John sprang to his feet.

“I wonder what’s the matter?” he exclaimed questioningly. “Why don’t

you go and see, Lucy?” he added accusingly.

“She’s only angry, John,” answered Lucy, watching his face with anxiety.

Nannie’s moans could be heard.

“People don’t make sounds like that because they are angry,” retorted

John. “If you’re not going upstairs, I am!”

Lucy rose.

She ascended the stairs to Nannie’s room. John followed her almost

immediately, but remained in the hall outside the door.

“What is the matter, Mother?” Lucy inquired, approaching the bed where

Nannie lay in an abandon of weeping, her face hidden by the pillows.

“Oh, go away! Go away!” cried Mrs. Merwent, breaking into a fresh

paroxysm of sobs.

“Now, Mother, don’t act this way.” Lucy spoke as to a child. “Tell me

what it is you’re crying about.”

“Oh, Lucy, is it--oh, it was John--oh, I can’t----” she moaned.

“What did he do?” insisted Lucy. “If you mean what he said at dinner, I

don’t see anything to get into this state over.”

“It wasn’t that alone. It was when he came home. O-oh----” and Nannie

lamented afresh.

“Mother,” ordered Lucy impatiently, seizing Mrs. Merwent’s shoulder as

though with intent to shake her, “either stop crying or tell what you

are crying about. You’ll drive everybody crazy. John is half distracted

already, and nobody can do anything for you while you act like this.”

Nannie continued to weep, but less violently.

“Tell us what it is so we can do something, and let John go down and

eat his dinner.”

“Is he upstairs?” inquired Nannie, glancing at the door.

“Yes, of course. He’s standing outside in the hall.” Nannie redoubled

her sobs and wails.

“Well, if you intend to keep on like this, I am going,” threatened

Lucy, losing her temper.

“Oh, don’t go, Lucy! Please don’t go!” moaned Nannie.

“Well, then, stop acting as though you were dying, and say what you’re

crying about.”

“Oh, you are so cruel,” sighed Nannie.

“Very well. I’m going.” Lucy moved toward the door.

“Come back! Come--back--and I--will tell----” Nannie entreated brokenly.

“Well?” Lucy returned to the bed.

Nannie seized her hand.

“It was when--he--came home. I--went to meet--him--and he--he was so

cold and cross with me! I have just written to Professor Walsh--and

told him--I couldn’t go--back to Russellville yet--and now--John--makes

me feel like I ought--to have gone right away. O-oh!” and a fresh fit

of weeping began.

“What did John say?”

“Why--why he--he hardly answered me--and--and--o-oh what have I done?”

she wailed again in a storm of sobbing.

“I’m sure you misunderstood him, Mother. He was probably worried and

tired. John is human like the rest of us, and you are foolish to make a

mountain out of a mole hill.”

“No, I didn’t misunderstand him, Lucy,” persisted Mrs. Merwent,

forgetting to cry. “He has _never_ spoken to me in that way before.

Something has happened to make him hate me.”

Lucy smiled in spite of herself.

“Well, let’s not have any more tragic scenes over it. It’s doubtless

something very simple, and I’ll speak to him about it. Come on down and

finish your dinner.”

“Oh, I couldn’t see him like this. I don’t care for any dinner.” Nannie

sat up in bed and reached for the hand mirror which lay on her dressing

table.

“I’ll send you up some then.”

“All right. You can tell Katy to bring me up a little something. I’d

like some of the bisque I had her fix for John. He’ll feel hurt if I

don’t taste it,” asserted Nannie apologetically.

Lucy made a motion toward the door but Mrs. Merwent held her hand.

“Wait a minute. Kiss me, Lucy. I’m so lonely.”

Lucy hesitated almost imperceptibly, and then bent down and kissed her

mother’s cheek.

“Tell Katy she can send up the saucer of blanc mange she saved for me

yesterday,” Nannie instructed as her daughter reached the door.

“What was the matter?” inquired John anxiously as he descended the

stairs behind Lucy.

“Why, she was crying because she thought you were angry with her when

you came home,” replied Lucy.

“Angry? I didn’t say anything to her.”

“I think it was your manner as much as what you said.”

“Well, I can’t be eternally thinking of my every word and intonation in

this house. I’ll lose my mind. It’s first on one side, and then on the

other. A man don’t know how to talk or act.”

“I don’t think you can quite compare us, John. I haven’t made any

scenes like this.”

“No, but here you are jumping on me for not keeping your mother in

a good humor, while I was only worried about you. You’re a very

appreciative person, I must say!”

“I’m not jumping on you, John.”

“Well, you said I was the cause of all this to-do.”

“I didn’t say you were to blame, John.”

“Well, my good intentions weren’t very successful, if that’s so. You go

around like the chief mourner at a funeral, and then when I make any

attempt to help, you give me a slap like this.”

“You certainly don’t help me when you start situations like this one.”

Lucy’s voice became cutting. “You don’t have to spend all day with her.

It will take me a week to get her over the fit of blues she has.”

“Yes! That’s all the thanks I get for trying to show consideration!

Talk about being misunderstood! I think I’ll keep my mouth shut after

this.” John reseated himself at the table, and began to eat again in

gloomy silence.

“John, what has gotten into you? You are so changed I hardly know you.

Yow didn’t use to be so sensitive and childish.”

“Thank you,” he retorted sarcastically.

“Well, you are. Since Mother came you have gotten to be more like her

every day. I think _I_ am the one who has a hard time. I feel sometimes

as though I would lose _my_ mind.”

“That’s the second time you have said I was changed,” he snapped. “You

are the one who is changed, and I think I can guess the reason. It’s

not your mother half so much as it is someone else.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Lucy, her cheeks paling.

“Never mind what I mean. I don’t want to hear you accuse Nannie of

anything more. If you are so warped that you think she has destroyed my

manhood and made me into a baby, the less we have to say to each other,

the better. She may be sensitive but she at least appreciates attempts

at kindness, which you don’t.”

“I don’t want to talk any more,” announced Lucy wearily, with an effort

at self control.

“Neither do I. I’m going down town,” he declared savagely. He threw

down his napkin and went into the hall. Taking his hat from the stand,

he left the house. Lucy heard the gate slam.

She took Dimmie up to bed.

It was Saturday night. John did not come in until past midnight.

* * * * *

Nannie did not get downstairs even for the usual late Sunday breakfast,

and Katy took coffee, toast, eggs, and fruit to the bedroom. When the

invalid finally appeared she was wearing an elaborate négligée. She

clung to the walls, chairs, and tables, as she walked, and otherwise

exhibited symptoms of extreme prostration.

When she came into the dining room, John, who was seated by the table,

reading, looked up with an air of constraint.

Nannie greeted him in a faint voice. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he answered.

After a second’s hesitation, he put down his paper and rose and went

toward her.

“You look pale, Nannie,” he remarked in a low tone, pushing forward an

armchair, but avoiding her glance as he did so.

