do <i>now</i>—to you or me +or the child? It's too late. If you had told me of +this as soon as you knew of it! But now? Marriage +at this late stage won't save you and will only +disgrace me! I won't consent to it!" +</p> + +<p> +"You'll have to. I'll make you. Not only for the +sake of our child, but for my dear ones at home that +have sacrificed so much for me—I won't let disgrace +and sorrow come to them through me—and you. +You and I are going to be married. We need not +live together. But <i>we are going to be married</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"We are not! I would not marry you now if——" +</p> + +<p> +There was a knock on the half-open door. Sidney +started up; but before he could reach it, the door was +thrown wide, and Miss Laura Beresford, in sporting +golf attire, stood revealed at the threshold. Susan, +sitting just inside the door, was not directly in her +line of vision. +</p> + +<p> +"I've been honking and <i>honking</i> for you, Sid! +Didn't you hear me? Oh! Not even dressed yet!" +she exclaimed, fretfully. "We shall be too late for +the game! Why didn't you phone if you weren't +going to keep your engagement?" she demanded, +indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +And then, all at once she became conscious of +Sidney's pallor and agitation; she cast a quick glance +about the room and her eye fell upon Susan just +inside the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Why! What's the matter? What——" +</p> + +<p> +Susan suddenly rose and came forward, smiling, +with outstretched hand. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>This</i> is 'Laura,' surely? I've been hearing so +much about you!—how good you've been to dear +Sidney and what splendid times you've been having +together! And what good friends your two mothers +have always been! It has been so kind of you to +keep dear Sidney from growing dull when I couldn't +be here with him; I can't tell you how much I +appreciate it—your keeping him from moping for <i>me</i>! +He's just been telling me he wants you to be my maid +of honour. You shall be the first to congratulate us, +Laura (if I may call you that). We are to be married +next week." +</p> + +<p> +She was standing at Sidney's side, and as she spoke, +she clasped her arms about his neck and leaned +against his breast. He, rigid, white as chalk, his +tragic-comic look of despair and dismay, of being +hopelessly caught, brought to Miss Beresford's lips a +curve of contempt that added not a little to his agony. +</p> + +<p> +But now, suddenly, without warning, Susan's +hold upon him relaxed, her arms fell to her sides, she +slipped to the floor and lay in a little heap at his +feet—as still and white as death. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER IV +<br><br> +A YEAR LATER +</h2> + +<p> +Susan had quite formed a habit, of late, of +taking the precaution, at the end of her day's +work in her school-room, to peep from the +window to see whether the coast were clear so that +she could go forth without danger of being joined +on the way home by her objectionable suitor, Joe +Houghton, who lived and worked just across the +road from her new school, at his uncle's famous old +homestead, White Oak Farm; or by some adoring +pupil who might be lingering about to walk to the +trolley station with her, as some among the older +boys and girls were apt to do. The sentimental girls +were even more trying than the big, blushing, silent +boys. There had been a time, ages and ages ago, +when she had loved all her pupils quite maternally +and had been so humbly grateful for their devotion to +her! But now, she only wanted to be let alone; to +keep to herself. It was almost the only desire she +had left; for all capacity for feeling anything, except +weariness and listlessness, seemed to have died within +her. +</p> + +<p> +She had shrunk from the return of the spring, the +anniversary of her great tragedy, lest its old +exhilarating effect upon her might bring back her power to +feel, to suffer. But it did not stir a drop of her blood; +her heart remained like lead in her breast; as though +some tension had snapped, leaving her soul a dead +weight. +</p> + +<p> +The new school position which she had secured this +year was at White Oak Station, a hamlet eight miles +from her home, in a neighbourhood in which she had +been quite unacquainted. +</p> + +<p> +To-day when she peeped from the school-room +window to reconnoitre, there was not, as far as she +could see, a single boy, girl, or man in sight. +</p> + +<p> +Joe Houghton, however, could not be depended +upon to give her fair warning by exposing himself to +view; her constant efforts to elude him had only made +him cunning in his pursuit of her. So, in letting +herself out of the school-house door, she moved +cautiously, without noise, and instead of taking the +public road, crept like a burglar around to the back +of the little building, intending to cross a field to +another road which would add a half mile to her walk +to the trolley station. She knew that by doing this +she ran the risk of missing her trolley car home and of +being obliged to wait an hour for the next one. That, +however, would not be so wearisome as Joe Houghton's +company on the long mile to the station. +</p> + +<p> +She reached the back of the school-house unobserved, +she was sure, and as, with a sigh of relief at +her escape, she turned toward the adjoining field, +there in front of her, scowling at her, stood Joe +Houghton! +</p> + +<p> +He was not quite forty years of age, but from +over-work his tall, bony frame was stooped like an old +man's. His gaunt face was tanned and his hands +red and rough. His countenance, though not evil, +was usually sulky when not actually scowling. The +most objectionable thing about him in Susan's eyes +was the way his false teeth wriggled about, "as +though," she thought, "they didn't want to stay on +the job!" +</p> + +<p> +As a concession to the fact that he was come +a-courting, he wore his best (and only) suit: of cheap +material and bad cut; and a brilliant lavender necktie +that he had bought at Woolworth's. +</p> + +<p> +Joe Houghton was reputed to have amassed a very +comfortable bank account; but money to him was +not what the dictionary proclaims it, "a medium of +exchange"; he never exchanged it for anything if he +could help it. The one great dissipation of his whole +life was the accumulation and hoarding of wealth. +</p> + +<p> +"That's the time I caught you; ain't?" he said, +pointing an accusing finger at Susan as she stopped +short at sight of him. His words were playful, but +his tone and look were sullen. +</p> + +<p> +Without answering, she turned and walked back +to the front of the school-house to take the main road. +</p> + +<p> +Joe, however, kept at her side. +</p> + +<p> +"What the hell makes you ac' so menschenshy*, +anyhow, Miss Susie?" he demanded. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Bashful with men. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +She walked rapidly, without replying. +</p> + +<p> +"Say, Miss Susan, I got somepin awful particular +to tell you this after!" he pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +"But you've had my answer so often," she said, +wearily. Though her voice had lost none of its +sweetness and drawling softness, it was lifeless. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I ain't had your answer a'ready!" growled +Joe. "You ain't said Yes yet; and Yes is a-goin' to +be your answer! You make up your mind to that!" +</p> + +<p> +"You seem to have made up your mind so firmly," +she said, sweetly, "that my mind doesn't seem to +matter." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, anyhow, it ain't that question I want to +bother you with this after. It's somepin else I got +reference to." +</p> + +<p> +Susan manifested no curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +"Somepin awful important to me and you," he added. +</p> + +<p> +"That doesn't seem possible," said Susan, mildly. +</p> + +<p> +"You mean," said Joe, frowning with the mental +effort to which this retort challenged him, "that me +and you ain't got no interests in common?" +</p> + +<p> +"I've not noticed any." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you'll notice 'em some day, you bet you! +It's about my Uncle George's will I want to tell you. +I went to Middleburg yistiddy to tend the reading +of the will. That's some important to you, ain't it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why should it be?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because some day what's mine will be yourn." +</p> + +<p> +"But if you were mine, I should certainly wish, for +your immortal soul's sake, that your Uncle George +had died a bankrupt!" +</p> + +<p> +Joe, to whom money was a holy thing, his only +religion, felt cold at such blasphemy. +</p> + +<p> +"It's temptin' Providence to say sich things!" he +frowned. +</p> + +<p> +"Can 'Providence' be tempted? What a funny +expression it is, by the way—'tempting +Providence!' Religion sometimes seems to me +the most humorous thing in all the world!" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, don't talk so outlandish!" he brusquely +admonished her. Joe, like Mark Antony, was "no +orator," but "a plain, blunt man," who did not stand +on ceremony. "Don't you want fur me to tell you +about Uncle George's will?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why should I?" +</p> + +<p> +"Say, what makes you ac' so ugly to me? Don't +I treat you right?" +</p> + +<p> +"As right as you know how, Mr. Houghton." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I can't do better'n that, can I?" +</p> + +<p> +"No—that's the trouble." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean," he demanded with puckered brow, +"that I don't know how to treat a lady right?" +</p> + +<p> +"You're so bright, Mr. Houghton, in seeing +through my remarks!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Joe, complacently, "I always was wery +smart that way. But I guess you mean," he added, +suspiciously, "that I ain't tony enough to suit you." +</p> + +<p> +"You don't have to suit me." +</p> + +<p> +"But you got to suit <i>me</i>! And you got to take +interest in Uncle George's will. Uncle George done +awful mean by me! What do you think he up and +done yet, Miss Susan? He's inherited to my half-brother, +Sidney, this here farm here, that I've worked +on like a dog for five years, improvin' the land so +much that I've near doubled the crops! And now +the whole place of twelve hundred waluable acres, +with house and all, goes to Sid and I got to get <i>out</i>!— +and lose all the profits of my own work! Yes, +anyhow! The will says Sid's got to come here and make +White Oak Farm his home and keep up the place, because +seven generations of Houghtons has lived here. +Sid he's to be sich a gentleman farmer, the will says. +Now what do you think of that? Ain't it dirty +mean that I got to get off my farm?" +</p> + +<p> +Susan could almost have found it in her heart to +pity the man at her side for the tragic suffering she +knew this fact meant to him. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sorry!" she said, sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +"The will inherits to Sid (besides White Oak Farm) +two thirds of the <i>es</i>tate worth near a million, and to +me only one third," complained Joe. "To be sure," +he admitted, "it ain't as if I hadn't of expected Sid +to get the big share; but I did think Uncle George +would give the <i>farm</i> to me that I've worked on so +hard! But my folks always did have it in fur me! +None of 'em ever did think I was good enough fur 'em +to 'sociate with!—though it's them that always kep' +me down. My father left me run wild when I was +little and never bothered about me; and then when he +married again, my step-mother she had so ashamed of +me, she was all the time pokin' me out of sight +whenever she had comp'ny. She'd make me eat in the +kitchen with the hired help and she wouldn't never +speak to me. Her and Sid and Uncle George, all of +'em, had always ashamed of me. And my father <i>he</i> +didn't care!" +</p> + +<p> +Joe spoke with exceeding bitterness, and for the +first time in her acquaintance with him, Susan found +herself feeling some sympathy for him. +</p> + +<p> +"One thing in that there will," he continued, "ain't +so bad fur me, fur all. If Sid's son dies——" +</p> + +<p> +"He has a son?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," answered Joe on a deep tragic note that +made Susan vaguely wonder. "And if his kid dies, +White Oak Farm goes to <i>my</i> son, so's the family +name'll be kep' on at the ol' homestead." +</p> + +<p> +Susan whimsically reflected that Joe was quite +incapable of plotting the heir's murder for the sake of +his own son's inheritance. "It must take rather +heroic courage to commit some kinds of crime!" she +thought. "And only debased cowardice for the kind +Sidney committed!" +</p> + +<p> +"Now my half-brother, Sidney, he's altogether +different to what I am yet," Joe went on. "He's a +elegant swell, Sid is," he sneered. "From a little kid +a'ready, he was always awful genteel. You'd never +take him fur my brother, Miss Susan, if you ever met +up with him; which you're likely to do soon, fur he's +comin' here right aways to White Oak to live at the +ol' homestead." +</p> + +<p> +Susan's detached self, which seemed, in these days, +always to be looking on, with a dull surprise, at her +dead other self, noticed, just now, how strangely +unmoved this news found her. Joe might have been +speaking (as he supposed he was) of someone she had +never seen! +</p> + +<p> +"Sid, he kep' on the right side of Uncle George by +marryin' awful good; a wery tony swell with money +of her own. A perfec' lady, so they say. I never +seen her. She must be, though, if she satisfied Uncle +George's elegant tastes! Gosh, but Sid'll be ashamed +to have to interdooce her to <i>me</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan made no comment as they walked side by +side over the country highroad in the warm, bright +April afternoon, past woods and fields just beginning +to show a down of tender green. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, ain't it a dirty, mean shame, me havin' to +get off my farm fur my stuck-up half-brother to move +in, that never done a stroke of work on the place; nor +nowheres else did he never do no work of no kind!" +</p> + +<p> +"I wonder," the young school teacher found her +brain speculating, "whether he <i>could</i> get any more +negatives into that sentence!" +</p> + +<p> +"Sid <i>he</i> can't make good on the farm; he don't +know nothin' about farmin'. He don't know nothin' +about nothin', except the rules of society and stylish +clo'es and how to squander money and such like. He +even fell down on that there dead easy cinch Uncle +George got him—diplomacy—in Europe. Got all +balled up tryin' to work it! His wife didn't hit it +off good with a dukess or a czaress or whatever. +Anyhow, the two of 'em (Mrs. Sid and the dukess or +what) had words and Sid he had to cut out and come +home." +</p> + +<p> +Susan laughed—a little low ripple of quite mirthless +laughter. +</p> + +<p> +"What's so funny?" asked Joe, puzzled. "Sid's +mom and Uncle George took it awful serious. Me, +too, fur if he'd stayed over there on his job, I might +of stayed on the farm. <i>Don't</i> you think they done me +dirt?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's not right," Susan answered, perfunctorily. +"It's not right (in fact, it's quite grotesque) that a +man, after he's dead, should control twelve hundred +acres of the earth's surface, decreeing to whom it shall +belong for two generations. It's not right that your +step-brother, who does not work, should reap where +others sow. It's not right that a third of a million +dollars that you never worked for should fall into +your hands, while my valuable services in this township +are paid for at fifty dollars a month! I'm afraid, +Mr. Houghton, I can't get warmed up over your +wrongs. Are you going to move away?" she asked, +hopefully. +</p> + +<p> +"Not if I can help it—don't you worry!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'll try not to." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm in hopes Sid'll hire me fur his tenant-farmer +and leave me live in the tenant-farmer's cottage on +the place and keep on workin' the farm on shares fur +him, like what I done fur Uncle George. I don't +believe he will, though. He'd hate so to have a +brother like me," Joe growled, "livin' close by, so's +he'd have to interdooce me, still, if I chanced along, +to his grand friends!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan noted, without any great interest in the +phenomenon, the strange psychology of the born +miser who, with ample means to go where he would, +preferred to work slavishly for a brother who looked +down upon him, rather than lose the few thousand +dollars, the fruits of his own labour which, in the +transfer of the property, would accrue to his brother +instead of to him. +</p> + +<p> +"Sid'll soon find out that a good, honest farmer +ain't so easy found," said Joe. "So mebby he'll +<i>have</i> to leave me stay on." +</p> + +<p> +It was not, Susan knew, that Joe was without pride +or sensitiveness, of a kind. But these sentiments +were overborne by his avarice. +</p> + +<p> +His next words, however, made her doubt whether +avarice was the only or the strongest motive he had +for wishing to remain where he was not wanted. +</p> + +<p> +"I want to be Johnny-on-the-spot to watch Sid +'waste his substance in riotous living,'" he chuckled, +maliciously. "Till ten years a'ready <i>he</i> won't have +no money left of all his big fortune. I know him. +He'll blow it in! I tell you," he said, wickedly +gloating, "you'll see the day when my swell brother +comes to me beggin' fur the price of a meal ticket. +Then watch what <i>I'll</i> do! And say! it won't go so +long, neither, till I get him in my power!" +</p> + +<p> +"In your power!" smiled Susan, skeptically. It +sounded so melodramatic. +</p> + +<p> +"You needn't to grin! I got my little plans all +right, all right!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan was silent. +</p> + +<p> +"One good thing, Miss Susan, you won't have near +the housework to do, us livin' in the tenant's cottage, +as what you'd of had if White Oak Farm had of been +willed to me and I'd of stayed on in the big house. +My housekeeper she's always growlin' about how +much work it makes in such a big house, even +though we do close off all but just the couple rooms +we use. Yes, me, I'll be awful glad when I got a +wife oncet and don't have to fuss with no hired help +no more." +</p> + +<p> +"Won't it be worse to have to fuss with a wife? +You can't discharge your wife as you can your hired +housekeeper." +</p> + +<p> +"But my first wife, she never bothered me any +about the housework bein' too heavy. And a man's +wife can't up and leave like hired help's always +doin'." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, she can, in these days. A few do." +</p> + +<p> +"Not the kind of a woman <i>I'll</i> marry," said Joe, +confidently. "I wouldn't tie up with no sich +loose-moralled person." +</p> + +<p> +"See that you don't!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>You</i> don't hold no sich loose views, do you? +Don't you think marriage is awful sakerd?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sacred to become a man's permanent housekeeper +who can't throw up her job if she doesn't like it? +Sacred? Ha!" Susan laughed—almost with amusement. +</p> + +<p> +"A wife's a man's partner," argued Joe. +</p> + +<p> +"His equal partner? With some rights over their +earnings and property?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, to be sure, the husband's the head of the +wife. The <i>Bible</i> says so. You believe the Bible, +don't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't believe nonsense." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, hell, Miss Susan, ain't you afraid somepin'll +happen you, sayin' sich blasphemous things?" +</p> + +<p> +Susan thought to herself, "Afraid?—of something +happening to me?—when everything has happened +that can ever matter!" +</p> + +<p> +But when Joe Houghton had left her at the station +and she was alone, during her long hour's ride home +to Reifsville, she found that his announcement of his +brother's immediately coming to live in the neighbourhood +of her school did seem to matter to her. She +had suffered so horribly; her present insensibility was +such a blessed respite; she dreaded so unspeakably +any possible thing which might revive her pain! +Could she remain as callous at sight of Sidney +Houghton as everything else had found her since the +birth of her dead baby? +</p> + +<p> +It was just one year ago to-day that she had gone +to her lover's rooms to plead with him for their coming +child. And three days after that futile visit to +him she had read the newspaper announcement of +his sudden marriage to Miss Laura Beresford. +</p> + +<p> +Then for two days and nights she had suffered the +prolonged torture of a tedious and terribly difficult +premature child-birth. +</p> + +<p> +She had never seen her dead baby. She had been +unconscious at its birth; and for many weeks +afterward she had lain at death's door in the delirium of +child-bed fever. +</p> + +<p> +When, after long, dreary, hopeless weeks of illness +and suffering, she had become strong enough to ask +questions about the baby, the answers of her shocked +and stricken family had seemed to her strange, +evasive. Her sister Addie had told her it was a girl; +her mother, tearfully, but with a note of heart-broken +pride, that it was "a fine boy"; Lizzie that it +was "a seven months' blue baby and couldn't have +lived anyhow." That enigmatical "anyhow" had +vaguely troubled her through all her convalescence. +</p> + +<p> +"Just to think," Addie would mourn as she waited +upon her, "that a man with such nice manners at him +as what Sidney always had, would go and ac' like this +here! Don't it beat all? I wouldn't of thought it of +him! How he must have ashamed of hisself now!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Him</i> ashamed!" Lizzie would sniff. "Nothing +doing! He ain't the pertikkler <i>kind</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan's deepest bitterness against her "betrayer" +lay in the fact that she must be thankful that her baby +was dead; that she, whose longing for a child had +been a passion, had been cheated of its fulfilment; +that the ecstasy which her child would have been to +her had been turned into a frenzy of horror lest her +coming baby should be alive!—born "out of wedlock"; +an outcast; her innocent child made to suffer +all its life long because of its parents' selfishness and +weakness! That her motherhood had been thus +perverted and distorted—for this she knew that +never while she breathed could she forgive Sidney +Houghton. +</p> + +<p> +It did not seem very strange to her that Miss +Beresford, in spite of that encounter with her at +Sidney's rooms, had, after all, married him. +</p> + +<p> +"It isn't very much worse than what I did for love +of him! And of course he lied to her about me." +</p> + +<p> +Strangely enough, the Schrekengusts' desperate +efforts to conceal their darling's "disgrace" had been +successful. A doctor had been "fetched" from +another town and they themselves had been her only +nurses. The very length and severity of her illness +had precluded any suspicion in Reifsville as to its +true cause, especially as no least rumour of scandal +had been previously aroused. +</p> + +<p> +The consternation produced in the family by +Susan's inquiry, as soon as she was able to walk out +of doors, for the grave of her baby, had revealed to +her poignantly how deeply her family felt her "ruin." +</p> + +<p> +"But we didn't give you away to folks by makin' a +grave yet to show!" her father had explained to her. +"Nobody knows nothing! Nor they <i>ain't</i> to, +neither!" +</p> + +<p> +"Didn't you have an undertaker?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, no," her mother had sadly told her. "Pop +he tended to all hisself." +</p> + +<p> +"But where did you bury her? I want at least to +go to the spot where she lies!" Susan had pleaded +(the consensus of opinion seeming to favour the +assumption, in lieu of any positive statement, that +the baby had been a girl). +</p> + +<p> +"I couldn't say just the spot," her father had +replied, "but—well, it's anyhow in the orchard over." +</p> + +<p> +She knew she was morbid to regret so much that +she could not have even the doubtful solace of +visiting her child's grave. +</p> + +<p> +Six months had passed before she had been able +to take up teaching again. Her position at Reifsville +had been filled, and she had secured the country +school at White Oak Station. +</p> + +<p> +Joe Houghton being one of the school directors who +had elected her, and White Oak Farm being so +conveniently just across the road from her school-house, +the young widower, with a year-old baby on his +hands, had, from the first hour of their acquaintance, +pursued her assiduously with his unwelcome attentions. +</p> + +<p> +Susan realized, with an utter indifference to the +fact, that she had come out from her illness much +better looking than she had ever been; her abundant +hair, all lost through her terrible fever, had come in +again in thick gold-brown curls; her wasted flesh +seemed to have been renewed in a clearer, softer +texture; all the angles of her slender frame were +now softly rounded; she bloomed and glowed with +health and youth. +</p> + +<p> +But her soul remained heavy and dead. +</p> + +<p> +She had not taken up again, after her recovery, any +of the old threads of her life. The few choice, +intimate, and very precious friendships she had made at +school had been dropped; forever, she believed. Her +friends' letters, persistent, anxious, importunate, +remained unanswered. She had ceased to feel any +interest in them. They belonged so absolutely to +that other life, now dead, in which she had met and +known and loved Sidney Houghton; a life so different +from that of her own home; in which she had found +colour, joy, music, culture, and had made them her +own. That was all over now. Sidney had robbed +her of everything of worth that she had attained +through hard work, against adverse circumstances. +She seemed to have lost all power to feel, to care for +any one, for anything. +</p> + +<p> +She had found Joe Houghton to be all that Sidney +had once told her he was—crude, miserly, "grouchy." He +was of a very jealous disposition and given to fits +of sullenness which made Susan feel that his young +wife must have found a blessed escape in death. He +was, of course, his own worst enemy, an unhappy +creature, his only joy and comfort in life being his +passion for hoarding money. He loved his baby boy +and was proud of him, but the child caused him more +suffering than happiness; for while he had quarrelled +with one housekeeper after another for neglecting the +boy, he was morbidly jealous of any one for whom +the child manifested more fondness than he showed +for his father. +</p> + +<p> +Over against these trying characteristics could be +named a few uninteresting virtues. He was scrupulously +honest and truthful; much as he loved gain, +there was no stake high enough to lure him from the +strictest integrity. And although a highly sexed +individual, he was quite puritanically virtuous. +</p> + +<p> +Susan thought, during her homeward drive, +what an ideal setting for a man of Sidney Houghton's +tastes White Oak Farm would be and what delight +he would take in that beautiful old home which had +been so religiously preserved in all its primitive +quaintness of architecture and furniture, by so many +generations of his family. He had once told her +how the Houghtons had always prided themselves in +being the only family of English extraction in all the +Pennsylvania Dutch township of White Oak. Their +social life had of course (he had explained) been +confined exclusively to that of the near-by city of +Middleburg. Their immediate neighbourhood knew them +only by sight. +</p> + +<p> +Joe had one day persuaded her to come over to the +farm to see his baby (little dreaming of the bitterness +in her soul as she had held the pretty child on her +breast!) and he had shown her all over the truly +lovely house, unlocking the closed-off rooms with +their old woven rugs brought over to America in +colonial days, their carved four-posted beds, pier +tables, davenports, and old portraits of colonial +dignitaries. As she reflected that all these rare things +were now the possession of Sidney Houghton she +thought of that one pathetic little suit of furniture +which she and Sidney had chosen together for their +future home and which he had afterward pawned in +order to carry on his courtship with Miss Laura +Beresford—even while she, Susan, was still paying +for it out of her hard-earned little salary. +</p> + +<p> +"Did he know at the time," she dully wondered, +"that we would never use it in a home of ours? Did +he get me to buy it just for his own use in his college +rooms?" +</p> + +<p> +He had not kept the promise he had made to her +about the furniture—that day she had gone to him to +plead with him for their child's sake—— +</p> + +<p> +"I shall pay you back every dollar of it!" he had +said. "It may take me a long time, but I shan't let +you lose what you paid for it, Susan." +</p> + +<p> +When, during her illness, several letters had come +to her, dunning her for the sum still unpaid on the +furniture, her father had given Sidney Houghton's +address to the creditor and told him to collect the +amount from him. But the creditor had returned +the information that Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Houghton +were in Denmark and that Mr. Houghton's mother +repudiated the bill. +</p> + +<p> +The furniture had been bought in Susan's name. +So, when she was recovered from her long illness, she +sold her parlour furniture to be able to meet this +debt and her large doctor's bill. +</p> + +<p> +When this afternoon she got off the trolley car and +walked listlessly through Reifsville toward her home, +she was still wondering whether a possible, and +probably unavoidable, encounter with the new +occupant of White Oak Farm would shock her back +into sensibility. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER V +<br><br> +FACE TO FACE +</h2> + +<p> +Although Susan's family treated her "ruin" +(as they technically labelled her unlegalized +motherhood) with all sympathy and tenderness, +it blighted their simple lives as nothing else +could possibly have done. Her father seemed to have +become aged and feeble over night, her sisters +permanently depressed, her mother crushed. In +spite of the fact that they had been able to conceal +their disgrace, Mr. Schrekengust, on the plea of +advancing feebleness, resigned his office of preacher +to the Mennonite congregation. The Mennonite +sect does not consist of clergy and laymen; any +member of a congregation may at any time be +elected to serve as the preacher; and if so elected he is +obliged to serve, whatever his fitness—or unfitness. +He receives no salary for "doing God's work," and +his office as preacher never interferes with his secular +occupation, which is generally farming. Mr. Schrekengust, +whose experience and knowledge of life were +unbelievably limited, had once by accident met a +prominent Episcopal clergyman and, unaware that +preaching was, in any denomination, a bread-winning +occupation, he had inquired of the Episcopalian, +"What do you work at?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm a clergyman of the Episcopal Church." +</p> + +<p> +"But what do you work?" +</p> + +<p> +The Episcopalian, recalling that Mennonites do +not have an ordained ministry and knowing how +shocked this preacher would be if told that any +man worked at nothing <i>else</i> than preaching (and +not very hard at that), replied, "Well—I—I fish a +little." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Schrekengust was a "trucker," but his place +at the edge of Reifsville was not only very small, but +had been so heavily mortgaged to pay for Susan's +education that his earnings were now quite +insufficient for the support of his family without the aid +of Susan's salary and the assistance given him on his +little farm by his two elder daughters, who saved him +the expense of a hired man. And now that he was +becoming day by day more and more feeble, the +family realized, as the spring advanced, that he was +utterly unable to cope with the heavy work of the +farm. They would either have to hire a farmer, to +whom Mr. Schrekengust would give some slight +assistance, or they would have to sell their already +heavily mortgaged land. Either alternative would +leave them with almost no income. +</p> + +<p> +It was Joe Houghton, Susan learned from her +father, to her surprise and somewhat to her +consternation, who now held the mortgage against their land; +the neighbour from whom Mr. Schrekengust had +borrowed money some years ago to send Susan to +school had sold out his claim to Joe. +</p> + +<p> +Susan knew how ruthless Joe Houghton could be in +exacting his own. There had been two instances of +families in the neighbourhood of White Oak Farm +whose homes he had seized in payment of the interest +due him on mortgages. +</p> + +<p> +She decided to broach the subject to him on one +of their now almost daily walks from her school to the +trolley station. For he had not left the neighbourhood +with the advent of the new owner of White Oak +Farm. His half-brother had reluctantly consented +to his continuing to farm the place on shares and to +his occupying the tenant-farmer's cottage, where, in +fact, Joe was now very cosily established with his +baby and a new housekeeper. +</p> + +<p> +"I shouldn't have supposed he'd let you stay +here!" Susan had met the information with surprise. +"It isn't like him!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, how do you know what's like him and what +ain't?" Joe had quickly inquired. +</p> + +<p> +"I judge from all you've told me of him," she +hastily explained. "What is his reason for letting +you stay?" +</p> + +<p> +"You judged right!" growled Joe. "He has a +reason—and a good one—or out I'd have to <i>git</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan did not repeat her inquiry as to what the +reason was. +</p> + +<p> +"I got a <i>hold</i> on him!" said Joe, darkly. "He +darsen't go too far with me!" +</p> + +<p> +Again Susan asked no question. And he volunteered +no further information. +</p> + +<p> +"He ain't interdooced his Missus to me yet," Joe +shrugged. "But it ain't my loss! I took a good +look at her here the other day, and say! If she ain't +as sour lookin' as—as you're sweet lookin', Miss +Susie! Gee, I'd hate to set acrost the dinner table +from a winegar face like hern every day! And her +baby—why, it's all the time with that there coloured +hired girl. Its mom ain't never got it, fur as I kin +see." +</p> + +<p> +On rainy days Joe invariably took Susan to her +trolley car in his little gasoline car; but on clear days +the car was never forthcoming, and Susan had come +to welcome the sight of rain, which prevented those +long walks with her suitor, during every minute of +which she was dreading a chance meeting on the road +with Sidney, who was now established at White +Oak Farm with his wife and baby and a retinue of +servants. +</p> + +<p> +"Joe would expect to introduce his brother to me +if we met," she reflected, shudderingly. +</p> + +<p> +She knew, of course, that at the faintest suspicion, +on the part of any school director, of her true story, +she would lose her position—which was now the only +certain income of her family—and that Joe Houghton, +who was the president of the school board, would, +from personal chagrin, prove the most implacable +of them all. Therefore, if a meeting between her +and Sidney was inevitable, it must not be in the +presence of Joe. +</p> + +<p> +Thus far she had not caught so much as a glimpse +of Sidney though she had several times seen his wife +drive by the school-house in her great car, with a +liveried chauffeur; and every day she saw the baby +being wheeled about the grounds by an untidy-looking +Negro nurse. +</p> + +<p> +She wondered whether Sidney was aware of her +daily presence in the neighbourhood; and if he were, +whether, in his prosperity and security, it affected +in the least his serenity. Of course he did know that +the home of the girl he had betrayed and deceived +and robbed, the mother of his dead child, was only +eight miles distant from his own home. Did <i>this</i> fact +ever disturb his equanimity? +</p> + +<p> +He had never, so far as she knew, made any +inquiries as to whether his child had lived or died. +</p> + +<p> +Joe Houghton did not share Susan's preference for +the short ride of rainy days rather than the long +walk of clear weather. +</p> + +<p> +"The little automobile she makes so quick, it's +too soon over a'ready, Susan. I like better the long +walk," he gallantly told her as they were strolling +to the station on the day after she had learned that +he held the mortgage against her home. +</p> + +<p> +"But I prefer the short ride," she replied. "Don't +you think you might consider what I prefer?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, Miss Susie, you do enjoy takin' a fellah +down; ain't you do? But you don't fool me any! I +know a coke-wet when I see one! <i>You</i> don't mean +all you leave on!" +</p> + +<p> +"You see right through me, don't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"You ain't so hard to see through—a straight, +wirtuous female like you! You ain't like some! +You'd be surprised to see how some throws theirselfs +at me fur my fortune! That's what I like about +you—you leave <i>me</i> do the courtin'! And," he +added, feelingly, "you're as refined and pure a wirgin +as you otherwise can be! Och, yes, me I see through +you like readin' a book." +</p> + +<p> +"Ha!" came Susan's little mocking laugh with, +to-day, an added note of bitterness that strangely +thrilled Joe's nerves. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Houghton!" +</p> + +<p> +"Make it Joe, can't you? What?" +</p> + +<p> +"Father told me last night that it is you who hold +the mortgage against us." +</p> + +<p> +"Not against <i>you</i>—I wisht I did!" he retorted, +facetiously. "You'd see how quick I'd foreclose +oncet!" +</p> + +<p> +"Will you be very kind to us and buy our place +for a little more than it is worth?" said Susan, +boldly. +</p> + +<p> +"I never pay more for nothing than what it's +worth. I'll tell you what I'll do, though. The day +you say Yes to me, I'll buy in that there prop'ty and +give your pop a clean deed to it! It'll be my weddin' +present to you. I'd have to buy you a weddin' +present anyhow—you'd expect it; so we'll leave it go at +that. Think it over!" +</p> + +<p> +"Are you offering to buy me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if I can't git you no other way! You +certainly won't never git no <i>better</i> chanct." +</p> + +<p> +Susan thought how shaken his complacency with +regard to her would be if he could know that she +considered him the very worst possible "chance." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not up for sale yet, Mr. Houghton, though I +don't know how low I may yet sink." +</p> + +<p> +"You'd call it sinkin' low to marry me?" Joe +demanded, aggrieved. +</p> + +<p> +"Low to sell myself. It seems to me a much lower +thing to marry for money than to give yourself freely, +outside of marriage, for love." +</p> + +<p> +"Say, Miss Susan, if you'd get off them funny +things you say sometimes, to <i>some</i> folks, that didn't +know what a wirtuous girl you are, they'd think +<i>hard</i> of you! I wisht you'd break yourself of the +habit! It's growin' on you! Folks'll talk about you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Good gracious!" breathed Susan, surprised out of +herself at being held up for reproof like a child. +</p> + +<p> +"Wouldn't you care if folks talked?" he asked, +disapprovingly. +</p> + +<p> +"You're the only person to whom I ever 'get off' +my 'funny things'—and you won't talk about me, +will you?" +</p> + +<p> +"To be sure you're safe with me; but if you are got +the habit of talkin' so reckless, you'll be doin' it in +front of someone where it <i>ain't</i> safe." +</p> + +<p> +"I can imagine nothing more tame than always to +be safe!" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, well, you're young yet and wery high-spirited +and I guess I got to make allowance. Oncet +you're married to me, you'll settle down." +</p> + +<p> +"Good Lord deliver me then!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'd think school teachin' was safe and tame +enough, and you stick to <i>it</i> good and steady. So I +guess you won't find married life too tame fur you." +</p> + +<p> +"But school teaching isn't safe; it's getting to be +one of the most dangerous professions in this country! +Much worse than working in a dynamite factory. +Why, in some states you can't teach at all until your +opinions have been examined; and after that, if you +ever happen to learn something new that might +change one of those opinions, you would run the risk +of losing your position and your livelihood. And in +some states if you join the American Federation of +Labour you can't teach in the public schools." +</p> + +<p> +"Good thing, too," declared Joe. "Nothin' more +pertikkler than that our teachers of the young should +have correct opinions." +</p> + +<p> +"Opinions that our politicians, our state legislators, +our country school directors, consider correct! O +Lord!" +</p> + +<p> +"Tut, tut! Ain't you 'shamed o' yourself!" +</p> + +<p> +"You've no idea of the depth of my shamelessness!" +</p> + +<p> +"A lady swearin' yet! Tut, tut!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'd cuss from morning to night if it would only +make you hate me! I do my very darndest-damndest +to make you!" +</p> + +<p> +"There, there!" he said, soothingly. "Calm yourself +down, my dear sweet little Spitfire! or you'll get +the headache!" +</p> + +<p> +When at last Joe had left her and she was on her +homeward ride, she wondered whether he could +perhaps have taken over that mortgage against her +father's property with the deliberate purpose of +bribing, or forcing, her into marrying him! How +blind he was! How little he dreamed of the deep +disgust she often felt toward him for some of the +very things which he considered his highest assets, +his most commendable virtues! +</p> + +<p> +For instance, one day when it had been raining +hard, he had offered, magnanimously, to drive her +the whole way to Reifsville in his automobile instead +of just to her trolley car. But when a half mile from +Reifsville he had drawn up short just before coming +to a toll gate. +</p> + +<p> +"I guess you won't mind walkin' the half mile +that's left yet; it'll save me this here ten cents' toll I'd +have to pay goin' and comin'." +</p> + +<p> +Susan had got out of his car and Joe had turned it +about toward White Oak Farm with a backward +grin of cunning at the toll gate keeper disappointed +of a dime. +</p> + +<p> +He had never dreamed that this self-denying +prudence on his part had sent Susan home with a +mingled laughter and loathing which, as long as she +lived, she could never forget. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was a few days later, at recess time, when, having +dismissed her pupils to the playground behind the +school-house, she was taking a breath of fresh air on +the front porch, that she saw at close range Sidney +Houghton's little son, as the untidy Negro nurse +trundled the baby coach past the school. So +carelessly the indifferent maid pushed the little cart +over the rough, unpaved road, that Susan, watching +her approach, caught her breath in dread of an +upset. +</p> + +<p> +"Take care!" she involuntarily called out, as +directly in front of the school porch the maid, gaping +curiously at the teacher instead of watching where she +went, the coach bumped against a stone in the path, +tilted, lost balance, and went over. +</p> + +<p> +Susan, rushing to the rescue, stooped to pick up the +frightened, crying child, while the nurse, undisturbed, +righted the coach and lazily shook the dust from the +cushion and robe that had tumbled into the path. +</p> + +<p> +As Susan held the child in her arms, while the nurse +arranged the coach, she found to her astonishment, +almost to her bewilderment, that instead of a little +baby a few months old, she was holding a big, +bouncing boy with a strong, upright back; and instead of +the vague eyes of a young infant, she found herself +looking into the intelligent, wide-awake face of a +child over a year old. +</p> + +<p> +He was a lovely boy, resembling his father so +strongly as to seem like a grotesque little image of +the man. But there was something else in this +little face that had never been in Sidney's—a wistful +look, a soul—— +</p> + +<p> +The child stopped crying as she held him, looked +up into her eyes, smiled, and nestled into her arms +so appealingly, so trustfully, that Susan suddenly, +unaccountably, felt her soul shaken to its foundations. +Her heart beat suffocatingly, and to her own +amazement she trembled from head to foot. If merely +Sidney's baby could affect her like this, what would +it mean to her to meet Sidney himself? +</p> + +<p> +"What is the baby's name?" she asked the nurse +after a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"They calls him Georgie." +</p> + +<p> +She noticed that the child's clothing, though of +fine quality, was soiled and torn and that his face and +hands were unwashed; a very neglected baby. +</p> + +<p> +Again, to her own astonishment, she found herself +very tenderly kissing the child as she let him go. +</p> + +<p> +"The roads about here are too rough for a baby +coach," she warned the nurse. +</p> + +<p> +"They sure is! And anyhow I has my orders not +to take Georgie outside where folks kin see him. +But I gets so tired stayin' inside the gates all the +time!" +</p> + +<p> +"You are not to let people see him?" asked Susan, +wonderingly. "Why? Is there something wrong +with him?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, there ain't nothin' wrong with him. I dunno +why folks darsen't see him. I guess because he's so +awful overgrowed fur his age they're afraid it'll make +folks talk." +</p> + +<p> +"How old is he?" +</p> + +<p> +"Six months." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, he is almost as big as Mr. Joe Houghton's +baby of seventeen months!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, but he ain't but six months old," maintained +the nurse. "But I guess it is because he is so +overgrowed that his mother and father wants him +kep' out of sight." +</p> + +<p> +"To hide such a lovely boy!" breathed Susan, +wonderingly, "when one would think they'd be so +proud to show him!" +</p> + +<p> +"They ain't proud to show him—no siree! They're +awful pertikkler about his not bein' took outside the +gates. But I has to git out <i>sometimes</i>," repeated the +girl, turning the coach about to go back to the farm. +</p> + +<p> +During the rest of that day Susan's pupils found +her a very absent-minded teacher. The question +kept obtruding itself as to <i>why</i> the child of six months +should look twice his age and more; and why his +father and mother feared to have that fact noted in +the neighbourhood. Could it be, she wondered, her +breath coming short at the thought, that Sidney had +had to choose, a year ago, whether he would make +Laura Beresford's baby or hers his legitimate child? +Could it be that his hasty marriage to Miss Beresford +had been forced upon him? +</p> + +<p> +But he had said to her, that day in his rooms, +"A gentleman doesn't marry his mistress!" +</p> + +<p> +Ah, but when at another and earlier time she had +put it to him, "Would you ask this thing of me if I +were a girl of your mother's choosing—of your own +social world?"—he had answered, "Perhaps I should +not have to plead so hard with a worldly girl!" (How +she remembered every word Sidney had ever +spoken to her!) +</p> + +<p> +It suddenly flashed upon her that perhaps Joe +Houghton's "hold" upon his brother, of which he had +spoken to her, was this secret about the baby born too +disgracefully soon after his marriage! She was +quite sure that Joe, to achieve any advantage to +himself, would not be above holding over his brother +a threat of exposure of a disgrace. +</p> + +<p> +"What a bad breed these Houghtons really are! +How strange that a race like this should consider +themselves of rarer, finer quality than the common +herd!" she marvelled. +</p> + +<p> +That evening, on her way to the station with Joe, +she said to him, "I have seen your brother's baby." +</p> + +<p> +"Aha! And what do <i>you</i> think of it, heh? Did +you see it close up?" he asked with a sinister cunning +that made her shrink from his side. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. It is over a year old." +</p> + +<p> +"Huh! So you seen that, too, did you? That's +what <i>I</i> knowed the minute I laid eyes on it. I ought +to know somepin about babies, havin' one of my +own! Why, Georgie's near as big and knowin' as my +Josie, and Josie's seventeen months old yet! No, sir, +you can't fool me! To be sure, I wouldn't say a word +to you, Miss Susan, <i>about</i> it if you was an outsider. +But this here's all in the family." +</p> + +<p> +"No, it isn't. I am an outsider—and always shall be." +</p> + +<p> +"Och, well, have your little joke as long as you kin. +You'll miss it, oncet you're married to me. You'll +have to find somepin to take its place—like who's +the boss in our tie-up, and all like that—ain't?" he +chuckled. "Yes, it's easy seen Sid had to git married +to that winegar-faced Missus of hisn. A clear case of +<i>must</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't suppose that a gentleman would ever +marry his mistress," Susan ventured in a light, casual +tone. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, <i>I</i> wouldn't marry no woman that held herself +that cheap and common, you bet you!—fur all +Sid thinks I ain't no gentleman. Nor I don't believe +Sid would have married her neither if she hadn't of +had money and been enough of a swell to satisfy +Uncle George!" +</p> + +<p> +"What low ideas men have about fatherhood! A +man will make a woman the mother of his child +whom he thinks too unclean to be his wife!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, well, but if a woman ain't good, she had +ought to take care not to have no children." +</p> + +<p> +"Then bad men ought never to be fathers—and the +race would stop!" +</p> + +<p> +"That wouldn't do—to have the race stop. We +are got to have people; and plenty of 'em. I've been +a capitalist just long enough to have discovered that +where there ain't no crowded population (more +workers than there's work fur, you understand) +that's where there can't be no great fortunes built up. +No, you got to keep up the population, Miss Susan. +That's why we are got sich severe laws agin birth +control and agin wice districts and agin anything else +that tends to keep marriage from bein' a <i>necessity</i>. +You're got to make it a necessity if you're goin' to +keep the race a-goin' and capital safe!" +</p> + +<p> +"Do you mean to tell me that what we innocently +take for laws to protect morality are just meant to +protect and promote industrial exploitation?" asked +Susan, incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +"That's about it. Only I didn't put it so scientific. +I ain't got your learnin', but I got my <i>facs</i> all right! +We ain't got no moral laws fur no other purpose; +fur every man knows in his heart that nature's +instincts is too strong fur him; he can't no more go +agin 'em than he can stop Niagary!