WHITE LILACS
Burns, coming in to see King one day when the exchange of letters had
been going on for nearly a fortnight, announced that he might soon be
moved to his own home.
King stared at him. "I'm not absolutely certain that I want to go till I
can get about on my own feet," he said slowly.
Burns nodded. "I know, but that will be some time yet, and your
mother--well, I've put her off as long as I could, but without lying to
her I can't say it would hurt you now to be taken home. And lying's not
my long suit."
"Of course not. And I suppose I ought to go; it would be a comfort to my
mother. But--"
He set his lips and gave no further hint of his unwillingness to go
where he would be at the mercy of the maternal fondness which would
overwhelm him with the attentions he did not want. Besides--there was
another reason why, since he must for the present be confined somewhere,
he was loath to leave the friendly walls where there was now so much of
interest happening every day. Could he keep it happening at home? Not
without much difficulty, as he well foresaw.
"Miss Linton's coming to us on Saturday," observed Burns carelessly,
strolling to the window with his hands in his pockets.
"Is she? I didn't suppose she'd be strong enough just yet." King tried
to speak with equal carelessness, but the truth was that, with his life
bound, as it was at present, within the confines of this room, the
incidents of each day loomed large.
"She's gaining remarkably fast. For all her apparent delicacy of
constitution when she came to us, I'm beginning to suspect that she's
the fortunate possessor of a good deal of vigour at the normal. She says
herself she was never ill before, and that's why she didn't give up
sooner--couldn't believe there was anything the matter. We can't make
her agree to stay with us a day longer than I say is a necessity for
safety."
"Where does she want to go? Not back to that infernal book-agenting?"
There was a frown between King's well-marked brows.
"Yes, I imagine that's what she intends. She's a very decided young
person, and there's not much use telling her what she must and must not
do. As for the book itself, it's pretty clever, my wife and Miss
Mathewson insist. They say the youngsters of the neighbourhood are
crazy over it. Bob knows it by heart, and even the Little-Un studies the
pictures half an hour at a time. If children were her buyers she'd have
no trouble."
"Have a look at those, will you?"
King reached for a leather writing case on the table at his elbow, took
out a pile of sheets, and began to hand them over one by one to Burns.
"What's this? Hullo! Do you mean to say she did this? Well, I like her
impudence!"
"So do I," laughed King, looking past Burns's shoulder at a saucy sketch
of the big Doctor himself evidently laying down the law about something,
by every vigorous line of protest in his attitude and the thrust of his
chin. Underneath was written: "Absolutely not! Haven't I said so a
thousand times?"
"'Wad some power--'" murmured Burns. "Well, she seems to have the
'power.' I am rather a thunderer, I suppose. What's this next? My wife!
Jolly! that's splendid. Hasn't she caught a graceful pose though?
Ellen's to the life. Selina Arden? That's good--that's very good.
There's your conscientious nurse for you. And this, of herself? Ha! She
hasn't flattered herself any. She may have looked like that at one time,
but not now--hardly."
"She's looking pretty well again, is she?"
"Both pretty and well. We don't starve our patients on an exclusively
liquid diet the way we used to, and they don't come out of typhoid
looking half so badly in consequence. And she's been rounding out every
day for the last two weeks in fine shape. She's a great little girl, and
as full of spirit as a gray squirrel. I'm beginning to believe she's a
bit older than I would believe at first; that mind of hers is no
schoolgirl's; it's pretty mature. She says frankly she's twenty-four,
though she doesn't look over nineteen."
"Is there any reason why I can't see her for a bit of a visit if she
goes Saturday?" asked King straightforwardly. It was always a
characteristic of his to go straight to a point in any matter; intrigue
and diplomacy were not for him in affairs which concerned a girl any
more than in those which pertained to his profession. "You see we've
been entertaining each other with letters and things, and it would seem
a pity not to meet--especially if she'll be leaving town before I'm
about."
There was a curiously wistful look in his face as he said this, which
Burns understood. All along King had said almost nothing about the
torture his present helplessness was to him, but his friend knew.
"Of course she'll come; we'll see to that. She's walking about a little
now, and by Saturday she can come down this corridor on her two small
feet."
"See here--couldn't I sit up a bit to meet her?"
"Not a sixteenth of a degree. You'll lie exactly as flat as you are now.
If it's any consolation I'll tell you that you look like a prostrate
man-angel seven feet long."
"Thanks. I'd fire a pillow at you if I had one. I don't want to look
like an object for sympathy, that's all."
Burns nodded understandingly. "Well, Jord," he said a moment later,
"will you go home on Saturday, too?"
The two looked at each other. Then, "If you say so," King agreed.
"All right. Then we'll get rid of two of our most interesting patients
on that happy day. Never mind--the mails will still carry--and Franz is
a faithful messenger. What's that, Miss Dwight? All right, I'll be
there." And he went out, with a gay nod and wave of the hand to the man
on the bed.