“I’m all right, John. It’s nothing,” she replied in the same weak

voice. “Thank you so much,” she added, sinking into the chair.

“Let me get you a little port wine,” he offered, standing beside her

and watching her face as she leaned back with closed eyes.

“Oh, no, John. Don’t bother. I’ll be better in a minute,” she

protested, smiling bravely. Then, with a sigh, she reached into the

bosom of her gown and took out an envelope. “I want you to mail this

letter for me,” she continued, with an obvious effort.

John took the letter from her and stared at the address uncomfortably.

There was a pause.

“I slept so badly last night,” said Nannie, moving her head from one

side to the other as it rested against the chair.

“Nannie!” John blurted out, unconsciously crushing the envelope in his

hand as he spoke, “I didn’t mean anything last night. I didn’t intend

to hurt your feelings at all. I was tired and worried, that’s all.”

His face flushed and he hesitated, gazing at her expectantly.

She did not answer at once, but when she opened her eyes she was

smiling faintly. Reaching out her hand she laid it on his. He gave a

relieved sigh.

“I know, John, dear! Lucy is so abnormal,” she breathed, tenderly

sympathetic, lowering her voice and glancing toward the kitchen as she

spoke.

“And you won’t talk any more about this confounded Professor Walsh?”

John spread out the envelope and looked at it.

“I must write to him and acknowledge the check,” Nannie protested,

accepting the letter which he held out.

“But you’ll tear this one up?” Nannie tore the paper in two and

replaced the fragments in her dress.

“I thought you didn’t want me here any longer, John,” she murmured,

averting her face.

“And that’s what you wrote him?” John was too full for further

utterance.

“I told him I was coming back soon,” she admitted.

“Nannie!” John gasped reproachfully.

She touched his hand again. He caught her fingers and clasped them, but

his expression was still hurt.

“You mustn’t be angry with me, John, dear!” she begged, lifting her

face to his.

“I can’t be angry with you very long, but if you do that again----!”

“I won’t, John! I--I----” With an effort that looked heroic Nannie

tried to rise but sank back in her chair. “I’m still so faint,” she

apologised almost inaudibly.

“Don’t move, Nannie. I’ll get you the wine,” and John hurried to the

pantry, returning with a glass and a bottle. “Take a good stiff drink,”

he urged, pouring some of the liquor into the tumbler as he spoke.

She made a wry face as she sipped it.

“You are so good, John. I feel better now.”

“So do I,” said John.

“While Lucy is so morbid we must try to coöperate, John.” She lowered

her voice again.

“You’re right, Nannie,” he agreed with conviction.

When Lucy entered the room a few moments later John and Mrs. Merwent

were talking as though there had never been a misunderstanding between

them.

XXIV

On Monday morning Nannie was descending the stairs when the telephone

on the landing rang and she stopped to answer it.

“Is this Mrs. Winter?” a voice responded to her “hello.”

“Who is this speaking?” interrupted Nannie.

“It’s Miss Storms. Is that you, Lucy?”

Nannie hesitated a second.

“No. This is Mrs. Merwent. Mrs. Winter is upstairs. Is there anything I

could tell her?”

“If you wouldn’t mind asking her to step to the ’phone I should be so

obliged,” said Miss Storms.

“Oh, very well. Wait a minute. Hold the wire.” And Nannie went into the

kitchen.

“That woman wants to speak to you on the ’phone,” she told Lucy. “It

must be something very private as she insisted on your coming to the

’phone yourself. I told her you were busy.”

Lucy turned from the table where she was mixing cake batter.

“Whom do you mean? Miss Storms?” she asked.

“Of course. Who else!” Nannie replied impatiently.

Lucy went into the hall and, mounting to the landing, picked up the

receiver.

“Good morning, Miss Storms,” she called.

“I’m sorry to bring you downstairs, but I wanted to speak to you

personally, Lucy,” began Miss Storms.

“Why, I wasn’t upstairs,” Lucy explained.

“Well----” and Miss Storms paused, “anyway I’ve some news for you. Your

father is here, and his wife. I wondered if you would like to see them

here. Can you come and have a cup of tea with us this afternoon?”

“Oh, thank you. Of course I’ll come. When did they get in?” “Last

night. Well, we’ll expect you, dear.”

“What time?”

“We’ll have tea about four o’clock, but you come as early as you can

and stay as long as you can. Good-bye till afternoon.”

“Good-bye,” answered Lucy, “and thank you so much.”

Nannie had been listening.

“What did she want?” was demanded of Lucy as soon as she hung up the

receiver.

“She wants me to take tea with her this afternoon.”

“Who is that you asked when they arrived? Some friends of hers she

wants you to meet?”

“Yes,” returned Lucy, not knowing what else to say.

“She didn’t say anything about me?” pursued Nannie.

“No,” responded Lucy, relieved.

“Well, she doesn’t have to invite me if she doesn’t want to. I’m sure

I’m not dying to have anything to do with either her or her friends. Of

course it makes no difference to you whether your mother is given the

cold shoulder or not. You go running after her just the same. Well, I

don’t care. It doesn’t make any difference to me. She needn’t think I

give it a single thought. I wouldn’t go to her teas if she begged me

to, and I shouldn’t think you would either after the way she’s treated

me. First, she puts that Mrs. Low up to making trouble between me and

your father, and then she tries to ignore me. But all she has to do is

to crook her finger, and you go tagging after her. I should think you’d

have more pride about you than that, Lucy.”

“But, Mother----” expostulated Lucy.

“Oh, well, don’t mind me. Go on. I’m used to being ignored and

humiliated. I can forgive and forget, but little credit do I get for

it. Anybody is better than I am, in your eyes. Go on. Go to your tea.

I’ll find someone who thinks I’m worth looking at. I was going down

town with Miss Powell this afternoon anyway.” And Nannie sat down to

her as yet untouched breakfast.

* * * * *

Lucy had just returned from her visit and was removing her hat and

gloves before the hall mirror when John entered. She turned to face him

and greeted him expectantly.

“Hello,” he answered sulkily.

“I’ve been to Miss Storms’,” Lucy volunteered.

“Oh, I know all about your Miss Storms!” John told her. “Where’s

Nannie?” He glanced about inquiringly.

“She’s upstairs.” Lucy’s tone had become as distant as his own.

“I don’t think your father ought to have come to Chicago while Nannie

was here,” he began, speaking in a low voice, but with some heat.

“What do you mean, John? I didn’t know you knew they were here.”

“Miss Storms brought them by the office in her machine. She said she

had just driven you to the station. I don’t think you ought to have

gone under the circumstances.” His speech became louder.

“Why?” demanded Lucy, looking at him.

“Out of consideration for Nannie, of course.”

“What would you have done?”

“I should have told Miss Storms.”

“Told her that I wouldn’t see my own father? I couldn’t do that, John.

He’s dearer than anyone else in the world, after you and Dimmie,

and----” Lucy paused.

“More so than your own mother,” accused John.