—than a chicken +can stop moultin'; or the grass not grow in the spring! +Nature's <i>nature</i>—and that's all there is to it!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then society is built on a lie, is it? Respectability +is a sham and men and women are all hypocrites?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, well, I wouldn't go so fur as to say that. I +myself try to be as honest as I otherwise can be. +I——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—<i>hush</i>!" exclaimed Susan, her revitalized +nerves rasped beyond endurance. +</p> + +<p> +"You ain't no hypocrite, anyhow!" grinned Joe. +"You ain't no <i>flatterer</i>, anyhow!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was the next afternoon, near the hour for closing +school, when Susan suddenly felt that she could not, +that day—simply could not—endure Joe Houghton's +society on her walk to the station. She must manage +somehow to elude him. So she surreptitiously turned +her clock forward five minutes and dismissed her +school in advance of the hour, before Joe would even +have started from his cottage for the school-house. +He would probably think, when he found an empty +school, that his own watch had played him a trick. +His amazing confidence, in spite of her constant +rebuffs, in his ability to win her over ultimately, +would prevent him from suspecting her of going to +such lengths to escape him. +</p> + +<p> +However, she did not really care whether he saw +through her ruse. She only knew that to-day she +could not and would not endure walking with him. +</p> + +<p> +But when in taking the long and indirect route to +the station across the field behind the school-house +and then through a beautiful stretch of woodland, she +suddenly saw, strolling slowly toward her in the +woodsy path, Sidney Houghton, looking gloriously +strong and handsome and prosperous, dressed in +riding togs and carrying a riding crop, she wildly +regretted, for an instant, that she was notion the +high-road with Joe. +</p> + +<p> +There was no way of escape without plainly running +away. This, she quickly decided, she would +not do. +</p> + +<p> +In the first instant of their encounter she saw that +he did not recognize her—she was so greatly altered; +with all his old elaborate courtesy he stepped from +the narrow path to allow the young lady to pass, +removing his hat, not just tipping it, bowing from the +waist, not merely nodding—and the next instant, as +recognition flashed into his eyes, she knew for a +certainty from his consternation that he had never +learned who was the teacher of the little school across +the road from his home. +</p> + +<p> +"Why! You are—Susanna!" he gasped, almost +staggering forward in the path, and blocking her way. +Every drop of colour left his face and lips as he stood +staring at her. +</p> + +<p> +She saw that he, too, was greatly changed; he +looked much more than a year older; his face +was lined and worried, and his mouth drooped and +sagged. +</p> + +<p> +Susan who, for weeks, had been nervously dreading +an encounter like this, found herself, now, to her own +surprise, perfectly quiet and cool. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you—did you—come out here to White Oak +to see me?" faltered Sidney. +</p> + +<p> +"I teach the district school of White Oak Station." +</p> + +<p> +"The White Oak Station school! You are teaching +that school right across the road from White Oak +Farm!" +</p> + +<p> +"I have been teaching there for five months." +</p> + +<p> +Susan's silky, soft voice, that had never failed to +charm this man, fell familiarly upon his soul, grown +weary of the rasping fretfulness of a pampered, +dissatisfied wife. +</p> + +<p> +"But it's impossible! You can't teach there! You +must see that you can't! It's——" +</p> + +<p> +He stopped short, gazing at her with a look of +fright that seemed to her rather inexplicable. +</p> + +<p> +"You shall not interfere with my keeping my +school! I am practically the only support of my +family." +</p> + +<p> +"But—but it's impossible—you——" He faltered. +</p> + +<p> +"Why should it be?" +</p> + +<p> +He gulped and did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +"You won't interfere?" +</p> + +<p> +"I would not willingly hurt you more than I've +already done, but——" +</p> + +<p> +"I shall depend on your not interfering. Will you +please let me pass?" +</p> + +<p> +"Susanna! I behaved like a dog to you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't insult a dog. You behaved like yourself. +You were quite true to yourself. I was not. I was +false to myself. I degraded myself. You didn't," +she concluded, starting to pass on. +</p> + +<p> +He put out his hand to check her, but at the fire +that flashed from her eyes at the approach of his +touch he shrank back; not, however, making way +for her to go. +</p> + +<p> +"You have grown so beautiful!" he stammered. +"I expected to see you a wreck! Your terrible +illness—your suffering! Your father told me how——" +</p> + +<p> +"My father told you! My father would not speak +to you!" +</p> + +<p> +The colour flooded Sidney's face and his eyes fell. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean?" Susan breathlessly asked. +"When did my father ever tell you of my illness?" +</p> + +<p> +"Just before we—I—went abroad—I inquired—and +I was told how desperately ill you were and not +expected to pull through. I thought you <i>had</i> +died!—until two months ago when I returned to America +and learned you were alive!" +</p> + +<p> +"Who told you I was alive?" +</p> + +<p> +"You—I—made inquiries—I learned it——" +</p> + +<p> +She saw he was not being candid with her. The +truth was not in him. +</p> + +<p> +"Susanna! You are not the only one that has +suffered! Bad as you think me, I was not a hardened +criminal, and when I thought I had killed you——" +</p> + +<p> +"I am sure it must have been a great relief to you. +It's rather awkward having me alive, isn't it?—and +living right in your neighbourhood! I suppose +Mrs. Houghton thinks I'm comfortably and safely dead, +doesn't she?" +</p> + +<p> +He nodded dumbly. +</p> + +<p> +"It will probably be something of a shock to her to +find out her mistake!" +</p> + +<p> +"She won't know you if she sees you—you are so +changed! You are wonderful! You never were so +lovely as this!—but Susanna! For God's sake, don't +reveal yourself to my wife!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I am your wife!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +He stared at her without answering. +</p> + +<p> +"You convinced me so well, you remember, that +a few ceremonial words could add nothing to the +holy sacrament of our true marriage! Let me +tell you something! If our child had lived, I +would have pursued you to the ends of the world +to make you right the wrong you would have done +to her!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Her!</i>" he exclaimed, involuntarily—then drew +back, white and trembling. "Was it a girl?" he +feebly asked. +</p> + +<p> +"I think so." +</p> + +<p> +"You—you don't know?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not sure. None of them seemed sure!" +</p> + +<p> +"Susanna! You poor, poor girl! How I wish I +could right the wrong I've done to <i>you</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +Her bosom rose and fell in a long, deep breach. +"You never can," she said, hopelessly, a far-away +light in the tragic depths of her eyes. "I have borne +you a dead child!—and had to thank heaven that it +was dead!" +</p> + +<p> +Sidney leaned limply against a tree by the path. +</p> + +<p> +His eyes shifted from her face; he could not look at +her. A silence fell between them, in which the +woodland sounds of birds and rustling tree-tops seemed +shrilly loud and clamorous. +</p> + +<p> +After a moment Susan spoke, in the quiet, +almost lifeless tone that had become habitual with +her. +</p> + +<p> +"What I cannot forgive is that I had to want my +baby to be dead! Do you remember a play of +Euripides—<i>Medea</i>—that you and I once read +together? Medea said she would rather stand in +battle three times with shield and sword than bear +one child! And she tells Jason, who has forsaken her, +'I could forgive a childless man. But I have borne +you children.' I knew that Greek civilization was +a thing of wonder, but I didn't suppose it was so +sympathetic with women." +</p> + +<p> +Sidney did not attempt to answer. Again she +made a movement to pass him; and at this he looked +up and once more blocked her way. +</p> + +<p> +"Susanna! Believe me! I did love you! I have +suffered for what I did to you! I do suffer!—for it +was you only that I loved!" +</p> + +<p> +"Ha!" came her little mocking laugh. "You loved +me! Love! Don't desecrate the word, if it <i>has</i> any +sacredness! Do men bruise and hurt and wound to +death the souls of the women they love? You loved +<i>me</i>! Oh! Let me pass, please." +</p> + +<p> +He did not move. +</p> + +<p> +"I repeat it—it was you only that I loved!" +</p> + +<p> +She looked him over appraisingly. +</p> + +<p> +"What I cannot understand," she said in a tone so +genuinely puzzled that he could not doubt her +sincerity, "is that I ever could have cared enough for so +miserable a creature as you, Sidney, as to do what I +did for you! I can find <i>no</i> excuse for myself! I knew +I was dragging myself in the mire—I was being a +female, not a woman! It was so stupid of me not to +have seen you for the poor, cheap thing you are, +Sidney!" +</p> + +<p> +"You need not try so hard to humiliate me—it's +quite unnecessary!" +</p> + +<p> +"And yet," she said, judicially, "after all, it was +(for you) just a choice as to which of your two +children you would make legitimate; and you +naturally chose to marry the mother who could give +you what you wanted more than you ever wanted +anything else in this world—money and ease and +luxury and social power." +</p> + +<p> +He gazed at her in a sort of stupefaction. "My +<i>two</i> children!" he repeated, vaguely. "What—what +do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"Your little son is as old as ours would be." +</p> + +<p> +"How—how do you know?" +</p> + +<p> +"You do well to keep him hidden—valuing +respectability as you do." +</p> + +<p> +"I—I don't know what you mean!" +</p> + +<p> +"'A gentleman does not marry his mistress,' you +remember you told me? Almost everything you +ever said to me was a lie! It seems that sometimes +a gentleman does marry his mistress when she has +wealth and position; when he can do it without losing +his respectability." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean—you are insinuating a slander against +my wife?" he exclaimed with an impetuous astonishment +and indignation that made her, in her turn, +marvel at him. Was he a consummate actor or an +utter fool? So sensitive as this about his wife's +"honour" when he had so pitilessly robbed her of +hers (at least according to the world's standards; she +knew, now, how artificial and chaotic those standards +were). And a moment ago he had told her he had +loved her! +</p> + +<p> +"Are you saying to me," he asked, growing very +red as he drew himself up from the tree against which +he had been leaning, "that I married my mistress?" +</p> + +<p> +"You are very astute to catch my idea so quickly. +And must I conclude, then, that you are not a +'gentleman'? Or that you lied when you said +gentlemen didn't do such things? What do you mean, +anyway, by a gentleman? I've often wondered!" +</p> + +<p> +"Are you going to spread that idea of yours about +this neighbourhood, Susanna?" +</p> + +<p> +"My idea about your being a gentleman? Or my +idea that you married your mistress?" +</p> + +<p> +"Stop! I did not!" +</p> + +<p> +"Your son is over a year old." +</p> + +<p> +"You don't know what you are saying! You—you +are talking wildly! You——" +</p> + +<p> +But suddenly, before the cool, unwavering glance +with which she met his futile indignation, it collapsed +like a bubble and once more he limply leaned against +the tree. +</p> + +<p> +"You hold my fate in your hands, Susanna!" he +said, heavily. "My wife thinks (as I did until I +returned to America) that you died in child-bed. +I have not told her you did not. If she knew you +were alive—and living and working here at our very +door!—she would think I had deceived her! She +would be suspicious of our—that I still cared for you! +She would be bitterly jealous! Our already strained +domestic life would break!" +</p> + +<p> +She took a step nearer to him. "Do you know +what I would do if my child were living? I would +force you to divorce your wife and marry me!" +</p> + +<p> +Her words seemed to have the effect of startling +and thrilling him. As he gazed at her—her soft +bright eyes, her flushed cheeks, the short, tender curls +about her fair neck, the swell and fall of her bosom, +all the mighty lure of her lovely womanhood—a +hungry look came into his eyes; a look so bitterly +familiar to her that she drew back with a sharp +horror. +</p> + +<p> +"Susanna!" he stretched a shaking hand toward +her. "If our child——" +</p> + +<p> +"Only for my child's sake, not for my own!" she +cried, breathlessly. "Yes, I would force you to +marry me—but I would never, never, never be +yours!" +</p> + +<p> +Sidney's shaking hand dropped to his side. +</p> + +<p> +"And since," he spoke after a moment's pregnant +silence between them, "your—our child—does not +live—what shall you do?" +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know me so little as to suppose it would +gratify me to break up your marriage? You need +have no anxiety about what I shall do. I am not +enough interested in anything concerning you, +Sidney, to disturb your peace and prosperity." +</p> + +<p> +"But your mere presence in this neighbourhood! +To be sure Laura would never recognize you; she +doesn't even know your name; I would never tell her +your name, Susanna—but she could so easily hear of +your teaching that school——" +</p> + +<p> +"You can't hope to keep it from her that I am +living! Your mother will visit you and may any day +see me——" +</p> + +<p> +A look of pain crossed his face; and Susan knew, +before he spoke, that he had lost his mother. +</p> + +<p> +"She died of a stroke while I was abroad; brought +on, I have always believed, by the strain and anxiety +of my—my sudden marriage, of my——" +</p> + +<p> +"I understand," said Susan as he floundered. +"The strain of getting you married before I could +force your hand——" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't, don't! Please! Spare her, Susanna! I +have suffered enough on her account!" +</p> + +<p> +"So have I!" +</p> + +<p> +"You are hard!" +</p> + +<p> +"I try to be—or I could not live!" +</p> + +<p> +"But you must see, Susanna, that it won't do for +you to remain about here! You can easily get +another school. I'll help you all I——" +</p> + +<p> +"You shall have nothing to do with my life. And +I have no concern with yours. I shall not give up +my school." +</p> + +<p> +"But I can't stand it! It will drive me crazy! +Having you so near—the constant dread of exposure——" +</p> + +<p> +"Exposure? But your wife knows all there is to +be known except that I am still alive." +</p> + +<p> +"You don't understand! There are complications +in the situation that you don't understand! You +<i>must</i> leave this neighbourhood, Susanna! I will +give you——" +</p> + +<p> +"You will never give me anything," she quietly +interrupted. "Not even," she added with a dreary +smile, "the furniture you robbed me of." +</p> + +<p> +He turned red at this unexpected stab and before +he could collect himself to reply, she had forced her +way past him and was gone. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER VI +<br><br> +THE TENTACLES CLOSE IN UPON SUSAN +</h2> + +<p> +Joe Houghton's absence from home to +attend the Cashtown cattle sale gave Susan +a blessed four days' respite from his persistent +wooing. +</p> + +<p> +She had declined his urgent invitation to +accompany him to Cashtown. +</p> + +<p> +"The ride over is awful nice. Plenty of scenery +and all like that—you're so much fur scenery, I took +notice a'ready. They ain't nothin' about you +escapes me, you bet you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't there!" Susan returned with a gentle +mockery quite lost upon Joe. +</p> + +<p> +"You bet there ain't! You better come with. +You'd see lots of people at the sale—if people +interest you." +</p> + +<p> +"But I wouldn't think of closing my school for an +outing." +</p> + +<p> +"Ain't I president of the school board? What I +say goes." +</p> + +<p> +"I wouldn't neglect my work no matter who said I +might." +</p> + +<p> +"Nor me, neither! <i>I</i> never let my work fur no +pleasure-seekin'." Joe so approvingly agreed with her +commendable declaration that she instantly felt like +repudiating it. "And I'm wery glad," he added, +"to find you so conscientious, too, like me. Fur if +you're that pertikkler over your school work, you'll +be the same at your housework, oncet we're married." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, is <i>that</i> why you are so pleased with me? I +thought for a minute that you were public spirited +and concerned for the education of White Oak +Station." +</p> + +<p> +"Och, no, me, I always think of myself before I +think of the education of the rising generation," Joe +frankly admitted. "I'd sooner have you along to +Cashtown than to have White Oak Station good +educated. But I ain't startin' in by encouragin' +you to slight work. That <i>would</i> be a bad beginnin'!" +</p> + +<p> +"A bad beginning of what?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of our life together, Miss Susie." +</p> + +<p> +"Dream on," said Susan, "if it amuses you." +</p> + +<p> +He had pressed another invitation upon her which +she had also declined. +</p> + +<p> +"If you won't go <i>with</i>, then I wisht you'd stay at +my house whiles I'm off, and see to it that that there +mean-actin' housekeeper I got don't <i>let</i> Josie and go +runnin'! I can tell her that you'll wisit her to keep +her comp'ny." +</p> + +<p> +"I can't stay away from home; father is not well," +Susan had objected to this plan; for the tenant-farmer's +cosy cottage at White Oak Farm where Joe +now lived was only a few rods away from the mansion +in which his brother resided. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought mebby," said Joe, greatly disappointed +at her refusal, "that if I could get you inter<i>est</i>ed in +Josie, you might want to get married to me just fur +the sake of havin' sich a cute little cuss all ready made +fur you!" +</p> + +<p> +"I am interested in Josie, but, you see, I love all +babies and I couldn't possibly marry all their fathers." +</p> + +<p> +Ever since the day when, for an instant, Susan had +held Sidney Houghton's baby boy in her arms, after +picking him up from his overturned coach in front of +her school-house, she had wondered at herself that +with her feeling for Sidney so dead her heart could +yet yearn over his child as it had done then, and +every time since then, that she had caught a glimpse +of the appealing little fellow. Joe's boy, Josie, was a +dear baby, too, but he did not attract her in the +poignant, irresistible way that Georgie did. +</p> + +<p> +"One would think I would shrink from the successful +rival of my child," she marvelled. +</p> + +<p> +"I promise you," she had answered Joe, "that I +shall run into your cottage and see after Josie three +times a day while you are away: before and after +school and at the noon recess." +</p> + +<p> +And with this Joe had had to be satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +This afternoon, as she was about to leave her +school-house for her final visit of the day to the baby +of the cottage, she was detained a moment by the +irate mother of one of her pupils, who had tramped a +half mile from her home to complain to "Teacher" +that her boy's "dinner kittle" had been tampered +with. +</p> + +<p> +"I fixed him sich a nice kittle; and he saved back a +piece of snitz pie to eat on the way home; but till he +come to look fur that there snitz pie after school, here +he seen it was swiped! Yes, it's some swiper in this +here school of yourn, Teacher!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan promised Mrs. Kuntz that she would hound +down the criminal. Mr. Kuntz was a school director, +so it behooved the teacher to placate Mrs. Kuntz. +Susan was, by this time, very familiar with the ways +of school directors. To be sure, any teacher of White +Oak Station whom Joe Houghton favoured did not +need to concern herself much about the rest of the +school board, for Joe held a mortgage against the +land of more than half of them. The wives of the +directors were sometimes inclined to give themselves +airs with the teacher who held her "job" by the votes +of their husbands. But it was of course so widely +known that Susan Schrekengust was a prime favourite +with the wealthy widower that she enjoyed an +unusual immunity from "airs". However, she was +only too well aware that just so soon as Joe realized, +finally and irrevocably, that she would not marry +him, his spite would wreak itself upon her, not only by +seizing their home from her parents, but by taking +her school away from her. Her heart stood still with +dread sometimes when it was borne in upon her how +completely he held her and hers in his power. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as Mrs. Kuntz had left her Susan came +out from her school-house, locked the door, and went +across the road for her visit to the baby, Josie. +Mrs. Kuntz, who saw where she went, reported to her son +that evening at supper that Joe Houghton was "not +doin' all the courtin'." +</p> + +<p> +"Teacher's helpin' along a little herself. Joe he +wasn't there to fetch her to-day, like you say he <i>is</i> +every day, so she went after <i>him</i>! Yes, you bet you +she's doin' her part, too, in the courtin'!" +</p> + +<p> +It was after Susan's visit to Joe's cottage, when she +was walking through Sidney's private grounds to the +highroad (her only way out), that suddenly, at a +bend in the path, she saw approaching her, a few +yards distant, Mrs. Sidney Houghton, strolling +leisurely in the May afternoon sunshine, followed by +two big dogs that jumped about her playfully, to +whose demonstrations she responded affectionately. +</p> + +<p> +She was a slim, graceful woman, very tastefully +dressed. An apparently unconscious haughtiness +was manifest in the poise of her small head and in the +way she carried herself. +</p> + +<p> +As she came nearer, Susan saw that the radiant +bloom of the young girl whom, a year ago, she had +seen for a few tragic moments in Sidney Houghton's +rooms was gone, and that a blighted, almost soured, +aspect had taken its place. +</p> + +<p> +The thought flashed upon Susan, "In her place, +even if I were disappointed in Sidney, I couldn't look +like that if I had that baby boy!" +</p> + +<p> +And then, at that moment, Susan saw the baby +boy escape from his nurse on the lawn and come +toddling toward his mother and her dogs; a child +supposed to be only seven or eight months old +walking alone! +</p> + +<p> +But his mother pushed him away and kept the dog +at her side. The child, to balance himself when +pushed, caught at his mother's skirt, a spotless, +creamy broadcloth, with his grimy little hands. +</p> + +<p> +"Clara!" Mrs. Houghton called sharply to the +nurse, "come take him away! See what he's done!" +displaying the soiled spots on the skirt she had jerked +from his clutch. "Why don't you keep him cleaner? +He's always so disgustingly dirty! Take him away +from me!" +</p> + +<p> +Clara snatched the child from her and shook him, +but her roughness met with no reproof from the +baby's mother. +</p> + +<p> +As he was borne away sobbing Mrs. Houghton +unconcernedly continued her stroll, her dogs leaping +about her as she stretched toward them caressingly +her gleamingly white hands. +</p> + +<p> +Susan felt a suffocating indignation at this spectacle, +at the same time that she was desolated with +the deepest sadness by it. +</p> + +<p> +"Such a dear little boy! How can she? How can +she?" she asked herself with a heavy heart. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until she and Mrs. Houghton drew near +to each other in the path that it occurred to her +to wonder whether Sidney Houghton's wife would +recognize her. But they had seen each other for +such a brief moment that day over a year ago; and +Susan was sure she never would have known this +woman to be the Laura Beresford of that terrible +day if she had met her anywhere but here. +</p> + +<p> +When in a moment Mrs. Houghton suddenly saw +her, there was, in the surprised inquiry of her glance, +an absolute absence of any recognition. As the lady +and her two dogs quite filled the path Susan was +unable to get by at once, and the two women stopped, +for an instant, face to face. +</p> + +<p> +Susan reflected with some complacency how little +she looked like a country school teacher. +Mrs. Houghton probably mistook her for a visitor. This +supposition was confirmed by Mrs. Houghton's +hesitatingly offering her hand. +</p> + +<p> +"You wished to see me?" she asked. +</p> + +<p> +"No," answered Susan, "I have just come from an +errand at the tenant-farmer's cottage." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton, without a comment, stepped back +upon the lawn to allow the intruder to pass. +</p> + +<p> +Susan thought, as she continued on her way, how +incongruous it did seem for that high-bred, +distinguished looking woman to be the sister-in-law +of a man like Joe Houghton. +</p> + +<p> +"She would not even ask to her table that man who +thinks himself quite worthy to marry me!" thought +Susan, a vague wonder in her heart at life's +incongruities. +</p> + +<p> +She found herself actually feeling, however, that +if Joe's baby were as appealing to her as Georgie was, +she could almost be persuaded, as Joe had suggested +she might be, to marry him for the delight of having +such a child to cherish! +</p> + +<p> +"And Georgie's own mother doesn't realize her +blessed privilege! Prefers those dogs!" +</p> + +<p> +She had several times caught glimpses of Sidney +playing with his little son about the grounds of White +Oak Farm and there could not be a moment's doubt +of his devotion and tenderness to his child. +</p> + +<p> +Upon her arrival at home, this afternoon, she saw, +as she stopped at the gate, her father standing beside +the road which ran back of the house past his truck +garden, talking to a man in a big touring car. +</p> + +<p> +Susan instantly recognized that car; it was the +most luxurious she had ever seen; it belonged to +Sidney Houghton. She could not be mistaken, +surely. Her heart began to beat thickly. Could it +be Sidney Houghton who was talking to her father? +What could they possibly have to say to each other? +</p> + +<p> +It flashed upon her that perhaps Sidney had +learned through Joe of her father's dire financial +straits and was trying to take advantage of their +predicament by offering a bribe to her father if he +would move away from this vicinity where her +presence so threatened the Houghtons' domestic +security. +</p> + +<p> +But why did her father, with his deep and bitter +hatred of this man who had injured his daughter, +consent to parley with him, to exchange a single word +with him? +</p> + +<p> +"I'll find out who is in that car!" she quickly +decided. +</p> + +<p> +Dropping the gate latch, she started on a run +toward the truck garden. +</p> + +<p> +But when at the sound of her steps her father +looked around and saw her hurrying through the +orchard toward the road, he abruptly concluded his +interview with his visitor, the car almost instantly +moved on, and Mr. Schrekengust, walking as rapidly +as his feebleness allowed, went back across the road +to his garden. +</p> + +<p> +Susan hesitated to follow him. Her heart ached, +these days, for her old father, so broken because of +her who had been the pet of his life. If he was trying +to avoid her she would not torment him. +</p> + +<p> +She turned away and with slow, thoughtful step, +went back to the house. +</p> + +<p> +In the past year she had grown accustomed to the +sudden silences that would often fall upon her family +at her approach. Just now, as she unexpectedly +entered by the kitchen instead of by the front of the +house, she surprised an earnest conversation between +her sisters over their preparations for supper. +</p> + +<p> +"A child brought up so, what will it anyhow give +out of this child?" Lizzie was exclaiming, emotionally. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, anyhow!" Addie sadly responded. +</p> + +<p> +"It wonders me if Susie——" began Lizzie, but she +stopped short as, turning from the stove, she saw her +young sister standing near the kitchen door. +</p> + +<p> +"Och, Susie!" she gasped. "What fur do you +come in so quiet, a body never hears you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why should it frighten you?" asked Susan, +sinking wearily into a chair by the table on which +Addie was spreading the cloth for supper. +</p> + +<p> +"It didn't just to say frighten me—but it drawed +my breath short! You most always come by the +front door in!" +</p> + +<p> +"What child do you mean, Lizzie?" +</p> + +<p> +Lizzie stooped, before replying, to pick up from +the floor the fork she had just noisily dropped. +</p> + +<p> +"I was talkin' about Joe Houghton's baby you tol' +us about a'ready, that's left to the hired housekeeper +all the time; and how she <i>lets</i> it so much and goes off." +</p> + +<p> +"But some mothers are even worse," said Susan, +pensively. "Some mothers care more for their pet +dogs than for their own children!" +</p> + +<p> +"Och!" cried Lizzie, "does it give such mothers as +that in the world, Susie?" +</p> + +<p> +"Who was that talking to Father just now out by +the truck garden?" asked Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"Was he talkin' to someone? Och, just look," +Lizzie changed the subject, as she suddenly turned +to the window, "how these here wines is owerhangin' +the windah yet! I got to make my wines down off +of this here windah, or it'll give dark in the kitchen; +ain't?" +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind your vines, Lizzie, <i>please</i>! Whose +big car was that out by the truck garden a few +minutes ago?" +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't take notice to a car out," returned Lizzie, +keeping her face turned away to the window. "Was +it a car out?" +</p> + +<p> +Susan could almost have been moved to smile at +this futile duplicity; for in the quiet monotony of the +village life a touring car stopping at any home in +Reifsville was an event only rivalled in interest and +importance by a death, a marriage, or a crime. +</p> + +<p> +Susan turned to Addie. "Will <i>you</i> tell me, Addie, +please—what was Father talking about to—to +Sidney Houghton?" +</p> + +<p> +The name came with difficulty from her lips in the +presence of her chaste sisters. +</p> + +<p> +"It wasn't him!" cried Lizzie almost hysterically. +"As if Pop or any of us <i>would</i> speak to him! How +you talk, Susie! Say, Addie," she cried, pointing to +the waffle iron on the stove, with obvious intent to +divert the subject, "will you look how our neighbour +sent back our waffle iron busted yet! Ain't she the +dopplig* housekeeper, anyhow! This is the last time +I'm ever a-goin' to borrow away <i>any</i>thing!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Awkward. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"You ought not to have secrets from me, Lizzie, +about—about Sidney Houghton," persisted Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"Och, Susie, us we ain't got no secrets from you! I +got awful nice creamed chicken fur your supper. That +chicken we had Sundays was so big. It wonders +me such a young chicken could be so big; ain't?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's the <i>kind</i> of it," explained Addie. "Them +Wyandottes gives awful big chickens at a wery young +age." +</p> + +<p> +Susan, with a long, tired breath, gathered up her +school books, left the kitchen and went upstairs to +her own bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +Later, when in answer to a summons to supper, she +went down again, she noticed, as the family gathered +about the table, that her father was very white. +</p> + +<p> +Should she annoy him, she asked herself, with the +question which tormented her? Evidently the +family was concealing something from her; and it +would go so hard with her father to have to lie to her; +he had no sophistry to justify any deviation from the +straight and simple tenets of his creed. +</p> + +<p> +But while she hesitated he spoke; and the wholly +unwonted irritability in his usually bland voice +struck a chill to her heart. +</p> + +<p> +"Warmed-over chicken again!" he said, fretfully, as +he pushed away the platter his wife offered him. "I +have sick of that there chicken you've been offerin' +me ever since last Sabbath a'ready! I work hard and +I need fresh meat <i>some</i>times!—and not sloppy hash +all the time!" +</p> + +<p> +"But us we can't afford to buy fresh meat, Pop," +said Lizzie, looking distressed. "We are got to use +the pork and chickens we are got a'ready." +</p> + +<p> +The old man's tense mood seemed suddenly to +collapse. "Och, I know, I know," he admitted, +dully. "To be sure, I know we can't buy fresh +meat." +</p> + +<p> +"It does seem," said Susan, "as if the people who +do the hard work ought to have the fresh, nourishing +meat. But it is the 'idle rich,' the women who +contribute nothing to the common good, but only +prey upon society—some of them not even taking +care of their own children—it is they who have the +best food; while the labourer, who <i>needs</i> strong +nourishment, has the poorest and the least! Things +are very badly regulated!" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, yes," agreed Mr. Schrekengust, pessimistically; +"and as fur our government, it's spoiled +through!" +</p> + +<p> +"The worst thing that can happen to any one, it +seems to me," said Susan, "is to inherit a fortune; +not to have to work for what you have." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, well, but me, I'd like it awful well if +someone would inherit a fortune to <i>me</i>," said Lizzie, +"so's I could live without workin'." +</p> + +<p> +"So would I!" Susan ignominiously agreed with her. +</p> + +<p> +"Them thoughts is of the Enemy," her father +admonished them. "Remember you got to give an +account to Gawd for your words as well as fur your +deeds." +</p> + +<p> +"It seems to me," said Susan, recklessly, "that +He'll have to give an account to <i>us</i>, for all the bitter +suffering and wrong in this world! <i>We</i> didn't +create it! If we are evil then the source from which +we exist must be evil! Oh, I think He owes a very +large accounting to us poor human wretches!" +</p> + +<p> +"Tut, tut, Susie!" cried her father, shocked. +"Somepin'll happen to you if you talk so wicked!" +</p> + +<p> +"It often wonders me," sighed Mrs. Schrekengust, +"what Gawd must think of us mortals the way we +live so carnal and disobey to Him so!" +</p> + +<p> +"What must we think of <i>Him</i> for putting us into +a world like this, of turmoil and hate and injustice +and suffering!" Susan persisted. "It's up to Him, +not us, <i>to make good</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +Her father, instead of admonishing her again, +looked at her strangely. "Yes, yes," he murmured. +"Here's us that has worked hard all our lives, all of +us, and always—or nearly always," he added, with +conscientious accuracy, "tried to do right; and now +in our old age, me and Mother has got to get out of +our home here where we lived all our married lives +together. I got to tell yous all," he stated, slowly, +his voice heavy with sadness, despair in his eyes, +"that we got to make up our minds to move away +from Reifsville right aways!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan realized from the startled looks of her +sisters and her mother that she was perhaps the least +astonished of them all at this announcement. They +had, indeed, faced the possibility of having to leave +their home, but they had never dreamed of leaving +the village itself, where Mr. and Mrs. Schrekengust +had lived all their lives; nor had they expected to be +obliged to leave their house immediately. +</p> + +<p> +"I got a offer of a good little place," continued +Mr. Schrekengust, "forty mile from here——" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, Gott!" cried his wife. "Forty mile yet! +Who ever heard the likes, Pop! I couldn't home +myself that fur off!" +</p> + +<p> +"Since we are got to leave this here house anyhow, +Mom, we might as well go fur off as near by. It's a +awful good offer I got—a nice truck farm on wery +easy terms." +</p> + +<p> +"Who makes you this offer, Father?" asked Susan +in a low voice, her tone very gentle. +</p> + +<p> +"A business man I done a favour fur oncet. He +wants this here land here, preferable to the place he +offers me over in Fokendauqua. He'll gimme that +there place over there, with two horses and two cows +throwed in; and in exchange, he'll take over our place +here <i>with the mortgage on it</i>. We'd be free of debt and +I'd anyhow let a home over your heads when I am +gone." +</p> + +<p> +"And who is this man?" persisted Susan in an +ominously quiet tone, "that makes you this very +extraordinary offer?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's neither here nor there who he is," replied her +father, querulously. "It's too good a offer fur us to +throw down. Us we'll be out on the road soon, +without no home at all, if we don't look out! I <i>got</i> to +take this here offer!" +</p> + +<p> +"No, you don't, Father!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I do, Susie! I tell you I got to." +</p> + +<p> +"But if you move to Fokendauqua, I could not +live at home—for I don't want to give up my school; +I had a hard enough time to get it. And I might not +be able to get a school near Fokendauqua." +</p> + +<p> +"I won't leave you stay on here if we go!" cried +her father so fiercely that she winced as at a +deformity, so unlike him it was to speak ungently. +"And you ain't to keep on teachin' that there school, +<i>whether</i> or no! Right acrost the road from that there +dirty rascal's place!—where any day you can run +acrost him! You'll go with us <i>along</i> when we move +away!" +</p> + +<p> +"If you are moving just to get me away from that +school, then I will give up the school, Father, and try +to get my old position here in Reifsville, so that you +need not leave here. You and Mother are rooted +here and <i>couldn't</i> live anywhere else!" +</p> + +<p> +"You needn't try to get back your old school here, +fur even over here, you're too near to that there +scoundrel! We want to get as fur away from him as +we otherwise <i>can</i> get!" +</p> + +<p> +"But it is he that is making you this offer, Father!" +cried Susan, utterly bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +"No, it ain't! What fur do you say it's him? +It ain't him!" +</p> + +<p> +"I saw his automobile in the road by the truck +garden when I came from school." +</p> + +<p> +"It wasn't hisn." +</p> + +<p> +"Whose was it?" +</p> + +<p> +"A stranger astin' the road to White Oak Station." +</p> + +<p> +"Father," said Susan, ignoring this obvious +evasion, "<i>why</i> do you have any dealings with Sidney +Houghton? Don't you know that we would all +rather be homeless on the highroad than accept a +favour from him? <i>Why</i> are you letting him bribe you +to give up——" +</p> + +<p> +She stopped short. Her father's head had suddenly +sunk upon his breast; and now his hands slipped +from the table and hung limply at his side; the blood +which had rushed to his forehead was slowly receding, +leaving the hue of death upon his old worn face. +</p> + +<p> +The stricken old man who had dreaded the ordeal +of leaving his home and going into strange +surroundings had suddenly, without a moment's warning, +taken his departure alone to that far country to +which none might go with him, of those who loved +him. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER VII +<br><br> +JULY, AUGUST, AND SEPTEMBER +</h2> + +<p> +In after years Susan was often obliged to bring +before her memory very vividly the conditions +which could have been overwhelming enough to +have driven her into marrying Joe Houghton; for +there were times when nothing seemed to explain or +justify it. +</p> + +<p> +There had been the mortgage held by Joe, covering +the full value of her widowed mother's house and +land; his Shylock determination to have his price, +which was her hand in marriage; his ruthlessness in +having her voted out of her school at the end of May, +in order to force her to yield to him; her mother's +speechless grief at the bare thought of leaving the +home which held all her memories of her dead mate; +her sisters' unfitness for earning their own living in +any other way than in domestic service on a farm. +Whichever way she had turned, there had seemed +to be no escape for her. Every possible avenue had +seemed closed, with whips and scorpions beating her +back. It was not for herself that she had succumbed +to the pressure of gaunt Want. She could always, +somehow, somewhere, have earned a living for herself, +and had she been unable to do so, far easier would +it have been to starve and die than to marry a man +she despised. But that comparatively simple +solution of her difficulty had not been open to her. +She must live and take care of her helpless mother +and sisters, made helpless through her; for had it not +been for her, surely her father would still be with +them, to support and comfort them. It had been +she who had brought shame and grief and want upon +them. She, then, must stand by them and see them +through. Would the great sacrifice she was making +act as an antidote in her soul to the degradation +of such a marriage? +</p> + +<p> +Well, even if she herself must "sink i' the scale," +she could not see her mother die before her eyes in +pining for her home; her sisters, who had lived and +worked for her all her life, forced to the humiliation +and slavish labour of domestic service on a farm. +She had always believed that circumstances could +not crush the valiant soul; that one could rise above +and master them if one would. But the conditions +which at that time had closed in upon her had seemed +to force her to the bitter choice between saving +herself and sacrificing her mother and sisters. +</p> + +<p> +She had known from the first that she would not +sacrifice them. Her decision had been delayed only +by her desperate efforts to save herself as well. +</p> + +<p> +It had been while she was thus battling for her own +soul's salvation that Sidney Houghton, never dreaming +of his brother's very commercial courtship of the +school teacher of White Oak Station, had approached +Mrs. Schrekengust with a renewal of the offer he had +made to her husband: if she and her three daughters +would move to the comfortable little home which he +would give them over in Fokendauqua, forty miles +distant, he would take upon himself all their debts +here in Reifsville and see to it that they should never +come to want. +</p> + +<p> +To Susan, the amazing spectacle of her mother's +heart-broken submission to this proposition, in the +face of her hitherto deep and wordless grief at the +mere mention of leaving her home in Reifsville, had +had in it something mysteriously sinister. Why had +her father denied to her that it was Sidney Houghton +who had made this offer to him? He had died with +a lie on his lips!—he who had all his life been so +painfully truthful. Not for gain, not for any material +thing, would he have told a lie. What had been +back of his apostasy? What was back of her +mother's acquiescence to a thing which was +tantamount to signing her own death warrant? +</p> + +<p> +An idea had dawned upon Susan which she had +instantly rejected as being altogether incredible. +Even Sidney Houghton, weak and false as she knew +him to be, would scarcely be capable of the perfidy +of threatening her mother (whose holiest religion, +like that of all women of her class, was Respectability) +with the exposure of the secret shame of her +daughter—victimized by himself!—unless +Mrs. Schrekengust would at once move away with her +family from the precarious vicinity of his home. +</p> + +<p> +And yet, impossible as such baseness seemed, even +for Sidney Houghton, what lesser necessity than +the maintaining of their ghastly secret could so have +coerced her mother? +</p> + +<p> +A hot fury of rebellion had risen in Susan's heart +against the humiliation of being thus driven away +for the sake of Sidney's security and peace of mind. +If nothing were now left but to choose between +marrying Joe or having her mother suffer and surely +die from being beholden to Sidney Houghton for a +home and a livelihood in a distant town, could she +hesitate? She had the human weakness to feel that +there would be actually a drop of bitter consolation +for her in thus defying her betrayer and going boldly +to live in the very shadow of his home; to be hourly in +his sight; to pass daily to and fro before the very eyes +of his wife! +</p> + +<p> +Her decision had been swiftly made. +</p> + +<p> +On the day when Sidney had called by appointment +to give over to her mother the deed to the Fokendauqua +house and lot and receive in exchange the mortgaged +Reifsville property, he had been met with the +announcement that Mrs. Schrekengust could not now +fulfil her part of the bargain to which she had +previously agreed, inasmuch as her daughter, Susan, +could not, under the present circumstances, be +enticed away to Fokendauqua—seeing she no longer +made her home with her mother—having married +Joseph Houghton that very morning, July 28th, and +gone to live at the tenant-farmer's cottage at White +Oak Farm; and that therefore there was now no +reason why they should leave Reifsville; for Joseph +Houghton had that morning, before the marriage +ceremony, given them a clear deed to their house and +land. +</p> + +<p> +How Sidney had received this astounding information +Susan could only guess from the incoherent +account of it she had received later from her mother +and sisters. +</p> + +<p> +"Och, Susie, he took it hard!" +</p> + +<p> +"He turned awful white and there for a while he +couldn't har'ly speak!" +</p> + +<p> +"I believe, Susie, he likes you <i>yet</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"He ast me," said Mrs. Schrekengust, "what fur +did I leave you marry a fellah like Joe that ain't +worthy to tie your shoes yet! And I answered him, +'Yes, what fur did I ever leave you, Sidney Houghton, +keep comp'ny with her!—you that wasn't fit neither +to <i>lick</i> her shoes yet!' He turned whiter'n ever when +I sayed that. But he ast us what we thought could +have <i>made</i> you marry Joe, seein' as it wasn't in +nature for a girl like you to love sich a fellah. And I +sayed that now you had to be glad fur any decent +husband; and that if Joe knowed all, he wouldn't +think you was good enough fur <i>him</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"But Sidney he wouldn't have it no other way," +put in Lizzie, "than that you'd throwed yourself +away." +</p> + +<p> +"But I tol' him," added Mrs. Schrekengust, "you +had a'ready throwed yourself away as fur as you +could on <i>him</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Mom she come back at him fierce!" said Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +"And he took it that meek and calm, Susie, that it +wondered me!" put in Addie. +</p> + +<p> +Susan had no conscientious qualms in marrying +Joe without "confessing her past," inasmuch as she +asked no questions as to his past. +</p> + +<p> +"He, too, was married before," she reasoned; for +she persisted in believing that before high heaven, or +"whatever gods there be," she had been Sidney +Houghton's wife. +</p> + +<p> +She felt sure that if Joe had been a man whom she +could have found it possible to love, she would have +felt impelled to tell him of her unmarried motherhood. +But he had bought her for a price, as shamelessly +as he would have bought a cow or a horse! +Therefore, her past, like his, was her own. +</p> + +<p> +In the early months of her married life, she was, +however, never without a guilty sense of wronging +her husband in her heart by her secret loathing of +him; and she tried conscientiously to atone by +scrupulously performing what seemed to her her +wifely obligations; and by the devoted care she gave +to his child; submitting to many things which +otherwise she would not have borne—his little +contemptible, maddening meannesses about expenditures, +his refusal to hire any housework, his exactions of +services from her such as he would not have dared to +ask of any hired servant or housekeeper. +</p> + +<p> +When it was too late—when both his exactions and +her submission had become a habit with them not easy +to break—she realized that she had begun all wrong. +</p> + +<p> +"For if from the first I had taken a stand against +such a régime, I could have carried the day!" +</p> + +<p> +"By the time you learn, through bitter mistakes, +how to live," she often reflected in after years, "your +knowledge is of no use to you except to make you wild +with regret!" +</p> + +<p> +She had made Joe promise (and she could absolutely +depend on his word) that he would never reveal +to Josie in the years to come that she was not his +own mother. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll get that out of it, anyway—a son's love for his +mother," she had told herself. +</p> + +<p> +For Susan had learned from her doctor, over a +year ago, that she could never bear another child. +Had she not known this, no other considerations +would have been strong enough to have forced her to +marry Joe. An instinctive conviction that it would +be a crime to let a child be born of a loveless marriage +would have held her back. Susan's intuitive ethics, +it will be observed, were not those commonly held +by respectable people. +</p> + +<p> +The "bitter consolation" she had anticipated in +defying Sidney Houghton's efforts to get her away +from tie neighbourhood of his home, and coming to +live at his very door, was postponed by his departure +from home immediately after her marriage. He +left, with his wife, child, and nurse, for a month at +Newport. +</p> + +<p> +"I see through that move!" Joe declared to Susan +one day over their mid-day dinner in the cottage +kitchen, Josie in a high chair at Susan's side. +"They're too stuck-up, him and her, to take notice +to <i>my</i> wife! So, to save their faces, they go off! +Sich extravagance! Payin' <i>ho</i>tel board when they're +got a big, cool place like theirn to stay at!" +</p> + +<p> +"Your sister-in-law seems to care so little for her +baby, I'm surprised she takes him with her when she +goes away. He would be quite as well off here alone +with his nurse as he is with her." +</p> + +<p> +"Right you are! <i>She</i> don't give him no attention; +nothin' like what you give to Josie, and him your +step-child yet." +</p> + +<p> +"We're to forget that he is not my own child," +Susan reminded him. +</p> + +<p> +"But Sid <i>he's</i> anyhow crazy about his kid," +continued Joe. "He would not let him here alone +with that dopplig nurse girl! You see, Susan, Sid +ain't takin' no chances on that there baby dyin' and +my Josie inheritin' White Oak Farm!