THE BRIGHT SHADOW
The Champneys chauffeur, greatly to Mrs. MacGregor's terror and
disapproval, seemed to live for speed alone; in consequence, one
afternoon Mrs. MacGregor and Nancy very narrowly escaped dying for
it. Whereupon Mr. Champneys summarily dismissed the chauffeur and
engaged in his place young Glenn Mitchell, accidentally brought to
his notice. Mr. Champneys congratulated himself upon the discovery
of Glenn Mitchell. To begin with, he was a South Carolinian, one of
those well-born, penniless, ambitious young Southerners who come to
New York to make their fortune. One of his forebears had married a
Champneys. That was in ante bellum days, but South Carolina has a
long memory, and this far-off tie immediately established the young
fellow upon a footing of family relationship and of cousinly
friendliness. He was a personable youth of twenty, who had worked
his way through high school and meant presently to go through the
College of Physicians and Surgeons,--his grandfather had been a
distinguished physician, Mr. Champneys remembered. The boy proposed
to use his skill in handling a motor-car as a means toward that end.
Mr. Chadwick Champneys would gladly have paid Glenn's college
expenses out of his own pocket, but the young man, delicately
sounded, politely but sturdily declined. The next best thing the
kindly old Carolinian could do, then, was to make the boy a member
of his own household. Hoichi had orders to prepare a room for Mr.
Mitchell, and Mrs. MacGregor was advised that he would take his
meals with the family. She was at first inclined to be scandalized:
to bring your chauffeur to your own table was Americanism with a
vengeance! But when she met the young man, she was mollified. This
chauffeur was a gentleman, and in Mrs. MacGregor's estimation a
gentleman may do many things without losing caste. She remembered
that the perfectly decent younger son of a certain poverty-stricken
nobleman had driven a car. This young Mitchell was exceptionally
good-looking in a nice, boyish, fresh-faced way, and she saw in his
manner a youthful reflection of the courtliness which distinguished
Mr. Chadwick Champneys. He had a great deal of that indefinable
something we call charm, and before she knew it Mrs. MacGregor was
won over to him, and looked upon his presence as a distinct addition
to the Champneys menage.
When he had been introduced to Nancy, she was mentioned as "My
niece, Mrs. Champneys." Mrs. MacGregor called her "Anne." Mr.
Champneys spoke to her as "Nancy," and Glenn thought he must have
been mistaken as to that "Mrs." There was no sign of a husband
anywhere; neither was there any indication of widowhood. Nobody
mentioned Peter--Mr. Champneys because he was more interested in
talking about Glenn's business than his own, on the occasions when
he had time to talk about anything; Mrs. MacGregor, because she had
never seen Peter, knew nothing at all about him, except that there
was a nephew somewhere in the background of things, and wasn't in
the least interested in anything but her own immediate affairs;
besides, it never would have occurred to her to talk about her
employer's affairs, even if she had known anything about them. An
employer who was a gentleman, and very wealthy, belonged to the
Established Order, and Mrs. MacGregor had the thorough-going British
respect for Established Order. Nancy, for her part, wished to forget
that Peter existed. She never by any chance mentioned him, or even
thought of him if she could help it. So when young Glenn Mitchell,
after the pleasant South Carolina fashion, addressed her as "Miss
Nancy" it seemed perfectly all right to everybody.
Nancy was a little over eighteen then. She had grown taller, but she
retained the pleasant angularity of extreme youth. Because she
didn't know how to arrange her hair, Mrs. MacGregor sternly
forbidding frizzing and curling, and insisting upon a "modest
simplicity becoming to a young girl" she wore her red mane in a huge
plait. She had been so teased and badgered about her red hair, had
hated it so heartily, been so ashamed of it, that she didn't realize
how magnificent it was now, after two years of care and cleanliness.
