"We hope that you'll be on our side."
"And John doesn't know?"
"You see by Harry's letter that although he doesn't _know_, his
intuition is trying to tell him."
"How long's this been goin' on?"
"It just came, Schuyler, happened, was--not many days ago. We didn't
see it coming, and----"
He interrupted sharply, his eyes grown suddenly cold. "I want to know
if you have still a sort of right to be in this house?"
"Why--yes--I think so."
"_Think_--don't you _know_?"
He gave a harsh short laugh.
"I know what you are driving at, of course. We care about each other.
If _that's_ wrong, that's all that is wrong."
"You take a weight off me," he said, and his tone was more friendly.
"You always maintained that love was its own justification, Schuyler?"
"And I've heard you maintain that it wasn't. Now we seem to have
swapped beliefs."
He turned to his dressing-table and tied his tie. While so doing he
muttered: "Pleasant vacation in sunny South."
And then was silent. I could not think of anything to say. Having
finished dressing he thrust his hands into his trousers pockets and
began to pace about the disordered room.
"Shall we go out in the sun?" I suggested.
"A dark cave would be more in keepin' with my feelings. Let's stop
here a little and talk. What's the idea anyway?"
"Why, the usual idea, I suppose."
"John to give Lucy a divorce, you and Lucy to marry shortly after, and
Jock and Hurry to go to hell! I think less than nothing of the usual
idea. To begin with, why should John give Lucy a divorce? She's the
one that's done all the harm. I _know_ I'm her brother. It only helps
me to see her character clearer than other people do. Well, say he
isn't the fool I think he is. Say he _won't_ give her a divorce? What
then?"
"Hadn't we better cross that bridge when we come to it?"
"In the usual way, I suppose. No. I'm too old-fashioned to like usual
ways of doing things. Furthermore, I like you and Lucy too much. I
don't want to see her life ruined, and John after all is a manufacturer
of ammunition. How about crossin' the bridge and findin' him on the
other side with a big bang-stick in his hand?"
I shrugged my shoulders, though at heart I was not indifferent to the
picture which Schuyler had conjured up.
"Oh," said he, "what a damned mess! Come, we'll talk to Lucy."
I went with him most unwillingly. And I thought it good fortune that
we did not find her alone, but with Evelyn, Dawson and the children.
Schuyler kissed his sister good morning with warm, brotherly affection
and gave her a playful pat or two on the back.
"All we need," he said cheerfully, "is old John, and a girl apiece for
Archie and me, to be a happy family party."
He made goat's eyes at Evelyn and Dawson. The latter blushed. But the
former returned his glance with a fine and mischievous indifference.
"Now, people," Schuyler continued, "I'm on my vacation. I've plenty of
energy, and I'm open to suggestion. You, Evelyn, do you want to ride
with me or with Dawson?"
"I want to ride with you, but I'm going to play golf with Dawson."
"When?"
"We were just lingering to say good morning."
She rose a little languidly, and I perceived with misgivings that she
and Dawson were really about to depart.
"Well," said Schuyler, "any time you feel like shakin' Dawson, just put
me wise, there's a good fellow!"
When Dawson and Evelyn had gone, Schuyler proceeded to get rid of the
children. He gave them fifty cents apiece, and said that if he didn't
see them or hear them for half an hour they could keep the money.
"Are you trying to get this room all to yourself?" asked Lucy. "Do you
want Archie and me to vanish, too?"
"No," said Schuyler; "much as you and Archie may wish to, I want
nothing of the kind. Lucy, I think you'd better telegraph John to come
home, don't you?"
"I've told Schuyler, Lucy," I said.
"And that's a good thing," said Schuyler; "because I don't have to take
sides. I like you all. You and Archie _have_ to take your side, and
John has to take his, naturally."
Lucy, her hands folded in her lap, looked bored and annoyed.
"A lot of talk isn't going to help any," she said.
"For certain reasons, Lucy," said Schuyler, "you and Archie are just
now as blind as two bats. You don't see what you are doing, and you
don't see what you are up against."
"I've only one life," said Lucy, "and it's my own."
"But it isn't," said Schuyler; "you gave it to John. I'd be mightily
hurt and shocked to find out that you were an Indian giver."
"John will give my life back to me when he knows."
"Well, find out if he will or not. Send for him. Tell him what's
happened."
"I think that would be best, Lucy," I said.
"Then, of course, I'll send," she said. "But----"
"John, you know," said Schuyler, "may not take you two very seriously.