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan recognized it as very characteristic of Sidney +to have run away for a month from a situation which +he must ultimately face. +</p> + +<p> +From New York came a gorgeous wedding present +from Sidney and his wife; a most unsuitable gift for a +tenant-farmer's menage: a huge satin-lined case filled +with every possible form of table silver—knives, +forks, teaspoons, tablespoons, dessert spoons, bouillon +spoons, orange spoons, after-dinner coffee spoons, +oyster forks, fruit knives, bread-and-butter knives. +</p> + +<p> +Joe gloated over the moneyed value of it, even +while denouncing his brother's reckless and senseless +extravagance. +</p> + +<p> +"Put it good away; it would get stole if it was knew +we had such grand stuff around. You see, Susan, +you never was used to such things and don't know +their walue; but I was, when I was a kid livin' at +home, before my father died." +</p> + +<p> +Susan did not think it worth while to tell him how +"used to such things" she had become during her +years at school, through the friendships she had +made with girls from homes so unlike her own as to +have seemed to her a wonderland of luxury and ease +and refinement. +</p> + +<p> +But she was glad that Joe would not expect her to +use this silver. It was promptly locked away in the +attic. +</p> + +<p> +From the moment that Susan had made up her +mind to marry Joe her heart had desperately fixed +itself upon the one compensation, besides her family's +safety, which she might hope to find in her situation—the +care and love of the baby. But since affection +is not a thing to be commanded at will, perhaps the +very intensity of her determination to lay hold, here, +upon comfort and even blessedness, defeated her +desire. Josie, although healthy, pretty, of average +intelligence, and at times both cunning and interesting, +proved to be peevish, exacting, and selfish to +a degree that seemed to Susan quite hopeless. She +could not, no matter how hard she tried, warm up to +him. She was sure that if he had responded in the +least to her overtures he would have won her +immediately and completely, no matter what his +trying faults of disposition. But nothing she could +do seemed to awaken in the child any affection for +her. She would have concluded that he had no +heart, but for the fact that he was so extremely +attached to his father. +</p> + +<p> +Joe, who was morbidly jealous of Josie's affection, +instead of being troubled by his persistence in +repelling his step-mother's advances, seemed to +gloat over it. While he would have resented her +least neglect of the boy, he seemed to begrudge her +the natural reward of her faithful care. +</p> + +<p> +"Come here to your pop, Josie—see what I got +fur you!" he would entice the child away from her +the moment his jealous watchfulness detected in +Josie any sign of fondness for her. +</p> + +<p> +Josie very quickly learned to associate a rough +repulsion of his "mother" with the reward of a +lozenge or a ride "upsy-daisy" on his father's foot. +</p> + +<p> +Susan foresaw that when it came to questions of +discipline Joe would always side with the child +against her. She feared that it would require more +patience and diplomacy than she could ever hope to +command to deal with the problem. +</p> + +<p> +Joe's jealousy was not confined to his child. It +early became manifest that he would brook no rival +in Susan's regard; such, for instance, as her love of +books, the one love left to her out of the wreck of her +life. He wished and expected her to be interested in +nothing else in the world but his comfort and welfare +and that of his boy. She soon found herself +instinctively putting her reading out of sight at his +approach and busying herself with house- or needle-work, +in order to spare herself the morose, sullen +silence, lasting sometimes a whole day, with which he +would signify his displeasure when he found her +reading; or his tirades against the sort of books she +"wasted her time on." All novels were lumped +together as abominations. Poetry was "for Sunday +afternoons if you got to read it, but certainly not for +busy week-days." Science baffled him. He once +found her reading (or trying to read) Darwin's +"Origin of Species," and when he had demanded to +be told what it was about and had heard her reply, +he waxed truly indignant. "The stuff yous simple +females'll swallow yet!" +</p> + +<p> +She tried to tell him that the evolution of man +from a lower species was no longer an hypothesis, but +an historical fact, and she read him some of the +evidences of that fact. +</p> + +<p> +But he wasn't impressed. "I can't pitcher it to +myself. Can you pitcher it to yourself, a man's ever +havin' been in such a form? It's a lie! Don't fill +your head with such foolishness!" +</p> + +<p> +"But it is the truth." +</p> + +<p> +"No," he firmly denied it, "I can't pitcher to +myself a man's ever having no other form. Why, no +person in White Oak Station believes such a thing +as that there!" +</p> + +<p> +"Must I believe nothing except what the people of +White Oak Station believe?" smiled Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"You're safer to." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"What's the use of thinkin' different from other +folks?" +</p> + +<p> +"What's the use of thinking just <i>like</i> other people?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, well," he gave it up, exhausted with such +unwonted mental strenuousness, "have your own +way. Think it, then—but <i>keep it to yourself</i>. I +don't want folks 'round here sayin' I married a crazy +woman!" +</p> + +<p> +When just a month after Susan's marriage her +mother died very suddenly at the end of August, +from heart failure, Susan's wild rebellion against +Fate, that she should have sacrificed herself so +needlessly, turned itself speedily into a great indignation +against herself; against that fatal weakness in +her character which seemed always to inhibit her +from wrestling with the knotty places in her life and +conquering them. +</p> + +<p> +"I've let myself be shoved about like a puppet!" +</p> + +<p> +If one could only have the courage always to do +what, in spite of threatened disaster, one saw was the +only true thing to do—and then trust to Life to right +it! +</p> + +<p> +But of course only great souls were large enough +and strong enough for such high heroism. +</p> + +<p> +Joe was not unsympathetic for her grief for her +mother. But he had a grotesque way of commingling +his gentler feelings with his dominating sordidness. +</p> + +<p> +"I guess, now, Susan, you'll be wantin' me to buy +you one of these here stylish crape wails; ain't?—you +bein' so much for dressin' stylish that way. But I +took notice you didn't wear one of 'em fur your pop +when he died; I guess because you couldn't afford +one; for I heard a'ready that they cost awful +expensive—them crape wails. And I hold that since +you didn't wear one fur your pop, it wouldn't look +according, your wearing one fur your mom." +</p> + +<p> +"Mennonites don't wear mourning." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, well, but you ain't no Mennonite." +</p> + +<p> +"None of us will wear mourning," she reassured him. +</p> + +<p> +His relief made him beam upon her benignly. +"You show your good sense, Susan. Fur it would be +a awful waste to let all them good clo'es you're got +a'ready and go buy new black ones; ain't, it would?" +</p> + +<p> +Susan vaguely wondered what it was going to be +like when the clothes she now had were worn out and +she was obliged to buy new ones. Her work as +housekeeper and child's nurse was harder, more +distasteful, and involved longer hours than had ever +been the case with school teaching; yet she had nothing +for it that she could call her own; nothing except +what Joe saw fit to give her. Thus far he had never +voluntarily offered her a dollar; and when she had +one day asked him for money, he had inquired what +she wanted it for. It had been for some household +expenses, not for herself. He had given it to her +grudgingly, mistrustfully, as though he suspected +her of a design to defraud him. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the chaos and horror of her soul in +confronting, now, the needless sacrifice she had made +in marrying Joe that the harrowing funeral orgie and +all its gruesome accompaniments drove her almost +into unrestrained hysteria. First, there was the +elderly woman, unknown to the family with a passion +for funerals, who had walked in from the country, +five miles, "to view the remains of the deceased." +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't know her in life, but I'd like to see her in +death," she devoutly explained—which so moved the +hearts of Lizzie and Addie that they made her stay +"for dinner." +</p> + +<p> +Then the preacher's hypocritical tones and +meaningless stock phrases which made Susan grind her +teeth in impotent rebellion—"portals of memory," +"life's peaceful waters," "God's smiles," "the Other +Shore," the awful hymn droned out a line at a time +alternately by the preacher and the people: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We'll miss you from our home, dear mother,<br> + We'll miss you from your place;<br> + A shadow over our lives is cast;<br> + We'll miss the sunshine of your face.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Our hearts are bound with sorrow,<br> + Yet the thought comes with each sigh,<br> + She is safe with God's dear angels;<br> + We shall meet her by and by.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +And finally Lizzie's controversary with the undertaker +over the palms which stood grouped at the head +of the coffin and which the undertaker was going to +load on his truck and take away with him. +</p> + +<p> +"No, you don't!" Lizzie indignantly stopped him, +right in the presence of their assembled kindred, +friends, and neighbours, "you ain't to claim back <i>all</i> +them palms! One third of them palms is <i>mine</i>—and +them goes with Mom along!" +</p> + +<p> +They had almost had a tug of war about it over the +coffin. +</p> + +<p> +Susan's struggles to keep herself in hand through +the nightmare of it all ended in a nervous collapse +which left her prostrated for weeks with a continuous, +unconquerable pain in her head just at the base of +her brain. +</p> + +<p> +Joe's genuine alarm, his unexpected sympathy for +her suffering, were a surprising revelation to her. +She had not thought him capable of real tenderness +except for his boy. The extent of his feeling for her +was indicated by his surprisingly suggesting one day, +with evident intent to find something that would +catch her interest, that perhaps she might like to +learn to drive his roadster? She had several times +requested to be allowed to do so and he had always +refused. +</p> + +<p> +"If you learn oncet you'll be wantin' to <i>go</i> all the +time and you'd let your housework too much. +Gasoline costs too expensive to be used unnecessary," +he had said. +</p> + +<p> +But now he told her that perhaps it would after all +be an economical move and save a lot of his valuable +time to let <i>her</i> make the occasional necessary trips to +town. +</p> + +<p> +He stipulated, however, that she must exercise +self-restraint in the use of such a precious commodity +as gasoline. +</p> + +<p> +Susan's relation with Sidney, though it had not +been sanctified by society or religion, had yet had in +it such elements of beauty, joy, sacredness, that it had +seemed at times to justify itself—as her entirely +respectable marriage could not do, now that its motive, +her mother's welfare, was removed. It was now that +she felt herself to be "living in sin," as she had never +felt while she loved; and when her mother's death +removed the necessity of her immolation, she +passionately longed to escape from her ignominy. +</p> + +<p> +She even went to the length of suggesting to her +sisters, some weeks after her mother's funeral, that +if they had courage enough to give back to Joe their +home in Reifsville, go with her to the city and open +a boarding-house, she would leave her husband +(whom she had married only to save her mother the +grief of losing her home), and would help them to earn +a comfortable living. Of course if they would not +consent to give back their property to Joe, she could +not leave him; it would be going back on her bargain; +it would be like stealing; but if they would consent—— +</p> + +<p> +But the consternation, even horror, of their faces +at this, to them, disreputable proposition, told her, +before they answered her, that she could never +persuade them to such a step. +</p> + +<p> +"Och, Susie, are you a loose woman that you talk +so light about leaving your Mister! Who ever heard +the likes!" exclaimed Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +The three sisters were sitting together on the front +porch of the Reifsville cottage, Susan having driven +over from White Oak in the roadster after the early +farm supper, to put before them her plan. +</p> + +<p> +"It's because I'm not a loose woman that I think +I ought to leave Joe," she tried to explain. "I know +how queer it sounds to you and Addie for me to say +I think it's my living with him that's immoral—but +that's what I think." +</p> + +<p> +"But he's your <i>Mister</i>, Susie! How you talk, anyhow!" +</p> + +<p> +"No, he is not my husband!" she suddenly cried +out, passionately. "He's my keeper, my owner, and +I'm his chattel! I can't stand it! I can't bear it!" +</p> + +<p> +Her sisters stared in amazement upon her shrinking, +shivering body, her trembling lips, her white +face. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't he use you nice, Susie?" asked Addie, +anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"For Mother's sake I could have borne it, and if +she bad lived longer I might have gotten used to it. +But now it seems so senseless to go on enduring such +a life! I'm young—I'm not twenty-one yet. To +think of living all the rest of my life with him! Oh, +Lizzie, I can't! I just can't!" +</p> + +<p> +"But what's the matter of him? He seems awful +nice and common toward what his stuck-up brother +is!" argued Lizzie. "And he makes you a good +purwider, don't he, Susie?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's what he is, not what he does!" cried Susan, +despairingly. +</p> + +<p> +"You knowed what he was when you said Yes to +him. And even fur Mom's sake you hadn't ought to +have said Yes unlest you knowed you could stand him +pretty good." +</p> + +<p> +"I know that now. I know I made a terrible +mistake. I was an idiot! There's no excuse for me! +But before it's too late, Lizzie," Susan pleaded, "I +want to mend my mistake!" +</p> + +<p> +"It is too late," Lizzie pronounced. "Would it +be treatin' Joe right and fair to up and leave him and +disgrace him so before all the folks, when you ain't +got no good reason except that he mebby kreistles* +you a little?" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Disgusts. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Susan had not thought of that—of how unfair it +would be to Joe. +</p> + +<p> +"But he wouldn't deserve any sympathy," she +argued, piteously, "for he backed me into a corner and +forced me to marry him—on pain of our losing our +home—when he knew I did not care for him and did +not want to marry him." +</p> + +<p> +"But you did marry him," said Addie, conclusively. +"And what's done's done." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," corroborated Lizzie, "as it is, so it is, and +that ends it." +</p> + +<p> +"Why should it end it? It shan't end it!" cried +Susan, fighting for her very soul. "You must help +me to get out of it! You have helped me all my +life—and I never needed your help more than I need it +now!" +</p> + +<p> +"We never helped you to go wrong, Susie—to disgrace +and shame us!" Lizzie maintained. "And this +here thing you're astin us to do—to help you leave +your Mister—just like a woman that's got loose +morals that way—it wouldn't be right!" +</p> + +<p> +"It seems to me you're got it good," said Addie, +"with that there pretty little boy and this here +automobile car of Mister's and him so well-fixed and +all, so's you ain't got to worry!" +</p> + +<p> +"You offer me a stone for bread," responded Susan, +hopelessly, as she rose to leave them. "You would +think it right for me to go away from him if he beat or +starved me. You can't see that one's heart and +mind and soul may be starved and torn every hour, +every minute! You can't see!" +</p> + +<p> +But even as she spoke, Susan realized, with a vague +pain in her heart for her sisters, that perhaps the +greater tragedy was theirs—in that they could not +see. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII +<br><br> +AUTUMN +</h2> + +<p> +By the time Susan got back to White Oak +Farm that September evening it was dark +and late; and Joe, anxiously pacing the front +porch of their picturesque cottage, greeted her +crossly. +</p> + +<p> +"Some married life!—me settin' here alone all +evening and you off! Usin' up gasoline unnecessary! +I just knowed it would go like this if I left you run my +car! What did I tell you?" he said, accusingly. +</p> + +<p> +Susan, offering no response, went into the house, +leaving him to put the car into the garage. +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later, however, when he joined her +in their room, he again took up his complaint. +</p> + +<p> +"I might as well be single again if I got to set alone +all evening! Where was you, anyhow?" +</p> + +<p> +"Over to Reifsville to see Addie and Lizzie." +</p> + +<p> +"Sixteen mile there and back! That used up +anyhow near two gallon. And gasoline going up +every day higher! What did you have to go over +there fur?" +</p> + +<p> +"They are lonesome—and so am I." +</p> + +<p> +"Och, well," returned Joe, softened, "if you was +feelin' a little lonesome, that way, after what's +happened, then that's all right. But leave me tell +you somepin, Susan," he said, seating himself in a +rocking chair by the window and feasting his eyes on +her young loveliness as she stood before the bureau +with bare arms upraised to brush her short curly +hair. "Be <i>thankful</i> fur your grief fur your mother! +Me, I never knowed my mother. Never knowed +what it was to have no one care fur me in all my +life—till I got Josie!" +</p> + +<p> +"Didn't your wife care for you, Joe?" asked Susan, +touched by the wistfulness in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +"My wife? Well, it's you that can answer +that—whether my wife cares for me." +</p> + +<p> +"Your other wife then?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, she was so dumb and common, Susan; all +she ast of me was that I make her a good purwider; +and in turn she kep' my house nice and comfortable. +That's all there was to it." +</p> + +<p> +Susan did not ask him what he found more in her. +At times she suspected him of something as near akin +to a romantic passion for her as he was capable of +feeling. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Susan, what do you think come in the +evening mail whiles you was off?" he inquired as he +rocked by the window. +</p> + +<p> +"A letter from your brother?" +</p> + +<p> +"Good guess! What do you think he wants me to +do yet? <i>This</i> you won't guess so easy!" +</p> + +<p> +"To leave here?" +</p> + +<p> +"How did you know?" cried Joe in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +"I've wondered and <i>wondered</i> why he has let you +stay—you, his brother, working for him like a +menial!" +</p> + +<p> +"That's what <i>he</i> says in this here letter. He +says it mortifies him and that it had ought to +mortify me, too, if I had any pride. Huh!" grunted +Joe. +</p> + +<p> +"Why doesn't it?" asked Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"I got my good reasons fur stayin' on here!" +returned Joe, darkly, "and he darsen't chase me off, +neither! He knows he darsen't! I'm a-goin' to +write and tell him so! Look-a-here!" he added, +taking a newspaper from his pocket, rising and +coming to her to point out a paragraph, "where it says +how Sid and his wife is travellin' with that there +lively set up there at Newport; folks that could buy +him out a thousand times over and never feel it! +<i>He</i> can't go their pace—the pace of the crowd he's +tryin' to run with now. He ain't near rich enough! +But Sid he always was awful ambitious that way, to +git in with folks that had more'n what he had. And +here's another piece in the paper," he went on, +turning the sheet, "that says where he was bettin' wery +high on some races and how he lost <i>thirty thousand +dollars</i> yet! Thirty thousand, mind you! <i>Lost</i> it! +Gosh, ain't Sid a fool! You just watch out and see +how soon he'll git to the end of his tether now he's +got money to spend!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan plainly perceived that Joe entertained +the happiest anticipations of his brother's speedy +ruin. +</p> + +<p> +"So you see," said Joe, "now that he's blowed in +thirty thousand dollars and more, he wants to come +home and stay safe back here fur a while on the farm; +and so he wants me and you to get out before he +comes." +</p> + +<p> +"Does he say that?" +</p> + +<p> +"As much as." +</p> + +<p> +"Then I should think we'd have to go, seeing that +he owns the place. You surely can't stay here if he +doesn't want you to." +</p> + +<p> +"I ain't a-goin'! You'll see what you'll see before +I'm done with my stylish brother Sid!" +</p> + +<p> +He tossed the paper aside and took a step nearer +to her, his eyes caressing her, his hand raised to +fondle her—while she, holding herself rigid, tried not +to betray the repulsion that shook her to the foundations +of her being. And just at that instant, before +his clumsy hand had touched her, a sleepy cry from +Josie's room saved her. She sprang away from her +husband and hurried to the baby's bedside. +</p> + +<p> +Josie had had a bad dream and was frightened. +Susan lifted him from his crib and sat down to rock +him. +</p> + +<p> +And now, for the first time in her acquaintance +with her step-son, he suddenly responded to her +mothering, clasping his fat little arms tight around +her neck as she held him; nestling his curly head +against her breast, cooing and murmuring lovingly +in answer to her low-voiced singing to him. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Susan that at the very first voluntary +touch of those soft baby arms every thwarted +motherly instinct of her heart became alive. An +hour ago she had been plotting to cut loose from all +the obligations imposed by her rash and foolish +marriage. And now such a little thing, the clasp +of a baby's arms, was binding her fast. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll bear it for you, Josie, if you'll only love me," +she whispered as she held him close. +</p> + +<p> +Susan could date from that night a change in the +boy. Whatever the trying peculiarities of his +disposition, whatever his violent loyalty to his +father in preference to her, he was nevertheless, after +that night, her child, dependent upon her, jealously +fond of her. And she, from that hour, became his +faithful and devoted mother. +</p> + +<p> +A week after Joe had dispatched his letter to +Sidney, in which he refused to leave White Oak Farm, +he came in one day at noon from the fields with a +piece of news which he imparted to Susan at dinner. +</p> + +<p> +"The housekeeper over at the big house has a +letter from Sid's Missus where it says the house is to +be got ready for 'em to come home with sich a house-party, +nex' Sa'rday. Sid and his wife gets here a +day ahead of their comp'ny—on Friday. The +housekeeper she sent the butler to me to say she must +have green corn and fresh tomats and lettuce and +grapes and Gawd knows what!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan, looking very tired from her long morning's +housework and cooking, made no comment, as she +poured Joe's coffee and passed it to him across the +table. +</p> + +<p> +"It's bad enough fur a married man to have to +keep so much hired help as what Sid keeps; but fur +his Missus to be that good-for-nothing that he has to +hire someone to do even the <i>managin'</i> yet—a housekeeper, +mind you!—that's goin' <i>too</i> far! Somepin +ought to be did about it!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan, busily mashing Josie's baked potato, still +made no comment. +</p> + +<p> +"It's squanderin' money somepin fierce to hire so +much! What good is his wife <i>to</i> him, anyhow? +That's what I ast you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Better ask what good is he to her," Susan +remarked at last. +</p> + +<p> +But this was a point of view too foreign to the +domestic philosophy of a Pennsylvania Dutchman +to be considered. +</p> + +<p> +"He's her Mister," was Joe's conclusive response. +</p> + +<p> +"There, now, Josie, dear," Susan said as she put +the child's spoon in his hand when his potato was +ready for him. +</p> + +<p> +"Wants to be sed! Seed me, Musser!" protested +Josie—f's being always s's in his language. +</p> + +<p> +As he was quite able to feed himself and as Susan +was feeling faint for food herself, she demurred, +appealing to his pride—he was a great big boy now, +not a baby any more; appealing also to his pity for +her who couldn't eat any "din-din" if she had to +feed a great big—— +</p> + +<p> +"Seed me! Seed me!" clamoured the boy. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no, Josie must feed himself—like Father! +Look at Father!—and let Mother eat her dinner." +</p> + +<p> +"Wants to be sed!" howled Josie as Susan +turned to her own plate. "Wants Musser to seed +me!" +</p> + +<p> +But Susan, taking up her knife and fork, ignored his +cries. +</p> + +<p> +Josie cast his spoon upon the floor, slunk down in +his high chair, and sulked. +</p> + +<p> +Susan paid no attention. +</p> + +<p> +"He won't eat his dinner if you won't feed him, +and he needs his dinner," Joe objected. +</p> + +<p> +"He'll eat it if he gets hungry enough, Joe." +</p> + +<p> +"He's too little to be tormented!" +</p> + +<p> +"He won't suffer. If you don't interfere, he will +soon give in." +</p> + +<p> +"Wants to be sed!" whimpered Josie. "Seed me!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan went on eating. +</p> + +<p> +"If you won't I will," said Joe with an injured air, +"and I ain't got the time to. Will you do it?" +</p> + +<p> +If she had not been so very tired she might have +stuck it out; but a lassitude of mind and body that +made nothing seem worth while save peace and quiet +led her to yield. She rose, picked up the child's +spoon; and sat down again at his side. +</p> + +<p> +Joe looked pleased and complacent. +</p> + +<p> +Susan's heart reproached her as she thought, while +she fed the child, "If he were my very own I'd love +him too well to spoil him and make him detestable! +I'd love him as a child ought to be loved. I must +try—I must try!" +</p> + +<p> +"When you stop to think," Joe resumed the +discussion of his brother's affairs, "of all they'll +spend over this here comp'ny they're havin' at +Sid's—ten strangers, mind you! To stay from Sa'rday to +Monday yet! Eatin' and carousin'! And a big +bunch of hired people doin' all the work! And after +all, what's <i>to</i> it, anyhow?" +</p> + +<p> +"Your pet dissipation is making money—theirs, +spending it. I don't see much difference between +you," said Susan, dully. +</p> + +<p> +"Och, yes, but I work and purduce something fur +other ones. They don't purduce nothing, that bunch, +they only use up. They're like sich parasites." +</p> + +<p> +"Hear your daddy, Josie, calling your uncle and +aunt potato bugs!" +</p> + +<p> +"Uncle Tater-Bug!" gurgled Josie. +</p> + +<p> +His father chuckled. "See how quick he gets +you?" he proudly drew Susan's attention to his son's +precocity. "Yes, and potato bugs is what they are +all right, Sid and his Missus!" +</p> + +<p> +"I wonder whether society will ever learn how to +exterminate its human potato bugs," Susan reflected. +"But your real purpose in working, Joe, doesn't +seem to me a bit higher than theirs in spending; you +are both out to enjoy yourselves; you to carouse in +your delightful accumulating and hoarding; they in +playing. The effect on yourselves must be pretty +much the same." +</p> + +<p> +Josie being now comfortably replete with food and +having come out conqueror in his demand to be fed, +expressed his satisfaction by leaning caressingly +against Susan, patting her cheek, and murmuring to +her lovingly; a sight which his strangely jealous +father never could stand for more than a minute at a +time. Rising abruptly, he lifted the high chair to his +side of the table. +</p> + +<p> +"Does Josie want some of Pop's pie?" he bargained +for the boy's favour; everything had a commercial +value to Joe. "Nice apple pie," he said, holding a +spoonful of the rich crust to Josie's lips. +</p> + +<p> +"It's very bad for him," Susan objected, "that +rich pastry." +</p> + +<p> +"Och, this good whiles back, before you come, I +fed pie to him," returned Joe. +</p> + +<p> +"He'll be ill!" warned Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"He's hearty; he kin eat what I eat. You put too +much sugar in your pies; it's extravagant," Joe +complained. "My sugar bill was too high last week. +You ought to watch yourself better, Susan, how you +use up sugar. You ain't been takin' no more cakes +over to your folks at Reifsville, have you—since I tol' +you not to?" he asked, suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +"No," she coldly answered. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, but, Susan, it stands to reason," he argued, +"that I done enough fur your folks. More'n some +others would have did, seein' you didn't fetch me +no aus tire. To be sure, I didn't need it, my house +bein' nice furnished a'ready. But other ones would +have expected something in place of a aus tire and I +didn't ast nothin' off of you. And your sisters—where'd +they be if I hadn't o' gave 'em a home yet, +heh? You can't look to me to keep on doin' fur 'em! +It stands to reason!" +</p> + +<p> +All this because she had taken to Addie and Lizzie, +one day, half the batch of "sand tarts" she had +baked. +</p> + +<p> +"Nor you ain't to sneak things to 'em behind my +back!" warned Joe. +</p> + +<p> +Susan, suddenly feeling ill and faint, rose from the +table and left the room. +</p> + +<p> +Joe, left alone with his boy, looked injured. +</p> + +<p> +"Ain't got no right to say nawthin, seems!" +</p> + +<p> +He didn't like being deserted like this at his +meals—the only time he had through the day to be with +his delectable bride. For even in her calico working +frock and when tired out and "strubbled"* Susan +was so very good to look at and so "nice to have +'round"; and she made him so very much more +comfortable than his hired housekeepers had ever +done. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Hair mussed. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Got to do my own stretchin', I guess!" he grumbled +as he reached for the coffee pot to refill his cup. +"She's got no need to be so touchy! She's just got +to understand from the first that I ain't supportin' +them sisters of hern." +</p> + +<p> +Meantime Susan, lying on her bed, dry-eyed and +staring at the wall, saw there on its blankness her +tragically broken life. +</p> + +<p> +"So much was done for me—so many sacrifices +made—that I might have something better than they +all had ever had! What a hideous, hideous mess I +have made of it!" +</p> + +<p> +That afternoon the four walls of her cottage seemed +to close in upon her like a jail; she could not endure it. +Against all precedent or reason she shamelessly +abandoned a large basket of ironing, took Josie, and +drove over in her husband's car to see her sisters. +</p> + +<p> +She was never free from anxiety for them, for +though they had tried hard to conceal it from her, +she knew well what a hard struggle they were having +to get along. The wages of the necessary hired man +to till their land left them too little income. Susan +saw only too clearly all the many little (and some big) +deprivations they were suffering. +</p> + +<p> +Joe was so well off (wasn't it a quarter of a million +he had inherited from his uncle?)—he could so easily +make life easier for her sisters—— +</p> + +<p> +Josie was asleep by the time she reached Reifsville. +She left him lying on the seat of the car while she +went into the house to find Lizzie and Addie. +</p> + +<p> +The kitchen was empty; they were probably +helping their hired man in the potato patch. +</p> + +<p> +She went to the settee which stood against the +kitchen wall (a settee being as much a part of a +Pennsylvania Dutch kitchen as a cook stove) and +arranged the cushions for Josie before she should +bring him in; and while she was doing this she heard +two voices on the porch just outside the kitchen, a +few feet from where she stood, her sister Lizzie's +high-keyed tones answering a man's deep voice; and +Susan was startled at the unusual sound, in this +neighbourhood, of good English and a cultured +accent. +</p> + +<p> +"May I inquah how much ah tuh-nips?" he was +asking with a hesitation which seemed to express a +doubt as to whether he did not, perhaps, mean +pumpkins. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you ast what's turn-ups?" asked Lizzie, +doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +"Not <i>what</i> they ah; how much they ah; by the +bunch. I'm not shu-ah they grow in bunches, but +it seems probable. Grapes do——" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, no, turn-ups grows one by each that way. +Didn't you know <i>that</i> much?" asked Lizzie with mild +wonder, not meaning to be critical. "It don't seem +is if any one could be that dumb as to think that +turn-ups growed in bunches yet! My souls! Our +turn-ups," she added, "is all." +</p> + +<p> +"All? Are they? All what?" +</p> + +<p> +"They're <i>all</i>, I sayed." +</p> + +<p> +"All—er—ripe?" ventured the man, tentatively, +almost timidly. +</p> + +<p> +"Och, I mean they was all solt at market; they're +<i>all</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"I surmise," responded the deep though gentle +voice, "that these are agricultural terms with which +I am unfamilyah. We'll let it pass. May I ask, ah +you not a Mennonite, madam?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but I'm a Old." +</p> + +<p> +"'A Old?"' +</p> + +<p> +"I belong to the Old Mennonites." +</p> + +<p> +"Are there, then, also, Young Mennonites?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>New</i> Mennonites," Lizzie corrected him with a +little irrepressible chuckle of amusement. +</p> + +<p> +"And what is the difference between the Old and +the New?" +</p> + +<p> +"The Old has more light." Lizzie stated an +indisputable and obvious fact. +</p> + +<p> +"It must be a comfort to you to know that," +responded the man, sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +Susan's curiosity was aroused. She tiptoed to the +window, carefully lifted a corner of the blind, and +peeped. +</p> + +<p> +Her heart gave a great leap in her bosom as she +recognized, in the interesting looking young man +standing at the porch steps, dressed in motoring cap +and coat, wearing eye-glasses attached to a heavy +black ribbon, an old acquaintance, the brother of one +of those friends of her school days at whose home she +had so often visited, whose letters she had left +unanswered. +</p> + +<p> +Robert Arnold, a rising author, had been one of her +several ardent "followers" in those days a few years +ago, which now seemed so far, far back in the past! +</p> + +<p> +She saw that his car was standing in the road +behind the house. What was he doing out here? +Looking for local colour for stories, perhaps? +</p> + +<p> +"In what way do the Old Mennonites have more +light?" she heard him ask poor Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, us Old Mennonites ain't so narrer-minded +like what the New is; we wear the waists of our frocks +more fashionable, to come a little below the belt that +way; you see?—where with the New, their waists +must end at the belt. They claim theirn is more after +the Gawspel than what ourn is; but I don' know," +said Lizzie, thoughtfully. "Sometimes, do you know, +I think theirn is just as fashionable. But I often +says to my neighbour (she's a New—'Manda Slosser +by name) I says, 'It ain't our clo'es that saves us,' +I says, 'nor the name of our church, Old <i>or</i> New. +Yous New Mennonites,' I says, 'is a little narrer'." +</p> + +<p> +"You are undoubtedly right," agreed Mr. Arnold. +"By the way, can you tell me who is the school +teacher of this village?" +</p> + +<p> +"Emmy Slosser's her name. She lives next door +to us here." +</p> + +<p> +"Slosser? Are you sure? Isn't it Schrekengust?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, no, Susie give up the Reifsville school it's +over a year ago a'ready." +</p> + +<p> +"Susie! That's it! You know her?" cried +Mr. Arnold, eagerly. "Where can I find her—Susan +Schrekengust?" +</p> + +<p> +"Are you acquainted to Susie then?" asked Lizzie, +cautiously. Susan's sisters knew very well how she +had tried, for over a year, to elude her old school +friends in the city. +</p> + +<p> +"My sister and Miss Susan were intimate friends," +replied Mr. Arnold. "And I—Miss Schrekengust +and I were very good friends, too. But we have not +heard from her for over a year, though we have both +written to her repeatedly. So, as a matter of fact, I +came out here to-day to look her up, and not to +inquah the price of tuh-nips. When I mentioned +tuh-nips I was really only feeling my way a bit. Can +you tell me where I can find Miss Schrekengust?" +</p> + +<p> +"You can't find her," answered Lizzie. "She's +moved away." +</p> + +<p> +"I hope you can tell me, then, where she has gone?" +</p> + +<p> +"Susie she got married and moved away." +</p> + +<p> +"Married!" +</p> + +<p> +Robert Arnold looked distinctly dismayed; Susan, +watching from behind the blind, was sure of it. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she got married," repeated Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +"But—but she never let her friends know! Whom +did she marry?" asked Mr. Arnold in a tone of +dejection. +</p> + +<p> +"A party by the name of Joe Houghton she got +married to." +</p> + +<p> +"Houghton? No relation, I suppose, to Mr. Sidney +Houghton of White Oak Farm?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Joe he's a half-brother of hisn." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed! Miss Schrekengust married into the +Houghton family! Dear me!" murmured Mr. Arnold; +and Susan heard in his tone, as plainly as +though he had spoken, his surprise that she had so +risen in the world from a humble little village school +teacher. To be sure, Mr. Arnold had never seen +Joe. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite a rise in the world for Miss Schrekengust, +eh?" he said to Lizzie, tentatively, as though putting +out a feeler. +</p> + +<p> +"Och, but our Susie she claims she had it a lot +easier before she got married." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, these modern Feminists!—who think themselves +utterly abused if they're not drudging for +their own living!" cried Mr. Arnold. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, well, but Susie she's so much more fur her +books and all like that than what she is fur housework +that I don't think she likes it wery good, bein' +married. She enjoyed herself more singlewise; for +all, they say you have anyhow trouble even if you +ain't married. And it's true, too, fur I seen a lot of +trouble a'ready," sighed Lizzie, "and I ain't got no +Mister." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sorry to hear that our little friend isn't +happy——" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you see, she's so grand educated that way, +our Susie is, you couldn't expec' her to be satisfied +with kitchen work all the time. Us we sent her to +school till she was seventeen a'ready! Yes, indeed! +If you knowed her so well, <i>I</i> don't have to tell you +how good educated she is. Ain't I don't?" +</p> + +<p> +"You—you are related to her?" asked Mr. Arnold, +looking bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +"Me, I'm her sister." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! And this is her home?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, till she got married a'ready." +</p> + +<p> +"If you are Susan's sister, I'm very glad to meet +you," said Mr. Arnold, holding out his hand. "You +must often have heard Susan speak of us—the +Arnolds?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, yes! She went often a'ready to wisit at +your grand place in Middleburg! Ain't? So you're +Mr. Arnold! Well, well! It wonders me! Susie will +be surprised to hear you come to look her up!" +</p> + +<p> +"Does she live near here?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, she lives off." +</p> + +<p> +"Far off?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well," said Lizzie, on her guard, "a good pieceways +off she lives." +</p> + +<p> +"Can you give me her address? +</p> + +<p> +"I ain't got it wery handy." +</p> + +<p> +"You—you don't want me to have it, Miss +Schrekengust?" +</p> + +<p> +"I—I'd have to ast Susie first," faltered Lizzie, +embarrassed, "if she wants you to." +</p> + +<p> +It was Mr. Arnold's turn, now, to look embarrassed. +"I beg pardon, Miss Schrekengust, if I am trespassing! +Miss Susan—Mrs. Houghton—has given us to +understand plainly enough, I'm sure, that she did not +care any longer for our friendship. But we've not +found it very easy to give her up, you see—we—we—— Will +you tell her, please, when you write to her, or +see her, that I called? And that my sister sends her +love? And that we're not forgetting her and never +shall? My sister and I are coming down next +Saturday to White Oak Farm to a house party that +Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Houghton are having (Mrs. Sidney +Houghton is an old friend of my sister), and as we +knew Susan lived in this vicinity, we thought we'd +look her up. I came here to-day to try to find Susan +and tell her we'd be in her neighbourhood for three +days and that she could not escape us! But of +course—well, I shall be glad to have you tell her I +called. Good-by, Miss Schrekengust," he concluded, +again offering his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"But can't you stop and pick a piece* first?" asked +Lizzie, hospitably. "I can make supper done till a +little while yet. To be sure, us we eat wery plain and +common; but if you'll just take it as it comes that +way——" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* "Pick a piece"—have a luncheon. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"You are very kind and I appreciate your invitation, +but——" +</p> + +<p> +He murmured elaborate excuses and thanks, and +was gone. +</p> + +<p> +The blind dropped from Susan's hand. She stood +motionless, overcome, though her heart was beating +fast. The sight of this old friend's face, the sound of +his voice, were bringing back overwhelmingly dear +memories of happiness; arousing suddenly her +slumbering youth which she had thought forever +dead; stirring in her the old unconquerable love of +life that had so abounded in her in days long past. +The possibility of really living again and finding joy +in life was borne in upon her with a rush. +</p> + +<p> +Lizzie did not come into the kitchen. She had +probably gone back at once to the truck patch to +join Addie and the hired man. Susan felt, now, that +she would rather not see her sisters this afternoon. +She left the house and got into the car beside the still +slumbering Josie. +</p> + +<p> +On her way home she tried to visualize clearly the +situation in which she found herself. Here were her +old, close, and loved friends, Eleanor and Robert +Arnold, who were at the same time friends of her +sister-in-law, coming to the Houghtons' house party. +And here was she, living in the tenant-farmer's +cottage within a stone's throw of "the big house"—so +far from being one of her sister-in-law's house +party that she was not even acquainted with her. +A unique situation, truly! It almost moved her to +laughter. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose I can, if I want to, manage to keep out +of sight of the guests for a day or two, but I certainly +could not manage it for longer." +</p> + +<p> +To present Joe to the Arnolds as her husband! +</p> + +<p> +"And Robert thinks it must be such a pleasant +change from school teaching to have married into the +Houghton family!" +</p> + +<p> +It would give Robert and Eleanor a dreadful shock +to find her married to an individual like Joe! And +it wasn't a thing you could decently explain. You +didn't go about apologizing for the crudity of your +husband as you might for the incompetence of your +cook! +</p> + +<p> +She remembered Sidney's having once said to her, +"I never could see why Uncle George resented Joe's +marrying a farmer's servant girl; no <i>lady</i> would ever +have married him!" +</p> + +<p> +When she reached home, the question she had been +pondering during all her eight-mile drive still +remained unsolved—should she yield to this stirring of +new life in her heart, to which the sight of Robert +Arnold had given birth; meet her old friends and put +her situation to the test; let it either work itself out +into something that would perhaps make life of worth +to her once more, or throw her back again upon herself, +into a deeper solitude than ever? If the latter, +she would have only herself to blame; certainly she +could not reproach her friends, since by her own acts +she had placed herself where even the most broad-minded +and charitable of those who had cared for her +must find that the price of friendship with her was +rather greater than it was worth. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER IX +<br><br> +THE HOUSE PARTY +</h2> + +<p> +Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Houghton +found themselves alone together longer and +more intimately in their Pullman drawing-room, +on their homeward journey from Newport to +White Oak Farm, than they had been at any time in +the past six weeks. Even Georgie was not by to +disturb their tête-à -tête, for his mother had +established him and his nurse in a section of another car; +not, indeed, to insure her uninterrupted isolation +with her husband, but in order to escape any +possibility of annoyance from the child. +</p> + +<p> +This detachment of the young couple, however, +from all the world, during a ten-hours' journey, did +not appear to conduce greatly to their happiness. +They were both looking rather jaded from their +recently overdone social life; their faces bore the +stamp of that discontent and weakness which will so +soon mar the countenances of those who live to no +purpose; who, while giving no sort of service to +society, prey upon those who do serve. They seemed +to have nothing to talk about together; and this +absolute absence of any common interests was a +dreary manifestation of the deadly emptiness of their +pleasure-seeking lives. They read newspapers and +magazines, but did not speak to each other of +what they read. They loafed, ate, yawned, slept. +Once for five minutes they did become a little +animated over a delectable bit of Newport scandal. +But they quickly lapsed again into lassitude and +boredom. +</p> + +<p> +In repose Sidney's face looked more than +discontented. He was evidently nervous and worried. +</p> + +<p> +He made frequent visits to the next car to see +Georgie. But Mrs. Houghton never went near the +little boy during the entire trip, nor was the child +brought by his nurse to see her. +</p> + +<p> +It was toward the end of their journey that +she roused herself to discuss with her husband the +entertainment of the house party which was to +arrive at White Oak Farm the day after their return +home. +</p> + +<p> +"If the wine you ordered from New York doesn't +come in time, what shall we do? You can't give the +Fairfaxes and the Sherwins the sort of stuff you'd +buy in Middleburg," she said. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course not. Let us hope it will come in +time," he replied. +</p> + +<p> +"It's rather absurd, you know, our trying to entertain +such people as the Fairfaxes and the Sherwins at +White Oak Farm; we haven't enough to offer them. +Nothing, indeed, but a rather attractive old +homestead! We ought not to have undertaken it, really. +You were foolish to insist upon it. You know, my +dear, you do have rather vulgar ambitions!" +</p> + +<p> +"As usual, you misunderstand me, Laura. It's +not 'vulgar ambition' that makes me want to return +the very great hospitality we've been accepting from +both those families." +</p> + +<p> +"They will probably be bored to death!" +Mrs. Houghton shrugged. "That's why I asked the +Arnolds, when I found that the Fairfaxes admired +Robert's magazine stories. And Eleanor is always +good company." +</p> + +<p> +"It was a good idea," Sidney agreed, "to ask the +Arnolds. I'm glad you thought of it." +</p> + +<p> +And then suddenly, with a violent mental jolt, he +remembered something—it was Eleanor Arnold who, +at a "frat" dance, nearly three years ago, had +introduced him to Susan Schrekengust! The Arnolds +knew Susan! <i>Why</i> had he not remembered it +before?—in time to stop that invitation! +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Now</i> what the devil's to pay!" he thought in utter +consternation. +</p> + +<p> +"Robert and Eleanor will certainly help to make +things go," said his wife, serenely. +</p> + +<p> +"Help to make things go to hell!" he thought with +an inward frenzy of apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +"It's damned awkward that Joe won't move away, +isn't it?" he appealed, in a shaking voice, to his wife. +</p> + +<p> +Laura glanced at him in surprise. His face was +distorted with anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me, you take it tragically, don't you? Why +don't you make him go? Your reasons for tolerating +him have never been very clear to me." +</p> + +<p> +"He can injure us! He has suspicions about +Georgie! He'd be only too glad to have White Oak +Farm go to <i>his</i> boy! I dare not offend him—I——" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, bother! For the sake of that child you are +letting your whole life be spoiled! I've no patience +with you!" +</p> + +<p> +Sidney shrank away from her into a huddled heap +and did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +"It certainly is to be hoped," she said, presently, +"that our guests won't discover your relationship to +your hired farmer living in the tenant's cottage!" +</p> + +<p> +"It's a beastly situation!" exclaimed Sidney. +</p> + +<p> +"And for the sake of that child you endure it! +You might consider me a little and not subject me to +such embarrassment!