It wasn't auburn; it wasn't Titian; it was a bright, rich,
glittering, unbuyable, undeniable red, and Nancy wore her plait as
a boy wears a chip on his shoulder. Young Glenn Mitchell was seized
with a wild desire to catch hold of that braid that was like a cable
of gleaming copper, and wind it around his wrists. For the first
time, he thought, he was seeing the true splendor and beauty of red
hair; and the girl had the wonderfully white skin that accompanies
it. He suspected that she must have been pretty badly freckled when
she was a child, for the freckles were still fairly visible, though
one saw that they would presently vanish altogether. The curve of
her throat and chin, the "salt-cellars" at the base of the neck,
left nothing to be desired. Altogether there was that about this
girl that caught and held his boyish attention. It wasn't that she
was pretty,--he had at first thought her plain. It was rather that
here lay a tantalizing promise of unfoldment by and by, a sheathed
hint of something rare and perilous.
He didn't quite know what to make of Mr. Champneys's niece. She was
abnormally silent, unbelievably unobtrusive, singularly still.
Watching her, he found himself wishing she would smile, at least
occasionally: he longed to see what her mouth would look like if it
should curve into laughter. She had exquisite teeth, and her eyes,
when one was allowed to get a glimpse of them, were of a curious,
agaty, gray green, with one or two little spots or flecks in the
iris. Hers was an impassive, emotionless face; yet she gave a
distinct impression of feeling, emotion, passion held in check; it
was as if her feelings had been frozen. But suppose a spring thaw
should set in--what then? Would there be just a calm brook flowing
underneath placid willows, or a tempestuous torrent sweeping all
before it? He wondered!
She sat opposite him at table three times a day, and never addressed
a word to him, or to Mrs. MacGregor, who carried on whatever
conversation there might be. Mrs. MacGregor liked to give details of
entertainments "at home," at which she herself had been present, or
of events in which A Member of My Family had participated. "I said
to the dear Bishop,"--"His Lordship remarked to My Cousin."
Sometimes during these recitals the thin, fine edge of a smile
touched Nancy's lips. It was gone so quickly one wasn't quite sure
it had been there at all; yet its brief passage gave her a strange
expression of mockery and of weariness. She offered no opinions of
her own about anything; she made no slightest attempt to keep the
conversation alive; you could talk, or you could remain silent--it
was all one to her. Yet dumb and indifferent though she appeared to
be, you felt her presence as something very vital, listening, and
immensely honest and natural.
He wished she would speak to him, say something more than a mere
"Yes" or "No." Girls had always been more than willing to talk to
Glenn Mitchell--very much prettier and more fascinating girls than
this silent, stubborn, red-headed Anne Champneys. He began to feel
piqued, as well as puzzled.
And then, one day, he happened to glance up suddenly and in that
instant encountered a full, straight, intense look from her--a look
that weighed, and wondered, and searched, and was piercingly, almost
unbearably eager and wistful. He felt himself engulfed, as it were,
in the bottomless depths of that long, clear gaze, that went over
him like the surge of great waters, and drenched his consciousness
to the core. Brand-new Eve might have looked thus at brand-new Adam,
sinlessly, virginally, yet with an avid and fearful questioning and
curiosity. For the second his heart shook and reeled in his breast.
Then the dark lashes fell and veiled the shining glance. Her face
was once more indifferent and mask-like.
As a matter of fact, Nancy was avidly interested in Glenn, in whom
for the first time she encountered youth. He came like a fresh
breeze into an existence in which she stifled. From his first
appearance in the house she had watched him stealthily, looking at
him openly only when she thought herself unobserved. Conscious of
her own defects, she was timid where this good-looking young man was
concerned. It never occurred to her that she might interest him, but
she did not wish him to think ill of her. She kept herself in the
background as much as possible.
She had none of the joyousness natural to a girl of her age. She had
no young companions. Was there some reason? Wasn't she happy? He
felt vaguely troubled for her. She aroused his sympathy, as well as
his curiosity. He couldn't forget that look he had surprised. It
stayed in his memory, perilously. At night in his room, when he
should have been studying, that astonishing glance came before him
on his book, and cast a luminous spell upon him.
He surprised no more such glances. She still relegated to Mrs.
MacGregor the full task of talking to him; a task that lady
performed nobly. Just as she walked every morning with Mrs.