A noise was heard. John stepped to the foot of the stairs and saw

Nannie disappear in the upper hallway.

“I wonder if she heard,” he mused, frowning.

Lucy’s face grew hard. She turned and mounted the stairs.

“Dinner is ready, Mother,” she called, knocking at Mrs. Merwent’s door.

There was no answer. Lucy repeated the knock several times, always with

the same result. John had followed her.

“I’ll talk to Nannie,” he announced pugnaciously.

Lucy turned away.

He tapped at the door. “Don’t you want some dinner?” he called in a

voice that he tried to make careless.

Mrs. Merwent did not reply, but he could hear the sound of soft

sobbing within. He tapped again. “Please try to eat some dinner,

Nannie,” he called once more pleadingly. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“No thank you, dear John. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t swallow food.

I o-oh,” and the sobbing was redoubled.

When John returned to the dining room Lucy was at the table. He seated

himself in silence.

“She won’t come,” he announced gloomily after a few moments. “Now you

see what you’ve done. Nannie is heartbroken.”

“I don’t see that I’ve done it,” retorted Lucy quickly. “I couldn’t

help their coming to Chicago, and I didn’t tell her about it.”

“Well, if you had refused to go,” argued John, “and told Miss Storms

you didn’t care to see the woman your father had deserted your mother

for----”

“That would have been a good way to keep it from Mamma, who was

listening to every word I said!” Lucy gazed at John defiantly.

“At any rate, if you had refused without any explanation Nannie would

have needed to know nothing.”

“If she had not listened to what wasn’t intended for her ears she would

have needed to know nothing.”

“How could she help hearing when we were talking in the hall?”

Lucy did not reply.

“I think you ought to take your stand, Lucy, without vacillating.”

“What do you mean by taking my stand, John?”

“Well, you are either on Nannie’s side, or you are on your father’s

side. You can’t be on both.”

“I don’t see why not. That is just the stand I’ve taken. I’m not to

blame for the divorce and I have a right to see my father whenever I

wish.”

“Not after the way he has treated Nannie!” John answered hotly.

“I see her after the way she has treated him!” Lucy returned with equal

heat.

“Lucy, do you mean to say that you have taken your father’s side

against Nannie?” John interrogated incredulously. “I’ve just said that

I’ve taken neither side.”

“But if you took sides, it would be for him,” persisted John.

“Yes,” admitted Lucy.

Dimmie came in through the kitchen doorway and halted by the table.

Lucy drew her to him, and he leaned against her chair. John took no

notice of him.

“Lucy, I am surprised. How a woman can turn against her own mother----”

“What about her own father?” Lucy interrupted angrily.

“You are unjust, cruel and ungrateful,” continued John, paying no

attention to her question.

Lucy was white.

“It is entirely my own affair,” she said coldly. “Suppose we don’t

discuss it further.”

“It’s not your own affair,” contradicted John, “and I don’t propose to

see you insult and humiliate your mother in any such way.”

“You have no right to dictate to me in this matter or any other.” Lucy

rose from the table, her eyes blazing.

John sprang up and went out through the hall, slamming the front door

after him.

“What is Papa mad about?” Dimmie asked of his mother.

Lucy sat down again and buried her face in her arms on the table.

* * * * *

As Lucy had not taken any dinner to her the previous evening, Mrs.

Merwent appeared at the breakfast table at an unwonted hour, shortly

after John’s departure for the office. She was almost without rouge and

wore the négligée of the previous Sunday, a creation of grey and rose.

“I’m not hungry,” she explained as she seated herself and began to eat.

“Every bite I take chokes me. But I am so empty and weak that I must

take some nourishment or I’ll be sick.”

Lucy sat down wearily, saying nothing.

“I never saw such coarseness before in my whole life,” resumed Nannie.

“The idea of that woman calling you up to go and see your father and

that creature while I was actually in your house! I suppose that is

fine feeling here in the North.”

Katy had gone to market, so it was Lucy who went into the kitchen when

Nannie was ready for hot waffles.

“I suppose you saw her,” continued Mrs. Merwent, when Lucy returned.

“Have another cup of coffee, Mother.”

“I think I had better. I feel faint and dizzy.”

Lucy poured the coffee and pushed the bacon and eggs nearer her

mother’s plate.

“You saw her, didn’t you?” repeated Nannie, helping herself to waffles

and taking more bacon and eggs.

“Saw whom?” asked Lucy.

“You know whom I mean, Lucy. There’s no use trying to get out of it.”

“I’m not trying to get out of anything, Mother. I saw Miss Storms and

Papa and--Papa’s wife.” Lucy hesitated a little over the last two words.

“I hope she dresses better than she used to in Russellville,” remarked

Nannie.

Lucy was silent.

“Did she say anything about me?” Nannie took another waffle.

“No, Mother. No one mentioned you.”

“I see. Nobody even thought of me. Did that woman seem very fond of

your father?”

“Who? Miss Storms?” interrogated Lucy, in a lame attempt at pleasantry.

“You know whom I mean, Lucy. It’s not funny to me if it _is_ to you.”

“Let’s not discuss Papa’s wife.” Lucy showed that she anticipated an

outburst.

“Why not?” insisted Nannie virtuously.

“Because----” Lucy looked out the window.

“Because what?” demanded her mother.

“Why, don’t you think it’s in--well, bad taste, Mother?”

The explosion came.

“You’re a nice one to try to teach me good taste and propriety!”

Nannie’s voice was suddenly raised to its highest pitch. “I may be

divorced but I was never talked about while I was living with your

father.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Lucy regarded her mother steadily.

“No, of course you don’t!” taunted Nannie. “Well, other people do. A

married woman ought to be satisfied with the friendship of her husband.”

“If you are referring to Jim Sprague,” Lucy’s tone was menacing, “my

friendship for him or anybody else is none of your business.”

She had risen. Her breast heaved and her nostrils widened as she gazed

at her mother.

“Why, Lucy! How can you fly into such a passion!” Nannie was

frightened. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong about it.”

“You said people were talking about us,” accused Lucy in a trembling

voice.

“Why, no, I didn’t. I only meant that I was afraid people might talk.”

“That wasn’t what you said.” Lucy was very pale and continued to eye

her mother steadily.

“You misunderstood me, Lucy. You are always misunderstanding me,”

protested Mrs. Merwent soothingly. “I only consider your own welfare,

and at the least thing you flare up like you hated me--over the merest

trifles. I think I’m the one who ought to get angry.” Nannie assumed an

air of injury.

“Oh, I’m too tired to talk about it, Mother.” Lucy’s eyes filled with

tears.

“Yes, ‘Mother’! You always used to call me ‘Mamma’.”

Lucy did not reply.

“I suppose you didn’t get a chance to talk a minute alone with your

father,” resumed Mrs. Merwent, as if nothing had happened. “Did you?”

she repeated after a moment’s silence.

“Yes.”

“Did he say anything about me?” Nannie went on.