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm as much embarrassed as you are! But, +Laura," he pleaded, "don't try to make me be false +to the decentest thing in me—my love for Georgie!" +</p> + +<p> +"When your love for him makes you sacrifice me, +you can't expect me to get enthusiastic about it! +And now there's that girl your brother has married—it's +to be hoped she won't presume upon family ties +to intrude upon us! However," Laura suddenly +dismissed the whole matter with another shrug of her +shoulders, "let us drop the subject! I simply don't +intend to let people like that prey upon my mind!" +</p> + +<p> +"But you'll have to let them prey upon your mind +if the Arnolds and the rest of them discover Joe! +He'll take good care to <i>let</i> himself be known, I'm +afraid!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then why on earth did you insist upon having +this party?" +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't ask the Arnolds." +</p> + +<p> +"But the others. Why, if you won't make your +brother leave, do you subject yourself and me to the +humiliation of entertaining a house party where he +will be all over the landscape in his shirt sleeves or +overalls, talking that crazy Pennsylvania Dutch lingo +he has and making us ridiculous!" +</p> + +<p> +"I—I thought a crowd of guests would cover the +awkwardness of your not calling on Joe's wife—I——" +</p> + +<p> +Laura laughed with genuine amusement. "Call +on her! I! She'd hardly expect it, Sidney, I +should think!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why not? It seems to me it's just what she +would expect!" +</p> + +<p> +"Does it? Well, you and I never do seem to see +anything under heaven from the same point of view! +But I should think even you would realize the +absurdity of suggesting that I call on your +tenant-farmer's wife!—even if she is your sister-in-law. +Any girl that <i>could</i> marry that half-brother of yours +would be impossible!" +</p> + +<p> +"She isn't!" Sidney broke forth with a hot +impetuosity that amazed himself. But almost +instantly he became cautious again. "She—she does +not look impossible, Laura," he concluded, tamely. +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't know you had met her. Have you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I—I saw her one day in front of the cottage." +</p> + +<p> +"She can't possibly be the girl I saw one day on the +lawn at White Oak, coming from Joe's cottage. +That girl was—well, she was pretty and stylish and +well-bred looking. I thought she was someone who +had come to call on me—no, it's not possible that +Joe could have married a girl like that!" +</p> + +<p> +"But remember, Joe's rich enough to have baited +bigger game than that little school teacher!" +</p> + +<p> +"No amount of riches, with your brother Joe +tacked on, could have been a bait big enough to lure +a really nice girl, Sidney. You know that perfectly +well." +</p> + +<p> +"Have it your own way!" he crossly retorted. +</p> + +<p> +His mind was torn with a dozen conflicting fears. +He was afraid of Joe's resentment if Laura did not +call on Susan; yet feared a betrayal of his guilty +secret if the two women did meet. Association with +or aloofness from his brother's household seemed +equally dangerous and impossible. He feared a +scandal; he feared Laura's indignation and resentment; +he feared the loss to his son of his inheritance. +And he did not in the least know how to meet any +of these dangers that menaced him. +</p> + +<p> +Mingled with his fears were other emotions not so +unworthy: a deep self-abasement, never absent from +his heart, for the injury he had done and was doing +to Susan; a great sense of loss and emptiness because +of the wonderful comradeship as well as of the great +love that had been theirs; a painful humiliation in +the realization of Susan's deep contempt for him. +</p> + +<p> +But presently the quite practical and sordid +difficulty that was causing him, just now, intense +anxiety, overshadowed all the other troubles of his +mind. +</p> + +<p> +"Another devil of a mess," he said to his wife, +"my being obliged to get some ready money right +away! My losses over those damned races have +just exactly wiped out over a year's income!" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't look to me," she warned him. "I shan't +give you another dollar of <i>my</i> income, Sidney! +You already owe me half my year's allowance! +And of course I am perfectly aware, my dear, that +you'll never dream of paying it back to me!" +</p> + +<p> +"I shan't have to—because you'll manage to <i>get</i> +it back!" he retorted. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall do my best to," she blandly answered. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't have to worry about <i>you</i>! I've got +enough of your unpaid bills in my desk to cover +more than all you've loaned me!" +</p> + +<p> +"See that you pay them!" +</p> + +<p> +"I shall have to borrow money from Joe," he said, +hopelessly. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you get it from <i>him</i>? Why not from +someone else? He demands such awfully tight +security—first thing you know <i>he'll</i> own everything +you inherited from your uncle." +</p> + +<p> +"I borrow from him because he's got it to lend and +money's scarce just now. He read in the papers of +my heavy losses in the races and he wrote and +<i>offered</i> to lend me money. Pretty decent of him, +wasn't it? I guess—I guess," faltered Sidney, +"he's feeling extra good and happy just now—with +his new wife and——" +</p> + +<p> +He rose abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll run over and see how Georgie's getting along." +</p> + +<p> +But he did not go to Georgie. He went, instead, +to the day-coach smoking car, sat down on the +very last seat, and lit a cigar. +</p> + +<p> +He had found it necessary to escape precipitately +from Laura to conceal from her a threatened flood +of emotion. Ever since he had first learned of +Susan's inexplicable marriage to Joe he had been +astonished and disgusted by his own overwhelming +and unreasonable jealousy, envy, chagrin—all the +more absurd because Susan could not possibly care +for Joe. +</p> + +<p> +He wondered now, for the hundredth time, as he +drearily gazed out of the window upon the +autumn-coloured wooded hills that sped by, what had +made Susan do it. He had been entirely insincere in +suggesting to his wife that Joe's money had been the +bait. Laura had answered truly that the money of a +CrÅ“sus, with Joe attached, could not have tempted +"a nice girl." +</p> + +<p> +Did Susan, perhaps, have a suspicion—— +</p> + +<p> +No, that was impossible; quite, quite impossible. +</p> + +<p> +The Schrekengusts had been in dire straits; Susan +had lost her school, Mr. Schrekengust had died, their +property was mortgaged, the elder sisters were +getting on in years; had Joe deliberately driven that +lovely girl into a corner and forced her to bargain +with him for the livelihood of those dear to her? +It would be like him! Oh, it would be like him! +And she—rather than accept help from her +"betrayer"—had preferred this marriage! +</p> + +<p> +"How she must loathe me!" he inwardly groaned. +</p> + +<p> +He sighed profoundly as he thought what delight +he himself would have found in using his wealth to +give comfort and happiness to Susan! +</p> + +<p> +"What a mate she'd have been! My life couldn't +have been so sordid with her at my side!—her zest +for life, her fun, her intelligence, her warm, tender +heart, her loveliness! That <i>Joe</i> should have all +that! Oh, damn!" +</p> + +<p> +However, he could not waste himself upon futile +regrets while this new danger stared him in the +face—those Arnolds were bound to see Susan and +recognize her! +</p> + +<p> +The one mortal dread of his life, these days, was +that Laura should discover Susan's identity. +</p> + +<p> +"My predicament is perfectly ridiculous! And +dangerous! Damned dangerous!" +</p> + +<p> +But though from the very hour of his arrival at +home he found himself, in spite of all his apprehensions, +thrilling at the fact of Susan's nearness, peering +through every window he passed for a possible +glimpse of her about the grounds or near her cottage, +he was nevertheless immensely relieved to find that +she seemed to be assiduously keeping herself out +of sight. +</p> + +<p> +She, meantime, was experiencing almost as many +qualms and emotions as was Sidney himself. The +sudden awakening of her old self which the sight +and sound of her girlhood's friend, Robert Arnold, +had brought to her, gave her a haunting, wistful +longing to meet and greet him and his sister again, +even while it revealed to her more poignantly than +ever the hopeless degradation of her marriage; a +degradation so much more real than that of her tragic +betrayal at Sidney's hands. +</p> + +<p> +"To have to feel ashamed of your husband!" +she would muse over her household drudgery (for +such it was to her because her heart was not in +it). "Ashamed of the one nearest to you in all the +world!—to whom you would naturally want to feel +only loyalty—I am ashamed of being ashamed!" +</p> + +<p> +She reflected that if her own deep and strong +feelings about some things were natural, then +society must have very distorted standards. +</p> + +<p> +"The things usually considered shameful!" she +thought, wonderingly. "And the things that are +considered respectable!" +</p> + +<p> +Life seemed to her an inexplicable muddle; all +her old standards of right and wrong in confusion; +the very foundations of the universe knocked out +from under her. +</p> + +<p> +It was on Saturday afternoon, when the house +party was gathered about a tea table on the lawn, +that one of the guests, Mrs. Fairfax, a comely young +matron, drew attention to the picturesque little +cottage behind the big white house. +</p> + +<p> +"A tenant's cottage, I suppose, Mr. Houghton?" +</p> + +<p> +"The farmer's, yes," Sidney nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"Pretty! So cosy! I can imagine being quite +happy in a dear little home like that, with no servant +worries, no tiresome social obligations, freedom for +doing what I love to do—read and dig a garden and +study music; no fears of a jealous and outraged mob +bringing retribution upon me for having enjoyed +such ease and comfort all my life as <i>they've</i> never +had a chance at, poor things! Oh, I believe I'd love +it!" +</p> + +<p> +"What hinders your having it, Mrs. Fairfax?" +asked Eleanor Arnold, "if you really mean that you'd +love it?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Arnold was a young girl of an arresting +personality. There was a self-contained calm in her +way of sitting very still, her capable-looking hands +folded in her lap, her clear, direct gaze shining out of +a pale face encircled in thick braids of straight, dark +hair. She was keenly and critically observant, yet +seemed not unsympathetic. +</p> + +<p> +"What hinders me? <i>That!</i>" Mrs. Fairfax +pointed a forefinger across the table at her husband, +a rather foppishly dressed, futile-looking person who +lived in idleness on his "unearned increments". +</p> + +<p> +"Nuff said," nodded Eleanor, who yearned to add, +"Do you think 'that' worth the sacrifice of two +minutes of your short life?" +</p> + +<p> +"It makes me laugh," said Mr. Fairfax, "to hear +Jane talk about yearning for the simple life! If +any one was ever born that was more dependent +than Jane upon all her little comforts and +conveniences—lead me to her! Jane wouldn't have any +trouble meeting that test of royal blood, you wot of, +in the fairy story—a maiden's sensitiveness to a +pea pod under several mattresses—a <i>pile</i> of +mattresses! Jane would feel that pea pod quicker'n +your royal princess, I bet you! Don't you know, +Janie," he appealed to her, "that the farmer's wife +in yonder humble cot, whom you are envying, does +her own washing and baking and scrubbing and +cooking and——" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't spoil the sweet picture I had made for +myself," protested Jane, sentimentally, "of rural +peace and simplicity, with leisure for congenial +occupations, such as we of our class never have! Let +me believe, Will, dear, that <i>some</i> people in this world +do lead satisfying lives!" +</p> + +<p> +"Moles and cows do perhaps," responded her +husband as he rose and strolled over to a rustic bench +under a tree behind the tea table, where pretty +young Mrs. Sherwin made room for him by her side. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Arnold!" Mrs. Fairfax turned to the young +author, Robert Arnold, whose thoughtful, earnest +face stood out in marked contrast to the +unintelligent and somewhat coarse countenances of the +other three men of the group, "you have the honour +and distinction of meeting a long-felt want in my +life! I've always yearned to know—really <i>know</i>—a +distinguished novelist whose books I've loved. +But now I find to my dismay that the yearning, like +that for 'strong drink,' as the W.C.T.U's call it, +increases in proportion as it's gratified! So I beg +and implore you, Mr. Arnold, to bring an author or +two to see me every time you come to the city. Will +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"But 'author' is such a very general term! +Please, I beg you, be specific. What special brand +of author are you yearning to meet? I might +grab the wrong kind. There are so many varieties; +there is, for instance, the red-blooded variety; there +is the precious-lavender-and-lace kind; there is the +gosh-ding-it sort; the Close-to-Nature style; the +cabaret brand; the week-end-on-Long-Island-society +sort—and many others. So, please, kind lady, name +your brand." +</p> + +<p> +"The kind I'm yearning to meet is the author +who reads and understands women, Mr. Arnold," +said Jane with an earnest intensity. +</p> + +<p> +"But Shakspere's been dead some time. Ask me +something easy." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll tell you the brand you <i>don't</i> want to introduce +to our wives!" Mr. Andrew Sherwin, a ruddy, +heavily built banker, warned the author. "The +kind that will put ideas into their heads! Keep 'em +off! Jane, there, and my wife, too," nodding toward +the tree behind the tea table where Mrs. Sherwin +sat with Mr. Fairfax, "laps up ideas as a cat laps +milk! For God's sake keep off authors with ideas!" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't worry! Authors, these days, don't deal +in ideas, only style. We leave ideas to bankers." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, <i>I've</i> met one or two writing chaps that were +just chuck full of stuff—new ideas about human +brotherhood; impracticable rot like that! This is +no time for new ideas! We've got trouble enough +to keep things going smoothly!" +</p> + +<p> +"'No time for new ideas?'" repeated Arnold, +grinning. "I suppose that's what the Romans +and Jews told Jesus; and what the Diet of Worms +told Luther; and what the Roman Catholics told +Galileo when he got hold of the very dangerous new +idea that the world moved; they weren't ready +to have it move; it greatly annoyed them to have it +move! It suited their vested interests to have it +remain as stable as they'd always thought it!" +</p> + +<p> +"That's different," protested Sherwin a little +bewildered. "That's history. I'm talking about the +present." +</p> + +<p> +"Which is history, too." +</p> + +<p> +"Are you a Socialist?" asked Sherwin, suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course he's not!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax, +indignantly. "Don't be rude and insulting, Andrew! +As if a man who is a gentleman could advocate his +wife's sitting down to visit with the washwoman; +and then those community kitchens Socialists would +have—how absurd to suppose that we could eat +the food that labourers like!" +</p> + +<p> +"Are you under the impression, dear madam, that +you are discussing Socialism?" asked Mr. Arnold. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I am! Aren't I?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not any brand I ever heard of." +</p> + +<p> +"What is the bloomin' thing then?" she asked, +plaintively. +</p> + +<p> +"It is what we of the privileged class must +inevitably oppose, because fundamentally it means +(as I understand it) giving everyone an equal chance +in the race of life; which would, I fear, find some of +us in very different places from those we now occupy. +Some peasants who are incipient aristocrats +intellectually or spiritually, like Gorky or Robert +Burns, would forge ahead of the line which some of +us hold—while we'd fall far back, perhaps, into the +peasant ranks——" +</p> + +<p> +"We don't propose to submit, in this country," +exclaimed Sherwin, indignantly, "to the rule of any +one class!" +</p> + +<p> +"But that's what we always have submitted to. +In all nations, in all times, the labouring class has +submitted to the rule of the capitalistic class. The +strong have ever ruled, and the strong have been the +capitalists. In our day it seems to be coming about +that the workers are going to be the strong——" +</p> + +<p> +"This constant menace of changing our fundamental +institutions," interrupted Sherwin, "ought +to be suppressed by law! It can only lead to chaos!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well," returned Arnold, serenely, "out of chaos +came heaven and earth. But I never heard of +anything good coming out of 'suppression' and +autocracy. By the way, Mr. Houghton," Arnold closed +the discussion by turning to Sidney, "you have a +brother, haven't you? Joseph's his name?" +</p> + +<p> +"A half-brother." +</p> + +<p> +"Does he live in this neighbourhood?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ye—yes—ah, excuse me a minute, please, will +you? I'll—I'll be back in a minute," responded +Sidney, leaving the table abruptly and striding +away across the lawn. +</p> + +<p> +But both Eleanor and Robert Arnold saw, as he +left them, that his face had gone white at Robert's +question. +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor turned to Mrs. Houghton. "Robert +and I have just heard, Laura, that your brother-in-law +has married my old school friend, Susan +Schrekengust. How lucky you are to have acquired +anything so delightful in the way of a sister-in-law +as Susan! Don't you think you are?" +</p> + +<p> +"I've never seen her—but——" +</p> + +<p> +"I thought," said Eleanor, as Laura hesitated, +"that I understood Mr. Houghton to say they lived +in this neighbourhood." +</p> + +<p> +"They've just been married—and we've been +away. Will you have some hot tea? You must be +mistaken, Eleanor," Laura added in a lower tone +intended only for Eleanor's ear, as she refilled her +cup; "no friend of yours would have married Joe +Houghton; he's a perfect boor! Some mistake, my +dear." +</p> + +<p> +"There must be," said Eleanor, surprised. "Susan +would never have married a perfect boor!" +</p> + +<p> +"Rather not!" corroborated Robert who had +caught his sister's low-spoken remark. +</p> + +<p> +"The girl Sidney's half-brother married," Laura +explained, "was a country school teacher, I +understand; you couldn't have known her." +</p> + +<p> +"But Susan was a country school teacher!" said +Eleanor. +</p> + +<p> +"And," added Robert, "Susan's own sister told +me she had married Sidney's brother. You must be +mistaken, Laura, about Sidney's brother. He's +evidently a diamond in the rough, for Susan to have +married him. Where do they live?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sidney will give you their address," answered +Laura, turning away to speak to Mrs. Sherwin and +Mr. Fairfax behind her. +</p> + +<p> +"Want some hot tea back there?" +</p> + +<p> +Robert and Eleanor exchanged a swift glance over +the too-palpable fact that the Houghtons had +something to conceal about their brother's marriage. +</p> + +<p> +Their unwilling attention was presently forced +upon the chatter of Mrs. Fairfax who loved nothing +so much as to talk about herself, her "moods," +her unique characteristics, her "reactions" upon her +environment and its "reactions" upon her; she was +either too self-absorbed as she would talk on and on +interminably, or too lacking in imagination, ever to +sense the boredom of her hearers. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Houghton had gone into the house to answer +a telephone call, so the six guests—the Arnolds, the +Sherwins, the Fairfaxes—were left to themselves; +the Arnolds, Mrs. Fairfax, and Mr. Sherwin, the +portly banker, being gathered about the tea table, +while Mrs. Sherwin and Mr. Fairfax sat a few yards +away under the tree. +</p> + +<p> +"It's the very strangest thing about me!" Mrs. Fairfax +was saying, leaning back in her wicker chair +in an utter abandonment to an orgy of self-analysis, +to which her three hearers might or might not listen, +she didn't notice, "The way my moods never seem to +match William's moods. If he happens to be in a +sentimental mood, asking me how much I still care, +and all that sort of thing—<i>you</i> know—then I'm +just likely to be feeling utterly matter-of-fact and +talk about dances or motors or making fudge! +It is so odd! And if <i>I</i> happen to be sentimental and +want to talk of my moods or feelings, or of my +serious thoughts, then he's apt to want to talk about +a baseball game! It <i>is</i> so queer! <i>Isn't</i> it? And +yet, William and I are so perfectly mated! We +understand each other so perfectly; we have no +interests apart from each other; we do everything +together—<i>everything</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"There's one thing you don't do together," said +Eleanor, wickedly, pointing to the bench under the +tree which she alone faced; and they all turned to +see this sentimental lady's husband kissing rather too +ardently Mrs. Sherwin's white hand. +</p> + +<p> +"We trust each other perfectly, William and I," +Mrs. Fairfax responded, undaunted. But she rose +to stroll away, and Mr. Sherwin, more alarmed at +the prospect of being left alone with the formidable +and confusing conversation of the Arnolds than at +the continuation of Mrs. Fairfax's monologue, rose +also with as much alacrity as his corpulence +permitted and went with her. +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't it a tragical or comical irony of fate," +remarked Robert Arnold when he and his sister were left +alone, "that the feminine egotist, the woman who is +most interested in herself, is the very least interesting +to other people." +</p> + +<p> +"It's rather deadly here, isn't it?" sighed Eleanor. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm getting lots of story stuff!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes! Of such 'stuff' are stories made; some stories." +</p> + +<p> +"It isn't necessary, my dear, for you to try to +counteract that woman's flattery." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you suppose, Robert, that Mr. Andrew Sherwin +ever reads <i>any</i> thing?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, no one ever caught him at it." +</p> + +<p> +"I had so counted on finding dear old Susan here! +I'm horribly disappointed! How refreshing she'd be!" +</p> + +<p> +"They act as though they had her concealed in a +tower!" said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +"They do conceal their baby! I've not had a +glimpse of him. You'd never know they had a baby, +would you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Go easy, my dear! It might be deformed or +something; don't inquire for it," Robert warned her. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll be discreet." +</p> + +<p> +"Discreet? You? I'm not asking the impossible! +Only don't jump in with both feet." +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, Sidney, to escape Arnold's questions, +and to conceal the betraying embarrassment they +had caused, had walked away to the back of the +house to get himself in hand. +</p> + +<p> +But from the terrace behind the house he saw +something which served greatly to augment his +agitation—Georgie and his nurse going down the path +which-led straight to Joe's little cottage. +</p> + +<p> +With a quick thrill of apprehension Sidney leapt +down the slope to check them. +</p> + +<p> +"I've told that girl to keep him away from there," +he muttered angrily to himself. +</p> + +<p> +But his interference came too late. With his heart +in his mouth, he saw, as he stopped and stood stock +still to watch, Susan sitting with Josie on the grass +under a tree in front of her house, holding out her +arms to Georgie, who was toddling straight toward +her with his hands outstretched to take hers. +Evidently the two were good friends and this was not +their first meeting! +</p> + +<p> +The very thing he had been dreading! Were his +worst fears to be realized? +</p> + +<p> +With a bound he stood in the midst of them, his +face as white as chalk, his chair dishevelled, his eyes +wild. He seized Georgie almost out of Susan's +arms, casting a glance of angry reproach at the nurse, +as he perched the boy high on his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you bring him here to annoy this lady?" +he harshly demanded of the maid. +</p> + +<p> +But Georgie, who usually welcomed his father +with rapture, now kicked and struggled to free him, +self, to reach the goal for which he had been making +so eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +"Down, Daddy! Me down!" he clamoured, +wriggling like an eel, sliding down his father's arm +to the ground and rushing to Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"You kin see fo' yo'se'f, Mistah Houghton!" +the nurse defended herself. "I tries to keep him +away f'om her like you tells me to, but I cayn't! +The minute he's outdo's he wants to run down heah +to his aunty and his li'l cousin. An' anyhow he don' +git ho <i>harm</i> here, Mistah Houghton!" +</p> + +<p> +Sidney, with throbbing heart, gazed down upon +the picture on the grass at his feet, his little son in +Susan's arms, their faces close, the child's eyes and +hers seeming to melt into each other, himself +disregarded—— +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Josie, his face distorted with jealous +rage, had his fingers in Georgie's curls. Georgie, +howling, retaliated valiantly by pulling at Josie's +hair, and a tug of war followed which was stopped +only by the combined efforts of Sidney and Susan +to separate the combatants. +</p> + +<p> +When peace had been restored by Susan's placing a +boy on either side of her impartially, Sidney abruptly +ordered the nurse to go back to the house. "I'll +bring Georgie home," he said. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as the girl had turned the corner and +disappeared around the cottage he threw himself on +the grass at Susan's feet. +</p> + +<p> +"Look here, Susan," he exclaimed in mingled +indignation and fear, "did you marry Joe Houghton +to avenge yourself on me? Just to keep me in +hot water by your living here at my door! And +is it you that is keeping Joe here on this place +when I want to be rid of him? If my guess is +wrong, then <i>what</i>, in the name of God, made you +marry him?" +</p> + +<p> +"You did!" came Susan's swift, breathless answer. +"I married him to save my mother from being bribed +by you to leave her old home! I thought it would +kill her to go! And then," her voice quivered; +"after all, my sacrifice was for nothing. Mother +died a month after my marriage!" +</p> + +<p> +"You blame <i>me</i> for your marrying him!" exclaimed +Sidney. +</p> + +<p> +"I believe my father died of worry and grief; I +tried to save Mother from the same fate by marrying +Joe, so that she need not yield to your bribe or threat +or whatever it was that you held over her to force her +from her home!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Susan! I've done you even greater wrong +than I realized!" +</p> + +<p> +"It's the wrong that I've done to myself that +matters!" she said, sadly. "If I'd had any sense, +if I'd been worth anything, you couldn't have +wronged me!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not happy, Susan! I don't believe I'll ever +be happy again!" +</p> + +<p> +"Gracious! Do you think you deserve to be?" +</p> + +<p> +"But that <i>I</i> should have driven you to marrying a +fellow like Joe—you! He's so utterly unworthy of +you—so——" +</p> + +<p> +"Not more so than you were, God knows! Joe's +at least ruggedly honest. He wouldn't lie and steal +and—oh, your boasted Houghton blood seems to me +very bad blood! If our child had lived I'd have +hoped she'd have none of it; that she'd inherit only +the clean, upright, simple soul of my father!" +</p> + +<p> +"Let us be thankful she didn't live, Susan!" he +said, his eyes shifting from hers—but coming back +surreptitiously to note the effect of his words. +</p> + +<p> +"That I must be thankful for that is, as I told +you, the one thing I can never, never forgive you +for!" +</p> + +<p> +"And you will, then, take your vengeance upon +me," he said, fearfully, "by making trouble for me +with my wife?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think I told you before that 'vengeance' has no +appeal for me. I am not enough interested in your +life, Sidney, to go out of my way either to help or to +harm you." +</p> + +<p> +"I've harmed <i>you</i> so much, it's hard for me to +believe you wouldn't use your present great +opportunities to—to come back!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, you <i>would</i> believe that!" she said, listlessly. +</p> + +<p> +Sidney tugged at the grass savagely. "Oh, I +know you think I'm all sorts of a cad!" he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Naturally." +</p> + +<p> +He groaned inwardly; he had meant to lead up +tactfully to a hint or a plea that she keep out of the +way of the Arnolds while they were here; but the tone +of their conversation was certainly not propitious for +such a suggestion! It might have the effect of +making her deliberately and perversely seek them +out! Better trust to luck that she and they would +not discover each other. +</p> + +<p> +"Just remember, Susan," he warned her, his face +flushing, "you have kept rather a dark secret, +yourself, from your husband!" +</p> + +<p> +She regarded him with that look of impersonal +speculation which he found so irritating to his +vanity, as she asked, "You are capable of threatening me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Joe certainly doesn't know your past!" he +answered, sombrely. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" she cried, a light coming into her eyes, +"you've given me an idea! <i>That</i> might be my way +of escape!" +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm bound by my bargain to stick to Joe; he +gave Mother and my sisters their home. But if he +should divorce <i>me</i>, that would let me out honourably!" +</p> + +<p> +"But," said Sidney, seeing too late his mistake in +having given her this "idea," "it would betray to +Laura who you are!" +</p> + +<p> +"Even <i>you</i>, Sidney, will hardly go so far as to ask +me to live on with Joe just to spare 'Laura' and you! +You've really given me an idea! I'll think it over." +</p> + +<p> +"And if you act on it," he burst out, "you'll ruin +me! You'll ruin Georgie! It will give the whole +damned business away! It will——" +</p> + +<p> +He suddenly closed his lips, as he realized, with +despair, that he himself would in a moment be giving +"the whole damned business away" if he said another +word. +</p> + +<p> +Springing to his feet, he snatched up Georgie, who +kicked rebelliously at being taken from Susan, and +with a hasty "Good-by, Susanna!" he strode away. +</p> + +<p> +"You're takin' it easy; ain't?" +</p> + +<p> +It was Joe's voice just at her back! +</p> + +<p> +Evidently he had come in noiselessly from the +potato patch. He had a way of appearing +unexpectedly, at any hour of the day, with the purpose, +apparently, of catching her unawares in idleness, a +thing he abhorred; because in his Gospel, Time was +Money. +</p> + +<p> +As she wondered how much, if anything, he had +overheard of her talk with Sidney, she found herself +feeling remarkably unconcerned about it. She +certainly had little to lose and perhaps much to gain +if Joe should learn the truth about her. +</p> + +<p> +"Been havin' comp'ny, seems." +</p> + +<p> +He came forward, seating himself in the swing +under the tree and taking Josie on his knee. +</p> + +<p> +"Your brother came down for his boy." +</p> + +<p> +"And stopped to wisit you, heh?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"He better <i>not</i> come flirtin' and foolin' round my +wife!" growled Joe, jealously. +</p> + +<p> +Susan made no comment. +</p> + +<p> +"It ain't the thing!—him and you loafin' here and +me workin'!" +</p> + +<p> +She silently leafed the pages of the magazine on her +lap. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you got supper made, that you have so +much time to loaf?" +</p> + +<p> +Susan did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +"I ast have you got supper made. Why don't you +answer to me, Susan?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'll answer you, Joe, when you are civil to me." +</p> + +<p> +"Civil! I got to be civil, must I? To my own +wife yet! Huh! I guess I got to be so pernicketty +nice like what Sid is; ain't?" +</p> + +<p> +Susan scarcely heard him; her mind was revolving +that "way of escape" that Sidney had suggested. +</p> + +<p> +"Seems you're got an awful lot of time to set round, +Susan! I bet you wouldn't have, if you done all that's +to be done." +</p> + +<p> +But he could draw no answer from her with this bait. +</p> + +<p> +"You ain't near so pertikkler with the housework +as what my first wife was. You don't hang out the +nice wash she hung out! She hung out the nicest +wash in White Oak Station; all the folks sayed so. +They might say that of <i>yourn</i> if you took more time +to it, instead of hurryin' through so's you can set out +here and enjoy yourself." +</p> + +<p> +But when even these aspersions on her "wash" +did not rouse Susan to resentment, Joe felt discouraged. +</p> + +<p> +"What was Sid gassin' to you about, anyhow?" +he inquired, sullenly. +</p> + +<p> +"We talked about our children," she said after a +perceptible hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +"Huh! I guess he thinks hisn's better'n mine!—the +way him and his mother always thought I wasn't +good enough to 'sociate with 'em! Well, by gosh, +Susan, they'll learn somepin different one of these +here days! Josie ain't a-goin' to have to take no +back seat fur that there bastard of Sid's, you bet you! +It'll be the other way round, you mark my words!" +</p> + +<p> +"Georgie was born in wedlock," Susan protested, +startled. +</p> + +<p> +"I'd like to prove he <i>wasn't</i>!" growled Joe. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Joe, if you could only see how much more your +hatred of Sidney hurts you than it does him, your +very selfishness would make you want to get over +it!" +</p> + +<p> +"It'll hurt Sid a-plenty before I do get over it!" +returned Joe. "When I've got Sid where I want +him—and that's under my heel—then mebby I'll +get good over hatin' him. Not <i>till</i> then, though!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan sighed, but protested no further. +</p> + +<p> +"Did Sid explain you why his Missus don't take +no notice to you—you her sister-in-law?" Joe demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Susan shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't it spite you none, Susan, that she thinks +herself so much?" he asked, puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +"It's her loss, not mine," smiled Susan. "I think +people who don't know me miss a lot. Don't you, +Joe?" +</p> + +<p> +She rose and shook out her skirts. +</p> + +<p> +"Please be ready for supper in half an hour," she +said, as she left him and went into the kitchen. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +In spite of the sharp reprimand which Sidney +administered that day, on his return home, to Clara, +Georgie's nurse, for disobeying his orders to keep the +boy as far away as possible from his uncle's cottage, +she, true to her race, rather than exert herself to +struggle with the child's strong will, or to divert and +amuse him, continued to take the line of least +resistance and to follow where he led, when, the +moment he was out of the house, he would make +straight for the little cottage at the foot of the hill; +and Susan, at whose heart strings Georgie's tug was +growing more and more potent, did not discourage +the girl's bringing him daily to see his little cousin and +his "aunty." +</p> + +<p> +Thus it happened that the very next day after +Sidney's stern rebuke and reiterated command to +obey orders on pain of being discharged (those were +the days when servants, not employers, were +discharged), Clara again deliberately let her small +master lead her, after luncheon when everybody was +taking a map, directly down to the spot where Sidney +had found them the day before. +</p> + +<p> +Now as it was Sunday and Joe, who hated Sidney's +boy, was about the house to-day, Susan would have +preferred, for once, to have had Georgie kept away. +But it happened that at the moment of his joyful +arrival, slowly followed by his spineless attendant, +Joe was having a nap after his heavy noon meal; +and so, Susan, deciding that at the first sound of her +husband's awaking she would dispatch her visitors +in haste, settled herself cosily, with a child on either +side of her and her lap full of story books, under the +tree outside her house. +</p> + +<p> +And it was here that, presently, Eleanor Arnold, +wandering about alone, found her. +</p> + +<p> +It came with a great shock to them both, that +first recognizing encounter of their eyes. For an +instant they could only stare at each other, +speechless. But the next moment they had fallen upon +each other with cries of surprise and delight, Eleanor's +self-contained composure entirely broken up, and +Susan's habitual listlessness turned to a burning +excitement. +</p> + +<p> +"But, Susan! I didn't know you at first! You +are so changed! Your golden hair turned brown! +And the look out of your eyes—what is it?" +</p> + +<p> +Susan dared not speak lest a flood of tears overwhelm +her. She bit her lip hard as she silently drew +Eleanor to sit down with her on the grass under the +tree. +</p> + +<p> +But in a moment she had recovered herself, and +putting the two boys to playing with some building +blocks, she gave herself up to her friend. Both she +and Eleanor were feeling amazed, in their hearts, that +their sudden reunion was bringing instantaneously +such a rush of old joy, such a quick renewal of a vital +tie after so long a breach. Their eyes sparkled, their +cheeks were flushed with excitement. +</p> + +<p> +"How have we lived so long without each other, +Susan!" cried Eleanor, breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +And Susan answered, "What months we've wasted! +I'm only this moment realizing what you've always +been to me!" +</p> + +<p> +"It's been your doing, not mine, that we've been +separated, Susan!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I know——" +</p> + +<p> +"But you are surely not living here in this house?" +Eleanor asked, looking bewildered. "Why, Laura +said she had never met you! Then you can't have +married Sidney's brother?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Yes</i> to all your questions. I am living right here +in this house; I am Sidney's sister-in-law; his wife +never met me." +</p> + +<p> +"Family mysteries and skeletons? Well, I won't +pry—though I'm dying to! Why you should have +gone and got married and have had these two +children without ever consulting me——" +</p> + +<p> +"One of them is Sidney Houghton's," Susan +quickly explained. +</p> + +<p> +"One of these two? Which one is yours, Susan? +Oh, you needn't tell me, it's plain enough! What a +darling! Much, much more adorable," she added in +a lowered voice, "than Sidney's." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> don't think so!" Susan warmly retorted. +"Georgie seems to me a much finer type than Josie—though +of course," she hastily added, "Josie's a dear +and I love him." +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor stared. "You're disparaging your own—— Oh, +but he can't be yours—you were only just +married, weren't you?—so Laura said, anyway. +Then that is <i>not</i> your boy, is he?" asked Eleanor, +indicating Georgie. +</p> + +<p> +Susan's face lit up. "You took him for mine? +Oh, I wish he were! He's Sidney's. The other +one—Josie—is my step-son." +</p> + +<p> +"And you've never had one of your own? You've +not been married long——?" +</p> + +<p> +"I've been married five months." +</p> + +<p> +"I would have sworn that one—Georgie—was +yours. He has a look in the eyes like you—though of +course he looks more like Sidney. This is my first +glimpse of him; they never have him about; Laura +is certainly the most indifferent of mothers! You'd +think she'd be proud to show off such a rare child! +Susan, you are so changed! You are lovelier and +more blooming than ever; yet you are, somehow, so +matured! As if you had lived, Susan! As if," added +Eleanor, gazing thoughtfully into Susan's face, "you +had lived tragically! <i>Have</i> you?" +</p> + +<p> +Susan nodded dumbly. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me all about it! Begin at <i>Once upon a time</i>, +and don't skip. I know it'll be thrilling!" said +Eleanor, settling herself expectantly to listen; "for +I always said, you remember, that you were born for +romance. Tell me about your husband." +</p> + +<p> +Romance and Joe! Susan almost laughed, though +her heart was heavy. In what a position she was +placed, when all her pride shrank from presenting her +husband to her friend!—and yet loyalty to the +obligations of her bond must close her lips upon +explanations, excuses, apologies. +</p> + +<p> +A sound in the kitchen doorway drew their eyes +from each other. Joe, in his shirt sleeves, a scowl on +his face, came striding across the grass to the tree. +</p> + +<p> +"Here another time I come to use my car and +find the gasoline is all!" he fretfully accused his wife, +not heeding her visitor. "Again you was usin' it +without astin' me for the dare! Ain't? A pretty +thing that whenever I go to use my car the gasoline +is every time all! No matter how often I fill it up +yet! If I got it so filled up at twelve o'clock in the +night, you'd get out of bed to make sure it was all +used up till morning a'ready! Ain't, you would?" +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he became conscious of Susan's deathly +pallor and of a fire in her eyes that alarmed +him—and at the same time, of her companion's look of +amazement and alarm. +</p> + +<p> +Turning away abruptly, frowning and muttering, +he disappeared again in the house. +</p> + +<p> +"Well!" exclaimed Eleanor, "chauffeurs must be +scarce out here if you stand for—— Susan +Schrekengust!" Eleanor seized Susan's arm convulsively. +"<i>Who is that man?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"My husband, Eleanor!"—and Susan laid her +head on Eleanor's shoulder and sobbed; long, tearing +sobs that seemed to come from the depths of her soul; +from the pent-up griefs of years; from the anguish of +defeated love, defeated motherhood, death, despair. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Later, when Clara had gone home with Georgie, +Josie had gone indoors to his father, and Susan, now +very quiet, still sat on the grass with her friend, +Eleanor asked her wonderingly, "What the devil did +you do such a thing for, Susan?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's so good," said Susan with a sigh of pleasure, +"to hear you cuss again, Eleanor! Until I met you, +I had never, in my short and simple life, heard a +perfect lady swear!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid I never did serve up my words on a +napkin. And quite early in life I decided to abandon +the career of a perfect lady. A woman of brains +(you'll not question I'm that?) never is a perfect +lady, the absolutely real thing, you know; because, +you see, it means such a well-ordered mind and soul +and life as to preclude rioting of any sort, whether +of the emotions or the intellect. It involves repose, +conservatism, a nice moderation in all things, an +absence of big enthusiasms, large vision, vigour of +thought and feeling—— +</p> + +<p> +"You've simply got to explain to me, Susan, how +you came to marry that man! Is he a diamond in the +rough? Is <i>he</i> Sidney Houghton's brother? Is he a +real Houghton at <i>all</i>?" she demanded, incredulously. +"Why, the Houghtons have always been awfully +snippy about their family blood! Their sense of their +own superiority has been as sublime as it was +inexplicable. Don't expect me to spare your feelings! +I don't intend to! You deserve 'most anything for +throwing yourself away like this! I could beat you +for it!" +</p> + +<p> +"I deserve your scorn; I don't deserve your friendship!" +</p> + +<p> +"You deserve to be shut up in a lunatic asylum! +Why did you do it? Speak up!" +</p> + +<p> +"It's a very sordid story, Eleanor. No romance +about it that <i>I</i> can see! (You said I was born for +romance!) I was engaged to Sidney Houghton. He +jilted me. I was broken-hearted at first; then +reckless and despairing. My father became involved in +money troubles and died suddenly. We would have +had to leave our home, which I thought would kill +Mother. So to save her I married Joe Houghton. +Joe gave Mother and my sisters their old home. +Then, a month later, Mother died. My sacrifice was +for nothing! That's all." +</p> + +<p> +"You were a dreadful little fool, of course! You +know that, don't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't find the knowledge consoling, dear, so +please don't draw my attention to it." +</p> + +<p> +"But you can't go on living out your life with that +man, Susan! You'll have to leave him!" +</p> + +<p> +"Wouldn't it be going back on a bargain? He +practically bought me." +</p> + +<p> +"And you've surely paid him back already a +thousand per cent!" +</p> + +<p> +"It wasn't in the bond that I'd be his wife for a few +months." +</p> + +<p> +"You actually consider yourself bound to him, to a +creature like that, <i>you</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know." +</p> + +<p> +"If you do think you're bound, if you're that +fanatical, then make him let you live your own life. +Demand your rights!" +</p> + +<p> +"Make him? Compared to Joe Houghton's obstinacy +Gibraltar is wobbly!" +</p> + +<p> +"If he's in love with you, there's nothing you can't +make him do for you." +</p> + +<p> +"By playing up my sex? How would I be above +the woman of the streets if I did that? The world +thinks it all right, I suppose, for a <i>wife</i> to gain her +ends that way." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, the world!" shrugged Eleanor. "Of course +its standards are never right. Show me something +that the majority believe and I'll show you something +that's a lie! The persecuted of any age nearly always +turn out to have been the prophets of that age." +</p> + +<p> +"Carrie Nation!" smiled Susan. "And now we've +got national Prohibition! Who'd ever have thought +it!" +</p> + +<p> +"Talking about morals," Eleanor went on, "people +haven't any, really. They have Respectability, +Conformity, Propriety. Those are society's only +values." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I often think," said Susan, "if that hypocrite's +cloak, Respectability, could be stripped from +our shrinking souls, what a sight we'd all be!" +</p> + +<p> +"You remind me of a letter Robert saw ages ago, +when he was a college student, written by Howells to +Mark Twain; Mark Twain showed it to Robert. It +was about the autobiography Mark Twain was +writing. Howells wrote, 'You always rather +bewildered me by your veracity, and I fancy you may +tell the truth about yourself. But all of it? The +black truth which we all know of ourselves in our +hearts—even <i>you</i> won't tell the black heart's truth'." +</p> + +<p> +"What a human document it would be if any man +or woman had the courage to do it!" said Susan. +"Of course Rousseau came near it." +</p> + +<p> +"Susan! You've got to leave that man that you've +so absurdly gone and married!" +</p> + +<p> +"I have hurt so many people; I shrink from hurting +any more!" +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean? Whom have you hurt?" +</p> + +<p> +"My father and mother and sisters! And if I left +Joe, I would hurt not only him; my two sisters would +break their hearts. They <i>believe</i> in the marriage +ceremony, you know—as a sort of fetish—'For +better, for worse'—'Until death'—'Whom God hath +joined'—'These two are no more twain, but one +flesh.' My sisters would for the rest of their days +walk among their neighbours disgraced and stricken." +</p> + +<p> +"Would that be as tragic, as wasteful, as your +spending your whole life with such an outrageous +creature? You've got to leave him! And you will +leave him!" +</p> + +<p> +She rose and Susan stood up at her side. +</p> + +<p> +"When you've made up your mind, Susan, come +to me in Middleburg. Promise!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'll—I'll have to think it over," Susan faltered. +</p> + +<p> +But there was hope in her voice and in her shining +eyes. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER X +<br><br> +AN INTERLUDE +</h2> + +<p> +But she did not leave her husband. Josie came +down with whooping-cough and of course she +could not desert a sick child. She nursed him +devotedly for six weeks and became so run down +through overwork and loss of sleep that she fell an +easy victim to the typhoid fever germs which were +discovered by the doctor to poison the boasted well +water of White Oak Farm. +</p> + +<p> +So far into the Valley of the Shadow did Susan +drift in this illness that she would surely never have +come back but for Joe's amazing devotion and +ceaseless care. And of this she, of course, knew +nothing during many weeks of delirium and +unconsciousness. +</p> + +<p> +It was over the period of her long, tedious +convalescence that she slowly became aware of the +unwonted comfort that enveloped her: the uniformed +trained nurse, the champagne they fed to her by +teaspoonfuls, the pretty down quilt on her bed, the +new kimono that lay across the foot of the bed; and +every sort of convenient device for a sick room that +had ever been heard of seemed to have been provided +for her. Where did it all come from? Surely +not from Joe who was always watching every penny +she spent—— +</p> + +<p> +But stranger than this lavish expenditure was +Joe's manifest anxiety, tenderness, grief! +</p> + +<p> +She felt that he must be neglecting his work, so +often was he in and out of her room, so many hours +sitting patiently beside her bed. +</p> + +<p> +Was he, then, really capable of a great passion?