leading down into the station before he spoke.
"Well, what's on your conscience?" He smiled down at me roguishly.
"You look as if you were going to confess to a murder at least."
"Not that bad," I smiled faintly. "But oh, Dicky, if I promise to
try not to say anything irritating today, will you promise not to,
either?"
"Sure as you're born," Dicky returned cheerfully. "Don't want to spoil
the day, eh?"
"It's such a heavenly day," I sighed. "I feel as if I couldn't stand
it to have anything mar it."
As we sat in the train that bore us to Marvin Dicky outlined some of
his plans for the summer.
"There are two or three of the fellows who come down here summers who
I know will be glad to go Dutch on a motor boat," he said. "We can
take the bulliest trips, way out to deserted sand islands, where the
surf is the best ever. We'll take along a tent and spend the night
there sometime, or we can stretch out in the boat. Then we must see if
we can get hold of some horses. Do you ride? Think of it! We've been
married months, and I don't know yet whether you ride or not!"
"No, I don't ride, but oh, how I've always wanted to!" I returned with
enthusiasm. Then, with a sudden qualm, "But all that will be terribly
expensive, won't it?"
"Not so awful," Dicky said, smiling down at me. "But even if it is,
I guess we can stand it. I've had some cracking good orders lately.
We'll have one whale of a summer."
My heart beat high with happiness. Surely, with all these plans
for me, my husband's thoughts could not be much occupied with his
beautiful model. As he lifted me down to the station platform at
Marvin I looked with friendliness at the dingy, battered old railroad
station which I remembered, at the defiant sign near it which
trumpeted in large type, "Don't judge the town by the station," and
the winding main street of the village, which, when I had visited
Marvin before, Dicky had wished to show me.
Upon that other visit our first sight of Grace Draper and Dicky's
interest in her had spoiled the trip for me. I had insisted upon going
back without seeing some of the things Dicky had planned to show
me, and I had disliked the thought of the town ever since. But with
Dicky's loving plans for my happiness dazzling me, I felt a touch of
the glamour with which he invested the place in my eyes. I caught at
his hand in an unwonted burst of tenderness.
"Let's walk down that old winding street which you told me about last
winter," I said. "I've wanted to see it ever since you spoke about
it."
"We'll probably motor down it instead," he grinned. "There's a real
estate office just opposite here, and I see the agent's flivver in
front of the door, where he stands just inside his office. The spider
and the fly, eh, Madge? Well, Mr. Spider, here are two dear little
flies for you!"
"Oh, Dicky!" I dragged at his arm in protest. "Don't spoil our first
view of that street by whirling through it in a car. Let's saunter
down it first and then come back to the real estate man."
"You have a gleam of human intelligence, sometimes, don't you?" Dicky
inquired banteringly. Then he took my arm to help me across the rough
places in the country road.
We had almost reached the door of the office when Dicky caught sight
of a plainly dressed woman coming toward us. I heard him catch his
breath, his grasp on my arm tightened, and with an indescribable agile
movement he fairly bolted into the real estate office, dragging me
with him.
"I'll explain later," he said in my ear. "Just follow my lead now."
As he turned to the rotund little real estate agent, who came forward
to greet us, a look of surprise on his round face, I looked through
the window at the woman from whose sight he had dodged.
Then I felt that I needed an explanation, indeed.
For the woman whose eyes my husband so evidently wished to avoid was
Mrs. Gorman, Grace Draper's sister.
* * * * *
So I was to live in a house of Grace Draper's choosing, after all!
This was the thought that came most forcibly to me when Mr. Brennan,
the owner of the house Dicky had impetuously decided to rent, told us
that Miss Draper had looked over the place for an artist friend, and
that she would have taken it only for finding another house nearer her
own home.
I was so absorbed in my own thoughts that I did not at first notice
Dicky's embarrassment when Mr. Brennan asked him if he knew Grace
Draper. It was only when the man, who had all the earmarks of a
gossiping countryman, repeated the question, that I realized Dicky's
confusion.
"Did you say you knew her?"
"Yes, I know her; she works in my studio," remarked Dicky, shortly.
"Oh!" The exclamation had the effect of a long-drawn whistle. "Then
you probably were the artist friend she spoke of."
