After the play there was a little supper, and then the long ride in the
taxicab. It was nearing two o’clock when Judith looked into Eileen’s
room. The bed was empty. In swift alarm she turned, to catch a faint
cry from the bathroom.
“I came in here to get some hot water--and--I couldn’t get back,” the
girl groaned, striving to make light of a desperate situation.
“Oh, it was heartless of me to leave you alone, at such a time.”
“Not at all. I’ve had a wonderful evening. I took my violin ... and we
worked it out together. I went to bed and slept like a rock until--oh,
oh!”
“Lary!” Judith cried in fright, “telephone for a doctor. Eileen is
dreadfully ill.” The tortured girl had striven to rise, but fell back
convulsed on the rug.
When Larimore had carried her to her bed, he said huskily:
“Only this evening, when we were going out, I was thinking how
fortunate it was to have a doctor here in the apartment. He came up in
the elevator with us. He may not care to take this kind of case, but--”
“Lary, you must be mistaken. It’s not to be for almost two months.
And if you were right--wouldn’t it be over by this time? She’s been
suffering two hours.”
“The first one is often premature. Eileen is a highly emotional
nature. And I suspected at dinner that something was wrong. As to the
duration--no one can gauge that. I was with my mother for three hours
before Theodora was born. My father was out of town, and mamma wouldn’t
have Sylvia around. Bob had been sent for the nurse, and there was
nothing to do but wait. Dr. Schubert knew my mother’s habits. He said
there was no hurry.” They had reached the outer door of the apartment,
his hand on the knob. “In those three hours, Judith, I was transformed
from a sentimental boy to a morbid, cynical man. Syd has tried to
change my viewpoint; but all his reasoning is empty. He will never be
called upon to bear children.”
A few minutes later he returned with the physician, in bathrobe and
slippers. It was almost morning before a nurse arrived; but one of the
maids was herself a mother, and intelligent help was not wanting. After
an hour Lary led his wife from the room.
“Sweetheart, you can’t help her, and you are enduring every pang she
suffers. Her pain is mostly physical now. Yours is both physical and
mental. You must not squander your strength. We will need it for the
harder part to come. Won’t you lie down and try to sleep?”
“Sleep! when the most terribly significant thing in the world is under
way? How can we grow so callous? I never realized the marvel of life
until now. I must go through every heart-throb of it. I need it! I will
have more pity for your mother, more toleration for my own mother, more
love for you, Lary--if there is any more.”
Larimore Trench closed his eyes, bitter self-abasement surging through
his being. He had never been at grips with life. Nay, rather, he had
turned from it in a superior attitude of disdain. He would not touch
the woman he loved. She was too holy for his coward’s hands.