MacGregor, she took her place in the car every afternoon, apparently
obeying orders. Sometimes, twisting his head around, he could
glimpse her profile turned toward the moving panorama of the crowded
streets through which he was skilfully manoeuvering his way. But if
she were interested in what she gazed at so fixedly, she made no
comment. One never knew what she thought about anything.
One memorable evening she appeared at dinner in a yellow frock,
instead of the usual serge or plain blue silk. It wasn't an
elaborate dress, but its prettily low neck allowed one to admire her
full throat, with a string of amber beads around it. Her hair hung
in two thick braids across her shoulders, and the straight lines of
the yellow satin accentuated the youthfulness of her figure. Glenn's
heart behaved unmannerly.
She appeared not to see his quick, pleased glance, but turned
instead to Mrs. MacGregor, who was regarding her critically. Mrs.
MacGregor hadn't been consulted about the yellow frock, and she
viewed it with distinct disapproval. Glenn found himself solidly
aligned against Mrs. MacGregor, and siding with the girl. He liked
that yellow frock; somehow it suited her coloring, enabled one to
see how unusual she really was. He wondered that he had thought her
so plain, at first. She agitated him. He wished intensely that she
would look at him; and just then she did, and for the first time saw
admiration in a young man's eyes, not for another girl, but for
herself! She held his glance, doubtfully, timidly; but she couldn't
doubt the evidence of her senses. Glenn was pleased with her, he
admired her! His ingenuous face beamed the fact, from frank eyes and
smiling lips. There was somewhat more than admiration in his look,
but Nancy was more than content with what appeared on the surface.
Her eyes widened, a flush rose to her cheek, a naïve and pleased
smile transformed her dissatisfied young mouth. When he ventured to
speak to her presently, she ventured to reply, shyly, but with new
friendliness. Once, when Mrs. MacGregor said something sententious,
and Glenn laughed, Nancy laughed with him.
That frank and boyish admiration restored to her, as it were, some
rightful and precious heritage long withheld, an indispensable
birthright the lack of which had beggared and stripped her. She had
a sense of profound gratitude to this likable and handsome young
man, a moved and touching interest in him. He made her feel glad to
be alive; through him the world seemed of a sudden a kindlier place,
full of charming surprises. And when she accompanied Mrs. MacGregor
to church on the following Sunday, she looked with a secret
sisterliness at the girls she had envied and disliked. It was as if
she had been elected to their ranks, been made one of them; she
wasn't on the outside of things any more; somebody--a very
desirable and handsome somebody--admired her, too. She didn't
analyze her feelings. Youth never thinks or analyzes, it feels and
realizes; that is why it is divine, why it is lord of the earth. Her
growing liking for him was so shy, so naïve, so touchingly sincere,
that Glenn was profoundly moved when he became aware of it. He had
the old South Carolina chivalry; to him women were still invested
with a halo, and one approached them with a manly reverence. He had
liked girls, many girls; he would have told you, himself, that he
never met a pretty girl without loving her some! But this was the
first time Glenn had ever really fallen in love, and he fell
headlong, with an impetuous ardor that all but swept him off his
feet, and that was like strong wine to Nancy, whose drink heretofore
had been lukewarm water.
He didn't know whether or not she was Mr. Champney's sole heir, and
he didn't care: what difference could that make? He was as well born
as any Champneys, wasn't he? And if he wasn't blessed with much of
this world's goods just now, he took it for granted he was going to
be, after a while. As for that, hadn't Chadwick Champneys himself
once been as poor as Job's turkeys? And hadn't Mr. Champneys
acknowledged the relationship existing between them, slight and
distant though it was? Who'd have the effrontery to look down on one
of the Mitchells of Mitchellsville, South Carolina? He'd like to
know! Glenn began to dream the rosy dreams of twenty.
It took Nancy somewhat longer to discover the amazing truth.