"I probably was." Dicky's tone was grim. I knew how near his temper
was to exploding, and the look which I beheld on the face of Mr.
Birdsall, the little real estate agent, galvanized me into action.
"Dear, what do you suppose led Grace to think we would like that other
place better than this?" I flashed a tender little smile at Dicky. "Of
course we would like to be nearer her, but this is not very far from
her home, and it is so much better, isn't it?"
Dicky took the cue without a tremor.
"Why, I suppose she thought you would find this house too big for you
to look after," he replied in a matter-of-fact way.
"That was awful dear and thoughtful of her," I murmured, careful
to keep my voice at just the right pitch of friendliness toward the
absent Grace, "but I don't think this will be too much, for we can
shut up the rooms we don't need."
I had the satisfaction of seeing the puzzled looks of Mr. Brennan
and Mr. Birdsall change into an evident readjustment of their ideas
concerning my husband and Grace Draper. But I did not relax my iron
hold upon myself. I knew if I dared let myself down for an instant
angry tears would rush to my eyes.
"When did you say we could move in?" I turned to Mr. Brennan,
determined to get away from the subject of Grace Draper as quickly as
possible.
"Today, if you want it."
"No," returned Dicky, "but we will want it soon. When do you think we
can move?" He turned to me.
* * * * *
I spent three busy days at the Brennan place. There was much to be
done both inside and outside the house. After the first day, Katie did
not return with me, as my mother-in-law needed her in the apartment.
But I engaged another woman with the one I had for the work in the
house and put the grinning William in charge of an old man I had
secured to clean up the grounds and make the garden.
I soon found that I had a treasure in Mr. Jones, who was a typical old
Yankee farmer, a wizened little man with chin whiskers. He could only
give me a day or two occasionally, as he was old and confided to me
that he was subject to "the rheumatics." But while I was there he
ploughed and harrowed and planted the garden, cleared the rubbish
away, and made me innumerable flower beds, keeping an iron hand over
the irresponsible William, whose grin gradually faded as he was forced
to do some real work for his day's wages.
A riotous and extravagant hour in a seed and bulb store resulted in my
getting all the flower favorites I had loved in my childhood. I also
bought the seeds of all vegetables which Dicky and I liked, and a few
more, and put them in Mr. Jones's capable hands.
If there was a variety of vegetables or flower seeds which looked
attractive in the seedman's catalogue, and which remained unbought, it
was the fault of the salesman, for I conscientiously tried to select
every one. I planned the location of a few of the beds, and then
confided to Mr. Jones the rest of the outdoor work, knowing that he
could finish it after my return to the city.
Mr. Birdsall, the agent, was very tractable about the kitchen, sending
men the second day to paint it. So at the end of the third day, when I
turned the key in the lock of the front door, I was conscious that the
house was as clean as soap and water and hard work could make it, that
the grounds were in order, and the growing things I loved on their way
to greet me.
I fancy it was high time things were accomplished, for in some way
I had caught a severe cold. At least that was the way I diagnosed my
complaint. My throat seemed swollen, my head ached severely, and each
bone and muscle in my body appeared to have its separate pain. When I
reached the apartment I felt so ill that I undressed and went to bed
at once.
"You must spray your throat immediately," my mother-in-law said in a
businesslike way, "and I suppose we ought to send for that jackanapes
of a doctor."
Even through my suffering I could not help but smile at my
mother-in-law's reference to Dr. Pettit, who had attended her in her
illness. She had summarily dismissed him because he had forbidden
her to see to the unpacking of her trunks when she was barely
convalescent, and we had not seen him since.
"I'm sure I will not need a physician," I said, trying to speak
distinctly, although it was an effort for me to articulate. "Wait
until Dicky comes, anyway."
For distinct in my mind was a mental picture of the look I had
detected in Dr. Pettit's eyes upon the day of his last visit to my
mother-in-law. I remembered the way he had clasped my hand in parting.
The feeling was indefinable. I scored myself as fanciful and conceited
for imagining that there had been anything special in his farewell
to me or in the little courtesies he had tendered me during my
mother-in-law's illness. But I told myself again, as I had after
closing the door upon his last visit, that it were better all around
if he did not come again.