This was on Monday. On Tuesday King offered his petition that Anne
Linton would pay him a visit before she left on Saturday. When the
answer came it warmed his heart more than anything he had yet had from
her:
Of course I will come--only I want you to know that I shall be
dreadfully sorry to come walking, when you must still lie so
long on that poor back. Doctor Burns has told me how brave you
are, with all the pain you are still suffering. But I am
wonderfully glad to learn that he is so confident of your
complete recovery. Just to know that you can be your active
self again is wonderful when one thinks what might have
happened. I shall always remember you as you seemed to me the
day you brought me here. I was, of course, feeling pretty
limp, and the sight of you, in such splendid vigour, made me
intensely envious. And even though I see you now "unhorsed," I
shall not lose my first impression, because I know that by and
by you will be just like that again--looking and feeling as if
you were fit to conquer the world.
It was the most personal note he had had from her, and he liked it very
much. He couldn't help hoping for more next day, and did his best to
secure it by the words he wrote in reply. But Wednesday's missive was
merely a merrily piquant description of the way she was trying her
returning strength by one expedition after another about her room. On
Thursday she sent him some very jolly sketches of her "packing up," and
on Friday she wrote hurriedly to say that she couldn't write, because
she was making little visits to other patients.
* * * * *
Jordan King had never been more exacting as to his dressing than on that
Saturday. He studied his face in the glass after an orderly had shaved
him, to make sure that the blue bloom it took but a few hours to
acquire had been properly subdued. He insisted on a particular silk
shirt to wear under the loose black-silk lounging robe which enveloped
him, and in which he was to be allowed to-day to lie upon the bed
instead of in it. His hair had to be brushed and parted three separate
times before he was satisfied.
"I didn't know I was such a fop," he said, laughing, as Miss Dwight
rallied him on his preparations for receiving the ladies. "But somehow
it seems to make a difference when a man lies on his back. They have him
at a disadvantage. Now if you'll just give me a perfectly good
handkerchief I'll consider that the reception committee is ready. Thank
you. It must be almost time for them, isn't it?"
For a young man who usually spent comparatively little of his time in
attentions to members of the other sex, but who was accustomed,
nevertheless, to be entirely at his ease with them, King acknowledged to
himself that he felt a curious excitement mounting in his veins as the
light footsteps of his guests approached.
Mrs. Burns came first into his line of vision, wearing white from head
to foot, for it was early June and the weather had grown suddenly to be
like that of midsummer. Behind her followed not the black figure King's
memory had persistently pictured, but one also clad in white--the very
simple white of a plain linen suit, with a close little white hat drawn
over the bronze-red hair. Under this hat the eyes King remembered glowed
warmly, and now there was health in the face, which was so much more
charming than the one he recalled that for a moment he could hardly
believe the two the same. Yet--the profile, as she looked at Mrs. Burns,
who spoke first, was the one which had been stamped on his mind as one
not to be forgotten.
She was looking at him now, and there was no pity in her bright
glance--he could not have borne to see it if it had been there. She came
straight up to the bed, her hand outstretched--her gloves were in the
other, as if she were on her way downstairs, as he presently found she
was. She spoke in a full, rich voice, very different from the weary one
he had heard before.
"Do you know me?" she asked, smiling.
"Almost I don't. Have you really been ill, or did you make it all up?"
"I'm beginning to believe I did. I feel myself as if it must be all
dream. How glad I am to find you able to be dressed. Doctor Burns says
you will go home to-day, too."
"This evening, I believe. I thought you were not going till then
either."
"This very hour." She glanced at Mrs. Burns. "My good fairy begged that
I might go early, because it is her little son's birthday. I am to be
at a real party; think of that!"
"The Little-Un's or Bob's?" King asked his other visitor.
Bob was an adopted child, taken by Burns before his marriage, but the
little Chester's parents made no difference between them, and a birthday
celebration for the older boy was sure to be quite as much of an
occasion as for the two-year-old.
"Bob's," Mrs. Burns explained. "He is ten; we can't believe it. And he
has set his heart on having Miss Linton at home for his party. He has
read her little book almost out of its covers, and she has been doing
some place-cards for his guests--the prettiest things!" Ellen opened a
small package she was carrying and showed King the cards.
He gazed at them approvingly. "They're the jolliest I ever saw; the
youngsters will be crazy over them. For a convalescent it strikes me
Miss Linton has been the busiest known to the hospital."
"You, yourself, have kept me rather busy, Mr. King," the girl observed.
"So I have. I'm wondering what I'm to do when you are at Doctor Burns's
and I at home."
She smiled. "I shall be there only a week if I keep on gaining as fast
as I am now."
"A fortnight," interpolated Mrs. Burns, "is the earliest possible date
of your leaving us. And not then unless we think you fit."
"Did you ever know of such kindness?" Anne Linton asked softly of King.
"To a perfect stranger?"
He nodded. "Nothing you could tell me of their kindness could surprise
me. About that fortnight--would it be asking a great deal of you to keep
on sending me that daily note?"
"Isn't there a telephone in your own room at home?" she asked.
"Yes--how did you know?"
"I guessed it. Wouldn't a little telephone talk do quite as well--or
better--than a letter?"
