I
As she dressed the next morning Grace hummed and whistled, happy in the
consciousness that before the day ended she would see Trenton again.
The romantic strain in her warmed and quickened at the thought. Even
if they were to part for all time and she should go through life with
his love only a memory, it would be a memory precious and ineffaceable,
that would sweeten and brighten all her years.
In his workman’s garb, as she had seen him at Kemp’s, she idealized
him anew. If it had been his fate to remain a laborer, his skill would
have set him apart from his fellows. He could never have been other
than a man of mark. It was a compensation for anything she might miss
in her life to have known the love of such a man. She was impatient
with herself and sought the lowest depths of self-abasement for having
doubted him. She should never again question his sincerity or his
wisdom, but would abide by his decision in all things.
When she reached the dining room her father was already gone, and her
mother seemed troubled about him.
“He was excited and nervous when he came home last night,” said Mrs.
Durland. “He hardly slept and he left an hour ago saying he’d get a cup
of coffee on his way through town. I’m afraid things haven’t been going
right with him. It would be a terrible blow if the motor didn’t turn
out as he expected.”
“Let’s just keep hoping, mother; that’s the only way,” Grace replied
cheerily. “They wouldn’t be wasting time on it at Kemp’s if there
wasn’t something in it.”
“I guess you’re right there,” interposed Ethel. “Kemp has the
reputation of being a cold-blooded proposition. And I suppose the great
Trenton values his own reputation too much to recommend anything that
hasn’t got money in it.”
“Poor foolish men _will_ persist in going into business to make money,
not for fun,” Grace replied. “I suppose Gregg and Burley don’t sell
insurance just as a matter of philanthropy. Mr. Trenton would soon be
out of work if he didn’t have the confidence of the people who hire
him. I wouldn’t be so bitter if I were you.”
“I heard you rolling up in an automobile last night,” Ethel persisted.
“You seem to be getting the benefit of somebody’s money.”
“Ethel!” cried her mother despairingly.
“Let her rave,” replied Grace calmly. “When Mr. Burley drives Ethel
home from the office it’s an act of Christian kindness, but if I get a
lift it’s a sin.”
“Mr. Burley,” began Ethel, breathing heavily, “Mr. Burley is the very
soul of honor! He wanted to talk to me about some of the work in our
Sunday school and hadn’t time to discuss it in the office.”
“Don’t think for a minute I have any objection! If he was just opening
up a little flirtation it would be all right with me.”
“How dare you?” cried Ethel, beginning to cry.
“Please, Grace,” began Mrs. Durland, pausing on her way to the kitchen
with the coffee pot.
“All right, mother,” said Grace. “I resent just a little bit having
Ethel grab all the virtue in the family.”
“I’m not ashamed to tell who brings me home anyhow,” Ethel flung at her.
“Neither, for that matter, am I! It was Mr. Thomas Ripley Kemp who
brought me home last night. He’d taken Irene and me for a drive.”
“So that _was_ it! I thought I recognized the car. That Kemp! I suppose
he’s getting tired of Irene and is looking for another girl!”
“Well, dearie, he hasn’t said anything about it,” Grace replied. “But
you never can tell.”
“Girls! This must stop right here! We can’t have the day beginning with
a wrangle. You both ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”
“I’m through, mother,” said Grace. “I didn’t start the row. I’ve
reached a place where Ethel doesn’t really worry me any more.”
“Well, you were always a tease and Ethel is sensitive. I do wish you’d
both exercise a little restraint.”
Grace found a brief note in the society column of the morning paper
recording Mrs. Trenton’s departure, and an editorial ridiculing her
opinions. Elsewhere there were interviews with a dozen prominent men
and women on Mrs. Trenton’s lecture, all expressing disapproval of her
ideas. A leading Socialist disavowed any sympathy with Mrs. Trenton’s
programme and denounced her “Clues to a New Social Order” as a mere
rehash of other books. He characterized her as a woman of wealth who
was merely seeking notoriety by parading herself as a revolutionist and
who would be sure to resist, with the innate selfishness and greed of
her class, any interference with her personal comfort and ease.
Grace carried the newspaper with her to the trolley and on the way
down town reread these criticisms of Mrs. Trenton with keenest
satisfaction. Mrs. Trenton was not a great woman animated by a passion
of humanity but narrow, selfish and cruel. She thought again of the
encounter at Miss Reynolds’s with renewed sympathy for Trenton. After
all he had met the difficult situation in the only way possible. He had
said once that he didn’t understand his wife and Grace consoled herself
with the reflection that probably no one could understand her, least of
all, her husband.
In the course of the day Grace learned from Irene that Kemp, who was
on the entertainment committee for a large national convention, had
decided to ask several friends among the delegates to The Shack.
“It won’t be a shocker, like some of Tommy’s parties, only a little
personal attention for a few of the old comrades,” said Irene. “You and
Ward can see as little of the rest of the bunch as you please. Tommy
has promised me solemnly to let booze alone. I suppose his wife will
never know how hard I’ve worked to keep him straight! Ridiculous, isn’t
it? Before that woman came back from California Tommy hadn’t touched a
drop for a month, and he’s been doing wonderfully ever since. The good
lady was so pleased with his appearance and conduct that she beat it
for New York last night to buy clothes and by the time she gets back
I’ll be ready to release my mortgage on Tommy for good and all. I’ve
broken the news to him gently and he’s been awfully nice about it. This
is really my last appearance with Tommy--it’s understood on both sides.
I wouldn’t go at all if it were not for you and Ward.”
Grace envied Irene the ease with which she met situations. Irene’s
cynicism, she had decided, was only on the surface; she wished she
could be sure that she herself possessed the sound substratum of
character that Irene was revealing. Irene had sinned grievously against
the laws of God and man; but after disdaining those influences that
seek to safeguard society, and carrying her head high, with a certain
serene impudence in her wrong-doing, she now appeared to be on good
terms with her soul. It was a strange thing that this could be--one of
the most curious and baffling of all Grace’s recent experiences. Face
to face with the problem of her future relations with Trenton, Grace
was finding in Irene something akin to a moral tonic. Irene, by a code
of her own, did somehow manage to cling fast to things reckoned fine
and noble. Irene, in spite of herself, had the soul of a virtuous woman.
It was to be a party of ten, Grace learned after Irene had conferred
with Kemp by telephone at the lunch hour. For the edification of the
three strange men Irene had provided three other girls who had, as
Irene said, some class and knew how to amuse tired business men without
becoming vulgar. Grace knew these young women--they were variously
employed down town--but she would never have thought of asking them to
“go on a party.”
“Not one of these girls makes less than two thousand a year,” Irene
announced loftily. “God preserve me from cheap stuff! It makes me sick,
Grace, to see these poor little fools who run around the streets, all
dolled up with enough paint on their faces to cover the state house
and not enough brains in their heads to make a croquette for a sick
mosquito. If it hadn’t been for all this silly rot about emancipating
women they’d be at home cooking and helping mamma with the wash. As it
is they draw twelve a week and spend it all on clothes to advertise
their sex. Do you know, Grace, I sometimes shudder for the future of
the human race!”