"If you wait for Richard, you'll wait a long time," his mother
observed grimly. "He called up a while ago, and said he had been
invited to an impromptu studio party that he couldn't get away from,
and that he would be home in two or three hours. But I know Richard.
If he gets interested in anything like that he won't be home until
midnight."
I do not pretend either to analyze or excuse the feeling of reckless
defiance that seized me upon hearing of Dicky's absence. I reflected
bitterly that I had taken all the burden of seeing to the new home,
and was suffering from illness contracted because of that work, while
Dicky was frolicking at a studio party, with never a thought of me.
I know without being told that Grace Draper was a member of the
frolic. And here I was suffering, yet refusing the services of a
skilled physician because I fancied there was something in his manner
the tolerance of which would savor of disloyalty to Dicky!
I turned to my mother-in-law to tell her she could summon the
physician, but found that I could hardly speak. My throat felt as if I
were choking.
"The spray!" I gasped.
Thoroughly alarmed, Mother Graham assisted me in spraying my throat
with a strong antiseptic solution. Then I gave her the number of Dr.
Pettit's office, and she called him up. I heard her tell him to make
haste, and then she came back to me. I saw that she was frightened
about the condition of my throat, but the choking feeling gave me no
time to be frightened. I kept the spray going almost constantly until
the physician came. It was the only way I could breathe.
Dr. Pettit must have made a record journey, for the door bell
signalled his arrival only a few moments after Mother Graham's
message.
He gave my throat one swift, shrewd glance, then turned to his small
valise and drew from it a stick, some absorbent cotton and a bottle of
dark liquid. With swift, sure movements he prepared a swab, and turned
to me.
"Open your mouth again," he said gently, but peremptorily.
I obeyed him, and the antiseptic bathed the swollen tonsils surely and
skilfully.
As I swayed, almost staggered, in the spasm of coughing and choking
which followed, I felt the strong, sure support of his arm touching my
shoulders, of his hand grasping mine.
"Now lie down," he commanded gently, when the paroxysm was over. He
drew the covers over me himself, lifted my head and shoulders gently
with one hand, while with the other he raised the pillows to the angle
he wished. Then he turned to my mother-in-law.
"She has a bad case of tonsilitis, but there is no danger," he said
quietly, utterly ignoring her rudeness at the time of his last visit.
"I will stay until I have swabbed her throat again. She is to have
these pellets," he handed her a bottle of pink tablets, "once every
fifteen minutes until she has taken four, then every hour until
midnight. Let her sleep all she can and keep her warm. I would like
two hot water bags filled, if you please, and a glass of water. She
must begin taking these tablets as soon as possible."
As my mother-in-law left the room to get the things he wished, Dr.
Pettit came back to the bedside and stood looking down at me.
"Where is your husband?" he asked, a note of sternness in his voice.
I shook my head. I was just nervous and sick enough to feel the
question keenly. I could not restrain the foolish tears which rolled
slowly down my cheeks.
Dr. Pettit took his handkerchief and wiped them away. Then he said in
almost a whisper:
"Poor little girl! How I wish I could bear the pain for you!"
XXIII
"BLUEBEARD'S CLOSET"
My recovery from the attack of tonsilitis, thanks to Dr. Pettit's
remedies, was almost as rapid as the seizure had been sudden.
My mother-in-law, forgetting her own invalidism, carried out the
physician's directions faithfully. The choking sensation in my throat
gradually lessened, until by midnight I was able to go to sleep.
I have no idea when Dicky came home from his "impromptu studio party."
His mother, whose deftness, efficiency and unexpected tenderness
surprised me, arranged a bed for him on the couch in the living room,
and I did not hear him come in at all.
"My poor little sweetheart!" This was his greeting the next morning.
"If I had only known you were ill the old blow-out could have gone
plump. It was a stupid affair, anyway. Had a rotten time."
"It doesn't matter, Dicky," I said wearily, and closed my eyes,
pretending to sleep. I knew Dicky was puzzled by my manner, for
I could feel him silently watching me for several minutes. Then
evidently satisfied that I was really sleeping he tiptoed out of the
room, and a little later I heard him depart for his studio, first
cautioning his mother to call him if I needed him.