—of +fine feeling, of unselfish love? +</p> + +<p> +As she grew stronger she found herself wildly +regretting first, that she had not died, and next, that +Joe was being so good, so wonderful, to her. +</p> + +<p> +"For how can I ever leave him after this?" she +would mourn as she lay through the long days and +nights while life came slowly back to her. If only +he would neglect her instead of binding her with +these heavy chains of kindness which she feared she +could never, never break! +</p> + +<p> +"I've never in my life been able to be ruthless! +He seems to care for me so much!" +</p> + +<p> +The trained nurse admitted, one day, that in all +her varied experiences, she had "never seen a +husband so dippy about his wife!" +</p> + +<p> +"Those two days and nights that we thought you +might not pull through," the nurse told her, "that +man was the most pitiable object I ever saw. I +wouldn't want to see my worst enemy go through +what he suffered, Mrs. Houghton! Your husband +may not have your education or be as refined as +what you are, Missus, but he certainly loves you, all +right! Well, I just guess! +</p> + +<p> +"They say round here," she continued, "that +Mister's a tight-wad, and he sure is! But not +where you're concerned, Missus! Not when you're +sick, anyhow! Nothing was too good, nothing too +expensive, that I asked him to get you." +</p> + +<p> +Susan wondered why it was. Remorse flooded +her heart, as she thought of her so different feelings +toward him. +</p> + +<p> +"If he had been ill, I'd have hoped he'd die!" she +mercilessly made herself admit to her own +conscience. "He is worse than nothing to me! A +millstone about my neck when I want to be free!" +</p> + +<p> +As soon as she was well enough to be moved Joe +sent her and Josie and the nurse to Atlantic City. +</p> + +<p> +And there, one day, on the sands, Eleanor Arnold +unexpectedly came upon her. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I came here just to be with you," +Eleanor explained as she sat at Susan's feet in the +windy sunshine. "The day after I got your card +telling me you were coming here I packed and +started. I couldn't miss such a chance of seeing you +alone!" +</p> + +<p> +"And you will stay as long as I am here?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, if it means the rest of my mortal life!" +</p> + +<p> +To Susan, too weak, for the time being, to battle +with problems, the days that followed were times +of wonderful peace and content; a respite of real +happiness. Congenial and loved companionship, +rest from the household drudgery which she detested, +no anxieties about expenses, the absence of Joe's +society, the sea, the fine air—— +</p> + +<p> +To be sure, there were shadows. Eleanor would +not give up insisting that she must leave Joe; whereas +Susan's new sense of obligation to him was so great +that she felt disloyal in even speaking of it. +</p> + +<p> +"When your husband greatly loves you," she +would argue with Eleanor, "you surely owe him +something." +</p> + +<p> +"But unless you love him, Susan, you don't +belong to him; no matter how much he loves you; +no matter what he has done for you. You belong +to yourself—simply because you don't and can't +love him." +</p> + +<p> +Susan was silent. +</p> + +<p> +"You know I'm right!" insisted Eleanor. +</p> + +<p> +"It would mean such a bitter struggle—leaving +him—and I'm so tired of fighting with life!" +</p> + +<p> +"You're supine! With that child of his, for +instance——" +</p> + +<p> +Josie had a fretful way of nagging at his "mother" +which Eleanor, though sympathetically understanding +children, thought very exasperating. "You +let him tyrannize over you, my dear." +</p> + +<p> +"His father makes it so hard for me to manage +him!" Susan defended her feeble disciplining of Josie. +</p> + +<p> +Josie chose just this moment of their discussion +to leave the nurse and come running to Susan to +renew his momentarily diverted insistence that she +dig something in the sand for him, though the nurse +was doing it much better than his enfeebled mother +could, and though Susan had explained to him, +after having yielded several times to his demands and +overtaxed her endurance, that she could do no more. +The nurse had succeeded in distracting his attention +for a moment; but he was back again now, tugging +at his mother and peevishly reiterating that she and +no other must dig for him. +</p> + +<p> +When she firmly refused and told him to go to the +nurse, he flew into a tantrum, screamed rebelliously, +and tore at her clothes. +</p> + +<p> +"There, now!" Susan challenged Eleanor, "O +Socrates, what would you do <i>now</i>? Tell me!" +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor looked rather dashed. "You might +jump on his stomach," she suggested. +</p> + +<p> +Josie's howls ceased abruptly, and eyeing his +mother's friend with a mixture of resentment and +apprehension, he retreated precipitately. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> wouldn't stand that nagging, whining habit +he has, Susie," Eleanor declared, when Josie, +deciding that safety first lay in a discreet distance +from so fierce a lady, went back to the nurse. +</p> + +<p> +"I really do try, Eleanor, for his own sake as much +as mine, to train him up in the way he should go. +But I'm handicapped." +</p> + +<p> +"It's rotten! The whole situation!" +</p> + +<p> +"It has its compensations. Josie can be very +lovable. And he is fond of me." +</p> + +<p> +"You're too easily compensated! I wish you had +my conceit; you'd hold yourself at your true worth!" +</p> + +<p> +"You don't begin to realize all my difficulties. It +isn't nearly so easy, I find, to get rid of a husband as +to acquire one. To a divorced woman so many +means of self-support are closed. School teaching, +for instance. I suppose I might stand in a store——" +</p> + +<p> +"'Stand?' I've heard of floor <i>walkers</i>!" said +Eleanor, tentatively. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps it is a Pennsylvania Dutch-ism. I +didn't know it was. I mean clerk in a store." +</p> + +<p> +"See who's coming!" exclaimed Eleanor, abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +Susan looked up and saw, strolling toward them +down the beach, alone, a young lady with a marked +air of distinction both in dress and bearing. +</p> + +<p> +"Your sister-in-law, my dear!" Eleanor announced. +</p> + +<p> +"It is! Rather awkward, as we've never been +introduced!" +</p> + +<p> +"Not <i>yet</i>!" asked Eleanor, incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +"What could you reasonably expect—you've +seen Joe?" was the answer which rose to Susan's +lips, but which she did not speak. "Of course +she has no idea how nice I am," was what she said. +</p> + +<p> +"Does she know you are here?" +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't know <i>she</i> was here. I don't know what +she knows about me." +</p> + +<p> +"Let me have the fun of introducing you to her!" +</p> + +<p> +"Help yourself—if it will amuse you." +</p> + +<p> +"It will amuse me very much!" +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor rose as Laura Houghton drew near, and +went forward with outstretched hand. +</p> + +<p> +Laura's face, which had been dreary and fretful, +lit up at sight of her friend and she greeted her +eagerly. "I'm so glad to see you! I'm here all +alone; Sidney's been called home on business, and +there's not a soul here I know or <i>would</i> know! +You're a godsend to me, Eleanor! You've simply +got to stay here with me until Sidney gets back." +</p> + +<p> +"How long will that be?" +</p> + +<p> +"A few days. We splurged so recklessly in New +York this winter that we've had to draw in and come +here to recover. Sidney has a most interesting little +habit of running ahead of his income and then retiring +into strict privacy to catch up. It lends great +variety to our life!" Laura shrugged, a look of +bitterness in her face. "Fortunately he has an +accommodating half-brother who never spends any +money himself, so always has plenty to loan to +Sidney. Are you staying with friends?" she asked +with a questioning glance toward Susan reclining +among her cushions a few yards away. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, with an old school friend who is here with +her nurse, convalescing from typhoid. Let me +introduce you. My dear," said Eleanor as she led +Laura to Susan, "let me present Mrs. Sidney +Houghton. Mrs. Joseph——" Eleanor coughed over +Susan's name and Laura did not catch it. She bent +to offer her hand to the pale, frail-looking girl on the +sand; and Susan took the hand gravely. +</p> + +<p> +"You've been very ill?" said Laura, sympathetically, +thinking how beautiful the invalid was. +She certainly looked as though she might be a +Somebody! It flashed upon her that there was +something familiar in this high-bred, interesting +face. +</p> + +<p> +"Very ill," answered Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"Is the sea air helping you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Very much, I think." +</p> + +<p> +"You and Miss Arnold are stopping at the same +hotel?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. At the D—— House." +</p> + +<p> +Laura looked surprised. It was not the sort of +place she would have expected Eleanor or any +friend of hers to patronize. +</p> + +<p> +Joe had chosen it, and while he would spare no +expense necessary for his wife's recovery, he drew +the line at paying for fashion. +</p> + +<p> +"You are comfortable there?" asked Laura, +doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +"Comfortable, but not luxurious," answered +Eleanor. "It's plain living and high thinking with +Susan and me just now." +</p> + +<p> +Laura glanced again at the convalescent. "I +beg pardon, I didn't catch your friend's name, +Eleanor." +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Joseph Houghton," repeated Eleanor. +</p> + +<p> +Laura looked dazed, almost bewildered, then +utterly astonished. But only for an instant. +Almost immediately she had gotten herself in hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Sidney's sister-in-law?" she repeated with +perfect composure. "He will be sorry to hear you +have been so ill," she said, graciously. +</p> + +<p> +She turned back to Eleanor. "I am at Hotel +T——. Will you come to see me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course. I have my evenings off; Susan goes +to bed right after dinner. Shall I come this evening?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, do please, Eleanor." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll be there about half-past eight." +</p> + +<p> +"Very well. Good-by." She nodded, a shade +ceremoniously, to Susan, and moved on. +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor literally flopped down at Susan's side. +"I'm limp!" she feebly cried. "And you—you +never looked more cool and collected! Why aren't +you excited or amused or something?" +</p> + +<p> +"I leave that to you." +</p> + +<p> +"It's none of my affair! I suppose Laura's furious +with me for dragging her into such an awkward +position!" +</p> + +<p> +"It ought not to be so awfully awkward. She +simply won't let herself be saddled with her +husband's uninteresting relatives. Of course I'm far +from uninteresting, but she's never had any reason +to suspect it." +</p> + +<p> +"You're inhumanely just to her. You know very +well that in her place you would have been kind to +Joe's wife." +</p> + +<p> +"I'd hate to have her be 'kind' to me in the way +you mean, Eleanor!" +</p> + +<p> +"You'd have been genuinely nice; not stand-offish." +</p> + +<p> +"When you think of the sort of person she naturally +thought Joe would have married, I suppose she +considered her only safety lay in not knowing me at +all." +</p> + +<p> +"Damned rot!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid you're not a perfect lady." +</p> + +<p> +"I told you I'd abandoned that futile function! +And I'm glad I did! I'd like to be a roaring savage!" +</p> + +<p> +"Do savages roar? Dear me, what for?" +</p> + +<p> +"The great disadvantage of being well-bred is +that you can't let off steam! You've no safety-valve +and so become congested, spiritually poisoned! +Oh, I tell you," said Eleanor, darkly, "civilization's +got a lot to answer for!" +</p> + +<p> +"It <i>has</i> got us into a tangled mess, hasn't it?" +said Susan with a long breath. +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor parted from Susan that day with an +unsolicited promise that she would faithfully report, +next morning, any particularly interesting phases +of the conversation she would have that evening with +Mrs. Sidney Houghton. +</p> + +<p> +She was, however, greatly disappointed. During +the three hours that she spent with Laura in her +suite of rooms at her hotel not the slightest +reference was made to the episode of the morning. +For Laura was a young woman capable of exercising, +on occasion, rather Spartan self-restraint; and +Eleanor, though not shy or retiring, and though +dying to know what her friend was thinking about +her unexpectedly charming sister-in-law, had, also, +her reticences. +</p> + +<p> +Just a day or two after the encounter of Laura and +Susan the latter received a letter from Joe in which +he told her, in very bad English and worse spelling, +that Sidney had again borrowed money from him. +</p> + +<p> +"I give him five years to get threw with all he's +got," Joe wrote. "He says his Missus is at Atlantic +City just now. When I told him you was there, too, +he looked awful funny. I guess he was some +supprised Ide spend for such as that. And, to be sure, +I wouldn't, neither, but for to get you well and +strong again. If you meet up with that sour-faced +high-stepper he married, just you give her as good +as she sends, Susan, for some day you will be living +in the big house and her and Sid will be glad to +have so much as the tenant's cottage to live in. +You mind if I ain't right." +</p> + +<p> +Susan reflected that it was well for Georgie that +White Oak Farm was entailed to him, or Joe would +certainly get possession of it. +</p> + +<p> +But in view of this entailment, she could not +imagine how Joe expected to contrive ever to occupy the +big house. +</p> + +<p> +However, she wasted no thought on the subject, +for it did not greatly interest her. +</p> + +<p> +She was subjected to a good deal of embarrassment +during her stay at the seaside from the fact +that Joe, though standing ready to pay all her +necessary bills, would not supply her with money. +Ever since her marriage he had seemed afraid to +entrust her with a dollar, partly because of his +constitutional stinginess and partly because of his +constant fear lest she give help to her struggling sisters. +</p> + +<p> +Several times the acuteness of her present +embarrassment while at the seaside forced her to the +humiliation of borrowing money from her nurse +for some mere trifle like postage stamps, or feeing a +servant. +</p> + +<p> +"Add it to the bill you present to Mr. Houghton," +she would tell the nurse, "and charge one hundred +per cent. interest." +</p> + +<p> +She was duly informed by Eleanor of Sidney +having rejoined his wife at the T——. +</p> + +<p> +"Do they have Georgie with them?" she inquired +with a wistfullness in her heart that made her wonder +at herself. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but he seems to be left entirely to his nurse. +Laura never goes near him apparently! She is +the very coldest mother I've ever seen. She actually +told me she wished she <i>could</i> care more for Georgie, +but that somehow she just couldn't work up any +motherliness! It simply isn't in her. I tell her I +consider it a frightful waste for such a woman to have +a child, while one like me sits about eating her heart +out with longing for one. I'd almost be willing to +settle down to take care of a husband for the sake +of having a child!" +</p> + +<p> +"You'd go so far as that, dear?" +</p> + +<p> +"I said I'd 'almost'. Do you suppose, Susan, +that Laura is jealous of Sidney's former attachment +to you (you say he jilted you) and that that's why +she doesn't make up to you?" +</p> + +<p> +"She doesn't know that I am the woman Sidney +jilted." +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor considered this reply for a moment without +speaking. "She knows he jilted someone, but does +not know that you are the one?" +</p> + +<p> +Susan nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"How can you be so sure?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sidney told me." +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor regarded her thoughtfully. "How +extraordinary!" she remarked. +</p> + +<p> +"It is, rather; isn't it!" +</p> + +<p> +"Sidney can be very charming; but he is not and +never was worthy of you, my dear!" +</p> + +<p> +"It was because he thought <i>me</i> unworthy that he +jilted me!" +</p> + +<p> +"Wanted money and family, of course?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, he got it. But he doesn't look +overwhelmingly happy over it!" +</p> + +<p> +"I've noticed that he doesn't." +</p> + +<p> +"Did he behave abominably toward you, Susan?" +</p> + +<p> +"Very much so!" +</p> + +<p> +"He'd be capable of that, I'm sure!" said Eleanor +with emphasis. +</p> + +<p> +When at the end of three weeks Susan reluctantly +wrote to Joe that she was now quite strong enough to +go home he telegraphed at once that on the following +Sunday he would come for them all and "fetch" +them. +</p> + +<p> +Susan, after considering the situation, decided to +spare herself, if possible, the painful ordeal of having +Eleanor again encounter her husband. She would +take means to prevent it. +</p> + +<p> +She wrote to Joe that they would not wait until +the end of the week to leave for home, but would +start the very day he received her letter and would +be with him on Wednesday evening. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XI +<br><br> +HOME AGAIN +</h2> + +<p> +In the first months of her marriage Susan had +not felt that Joe's dwelling-place was her home; +she was neither its creator nor its mistress; only +its housekeeper. The only concern she had felt for +it, therefore, was that she should discharge the +obligation she was under to make her husband comfortable. +</p> + +<p> +But the renewal of her relations with Eleanor had +awakened in her a bit of ambition to try to make the +house in which she lived and the appointments of her +daily life a little attractive. After those weeks at the +seaside she came home resolved to experiment with +her situation and see whether she could make it +really liveable. Unless she could change a good +many things, both material and spiritual, in her +existence, she saw that if she would save her soul +alive, she must leave her husband. +</p> + +<p> +She realized that there was probably no limit to +the power she could wield over Joe to get what she +wanted, if she followed that suggestion Eleanor had +once made to her, that she play upon his passion for +her. Eleanor, of course, had not really understood +what she was saying. +</p> + +<p> +"Even if I loved a man, I couldn't do that!" +thought Susan. "That sort of thing may be +feminine, but it certainly is not womanly—and it +seems to me that it's up to a woman to <i>be</i> a woman, +not just a female!" +</p> + +<p> +Her first experiment was to let Joe understand, +when, a few weeks after her return, he suggested that +she was now quite strong enough to dismiss the +washwoman, that she did not intend to dismiss her. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall never again, while I live, stand at the +washtub. I prefer school teaching," she told him. +</p> + +<p> +"But you can't school teach now you're married +oncet!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, I can. If you won't pay for a +washwoman, I can easily earn more than enough to pay +for one by substituting in the Middleburg schools. +And as I prefer that work to washing, that is what +I shall do." +</p> + +<p> +"You talk dumb, Susan!" he exclaimed, +impatiently. "Fur a married lady to be talkin' about +workin' out yet! Don't be so ignorant dumb!" +</p> + +<p> +But though he never again insisted upon dismissing +the laundress, he never failed on wash day to draw +Susan's attention to what they would be saving if +she did the work herself. +</p> + +<p> +"A dollar and a half every week, if you wasn't so +high-minded! Yi, yi, think what that there dollar +and a half would buy yet!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan's proposals for re-papering and re-furnishing +the cottage Joe met with the assurance that it would +be a useless expenditure because in a few years they +would be living in the big house. +</p> + +<p> +"But White Oak Farm is entailed," she reminded +him (as though he ever for a moment forget it!). +"Your brother can't mortgage or sell it." +</p> + +<p> +"Sid is runnin' through with his money as fast as +he otherwise can; he's beginnin' a'ready to draw +heavy on his principal. It won't go long till his +money's all. Then when he ain't got none no more +fur to keep this here place a-goin', he'll have to +it. He'll rent it to <i>me</i>. See?" +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you'd move away from here altogether." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I won't!" +</p> + +<p> +"You want me to live in this cottage for five years +just as it is?" +</p> + +<p> +"What's five years?—when you'll be livin' in the +big house for the rest of your life!" +</p> + +<p> +"Only until Georgie takes it over." +</p> + +<p> +"But he won't have no money, neither, to run the +place. Till Georgie inherits it a'ready, Sid will have +spent the last dollar <i>he's</i> got! So Georgie, too, will +have to rent it out." +</p> + +<p> +No arguments could budge him from his refusal to +"spend any" on the cottage. +</p> + +<p> +"I have some very nice friends, Joe, that I knew at +school; I'd like to ask them out to see me sometimes. +I could make this cottage very attractive if you would +let me spend about a thousand dollars on it." +</p> + +<p> +"A thousand dollars yet! On somepin that till +five years from now you won't have no use fur! Och, +Susan, just as if I would! Why, I wouldn't near do +somepin like that!" +</p> + +<p> +"Am I to wait five years before I can ask any of my +friends to visit me? For I can't ask them here while +things are as they are now." +</p> + +<p> +"Me I don't favour comp'ny, anyhow. I like +better to be by ourselfs." +</p> + +<p> +"But I do like company; some kinds." +</p> + +<p> +"Comp'ny costs too expensive. And it takes a +woman's mind off her housework, comp'ny does. +And if you have comp'ny, next thing you'll want +to go runnin' yourself and neglect me and Josie. +No'p!" he shook his head. "I see how it's a good +thing our cottage ain't so fancy like you want fur it +to be! Yes, anyhow!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan considered several possible schemes for +forcing Joe's hand in this matter. "I might just buy +a lot of furniture and charge it up to him——" +</p> + +<p> +But she knew perfectly well that he would simply +send it back to the shops. +</p> + +<p> +She might go to Middleburg, get a position of some +sort, and refuse to come home until he consented to +let her have the kind of home she wanted and had a +right to. But there was Josie—she could not walk +out of the house and desert a four-year-old child. +</p> + +<p> +As time moved on and she took no stand, but just +let things slide, she felt that Eleanor had been quite +right, entirely justified, in calling her "spineless". +There had been a time in her life when she would have +braced up and wrestled with any conditions that she +greatly wished to change. But the intensity of her +suffering through Sidney had apparently left her +without power to fight her way further through life. +Was she, then, doomed to merely exist, not live, all +the rest of her days? +</p> + +<p> +Occasionally, when she did take issue with Joe, on +some point that seemed to her too vital to admit of +indecision on her part, the ordeal would leave her so +limp that she would greatly doubt whether the gain +was worth the cost. +</p> + +<p> +Joe had a way of holding her punctiliously to those +of her domestic tasks which involved his comforts, +but it seemed that she had to be dangerously ill +before he felt an equal obligation toward <i>her</i>. Let +him come into the kitchen and find a meal not ready +on the minute and he would grumble and sulk for +the rest of the day; yet he was himself extremely +unpunctual and irregular and perfectly heedless of the +inconvenience he caused Susan by keeping her waiting +(often for a mere whim) an hour or more beyond +the hour for dinner or supper. +</p> + +<p> +"But that's what a woman's work is, to run her +house fur her Mister's conwenience," he would excuse +himself when she would protest against such +inconsiderateness. +</p> + +<p> +"I never know when to expect you, Joe, and it +keeps me forever in this dreadful kitchen." +</p> + +<p> +"That's your place, ain't it? Where else had you +ought to want to be?" +</p> + +<p> +"If it were necessary for you to be late all the time, +I'd bear it. But you're simply indifferent to my +convenience." +</p> + +<p> +"I do what it suits me to do. I come in to eat +when I feel fur comin'. It's your business to have +me a hot meal when I want it." +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I change the dinner hour to one o'clock, +since you so often come in long after twelve?" +</p> + +<p> +"No! Fur when I do come in at twelve, then I +want to eat at twelve! So you see to it that you are +got it ready at twelve, still." +</p> + +<p> +"Listen, Joe; I loathe a kitchen. When I am in it +my one desire is to escape from it. You deliberately, +for no reason at all, make me waste hours here that +I might be spending on things I like to do." +</p> + +<p> +"'Waste hours!' You are got no need to waste +hours! You could find a-plenty to do in your kitchen, +whiles you're waitin' 'round fur me to come in, +if you <i>wanted</i> to find it. You don't keep your +closets very good redd up, I took notice a'ready." +</p> + +<p> +Susan suddenly decided that here was one of the +places where it would pay to take a stand. "Even +my spine stiffens when it's a question of useless +kitchen work!" she thought. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll not put up with it any longer, Joe," she +informed him. +</p> + +<p> +Joe stared. "What fur kind of lang'age is that fur +a wife to use to her Mister?—'won't put up with it'! +Yi, yi, Susan!" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't forget," repeated Susan. "I won't put up +with it." +</p> + +<p> +Joe's domestic standards being those of the only +home life he had ever really known, that of the +Pennsylvania Dutch farm where he had lived for so +many years of his young manhood, Susan's "putting +her foot down" was, in his estimation, such a usurpation +of the male's exclusive prerogative that it gave +him a genuine shock. +</p> + +<p> +"To think I got married to a wife that would sass +me like that!" he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Susan said no more, but as Joe furtively watched +her across the dinner table, he saw no softening +signs in her face, of shame for her unwifely talk. +</p> + +<p> +For the rest of the day he revelled in a perfect orgy +of sulking; and the next morning he put Susan's +dictum to the test by deliberately coming in to dinner +at one o'clock instead of the prescribed hour of +noon. +</p> + +<p> +He found the kitchen empty, the table cleared, and +no sign of a meal on the stove. +</p> + +<p> +When he searched the house, he discovered that +Susan was not even at home. Anything more +outrageously high-handed!—— +</p> + +<p> +"I got to learn her better'n this!" he reflected, +darkly. +</p> + +<p> +But how? +</p> + +<p> +"I'm stumped!" he heavily admitted. +</p> + +<p> +He cooked himself a lunch of eggs and coffee, +purposely and quite unnecessarily cluttering up the +kitchen and leaving it in a fearful state of disorder. +</p> + +<p> +His supper hour was half-past five, but to further +"try out" the lengths to which his lawful wife would +carry her rebellion, he avoided appearing until nearly +seven. +</p> + +<p> +Again he found emptiness and no supper; and a +search of the premises discovered the car to have been +taken from the garage. The kitchen had been "redd +up," so of course she had been back during the +afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +Such reckless indifference to the needs and comforts +of her husband! Such neglect of her house to +"go runnin'"! Such a shameless flouting of his +disapproval! What could a mere man do in the face +of such "crazy behaviours"? +</p> + +<p> +When at half-past eight that evening she returned +home with Josie, Joe had not yet been able to reach +any decision as to how he would deal with her. +</p> + +<p> +In his bewilderment and confusion, he actually +appealed to her to help him. +</p> + +<p> +"What kin I do with you when you ac' up like this +here?" +</p> + +<p> +"That's easy, Joe—come to your meals on time." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll come when it suits me!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then you take your chances of having to cook +your own meals." +</p> + +<p> +"I ain't standin' fur no sich behaviours, Susan!" +</p> + +<p> +"There are a few things that I am not standing for, +Joe," she answered, walking out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +While Joe had never been more dumbfounded or +more furiously resentful in his life, it surprised and +puzzled him to find that his anger against Susan only +augmented his passion for her. +</p> + +<p> +"She surely has got me, the little feist!" he growled +to himself. +</p> + +<p> +For a week he was so painfully punctual and so +heavily sarcastic if she were not entirely ready to +serve him the instant he arrived, that she soon +learned to be fully prepared for him at least five +minutes before she could reasonably look for him. +</p> + +<p> +One morning he accosted her ceremoniously, almost +melodramatically. "With your permission, +Missus, I'll mebby be late three minutes or so, this +dinner, seein' I got to go to Middleburg over." +</p> + +<p> +"I appreciate your consideration in telling me +beforehand, Joe. Thank you!" she said with such +humble sincerity that he found himself glowing with +pleasure, as though she had praised him for a deed +of valour and chivalry. +</p> + +<p> +Having succeeded in making him punctual, her +next stand was to insist on certain table decencies and +even niceties which Joe professed to hold in great +contempt. Among the many phases of his jealousy +with regard to her, none was more evident than his +jealousy of her personal superiority to himself. He +resented any least thing that seemed to take her out +of his reach or off of his level, and he hated every +manifestation of her better education, her wider +experiences, her finer tastes. The very intensity of +his scorn for the table reforms she introduced was +proof to her that he felt them to be a criticism of +himself and a setting up of herself above and apart from +him. +</p> + +<p> +But one day she discovered, to her surprise, that he +was really inordinately proud of this very superiority +which he so jealously resented. A cattle dealer, with +whom he had to transact some business, came over +from Fokendauqua to take dinner with them, and +Susan decided that as the man was Joe's guest and +not hers, she would, to-day, dispense with the table +formalities and daintinesses which he so hated. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll serve the dinner as <i>he</i> likes it served." +</p> + +<p> +What, then, was her surprise to find him hurt, +angry, and disappointed at being foiled of an +anticipated pride in displaying to his crude visitor +what a "high-toned" wife he had! +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, fur yourself and <i>your</i> friends you'd take +trouble!" he reproached her. "But fur mine, not! +Any old thing when my folks comes; ain't?" +</p> + +<p> +"But I thought you hated napkins and finger bowls +and extra forks for pie and all that! Every day for +three weeks you've been telling me you did. I served +the dinner to-day as I thought you liked it." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, you did!" he sneered, skeptically. "You +done it to spite me!" +</p> + +<p> +She wondered wearily whether he really believed +that. +</p> + +<p> +"If you <i>got</i> to put on all that there damned style," +began Joe—but Susan checked him with an indignant +glance toward Josie. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll teach him to swear!" she warned. +</p> + +<p> +"Nevvy mind, Muvver, me knowed dat word +before," Josie said, reassuringly. +</p> + +<p> +"If you're got to put on style," Joe repeated, firmly, +"you ain't got no need to con<i>trar</i>y it all just as soon +as strangers comes to eat along! A awful funny way, +I must say—keepin' your fancy manners fur private +and your plain ways fur when comp'ny is here!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan's occasional glimpses of Sidney's wife made +her wonder whether Laura, with her seemingly more +fortunate lot, was really any happier than was she +herself. +</p> + +<p> +"She looks so awfully discontented, so soured on +life!" +</p> + +<p> +Was it because she depended so entirely upon +outside things to give her happiness?—and had no +resources at all within herself?—not even the love of a +child? +</p> + +<p> +One autumn afternoon Susan had the unusual +experience of meeting Sidney's wife face to face in +the narrow lane which afforded a short cut from +White Oak Farm to the trolley line to Middleburg. +Both the little roadster of the cottage and the +touring-car of the big house being out of commission, Susan +had just returned from town by the trolley as Laura +was walking to the trolley station. The lane was +so very narrow that Laura was obliged to stop and +step aside to let Susan pass. Susan sensed at once +that her sister-in-law was going to be gracious, +condescending. Now nothing which Sidney's wife +could do could so much as even prick the surface of +Susan's life, let alone touch the deep places where she +had suffered so much. So it was with a quite +detached and very faint curiosity that she contemplated +Laura's bearing toward her in this moment of their +unavoidable meeting. And before this impersonal +regard and slightly ceremonious bow of Susan +Laura's intended condescension and graciousness +suddenly collapsed, leaving her actually confused, +almost abashed. +</p> + +<p> +As Susan walked on home, the words "aristocracy +of the spirit" moved like a refrain in her brain, as she +thought of how she, born of lowly peasants, had, by +virtue of her obviously stronger, more intrepid spirit, +abashed and confused her comparatively high-born +sister-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +She recalled a sentence in "The Water Babies": +"A man may learn from his Bible to be a more +thorough gentleman than if he were brought up in +all the drawing-rooms of London." +</p> + +<p> +"After all," thought Susan, "it's only genuine +religion that can make one <i>truly</i> aristocratic." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XII +<br><br> +A FEW MORE YEARS AT THE COTTAGE +</h2> + +<p> +As the days, weeks, and months slipped by +Susan came more and more to let circumstances +get the better of her; her husband's +will and personality dominate their joint life; her own +individuality sink and be submerged in a groove of +narrow household drudgery, with almost no life +outside the four walls of their cottage except that +which she got from her lively correspondence with +Eleanor—all idea of any closer contact under present +conditions seeming impracticable; from her flying +about the country in her husband's car (a wonderful +safety valve); from her relation with her sisters and a +few of her Pennsylvania Dutch neighbours; but most +of all from books, through which she "roamed at +large o'er all this scene of man." It was her avid +love of books, and her growing devotion to Josie +during the next four years that kept her soul alive +in an otherwise deep and heavy loneliness and +isolation. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to her sometimes, as she would move +mechanically through the household tasks which +never had and never would seem worth doing, but +which she nevertheless faithfully performed, that life +for most people was nothing more than going through +a succession of senseless movements which led +nowhere. +</p> + +<p> +"We lie down and rise again; wash dishes and put +them away; take them out again and put them away +again; get into bed and out of it and into it again; +dress and undress and dress again; a succession of +motions! What for? What is the Universe doing +with us? Are we fools, not to cut loose and do what +we want to do?" +</p> + +<p> +But what did we want to do? The eternal question! +</p> + +<p> +"It ain't respectable, the way you won't go to +church," Joe sometimes grumbled. "I want Josie +brang up respectable. You had ought to take him +to Sabbath school still." +</p> + +<p> +"But I do go sometimes with Georgie along, +Father," said Josie. "The last time I went with +him along, I ast the teacher was the Holy Ghost a +spook, or whatever? And she says no, but you +couldn't see it, you could only per-theeve it. So I +guess," added Josie, thoughtfully, "it's somepin like +a skunk." +</p> + +<p> +"Now will you listen to that!" cried Joe with an +accusing eye upon Susan. "That my son should by +growin' up that ignorant as to think that the Holy +Ghost is like a skunk yet!—just because you won't +take him to Sunday school to get learnt right!" +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose you went to Sunday school when you +were a little boy, Joe?" asked Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"Sure, I did. Sometimes I went pretty often, +too." +</p> + +<p> +"Then you can tell Josie what the Holy Ghost is. +I don't know myself." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, with all the education <i>you're</i> got, you +anyhow know it ain't like a skunk!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you think I ought to go to church when +you never go?" +</p> + +<p> +"Women had ought to be more religious than men. +It comes natural to 'em. You had ought to go to +church to set a good example to Josie. To be sure, +I know a preacher believes an awful lot that <i>ain't</i>. +But still, religion is <i>religion</i>. A body's got to have +religion." +</p> + +<p> +"Look at Mother!" cried Josie, "trying not to +leave you see her near bustin' to laugh!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan let it come then, the little shriek of laughter +which her effort to suppress had turned her crimson. +</p> + +<p> +Joe looked offended. "Ain't you got no reverence +for nothing, Susan?" he demanded, disapprovingly. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, yes," Susan admitted. "For babies." +</p> + +<p> +"Och, Susan," Joe said, impatiently, "sometimes +you talk so dumb!" +</p> + +<p> +A growing source of anxiety and distress to Susan +was her sisters' increasing poverty with their +advancing age. To eke out a living they boarded the +school teacher in the winter and took a few summer +boarders during the vacation; but the extra work +which this entailed, in addition to the heavy labour +involved in getting a living out of their bit of land, +was quite too much for them. +</p> + +<p> +There was just one respect in which Susan, after +seven years of married life, knew her husband to be +invulnerable to any attack or strategy which she +might employ to move or change him, and that was +his penuriousness. She did not waste herself upon +useless attempts to make him generous. She +submitted to the limited expenditure which he allowed +her in spite of the fact that she knew he must every +year be adding enormously to his inheritance from +his uncle, the interest of which he never spent. +</p> + +<p> +But her mind was constantly active in devising +ways and means of helping Addie and Lizzie without +his knowledge; a most difficult feat. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm growing actually cunning!" she would +bitterly tell herself while carefully calculating how +much sugar and coffee she might slip to the little +household in Reifsville without Joe's missing it; or +how many extra cookies she might venture to bake to +carry to her sisters without Joe's noticing how fast +the flour "got all". +</p> + +<p> +Josie early proved to be a stumbling-block in the +way of her giving her sisters aid. He was so +constantly her companion that it became increasingly +difficult to elude his seeing how she circumvented his +father's meanness. It was not so much because of +her fear of Joe as of setting an apparently bad +example to the growing boy, that she tried to escape +his unchildlike vigilance of her. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes she suspected that Joe actually set his +son to watch and spy upon her. It depressed and +discouraged her even more than it angered her when, +after a visit to his "aunties", Josie, a great boy of +nine years, would run to his father and, deliberately +and with the keenest relish, "tattle" to him that +Mother had given "aunties" a package of tea and a +half-dozen oranges. +</p> + +<p> +A device for securing a few dollars to give to her +sisters occurred to her one day as she was driving +with Josie to Middleburg to buy a quantity of +groceries: if she should make her purchases at one +of the chain of cut-rate stores, of whose existence +Joe had not yet learned, she might save a bit from +the sum he had entrusted to her (after he had made a +most careful and accurate calculation as to what +the groceries would cost) and the bit thus saved could +be safely passed over to Lizzie and Addie. +</p> + +<p> +When on the way home they stopped at the +Schrekengusts' cottage at Reifsville, Susan realized, +to her intense disgust, that Josie was watching her +like a detective to see whether any of their load of +groceries was to be given to his aunts. He kept at +her heels every minute, following her about wherever +she stepped. She had to watch for a chance, when +Lizzie was giving him an apple, to slip the dollar she +had saved from her shopping into Addie's pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"Och, Susie, saddy*," Addie gratefully whispered. +But as Josie, on the alert, turned back to +them, Susan lifted her eyebrows to impose silence. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Thank you. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"How nice and fresh this room looks," she said, +hastily, stepping to the threshold of the downstairs +bedroom which was rented to the village teacher. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, ain't! Teacher she put them white curtains +up," explained Lizzie. "And when Hiram Slosser +seen 'em, he come over and ast us, he says, '<i>Don't</i> you +think them curtains is comin' a little near to bein' +fash'nable fur a Old Mennonite?' he says. 'But, +Brother Hiram,' I says, 'look at what Missus over at +your place put up at her windahs!' I says. 'I'm an +Old and she's a New, but I ain't got no sich fixins as +hern. Nor I wouldn't, neither,' I says. 'Well,' he +says, 'I tol' Missus when she fetched them curtains +of hern from the store that I had my doubts. But +she claims there's nothin' to 'em but what belongs to +neatness.' And I tol' him, 'Hiram,' I says, 'your +Missus is listenin' to the temptin's of the Enemy.' Then +I tol' him that me and Addie us we can't help +fur what our lady boarder puts in her own room. +Nor we can't, neither, can we, Susie?" she appealed, +highly injured. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course you can't," responded Susan, +sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sorry, Susie, the new teacher ain't here to +make your acquaintance," Lizzie continued. "She's +so high educated that way that I know us we seem +awful dumb to her, me and Addie. So I wisht she'd +meet up with you oncet, so's she'd see there's anyhow +one in the fambly that ain't so dumb! Yes, she's +even higher educated than what you are yet, Susie! +Just to think! It gives me and Addie such a shamed +face to have her 'round, us bein' so dumb that way." +</p> + +<p> +Lizzie and Addie were both looking worried, +almost distressed, and Susan saw with a pang that this +innovation of a boarder was a very considerable +strain added to their already burdened lives, especially +as the boarder was, it seemed, a person who gave +herself airs of superiority that humiliated them. +</p> + +<p> +"Damn her!" thought Susan, resentfully. +</p> + +<p> +"She's learnin' the school children such +ettik-wetty—manners and rules of good society, she says," +Lizzie went on. "When I tol' her how educated you +was, too, she sayed she'd like so well to have an +interduction to you and she keeps astin' us why you +don't come and if you're too high-minded to wisit us. +It is a good whiles since you was to see us, oncet, +Susie; ain't you been good?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, I've been well, thank you, Lizzie; I have +such a lot of work to do, it seems to me I'm always +grubbing!" +</p> + +<p> +"Me and Lizzie is all the time talking over you to +the teacher," said Addie. +</p> + +<p> +"Och, here she comes now!" exclaimed Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +A decoratively apparelled young woman of +uncertain age, with a simpering manner, who seemed to +ooze sentimentality from every pore, came into the +"front room" where they were gathered; and Susan +realized, when introductions followed, that the +school mistress was evidently applying her "Manners +and Rules of Good Society" to the present occasion, +so studied was her bow, so prim her smile, so carefully +enunciated her speech. +</p> + +<p> +"Your sisters tell me that you, too, are litter-airy, +Mrs. Houghton." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, I make no such ambitious claim, Miss +Miller." +</p> + +<p> +"I understood," said Miss Miller, sadly, "that you +were a friend to litter-at-yure. Are you not?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not its enemy." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm so glad!" exclaimed Miss Miller, delightedly. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you like Shakspere?" she abruptly inquired, +making Susan feel as though she had been jerked +by a rein. +</p> + +<p> +"It's hardly respectable not to like Shakspere, +is it? If I didn't, I'd not have the courage to admit +it." +</p> + +<p> +"There's some that don't like his works, though. +And Harold Bell Wright's works, do you admar +them?" +</p> + +<p> +Susan noted how anxious Lizzie and Addie looked +lest she fail to hold up her end with this superior +person; so she answered regretfully, "I'm not +familiar with the 'works' of Harold Bell Wright." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, ain't you? His books are so well liked, far +and wide. Then I guess you don't read wery much, +do you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Probably not much that you read, Miss Miller." +</p> + +<p> +"You would find Harold Bell Wright's books +enjoyable, I'm sure. His thoughts are so sa-ad!" +</p> + +<p> +"You find sad thoughts 'enjoyable'?" +</p> + +<p> +"If I do say it myself, Mrs. Houghton, I am +without a touch of frivol'ty in my composition." +</p> + +<p> +"How tragic!" +</p> + +<p> +"But at the same time, I like gay, glad thoughts, +too. Sunshine mingled with Shadow. <i>Pollyanna</i>, +for instance, I found wery instructive. Didn't you, +Missus?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's title, <i>The Glad Book</i>, was as far as I could get. +Too depressing!" +</p> + +<p> +"I had hoped, from what your sisters said of you, +to find in you a kindred mind." +</p> + +<p> +"My sisters flatter me!" +</p> + +<p> +"They speak wery well of you. They said you +love a book as I do." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid not as you do, Miss Miller." +</p> + +<p> +"You don't dearly love a book?" +</p> + +<p> +"It depends upon the book." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Miller bent her head to one side, considering. +"Yes," she concluded, thoughtfully, "it does. Some +books are more interesting than other books." +</p> + +<p> +"I have noticed that myself." +</p> + +<p> +"I am very pertikkler about the story books which +I recommend to my pu-pills—that they shall be +Clean and Wholesome." She repeated the words +lovingly. "Clean and Wholesome. Books that +have no bad children, no bad words, no bad morals, +no bad example. Also nothing to frighten the Child—no +ogres or giants. Only what is sweet and happy +and lovely and—and—Clean and Wholesome." +</p> + +<p> +"My God!" breathed Susan. "Where would you +ever find such an insipid book as that, Miss Miller? +Or where the child that would read it?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's the only kind I permit in my school library," +said Miss Miller, primly, disapprovingly. +</p> + +<p> +"But do you forget how when you were a child you +thrilled and tingled over ogres and giants and bad +children? Why, you can't have an interesting story +out of just good people. Nothing ever seems to +happen to them. Don't you see your rule would +prohibit Mark Twain and Booth Tarkington and +James Whitcomb Riley and Dickens and Robert +Burns and——" +</p> + +<p> +Susan stopped short as she noticed Miss Miller's +embarrassment before this array of names. "She's +not to be taken seriously," she decided—and changed +the subject. "I understand, Miss Miller, that you +are making a specialty in your school of—er—etiquette?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," Miss Miller eagerly responded, recovering +from her confusion at the heavy battery with which +Susan had refuted her plea for Clean, Wholesome +Insipidity, and glad to return to familiar ground, +"and I find that my pu-pills are wery receptive to my +sudgestions." +</p> + +<p> +"You are making Chesterfields of your Pennsylvania +Dutch boys and girls?" +</p> + +<p> +"Chesterfields was, I believe, Missus, a foreigner +and an aristocrat? <i>No!