Inspiration came from a wholly unexpected source. Frankie was sitting in
her room in the dark one evening, after a walk with Lionel, exhausted
from her effort to encourage him in a mood of black despair. She had
drawn her chair up to the window and sat looking out over the roof of
the next house at the cloudy sky. There was the usual noise from the
court, the shrill children who never went to bed, the phonographs, a
woman singing in a piercing, artificial voice. She was used to it now,
scarcely heard it, but it filled her ears, and she was unaware of Miss
Eppendorfer’s entrance until she touched her on the shoulder.
“I knocked and knocked!” said she. “I wanted to ask you to make me a cup
of coffee; I’m so nervous.”
Frankie said ‘Of course’ but her voice was weary, and Miss Eppendorfer
noticed it.
“What’s the trouble, my dear?” she asked, kindly. “Let’s sit here and
talk a while.”
She sat down on the bed where she could reach out and lay a friendly
hand on Frankie’s arm.
“I’ve noticed--it’s not curiosity.... It’s only that I’m very fond of
you--you can’t imagine _how_ fond of you, my dear.... I don’t expect you
to return it. I know I’m not lovable. And probably you despise me
for--lots of things. But, my dear! My dear! I do wish you so well! I’d
do anything! If you’d like to tell me, perhaps I could help.... I’ve had
experience enough. I could understand.”
Frances was silent. She couldn’t bring herself to confide in Miss
Eppendorfer.
“I think I know,” the other went on. “It’s money, isn’t it? You want to
marry, but you’re afraid.”
“Not afraid,” said Frances, nettled. “It’s only that I don’t want to be
stupid--rash---- I don’t think it’s right to marry on nothing. I’d
rather wait ten years.”
“You’re making a mistake,” said the authoress. “But tell me about it.”
Frances hesitated a moment.
“You see,” she began. “I’m afraid that perhaps I made a mistake--advised
him wrongly. You see, he was depending entirely on his brother--living
with him. He’d never really thought how--that it wasn’t quite--very
self-respecting. And I asked him to stop, to try to stand on his own
feet. And I’m not sure if he’s able to do that. He has _nothing_ now,
except a little more than a hundred pounds a year or so.”
“Except!” said Miss Eppendorfer.
“Oh, of course, it helps. But the trouble is, he’s perfectly
inexperienced. He can’t seem to find a job. We’ve--he has answered
advertisements and registered at agencies, and nothing’s any good. I’m
so afraid of his getting completely discouraged and going back to his
brother again. It’s so wretched for him. There’s no chance of our being
married for years----”
“Why?”
“We couldn’t both live on a hundred pounds a year--about five hundred
dollars!”
“Why should you try? You’re earning something, and under no expense. Why
don’t you get married anyway, and go on as you are?”
Frankie was amazed.
“I never thought of such a thing. It ... we couldn’t have any home....”
“Does that matter? You’d have each other. Oh, if I were you, if I were
you ...! I shouldn’t think of anything but--just having each other, just
your love. I’d never think of a home or money. Only of the man I loved.”
Her voice broke, and her hand on Frankie’s arm trembled.
“My dear, I’m speaking against my own interests, for of course I don’t
want to lose you.... But you don’t understand, you don’t appreciate
love. It isn’t a _home_ that you want. My dear! My dear! And would you
let him wait and eat out his heart, for years, for your vanity, until he
could give you all the silly little things you think you want? You don’t
know men, you don’t know life; you don’t know how very short a time we
have for love. You don’t know him. You don’t know _anything_. If you
did, you wouldn’t let this go! You’d be happy while you could, you’d
make him happy.”
Frances didn’t stir; there was absolute silence for a long time. Then
she got up.
“I’ll make the coffee now,” she said, and, in spite of herself, couldn’t
keep a trace of gentleness out of her tone, something that approached
tenderness. She hated sentimentality, but--no use denying that she was
deeply moved by the poor woman’s vehemence, by the thought she had
conveyed. Of course, the advice of Miss Eppendorfer was not to be taken
too seriously, and yet, couldn’t she be right on _some_ points? She
attended to the coffee with earnestness, thinking all the while. What if
she had been cold and selfish, and made her own dear boy unhappy? A
coward?... And a faint realisation of the truth not fully seen or known
till much later came upon her, of the pitiful folly of waiting, of
patience and of prudence in this poor life so short and so hazardous.
“I will! I will!” she said to herself. “He shan’t struggle on alone. I
_won’t_ lose my happiness--our happiness. I’m _not_ afraid!”