I spent a most miserable day after Dicky had left, in spite of my
mother-in-law's tender care and Katie's assiduous attentions. The
studio party, of which I was sure Grace Draper was a member, rankled
as did anything connected with this student model of Dicky's. The
memory of the village gossip concerning her friendship for my husband
which I had heard in Marvin troubled me, while even Dicky's solicitude
for my illness seemed to my overwrought imagination to be forced,
artificial.
His exclamation, "My poor little sweetheart!" did not ring true to
me. I felt bitterly that there was more sincerity in Dr. Pettit's low
words of the day before: "Poor little girl, I wish I could bear this
pain for you!" than in Dicky's protestations.
How genuinely troubled the tall young physician had been! How
resentful of Dicky's absence from my bedside! How tender and strong
in my paroxysms of choking! I felt a sudden added bitterness toward my
husband that the memory of my suffering should have blended with it no
recollection of his care, only the tender sympathy of a stranger.
But in two days I was my usual self again, ready for the arduous tasks
of moving and settling.
Mother Graham and I spent a hectic day in the furniture and drapery
shops, buying things to supplement her furniture and mine, which we
had arranged to have sent to the Brennan house in Marvin. I found that
her judgment as to values and fabrics was unerring. But her taste as
to colors and designs frequently clashed with mine. Save for the fact
that she became fatigued before we had finished our shopping, there
would have been no individual touch of mine in our home. As it was, I
was not sorry that she found herself too indisposed to go with me
the second day, so that I had a chance to put something of my own
individuality into the new furnishings.
Another two days in Marvin with the aid of a workman unpacking and
arranging the crated furniture and our purchases, and the new home was
ready to step into.
We were a gay little party as we went together through the house
inspecting all the rooms. When we came to Dicky's, he barred us out.
"Now, remember, no stealing of keys and peering into Bluebeard's
closet," said Dicky gayly, as he closed and locked the door of his
room.
"You flatter yourself, sir." I swept him a low bow. "I really haven't
the slightest curiosity about your old room."
"Sour grapes," he mocked, and then impressively, "And no matter what
packages or furniture come here for me they are not to be unwrapped.
Just leave them on the porch, or in the library until I come home."
"I wouldn't touch one of them with a pair of tongs," I assured him.
"See that you don't," he returned, hanging the key up, and hastily
kissing me. "Now I've got to run for it."
He hurried down the stairs and out of the front door. I stood looking
after him with a smile of tender amusement.
The day after Dicky's purchases arrived he rose early.
"No studio for me today," he announced. "Can you get hold of that man
who helped you clean up here? I want an able-bodied man for several
hours today."
"I think so," I returned quietly, and going to the telephone, soon
returned with the assurance that William-of-the-wide-grin would
shortly be at the house.
"That's fine," commented Dicky. "And now I want you and mother to get
out of the way after breakfast. Go for a walk or a drive or anything
go you are not around. I want to surprise you this afternoon. I'll bet
that room will make your eyes stick out when you see it."
I had a wonderful tramp through the woods, enjoying it so much that it
was after four o'clock when I finally returned home. Dicky greeted me
exuberantly.
"Come along now," he commanded, rushing me upstairs. "Come, mother!"
The elder Mrs. Graham appeared at the door of her room, curiosity
and disapproval struggling with each other in her face. But curiosity
triumphed. With a protesting snort she followed us to the door of the
locked room. Dicky unlocked the door with a flourish and stood aside
for us to enter.
I gasped as I caught my first sight of the transformed room. Dicky had
not exaggerated--it was wonderful.
The paper had been taken from the walls, and they and the ceiling had
been painted a soft gray with just a touch of blue in its tint. The
woodwork was ivory-tinted throughout, while the floor was painted a
deeper shade of the gray that covered the walls.
Almost covering the floor was a gorgeous Chinese rug with wonderful
splashes of blue through it. I knew it must be an imitation of one
costing a fortune, but I realized that Dicky must have paid a pretty
penny even for the counterfeit, for the coloring and design were
cleverly done.
The blue of the rug was reproduced in every detail of the room. The,
window, draperies, of thin, Oriental fabric, had bands of Chinese
embroidered silk cunningly sewed on them. These bands carried out in
the azure groundwork and the golden threads the motif of the rug. The
cushions, which were everywhere in evidence, were made of the same
embroidered silk which banded the window draperies, while blue strips
of the same material were thrown carelessly over a teakwood table and,
a chest of drawers.