“I told you once, Mother, that nobody said anything about you.” “Well,

did he seem conscience stricken and ashamed of what he had done?”

“No. Please let’s not talk about it.”

“I suppose then he looked happy?”

Lucy did not answer.

“Of course he did,” concluded Nannie, “and you said nothing at all

about it. You were afraid to tell him what you thought of his crime.

You are a nice daughter----”

Lucy went into the kitchen.

Nannie, having finished her meal, rose from the table and followed.

“Did you tell him what we think of his cruel and contemptible action? I

suppose that creature gloats over it. What did you say to him, Lucy?”

Dimmie bounded into the room, breathless from play.

“Mother,” Lucy’s manner was defensive, “I wish you wouldn’t insist

on knowing what it is better not to discuss.” Then, turning to the

child she added, “Get your hat, Son. It’s time for you to go to Mrs.

Hamilton’s. The wagon will be there pretty soon.”

“Then you did not take my part at all?” continued Mrs. Merwent

tenaciously.

Again Lucy made no reply.

“You took his side, and the side of that odious snake in the grass who

tempted him away from us. I should have thought that your self respect

would have kept you from making friends with her, even if your mother’s

suffering couldn’t. She’s no better than a common----”

“Mother!” Lucy’s eyes were dangerous once more.

“And that sneaking Miss Storms is no better. I----”

“Stop!” cried Lucy in a voice of command.

Mrs. Merwent paused involuntarily and shrank back.

“So far I have taken nobody’s part in this matter, Mother, and have

tried to blame nobody. But if you are wise you will not make it too

hard for me.”

“I suppose that means that you are going to take your father’s side,”

sneered Nannie.

“It means just what I say,” Lucy was growing angrier with every word,

“but I will not listen to you insult my father, or Miss Storms, who is

my friend, or my father’s wife----”

“Who is also your friend,” supplied Nannie with another sneer.

“Yes, she is,” declared Lucy defiantly. “And they all had the decency

not to discuss you in your absence,” she finished bitterly.

“And I’m not decent!” her mother almost screamed, throwing a cup she

held in her hand on the kitchen table.

The cup broke into a dozen pieces and Dimmie, who had been listening

with open mouth, began to cry from fright. Mrs. Merwent rushed from the

kitchen upstairs.

Lucy took Dimmie to Mrs. Hamilton’s house. The carry-all arrived as

they were approaching. After Stella and Dimmie were safely ensconced in

the vehicle Lucy followed Mrs. Hamilton into the house.

“You look all tired out, Mrs. Winter,” Lucy’s neighbor observed as they

seated themselves in the neat kitchen.

The tears started to Lucy’s eyes.

“I just felt as if it would do me good to see you, Mrs. Hamilton,” she

replied.

“How is your mother?” Lucy’s hostess inquired pleasantly, a few moments

later. “I’m afraid she thinks I’m never going to get over to see her.

She was out when I called after the tea, and I’m just so busy I haven’t

time to turn around. I wish she’d do as I said and just run in now and

then.”

“She’s been going out a good deal. Is little Stella over her cold? She

seems quite well again.” Lucy changed the subject quickly, looking

uncomfortable.

Mrs. Hamilton had risen to open a window and did not hear.

“Mrs. Merwent is so wonderfully young looking. You ought to learn her

secret, whatever it is, and take care of your nerves, Mrs. Winter.”

Mrs. Hamilton smiled sympathetically and patted Lucy’s arm as she spoke.

Lucy bit her lip.

* * * * *

The telephone in the Winter home rang shortly after Lucy’s departure

and Nannie came downstairs to answer.

A voice asked for Lucy. “Is this Miss Storms?” interrogated Nannie.

“Yes.”

“Well, this is Mrs. Merwent. If you wish to insult me again in my

daughter’s house, please don’t do it over the telephone, Miss Storms.

If you want to crow over your cousin’s success in----” Miss Storms had

hung up the receiver with a jerk. Nannie, after listening a minute,

hung up her receiver also.

When Lucy returned Nannie met her in the hall. She smiled nervously

into her daughter’s unresponsive eyes.

“Where have you been, Lucy?” she began in a conciliatory manner.

“I went over to Mrs. Hamilton’s for a few minutes.”

“I suppose you felt you needed sympathy, with such a difficult mother,”

said Mrs. Merwent in a joking tone.

“No, Mother,” Lucy answered a little wearily. “I don’t take my troubles

to others.”

“Except Mr. Sprague!” Nannie’s tone became quickly caustic.

Lucy met her mother’s eyes coldly.

“What I meant was that I do not tell my troubles to the neighbors.”

“I’m much obliged, I’m sure,” retorted Nannie cuttingly.

Lucy moved toward the stairs.

“Lucy,” Mrs. Merwent resumed in a voice which showed a desire to

propitiate.

Lucy ascended the stairs without heeding her.

* * * * *

The next morning being Sunday, breakfast was late and Nannie took

her meal with the rest of the family. She asked John for the woman’s

page of the morning paper and soon became engrossed in a perusal of

“Complexion Hints.”

The door bell rang. Katy answered it and returned with a letter, which

she handed to Lucy, who, without opening it, laid it by her plate.

“Who’s your letter from?” questioned Mrs. Merwent, looking up from her

paper.

“It’s from--Miss Storms.” Lucy hesitated as she glanced at the

handwriting on the envelope. Nannie’s expression became disturbed and

she watched her daughter silently.

“Good Sunday atmosphere,” remarked John sarcastically, not raising his

eyes from the paper he was reading. “Cheerful as a funeral.”

Lucy took up her letter and opened it.

“Now, Lucy,” her mother began uneasily, her voice gentle, “Miss Storms

will probably have something mean to say about me in that letter,

because she called up on the ’phone yesterday and I answered. But just

remember that you haven’t heard my side.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she rang up?” demanded Lucy, with the open

letter in her hand.

“Why--I--she didn’t leave any message, and I forgot it,” explained

Nannie with embarrassment.

“What difference does it make anyway!” put in John. “Miss Storms had no

right to call up while Nannie was here and it served her right.”

Lucy read the letter.

“What does she say?” inquired Nannie, trying to sound casual but not

succeeding.

Lucy, her lips compressed, folded up the letter and put it in the

envelope before she answered.

“Why don’t you tell?” urged John impatiently. “What’s the use of

keeping Nannie in hot water about it?”

“She says she’s sorry for what happened,” announced Lucy quietly.

“She ought to be!” declared John. “I hope you gave her a piece of your

mind, Nannie.”

“No. I only said that I didn’t think she ought to call up here under

the circumstances,” cooed Nannie softly.

“Well, I think you were too forbearing,” returned John. “I’ll put it in

stronger terms when I see her.”

“I don’t think either you or Mother have any right to treat my friends

in any such way!” exclaimed Lucy feelingly.

“Lucy thinks I’ve already robbed her of Mr. Sprague’s friendship,”

insinuated Nannie in the same silvery tone, “and now I suppose I’m

to blame for Miss Storms considering herself injured.” “In the first

place, you have no right to have any friends who insult your mother,”

began John dictatorially.