He may think that Lucy's feelings for you, Archie, are just a passing
whim. Upon the grounds of his own experience with Lucy, he would be
within his rights to feel that way. Why not," his face brightened into
a sort of cheerfulness, "why not test yourselves a little? You go
north, Archie, and wait around, and then, after a while, if you and
Lucy feel the same, it will be time enough to tell John. It's all been
too sudden for you to feel sure of yourselves. It isn't as if neither
of you had ever been in love before and gotten over it. As a matter of
cold fact, you've both been tried before now and found wanting. So I
think you ought to go slow--for John's sake. He's the fellow that's
been tried and that hasn't been found wanting."
It was obvious that Lucy did not like her brother's suggestion at all,
for she rose suddenly, her hands clenched, and exclaimed:
"Oh, you don't understand at all. How can I go on living with a man I
don't love? How can you ask me to be so false to myself and to
Archie----"
"And to Jock and Hurry?" asked Schuyler gently.
She showed no emotion at the mention of these names.
"Don't they count for anything?" persisted Schuyler.
"Of course they count for something, so does poor John. Do you think
it's any pleasure to have hurt him so? But is it my fault if they
don't count _enough_?"
Here she came swiftly to my side, and slid her hand under my arm and
clung to it. "They count," she said, "but they don't count enough."
And she turned to me. "You are all that counts. I'd give up my life
for you, and I'd give up my children and everything. You know that."
[Illustration: "'You are all that counts . . . you know that.'"]
There was a long silence. Then Schuyler, speaking very slowly, said:
"You'd go away with him, and never see Jock and Hurry again, not be
able to go to them when they were sick, not to be at little Hurry's
wedding when she grows up and gets married. . . . For God's sake!"
"_Now_ do you realize that I'm in earnest?" she cried.
Schuyler turned quietly on his heel and left the room. After a while
we heard his voice in the distance, mingling joyfully with the voices
of Jock and Hurry.
Lucy's face, all tears now, was pressed to my breast.
"You are giving up too much for me, my darling," I said; "I'm not worth
it."
"But if you went out of my life I'd die!"
"I won't go out of your life, Lucy. But there are lives and lives. We
could meet and be together to gather strength for the times we had to
be apart."
At that she had a renewal of crying, and cried for a long time.
"It isn't right for Jock and Hurry to run any risk of losing you," I
said, "and love--Lucy--love with renunciation is a wonderful thing, and
a strong thing."
"I'm not strong. I don't want to be strong. I just want to give and
give and give."
"We could have our own life apart from everybody else--but not a hidden
guilty life--a life to be proud of--a life in which you would
strengthen me for my other life and I would strengthen you for yours."
She stopped crying all at once and freed herself from my arms. "Then
you don't want me?"
"I want you."
She lifted her hands to my shoulders. "Suppose we find that we can't
stand a life of love--with renunciation?"
"At least we would have tried to do what seemed to make for the
happiness of the most people."
"And you think I ought to live on with John, as--as his wife?"
"No, I couldn't bear that--but as his friend, Lucy, as the mother of
Jock and Hurry. Oh, no," I said; "I couldn't bear it, if--if you
weren't faithful to me."
"And you would be faithful to me?"
"In thought and deed."
"And we'd just be wonderful friends?"
"Lovers, too, Lucy. We couldn't help that."
And I kissed her on the forehead. And at that moment I felt very
noble, and that the way of life which I had proposed was a very fine
way of life, and possible of being lived.
"Then," she said, "John mustn't know. He must never know. It will
always be our secret. But then Schuyler knows."
"When I tell him what we mean to do, he won't tell."
And the first chance I had I told Schuyler. And finished with, "So
don't tell John, will you?"
"I'll see how happy Lucy manages to make him, first," said Schuyler.
"But if you think he won't find out all by himself, you're mistaken.
It's a rotten business all around."
And he looked at me with a kind of comical amazement. "Think of Lucy
carin' more for you than for Jock and Hurry!" he exclaimed. "I suppose
you regale her from time to time with episodes from your past
life? . . . Well, if I didn't think you'd both get tired of each other
before long, I'd feel worse. One thing, though, if I promise you that
I won't give you away to John, will you promise me for yourself and for
Lucy that you won't take any serious step, without telling me first,
and giving me a chance to try to dissuade you?"
"As there is to be no question of a serious step," I said, "I promise."