</i>" Miss Miller democratically +repudiated all such. "Amurican manners for our +Amurican boys and girls! An Amurican gentleman, +an Amurican lady—that is my highest ambition for +our young people of Reifsville." +</p> + +<p> +"How do you go about it?" asked Susan, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Miller, in her reply, did not talk, she recited: +</p> + +<p> +"I train them in the accepted usages of the best +society in every walk of life, from the kitchen to the +parlour; from the cottage to the mansion. Yesterday, +for instance, I gave them a lesson in Interductions; +the etiquette to be observed is to accompany +the gent to the lady who, if seated, does not rise; +whereupon both bow; the interducer then retires and +the interduced at once enter into conwersation." +</p> + +<p> +"Your pupils will find this instruction very useful, +I'm sure," murmured Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"I teach them what are breaches of etiquette in a +social gathering of the best society—such as +whispering. I tell them what to do if they commit those +breaches—such as, If you strike against another in +the street, apologize with, <i>I beg pardon</i>. I try also +to inculcate grace; I endeavour to show my young +folks that grace should attend all movements; that +walking, speaking, <i>and</i> so forth should be at once +refined and unostentatious. There is a great art in +making a bow dignified and stately while neither stiff +nor awkward." +</p> + +<p> +"I should say there was! A difficult feat, Miss +Miller!" +</p> + +<p> +"With patience it can be acquired. I myself +acquired this graceful accomplishment with only a +little practice." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> should think it would take an acrobat to strike +such a happy balance! Come, Josie," Susan put +an end to the lesson in etiquette. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor Lizzie and Addie!" she reflected on the way +home, "trying to live up to that poor donkey! And +if I tried to show them what a great big bluff she is, +they'd only think I was jealous of her!" +</p> + +<p> +As Susan had not dreamed for an instant that +Josie had noticed the sort of shop at which she had +made her purchases that day, great was her +astonishment when, at the supper table, he announced +to his father, "Mother has some change let over +from her trading, Father. She traded at a new +kind of store where everything costs a couple cents +littler than what it does at Diffenderfer's, or +Saltzgibbler's." +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Joe, when explanations followed, like +actual thieving from him that Susan should have +handed that dollar, saved from her shopping, to her +sisters. +</p> + +<p> +Susan tried, for Josie's own sake, to break him +of his pernicious tattling. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm going to drive to Middleburg this afternoon, +Josie," she told him one day a few weeks later, "and +I don't intend to take you with me, because the last +time I took you driving you were very unkind and +made your father angry with me. So to-day I shall +leave you at home." +</p> + +<p> +"You're afraid I'll tell Father what you sneak to +the Aunties!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm leaving you at home to punish you for being +unkind to me. I don't want a mischief-maker with +me." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll tell Father you're punishing me for telling +him you gave Aunties things!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you like to make me uncomfortable, +Josie? I don't like to make you unhappy." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, you do! You like to <i>let</i> me when you go to +Middleburg!" he whimpered. "I'll tell Father to +<i>make</i> you take me!" +</p> + +<p> +When Joe was informed of the proposed trip to +Middleburg without Josie, to punish the boy for +tattling, he simply put the car out of commission +for Susan by removing the ignition tip. +</p> + +<p> +"That fixes that little idea of yours, Susan!" +he told her, chuckling; and Josie eyed her +triumphantly. +</p> + +<p> +At such times she not only disliked Josie, she shrank +from him. She knew that Sidney's boy, who was +constantly at the cottage during the few months +of the year that the big house was occupied by its +owners, was incapable of petty meannesses like this; +that he was a generous, warm-hearted lad; and she +wished, almost passionately, that her foster-child +were more like Georgie. +</p> + +<p> +But Josie, though spoiled, tyrannical, and mean, +could be extraordinarily lovable. He was very +handsome; he was intelligent and responsive to her +teaching as well as in the reading that they did +together; and, in his own selfish way, he adored his +step-mother. At times he had a cuddling, +demonstrative way with her that acted like an antidote +to the poison of his little basenesses. +</p> + +<p> +And, strongest appeal of all to Susan, Josie +believed her to be his own mother. His very tyrannies +presupposed a sense of exclusive possession which +somehow made her feel that she and Josie did +inalienably belong to each other. Joe had scrupulously +kept the promise he had made to her before +their marriage—that his boy should never know +through him that Susan was not his own mother. +</p> + +<p> +Sidney's increasing indebtedness to Joe and his +consequently decreasing income obliged him to spend +more and more of his time quietly at White Oak +Farm. It was evident enough that only the stress of +circumstances, and not choice, kept him there, for +almost in the very hour that his quarterly income +fell due he was off again upon another orgy of +extravagance: racing, betting, yachting, luxurious +travelling with people of ten times his means. +</p> + +<p> +Occasionally there were large and festive house +parties at the big house, with decorators, caterers, +and orchestras for dancing, all brought from +Philadelphia. +</p> + +<p> +Georgie and Josie played and quarrelled together +all day long, and Susan's heart often reproached her +because her step-son seemed to her so much less +lovable than Sidney's boy. Georgie was a dreamy, +thoughtful, gentle child who, behind his slow, quiet +manner, had an unusually strong personality. It +was really startling, sometimes, to see him, after +having submitted for days, with entire indifference, +to Josie's aggressive and tyrannical self-assertion, +suddenly and quite unexpectedly turn upon his +oppressor with an alarming fury, for some offence +much less aggravating (to the ordinary judgment) +than the things which he had meekly borne without +a murmur. For instance, Josie learned, after three +times receiving a blow in the face from Georgie's fist, +as punishment, never to dare to speak rudely to +Susan before his cousin. Susan wished that she +were as good a disciplinarian where Josie was +concerned. +</p> + +<p> +On one of these occasions Joe happened to be a +witness to the chastisement inflicted by his nephew +upon his son; and the snarling resentment with which +he flung himself upon Georgie to beat him, all the +concentrated hate of years of bitter jealousy ready +to wreak itself upon his defenceless little nephew, +made Susan, with a blind impulse of protection, rush +between them, tear the child from Joe's terrible +blows, and stand panting and defiant before him; +while Sidney, who, at Georgie's cries, had rushed +down the terrace to the cottage door, picked up his +quivering son and held him in his arms—looking on, +as white as linen, at Susan's fierce defiance of her +husband's brutality. +</p> + +<p> +"It's Josie you should beat, not Georgie!—if +you must beat a child! You <i>encourage</i> Josie to +speak to me so rudely that even this child"—her hand +on Georgie, who trembled in his father's arms—"resents +it! Teach Josie to respect me as Georgie does +before you dare to lay a finger on Georgie." +</p> + +<p> +She turned and went into the cottage, while +Sidney, looking ghastly, carried Georgie home to +the big house. +</p> + +<p> +But a few days later, when again the two boys +were together, Josie, thinking that Georgie having +had a dreadful warning against striking him, could +now be teased and tormented to any extent without +daring to defend himself or to fight for his "Aunt +Susan," ventured again to use rude language to his +mother—with the prompt result of a blow in the face +that knocked him down. +</p> + +<p> +Susan had noticed the fact that Georgie had +struck before looking about to see whether his Uncle +Joe were in sight. +</p> + +<p> +While Josie ran screaming for his father she made +Georgie run home as fast as his legs would carry him. +</p> + +<p> +Georgie was with her one evening when Lizzie and +Addie happened to drive over from Reifsville to see +her. They very seldom came to her home, for they +realized that Joe, in his fear of Susan's giving them +something, did not make them welcome. But +Susan had not been to see them for over a week and +they had become anxious. +</p> + +<p> +"I overtaxed myself with canning and preserving +last week," Susan explained, as they all sat +together on the cottage porch, the two boys playing +near by on the lawn. "And I came down with a +nervous sick headache that kept me in bed two days. +This is my first day out of bed." +</p> + +<p> +She was leaning back in a rocking-chair looking +pale and pensive, and her sisters regarded her with +loving anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +"If only Joe'd hire fur you, Susie! You wasn't +never used to hard work; us we always spared you all +we could." +</p> + +<p> +"Joe seems unable to see that he loses out by my +overworking; I had to have the doctor; and for two +days Joe had to cook and wait on me. He wanted +to send for you, Lizzie, but I would not have it. +Addie could not be left alone with all the work over +there." +</p> + +<p> +"Who's the little boy playing with Josie?" asked +Addie. +</p> + +<p> +"Sidney's son." +</p> + +<p> +The announcement was followed by a silence which +seemed to Susan to take on the character of a deep +and pregnant stillness. She glanced at her sisters. +They both looked white and frightened. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor things!" thought Susan, "I suppose they're +thinking of my child—that was Sidney's!" +</p> + +<p> +Before her sisters left, Lizzie walked hesitatingly +across the grass and drawing Georgie to her, looked +long into his face; then stooped and gently kissed him. +</p> + +<p> +Susan saw, to her astonishment, as she said +good-night to her sisters, that they were both crying. +</p> + +<p> +"They would have loved my baby so!" she reflected, +mournfully, as she walked slowly into the +house. +</p> + +<p> +It was that night, when she and Joe were alone +in their room, that she learned of the immediately +impending great change in her life. Joe informed +her quite casually that Sidney had come to the end +of his rope. +</p> + +<p> +"I left him go to it and spend! I left him borrow +off of me all he wanted; and him, the poor simp, +never seen through it! Thought I was bein' +brotherly and generous! Me! To him! Him that +his mom always learnt to treat me like the dirt +under his feet! Well, now I <i>got</i> him! He's in my +power! He owes me more'n he kin ever pay!" +</p> + +<p> +"What are you proposing to do?" +</p> + +<p> +"Next month us we move into the big house and +Sid and his Missus and his kid <i>moves in here</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"They'll never do it!" exclaimed Susan, startled. +"Move in here! They can't be <i>that</i> poor!" +</p> + +<p> +"I tell you Sid has run through with every dollar +of his principal. Ain't he the darned fool though! +All he'll have to live on for the rest part of his life +is the rent of White Oak Farm, and only part of <i>that</i>, +fur half of it goes to pay me back what he's borrowed +off of me." +</p> + +<p> +"His wife will surely leave him; she will never live +in this cottage!" +</p> + +<p> +"But her money's all, too. And you know her +father died a couple years back a'ready. So it's +this here cottage fur her, or work fur her livin'! +And as she wasn't raised to fit into neither of them +humble stations in life, here's <i>your</i> turn, Susan, +to come it over her the way she's been turnin' <i>you</i> +down ever since I got married to you. If you don't +give her as good as what she always sent you, I +won't think much of your spunk!" +</p> + +<p> +"She never lifted a finger to hurt me; she never +for a moment had it in her power to! And I don't +think, Joe, that I have it in my power to hurt her. +Her life and mine simply do not touch." +</p> + +<p> +"That ain't the high-minded way <i>she's</i> feelin', I +bet you! I bet you she's eatin' her heart out with +spite that now you're a-goin' to be in her place, to +hold your head as high as what she held hern and to +turn up your nose at her the way she done to +you!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan wondered, as she lay sleepless that night, +whether Sidney, like Joe, knew her so little as to +think that because he had once done her a great, +irreparable injury, she now gloated over his downfall. +She searched her heart to learn what really she felt +about this strange twist of fate that was taking from +Sidney and giving to her all those things for which +he had once sacrificed her. And all she could find +there was a profound indifference. Sidney no longer +seemed a part of her life. +</p> + +<p> +"Georgie is the only one in that family that +interests me in the least," she decided, as she closed +her eyes and went to sleep. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap13"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII +<br><br> +IN THE BIG HOUSE +</h2> + +<p> +Susan was early given to understand, after +the removal to the big house, that Joe +expected to live there very much as he had +previously lived there with a succession of hired +housekeepers; keeping the greater part of the old +house shut off to save coal. He would have liked to +limit their occupancy to the kitchen and their +bedrooms, if he had had his undisputed way. And +indeed Susan's utmost revolt against such a régime +got her only so far as to win his consent to their +using the dining room and parlour on festive occasions +such as Christmas or Josie's birthday, or when they +had company. +</p> + +<p> +Joe was deeply chagrined when Sidney, instead +of meekly moving his family into the tenant's +cottage, removed them clear out of the neighbourhood. +</p> + +<p> +Susan would have been relieved at this except for +her sorrow at parting from Georgie. +</p> + +<p> +"Never you mind," Joe consoled himself in the +form of giving comfort to Susan for Sidney's failure +to play up to the tragic humiliation so carefully +staged for him. "He'll be drove into livin' in that +there cottage <i>yet</i>, you mind if he ain't! My only +<i>re</i>-gret is that his mother ain't alive to see this day, +when I'm on top with him under my heel; her +that didn't think me good enough to live in the same +house with her son and had me turned out of my own +father's house! Her a stranger comin' in and turnin' +me out of my father's house!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan had learned to dread Joe's reminiscences of +his boyhood, such red-hot passion of bitterness and +resentment they always aroused in him. No doubt +if his step-mother had been openly and intentionally +cruel, instead of just limited in perception and +sympathy to the circle of her own personal interests, +he could have found it less impossible to forgive her. +</p> + +<p> +"And now," Joe continued, "it's my turn to open +the door and say, 'Get out! You ain't got the price +to stay here!' Oh, I ain't done with Sid Houghton +yet, Susan! Don't you think it!" +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes Susan was afraid of her old propensity +to experiment with situations; to try out the effect +of some unexpected announcement, like that thrilling +experiment of giving Sidney's mother the impression +that his Uncle George wanted to marry her. She +was afraid sometimes lest she leap over the precipice +by suddenly saying to Joe, "You think Sidney and +his mother greatly wronged you. But they did you a +greater wrong than any you know of! They long ago +slew the soul that once dwelt in this shell you call +your wife! This woman you've married was once +your hated brother's mistress! <i>She bore him a +child!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Where Sidney removed his family Joe never +learned. But before a year went by his prophecy +came true and dire need drove the younger brother +back to appeal for help once more. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, Susan, finding herself the pseudo-mistress +of a mansion, decided to test the possibility +of having Eleanor Arnold and perhaps a few more of +her old school friends visit her. +</p> + +<p> +The necessity of keeping at least one servant to +help with the work of the big house even Joe had +recognized. But when Susan, in preparing for +Eleanor's arrival, undertook to teach the +Pennsylvania Dutch farmer's daughter in her employ +the ways of a waitress, she found that ploughing +would have been fairy's work by comparison. +</p> + +<p> +"Why must folks be so awful waited on just fur to +eat their wittles?" the girl would ask, wonderingly. +"Why can't they do their own stretchin' at the +table?" +</p> + +<p> +Joe really suffered when, inquiring at supper for +the pound of roquefort cheese he had "fetched" +from town the day before, he was told by the girl, +"They sent you spoilt and mouldy cheese yet! With +green spots at! I throwed it quick away so's you +wouldn't poison yourselfs!" +</p> + +<p> +An Edom cheese which arrived with a basket +of provisions from the grocery she took for a +jardinière and placed in the middle of the dining-room +table on a centrepiece. +</p> + +<p> +Doilies she called "tidies" for a long time; then +they began to be "dailies" and "doolies," but never +by any chance did she hit upon the vowel <i>oi</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Joe and Josie made Susan's work of training the +girl much harder by refusing to fall in and coöperate +and by openly sneering at her "tony airs", though +Josie, in whom there was an æsthetic, effeminate +streak, was only feigning scorn to curry favour with +his father; he really adored "the ways of high +society", as his father called their waitress's clumsy +ministrations. +</p> + +<p> +Though Eleanor Arnold was the most tactful of +guests, her visit was, for the most part, too great a +strain upon both Susan and herself ever to be repeated. +Joe coming to the table in his shirt sleeves and minus +a collar; grumbling at the delay caused by a little +service between a few courses and openly making +fun of it; commenting on Susan's extravagance +in using cream on the table which ought to be saved +for butter to be sold at market; reproving her for +increasing the price of the laundry by her frequent +changes of the table linen; objecting to her making +the coffee so strong—"You use enough for one meal +to do for three and that there coffee thirty-five cents +a pound yet!" +</p> + +<p> +The meals came to be times of torment to Eleanor +in her mortification for Susan and her keen sympathy +for what seemed an intolerable degradation. +</p> + +<p> +It bored her also to have Susan working in the +kitchen and about the house, for nearly two thirds +of the day instead of giving herself up to her. Joe, +however, seemed to think that his wife was taking an +unwarranted holiday, his table talk being +ornamented with sarcastic references to her "settin' +'round", her "pleasure-seekin'", her "runnin'". +</p> + +<p> +It was made painfully evident to Eleanor that +poor Susan had had to put up a stiff fight to have a +guest at all, even on such uncomfortable terms as +these. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to be in sheer malice that Joe one day, +during Eleanor's visit, brought from town in his car +several bushels of plums to be preserved and canned. +</p> + +<p> +"But our own plums will be ripe next month; +why did you buy these?" Susan, in consternation, +inquired, as he pointed out to her and Eleanor the +"bargain" he was unloading from his car. +</p> + +<p> +"Our plum preserves is all; and I don't feel fur +waitin' till next month till I taste plum preserves +again. I feel fur some <i>now</i>. I got these here wery +cheap." +</p> + +<p> +"No wonder! They are the miserable little hard +kind that are the very dickens to seed!" exclaimed +Susan, despairingly. "This is two days' work! +I don't see how——" +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Arnold kin help you, I guess," said Joe +as he carried the heavy load of fruit into the kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +Susan knew, of course, that it was not an unconquerable +yearning for plum preserves, but a determination +to make it impossible for her to spend an idle +minute for the next few days at least, that had +prompted the purchase of the plums. +</p> + +<p> +During the next hour, before they assembled at +supper (Joe insisted upon a noon dinner), Susan +was rather silent and thoughtful as she and Eleanor +strolled about the grounds. If Joe's plum scheme +succeeded he would surely not stop there, but would +manage to find a still heavier task to follow it. +</p> + +<p> +"In self-defence I've got to make it fail," she +thought. +</p> + +<p> +"Eleanor, you know something about chemistry, +don't you?" she presently asked, irrelevantly, in the +midst of a discussion of the newest thing in blouses +(which topic had been guilefully introduced by +Eleanor with a purpose). "Can you tell me what +I can do to those plums to make them seem to have +rotted overnight? We can drive into town to-night +to a drug-store if you do know——" +</p> + +<p> +"Concentrated sulphuric acid will do the job." +</p> + +<p> +During the drive to town Eleanor resumed the +discussion of blouses, leading tactfully, as she +thought, up to the fact that Susan's were out of date +and that she needed some new ones. +</p> + +<p> +"I get your point, my love," smiled Susan. "I +was never one not to know the latest style in blouses! +It's lack of money and time that makes me dress so +abominably." +</p> + +<p> +"Has your husband had reverses, Susan?" +</p> + +<p> +"Joe never has reverses. He's too cautious ever +to lose money. He seems to be piling it up +constantly. But <i>I</i> don't benefit by it." +</p> + +<p> +"White Oak Farm is such a lovely home—you +could have such larks in that charming place! +You ought not to submit, Susan, dear!" +</p> + +<p> +"By the way, I have no money (I never have any) +to buy the concentrated sulphuric acid. I meant to +charge it and have the bill sent to Joe—but I'm just +beginning to see that that won't do. He will be sure +to ask me what I wanted with concentrated sulphuric +acid and that would give away my part in rotting the +plums. I want him to think he has been cheated in +them—then he will never again risk buying fruit in +town. How shall I manage it?" +</p> + +<p> +"That's easy. Tell him you used the concentrated +sulphuric acid as a throat lotion or a hair tonic or a +tooth wash." +</p> + +<p> +Crafty as Joe himself was, it was difficult for him +to conceive of a cunning in another that would +deliberately ruin and waste. Thrift was so ingrained +in his very bones that he simply could not imagine +his own wife setting herself to the task of wantonly +destroying several bushels of food for which he had +paid out hard cash. Therefore he never suspected +her and Eleanor of their perfidious part in the +tragedy that confronted him early next morning +in his kitchen, when the maid pointed out to him the +condition of the fruit he had bought. +</p> + +<p> +His manifest suffering for several days caused +Eleanor a deep and sweet contentment that almost +compensated her for the manifold miseries of her +visit. +</p> + +<p> +While Josie seemed to respect and be greatly +attached to his father, he did not try to emulate his +roughness, but was, on the contrary, over-fastidious +in trifles; irritatingly nice about things which did not +really matter. Joe, far from criticizing this in his +son, as he criticized his wife's tastes, appeared to take +pride in it. +</p> + +<p> +In some respects it seemed that Josie would never +grow up; in his love, for instance, of being petted, +fondled, and made much of by Susan even after he +had reached an age when most boys would have +resented a public caress as the grossest insult. +The most effectual punishments Susan had ever +imposed upon him had been to refrain for a time +from all demonstration of affection for him. He +was, like his father, extremely penurious and he +seemed to feel, even now at the age of sixteen, as +greatly defrauded by her kisses withheld as he would +have felt if someone had cheated him of dollars and +cents. +</p> + +<p> +"He is the strangest mixture, my dear!" Eleanor +wondered over him as the two friends sat on the +piazza one evening before supper. "<i>I</i> would not +know how to deal with him! The way he seems to +adore you and yet so often goes ruthlessly against +you and hurts you!—the flinty hardness with which, +just like his father, he will drive a bargain!—and +yet he will bawl like a girl for something he wants +that his father says he can't have!" +</p> + +<p> +Both Joe and his son displayed, during Eleanor's +entire visit, a childish jealousy of Susan's regard +for her friend which added not a little to the guest's +discomfort. In Josie it often took the form of a +covert or even an open rudeness toward Eleanor. +He would not answer her greeting when they came +together in the morning; he would utter what he +meant to be biting remarks on the neglect he was +just now suffering at his mother's hands. "For +the past six days I've not had you to myself an +hour!" He would never permit his mother and her friend, +when he was at home, to sit alone together for ten +minutes at a time without interrupting them with +some demand from Susan for attention or service. +</p> + +<p> +"This shirt needs a button—I wish, Mother, you +weren't too busy gabbling all the time to keep my +clothes mended!" +</p> + +<p> +As Susan never put his shirts away buttonless, she +suspected him of cutting off the buttons to make an +excuse for taxing her attention. +</p> + +<p> +He would call her to massage his head for an +attack of neuralgia; to read to him because his eyes +ached; to help him with his lessons. +</p> + +<p> +Just once, when he was deliberately impertinent to +Eleanor, Susan's forbearance broke down. He had +overheard his mother speak to her guest of an +automobile ride they would take that day to "Chickies +Rock" and he had interrupted with the assertion +that he wanted the car that night. +</p> + +<p> +"What for, Josie?" Susan inquired. +</p> + +<p> +His hesitation betrayed that his demand was +entirely impromptu and that he had no goal in view. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm going to drive over to Middleburg to get +some books from the library," he answered after an +instant. +</p> + +<p> +"It is too far for an evening's trip," Susan objected. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, anyway, I want the car this evening, +Mother." +</p> + +<p> +"You can't have it, Josie." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll ask Father whether I can't!" +</p> + +<p> +"He won't let you drive to Middleburg at night." +</p> + +<p> +"Then I'll go over to Reifsville to see Aunt +Addie and Aunt Lizzie." +</p> + +<p> +"Why don't you come with us to Chickies Rock, +Josie?" asked Eleanor, pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +Josie, muttering something about not caring for +the society of "an old maid," flung himself out of his +mother's room where the discussion had taken +place—leaving Eleanor looking pained for Susan, and Susan +herself suddenly livid with her rarely roused anger. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, my dear, my dear!" cried Eleanor, "for that +boy's own sake you must not be so forbearing!" +</p> + +<p> +"I know I must not! Excuse me a minute, +Eleanor." +</p> + +<p> +Susan left the room and in ten minutes returned +with a very abject and embarrassed Josie who sullenly +apologized to Eleanor for his rudeness. +</p> + +<p> +"How did you make him do it?" asked Eleanor, +curiously, when they were again alone. +</p> + +<p> +"I told him he could not come near me or speak +to me again until he had apologized to you; and as +he can't stand being alienated from me, he did it." +</p> + +<p> +"How you ever endure it all!" breathed Eleanor. +</p> + +<p> +"I care for Josie a lot," Susan admitted. "Oh, +Eleanor, the only thing I shall have accomplished +when my life is over, is the bringing up of Josie, and +if he is a failure, <i>I</i> shall be." +</p> + +<p> +"You've no doubt given him much, Susan; but +when certain qualities are lacking in a character no +one can supply the lack." +</p> + +<p> +"He has been really improving since he has been +attending the Middleburg High School." +</p> + +<p> +"Heavens! what must he have been!" +</p> + +<p> +"I've hopes of what college may do for, or to, him, +Eleanor!" +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor was silent. Susan knew how tragically +empty, sombre, wasted, her friend considered her life. +"Yet she doesn't know the worst I've lived through!—the +way my youth was blasted, devastated!" she +thought. "If I should suddenly reveal it to her!" +</p> + +<p> +Once or twice a vague, inexplicable look in +Eleanor's eyes as they rested upon her made +Susan wonder whether she did have a suspicion of +how deep and vital her relation to Sidney had been. +</p> + +<p> +Susan was, however, very far from the truth as to +Eleanor's real suspicion concerning her and Sidney. +</p> + +<p> +It was during this visit of Eleanor's that Susan +was greatly surprised one afternoon, while she and her +guest were sitting on the wide piazza that surrounded +the house, an hour before their six o'clock supper, +to receive a letter in the mail which Josie brought +from the White Oak Station post office, from +Sidney's wife. Sidney's wife writing to her! A rather +extraordinary communication, considering all the +circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +While Eleanor, busy with her own mail, remained +unobservant of her, Susan read her letter through +twice very slowly. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +My dear Susan (if I may presume upon our relation +to call you so) Sidney and I are feeling so homesick for our +old home! It is just eight months ago to-day that +circumstances forced us to give it up to you and your +family. We should just love to spend a few quiet weeks +at White Oak Farm if you will be so very kind as to permit +us. The simple truth is we have no place to go just now +until we are due next month at the Sherwins. I am ill, and +it is possible I may not be well enough to go to the +Sherwins when Sidney goes. So if you can accommodate both +of us for a few weeks and me for a bit longer if I am not +strong enough to travel, I shall be glad, in return, to be of +use to you in any way I can. I should like to introduce +some of my Middleburg friends to you—I think it might be +mutually profitable for us to spend a few weeks together +at White Oak Farm. I am longing for my home, the dear +old place! I shall very much appreciate your kindness if +you can make room for us. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + Sincerely yours,<br> + LAURA BERESFORD HOUGHTON.<br> +</p> + +<p> +P.S. We have placed Georgie in a school where he will +remain as a summer boarder. So, you see, we are not +asking you to be troubled with him. We have saved +enough out of the wreck of our fortunes to educate +Georgie, whatever may betide. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When Eleanor, having gone through her own mail, +looked up, Susan, without comment, handed Laura's +astonishing letter to her. +</p> + +<p> +"Well!" Eleanor exclaimed when she had read it, +"of all the cold-blooded propositions! After ignoring +you for years while you were living right here +beside her, to invite herself now to come and visit +you!—offering as a bribe to introduce you into +Middleburg society! She must be terribly stranded, +poor Laura!" +</p> + +<p> +"She seems to look upon White Oak Farm as +more her home than ours, though we are renting it +from Sidney," said Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"But she must know she has no sort of claim +upon the place while you are living here as its +tenants. What shall you do, Susan?" +</p> + +<p> +"If Georgie were with them I'd be tempted to tell +them to come!" +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor glanced at her swiftly, and Susan saw, to +her surprise, that her friend was flushing crimson. +</p> + +<p> +"You are strangely fond of that boy, Susie, +dear!" +</p> + +<p> +"I know it. He has always appealed to me more +than any child I've ever known. And now that he +is no longer a child, he is more appealing than ever! +It is strange, I know, that I should feel so. But it's +because of the boy himself—not any survival of my +feeling for his father, I assure you! He is a lovely +boy!" +</p> + +<p> +"Is he? I've not seen him since he was a baby." +</p> + +<p> +"He is full of talent; and he is altogether fine and +lovable, I think!" Susan softly cried, her bosom +heaving, a wistfulness in her voice. "I can't help +it, I love him!" +</p> + +<p> +"I've never heard you warm up like that about +Josie," remarked Eleanor, her eyes downcast, averted. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose you think me very spineless, Eleanor, +to be able to care for Sidney's boy like that!" +</p> + +<p> +"What are you going to say to Laura, Susan?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid I think her letter too impertinent to +deserve a reply. I think I shall not answer it." +</p> + +<p> +"They may take your silence for consent and dump +themselves down upon you!" +</p> + +<p> +"The tenant's cottage is ready for them at any time." +</p> + +<p> +"Would you have the backbone to refuse to receive +them here if they came and presented themselves?" +</p> + +<p> +"I shall not entertain them as my guests, Eleanor." +</p> + +<p> +"It would take a staff of servants to keep them +going!" said Eleanor. +</p> + +<p> +At dinner they learned from Joe that he had had a +letter from Sidney very similar to Susan's from +Laura. +</p> + +<p> +"Says he's willing to do a bit of farm work for me, +a couple hours every day, if I'll put him and Missus +up fur a couple weeks or so!" +</p> + +<p> +Joe chuckled disgustingly. "Listen to here!"; +He opened the letter and read them passages: "'In +view of your many favours to me in the past'—'This +time it isn't money, but your hospitality,'—Say, +I wisht yous ladies would have saw the telegraft +I wrote off to him! 'Your cottage at the foot +of the terraces is ready for you any time you care to +occupy,' I wrote. That's all I sayed. Your cottage +ready for you! Ain't that a side-winder fur my +elegant brother Sid, though? Gee whiz! I never +enjoyed myself more in all my life than I enjoyed +myself sendin' that there telegraft! Say! I'd +like to have a photograft of his mug took whiles he's +readin' my telegraft!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan, as she heard her husband, decided not to +let him know of her letter from Laura. His joy was +too unholy. +</p> + +<p> +"If they're too stuck-up to come and live in the +cottage," continued Joe, "leave Missus sell some of +her jewels or furs that she throwed away so much +money on. I guess," he chuckled, "I surprised her +and Sid some last winter (ain't, Susan?) when me I +bought <i>my</i> wife sich a fur set, too. Cost me forty-two +fifty. Yes, sir! I guess Sid and Missus took +notice to it all right, when they seen you wearin' it, +Susan! Well, I guess, anyhow—a set that cost +forty-two fifty! It was a awful good set," he +gravely almost reverently explained to Eleanor. +"<i>Ought</i> to be—I paid forty-two fifty for it. When +I do buy I b'leeve in buyin' good. No cheap trash. +Forty-two fifty—yes, sir. It was a big outlay, I'll +admit. But Susie she wanted some furs and says I +to myself, 'All right, if she wants furs she's a-goin' +to have some. Sid's Missus ain't the only lady +kin afford to walk 'round here lookin' like a +Esquimaux.' So I up and got Susie a set. Forty-two +fifty I paid, yes, sir! You'd har'ly b'leeve it, but +that's what it cost me. Forty-two fifty." +</p> + +<p> +Susan did not try to check him or to cover his +peculiarities. It would have been so futile. She +let Eleanor have it all. +</p> + +<p> +Their gathering together at the table, however, +came to be a time of misery to the two women. +</p> + +<p> +"If Sidney does come to the cottage, Susan, what +shall you do?" Eleanor asked the next day. +</p> + +<p> +"What I have always done—go my way unmindful +of them." +</p> + +<p> +"Which are you, Susan—very callous or very wise?" +</p> + +<p> +"Stultified, Eleanor." +</p> + +<p> +"I predict you'll revive some day!" +</p> + +<p> +"But I'm getting on. I'm thirty-five, you know." +</p> + +<p> +"You don't look a day more than twenty-five. +And poor Laura looks any old age! Yet to any +casual observer, how much more reason you would +have for looking prematurely old! In a sense, +Susan, you've lived religiously; with self-restraint and +unselfishly; while those others have forged ahead +recklessly, living only for their self-gratification. +And yet," Eleanor shrugged, "they'd call you +and me irreligious, Susie, wouldn't they?—because +we don't believe in their respectable little creeds and +ceremonies and delusions, the opiates with which +they lull and delude themselves! If a live teacher of +real religion turns up, see how quickly they crucify +him to-day just as in the past! 'Be ye not conformed +to this world,' saith the Scriptures; but who +are quicker than Christians to jump on you with +both feet the moment you <i>don't</i> conform to this +world! The man who does conform to the common +standard is the only acceptable man to society +and to the church." +</p> + +<p> +"Why can't we realize," said Susan, "that it is +only when a man <i>revolts</i> from the common standard +that he becomes worth hearing? Aren't we a +tiresome race!" +</p> + +<p> +"I wonder whether it is any better on Mars," +Eleanor speculated. +</p> + +<p> +Contrary to Eleanor's prediction, Laura and +Sidney arrived a few days later to occupy the cottage. +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't think they'd ever bring themselves to +it," she told Susan. "And now I don't know +whether to run in to see Laura or not. It might be +just intolerably humiliating to her!" +</p> + +<p> +"Does the size of the house she lives in matter +such a lot? You will go to see her, not her house." +</p> + +<p> +"You've answered me; I go," nodded Eleanor. +</p> + +<p> +When, the next morning, she carried out her +resolution, she was shocked to find Laura, very white +and weak, lying on a couch in the tiny dining room +of the cottage, looking as though she were dying. +</p> + +<p> +She brightened at the unexpected sight of Eleanor +and welcomed her eagerly, almost cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +"Money worries; and living at too rapid a pace," +she explained her plight. "I tried to keep up with +Sidney. Personally, I should have preferred a +little less strenuousness. And then—unhappiness, +Eleanor! Sidney and I have never been really +happy together. It's a general breaking up; I +know I can't live long—and I don't want to." +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor could see that poor Laura undoubtedly +spoke the truth; she was doomed. One saw it so +unmistakably in her dimmed eyes, her pinched +nostrils, her colourless lips, the whole blighted aspect +of her. +</p> + +<p> +"She <i>is</i> going to die!" thought Eleanor, sombrely. +"But Susan's fate is worse—a living death!" +</p> + +<p> +"This human scene makes me sick!" Eleanor +burst out. "Look at the confusion in the world +everywhere! We human beings seem as incapable of +arranging life in a sane and wise order for <i>all</i> of us +as a lot of cats and dogs would be! <i>Just</i> as +incapable!" +</p> + +<p> +Laura stared. "Is this supposed to be apropos of +my impending death, Eleanor?" +</p> + +<p> +"Laura, dear!" Eleanor seated on a low stool beside +the couch, gently clasped the sick woman's hand. +"If society had forced you to serve it—not permitted +you to be a parasite—you would not now be here in +this cottage dying!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not sorry I'm dying. Life does not interest +me any more. I am so bored that I <i>want</i> to die!" +</p> + +<p> +"It's because your interests and activities were +always shallow surface affairs that never struck root, +and so were doomed to an early withering; and now +that they are gone, you've nothing left! It's rather +ghastly!" +</p> + +<p> +"I've nothing left; that's true," repeated Laura. +"Maybe if I'd had a child——" +</p> + +<p> +She stopped short. +</p> + +<p> +For & moment neither of them spoke. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Eleanor repeated, "If you'd had a child? +What do you mean, dear?" +</p> + +<p> +"I mean—a daughter." +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor came to a sudden decision. "Laura, will +you tell me something I want very much to know, +and which only you can tell me?" she softly asked. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I would not ask you this question if it were not a +matter of great importance to me; if I did not believe +you are right about not having long to live. It is +because I believe that, that I must have the truth +about this thing; a suspicion that has been growing +in my heart these many years and which lately has +become almost a conviction. But you alone can +make me absolutely sure——" +</p> + +<p> +"Eleanor! You are as white as death! What is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me—<i>is Georgie your own son?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Laura's faded eyes fell from Eleanor's burning gaze, +and she did not reply. +</p> + +<p> +"I am answered: he is not. <i>Whose child is he?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you ask, Eleanor? What made you +think he was not mine?" +</p> + +<p> +"Didn't anyone else ever think he was not yours?" +</p> + +<p> +"Never. Unmotherly mothers are too common in +these days, I suppose!" said Laura, a touch of +sadness in her tired voice. +</p> + +<p> +"Who is Georgie's mother, Laura?" +</p> + +<p> +"She died at his birth. She was Sidney's mistress. +I saw her once for a few minutes in Sidney's rooms, +but I didn't know she was going to have a child; and +I married him in haste to keep <i>her</i> from forcing him +to marry her. I did not dream she was going to have +a child!" +</p> + +<p> +"Who was she?" +</p> + +<p> +"I never knew her name. Sidney would never tell +me and I was not interested in knowing. Her father +brought the baby to Sidney the very night we were +married and threatened him with all kinds of trouble +if he did not take the child and bring him up as his +own son. We left the baby with Sidney's mother +and went abroad. Mrs. Houghton put it in the care +of a farmer's family; and as soon as we returned home +Sidney insisted, against my wishes, upon taking the +child. I never would have consented but that I +didn't want to go through the agony of having a child +myself and Sidney had to have a son to inherit his +Uncle George's estate, or it would go to Joe's boy. +So, for the sake of keeping this estate in our hands, I +consented to take Georgie and pass him off as ours. +And after all the fuss and trouble of it, the disgusting +lies I've had to tell, the criticism I've had to bear for +not being motherly—after all this, here we are, just +where we'd have been if we had never acknowledged +Georgie at all—Joe Houghton has White Oak Farm!" +</p> + +<p> +"But Georgie will have it when he is of age?" +</p> + +<p> +"If he is anything like his father, he will never earn +money enough to keep it going. And all that Sidney +inherited is of course squandered; and my inheritance +went after it!" +</p> + +<p> +"Laura! How do you know Georgie's mother +died?" +</p> + +<p> +"Her father said so when he brought the baby to +Sidney. Our wedding journey was more like a +funeral than a joy trip, Sidney felt her death so +terribly!" +</p> + +<p> +"Have you truly, truly always believed that +Georgie's mother was dead? Have you never +suspected, Laura, <i>who</i> was his mother?" +</p> + +<p> +Laura stared, speechless, into Eleanor's white face. +</p> + +<p> +"Haven't you had a <i>reason</i>, Laura, for ignoring +your sister-in-law as you have done?" +</p> + +<p> +"My sister-in-law? You mean Joe Houghton's +wife? <i>What</i> do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"Haven't you ever noticed," pursued Eleanor, +breathlessly, her bosom heaving tumultuously, "how +fatally Georgie resembles—Joe's wife? The first +time I ever saw Georgie I took him for Susan's own +child! And he <i>is</i> her child! She doesn't know it, +but he is! See how she idolizes him! It's her blood +calling to his!" +</p> + +<p> +"You're crazy!" gasped Laura; and Eleanor, in her +blind eagerness to get at the truth, for Susan's sake, +failed to realize Laura's dangerous agitation. "Joe's +wife Sidney's mistress! You're crazy, Eleanor!" Laura +laughed wildly. "It's melodramatic! Georgia, +Sidney's son, is, you say, the illegitimate child of Joe +Houghton's wife! And she for fifteen years living +next door to him and mothering him every chance she +could get and never knowing he was hers!" Laura +almost screamed with laughter, and Eleanor took +alarm. "But perhaps Susan has known it," Laura +went on with shrill irony. "Perhaps she, like me, +has played her part so that her son may illegally +get White Oak Farm when it really belongs to +Josie!" +</p> + +<p> +"But morally it belongs to Georgie!" Eleanor +maintained. "And—and, Laura, I'm going——" +</p> + +<p> +The door opened and Sidney, having been drawn +by Laura's unnatural laughter, walked into the room. +</p> + +<p> +He looked shabby and wretched, but retained, +nevertheless, a vestige of his old elegance. +</p> + +<p> +"Hear! Hear, Sidney, Eleanor's wonderful +melodrama!" cried Laura, hoarsely, "in which you are the +villain, Joe Houghton and I the martyred hero and +heroine, Susan the—what's her part? Injured +innocence? Or did she wickedly lure two innocent +brothers? What a plot! Has Joe known all along +that his wife was the mother of Sidney's son and has +he been working all these years for revenge, by getting +Sidney into his power? Has he? And you, Sidney, +you poor donkey, you never suspected your brother +of plotting to get you into his power! I've been +warning you for five years that Joe's seeming +generosity was a trap! But," she groaned, "whenever you +wanted money, you'd believe that any devil who +offered you some was an angel of light! Now, you +see! I was right; and you were a fool!" +</p> + +<p> +Sidney, standing white and shaken at Laura's side, +turned agonized, questioning eyes to Eleanor. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll kill Laura! Her heart is weak—— What is +this tale you are telling her? The doctor forbids the +least excitement for her! She——" +</p> + +<p> +"Eleanor thinks that <i>Georgie is Susan's son!</i>" +interrupted Laura in uncontrollable excitement. +"Did you ever hear of anything more grotesque? +Her only reason seems to be that he looks like her and +that she's fond of him. Explain to her, Sidney, that +Georgie's mother was safely dead and buried sixteen +years ago!" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course she was!" affirmed Sidney in a shaking +voice. "Your suspicion is ridiculous, Miss Arnold! +Perfectly ridiculous!" +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps it is," said Eleanor, uncertainly, +"but——" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you see it wouldn't do," cried Laura, +mockingly, her eyes looking feverish, "to have Susan +turn out to be Georgie's mother—for if Joe found it +out he would divorce her, and Joe's a millionaire; he +may die before Susan and leave her one third of his +estate, which will in time pass on to Georgie—everything +and everybody must be sacrificed for Georgie!—legality +and honour and marriage vows and wives! +For if Georgie were illegitimate, you see, Josie would +get White Oak Farm! Which of course must not +happen! Who would think that an old man's will +could cause such crime and suffering?" +</p> + +<p> +Eleanor rose. "I'm going now, Laura, dear—I am +terribly sorry I have excited you so! My idea was +absurd, of course. I, too, would hate to see Josie get +White Oak Farm, for he is detestable. Forget what +I've said!" +</p> + +<p> +Sidney, a look of fear in his eyes, hesitatingly +followed her to the door. +</p> + +<p> +"I assure you, Miss Arnold, there's nothing whatever +in this idea of yours—I never heard anything +more far-fetched—anything more preposterous! You +won't—you won't spread it about any further, will +you? You—you have not suggested it to Joe or +Susan, have you? You know how much a suggestion +can sometimes take root without any least proof, +and——" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Houghton," said Eleanor, as he stopped, +floundering, "you can trust me to do and say nothing +that will injure either Susan or—or her son. Susan +may outlive her husband and inherit wealth. I'll +keep quiet for a while, anyway—a little while——" +</p> + +<p> +Not giving him time to reply, she turned away and +almost ran out of the cottage. +</p> + +<p> +Sidney, when she had gone, returned slowly, with +the step of an old man, to his wife's couch. +</p> + +<p> +She was lying back among the cushions, weak and +spiritless, her excitement subsided, but so deeply +engrossed in thought that she did not appear to notice +his entrance. +</p> + +<p> +He bent over her solicitously. "It was outrageous +of that woman to come here and stir you up so, dear! +I felt like——" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Is</i> there anything in it?—in her suspicion?" she +calmly interrupted him. "Suppose, Sidney, as I am +dying, you tell me the truth for once. <i>Is Georgie +Susan's son?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Sidney, after just a perceptible instant's pause, +answered her: "Of course he's not! I never heard +of such a ridiculous idea!" +</p> + +<p> +Laura looked at him for a moment in silence, her +gravely meditative eyes making him feel as though +his very soul were transparent to her. +</p> + +<p> +"Does Susan know it?" she presently asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Know what? You don't <i>believe</i> this insane +story?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why did you tell me, the night of our wedding, +that the baby's grandfather had told you his mother +was dead?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because he <i>did</i>! And it was not until we came +home from Europe that he came to me and told me +she wasn't! That night of the baby's birth he had +left her for dying—but she had rallied. Her parents +and sisters had then told her that her child had died; +and she had believed it. Her father implored me +not to let her know the truth—for the family would +be disgraced; she herself would be so ruined in the +eyes of the community that she would be unable to +earn her living; they were poor and needed what she +could earn. +</p> + +<p> +"I offered financial help, but he refused it. Of +course I consented to keep the secret; I had everything +at stake in keeping it; I didn't want to lose you; +I didn't want to lose Georgie, I wanted him to inherit +White Oak Farm. I wanted to avoid a scandal. +</p> + +<p> +"Then I made the discovery that <i>she</i> was teaching +the school at White Oak Station! I could not stand +for that—she'd see Georgie!