“I have no obligation to defend my mother when she insults my friends,”

retorted Lucy, rising from the table, pale with anger.

“Nor your husband, either,” interposed Mrs. Merwent pointedly.

“No! Nor my husband either!” Lucy exploded stormily, looking straight

at John.

“Lucy, you ought to think about what you say,” warned Nannie

virtuously. “A woman who has as good a husband as you have should----”

“It’s no use, Nannie,” interrupted John gently, laying his hand on

Nannie’s arm, “but thank you, all the same. It’s a comfort that

_someone_ still thinks I’m not a brute.”

“John,” Lucy spoke steadily, controlling herself with an effort, “be

careful what you do. Consider well before you side with my mother

against me. I warn you, John--think before you do this.” The last words

were imploring.

“She is warning you against me, John,” commented Mrs. Merwent, smiling

bitterly.

“Wherefore all this tragedy, Lucy?” inquired John, returning to his

sarcastic manner. “I only ask you to be just to Nannie.”

Dimmie looked from one to the other, his lip trembling. Lucy burst into

tears and left the room, leading him by the hand.

“Now what do you know about that, Nannie?” John’s voice floated out to

Lucy as she ascended the stairs.

“Poor John,” Nannie answered softly.

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d go crazy,” he declared.

“I know, John, dear.”

“Lucy acts as if her mind was unbalanced,” he went on.

“Now you see what _I_ have had to bear. It’s the Merwent characteristic

to have a tendency toward melancholia. Lucy’s father--but I won’t talk

about my own troubles.”

“You’re a brick, Nannie!” John cried emotionally.

* * * * *

During most of the day Lucy remained in her room reading and talking

with Dimmie. Dinner and tea were silent meals. That night, when she

undressed Dimmie, she put him in her bed, and then lay down beside him.

In about an hour John knocked at the locked door. Lucy took no notice.

“Where is the money I gave you the first of the month?” he called from

the hall.

“It’s in the desk drawer,” Lucy replied. “Here is the key,” and she

tossed it through the open transom above the door.

In a few minutes Mrs. Merwent tapped at the door.

“Good night, Lucy. We’re going to the theatre,” she volunteered.

“Hurry up, Nannie. We’ll be late.” John’s voice could be heard as he

shouted from the hall beneath.

“I’m coming, John,” Nannie responded, not waiting for Lucy’s answer,

and she hastened down the stairs.

The front door slammed and the house became silent.

When she and John returned, Mrs. Merwent stopped again before her

daughter’s closed door.

“Good night, Lucy,” she called. There was no response.

Soon John came up and, finding the door still locked, rapped. There was

no sound.

“All right. Just as you like,” he growled, and went to Jim’s room to

sleep.

XXV

John and Lucy met the following morning without speaking. Nannie, who

had been treating her face with alternate applications of hot water and

ice, came down late as usual. She found Lucy in a white linen dress

and wide black hat, ready for the street, while Dimmie, who had not

been dispatched to kindergarten, wore one of the duck suits with hand

embroidered collars that were generally reserved for late afternoons

and Sundays.

“Why, where are you going, Lucy?” was Nannie’s immediate question. “Why

hasn’t Dimmie gone to kindergarten?”

“I’m going down town,” Lucy replied distantly, ignoring her mother’s

query in regard to the child.

“I was going down town, too, with Miss Powell,” Mrs. Merwent stated

genially. “If you’ll wait till I can get ready, we can go that far

together.”

“I haven’t time,” returned Lucy. “Come, Dimmie.” And she went out.

When Lucy and Dimmie reached home it was late. They found John and

Nannie in the dining room. Nannie was apparently in the best of spirits.

“We’ve been out, too,” she announced, her voice raised to a higher

pitch than usual and her eyes unnaturally bright, “and we had the

nicest time. Didn’t we, John?”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed John, giving Lucy a resentful look.

“I ran across John going over to Layard’s, or whatever you call them,

and took him for a half holiday. He works too hard down at that old

office anyway.” Mrs. Merwent showed great animation.

Lucy went upstairs to remove her hat, leaving Dimmie in the dining

room. “Where did you and Mamma go, Jimmie?” Nannie asked, as soon as

Lucy was out of hearing.

“We went to Miss Stormses, and see all the things I’ve got!” He showed

several packages.

“Who did you see? Who gave them to you?” Mrs. Merwent inquired.

“Oh, we saw Miss Storms, and she give me this necktie, and my new

grandpapa, he said he’d buy me a watch and chain. He said I could wear

it all the time, and it ain’t going to be a play one neither. It’ll go

just like a grown-up one.”

“Who else did you see?” persisted his interrogator.

“Oh, my new grandmamma, too. While I was there she didn’t give me

nothing but cakes, but she kissed me a lot, and there’s something in

one of my bundles she put there, she told me. She says I’m like my

grandpapa. And do you know----” Dimmie stopped open mouthed, in the

midst of his expansive confidences, and stared at his grandmother who

had begun to sob violently, with her handkerchief to her eyes.

“Come away from there, Dimmie,” commanded John.

The child obeyed, approaching his father with a wondering gaze.

“Now you’ve made poor Nannie cry,” John looked at Dimmie sternly.

The child’s eyes filled and his lips began to quiver.

“I--I--d-didn’t m-make her c-cry!” Dimmie wailed, his face full of woe.

“I d-didn’t hurt her!”

“Yes, you did hurt her,” John insisted firmly.

Dimmie dissolved into a rain of tears.

“It isn’t his fault, John--poor child,” interrupted Nannie gently

through her own tears. Then to Dimmie, “Come here, darling. Come to

Nannie.”

Dimmie held back suspiciously.

“Go to Nannie,” ordered John severely.

“Wait, John.” Mrs. Merwent had wiped her eyes and was smiling at

Dimmie. There was an unusual tensity in her manner. “Come on, Jimmie.

See! I’ve brought you something, too,” and she lifted a small square

parcel from the table and held it out to him.

Dimmie approached her chair. “See. It’s a box of chocolates your papa

bought for Nannie, and I’m going to give it to you.”

Dimmie held out his hand.

“Wait a minute,” she demurred.

“What do you say, Dimmie?” demanded John.

“Thank you,” Dimmie whispered, securing the prize.

Mrs. Merwent put her arms around the child.

“So you love Nannie, Jimmie?” she whispered back.

He did not reply to this, but stood in rapt uncertainty contemplating

the box of chocolates he held.

“Come on. Let me untie it for you. Here, sit in my lap.” She lifted him

up. “There! Aren’t they nice? You can eat one if you want to.”

Dimmie placed a chocolate in his mouth.

“Now, do you love Nannie?” she whispered again.

“Yes,” said Dimmie.

“Do you love me better than the people you saw today?” This, too, was

spoken in a whisper.

“Better than granpapa?” he inquired.

