Grace set off with the liveliest expectations to keep her appointment
with Miss Reynolds. The house struck her at once as a true expression
of the taste and characteristics of its owner. It was severely simple
in design and furnishing, but with adequate provision for comfort.
Grace had seen pictures of such rooms in magazines and knew that they
represented the newest ideas in house decoration. The neutral tint
of the walls was an ease to eye and spirit. Ethel had spoken of Miss
Reynolds as quaint, an absurd term to apply either to the little woman
or any of her belongings. She was very much up to date, even a little
ahead of the procession, it seemed to Grace.
“Oh, thank you! I’m glad if it seems nice,” Miss Reynolds replied
when Grace praised the house. “All my life I’ve lived in houses where
everything was old and the furniture so heavy you had to get a derrick
to move it on cleaning day. But I can’t accept praise for anything
here. The house was built for a family that moved away from town
without occupying it. The young architect who designed it had ideas
about how it ought to be fixed up and I turned him loose. There was
a music room, so I had to get a grand piano to fit into the alcove
made for it. That young man is most advanced and I thought at first he
wouldn’t let me have any place to sit down but you see he did allow me
a few chairs! Are you freezing? I hate an over-heated house.”
“I’m perfectly comfortable,” said Grace, noting that Miss Reynolds wore
the skirt of the blue suit she had sold her, with a plain white waist
and a loose collar. Her snow white hair was brushed back loosely from
her forehead. Her head was finely modeled and her face, aglow from an
afternoon tramp in the November air, still preserved the roundness of
youth. The wrinkles perceptible about her eyes and mouth seemed out of
place,--only tentative tracings, not the indelible markings of age. She
had an odd little way of turning her head to one side when listening,
and mistaking this for a sign of deafness Grace had lifted her voice
slightly.
“Now, my dear child!” cried Miss Reynolds, “just because I cock my head
like a robin don’t think I’m shy of hearing. It always amuses me to
have people take it for granted that I can’t hear. I hear everything; I
sometimes wish I didn’t hear so much! I’ve always had that trick. It’s
because one of my eyes is a bit stronger than the other. You’ll find
that I don’t do it when I wear my glasses, but I usually take them off
in the house.”
At the table Miss Reynolds rambled on as though Grace were an old
friend.
“Our old house down on Meridian Street was sold while I was abroad.
It had grown to be a dingy hole. Garret full of trunks of letters and
rubbish like that. I cabled at once to sell or destroy everything in
the place. So that’s why I’m able to have a new deal. Are you crazy
about old furniture? Please tell me you are not?”
“Oh, I like new things ever so much better!” Grace assured her.
“I thought you would. I despise old furniture. Old stuff of every kind.
Old people too!” With a smile on her lips she watched Grace to note the
effect of this speech. “I shouldn’t have dreamed of asking you to give
up an evening for me if I meant to talk to you like an old woman. My
neighbors are mostly young married people, but they don’t seem to mind
my settling among them. I’m sixty-two; hurry and say I don’t look a day
over fifty!”
“Forty!” Grace corrected.
“I knew I was going to like you! I think I’ll spend my remaining years
here if I can keep away from people who want to talk about old times,
meaning of course when I was a girl. It doesn’t thrill me at all to
know that right here where this house stands my grandfather owned a
farm. Every time I go down town I dodge old citizens I’ve known all my
life for fear they’ll tell me about the great changes and expect me to
get tearful about it. I can’t mourn over the passing of old landmarks
and I’d certainly not weep at the removal of some of the old fossils
around this town who count all their money every day to make sure
nobody’s got a nickel away from them. They keep their lawyers busy
tightening up their wills. They’ve invented ways of tying up property
in trusts so you can almost take it with you!”
“That’s their way of enjoying life, I suppose,” remarked Grace, who was
taking advantage of Miss Reynolds’ talkativeness to do full justice
to a substantial dinner. The filet of beef and the fresh mushrooms
testified to the presence of an artist in the kitchen, and the hot
rolls were of superlative lightness. Miss Reynolds paused occasionally
to urge Grace to a second helping of everything offered.
“I detest anemic people,” Miss Reynolds declared. “If you don’t eat my
food I’ll feel terribly guilty at asking you here.”
“It’s the best food I ever ate! We were going to have corned beef and
cabbage at home, so all these wonderful dishes seem heavenly!”