A chaise lounge of bamboo piled with cushions stood underneath the
windows, which commanded a view of the rolling woodland and meadows
I had found so beautiful. Three chairs of the same material completed
the furnishings of the room, save for a wonderful Chinese screen
reaching almost from the ceiling to the floor, which hid a single iron
bed, painted white, of the type used in hospitals, a small bureau,
also painted white, and a shaving mirror.
"Don't want any junk about my sleeping quarters," Dicky explained, as
I looked behind the screen.
"Well, what do you think of it?" he demanded at last, in a hurt tone,
as I finished my inspection of the walls, which were almost covered
with the originals of Dicky's best magazine illustrations, framed in
narrow, black strips of wood.
"It is truly wonderful, Dicky," I returned, trying to make my voice
enthusiastic.
I could have raved over the room, for I did think it exquisitely
beautiful, had not my woman's intuition detected that another hand
than Dicky's had helped in its preparation.
Only a woman's cunning fingers could have fashioned the curtains and
the cushions I saw in profusion about the room. I knew her identity
before Dicky, after pointing out in detail every article of which he
was so proud, said hesitatingly:
"I wish, Madge, you would telephone Miss Draper and ask her to run
over tomorrow and see the room. You see, I was so anxious to surprise
you that I did not want to have you do any of the work, and she kindly
did all of this needlework for me. I know she is very curious to see
how her work looks."
"Of course, I will telephone Miss Draper if you wish it, Dicky, but
don't you think you ought to do it yourself? She is your employee, not
mine, and I never have seen her but twice in my life."
I flatter myself that my voice was as calm as if I had not the
slightest emotional interest in the topic I was discussing. But in
reality I was furiously angry. And I felt that I had reason to be.
"Now, that's a nice, catty thing to say!" Dicky exploded wrathfully.
"Hope you feel better, now you've got it off your chest. And you can
just trot right along and telephone her yourself. Gee! you haven't
been a martyr for months, have you?"
When Dicky takes that cutting, ironical tone, it fairly maddens me. I
could not trust myself to speak, so I turned quickly and went out of
the room which had become suddenly hateful to me, and found refuge in
my own.
My exit was not so swift, however, but that I overheard words of my
mother-in-law's, which were to remain in my mind.
"Richard," she exclaimed angrily, "you ought to be ashamed of
yourself. You act like a silly fool over this model of yours. What
business did you have asking her to do this needlework for you in the
first place? You ought to have known Margaret would not like it."
I did not hear Dicky's reply, for I had reached my own room, and,
closing and locking the door, I sat down by the window until I should
be able to control my words and actions.
For one thing I had determined. I would not have a repetition of
the scenes which Dicky's temper and my own sensitiveness had made of
almost daily occurrence in the earlier months of our marriage. I could
not bring myself to treat Grace Draper with the friendliness which
Dicky appeared to wish from me, but at least I could keep from
unseemly squabbling about her.
But my heart was heavy with misgiving concerning this friendship of
Dicky's for his beautiful model, as I opened my door and went down the
hall to Dicky's room. My mother-in-law's voice interrupted me.
"Come in here a minute," she said abruptly, as she trailed her flowing
negligee past me into the living room.
As I followed her in, wondering, she closed the door behind her. I
saw with amazement that her face was pale, her lips quivering with
emotion.
"Child," she said, laying her hand with unwonted gentleness on my
shoulder. "I want you to know that I entirely disapprove of this
invitation which Richard has asked you to extend. Of course, you must
use your own judgment in the matter, and it may be wise for you to
do as he asks. But I want to be sure that you are not influenced by
anything I may have said in the past about not opposing Richard in his
whims.
"He is going too far in this thing," she went on. "I cannot counsel
you. Each woman has to solve these problems for herself. But it may
help you to know that I went through all this before you were born."
She turned swiftly and went up to her room again.
Dicky's father! She must mean her life with him! In a sudden, swift,
pitying gleam of comprehension, I saw why my mother-in-law was
so crabbed and disagreeable. Life had embittered her. I wondered
miserably if my life with her son would leave similar marks upon my
own soul.
XXIV
A SUMMER OF HAPPINESS THAT ENDS IN FEAR