“Yes.”

“And Miss Storms?”

“Yes, and the other woman.”

“My new grandmamma?”

“She’s not your grandmamma.”

Dimmie replied stoutly:

“Grandpapa said she was.”

“Well, she isn’t. Nannie is your truly grandmamma. That woman only

wants to be your grandmamma. Your papa’s mamma that you’ve never seen

is your other grandmamma. This other woman at Miss Storms’ isn’t any

relation to you. A little boy can’t have three grandmammas, can he?”

Dimmie considered this problem gravely.

“Stella Hamilton’s only got two,” he admitted.

“Yes. One is Mrs. Hamilton’s mother, and the other is Dr. Hamilton’s

mother. I’m your mamma’s mother, and your papa has a mother. So this

woman at Miss Storms’ isn’t your grandmamma at all.”

“All right. I don’t love her any more,” Dimmie decided bravely. “She

didn’t give me nothin’ but cookies anyway.” “And you love Nannie, don’t

you?” Her words were inaudible to John.

“Yes,” he responded, leaning against her with his face close to hers.

“As well as you do Papa and Mamma?”

“As much as Papa, but Mamma is nicer,” he answered accurately.

“Don’t you love Nannie as much as you do Mamma? I’ll cry then. See all

your chocolates! You’ve only eaten one.”

Dimmie took another chocolate.

“Yes, I love you as well as Mamma,” he confided under his breath.

Nannie kissed him.

“Now go and play,” she suggested, pushing him gently away from her,

“and don’t get chocolates on your clean suit,” she added warningly.

Dimmie went in search of his mother. In a few moments he returned to

the dining room.

“Mamma says she don’t want no dinner,” he announced. “She’s got a

headache.”

“Let’s not wait any longer,” urged John.

“You can serve dinner, Katy,” Mrs. Merwent bade the servant.

“Yes, Miss Nannie. It won’t be a minute,” declared Katy, going out of

the room and coming back with the soup tureen which she placed on the

table.

John and Nannie seated themselves, and Dimmie climbed into his chair.

“Go upstairs and see if Mrs. Winter doesn’t want a little something to

eat, or at least a cup of tea, Katy,” directed Nannie.

“No, Miss Nannie. She say she caint eat nothin’ ’t’all,” Katy reported

when she reappeared.

“I’m afraid Lucy has another of her nervous spells,” Nannie remarked to

John. “Those people at Miss Storms’ have been filling her head with all

kinds of stuff and she probably thinks she is very badly used.”

“Nervous spells! A fit of dumps, you mean,” replied John. “She’s

cryin’,” Dimmie explained impassively between large mouthfuls of potato.

“I’ll swear life has gotten to be almost unbearable in this house,”

continued John, frowning. “Not a day passes without some kind of a

stunt. It’s either funereal gloom or hysterics. It’s enough to drive a

man dippy.”

“I know, dear.” Mrs. Merwent smiled sympathetically.

“And such a thing as consideration for me never enters her head. But

this deliberate disregarding of my wishes is going to be the last.

She and I are going to have an understanding once for all.” John’s

expression was relentless.

“Now, John, dear,” remonstrated Nannie gently, “you _must_ be patient.

I know it’s hard, but you know how abnormal Lucy is now. And I’m afraid

it’s growing on her.”

Lucy was coming down the stairs.

When she reached the dining room John and Mrs. Merwent, who had heard

her approach, both rose as though by a previous agreement.

“Lucy,” John began in a tone that was gravely didactic,

“notwithstanding the fact that your mother has pled with you not to go

near those people again, to say nothing of your husband’s wishes in the

matter, you have been to Miss Storms’ to see them and taken my child

with you.”

Lucy looked from John to her mother. Nannie’s eyelids were red but her

eyes were hard and glittered brightly. Lucy’s own face was pale and she

bit her lip to control its involuntary inclination to tremble. John

returned her startled glance with a gaze that might have greeted a

stranger.

“He is my child, too, John, and his grandfather wished to see him

before he left,” she said in a suppressed voice.

“Didn’t I tell you not to go again?” he asked accusingly, taking no

notice of her statement. His voice was unsteady and his face flushed.

“You have no right to order me to do or not to do anything, John.”

John’s flush grew deeper and duller. Dimmie had slid from his chair and

run out to play.

“I won’t have it!” John broke out violently, seizing a chair and

setting it down on the floor with a bump. Lucy regarded him steadfastly.

“I think it’s time you thought very seriously about what you are doing,

Lucy,” advised Nannie loftily.

Lucy continued to face them and spoke with self control, although the

twitching of her lip was apparent. Her eyes seemed to grow wider and

deeper without altering their expression.

“I think it is time you two also thought very seriously about what

you are doing,” she began slowly. “It seems never to have occurred to

either of you that there is anybody else to consider except my mother.

But I will tell you,” here Lucy raised her voice a little, “that I will

not endure this kind of treatment from you two, for always. I have

struggled and hoped that you, John, at least, might come to your senses

and see what all this is leading to, but----”

“I won’t hear you vilify your mother any longer,” John interrupted

harshly. “I’m not a baby being led around by the nose, and she’s not

an adventuress plotting to ruin you. If there is anything about your

present situation you don’t like, you can blame yourself for it. You

have sneered at her and belittled her ever since she came, and the

minute you get a chance you go and tag around after your father and

the woman he deserted Nannie for, and you and Miss Storms try to wean

my child away from his own father and grandmother to please them. You

have taken your stand with them and against us, and if you think we are

going to sit by tamely and submit to it you are mightily mistaken.”

John’s manner had grown more and more violent during this speech. He

lifted the chair he held and struck it on the floor to emphasize each

phrase, and his face was distorted with passion.

“You must admit, Lucy, that this quarrel is of your own making and not

our fault,” put in Nannie again.

Lucy ignored her.

“John, please try to think what you are saying. Oh, John, please think

of me. Think of Dimmie. Don’t make things impossible for us all.” Lucy

was pleading and her voice shook. She clasped and unclasped her hands

nervously.

“Impossible!” repeated John bitterly. “Things are already impossible.

And you’ve made them impossible.” He was almost shouting. “I tell you

I won’t have you ignoring my wishes and making a fool of me in my own

house.”

Lucy’s eyes kindled.

“And I tell you I won’t have you shouting at me, John Winter. And I

won’t have you treating me as though I were a servant to be dictated

to. If you have no decent pride, I have. Dimmie is not far away, and

Katy is in the kitchen.”

“Lucy, Lucy----” interrupted Nannie.

Lucy turned on her with vicious suddenness.

“And you will please attend to your own business, Mother. If it

includes running John’s affairs, that is no reason for its including my

life. When I want your advice and interference in my relations with my

husband I’ll ask you for them.”

Mrs. Merwent stopped short with open mouth.

“Why, Lucy----” she gasped.

“Don’t speak to me,” commanded Lucy, her eyes glowing.

Nannie crept closer to John and took hold of his arm.