—and you'd see <i>her</i>! I +went to her father and begged him to get her away. +I pointed out to him the danger to us all if he didn't. +But—well, he died before he accomplished it. And +then—Joe married her!" +</p> + +<p> +Laura regarded her husband with a look of utter +incredulity. "I've always known, Sidney," she +spoke slowly, "that you were weak! But that +you were capable of such a thing as this—of +leaving that poor woman in ignorance of her own +son's existence through all these years! Beguiling +me into passing him off as mine when his own +unsuspecting mother lived just at my door! What have +I been married to? Let me warn you! Never tell +Susan that Georgie is her son, or she'll kill you, +Sidney! I would in her place! I would deliberately +and cold-bloodedly murder you! How well you've +guarded your secret! I never suspected it! Never +dreamed of it! Susan herself never dreamed of +it—that the boy she was so fond of was her very +own—though Eleanor saw the resemblance as soon as she +saw them together! Susan whom you seduced and +robbed——" +</p> + +<p> +Her voice stopped suddenly, her head fell forward. +She was unconscious. +</p> + +<p> +That night her empty, purposeless, utterly futile +life came to an end. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap14"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV +<br><br> +FIVE YEARS LATER +</h2> + +<p> +Susan, taking up her vigil at Joe's bedside +during the small hours of the night, to relieve +the trained nurse, was kept feverishly wide +awake not only by Joe's laboured, painful respiration, +but by the wearisome intensity of her brain's activity; +the flood of speculation which overwhelmed her at the +possibility of Joe's death, the new life which that +possibility opened up to her, her own unprecedented +thoughts and desires in this sudden, unlooked-for +crisis. +</p> + +<p> +Joe was critically ill with pneumonia. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor, however, gave them a good deal of hope. +</p> + +<p> +Hope? Why did doctors and nurses and acquaintances +always assume in cases like this that your +"hope" could lie in but one direction? +</p> + +<p> +That word "critically"—it had been on the doctor's +and nurse's lips constantly for two days. It +beat in Susan's brain unceasingly. Joe was "critically +ill." Just what shade of danger (to Joe) did that +signify? How much "hope" did it leave to his +family? Did "critically ill" mean more or less +than "dangerously ill"? So strenuously did she +try, in her suspense, to wrest from the word its +inmost, finest shade of meaning, that after a while +it ceased to mean anything; it became a dead +sound. +</p> + +<p> +They had made her send for Josie to come home +from his law school. That looked serious (for Joe). +The conventional phrases would persist in her mind, +though her deeply ingrained honesty forced her to +modify to herself their significance. She was +conscious of a mental effort to resist transposing them to +mean what it shocked and appalled her to have them +mean; to think "hopeful" when she meant (or ought +to have meant) "serious", "promising" for "dangerous"! +</p> + +<p> +For nearly seventeen years she had been Joe +Houghton's wife; and now perhaps he was dying. +Here was she at his bedside, in a chintz-covered +armchair beside a great old, carved, mahogany +four-posted bed in a beautiful and luxurious chamber, +watching by a dim light her husband's distorted, +unconscious face, her soul on fire with hope (yes, +<i>hope</i>!) as she had not believed it capable of becoming +ever again. If the doctor and nurse could see into +her mind and heart, surely they would think it +unsafe to leave her alone with their patient! +</p> + +<p> +How her heart had sunk with bitter disappointment +when, coming into the sick room a few hours +earlier to relieve the nurse and take her place, she had +been told, "Your husband is doing much better than +I had hoped, Mrs. Houghton; I think, now, that he +may, perhaps, pull through. But keep a very close +watch, and at the least return of his delirium, please +call me at once." +</p> + +<p> +"I will," Susan had promised, with an emphasis +meant not so much to reassure the nurse as to combat +the secret blackness in her heart! It would be only +her body, not her soul, that would keep that promise! +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, God, how I want to be <i>free</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +The vista opened up before her by that word! She +seemed only now to realize what misery her life with +Joe had been during all these years! The prospect of +release forever from the sound of his complaining, +carping voice, from the sight of his mean little face, +from his hated touch—— +</p> + +<p> +She would go mad if he got well! +</p> + +<p> +She had not known until now what a living death +had been hers—now that escape from its nightmare +seemed a possibility. +</p> + +<p> +She was thirty-nine years old; but the bare thought +of freedom made her feel like a girl. She was afraid +of herself. Afraid of being left alone here in this +room with the responsibility on her hands of a life +which she did not wish to be saved! Every drop of +blood in her body throbbed with longing that he +should die! It would be too cruel if, after bringing +her to the very brink of freedom like this, he should +get well! +</p> + +<p> +"I want him to die!" +</p> + +<p> +The refrain beat in her brain like a hammer. "Oh, +God, let him die!" +</p> + +<p> +With utter wonder she contemplated this unsuspected +self she was discovering. Was she, perhaps, +capable of helping him out? Oh, no, no! Surely no! +And yet, was this violent revulsion of feeling at the +thought of such a deed really a genuine horror of +crime, or merely cowardice? +</p> + +<p> +"What is it that would hold me back when I so +much want him to go?" she wondered, feeling +bewildered as she recognized what unsounded depths +there were in her. "We don't know ourselves! +What does any one really know of his own heart, the +true motives under his life? Perhaps it is only the +inhibitions of my training that keep me from being +a murderer!" +</p> + +<p> +She knew that the degradation of such a marriage +as hers had worked in her its insidious poison, in spite +of her valiant efforts to hold her soul high above and +aloof from her hated relation to Joe. +</p> + +<p> +She thought, "No one has ever cared for him +except his son. If he had been loved in his childhood +and treated with some justice, perhaps he would not +have been the man he has been. And if he had +married a woman who could have loved him, it might +have changed him a little." +</p> + +<p> +Yet so faithfully had she paid the price of her +foolish marriage that she doubted whether Joe had +ever been aware that, far from caring for him, she +had loathed him. No, he had certainly never suspected +it. She had concealed her loathing. She had +lived a lie. +</p> + +<p> +During the long hours of her vigil at his bedside +she thought back over the past five years: of her own +increasing isolation from the sort of people she would +have liked to make her friends, but from whom her +marriage cut her off absolutely; of her ever-growing +submission to the will of her husband and his son; +of Josie's surprisingly selfish dominance, as he grew +older, over both his father and her (the boy really +dominated her more than his father had ever done); +of the peculiarly tender and confidential friendship +which had come to exist between her and Georgie; of +Sidney's widowerhood; of the sudden death, from +appendicitis, of her only intimate friend, Eleanor +Arnold. +</p> + +<p> +Her mind reverted to some incidents which were +among the ineffaceable records on her heart. There +was one in particular—Sidney's having one day +watched for an opportunity when Joe had gone to +Middleburg, to come to her and beg her to secure +some money from Joe for him. +</p> + +<p> +"But why should I?" She had met his extraordinary +request with an astonishment that had deeply +shamed and embarrassed him. +</p> + +<p> +"I am so completely out of money," he had pleaded. +"And Joe refuses to lend me another dollar!" +</p> + +<p> +"That's not surprising, seeing you are already in +debt to him to the sum of three more years' rent of +this place." +</p> + +<p> +"I know it. But he doesn't spend his money +himself, nor let you spend it, and what's the good of +just hoarding it? He might as well let me have a +little. You can persuade him to, Susan, if you only +will." +</p> + +<p> +"Why should I?" +</p> + +<p> +"Susan! For the sake of what we once were to +each other, can't you have a little pity? I'm +terribly in need!" +</p> + +<p> +"Did you have pity on me in much greater need?" +</p> + +<p> +"I did not! And haven't I been punished for it?" +he had said with such genuine bitterness that she had +been startled. +</p> + +<p> +"It's I, not you, that have borne all the penalty +of our folly!" she had answered. "It's unbelievable +that you should appeal to <i>me</i> for help!" +</p> + +<p> +"I've suffered in ways you don't know of!" he had +exclaimed, desperately. "Do not dream, Susan, that +I have not had to pay for my treatment of you—in +ways you cannot imagine. If I had not, it <i>would</i> be +unbelievable that I should come pleading to you to +help me. But I do ask you—I beg you—to get me +some help from my brother!" +</p> + +<p> +"I could not even if I wished to." +</p> + +<p> +"Joe worships you; he'd do anything for you. +Any man would!" +</p> + +<p> +"Except you! <i>You</i> would not even keep your +sacred promises to me; you would not save me from +disgrace and anguish; you would not make my child +legitimate; or be at my side when I was suffering and +nearly dying for love of you! <i>You</i> to ask help from +me!" +</p> + +<p> +"You see me impoverished, stricken! Can't you +forgive me, Susan?" +</p> + +<p> +"I wouldn't dream of asking Joe to loan you any +more money. Why don't you get to work, Sidney, +and earn your living?" +</p> + +<p> +"If I had not inherited a fortune, I might now be a +successful lawyer," Sidney had answered, resentfully. +"I had no incentive to work after I was rich. And +now it's too late. I'm too old." +</p> + +<p> +"You could dig coal or clean streets. I should +think it might be easier for you than begging favours +from me." +</p> + +<p> +Then to her horror (horror before the moral +deterioration of this man she had once cared for) +Sidney had threatened her; threatened to expose all +their past history to Joe if she refused to secure +money from her husband for her girlhood's lover! +Evidently he thought he had a weapon which he +could flourish over her head to terrify her! It seemed +incredible. +</p> + +<p> +"I've been many kinds of a coward in my time," +she had answered him, "but this kind I happen to be +incapable of becoming. I'm not afraid of anything +that you (or Joe, either) can do to me more than what +you have already done. And I shall never ask your +brother for a dollar for you. Now do what you +please." +</p> + +<p> +Then he had produced his last and what he had +considered his weakest card, to force her hand. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not quite so base as you think me, Susan. +It's not for myself that I am humiliating myself like +this; it's for my boy. You know that, poor as I have +been in the past five years, I have always managed, +whatever my own need for money, to save enough out +of what Joe has let me have in rent to keep Georgie +at school and college. He has not missed one year—you +know he hasn't. I'm now for the first time up +against it, to pay for this second half year's board and +tuition for him. <i>That's</i> why I'm asking for help. I +tell you I would not ask for myself. It's for my son, +whose inheritance," Sidney miserably admitted, +"I've squandered!" +</p> + +<p> +To Sidney's surprise, this plea, which he had +considered his weakest, proved to be his only strong one. +He had known, of course, that Susan and Georgie +were very great friends; but no one of the three, not +even Susan herself, had realized how vitally her soul +was knit to the soul of Sidney's boy. +</p> + +<p> +"We can't let Georgie's education suffer," she had +answered with an anxious concern that had gripped +Sidney's heart with mingled pain and relief. "There's +not the least use, you know, in my asking Joe to help +either you or Georgie. The truth is Joe is dreadfully +disappointed that in spite of all your misfortunes +and extravagances, you've succeeded in educating +Georgie. He hoped you would be driven to putting +him to work as <i>he</i> was put to work when he was a boy. +He wanted Georgie to suffer all the handicaps that he +had suffered because of his homelessness in his +childhood. No, nothing I could say would move Joe to +help us here." +</p> + +<p> +She had pondered the matter earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +"There's one way I might raise some money for +Georgie; there's the silver you sent us for a wedding +gift. I have never touched it. I can sell it." +</p> + +<p> +Sidney had regarded her doubtfully, a shade of fear +in his tired eyes. "Susan! Why are you willing to +do for Georgie what you wouldn't do for me?" he had +asked in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +"I love Georgie—he is worth doing things for. +You are nothing to me." +</p> + +<p> +The silver had been sold and Joe had never, as yet, +missed it. For the past three years she had been +dreading, with a shrinking of her very flesh, the +violent anger he would vent upon her when the +inevitable discovery did take place. +</p> + +<p> +And now perhaps it never would take place. Here +lay Joe before her, more helpless than an infant, +and it was possible that never would he rally to +pour out upon her his hot rage at her having sold +five hundred dollars' worth of silver to help his hated +nephew. +</p> + +<p> +She drew a long, deep, almost gasping breath. +Would Joe get well and would she have to go on living +under that eternal vigilance of her every act, that +petty nagging at her for "wasting" her husband's +precious substance; that sordid slavery to the +material side of life which made existence so hideous! +At the thought of it the pent-up misery of years +seemed to break its bounds; she bowed her head upon +the arm of her chair and tearing sobs shook her. It +would be too unbearable—she saw now how +unbearable it always had been! She would <i>not</i> bear it! +If he got well, she would leave him. No matter how +he might plead with her! No matter what sort of +work she might have to do for a living, she would +leave him! +</p> + +<p> +"Susie!" +</p> + +<p> +So faintly her name was spoken, she heard it like a +far-away whisper. Her heart stood still. What had +the nurse instructed her?—"At the least return +of his delirium, call me at once." She must not fail +to obey implicitly. Her very soul's salvation hung +upon her absolute obedience. +</p> + +<p> +She lifted her head and looked at Joe. His eyes, +clear and natural, met hers. +</p> + +<p> +"Susie! Are you cryin' fur <i>me</i>?" he whispered; +his voice, though feeble, was steady and entirely free +from the hoarse raving of the past four days. +</p> + +<p> +Then she need not summon the nurse—he was +not "delirious". +</p> + +<p> +He would get well! +</p> + +<p> +"Susie!" came the faint, far-away call. +</p> + +<p> +He was so ill and weak—she must be very kind to +him until he was stronger—as he had always been to +her when she had been ill. +</p> + +<p> +When he was quite well again she would go away +and leave him forever! +</p> + +<p> +She bent nearer to him and laid her hand softly on +his. +</p> + +<p> +"You was cryin' fur me, Susie?" +</p> + +<p> +She nodded dumbly. +</p> + +<p> +"You've made me a good wife, Susie—and you've +been as good a mother to Josie as you otherwise could +be. I want you to pass me your promise, Susie——" +</p> + +<p> +He spoke with difficulty, in halting phrases, his +breath rasping, laboured. +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't expec' to die as young as what I am—only +a little over fifty. What's fifty? Why, it's +the prime of life yet!—I worked hard and saved and +now I got to go and <i>let</i> it all! I done it fur Josie. +But I never made no will, fur I didn't think I'd be +dyin' till this good while a'ready!—and it's too late +now fur me to make my will—I ain't got the strength +to fix things like I was a-goin' to. I'll have to trust +to your promise, Susie, fur to do like what I want you +to with my money—fur you'll get your widow's third +now, <i>whether</i> or no. The law'll give it to you. Now, +Susie, I want fur you to promise me you won't +squander it, but save it careful fur Josie and his +childern. You won't need to spend near all the +int'rust you'll draw from your capital; you kin turn +back a good bit of your int'rust to be added on to +your principal, so's Josie'll have more when you die +oncet. I want fur Josie to be rich and powerful and +grand like what Uncle George was. Pass—me—your +promise, Susan," he spoke with a great effort, +"that you won't spend any of my money on them +sisters of yourn. It wouldn't be right—your +squanderin' <i>my</i> money on <i>your</i> folks—you kin see fur +yourself it wouldn't. What's mine had ought all to go to +Josie. Ain't so? I earnt and saved a lot of it—all +but what Uncle George inherited to me and I near +doubled <i>that</i>. And Josie's to have all. You kin +live on a wery little of your int'rust, Susan," he +insisted, struggling desperately with his weakness. +"Promise you will!" +</p> + +<p> +"Trust me, Joe, to do what is right for Josie." +</p> + +<p> +"I know you will—you was always a good mother +to him. But I have so afraid you'll want to spend on +them sisters! <i>Don't forget!</i> What you don't have +to use <i>is for Josie</i>!" he reiterated with all the force +his failing strength could gather. +</p> + +<p> +"What I don't have to use—yes, I understand," +she reassured him. +</p> + +<p> +"And you ain't to will it to any one but Josie! +Promise!" +</p> + +<p> +"I am not to will it to any one but Josie." +</p> + +<p> +"I couldn't rest in my grave if you did! If I'd +foreseen I was a-goin' to die, I'd of <i>fixed</i> things! +And now I can't no more!" +</p> + +<p> +"Josie shall have everything that by rights is his, +Joe," Susan comforted him. +</p> + +<p> +"Call Josie! I'm a-goin' fast!" +</p> + +<p> +She rose quickly to summon both the nurse and +her step-son. +</p> + +<p> +Joe waved away the nurse. "Don't <i>you</i> come +takin' up my time—it's too short! I want my son +and my wife! Josie!" +</p> + +<p> +His son, sincerely grieved, bent over him, pale and +tearful. +</p> + +<p> +"Your mother's gave me her promise, Josie, that +she'll will you her widow's third of my estate and +that she'll save back fur you all she kin of her int'rust. +She's passed me her promise—you hold her to it!" +</p> + +<p> +"If she has promised, Father," said Josie, soothingly, +"you don't need to worry. I won't have to +hold her to it. Mother'll keep her promise." +</p> + +<p> +Susan vaguely reflected how subtle Josie always +was when it was a question of protecting his own +interests; his challenging her honour, just now, to +keep that questionable promise she had equivocally +made!—a promise capable of such varied interpretation! +</p> + +<p> +"You'll know how to take care of your rights, +ain't, Josie?" his father breathed, his ruling passion +strong in death. "Don't leave Susan give away +nothing to her sisters that's by rights <i>yourn</i>! Ain't, +you won't?" +</p> + +<p> +"She wouldn't want to, Father. There, there, +don't worry about it; everything will be as you wish +it to be; I promise you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Susan would be a spendthrift if you left her be!" +his father warned him. +</p> + +<p> +"She has promised you, Father—that's enough." +</p> + +<p> +Joe breathed a long sigh of utter exhaustion. +"Leave me rest now," he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +His eyes closed, his head sank deeper into the pillow. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed but a few moments later, as they stood +grouped about him, the nurse a little apart, when his +wheezy breathing stopped suddenly. His jaw fell +open. +</p> + +<p> +The nurse came forward. "It's all over!" she +whispered with conventional solemnity. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until the nurse had, with professional +mournfulness, drawn the sheet over Joe's stiffened +face, and Susan felt Josie, at her side, shudder and +tremble, that she could believe it. +</p> + +<p> +Joe was dead! +</p> + +<p> +She couldn't grasp it. A cold terror gripped her +lest it was only a dream; lest she presently awake +to find him still nagging, spying, carping, sulking, +holding tight his purse strings. +</p> + +<p> +Joe was dead! +</p> + +<p> +Yet as she went forth from the presence of the dead +she was conscious of a great pity for the man she was +forever leaving, pity because she, his wife, should be +feeling just now not grief, but only a boundless peace +and contentment; like one who, having for seventeen +years been bound and gagged, had now suddenly +struck off her bonds. +</p> + +<p> +But Josie, walking after her, felt a new responsibility +upon his shoulders—the responsibility of seeing +to it that his father's dying wish be fulfilled. He had +been constituted his mother's keeper. He would +faithfully execute his trust. +</p> + +<p> +Josie had never been told that Susan was not his +own mother. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap15"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XV +<br><br> +A WIDOW +</h2> + +<p> +Josie was shocked and even hurt at the +irresponsible gayety with which his mother bore +her bereavement. +</p> + +<p> +He thought with bitterness, "All she cares about, I +guess, is that now she'll have some money of her own +to spend—<i>my</i> money!" +</p> + +<p> +For of course every dollar his mother spent would +take off just that much from <i>his</i> ultimate inheritance. +He was worried. He knew that his father had never +allowed her any freedom in spending money—women +were such spendthrifts! And here she was now, +suddenly turned loose with absolute right (except for +the restraint of that death-bed promise) over a great +fortune! He could conceive of no other explanation +of her unaccustomed brightness and joy. For +though an intelligent youth, his perceptions were +keen rather than fine; he lacked the sensitiveness +which feels atmospheres and another's point of view. +</p> + +<p> +It was a singular fact that Josie, though a graduate +of a first-class college where he had really seen life, +had never seemed to become aware of his father's +extreme crudity. His familiarity with it, together +with his genuine affection for his father, had +mercifully kept him from seeing Joe as others saw him. +Thanks to the unselfish tact with which Susan had +always maintained domestic peace, he had never +realized the tragic incompatibility between his +parents. Hence his complete mystification at +Susan's present offensive attitude; offensive, that is, +to him. +</p> + +<p> +Her refusal to wear black had outraged his +middle-class sense of propriety; but her lack of even a +pretence of a decently sorrowful demeanour—in +public before their very neighbours!—made him more +deeply ashamed of her than he had ever in his life +been of his father. +</p> + +<p> +"Didn't you care for Father at <i>all</i>, Mother?" he +one day broke out after witnessing the gay +encounter between Susan and Georgie, who had run +over to the big house to greet her five minutes after +his arrival at the cottage for the Christmas holidays. +</p> + +<p> +Susan's radiant face grew sober at the question. +She looked at Josie uncertainly. She would never be +able to make him understand. She never had made +him understand anything in her heart; while Georgie +seemed to realize, without being told, everything +about her. <i>He</i> knew what a release was hers; what +a chattel she had been; though she had never talked +to him of herself. +</p> + +<p> +How should she answer her step-son? Wasn't it +better to be done with pretence and speak the truth, +even if it were not understood? +</p> + +<p> +"Try to think a bit, Josie—how could a woman +like me have cared for a man like your father? Your +father was so far beneath me that he could not hear +the sound of my voice when I spoke!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan felt herself tingle with a strange delight in +speaking out at last the truth from her heart. +</p> + +<p> +"That's a fine way for you to talk to me of my own +father! For a wife to talk of her husband just dead +a month! Father loved <i>you</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"I know he did, so he had the better of it, you see, +for I never let him see how much I <i>didn't</i> love <i>him</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Why did you marry a man you considered so far +beneath you? If you ever <i>were</i> so far above Father, +as you seem to think yourself, you certainly must +admit that you sank to his level by marrying him! +Why did you do it?" +</p> + +<p> +"One of the strongest reasons was——" +</p> + +<p> +She almost said, "My longing to mother you!" +</p> + +<p> +She checked herself in time. Not yet was she +ready to tell him she was not his own mother. She +knew instinctively that however much recreation +Josie found in bullying her he did truly love her so +much that the discovery that he was not hers would +deal him a blow far deeper than that which his +father's sudden death had given him. +</p> + +<p> +"I can only tell you this, Josie—my reasons were +unselfish. I have paid dear for the lesson that a +woman had better cut her throat than marry a man +she—despises." She used the word deliberately. +It was such joy to call a spade a spade! "All the +same, Josie, I am sure that my marriage harmed no +one but myself; and did a few people some good, +perhaps. But the past seems such an awful nightmare +to me that I don't want to speak of it, to think +of it, any more! Only—it may as well be understood +between you and me that your father's death is to me +a blessed release! Now let us forever drop the subject!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Josie had always been intensely jealous of Georgie, +not only as the rival heir to White Oak Farm, but +because of the good comradeship that existed between +his mother and his cousin. His mother was his +exclusive possession, and no other boy had a right to +any least part of her consideration. He hotly +resented every friendly look or word that passed +between them. +</p> + +<p> +A third cause of his jealousy was Georgie's superior +talents. He was already, at the age of nineteen, in +the graduating class of a school of civil engineers and +had manifested precocious and distinguished ability. +His professors predicted that he would some day do +something very big. +</p> + +<p> +There were times when Susan saw, to her sorrow, +that Josie's aversion to Georgie almost equalled the +venom his father had always felt for Sidney. +</p> + +<p> +Joe had died at the end of November, and it was the +following spring, while Josie was home from his Jaw +school for the Easter vacation, that the first real +conflict between him and his mother occurred. +</p> + +<p> +The habit of not spending money had become so +fixed with Susan that when informed by her deceased +husband's lawyer that she possessed three hundred +thousand dollars, with no strings attached to it, to +spend it and will it away as she liked, the fact left +her rather uncomprehending. She was still vaguely +under the spell of her husband's last injunctions, +enjoining her to remember that she held his money +only in trust for his son, the real heir, and that she +must be most conscientiously economical. +</p> + +<p> +So, upon Josie's return home at Easter, he was +relieved to find no change in the old order of their +life; no extra servants, no extravagant clothes, no +new car. +</p> + +<p> +Evidently she was taking her promises to his dying +father very seriously. He had not really expected +her to do otherwise; yet he found himself feeling +greatly relieved. +</p> + +<p> +But when, after the habit of his father, he prowled +about the house to catch her up, perhaps, in some +secret sin, he discovered in her bedroom—not hidden, +but brazenly displayed in a new bookcase—several +dozens of new, expensive volumes, poetry, essays, +travels, fiction, economics, philosophy, he felt greatly +annoyed. She had never bought books while his +father lived; why should she find it necessary now? +</p> + +<p> +"You could get enough books to satisfy any +reasonable person at the Middleburg library, I should +think, Mother. I don't see why you have to squander +good money on books. It's certainly not being +very economical with my money!" +</p> + +<p> +How like old times it sounded to Susan!—except +that it was couched in grammatical English. For four +restful, heavenly months her ears had not once been +rasped with the menace of that hateful word, +"economical". Was it only a lovely dream? Was Josie +going to take his father's place and nag at her, +hamper her at every turn? She had so revelled in +the luxury of buying books quite recklessly, for the +first time in her life! It had been her only orgy since +her freedom, except—— +</p> + +<p> +Must Josie be told just how she used every dollar +of the money which the family lawyer was paying +over to her? He was quite as penurious as his father +had been—was she, then, going to have to account +to him for every least little indulgence? +</p> + +<p> +She did not even question his <i>ipse dixit</i>, "My +money." Joe's money was of course his son's. +When every now and then during his vacation a +question of her expenditures came up, she always +accepted quite placidly and as a matter of course his +ultimatum, "That would be an unnecessary expense. +I can't consent to it." +</p> + +<p> +She told him that it was so lonely at White Oak +Farm when he was away, and that the place involved +so much more household work than seemed worth +while for one person, that she thought it might be an +economy of labour (as well as of coal) for them to +take an apartment in Middleburg and sublet White +Oak Farm. +</p> + +<p> +But Josie would not consider it. Inasmuch as a +desirable tenant could not readily be found, it was +much more economical for them to remain on the +farm. +</p> + +<p> +"Especially as we don't have to pay Uncle Sidney +nearly as much rent as we would have to pay for an +apartment—seeing he still owes the estate money. +What's more, it is only by living out here at White Oak +Farm that we shall ever get out of Uncle Sidney +the money he owes us." +</p> + +<p> +"But we don't need to get it back, Josie; we've +plenty to be comfortable with; so why sacrifice +ourselves for a house—or a debt?" +</p> + +<p> +"You've no business sense, Mother," was Josie's +conclusive reply. "I would not consider moving +away from here." +</p> + +<p> +But it was not only in the matter of her use of +money that Josie tyrannized. Georgie, too, was +home just now for the Easter vacation; and during +the whole two weeks of the two boys' sojourn at the +farm Susan was never free for an hour from her +sense of Josie's incessant spying upon her to intercept +a tête-à -tête between her and Georgie. +</p> + +<p> +She observed that this seemed to trouble Georgie +very little. He had a way (most irritating to Josie) +of ignoring the latter's slights, because the obvious +fact was that he minded them no more than he +would have minded the snarling of a cur. But the +crowning offence to Josie, which made him almost +hysterical with anger, was the utter failure of his own +inimical attitude toward his cousin to put any +restraint whatever upon the spontaneity of Georgie's +intercourse with his "Aunt Susan". +</p> + +<p> +"Any one would suppose you were more his mother +than mine!" Josie would complain to Susan, like a +jealous child. "What right has he coming round +here to monopolize you, Mother? I'm only here for +two weeks and I want you to myself a <i>little</i> bit! He's +always hanging 'round here as if the place were +already his—and as if you were his!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan had long since, in sheer self-defence, fallen +into the way of curbing any expression of affection +for Georgie when Josie was by. +</p> + +<p> +"Why can't he stay at home with his father? <i>I</i> +haven't any father! I haven't any one but you. +And he, who has a father, wants my mother as well, +so that I'll have no one!" +</p> + +<p> +Josie, who in some respects would never be a +grown man, seemed to regard his orphaned condition +as a claim to such honorable martyrdom as to entitle +him to unlimited sympathy, indulgence, petting; +just as, in his childhood, he had made large capital of +his little illnesses, prolonging his convalescence and +its attendant relaxation of discipline as long as he +possibly could. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you realize, Mother," Josie pursued the +discussion, "that if Uncle Sidney should die (and +he's miserable enough to die any old time) my cousin +George could turn you and me off this place?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Josie." +</p> + +<p> +"If he has any honour about him he won't repudiate +his father's debts to my father!" Josie hotly +maintained. "He'll let us live on here until the last +dollar of that debt is wiped out!" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't see why George should burden his young +life with his father's debts, my dear." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you don't, don't you? Do you realize that +if Uncle Sidney does not pay back what he borrowed +from Father, <i>I'm</i> the loser? You'd take from me, +your own son, and give to a boy that's no relation to +you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Georgie has lost enough through his father—without +assuming his debts!" +</p> + +<p> +"All your sympathy is for Georgie, of course! Why +don't you give <i>me</i> some sympathy for all I'd lose? A +pretty mother you are, I must say!" +</p> + +<p> +"It isn't as though you needed this place; you'll +have so much more than you will need!—more than +any one ought to have! The whole scheme seems +horribly wrong to me. You two young men have +no social right to great wealth for which you have +not worked—you nearly a million dollars and +Georgie this great estate! It ought not to be +allowed. Something ought to be done about it!" +</p> + +<p> +"You know perfectly well there's no use your +talking that kind of rot to me, Mother!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I do know that perfectly well, Josie, dear!" +Susan sighed. "More's the pity!" +</p> + +<p> +Josie just here experienced one of his sudden +revulsions to demonstrative affection. "You're my +little mother, so you are!" he exclaimed, rushing at +her and burying his head on her bosom, kissing her +roughly, rapturously, fondling her, insisting upon +her fondling him, cooing over her incoherent love +phrases. +</p> + +<p> +She submitted, half appeased, half bored, +marvelling at the boy's morbid nature, responding as +warmly as she could. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Ever since Joe's death Susan had rioted in the +delight, so long denied her, of doing little kindnesses +for her aging sisters. She did not dream of using +Joe's money in any large expenditures for them, but +she constantly carried dainties to them, bought them +trifling gifts, took them driving in her little car, +insisted upon getting their laundry every week and +having it done at White Oak Farm by her laundress, +called for them every Sunday and took them out to +her home to dinner. +</p> + +<p> +It was this latter item which precipitated a discussion +between her and Josie that led to far-reaching +results. +</p> + +<p> +"It seems to me you go gadding an awful lot, +Mother," Josie grumbled when on Sunday morning +she announced her intention of driving over to +Reifsville. "You didn't squander gasoline so recklessly +while Father lived!" +</p> + +<p> +"The word gasoline, Josie, will ever bring up to me +bright and tender memories of your father!" +</p> + +<p> +"Your sarcasm doesn't cover your taking advantage!" +</p> + +<p> +"Of whom?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of poor Father—who you say you did not +love!" he irrelevantly accused her. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Whom</i> you did not love—not <i>who</i>," she +automatically corrected him—then laughed at herself +involuntarily, and so merrily that Josie, whose +heart still mourned, winced perceptibly. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you want to go to Reifsville for?" he +inquired. "You were there just the other day." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm going to bring your aunts over to dine with +us." +</p> + +<p> +"Huh! You've been doing that a lot, I guess, +while I've been away—since Father's gone! You +didn't do it when he was living." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think that's to his credit—that I did not +invite my sisters here while he lived?" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't fling gibes at my father, Mother! I +won't stand for it!" +</p> + +<p> +"'Fling gibes.' It sounds Shaksperean! 'Whips +and arrows of outrageous fortune'—come, dear +boy, please don't be an ass!" +</p> + +<p> +"'An ass!' I never hear you call George an ass!" +</p> + +<p> +"Josie, aren't you ever going to grow out of your +infancy?" she asked with a long-drawn breath as +turned away and left him. +</p> + +<p> +This tilt with Josie rankled in her heart all the way +over to Reifsville, preparing a fertile soil for the +comments which her sisters let drop, from time to +time, on the ride back. The Reifsville school would +close in a month, they told Susan, and they would +miss the needed board money which the teacher paid +them, though they would be glad to be relieved of +the extra work he made, even though a man teacher +wasn't nearly so much trouble as a woman teacher +had always been. They hoped they could get one +or two summer boarders, if they could stand the +work it would entail—they were not so strong as they +used to be—they were really getting to be old women, +now, "funny" as it seemed! And yet, how they +were going to live at all without taking summer +boarders as they had been doing for the past few +years—— +</p> + +<p> +"I have so glad for you, Susie, that you'll never +have to worry about money in your old age, nor have +to work beyond your strength. Joe's left you that +well-fixed, you can take it easy; ain't? It's a good +thing he died too soon to get a will made a'ready, or +mebby he'd of tied up his money so's you couldn't of +had no freedom with it. But now that the law has +gave you your widow's thirds, to do what you please +with, you're <i>well</i>-fixed. Ain't?" +</p> + +<p> +"To do what I please with?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, to be sure! You can even will it away +from Josie if you want." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you mind, Susie," asked Addie, "how oncet +you was a-goin' to leave Joe and run off? <i>Ain't</i>, it's +a good thing, now, you stuck! Look how nice-fixed +you are—and a widdah and all!—and your own +boss." +</p> + +<p> +"My 'own boss'!" repeated Susan, vaguely. +</p> + +<p> +"The <i>County Gazette</i> says you are got an income of +more than eighteen thousand dollars a year, Susan! +Yi, yi, it wonders me! Is it so, Susie?" +</p> + +<p> +"I—I—suppose it is. Yes, I really do have that +income. Dear me! I had not realized it, Addie! +I've thought of it as really belonging to Josie. Of +course by rights it is Josie's." +</p> + +<p> +"Josie's nothin'!" exclaimed Lizzie. "Sure you +earnt everything Joe Houghton inherited to you, +Susie!—the way you worked fur him when he could +of hired for you; and you so good-educated and not +used to hard work! And the way you brang up his +son for him! That boy would not be the mannerly, +genteel young man he kin be (when he wants to) if it +hadn't of been for you, Susie. Yes, indeedy, you +earnt all you got!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I guess anyhow!" Addie corroborated this +statement. "Don't you go thinkin' it ain't every +cent of it yourn, Susie, to do what you like with!" +</p> + +<p> +"Please don't speak of it before Josie," Susan +warned them, hastily, as they drew up under the +porte-cochère at White Oak Farm. +</p> + +<p> +Josie's manner to his aunts that day aped so +perfectly the inhospitable attitude his father had +always taken toward them on their very occasional +visits to White Oak Farm—the curtness with which +Joe had been wont to answer their friendly or +propitiatory overtures; his sullen and prolonged +silences; his actual rudeness—that Susan was +conscious of a shade of amusement conflicting with +her mingled indignation and sorrow. She and her +sisters had been, for the past four months, so greatly +enjoying their restful, happy Sundays together, +freed from Joe's kill-joy presence, that they all felt +keenly this return to the old wretched atmosphere. +</p> + +<p> +While the painfully embarrassing dinner was in +progress Susan thought back over the unfailing +kindnesses and generosity of her sisters to her +step-son, through all his childhood and youth; of how he +used to love to be taken to the Reifsville cottage for +the animal cookies the "aunties" would bake for +him; the "sticker" baskets they would patiently +construct for him, and the chicken-coops and pig-pens +they would build out of clothes pins; the little +birthday and Christmas feasts and gifts they always +managed to have for him, no matter how poor they +found themselves. +</p> + +<p> +How could Josie feel toward them, now, as he +seemed to? +</p> + +<p> +"Ain't these here oranges sweet, though?" Lizzie +remarked as she tasted the "fruit hash" they had for +dessert. "It gives an awful good taste. I have so +fond for oranges and we don't never buy none no +more—me and Addie—they come too high. They +want eighty cents a dozen now, on the store, for +oranges. Ain't, Addie?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, anyhow!" said Addie. +</p> + +<p> +"We get them for nothing," began Susan, "from +Joe's Florida orange grove. We get——" +</p> + +<p> +Josie interrupted her. "For nothing! I don't +call it for nothing! We have to pay the freight, +don't we? And the taxes and the labour, don't we? +For nothing! That's just like a woman!" +</p> + +<p> +"We've got so many more than we can use," said +Susan, "you must take a basket full home with +you, Lizzie." +</p> + +<p> +"We haven't more than we can use!" Josie +quickly contradicted her. "You can make me a lot +of orange marmalade, Mother. You know how I +love orange marmalade." +</p> + +<p> +"I've already made you all the orange marmalade +you can eat in a year, Josie." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, we can find plenty of use for all the oranges +we have," he persisted. +</p> + +<p> +"You mustn't give us what you can't spare, +Susie," Lizzie protested, flushing sensitively. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I can spare them. We have two big +boxes of them in the storage room." +</p> + +<p> +Josie, looking annoyed and offended, frowned into +his coffee cup. But he said no more. +</p> + +<p> +After dinner he neither left the women to themselves +nor did he join them as they sat about the log +fire in the parlour; but settling himself unsociably at +the extreme other end of the room, he buried +himself in a book. +</p> + +<p> +The constraint which his inimical presence put +upon their conversation, and the chilled atmosphere +it created, drove Lizzie and Addie to make an early +start for home. +</p> + +<p> +At the first suggestion of their departure Josie +laid down his book and sauntered toward them. +</p> + +<p> +"You're going to catch the four o'clock trolley?" +he asked as they rose to don their Mennonite black +hoods and shawls. +</p> + +<p> +Susan had gone to the storeroom to get the oranges. +</p> + +<p> +"Why—we—Susie generally fetches us in her +automobile—but——" +</p> + +<p> +"It seems hardly worth while to bother taking out +the automobile when the trolley is so handy," said +Josie. +</p> + +<p> +"We'll have the heavy basket of oranges, though," +said Lizzie, hesitatingly, reluctant to lose their always +greatly enjoyed ride with Susan. +</p> + +<p> +"But I've had Mother to myself so little this +vacation! I'd rather she didn't go away over to +Reifsville this afternoon and leave me here all alone!" +objected Josie, plaintively. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, have you got the stomachache or whatever, +Josie?" inquired Addie, solicitously. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you think I want my mother to myself +sometimes? Georgie's had her this vacation nearly +as much as I've had her!" +</p> + +<p> +Lizzie and Addie exchanged hasty, scared glances. +</p> + +<p> +"And," continued Josie, "gasoline's gone up so, +and there's the toll both ways between Reifsville and +White Oak Station. Do you know what a trip to +Reifsville really costs in toll and gas and wear and tear +on your car? It averages twelve cents a mile! Fact! +Much more expensive, you see, than to go by trolley +or train." +</p> + +<p> +"But, you see, Josie, me and Addie, us we couldn't +afford to visit our Susie if she didn't fetch and take +us; for we couldn't afford the twenty-five cents +trolley fare." +</p> + +<p> +"Then Mother would better give you the trolley +fare; it would be much cheaper for her. I'm thinking +of selling our car, anyhow." +</p> + +<p> +The sisters, without replying, continued to bundle +up in their hoods and shawls and overshoes. +</p> + +<p> +But Susan, upon returning to the parlour, refused to +consider letting them go home by trolley. +</p> + +<p> +"We all enjoy the automobile ride," she said. +"And there's this heavy basket." +</p> + +<p> +"Heavy! I should say it is heavy!" exclaimed +Josie as he lifted it tentatively and set it down again. +"What on earth have you got in it?" +</p> + +<p> +"All it will hold of the good things your aunts are +fond of," Susan briefly answered. +</p> + +<p> +"Make the load lighter so they <i>can</i> carry it. I +don't want you to take the car so far again to-day, +Mother." +</p> + +<p> +"Please carry the basket out to the car for us, +Josie," Susan coldly requested him. +</p> + +<p> +"But, Mother, I don't want the car used so +hard! You use it much too hard. Aunties can +just as well take the trolley home, and——" +</p> + +<p> +"Carry the basket out for me, please," she cut him +short. +</p> + +<p> +Josie obeyed so ungraciously that the sisters +looked mortified and worried, and Susan's face took +on the weary, drawn expression that it had quite lost +during the past four months. +</p> + +<p> +No reference was made, during the ride over to +Reifsville, to the unpleasantnesses of the visit, though +the sisters were sad at heart in realizing afresh how +"mean-dispositioned" Susan's step-son was and +how unappreciative and ungrateful he seemed for all +she had always been to him. +</p> + +<p> +On the way back Susan drove slowly to give +herself time to think. And her thinking covered a +considerable area, ranging from the vague, only +half-realized "promises" (if such they had really been) +with which she had tried to comfort Joe's last +moments on earth, to the chance words her sisters had +dropped that morning—"The law has given you +your widow's thirds <i>to do what you please with</i>." +"An income of over eighteen thousand dollars +a year." "You surely <i>earned</i> everything Joe left +you!" +</p> + +<p> +That was the crux of the whole matter! Was she, +indeed, by virtue of her seventeen years of service in +Joe's interests, morally entitled, as she was legally, +to full freedom in the use and disposal of her "widow's +third" of her husband's estate? Legally she owed +no accounting to Josie or any one else—— +</p> + +<p> +There was no question in her mind of her being +bound by her last words to her husband; she had +spoken them only to soothe him and had not realized +their full significance. She did not feel herself held +by them in the least. She was not at all sure that +she had really made any definite promises. +</p> + +<p> +"But even if I did and had meant them, a bad +promise is better broken than kept." +</p> + +<p> +The only possible question she had to decide was +the extent of Josie's moral right over the property +that had been his father's. +</p> + +<p> +She remembered that Sidney had once told her +that if he had not inherited his uncle's fortune, but +had had to work for his living, he might not have +been the wreck he was. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, even if I didn't want this money (and God +knows I do!) I would be doing the worst possible +harm to Josie by saving it for him—pampering his +horrible selfishness and stinginess! The best service +I can do him is to <i>spend it up</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +In a flash she began to see what the command of +such an income might mean to her. And suddenly +she gave herself over to lovely dreams of all the +things she could do with it. The first thing she +would want to do would be to buy Georgie the new +suit he so badly needed and some chemicals and tools +he had told her he lacked for carrying out a daring +experiment he had in his head. +</p> + +<p> +The next thing she would love to do would be to +settle a comfortable income—a very comfortable +one—upon her sisters. Oh, heavenly joy! What a +lovely thing money could be! To be able to tell +Addie and Lizzie that never more need their +"declining years" be fretted and harassed with +anxious cares about the wherewithal to live, never +more need they labour beyond their strength or be +worried with boarders or frightened at the expense of +illness or the creeping ravages of old age. +</p> + +<p> +After that, she would like to buy a really good +automobile; she mentally apologized to her faithful +little old car which had so often carried her far away +from the strained and cramping atmosphere of her +home, out into the fresh air and sunshine, and had +recreated her. +</p> + +<p> +Next thing, how she would dearly love to go to +some fearfully expensive New York shops and buy +some real clothes! +</p> + +<p> +By the time she reached home, the weary, care-worn +countenance with which she had started out +was replaced by a radiance which made her look so +very girlish that Josie, coming into the hall to greet +her, prepared with a recitation of his several reasons +for being highly offended with her, was startled and +surprised. +</p> + +<p> +In a moment, however, he recovered his sense of +wrong at her hands, with several points added to the +score. What right had she coming in like a breeze, +with rosy cheeks and smiling lips and sparkling eyes, +looking so provokingly kissable?