She was more suspicious and at the same time very much more
humble-minded than Glenn. But suspicion faded and failed before his
honest passion. His agitation, his eagerness, his face that altered
so swiftly, so glowingly, whenever she appeared, would have told the
truth to one duller than Nancy. If Mrs. MacGregor could have
suspected that anybody could fall in love with Anne Champneys, she
must have seen the truth, too. But she didn't. She was serenely
blind to what was happening under her eyes.
Nancy never forgot the day she discovered that Glenn loved her. Mrs.
MacGregor had one of her rare headaches. She was a woman who hated
to upset the fixed routine of life, and as their afternoon outing
was one of the established laws, she insisted that Nancy should go,
though she herself must remain at home. Half fearful, half
delighted, Nancy went. Glenn had looked at her, mutely entreating;
in response to that entreaty she took the seat beside him. For some
time neither spoke--Glenn because he was too wildly happy, Nancy
because she hadn't anything to say. She was curious; she waited for
him to speak.
"I wonder," gulped Glenn, presently, "if you know just how happy I
am."
Nancy said demurely that she didn't know; but if he was happy she
was glad: it must be very nice to be happy!
"Aren't _you_ happy?" he ventured.
Nancy turned pink by way of answer. As a matter of fact, she was
nearer being happy then than she had ever been. They fell into an
intimate conversation--that is, Glenn talked, and the girl listened.
He explained his hopes, ambitions, prospects. He talked eagerly and
impetuously. He wished her to understand him, to know all about
him,--what he was, what he hoped to be. A boy in love is like that.
In return for this confidence Nancy explained that she hated
oatmeal, and Hannah More; some of these days she meant to buy every
copy of Hannah More she could lay her hands on, and burn them. Of
herself, her past, she said nothing.
"And so you're going to be a doctor!" she turned the conversation
back to him, as being much more interesting.
"Yes. Or rather, I'm going to be a great surgeon." And then he
asked, smilingly:
"And you--what do _you_ want to be?"
"I want to be happy," said Nancy, half fiercely.
"There isn't any reason why you shouldn't be--a girl like you."
Nancy looked a bit doubtful. But no, he wasn't poking fun. And after
a pause, he asked, as one putting himself to the test:
"Miss Anne--Nancy--do you think you could be happy--with _me_?"
"_You_?" breathed Nancy, all a-tremble. She thought she could be
happier with Glenn than with anybody else. Why! there _wasn't_
anybody else! That is, nobody that cared. She was afraid to say so.
But her moved and changed face said it for her.
"Because, if you could be happy with me, why shouldn't you be?"
asked Glenn, brilliantly. But Nancy understood, and her heart
crowded into her throat with delight, and terror, and a sort of
agony. She felt that she loved and adored this boy to distraction.
She would have adored anybody who loved and desired her, who found
her fair. But she didn't understand that; neither did Glenn.
"You care?" said the boy, leaning toward her. They were running
slowly, along a road high above the river. "Nancy, you care?"
Care? Of course she cared! She considered him the most beautiful and
desirable of mortals; she was so enraptured, so thrilled with the
astounding fact that he cared for her, that she couldn't speak, but
looked at him with swimming eyes. He brought the car to a stop,
slipped an arm around her shoulder, and drew her close. She knew
that something momentous was going to happen to her, and looked at
him, full of a sweet terror. "I love you!" said Glenn, and kissed
her on the mouth.
His beard was the ghost of down on his cheek; her hair hung in a
braid to her waist; their kiss was the kiss of youth,--tender,
passionately pure. Everything but that morning face, pale with young
emotion, looking at her with enamored eyes, vanished from her mind;
everything else counted for nothing, went like chaff upon the wind.
The one fact alone remained: _Glenn loved her_! Her senses were in a
delicious tumult from the power and the glory of it: _Glenn loved
her_! It was as if a skylark sang in her breast, as if she walked in
a rosy and new-born world. Had Nancy been called upon to die for him
then, she would have gone to her death shining-eyed, fleet-footed,
joyous.
"I love you, I love you!" Glenn repeated it like a litany. "Nancy!
Does it make you as happy because I love you as it makes me because
you love me?"
"Oh, ten thousand times ten thousand times more!" she said
fervently.