“It seems to me you ought to remember the servant yourself, Lucy,” she

protested feebly.

“You shall _not_ treat your mother this way!” John had raised his voice

until it could be heard all over the house.

“No?” Lucy inquired in a curious tone.

“No, you shall not,” he repeated.

“No?” she asked again in the same peculiar manner.

“Lucy, Lucy, what is the matter with you?” cried Nannie hastily. “You

act so strangely!”

“Do I?” asked Lucy, still in a voice so unlike her usual self.

“Lucy! You frighten me! Don’t look like that!” insisted Nannie

nervously. “How can you look as if you hated me? Is all your love for

me gone out of your heart?”

Lucy began to laugh hysterically. As John and her mother appeared more

and more astounded, she laughed louder and louder.

“Lucy! Stop that!” ordered John sharply. “I don’t know you. I never saw

you act like this. What’s the matter with you?” He shook her arm as he

spoke.

She only laughed the more wildly.

“Lucy!” John’s voice was uncertain now. “Lucy! Stop, I say. What on

earth has gotten into you? Why, you act as if you were crazy.”

“Do I?” she reiterated with the same weird intonation.

She laughed again, her voice growing shriller and shriller with each

breath.

Katy’s frightened face peered through a crack in the kitchen doorway,

but no one observed it. John’s grip on Lucy’s arm tightened.

“Stop that laughing,” he repeated, but, as he shook her, this time more

roughly, there was fear in his tone and glance.

Lucy ceased laughing and looked at him.

“Oh, John!” she exclaimed. “What is it, John? What have I done?” Then

she hid her face in her hands and sobbed.

He loosened his hold on her.

Nannie gave a sigh of relief.

“Lucy, you should control yourself and not give way like that,” she

admonished.

Lucy uncovered her face and gazed at John. The tears were streaming

down her cheeks.

“Come now, Lucy,” he went on more quietly, “don’t act this way any

longer. Any one would think, to see and hear you, that you had been

terribly abused.”

“You have hurt me so. Oh, John, how you have hurt me.” Lucy’s tears

continued to flow, but she did not sob.

“You have hurt us, too, Lucy,” said Nannie.

“I depended on you to understand, John,” Lucy pursued, without noticing

her mother, “and you were the first to fail me. Others have been better

to me than you have--been more true----”

“Lucy!” Mrs. Merwent interrupted sharply, “I should think you could do

better than to bring Mr. Sprague in at a time like this!”

“Yes,” echoed John, flushing again. “If he has been more sympathetic

than your husband, you might at least keep from throwing it up to me.”

“I wasn’t even thinking----” Lucy began in a dull voice. Then,

suddenly, her eyes glittered angrily. “You two evil minded beings!” she

almost screamed. “Do and say what you like, I despise you!” “Lucy, I

warn you----” articulated Mrs. Merwent.

“Don’t speak to me! I’m ashamed that you are my mother.”

Nannie cowered at the whip-like words. John moved toward Lucy once

more, but she retreated before him defensively.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t come near me! Oh, how I hate myself that I ever

thought you worthy to be the father of my child! Why did you ever seek

me in the first place? Why did you? Why did you? Oh--oh--why did you?”

“John,” said Nannie, as Lucy paused for breath, “I think we’d

better----”

“Yes, leave me!” Lucy broke in shrilly. “Leave me! Go away! I can’t

look at you! Get away from me!” She was waving her hands at them

excitedly. “Go! Go away! Oh, you--go--go now! Go at once! Go!” Her

words ended in a shriek.

All at once she drew her breath in painfully and, before John could

catch her, fell forward in a heap by the table. She lay there still and

white.

Nannie knelt beside her calling her name and chafing her hands. Dimmie

had run in and was crying at the top of his lungs. Katy stood in the

kitchen doorway with mouth and eyes wide open.

“For heaven’s sake, be still!” John snapped at the child. “Come on,

Katy. Let’s get Mrs. Winter on to the sofa. She’s been taken sick.”

“Yes, sah,” gasped Katy. “Suttenly, sah.” And they lifted Lucy from the

floor.

“Keep still,” John commanded again, shaking Dimmie violently.

The child obeyed, still whimpering.

“Get me a wet towel to bathe her forehead, Katy,” directed John. The

negress did as she was told.

“Go upstairs and get some smelling salts, Nannie,” he ordered Mrs.

Merwent, and when she returned with the bottle, he added, “Let her

smell of them, and sit by her till I get back. I’m going to bring Dr.

Hamilton. It’ll be quicker than telephoning.” Almost before finishing

his speech he had his hat on and was gone.

“Poor Lucy! Poor girl!” Mrs. Merwent ejaculated time after time, as

Lucy lay with closed eyes. “I told John he was too hasty. Oh, my poor

child!” And she continued to pat the pillows, rub Lucy’s hands and

forehead, and apply the smelling salts with nervous and jerky movements.

Scarcely five minutes had elapsed when John reentered followed by

Dr. Hamilton, who dropped his hat on the table, swung his medicine

case beside it, pushed Mrs. Merwent gently out of his way, and seated

himself by the sofa without a word.

John, Nannie, and Katy stood watching him anxiously while he felt

Lucy’s pulse, observed her breathing, and lifted her eyelids, staring

carefully at her pupils. Then he deftly prepared a hypodermic and

injected its contents beneath the skin of her arm.

“Mrs. Winter has had a bad nervous shock,” he informed the group about

him at length. As he talked he was still watching Lucy intently. “Her

heart is none too strong. However I think that strychnine will pick her

up in a minute.”

Soon Lucy’s eyelids fluttered, and then opened.

“Where am I? What is the matter?” she asked, staring about her wildly,

and attempting to raise herself on her elbow.

“You were taken ill, Mrs. Winter,” replied Dr. Hamilton in a reassuring

manner, gently forcing her back on the pillow. “You just lie quiet for

a few minutes and you will be all right.”

Lucy obeyed and closed her eyes once more. When she opened them again

her face had regained a little of its color.

“Come on, Mr. Winter,” suggested the doctor. “We’ll carry her upstairs

now so she can be put to bed. That’s the place for her.”

“Can’t I walk?” Lucy asked in faint protest.

“No. We had better carry you.”

Lucy made no further objection. When she was in her room, Dr. Hamilton

turned from her and spoke to Nannie who followed close behind.

“You had best get her undressed and quiet at once, Mrs. Merwent,” he

said, “and when that’s done, leave her, and on no account disturb her.”

To John in the hall at the moment of departure he added, “Keep her

perfectly quiet. On no pretext allow her to become excited, and if

anything you don’t understand comes up, call me at once. I’ll look in

again in the morning.”

Nannie arranged a lounge in Lucy’s room and slept near her, getting up

a dozen times to ask, “Do you want anything, dear?”

Lucy, generally awakened by these queries, always answered, “No, thank

you.”

After midnight, however, Mrs. Merwent slept soundly, and Lucy attended

to her own needs.