—when all day long +she had been going against his wishes, neglecting +him, her fatherless son, giving her time and his +substance to outsiders. +</p> + +<p> +He had expected her to return to him apologetic, +remorseful, troubled, anxious to propitiate him! And +just look at her! +</p> + +<p> +He began at once to reproach her for that huge +basketful of food that had been given away. +</p> + +<p> +"You never gave away our provisions like that +when Father lived, so why should you do it now, +Mother? You wouldn't even tell me what was in +that basket. Goodness knows what mightn't have +been in it! What <i>was</i> in it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Josie, darling, will you kindly mind your own +business?" she gaily retorted, to his utter consternation, +tripping up the wide, winding staircase as lightly +as a child. +</p> + +<p> +The next moment he heard her bedroom door +close with a snap. +</p> + +<p> +He stood dumbfounded. <i>She</i> was offended with +<i>him</i>! After the way she had treated him all day! +What had <i>she</i> to be offended about, he'd like to +know! +</p> + +<p> +Never, from his babyhood up, had he been able to +endure having her offended with him. +</p> + +<p> +He set his lips tight, walked firmly upstairs to her +bedroom door, and rapped peremptorily. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap16"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI +<br><br> +SUSAN REALIZES HER FREEDOM +</h2> + +<p> +She was propped up on a couch in a deep bay +window, reading a novel. +</p> + +<p> +Josie jerked a chair to the side of the couch +and sat down, facing her. +</p> + +<p> +"Mother!" he demanded, his voice unsteady, +actual tears in his eyes, "don't you love <i>me</i> any better +than you loved Father?" +</p> + +<p> +"When you are lovable, Josie, I love you," she +answered gently, drawing his hand into hers. +</p> + +<p> +"You call it being 'unlovable,' I suppose, when I +object to your doing what you would not do if +Father were alive!" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not such an idiot as to let my life be +hampered and thwarted and dwarfed by the will of a +dead man! It was bad enough to have to submit to +the will of a live one!" +</p> + +<p> +"You can't mean that you don't intend to keep +the promises you made to Father when he was +dying!" exclaimed Josie, both shocked and alarmed; +for if he could not hold over her the solemn obligations +of those death-bed promises, how could he ever +restrain her reckless inclinations to give away the +money that ought to be hoarded for him? +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not sure I made him any promises," she +answered, indifferently. "I said anything, at the +moment, that I thought would soothe and comfort +him. I would have promised to fly to Mars if he +had asked me to. I'd promise any dying person +anything at all that I knew would please them. +But my life is my own now, thank God! It's no +longer Joe Houghton's to use and crush and +distort!—as it was for seventeen years!" +</p> + +<p> +Josie looked white and shaken. "Well, then, if +you have no respect for a solemn promise given to the +dying, will you at least have enough regard for <i>my +interests</i> to restrain your inclination to shower all +sorts of luxuries upon Aunt Addie and Aunt +Lizzie—luxuries that they were never used to!" +</p> + +<p> +"Josie, my son, do you really think it 'nobler in the +mind' to be mean and stingy to two dear and very +poor old women who were always kindness itself to +you, than to break a hideous promise given to a man +whose last dying thoughts were of greed and self? +Do you?" +</p> + +<p> +"If you restricted yourself to giving them a few +necessities, I might put up with it. But I'm just +afraid that next thing you'll be helping them with +<i>money</i>, and——" +</p> + +<p> +"How well you know me, Josie!" she smiled, +patting his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"You wouldn't go so far as that, of course—with +my money?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly not—with your money." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, all you have is practically mine and will +some day be really mine." +</p> + +<p> +"Not necessarily." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean?" he quickly demanded, a +catch in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +"My fortune is not entailed to you." +</p> + +<p> +"But as it came from my father and his family +and not through you or your family, it's certainly +morally mine and not yours to will to any one but +me. You know what Father would wish——" +</p> + +<p> +"By the way, Josie, as I told you the other day, +this place is too big and lonesome for me when you +are away and I don't want to stay here. I don't +want to be burdened with the care of this great +house. I want to take an apartment in Middleburg +for a while——" +</p> + +<p> +"I told you the other day, Mother, I would not +consider that. It would be so uselessly extravagant. +A sheer waste of money." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not asking you to consider it, Josie." +</p> + +<p> +"Then why waste words discussing it when we are +not really to consider it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I said I was not asking you to consider it." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course you're not—because you know it would +be perfectly useless." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Quite useless." +</p> + +<p> +"Then let's drop it. Here we stay. +</p> + +<p> +"But I am considering it. Or rather, I have +already decided to move to town." +</p> + +<p> +"But I tell you I won't consent——" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't get excited, son. Your consent is not in +the least necessary. I intend to be free of this +house—free to run to New York or Boston or Florida +or California, or perhaps to Europe——" She +laughed out at Josie's look of helpless horror. "You +can go with me sometimes if you like." +</p> + +<p> +"You shan't do it! You shan't squander my money!" +</p> + +<p> +"To-morrow morning, Josie, I am going to our +Middleburg lawyer to arrange for settling a good +income upon my sisters. A very comfortable income. +That will eliminate, once and for all, any argument +between you and me about <i>them</i>." +</p> + +<p> +Josie stared at her wildly. "You shan't! You +dare not! What right have you?" +</p> + +<p> +"The same right that you have to dispose of your +inheritance as you please. And you must +understand from now on, Josie, that I don't intend to +permit you to nag at me, to question anything I may +choose to do <i>with my own</i>. It is impertinent, and I +won't tolerate it. Another thing, you will not only +be courteous to my sisters when they come here, +you will make them welcome." +</p> + +<p> +"I won't!" he snapped back like a spiteful child. +"You can't make me!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then you and I can't live together, Josie," she +answered, dropping his hand and picking up her +novel. +</p> + +<p> +"Can't live together!" he breathed, appalled at +this new mother whom he did not recognize. +</p> + +<p> +"Next thing," he said, chokingly, "you'll be +handing out our money to Georgie!—to tide him over +until he takes possession of White Oak Farm!" +</p> + +<p> +"If I did, it would be my money, not yours. +Remember—I will suffer no interference from you, +my dear. I'm only just beginning to bring you up +as you ought to be brought up." +</p> + +<p> +"And I suppose you won't even promise to make +your will in my favour!" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I won't promise. I shall wait to see, +first, how you behave. I'm inclined to think it +would be far better for your soul, Josie, if I should +sink my fortune in the sea rather than give it to you! +So don't forget—from this day on, so long as I live, +you are on trial for good behaviour." +</p> + +<p> +Josie sprang up, his face distorted with rage. "You +don't love me any better than you loved Father! +You hate me! You're my worst enemy! You——" +</p> + +<p> +It was like the old tantrums of his childhood, +which his father had never allowed her to punish or +discipline. Susan shrank away from him in distress, +as from an abnormality. +</p> + +<p> +But in the midst of his raving there was a knock at +her bedroom door and, to her great relief, the +entrance of a maid put a sudden stop to the young +man's tirade. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Sidney Houghton," the maid announced. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell him, please, that I am lying down and wish +to be excused," said Susan, instantly. +</p> + +<p> +Sidney had been trying for the past month to +secure a repeatedly refused interview with her. +</p> + +<p> +"He says to tell you, Missus, that it's some +important and he's got to see you," the girl replied. +</p> + +<p> +"Josie, will you go down and ask him what he +wants?" Susan asked. +</p> + +<p> +Without replying, Josie flung himself out of the +room and banged the door behind him, the maid +following him with a grin. +</p> + +<p> +Susan picked up her novel; but she could not put +her mind upon it and soon laid it aside again. +</p> + +<p> +For the past four weeks, with a blind, unthinking +instinct of self-defence, she had been warding off an +interview with Sidney which he, with a persistency +and determination that vaguely alarmed her, had +been seeking. She was sure he could not possibly +have anything to say to her which she would wish to +hear. +</p> + +<p> +During Joe's lifetime, her occasionally meeting him +had come to mean little more to her than encountering +any chance acquaintance. But his attitude since her +widowhood had been so gallant, yet so fearful; so +insinuating, yet so apologetic, that it had assumed to +her imagination the expression of a menace, threatening +her newly acquired freedom, her peace of mind; +so that it had become, of late, intensely disagreeable +to her to be forced to speak with him. That was one +reason why she wished to go to Middleburg to live—to +avoid the constant chance of an encounter with +him. +</p> + +<p> +"Would he have the amazing effrontery to ask me +to marry him?" she wondered; for she intuitively +sensed, unmistakably, a would-be lover in his +manner. "Does he think, actually, that he has anything +at all to offer any woman—let alone me whose whole +life he spoiled?" +</p> + +<p> +Could it be that, shattered wreck of a man as he +was, he considered merely being a Houghton was a +sufficient offset to his disadvantages? Did he still +look down upon her from a superior height as his +discarded and repudiated "mistress" and believe +that he would be stooping to marry her? +</p> + +<p> +"He's quite capable of thinking like that!" she +decided. "While <i>I</i> feel that my one only consolation +for never having had a living child is that it +would have been a Houghton!—would have had to +fight that bad inheritance!" +</p> + +<p> +It was almost funny, how different the point of +view of two people could be! +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, Josie was, with much relish, curtly +telling his Uncle Sidney that, his mother declined to +see him, and enjoying viciously his uncle's evident +chagrin and disappointment. +</p> + +<p> +Josie noticed, casually, the shabby finery of his +impoverished uncle—how sprucely he was attired in +the worn and out-of-date clothing of his "better +days," how cleanly he was shaven, how shining +were his patched shoes; he noticed, too, the cane and +gloves which he carried; a cane and gloves to walk +across the lawn in the country! Wasn't that like +Uncle Sidney? +</p> + +<p> +An idea flashed upon Josie that made his heart +leap into his throat. He looked into his uncle's +face—a tired, disappointed, prematurely old face +which, however, seemed lit up, just now, with a +sparkle of hope, like that of the proverbial drowning +man who reaches for a plank. +</p> + +<p> +Did Uncle Sidney actually have the nerve, the +utter audacity, to come here trying to defraud him, +Josie, out of part of his rightful inheritance, through +courting his mother?—after having squandered a +much larger fortune of his own! Would she be silly +enough to get sentimental about him?—he was still +handsome and elegant and well-mannered and all +those things that women love a man to be. Josie +himself had always secretly admired and been +proud of his dandified relative. +</p> + +<p> +He would have to warn his mother! Uncle Sidney +would simply run through with all the money he +could get his hands on. +</p> + +<p> +"And then Mother'd be on my hands for support! +After having given that self-indulgent spendthrift my +father's savings!" +</p> + +<p> +He would warn her at once! +</p> + +<p> +But would she heed his warning? She had told +him to mind his business and not to nag or criticize! +</p> + +<p> +Well, then, he'd use some guile. He'd plot to +circumvent such a disaster to both himself and his +mother. +</p> + +<p> +It was jealousy, now, as well as greed, that moved +him. +</p> + +<p> +"Mother told me to ask you what you wanted," he +accosted his uncle in a tone as insolent as he could +make it. +</p> + +<p> +"I want to see her." +</p> + +<p> +"What for?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'll tell her that." +</p> + +<p> +"She's lying down and doesn't wish to be +disturbed. You can tell me your errand." +</p> + +<p> +"Tell her, please, that I shall be over again +this evening when she's <i>not</i> lying down. I must +see her—on a matter of importance—of vital +importance." +</p> + +<p> +"Of vital importance to you perhaps, but not to +her!" retorted Josie, eyeing his uncle with a knowing +look which was meant to convey to him that his +astute nephew saw straight through his shallow +scheme for rehabilitating his fortunes at the expense +of his sister-in-law and his nephew. "She can't see +you this evening. She and I have an engagement." +</p> + +<p> +As Sidney Houghton made his crestfallen way +back to his cottage, after this rebuff at the big house, +he weighed and considered the only path yet left +open to him by which he might once more become +possessed of comfort and even happiness; for he was +still young; and Susan, who had marvellously carried +her years, was even more alluring as a blooming, +full-fledged woman of thirty-nine than she had been as a +young girl. +</p> + +<p> +Would she spurn him so relentlessly once she knew +the secret which, during more than eighteen years, he +had guarded so zealously; with so much anguish of +suspense and fear? +</p> + +<p> +"When she learns that Georgie is our son—hers +and mine—she'll surely see there's only one way +to make things right for him. Josie need never +know. No one need ever know except Susan and +me." +</p> + +<p> +His uncertainty as to how Susan would receive +his disclosure; whether she would, as Laura had +warned him, passionately resent her defrauded +motherhood and his long years of deception; or +whether she would be glad that at least her "respectability" +had been saved, as well as that of her son—— +</p> + +<p> +Sidney's heart failed him when he contemplated +going to her with his confession. +</p> + +<p> +But what else was there to do? If he could see +the least chance of winning her without it—— +</p> + +<p> +But far from letting him come courting her, she +would not even receive a business call from him. +</p> + +<p> +Would he have to tell her in writing? He did not +like to risk that. Suppose his letter should fall into +Josie's hands? That detestable little cad was quite +capable of opening Susan's letters if he had the +least suspicion (as he manifestly had) of anything +impending which might menace his fortunes! No, he +could not risk a letter. +</p> + +<p> +But if Susan persisted in avoiding him, refusing to +receive him? +</p> + +<p> +He suddenly saw a possible, though doubtful, +way out. He could confess to Georgie the story of +his birth and let <i>him</i> tell his mother. Then when +Susan had had time to recover from the shock, he +himself would go to her and suggest that together +they make amends to their son in the only possible +way. +</p> + +<p> +How would Georgie himself take it? Georgie was +the one creature in the world that Sidney had always +loved better than he loved himself. And the boy +was devoted to him; the only human being left to +him in the world who did care whether he lived or +died; whether he was provided with life's bare +necessities, or whether he starved or froze to death! +To risk turning Georgie's affection to resentment and +bitterness? The boy was so quixotically honourable +and chivalrous! And so extraordinarily fond of +Susan! +</p> + +<p> +"It's a devil of a mess, any way you look at it!" he +sighed. +</p> + +<p> +But he finally concluded that he would take +Georgie into his confidence. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was at this self-same hour, while Sidney was +slowly and thoughtfully returning to his humble +home, foiled for the twentieth time in his purpose to +try out his fortunes with Susan, that a discussion +between Susan's sisters at Reifsville was threatening +to take the matter somewhat out of his hands. +</p> + +<p> +"Even if we don't tell her now," Lizzie was saying +as she and Addie sat together over a cup of tea in +their spotless kitchen, "I know I'll have to tell her +till I come to die oncet, Addie. I could never go +before my Gawd with that there sekert on my conscience!" +</p> + +<p> +"Me, neither," agreed Addie, who had never in her +life been known to disagree with Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +"Georgie's so much nicer a young man than what +Josie is and Susie she has so fond for Georgie," +continued Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, fonder yet than what she has for Josie, it +seems; ain't?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, and no wonder! Josie's certainly awful +ugly dispositioned that way!" +</p> + +<p> +"And for a young man he seems so silly!" said +Addie. "More like a girl." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, ain't? I don't see how our Susie stands +him so good as what she does! I could stand him +pretty good whiles he was a little boy, because, to be +sure, a body don't expec' much off of a little boy. +But now that he's growed up, he kreistles me awful, +with his high, squeaky voice like a girl's and his +finnicky ways and prancing walk and his nasty +fussiness—och!" she ended, disgustedly, "I'd like to +slap him good oncet!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, ain't? So would I," echoed Addie. +</p> + +<p> +"Say, Addie, our Susie don't seem to take it in that +she's rich and independent now and don't have to +take it off of Josie so!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, just you wait—our Susie ain't no fool," +said Addie, with unexpected initiative. "She'll soon +find it out—and then you watch out!" +</p> + +<p> +"What's botherin' me," said Lizzie with a long +breath, "is whether we had ought to tell Susie the +truth right aways, or wait till we're on our +death-beds. I'm for tellin' her now." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, well, but it might get out and make talk!" +</p> + +<p> +"Seems to me I don't care no more if it does! I +care more for seein' our Susie own her own son!" said +Lizzie, rising to a height. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor little Georgie!" sighed Addie, wiping a +tear from her cheek. "To have been turned out +when he was a baby the way we done!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, well, but we give him to his own pop and +him well-fixed to take care of him," Lizzie repeated +the oft-rehearsed arguments in justification of their +years of deception. "Look at what it would have +<i>give</i>, Addie, to all of us, Susie and Georgie and us +all, if we'd have did different to what we done!" +</p> + +<p> +"If we tell now," Addie reminded her, "you know +Georgie won't inherit White Oak Farm, if it gets +out that he ain't the legal heir." +</p> + +<p> +"But Susie could anyhow inherit all <i>her</i> money to +him, and that seems better'n an old farm and a +house too big and grand for any but a millionaire to +live in," argued Lizzie. +</p> + +<p> +"I most have afraid, Lizzie, of how our Susie will +take it if we tell her! She might think awful hard of +us! I'd most sooner wait till my death-bed before I +tell her a'ready." +</p> + +<p> +"But us we might live to such a good old age that +her and Georgie would be cheated out of too many +more years that they could enjoy each other as +mother and son," persisted Lizzie. "No, now that +Susie's independent and rich, I think she had ought +to be told, Addie." +</p> + +<p> +"All right, Lizzie, if you think." +</p> + +<p> +"We'll go over to-morrow by the trolley and get it +over with. For I can't know no more peace till it's +settled oncet. It's been botherin' me ever since +Joe Houghton died, and I can't stand it no more. +And that there Josie's behaviours to-day got me so +stirred up! To think of how different a boy our +Susie's own son is! We'll go over to-morrow, +Addie, and tell her all about it." +</p> + +<p> +"All right if so you think," said Addie. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap17"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII +<br><br> +SUSAN'S REAPING +</h2> + +<p> +Sidney's story, as recited to his son that +night, while they sat together in the little +living room of the cottage, assumed the colour +of a mere college-boy escapade which, far from +being to his discredit, rather reflected lustre upon +his youthful power to charm and lure the weaker sex. +He really became quite enamoured of his tale as he +unfolded it; withholding the name of the heroine in +the piece for the dramatic climax. For it was to be +feared that the moment Georgie knew that name, he +would be quite unable to see his father's side with +entire fairness. He must hear the whole story with +an unprejudiced judgment; the same judgment +which a man (unlike sentimental, moralizing women) +usually brings to such a case, recognizing the +limitations of a man's self-restraint, the hypocrisy of our +sham American social purity. +</p> + +<p> +For Georgie, though a cleaner and more guileless +youth than his father had been at his age, was yet, in +intelligence and understanding, if not in experience, a +full-fledged man. He listened from the first with a +half smile on his finely cut lips (so like his mother's, +Sidney often realized!) as though he were amused +and a bit incredulous of the all-conquering Don +Juan, or rather Beau Brummel, which his father was +making himself out. Surely, thought Georgie, it +was the middle-aged conceit and egotism of a man +looking back upon a glorified youth which he saw in +high lights and a bit luridly. +</p> + +<p> +"A Pennsylvania Dutch girl she was, from the +crudest sort of family—her father a trucker—a +Mennonite preacher——" +</p> + +<p> +"What was the attraction for such a swell as you +say you were—as you surely <i>were</i>," added Georgie, +indulgently. "I should think you would always +have been too fastidious to have been attracted to +a crude, vulgar girl just by her looks; weren't +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"She was not vulgar at all herself. She'd had +rather different associations from the rest of the +family; had been sent away to school and had made +friends among a really good class of people who had +invited her to their homes now and then—so that she +was really quite nice—and very, very charming." +</p> + +<p> +"And haughtily looked down on her poor family, I +suppose?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not she! That was the trouble; she could not +see that her family made marriage between us out of +the question——" +</p> + +<p> +"Did it? Why?" asked Georgie. +</p> + +<p> +"My boy! A Houghton couldn't marry a village +school teacher, the daughter of a Mennonite +preacher!" +</p> + +<p> +"Couldn't he? That's exactly what Uncle Joe +married." +</p> + +<p> +"There's always one black sheep in every family," +answered Sidney, colouring very red, to Georgie's +surprise. "Joe, even though a Houghton, could not +have married a lady!" +</p> + +<p> +"Aunt Susan not a lady?" +</p> + +<p> +"Would she have married your Uncle Joe if she had +been?" +</p> + +<p> +"I wonder what ever did make her marry a +wretched skinflint like Uncle Joe!" said Georgie, +thoughtfully. "I've often meant to ask her, but +never quite got up the nerve." +</p> + +<p> +"To go on with my story," said Sidney, his tone +less confident, an actual tremor in his voice, +"marriage being out of the question, the inevitable +happened. Unfortunately, the girl, not taking +proper precautions, a child was born. On the very +night of my marriage the girl's father arrived at my +house——" +</p> + +<p> +Georgie's hitherto careless attention to this recital +changed, at this point, to a keen interest, as he saw +how the mere memory of what his father was telling +drove the colour from his lips. +</p> + +<p> +"—and dumped down upon me a baby boy, telling +me his daughter had died at its birth! +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I did the right thing and provided for +the child. I was awfully cut up by the news of the +girl's death—I'd cared for her a lot! It spoiled my +whole wedding-trip!" +</p> + +<p> +"I should think it might! Why on earth did you +do such a thing?—go and ruin a decent girl?" +</p> + +<p> +"But of course, Georgie, such things happen by +mutual consent. A man doesn't 'ruin' a woman +unless she's awfully willing and perhaps eager to be +ruined. Don't fool yourself with any such +old-fashioned, sentimental notion!" +</p> + +<p> +"Very well, then, if your attraction for each other +was so irresistible, why didn't you get married? Why +break the law? Or if our social laws are not founded +on nature's laws, then why don't men change the +laws? Talk about red anarchy and the upsetting +of our established order! What else is that sort of +thing?" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't moralize to me, you young whippersnapper!" +growled Sidney, filliping his son's ear. +"You'll sow a few wild oats yourself, one of these +days, before you settle down." +</p> + +<p> +"But why did you go off and <i>marry another +woman</i>? Wasn't that a pretty rotten deal for the +mother of your child? Weren't you sure the child +was yours?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not a doubt of it. I couldn't marry her, +though—a Houghton could not marry a——" +</p> + +<p> +Sidney paused significantly, and Georgie spoke up +hotly: "A Houghton could seduce a woman, make +her a mother, and then go off and marry another +woman on the very night his child was born and its +mother died! You don't make me proud of being a +Houghton, Father!" +</p> + +<p> +"For shame, Georgie!" Sidney gravely reproved +such disrespect to his blood. "There's something +radically wrong with a fellow that has no family +pride when he has <i>reason</i> to have!" +</p> + +<p> +"What reason have I?" +</p> + +<p> +"The Houghtons were among the earliest settlers +of this country, and have, for generations, held +influential positions in this country. Has any +American any better origin than that?" +</p> + +<p> +"How could you desert that poor girl after you'd +been to each other what you say you were?" +</p> + +<p> +"Better ask about the poor baby!" said Sidney, +feelingly. +</p> + +<p> +"Well! What about it?" +</p> + +<p> +"To go on with my story—I went with my bride +to Europe to take the diplomatic position Uncle +George had secured for me—leaving the baby with +my mother, who put it with a farmer's family. +When, after a year, we came home from Europe, +what news do you suppose greeted me? The girl's +father came to me and told me that the girl had rallied +and got well!—that in order to save her and her parents +and sisters from disgrace, and the baby boy from +the stigma of illegitimacy, they had told her her baby +was dead. Now they wanted me to help them keep +the secret, not only from their little social world, but +from the mother of the boy as well. +</p> + +<p> +"I was only too anxious to keep the secret—first, +because I cared for the boy's welfare and didn't want +him to go through life nameless; second, because—because, +Georgie, I wanted my son to inherit White +Oak Farm and—and my wife, I had learned, would +never bear me a child." +</p> + +<p> +A silence like death filled the little room where they +sat. Georgie, like his father, had turned white, his +eyes filled with a startled wonder. +</p> + +<p> +Sidney was the first to speak. +</p> + +<p> +"You can imagine what my life was like!—trying +to placate my wife's jealousy of the boy; inducing +her to tolerate the child in our home and to pass him +off as hers——" +</p> + +<p> +He stopped—checked by the pallid, tense look on +Georgie's face. +</p> + +<p> +"Then she—was not my mother! And I'm your +illegitimate son?" +</p> + +<p> +Sidney nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"And you've tried to teach me to be proud of being +a Houghton!" +</p> + +<p> +"You're enough more like a Houghton than Josie +is!" said Sidney, heatedly. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank God she was not my own mother!" was +the boy's unexpected exclamation. "The way I've +suffered all my life at her neglect—her dislike of me! +The only balm I've known for that bitterness, Father, +has been Aunt Susan's real affection for me. It isn't +merely that Aunt Susan is kind to me, she really does +care for me a lot! I'm sure I don't know why she +does. But when I was a hungry-hearted youngster, +the way she'd take me up in her arms and hold me—I +knew she <i>loved</i> me! It saved my soul! Go on with +your story, Father." +</p> + +<p> +"Soon after we moved out here to White Oak +Farm I found to my horror that—your—mother—was +actually teaching the school of White Oak +Station across the road!—in constant danger of +running across you (whom she thought dead, mind +you!)—and in danger of meeting my wife, with a +possible scene and disclosure! For of course I didn't +tell Laura that your mother was alive! She could not +have borne it! I tell you I walked on nettles! +I——" +</p> + +<p> +"Is my mother living?" Georgie broke in with +restrained excitement. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm coming to that. +</p> + +<p> +"I had never told my wife your mother's name and +though they had once met for a moment in my +college rooms, Laura didn't seem to remember her at +all——" +</p> + +<p> +"I must know, Father!" Georgie broke in again. +"Is my mother living? Just tell me yes or no!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Go on!" +</p> + +<p> +"I had to get her (your mother) away from this +neighbourhood. So I went to her father and told +him he'd got to move away; I would finance the +move. He was very hard up and though he hated me +like hell, he had no choice; he had to accept my +offer; for he was as much averse to exposure as I was. +But on the very eve of his moving away with his +family he died. And then—and then, Georgie——" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes?" urged Georgie, breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +"And then your mother married." +</p> + +<p> +"Where is she?" demanded Georgie. "Do you know?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I know." +</p> + +<p> +"Can I go to her? For of course I shall go to her. +Where is she?" +</p> + +<p> +"Georgie, she is a widow, now, and I want to +right the wrong I did her—I want to marry her!" +</p> + +<p> +"If she'd be weak enough to marry you now, I'd +never own her! Where is she?" +</p> + +<p> +"She is up at the big house, Georgie!" +</p> + +<p> +Georgie sat rigid. Every drop of colour left his +face. Again a deathly silence flooded the little +room. +</p> + +<p> +This time Georgie was the one to break it, speaking +slowly, in a low voice, his eyes piercing his +father's. +</p> + +<p> +"She married <i>your brother</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Your mistress—mother of your bastard!—married +your brother!" +</p> + +<p> +"Rough on Joe, of course! But he never knew it." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Aunt Susan is my mother!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"My mother! She my mother! Father! What +you have defrauded me of all my life! What it +would have meant to her and to me! Yes, to her, too. +Josie, the son whom she knew to be her own, was +never so near to her as I've been, even while she +didn't know me to be her son, too! And if she had +known!" +</p> + +<p> +"Josie's not her son, Georgie!" +</p> + +<p> +"What! Good God, what next? What do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"He's her step-son. But of course he doesn't know +it and she doesn't want him to know it. He is not +to be told, either, of your relation to Susan—you'd +lose White Oak Farm." +</p> + +<p> +"You are reckoning without me a bit! I don't +want White Oak Farm if I have to get it by +repudiating my mother!" +</p> + +<p> +"You won't have to repudiate her. I tell you I'm +going to make things right for both you and her!" +</p> + +<p> +"She will never marry you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why not?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why should she?" +</p> + +<p> +"You think I've got nothing at all to offer her?" +demanded Sidney, piqued. +</p> + +<p> +"What have you to offer her?" +</p> + +<p> +"Only myself." +</p> + +<p> +"A Houghton! But I thought a Houghton could +not marry a Pennsylvania Dutch Mennonite +preacher's daughter!—could not marry his mistress, +the mother of his illegal child! Does such a +woman get nearer the level of a Houghton when she's +a rich widow and the said Houghton is a bankrupt? +<i>She'll</i> not think so!" +</p> + +<p> +"She will marry me for your sake, Georgie." +</p> + +<p> +"She'll see you damned first, Father! Marry you! +Do you suppose I would let her sacrifice herself like +that for my sake?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sacrifice herself! I don't see why you'd call it +that! Good heavens, boy, if she could stand my +brother Joe for seventeen years, she'd certainly find +me a pleasant change!" +</p> + +<p> +"You'd be an awful cad to ask her to marry you +now that you're down and out and shell on top!—after +having cast her off and deserted her and defrauded +her of her son! Don't go crawling to her +now!" +</p> + +<p> +He suddenly sprang up and stood before his father. +"To-morrow morning I am going to her and get her +side of this story!" +</p> + +<p> +"Go easy! Remember she doesn't know she's +your mother! Break it to her carefully and don't +let Josie hear a word of it!" +</p> + +<p> +Georgie, as he turned his back upon his father and +left the room, thought, "That such a woman as she +is should have had two such bounders in her life as +Uncle Joe and Father!—when the best man that ever +walked would be unworthy of her! Such a waste of +loveliness! Such an absolute waste!" +</p> + +<p> +On Monday morning, Josie, to thwart his mother's +project of going to Middleburg to arrange with the +family lawyer for settling an income upon her +sisters, took the car himself immediately after breakfast +to preface her call upon the lawyer with a legal +consultation on his own account. +</p> + +<p> +Susan could, of course, have gone by trolley or +train, but she was quite satisfied to give Josie rope +enough to hang himself—that is, to have him learn +directly from their lawyer what were her absolute +rights over her inheritance. So she decided to stop +at home this morning and go to Middleburg the next +day. This afternoon she would go over to Reifsville +to leave with Lizzie and Addie the first installment +of the income which hereafter should be regularly +paid to them by her lawyer. +</p> + +<p> +"How heavenly it is to be able to tell them +they need not worry with boarders this summer!" +she thought, happily, as she sat in her upstairs +sewing room beside a window, darning Josie's +socks. +</p> + +<p> +Her step-son's genuine suffering in the situation +affected her very little. She had never before found +herself callous to any form of distress; but Josie's +anguish was so wholly the creation of his own meanness +and baseness that she could not feel other than +indifferent to it. In fact, she found herself actually +hoping that the lawyer would turn the knife in the +wound! It would be so salutary for Josie! The very +best thing that could happen to him. +</p> + +<p> +It was while she was reflecting thus as she sewed +by the window—and with every stitch which she put +into Josie's socks thrilling at the bright prospects +before her of freedom, travel, a larger life—that +Georgie walked in upon her. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'm so glad you came over!" Susan gaily +greeted him. "I have such a lot to tell you! Come +here and sit down. Josie's gone to Middleburg on +business and we'll have a good hour to ourselves." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm mighty glad he's out of the way! It saves me +the necessity of <i>putting</i> him out. For this morning +I've got to be alone with you—and I'm afraid Josie +wouldn't recognize that necessity without the +argument of physical force—which I, being theoretically +a non-resistant, as you know, would not use unless +the necessity were extremely urgent; as it would +be to-day." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me, what a lot of sophomoric words, Georgie! +What's it all about?" +</p> + +<p> +Georgie drew a stool to her feet, sat down upon it +and folded his arms on her lap. +</p> + +<p> +"Aunt Susan! I want you to talk to me. I want +you to begin at the very beginning and tell me your +history." +</p> + +<p> +Susan shook her head. "It's too mournfully +tragic! Let's talk of something far pleasanter—of +the chemical outfit I'm going to get you, and——" +</p> + +<p> +"I said the necessity was urgent, didn't I? Listen! +Last night Father told me something of <i>his</i> history—an +episode of his youth—of his once having been +your lover! I want to hear <i>your</i> version of that +story. I told him I meant to get it from you. I +fancy that in a few details, or at least in the point of +view, his story and yours may differ a bit!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan was looking at him, now, in astonishment, +her face crimson. "What right had your father to +tell you this?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'll answer you that when I've heard your +story," replied Georgie, taking her hand in his. +</p> + +<p> +"How much did your father tell you, Georgie?" +</p> + +<p> +"Please, please tell me <i>your</i> side of it all +first—won't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"In my own defence?" +</p> + +<p> +"You could never need any defence to me! It's +that I may know how to judge my father that I want +to hear your story." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't like to talk of that hideous blackness of +my girlhood, Georgie! I try so hard to forget it all! +I'm afraid to begin to speak of it! I get so fearfully +stirred up, I can hardly bear it!" +</p> + +<p> +"I hate to put you through it—but I must!—indeed +I must!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan laid aside Josie's sock and with Georgie's +hand clasped in hers, his young eyes gazing into hers, +she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +She told of Sidney's courtship, of their love and +happiness; of their betrothal; of their scouring the +countryside together in her father's old buggy to +purchase, with her savings, the old colonial furniture +which they found at out-of-the-way farmhouses; of +their keen pleasure in having it done over for their +future home, and their temporarily arranging it in +the Schrekengusts' parlour; of the beautiful furniture +she had bought for Sidney's rooms at college, which +was also to be part of their future home; of the visit +Sidney's mother had paid to her to try to make her +break the engagement; of Sidney's philosophical +arguments to urge her to give herself to him before +marriage; of her never having dreamed, for an +instant, that he was capable of deceiving her, of +betraying such infinite trust as had led her to give +herself so completely. +</p> + +<p> +Susan's face was white and drawn as she lived over +it all again; and Georgie, gazing at her, felt his heart +on fire for her, against the man who had wronged +her. +</p> + +<p> +She spoke, then, of Sidney's growing coldness and +neglect; of her reading in the college paper of his +attentions to Miss Laura Beresford, the daughter of +the new college president, and an heiress; of her +suffering when her letters to him remained +unanswered; of her finally going to him at his college +rooms and discovering there that to secure money +for his courtship of Miss Beresford he had sold the +furniture for which she was still making monthly +payments out of her little salary; of her passionate +appeal to him to marry her for their coming child's +sake; of how she had, then, in her lover's rooms, +encountered the woman he soon married; of the +birth of her dead baby; of her soul's numbness and +deadness through the many long, dreary months that +followed; and finally of the circumstances that had +driven her into the fatal mistake of marrying Joe. +</p> + +<p> +When she had finished, leaning back in her chair, +pale and spent, Georgie sat, for a time, without speaking, +his hands clasping hers, his eyes that rested upon +her overflowing with tenderness. +</p> + +<p> +"You never doubted that your baby died?" he +found voice at last to ask her, his heart beating fast. +</p> + +<p> +"Doubted—that my baby—died?" she dazedly +repeated. "What—do you mean, Georgie? Of +course she died!" +</p> + +<p> +"She? They told you your baby was a girl?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes! What—<i>what</i> is it you know?" +</p> + +<p> +"Your baby was a boy. And my dear, my dear! +He didn't die!" +</p> + +<p> +Susan stared at him stupidly. "A boy! It +didn't die! You can't mean—that he is alive now!" +</p> + +<p> +She trembled from head to foot. Georgie clasped +her two hands to his breast and gazed up into her face +without speaking—trying to convey to her, without +words, the tremendous truth with which his heart +was bursting. +</p> + +<p> +"Where—is—he? Where is my son?" Susan's +stiff, dry lips formed the words with difficulty, her +whole soul one burning question, as she looked down +into Georgie's adoring eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Mother! Mother!" +</p> + +<p> +For a moment she did not move or speak. Then +she drew her hands free, took his face between her +palms and looked again, deep and long, into the +boy's face so like her own. Her brain was utterly +incredulous (it was a wicked plot of Sidney's to gain +his way with her!)—but her heart, her blood, cried +out with a great longing that this thing should be +true—and suddenly something within her knew that +it was true! +</p> + +<p> +"You are mine—I know you are!" +</p> + +<p> +Her head fell forward on his shoulder, her arms +went about him close, she held him to her famished +heart as though she would never let him go—— +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Later, as they still sat together, Georgie said to +her, "I shall never forgive Father for his treatment +of you! For his having cheated us of each other all +these years! He repudiated you—I shall repudiate +him!" +</p> + +<p> +"But he loves you. He has always loved you. +One can forgive anything to love, Georgie." +</p> + +<p> +"Anything against myself, perhaps. I can't forgive +the brutality to you!" +</p> + +<p> +"He loves you," was Susan's answer. +</p> + +<p> +"You're so much larger-minded than I am, Mother!" +</p> + +<p> +"There's little enough love in the world, my +darling! We can't afford to spurn or 'repudiate' any +drop of it that comes our way." +</p> + +<p> +There was a knock at the door, it opened, and +Lizzie and Addie stepped into the room. +</p> + +<p> +At sight of the picture before them, Georgie +seated at Susan's feet, their arms about each other, +the two women in sombre Mennonite garb stopped +short. There was an illumined look in the faces of +the mother and son that seemed to mean but one +thing. +</p> + +<p> +"Susie!" dried Lizzie, "someone has told you +a'ready! Ain't?" +</p> + +<p> +"Told me what?" +</p> + +<p> +"That your baby didn't die for all and that +Georgie's him yet! Ain't—you know it a'ready?" +</p> + +<p> +"Have you and Addie always known this?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, yes, Susie, us we knowed it ever since it was +a'ready!" +</p> + +<p> +"There is <i>no</i> doubt of it then?" +</p> + +<p> +"Och, no—though I know you never suspicioned it, +and to be sure, it must seem awful funny to you! +Och, yes, it's true, all right, Susie. Me and Addie, +us we come over this morning to tell you all about it +and get it off our consciences oncet! How did +Georgie find it out?" +</p> + +<p> +"His father told him!" +</p> + +<p> +Georgie sprang up and hugged and kissed them +both. "I've got two jolly aunts as well as a +Long-Lost Mother! Mother! Mother! I want to say +it all day long!" he cried, going back to her side and +again throwing his arms about her. +</p> + +<p> +"Here!" exclaimed a high, rasping voice at the +threshold of the room; and they all turned, startled, +to see Josie standing there menacingly, his face +flushed with resentment. "I'd thank you to quit +that, Georgie Houghton!" +</p> + +<p> +"Quit what?" +</p> + +<p> +"Calling my mother <i>Mother</i>! That name is +sacred to <i>me</i>, I'd have you know, Georgie Houghton! +I don't care to have any other fellow using it to her!" +cried Josie with a grotesque mingling of hauteur and +sentimentality in his high, effeminate voice. "What +<i>right</i> have you to call her <i>Mother</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +Georgie rose and went to Josie's side. "I call her +Mother, Josie," he said, gravely, almost solemnly, +"because she <i>is</i> my mother!" +</p> + +<p> +It was characteristic of him that he did not add, +"And she is not yours!"—as Josie in his place would +surely have done. +</p> + +<p> +"She's not and you shan't call her so!" snapped +Josie. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she is, too, his mother, Josie!" spoke in +Lizzie, "and wery glad you will be to hear it, fur now +you'll inherit this here <i>es</i>-tate, for all you won't get +our Susie's fortune." +</p> + +<p> +"What on earth are you talking about?" faltered +Josie, utterly bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +"Come here, Josie, dear," said Susan, gently, "and +let me explain it to you——" +</p> + +<p> +"Let me spare you that ordeal, Mother," Georgie +interposed. "Let me tell him. You have——" +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me what?" demanded Josie, looking frightened. +</p> + +<p> +"Josie, my father's wife was not my mother. +Your father's wife is my mother." +</p> + +<p> +"How could she be? Are you crazy? What do +you mean by saying such a thing? It's not true! +It couldn't be!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it could be, too, Josie!" Lizzie contradicted +him. "Our Susie had Georgie single-wise." +</p> + +<p> +"How dare you insult my mother like that?" +cried Josie, choking with indignation. "As if my +father would have married a woman like that! As +if——" +</p> + +<p> +"But, Josie," Susan interposed calmly, "it is true. +I am Georgie's mother." +</p> + +<p> +Josie stared at her wildly. "But—but he is +younger than I am!" +</p> + +<p> +"Josie, dear, I never meant to tell you—but—I am +your step-mother." +</p> + +<p> +Josie stood stock still, his face slowly going very +white. Susan, with a movement of deep pity for the +blow she was dealing him, took an impulsive step +toward him, her hands outstretched. +</p> + +<p> +But he stepped out of her reach and his lips curving +to a sneer, he turned deliberately upon Georgie. +</p> + +<p> +"You—bastard!" he hurled at his cousin. +</p> + +<p> +"Josie, my boy!" pleaded Susan. But he wheeled +about and turned upon her. +</p> + +<p> +"You—hussy!" he cried out. +</p> + +<p> +There was an instant's silence in the room. Then +Georgie spoke very quietly: "It will always be a +comfort to you to know, Josie, that the woman to +whom you have used that epithet is <i>not</i> your mother, +though she has cared for you as a mother all your +life!" +</p> + +<p> +"You shut up! And get out of my house! <i>All</i> of +you get out of my house!" he exclaimed, hysterically, +quite beside himself, scarcely knowing what he was +saying. "This is my house! Clear out of it, every +one of you! I never want to lay eyes on any one of +you again as long as I live! I——" +</p> + +<p> +Susan saw that he was suffering torture; that the +shock of what he had just learned had wounded him +terribly; wounded his pride, his love for her, his faith +in her, the foundation principles of his life. +</p> + +<p> +Her heart yearned over him. "Leave me alone +with him—all of you," she said. "I want to talk +with him." +</p> + +<p> +"You will never talk with me again!" he almost +screamed, shaking off her hand upon his arm. +"Leave my house! You shall not stay here another +hour! Go with your bastard——" +</p> + +<p> +"Here! You——" cried Georgie in a sudden rage, +drawing back his arm—but Susan sprang between +them. +</p> + +<p> +"We will all go," she said, quietly. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Living alone with her son in his college town, +sharing his life very completely and at the same time +living her own life in freedom, Susan now, for the +first time since her girlhood, knew genuine +contentment, even great happiness. Their companionship +seemed so completely to satisfy them both, it so +filled Susan's heart after all the starved years behind +her, that she dreaded almost with terror the +inevitable hour when Georgie would fall in love and she +would lose the best of him. +</p> + +<p> +The only cloud upon her peace was her alienation +from Josie. He had too long been the chief concern +of her life for her to be able, now, to cast off all +thought of him, all responsibility for his welfare and +happiness. Because she knew he must be suffering, +must be missing her, longing for her, she yearned over +him, even while fully realizing how very salutary +for him was this experience through which he was +living. +</p> + +<p> +She wrote to him once, with all the affection and +motherliness she could command. He sent her letter +back unopened. +</p> + +<p> +The years of care and devotion she had given to +him seemed all to have been for nothing! +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +On the day when Georgie, taking her in his arms, +confided to her that the girl he loved had promised +to marry him, Susan fought off her overwhelming +sense of loss and desolation by sobbing on his heart, +"Well, anyway, I shall have some grandchildren to +mother!" +</p> + +<p> +She dreamed of the day when Josie, too, would +permit her to "mother" his children; for her wistful +hope that he would some day discover his need of +her to be greater than his resentment was the only +thing which sustained her in the belief that the long +sacrifice of her life had not been utterly without +fruit. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +THE END +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS<br> + GARDEN CITY, N. Y.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br><br></p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77875 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + diff --git a/77875-h/images/img-cover.jpg b/77875-h/images/img-cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7641089 --- /dev/null +++ b/77875-h/images/img-cover.jpg diff --git a/77875-h/images/img-front.jpg b/77875-h/images/img-front.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ca1403d --- /dev/null +++ b/77875-h/images/img-front.jpg |