"I think it was your hair I fell in love with, first off," he told
her presently. "I have never seen a girl with such hair, and such a
lot of it. I'm crazy about your hair, Nancy."
"I think you must be," she agreed whole-heartedly. She wasn't vain,
his girl!
They had no more plans than birds or flowers have. Plenty of time
for sober planning by and by, when one grew accustomed to the sweet
miracle of being beloved as much as one loved! Glenn simply took it
for granted he was going to marry her. He had known her all of three
months--a lifetime, really!--and she had allowed him to kiss her,
had admitted she cared. He supposed they would have to wait until he
had been through his training and won that coveted degree. Until
then, they would keep their beautiful secret to themselves; they
didn't wish to share it with anybody, yet.
It was only when she was alone in her room that night that Nancy
realized the true situation that confronted her. On the one side
was Glenn, dear, wonderful Glenn, who loved her. On the other was
Peter Champneys, who had married her as she had married him, for the
Champneys money. Peter Champneys! who despised her, and whom she
must consider a barrier between herself and whatever happiness life
might offer her! She could understand how Glenn had made his
mistake. Nobody had explained Peter to him. To tell him the truth
now meant to lose him. She was like a person dying of thirst, yet
forbidden to drink the cup of cold water extended to her.
Wasn't it wiser to take what life offered, drain the cup, and let
come what might? Why not snatch her chance of happiness, even though
it should be brief? Suppose one waited? Deep in her heart was the
hope that something would happen that would save her; youth always
hopes something is going to happen that will save it. Wasn't it
possible Peter might fall in love with somebody, and divorce her?
One saw how very possible indeed such a thing was! For the present,
let Glenn love her. It was the most important and necessary thing in
the world that Glenn should love her. What harm was she doing in
letting Glenn love her? Particularly when Peter Champneys didn't,
never would, any more than she ever could or would love Peter
Champneys.
Even Mrs. MacGregor noticed the change taking place in Anne
Champneys. The girl had more color and animation, and at times she
even ventured to express her own opinions, which were strikingly
shrewd and fresh and original. Her eyes had grown sweeter and
clearer, now that she no longer slitted them, and her mouth was
learning to curve smilingly. Decidedly, Anne was vastly improved!
And her manner had subtly changed, too; she was beginning to show an
individuality that wasn't without a nascent fascination.
Mrs. MacGregor plumed herself upon the improvement in her pupil,
which she ascribed to her own civilizing and potent influence, for
she was a God-fearing woman. She didn't understand that the greatest
Power in heaven and earth was at work with Nancy.
But although Glenn became daily more enamored of the girl, he wasn't
so satisfied with things as they were. He couldn't say that Nancy
really avoided him, of course. He drove her and Mrs. MacGregor, whom
at times he wished in Jericho, out in the car every afternoon. He
sat opposite her at table thrice daily. Sometimes in the evening he
spent an hour or two with her and Mrs. MacGregor, before going to
his own room to study. But it so happened that he never was able to
see her alone any more; and Nancy certainly made no effort to bring
about that desirable situation. This made him restive and at the
same time increased his passion for her.
For her part, she was perfectly content just to look at him, to know
that he was near. But Glenn was more impatient. He wanted the
fragrance of her hair against his shoulder; he wanted the straight,
strong young body in his arms; he wished to kiss her. And she held
aloof. Although she no longer veiled her eyes from him, although he
was quite sure she loved him, she was always tantalizingly out of
his reach. She didn't seem to understand the lover's desire to be
alone with the beloved, he thought. He grew moody. The weeks seemed
years to his ardent and impetuous spirit. One night, happening to
need a book he had noticed in the library, he went after it. And
there, oh blessed vision, sat Nancy! She had been sleepless and
restless, and had stolen out of her room for something to read that
hadn't been selected by Mrs. MacGregor. It was rather late, but
finding the quiet library pleasanter to her mood than her own room,
she curled up in a comfortable chair and began to read. The book was
Hardy's "Tess," and its strong and somber passion and tragedy filled
her with pity and terror. Something in her was roused by the story;
she felt that she understood and suffered with that simple and
passionate soul.