“You’ve probably wondered why I grabbed you as I did and asked you to
sit at meat with me?”
“Why, I hope you asked me because you liked me!” Grace answered.
“That’s the correct answer, Grace--may I call you Grace? I hate having
a lot of people around; I like to concentrate on one person, and when
I met you in the church entry it just popped into my head that you
wouldn’t mind a bit giving me an evening. It’s awfully tiresome going
to dinners where the people are all my own age. I’ve always hated
formal entertaining. You struck me as a very fair representative of the
new generation that appeals to me so much. Don’t look so startled; I
mean that, my dear, as a compliment! And of course I really don’t know
a thing about you except that you have very pretty manners and didn’t
get vexed that day in the store when I must have frightened you out of
your wits.”
“But you didn’t,” Grace protested. “I liked your way of saying exactly
what you wanted.”
“I always try to do that; it saves a lot of bother. And please don’t
be offended if I say that it’s a joy to see you sitting right there
looking so charming. You have charming ways; of course you know that.
And the effect is much enhanced when you blush that way!”
Grace was very charming indeed as she smiled at her singular hostess,
who had a distinct charm of her own. She felt that she could say
anything to Miss Reynolds and with girlish enthusiasm she promptly told
her that she was adorable.
“I’ve been called a crank by experts,” Miss Reynolds said
challengingly, as though she were daring her guest to refute the
statement. “I get along better with foreigners than with my own people.
Over there they attribute my idiosyncrasies to American crudeness, to
be tolerated only because they think me much better off in worldly
goods than I really am.”
They remained at the table for coffee, and the waitress who had served
the dinner offered cigarettes. Grace shook her head and experienced a
mild shock when Miss Reynolds took a cigarette and lighted it with the
greatest unconcern.
“Abominable habit! Got in the way of it while I was abroad. Please
don’t let me corrupt you!”
“I suppose I’ll learn in time,” Grace replied, amused as she remembered
the stress her mother and Ethel had laid on Miss Reynolds’ conservatism.
It occurred to her that Miss Reynolds was entitled to know something
of her history and she recited the facts of her life simply and
straightforwardly. She had only said that her father had been
unfortunate without explaining his connection with Cummings-Durland.
Miss Reynolds smoked and sipped her coffee in silence; then asked in
her quick fashion:
“Cummings-Durland? Those names tinkle together away back in my memory.”
“Father and Mr. Cummings came here from Rangerton and began business
together. The Cummingses used to live neighbors to us over by Military
Park.”
“Bob Cummings is one of my neighbors,” said Miss Reynolds. “Rather
tragic--putting that young man into business. He hates it. There ought
to be some way of protecting artistic young men from fathers who try to
fit square pegs into round holes. I suppose the business troubles broke
up the friendship of your families.”
“Yes; my mother and sister are very bitter about it; they think father
was unfairly treated. But I met Bob only this morning and he was very
friendly. He seemed terribly cut up because I’d left college.”
“He’s a sensitive fellow; he would feel it,” said Miss Reynolds. “So
you children grew up together--the Durlands and the Cummings. I’m
asking about your present relations because Bob comes in occasionally
to play my piano--when there’s something on at his own house that he
doesn’t like. His wife’s the sort that just can’t be quiet; must have
people around. She’s crazy about bridge and he isn’t! He called me on
the telephone just before you came to ask if he might come over after
dinner, as his wife’s having people in for bridge. I told him to come
along. I enjoy his playing; he really plays very well indeed. You don’t
mind?”
“Not at all,” said Grace, wondering at the fate that was throwing her
in Bob Cummings’ way twice in one day and a day in which she had been
torn with so many conflicting emotions.
“If you have the slightest feeling about meeting him do say so; you may
always be perfectly frank with me.”
“Yes; thank you, Miss Reynolds. But I’d love to hear Bob play.”
When they were again in the living room Grace stood for a moment
scanning a table covered with periodicals and new books.
“Since I came home I’ve been trying to find out what’s going on in
America, so I read everything,” Miss Reynolds explained. “The general
opinion seems to be that things are going to pot. Right under your
hand there’s a book called ‘Clues to a New Social Order,’ written by a
woman named Trenton. I understand she’s a respectable person and not a
short-haired lunatic; but she throws everything overboard!”
“I’ve read it,” said Grace. “It’s certainly revolutionary.”
“All of that!” Miss Reynolds retorted. “But it does make you think!