"It would be very nice," admitted King. "But I should hate to do without
the letter. The days are each a month long at present, you know, and
each hour is equal to twenty-four. Make it a letter, too, will you,
please?"
Miss Linton looked at Mrs. Burns. "Do you think circumstances still
alter cases?" she inquired.
Her profile, as King caught it again, struck him as a perfect outline.
To think of this girl starting out again, travelling alone, selling
books from door to door!
"I think you will be quite warranted in being very good to Mr.
King--while his hours drag as he describes," Ellen assented cordially.
"As soon as I can sit up at any sort of decent angle I can do a lot of
work on paper," King asserted. "Then I'll make the time fly.
Meanwhile--it's all right."
They talked together for a little, then King sent for Franz, who came
and played superbly, his eager eyes oftenest on Jordan King, like those
of an adoring and highly intelligent dog. Anne watched Franz, and King
watched Anne. Mrs. Burns, seeming to watch nobody, noted with
affectionate and somewhat concerned interest the apparent trend of the
whole situation. She could not help thinking, rather dubiously, of Mrs.
Alexander King, Jordan's mother.
And, as things happen, it was just as Franz laid down his bow, after a
brilliant rendering of a great concerto, that Mrs. Alexander King came
in. She entered noiselessly, a slender, tall, black-veiled figure, as
scrupulously attired in her conventional deep mourning as if it were not
hot June weather, when some lightening of her sombre garb would have
seemed not only rational but kind to those who must observe her.
"Oh, mother!" King exclaimed. "In all this heat? I didn't expect you.
I'm afraid you ought not to have come."
She bent over him. "The heat has nothing to do with my feelings toward
my son. I couldn't neglect you, dear."
She greeted Ellen cordially, who presented Miss Linton. King lost
nothing of his mother's polite scrutiny of the girl, who bore it without
the slightest sign of recognizing it beyond the lowering of her lashes
after the first long look of the tall lady had continued a trifle beyond
the usual limit. Book agent though she might be, Miss Linton's manner
was faultless, a fact King noted with curious pride in his new
friend--whom, though he himself was meeting her for but the second time,
he somehow wanted to stand any social test which might be put upon her.
And he well knew that his lady mother could apply such tests if anybody
could.
In his heart he was saying that it seemed hard luck, he must say
good-bye to Anne Linton in that mother's presence. There was small
chance to make it a leave-taking of even ordinary good fellowship
beneath that dignified, quietly appraising eye, to say nothing of
endowing it with a quality which should in some measure compensate for
the fact that it might be a parting for a long time to come. However
much or little the exchange of notes during these last weeks might have
come to mean to Jordan King, aside from the diversion they had offered
to one sorely oppressed of mind and body, he resented being now forced
to those restrained phrases of farewell which he well knew were the only
ones that would commend him to his mother's approval.
Mrs. Burns and Miss Linton rose to go, summoned by Red Pepper himself,
who was to take them. In the momentary surge of greeting and small talk
which ensued, King surreptitiously beckoned Anne near. He looked up with
the direct gaze of the man who intends to make the most of the little
that Fate sends him.
"Letters are interesting things, aren't they?" he asked.
"Very. And when they are written by a man lying on his back, who doesn't
know when he is down, they are stimulating things," she answered; and
there was that in the low tone of her voice and the look of her eyes
which was as if she had pinned a medal for gallantry on the breast of
the black silk robe.
Mrs. Alexander King looked at her son--and moved nearer. She addressed
Anne. "I am more than glad to see, Miss Linton," said she, "that you are
fully recovered. Please let me wish you much success in your work. I
suppose we shall not see you again after you leave Mrs. Burns."
"No, Mrs. King," responded Anne's voice composedly. "Thank you for that
very kind wish."
She turned to the prostrate one once more. She put her hand in his, and
he held it fast for an instant, and, in spite of his mother's gaze, it
was an appreciable instant longer than formality called for.
"I shall hope to see you again," he said distinctly, and the usual
phrase acquired a meaning it does not always possess.
Then they were gone, and he had only the remembrance of Anne's parting
look, veiled and maidenly, but the comprehending look of a real friend
none the less.
"My dear boy, you must be quite worn out with all this company in this
exhausting weather," murmured Mrs. King, laying a cool hand on a
decidedly hot brow.
The brow moved beneath her hand, on account of a contraction of the
smooth forehead, as if with pain. "I really hadn't noticed the weather,
mother," replied her son's voice with some constraint in it.
"You must rest now, dear. People who are perfectly well themselves are
often most inconsiderate of an invalid, quite without intention, of
course."
"If I never receive any less consideration than I have had here, I shall
do very well for the rest of my life."
"I know; they have all been very kind. But I shall be so relieved when
I can have you at home, where you will not feel obliged to have other
patients on your mind. In your condition it is too much to expect."
Jordan King was a good son, and he loved his mother deeply. But there
were moments when, as now, if he could have laid a kind but firm hand
upon her handsome, emotional mouth, he would have been delighted to do
so.