She looked up, startled, as Glenn entered the room. He came to her
swiftly, his arms outstretched, his face alight.
"You!" he cried, radiant and elate. "You!"
Nancy rose, torn between the desire to retreat, and to fling herself
into those waiting arms. Glenn left her no choice. He seized her,
roughly and masterfully, and held her close, pressing her against
his body. His lips fastened upon hers. Nancy closed her eyes and
shivered. She felt small and helpless, a leaf before the wind, and
she was afraid.
"Nancy!" he whispered. "Nancy! You've got to marry me. We'll just
have to risk it, degree or no degree! What's the use of waiting all
our lives, maybe, when we love each other? When will you marry me,
Nancy?"
She knew then that she had to tell him the truth, and she trembled.
"Glenn, I--I--" she stammered. Her tongue seemed to cleave to the
roof of her mouth.
"Soon? Say yes, Nancy! I'm crazy about you, don't you know that? Why
don't you say when, Nancy?"
She felt desperate, as if some force were closing in upon her,
relentlessly. She had to speak, and yet she couldn't. She tried to
escape from the arms that held her, but they clasped her all the
closer. His eager lips closed on hers.
"Nancy! Ah, darling, why not let everything go and marry me at
once?"
Ah, why not, indeed? As if Peter Champneys had reached across the
sea to divide her and Glenn, a stern voice answered Glenn's
question.
"Because she has a husband already," it said harshly. Chalky white,
with blazing eyes, Chadwick Champneys confronted Peter's wife in
another man's arms. "She is married to my nephew, Peter Champneys.
Is it possible you do not know?"
Glenn's arms dropped. Intuitively he moved away from her. His visage
blanched, and he stared at her strangely.
"Nancy, is this thing true?"
Nancy nodded. She said in a lifeless voice: "Oh yes, it's true. I
was trying to tell you, but--" And then she broke into a cry:
"Glenn, you don't understand! Glenn, listen, please listen! I did
love you, I do love you, Glenn! You--you don't know--you don't
understand--"
The boy staggered. He was an honorable, clean-souled boy, heir to
old heritages of pride, and faith, and chivalry. A dull, shamed red
crept from cheek to brow, replacing his pallor. His gesture, as he
turned away from her, made her feel as if she had been struck across
the face. She winced. She saw herself judged and condemned.
"Mr. Champneys," stammered Glenn, painfully, "surely you know I
didn't understand--don't you? I--we--fell in love, sir. We'd meant
to wait--that's why I didn't come to you at once--but I--that is, I
was very much in love with her, and I was going to make a clean
breast of it and ask you what we'd better do. And you're not to
think I'm--dishonorable--" he choked over the word.
Knowing the boy's breed, Champneys laid a not unkindly hand on his
shoulder.
"I see how it was," he said. "And--I guess you're punished enough,
without any reproaches from me."
Glenn turned to Nancy. "Why did you do it?" he cried. "I loved you,
I trusted you. Nancy, why did you do such a thing--to _me_?"
She twisted her fingers. Well, this was the end. She was to be
thrust out of the new brightness, back into the drab dreariness, the
emptiness that was her fate. She lifted tragic eyes.
"I never expected you to love me. But when you did--I just _had_ to
let you! Nobody else cared--ever. And I loved you for loving me--I
couldn't help it, Glenn; I couldn't help it!" Her voice broke. She
stood there, twisting her fingers.
An old, wise, kind woman, or an old priest who had seen and forgiven
much, or men who knew and pitied youth, would have understood.
Neither of the men to whom she spoke realized the significance of
that childishly pitiful confession. Champneys felt that she had
shamed his name, belittled the sacred Family which was his fetish;
Glenn thought she had made a fool of him for her own amusement.
Never again would he trust a woman, he told himself. And in his pain
and shame, his smarting sense of having been duped, his hideous
revulsion of feeling, he spoke out brutally. Nancy was left in no
doubt as to the estimation in which he now held her. And she
understood that it was his pride, even more than his love, that
suffered.