Everybody’s restless and crazy for excitement. My young married
neighbors all belong to families I know or know about; live in very
charming houses and have money to spend--too much most of them--and
they don’t seem able to stand an evening at home by themselves. But
maybe the new way’s better. Maybe their chances of happiness are
greater where they mix around more. I’m curious about the whole
business. These young folks don’t go to church. Why don’t they, when
their fathers and grandfathers always did? Their parents stayed at
home in the evening. My father used to grumble horribly when my mother
tried to get him into a dress suit. But there was wickedness then
too, only people just whispered about it and tried to keep it from
the young folks. There were men right here in this town who sat up
very proper in the churches on Sunday who didn’t hesitate to break
all the commandments during the week. But now you might think people
were sending up fireworks to call attention to their sins! I remember
the first time I went to a dinner--that was thirty years ago--where
cocktails were passed around. It seemed awful--the very end of the
world. When I told my mother about it she was horrified; said what she
thought of the hostess who had exposed her daughter to temptation!
But now prohibition’s driven everybody to drink. I asked my chauffeur
yesterday how long it would take him to get me a quart of whiskey and
he said about half an hour if I’d let him use the car. I told him to
go ahead and sure enough he was back with it in twenty minutes. It was
pretty fair whiskey, too,” Miss Reynolds concluded. “I was curious to
see just how it felt to break the law and I confess to you, my dear,
that I experienced a feeling of exultation!”
She reached for a fresh cigarette and lighted it tranquilly.
“Everybody’s down on the young people,” said Grace, confident that she
had a sympathetic listener. “They tell us all the time that we’re of no
account.”
“There are pages of that on that table,” Miss Reynolds replied. “Well,
I’m for the young people; particularly you girls who have to rustle for
yourselves. If I stood up in a store all day or hammered a typewriter
I’m sure I’d feel that I was entitled to some pleasure when I got
through. Just what do girls do--I don’t mean girls of your upbringing
exactly and your schooling,--but less lucky girls who manage their own
affairs and are not responsible to any one.”
“I haven’t been at work long enough to know much about that,” said
Grace; “but--nearly every girl who’s at all attractive has a beau!”
“Certainly!” Miss Reynolds affirmed promptly. “It’s always been so.
There’s nothing new in that.”
“And they go to dances. Every girl likes to dance. And sometimes
they’re taken out to dinner or to a show if the young man can afford
it. Girls don’t have parties at home very much; I mean even where they
live at home. There’s not room to dance usually; the houses are too
small and it isn’t much fun. And if the beau has a car he takes the
girl driving.”
“And these girls marry and have homes of their own? That still happens,
doesn’t it?”
“Well, a good many girls don’t want to marry,--not the young men
they’re likely to meet. Or if they do, some of them keep on working.
There are girls in Shipley’s who are married and keep their jobs. They
like the additional money; they can wear better clothes, and they like
to keep their independence.”
“There you are!” Miss Reynolds exclaimed. “The old stuff about woman’s
place being in the home isn’t the final answer any more. If you won’t
think it impertinent just how do you feel on that point, Grace?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t want to marry for a long, long time!--even if I had
the chance,” Grace answered with the candor Miss Reynolds invited.
“I’ve got that idea about freedom and independence myself! I hope I’m
not shocking you!”
“Quite the contrary. I had chances to marry myself,” Miss Reynolds
confessed. “I almost did marry when I was twenty-two but decided I
didn’t love the young man enough. I had these ideas of freedom too,
you see. I haven’t really been very sorry; I suppose I ought to be
ashamed of myself. But the man I almost married died miserably, an
awful failure. I have nothing to regret. How about college girls--you
must know a good many?”
“Oh, a good many co-eds marry as soon as they graduate, and settle
down. But those I’ve known are mostly country town girls. I think
it’s different with city girls who have to go to work. They’re not so
anxious to get married.”
“The fact seems to be that marriage isn’t just the chief goal of a
woman’s life any more. Things have reached such a pass that it’s really
respectable to be a spinster like me! But we all like to be loved--we
women, don’t we? And it’s woman’s blessing and her curse that she has
love to give!”
She was silent a moment, then bent forward and touched Grace’s hand.
There was a mist of dreams in the girl’s lovely eyes.
“I wish every happiness for you, dear. I hope with all my heart that
love will come to you in a great way, which is the only way that
counts!”