An Explanation
She began, right straight forward and sensible: “I knew that was in
the letter, and I longed to destroy it, on that account, but I was
afraid. I knew that its disappearance would throw all sorts of
suspicions on me. But this morning, when I saw the thing, right there
on her desk, the temptation was too great. I never thought of her
having made a copy of it. This afternoon, when I heard her at the
typewriter—I knew. I’ve been in torment ever since. I have prayed and
prayed that she might fail to work out the code. When I came
downstairs, just now, I knew that she had not failed. I thought she
would tell you about it; so I followed. I thought, perhaps, if I’d
tell you both the truth, and plead with you to believe me—— But now I
am ashamed to offer it.
“You won’t believe me. John won’t believe me—— But, it was only a
doll: one of those funny, long-legged, floppy things, with an adorable
face. I saw him in Paris, and loved him, and bought him for mine. I
called him Christopher Clover, and said that he was my husband—because
I had always said that I would never marry. Lewis—he was so horrid
about everything—used to tease me about my lover, until I got so tired
of it, and so ashamed, that I put him away on a closet shelf.
“After we were all packed, and the trunks were locked, that last day,
I found him there on the shelf. Gaby wanted me to carry him on my
arm—that was done quite a bit over there. She thought it was _chic_;
but I thought it looked silly. I was going to leave him in the
apartment; but Lewis asked me to let him have him. I did. That is all.
But—will you let me see the copy of the letter? Gaby read it to me
only once.”
I gave it to her.
“See,” she said, eagerly, “he calls me righteous. See how he speaks of
the doll and his—Lili. He wouldn’t have spoken like that about a man,
nor said that he was behaving himself. See, too, he calls me a nun. If
you’ll be fair—it seems to me you can easily believe me.”
“Honey child,” I said, and spoke the truth. “I do believe you. It is
sensible and reasonable. I believe every word you’ve told us.”
“And you?” she appealed to Miss MacDonald.
“Your explanation is reasonable. You have told the truth about
everything else in the letter. Certainly, I shall give you the benefit
of the doubt.”
“You won’t tell John?” Danny pleaded.
“Of course not. Nor anyone else, just now. Shall we go back to the
house?”
Danny and I sat still.
“I’ll run along, then,” she said, and went away without us.
“Danny,” I began at once, “you take my advice. You get to John as
quickly as you can and tell him the truth about this. He loves you.
He’ll want to believe you. Men always believe whatever they want to
believe. Don’t you worry another mite about it.”
“Have you noticed,” she questioned, slowly, “that John has been
different—very different, ever since——”
“We’ve all been different, dear,” I told her.
“Yes, I know. But—John has been more different. Mary, tell me, am I
silly? Have you noticed that John seems to be very much interested in
this Miss MacDonald? He looks at her all the time. And he jumps about,
waiting on her, rather as Chad used to do with Gaby. Of course, he
feels that I have changed, too. And I have. I can’t keep from showing
how unhappy I am, and how worried. I suppose I constantly disappoint
him. And yet. . . .”
“Danny,” I said, “it is just this. Men don’t wear well in times of
trouble. They can’t help it. It is the way they are mixed. So we women
put up with it. We have to, if we put up with men at all. Everything
is going to come out all right. But I want you to tell John, yourself,
about your doll and not wait for someone else to do it.”
“I’ll try to,” she agreed. “But we are so rarely alone together any
more.”
On our way back to the house, Sam and John overtook us. I got Sam to
walk along fast with me, and left them lagging behind us.
“I’m a mite worried,” Sam said, “about those two young folks. I don’t
quite make them out, here lately. I suggested to John, a while ago,
that considering Danny’s trouble, and all, it might be just as well
for them to have an early wedding. Told him to talk it over with
Danny, and that any date they set would be all right with me.
“I was all braced against being carried off and drowned in a torrent
of gratitude. No, siree. That young whelp evaded it. Said that he’d
see; and that she’d say that right after so much trouble might not be
a suitable time for a wedding. I’d give a pretty to know what he has
on his mind. I can’t think that the boy is just rotten fickle. And
yet—he has been shining up to Miss MacDonald, here of late. Have you
noticed it, Mary?”
“Noticed, nothing!” was the best that I could do.