She made no further attempt to explain or to exculpate herself; what
was the use? She knew that had they changed places, had Glenn been
in her shoes and she in his, her judgment had not been thus swift
and merciless. Her larger love would have understood, and pitied,
and forgiven. Pride! They talked of Pride, and they talked of Name.
But she could only feel that the one love she had ever known, or
perhaps ever was to know, was going from her, must go from her,
unforgiving, as if she had done it some irreparable wrong. She
looked from one wrathful, accusing face to the other, like a child
that has been beaten. How could Glenn, who had seemed to love her
so greatly, turn against her so instantly? Not even--Peter
Champneys--had looked at her as Glenn was looking at her now! And of
a sudden she felt cold, and old, and sad, and inexpressibly tired.
So this was what men were like, then! They always blamed. And they
never, never understood. She would not forget.
She checked the impulse to cry aloud to Glenn, to try once more to
make him understand. Her eyes darkened, and two bright spots burnt
in her cheeks. Without a further word or glance she walked out of
the room and left the two standing close together. So stepped Anne
Champneys into her womanhood.
She locked her door upon herself. Then she went over, after her
fashion, and stared at herself in her mirror. The herself staring
back at her startled her--the flushed cheeks, the mouth like coral,
the eyes glowing like jewels under straight black brows. The ropes
of red hair seemed alive, too; the whole figure radiated a
personality that could be dynamic, once its powers should be fully
aroused.
She viewed the woman in the glass impersonally, as if it had been a
stranger's face looking at her. That vivid creature couldn't be
Nancy Simms, not quite three years ago the Baxter slavey, the same
Nancy that Peter Champneys had shrunk from with aversion, and that
Glenn had repudiated to-night!
"Yes,--it's me," she murmured. "But I ain't--I mean I am not really
ugly any more. I'm--I don't know just _what_ I am--or whether I
ought to like or hate me--" But even while she shook her head, the
face in the glass changed; the mouth drooped, the color faded, the
light in the eyes went out. "But whatever I am, I'm not enough to
make anybody keep on loving me." Then, because she was just a girl,
and a very bewildered, sad, and undisciplined girl, she put her red
head down on her dressing-table and wept despairingly.
The next morning Mr. Champneys explained to the concerned and
regretful Mrs. MacGregor that Mr. Mitchell had been called away
suddenly, last night, and didn't think he would be able to return.
The ladies were to accept Mr. Mitchell's regrets that he hadn't been
able to bid them good-by in person. Mr. Champneys bowed for Mr.
Mitchell, in a very stately manner. He went on with his breakfast,
while Nancy made a pretense of eating hers, hating life and wishing
with youthful intensity that she was dead, and Glenn with her. His
empty place mocked and tortured her. He had gone, and he didn't,
wouldn't, couldn't understand. She could never, never hope to make
Glenn understand! She rather expected Mr. Champneys to sit in
judgment upon her that morning, but a whole week passed before
Hoichi brought the message that Mr. Champneys wished to see her in
the library. Her uncle was standing by the window when she entered,
and he turned and bowed to her politely. He was thinner, gaunter,
more Don Quixotish than usual. If only he had been kind! But his
face was set, and hers instinctively hardened to match it.
"Nancy," he began directly, "I have not sent for you to load you
with reproaches for your inexplicable conduct. But I must say this:
deliberately to deceive and befool an honest gentleman, to trifle
with his affections out of mere greedy vanity, is so base that I
have no words strong enough to condemn it."
"I didn't mean to fool him. He fooled himself, and I let him do it,"
said she, dully. He thought her listlessness indifference, and any
bluntness in moral tone in a woman, scandalized him. He could
understand a Mrs. MacGregor, who was without subtleties; or soft,
loving, courageous women like Milly and his sister-in-law, Peter's
mother. But this girl he couldn't fathom. He beat his hands
together, helplessly.
"I--you--" he groaned. And then: "Oh, Peter, what have I done to
you!"
