The silence towered, opaque and forbidding, between them. But they had
come with a purpose, groping their way to the same objective, neither
one guessing what was in the other’s mind. By a devious path, that was
nevertheless essentially feminine, Judith approached:
“Lary, do you want to tell me about your brother? It would have made
such a difference in Eileen’s life--if he had lived.”
“You would have enjoyed Bob--a tremendous fellow, every phase of him.
He played half-back on the college team when he was sixteen. And at
that, he took the state cup in the half mile dash. He had medals for
hammer throwing and pole vault. There is a whole case of his cups and
ribbons in the college library. He’s the only one of us who inherited
my mother’s energy. Oh, Sylvia, of course. She can rattle around and
make a great showing--and she does actually accomplish things when she
has a definite purpose ... something she wants to do. The rest of us
are a listless pack. We’d rather climb a tree and watch the parade go
by. But Bob was in everything, for the sheer fun of living. It looks
to me like a stupid blunder ... to cut off such virility before it had
perpetuated itself.”
“Eileen told me she had lost her respect for God, since her brother was
drowned. She was so naïve and in such deadly earnest.”
“Eileen was a born doubter. I was sixteen when I revolted against the
idea of a Deity with the duties of an ordinary stockroom clerk--and it
was one of Eileen’s searching questions that set me thinking. Not bad
for six years old. Mamma holds to the old orthodox belief as one of the
hallmarks of respectability. In her day, and town, the iconoclasts were
pool-room keepers and saloon bums. The catechism was drilled into us as
soon as we could talk. My mother would have been a great ritualist, if
she had had the luck to be born an Anglican. There isn’t much in her
church to hang your hat on.”
“But your father, Lary--religion means something to him.”
“Yes ... it’s about all he has. Eileen breaks his heart with her
irreverent flings. I spare him. Not because I am more considerate than
she. More selfish, perhaps. I can’t take the consequences of inflicting
pain. You’ll call it crass spiritual weakness--a flaw in the casting.
I’ve tried to overcome it. I couldn’t have endured....” His voice
wavered, “Last night I heard my father praying for Eileen. It was
ghastly. I wanted to tell her how she is torturing him. But it would
only provoke a fresh outburst of scoffing.”
“Lary, will you give Eileen into my hands--stop worrying about her--you
and your father? Will you persuade him that I have been sent ‘from on
high’ to guide her through this wilderness? I may fail; but I have her
confidence.”
“Papa was afraid, because you were rich, that you would share her
mother’s view. Oh, not that Eileen took refuge in your sympathy. She’s
too proud, too good a sport, for that. She only told him that money,
_per se_, was no obstacle--_vide_ Mrs. Ascott. Before she was through
with it, she told him that if he kept on, she would go to the devil
with Hal Marksley. It was after that that he carried his trouble to the
God who is said to answer prayers.”
“As a substitute for the Deity.... But at least, Lary, I know the
premises. And at the worst, it is only the working out of her own
nature. No one can live Eileen’s life for her, not even her father. But
there’s the tower clock, striking six. You will be late for dinner--and
we haven’t looked at that inglenook.”