"I can't see you've done anything to him, except pay him to go away
and learn how to make something out of himself," returned Nancy,
practically. It brought him up short. "Uncle Chadwick, please keep
quiet for a few minutes: I want you to listen to me." She met his
eyes fully. "I didn't do Glenn Mitchell any real harm: he'll fall in
love with somebody else pretty soon. I suppose it's easy for Glenn
to love people because it's easier for people to love Glenn. And
he's done me this much good: I won't be so ready to believe it's
easy for folks to love _me_, Uncle Chadwick. I guess I'm the sort
they mostly--_don't_. I'll not forget." She spoke without
bitterness, even with dignity. "One thing more, please. If ever
Peter Champneys finds out he loves somebody, and he'll let me know,
I'll give him his freedom. Fortune or no fortune, I won't hold him.
I know now--a little--what loving somebody means," she finished.
Her voice was so steady, her eyes so clear and direct, her manner so
contained, that he was uncomfortably impressed. He felt put upon the
defensive. As a matter of fact, in his first anger and surprise at
what he still considered her shameless behavior, he had seriously
considered the advisability of having Peter's marriage annulled. As
soon as he had become calmer, his pride and obstinacy rejected such
a course. After all, no harm had been done. She was very young. And
he hoped Glenn's outspoken condemnation had taught her a needed and
salutary lesson. Looking at her this morning, he realized that she
had been punished. But that she should so calmly speak of divorcing
Peter, of making way for some other woman, horrified him.
"You are talking immoral nonsense!" he said, angrily. "Let him go,
indeed! Divorce your husband! What are we coming to? In my day
marriage was binding. No respectable husband or wife ever dreamed of
divorce!"
"But they were real husbands and wives, weren't they?" asked Nancy.
"All husbands and wives are real husbands and wives!" he thundered.
She considered this--and him--carefully. "Then you don't want Mr.
Peter Champneys and me ever to be divorced? I thought maybe you
might."
"I forbid you even to _think_ such wickedness," cried he, alarmed.
"A girl of your age talking in such a manner! It's scandalous,
that's what it is,--scandalous! Shows the dry-rot of our national
moral sense, when the very children"--he glared at Nancy--"gabble
about divorce!"
"Then I--I mean, things are just to go along, the same as they have
been?" She looked at him pleadingly.
For a few minutes he drummed on the library table with his thin
brown fingers. His bushy brows contracted. He asked unexpectedly:
"Would you like to go away for a while? To travel?"
"Where?"
"Where? Why, anywhere! There's a whole world to travel in, isn't
there? Well, take Mrs. MacGregor and travel around in it, then."
She shook her head.
"What's the use? Anywhere I went I'd have to go with _me_, wouldn't
I? And I can't seem to like the idea of traveling around with Mrs.
MacGregor, either."
"What _do_ you want, then?"
"I don't know," said she, in a low voice. And she added: "So I think
I might just as well stay right on here at home, if it's all the
same to you."
"Well, if it pleases you, of course--" he began doubtfully.
"If I do stay, you needn't be afraid I'll fall in love with anybody
else you hire," said she, with a faint flush. "I'm only a fool the
same way once." Her bomb-shell directness all but stunned him. He
stammered, confusedly:
"Why--very well then, very well then! Quite so! I see exactly what
you mean! I--ah--am very glad we understand each other." But as the
door closed behind her, he mumbled to himself:
"Now, that was a devil of an interview, wasn't it! What's come over
the girl? And what's the matter with _me_?" After a while he
telephoned Mr. Jason Vandervelde.
Everything went on as usual in the orderly, luxurious house, for
some ten quiet months or so. And then one memorable morning at the
breakfast-table Mr. Champneys suddenly gasped and slid down in his
chair. Nancy and Hoichi carried him into the library and placed him
on a lounge. He opened his eyes once, and stared into hers with
something of his old imperiousness. She took his hand, pitifully,
and bent down to him.
"Yes, Uncle Chadwick?"
But he didn't speak--to her. His eyes wandered past her. His lips
trembled, into a whisper of "_Milly_!" With that he went out to the
wife of his youth.