XXVI

It was late the next morning when Nannie awoke, and Lucy had already

combed her own hair and arranged herself for the day. Dr. Hamilton came

in before Mrs. Merwent was dressed and there was a scurrying when she

ran to her own room as she heard him on the stairs.

“You will be all right, now, Mrs. Winter,” he announced, after

listening to her heart. “I advise you, however, to spend a few days in

bed so as to insure against a repetition of this business. I won’t come

any more unless you need me.” He turned to John, who stood by the bed.

“You use your marital authority and make her keep still, Mr. Winter.”

“All right, Doctor,” promised John.

When John was ready to leave for the office he came in, hat in hand,

and stood by Lucy’s bed.

“Good-bye, Lucy. I’m going down town.”

“Good-bye,” she answered listlessly.

After looking at her a moment, he went out. He reached the office later

than usual.

“Anything wrong?” inquired Jim, looking up from his desk as John

entered.

“Lucy’s not very well.” John hung up his coat and stood by his desk,

fitting a pen into a holder.

Jim watched his face with growing anxiety.

“She’s not seriously sick, is she?” Jim tried to control his voice but

it was unsteady in spite of him.

“I don’t know,” John answered, his eyes on what he was doing.

Jim said no more, but he remained a long time eyeing the plan of a

building before him, his pencil idle in his hand. After a time, he rose.

“I’m going to dictate a letter to Miss Burns,” he remarked, referring

to the public stenographer whose office was only a few doors down the

hall.

Jim went to Miss Burns’ room but, finding her occupied, paced the

corridor for a quarter of an hour or more. When he finally went back to

John his manner displayed none of the agitation which had been apparent

while he was alone.

“I’m going out to Rosedene with you tonight, if you don’t mind, John.

I’m worried about what you say about Lucy,” he announced as he reseated

himself and began to work.

John hesitated perceptibly before he replied.

“All right,” he conceded somewhat ungraciously.

* * * * *

At one o’clock Katy brought up Lucy’s luncheon. During the course of

the morning Mrs. Merwent had been to the bedroom several times to make

inquiries regarding her daughter’s condition, but Lucy, a cloth wet

with _eau de Cologne_ on her forehead, her eyes closed defensively, had

made barely audible replies to her mother’s interrogations. Nannie, on

these occasions, patted the bed clothes, raised and lowered the window

shades, and set to rights Lucy’s bureau and wash-stand, but, finding no

further excuses for lingering, was finally obliged to leave the invalid

in peace.

When Nannie reentered the room early in the afternoon Lucy started to

rise.

“Don’t get up. I only wanted to ask you a question,” began Nannie.

“Why, Lucy, you have been crying again.”

“I still have a very bad headache,” interrupted Lucy.

“You ought to control yourself and not give way to this abnormal

melancholy.” Nannie’s tone was virtuous.

Lucy rose and stood looking at her mother.

“It’s about a pudding,” resumed Nannie. “I’m making it for dinner--that

baked lemon custard you used to make at home; you remember. Do you use

one dozen eggs, or two?”

“It depends on how much custard you want to make,” said Lucy.

“Oh, well--you know what I mean--enough for our family.”

“I should use five eggs,” Lucy replied, holding one hand to her drawn

forehead. “Wait a minute till I put it down.” Mrs. Merwent wrote on a

scrap of paper which she had brought with her.

“And how many lemons?”

“Two.”

“And two cups of sugar?”

“No, three fourths of a cup.”

“Why don’t you call me by my name, Lucy? Anyone would think you were

talking to one of the tradesmen. You’re so brusque and curt. It makes

me feel like I had done something terrible.”

“Is that all?” demanded Lucy.

“Why, yes--no--let’s see. Two cups of sugar?”

“Three fourths of a cup,” repeated Lucy.

“Wait a minute. I think I’ll just have Katy bring the things up

here, so you can show me how to do it.” And Nannie ran down stairs,

returning, followed by the old negress who was panting from the

exertion of her hasty ascent to the upper floor, her arms laden with

bowls and pans.

Katy went back to the kitchen twice to bring the full assortment of

ingredients and utensils.

“Now,” said Nannie, when she had completed the mixing of the pudding

under Lucy’s direction, “I hope it’ll be good. What are you wrinkling

up your forehead so for, Lucy? Does your head still ache?”

“Yes.” Lucy answered.

“Law’s sakes, Miss Nannie, dere wa’n’t no sense in pesterin’ Miss Lucy

wid dat ’ere custard at all. I cu’d ’a’ done it mase’f. I done made ’em

a thousand times.” Old Katy glanced anxiously at Lucy’s pale face.

“You just attend to what you’re told, Katy, and don’t give advice when

you’re not asked for it,” Nannie retorted pettishly.

“Yes, Miss Nannie. Suttenly, Miss Nannie. I didn’t mean no ha’m,” Katy

apologized, beginning to carry the dishes and materials back to the

kitchen.

“Now I must go down and see that it doesn’t burn,” remarked Mrs.

Merwent, bustling out the door. “I won’t be long,” she called back as

she descended the stairs.

Lucy rubbed her head again with _eau de Cologne_, lay down on the bed

and placed a cloth wet with cold water over her eyes. The afternoon

was dull and cloudy and it soon began to rain. Soothed by the patter

of drops on the tiled roof of the veranda just outside her window, she

gradually relaxed and dozed lightly, but her peace was not for long. In

a short time Nannie appeared again. As Lucy heard footsteps in the hall

she removed the cloth from her eyes.

“Lucy, I wanted to ask you if you think the pudding is ready to take

out.” Mrs. Merwent’s manner was agitated.

“How long has it been in?” inquired Lucy.

“Oh, I haven’t timed it, but one edge is getting brown already.”

“Katy will know when it’s done.” Lucy spoke with a visible effort.

“I’m afraid to trust her judgment,” Nannie objected. “I’m so anxious

for it to be just perfect.”

“I’ll go and see,” said Lucy, rising.

“Now I didn’t mean for you to go,” protested Mrs. Merwent. “I just

wanted your opinion, that was all.”

Lucy started into the hall.

“Lucy, come back,” besought Nannie, following her. “You know Dr.

Hamilton ordered that you should be perfectly quiet. Don’t go, Lucy.”

They were at the head of the stairs. “Well, Lucy, if you _will_ go,

remember that I didn’t ask you to, and did all I could to keep you from

it.”

“Why, where is it?” she inquired agitatedly as Lucy reached the kitchen

and opened the door of the empty oven.

“I done tuk it out, Miss Nannie. H’it’s in de pantry,” explained Katy.

“What did you mean by touching my pudding, Katy?” Nannie demanded.

“Shucks! H’it ’ud ’a bin all spiled if I hadn’t,” Katy expostulated

respectfully, bringing the pudding out for inspection.

“It’s just right,” decided Lucy, examining it carefully.

“I’m so glad,” announced Nannie with a sigh. “I should have felt

awfully if it hadn’t been just perfect.”

Lucy turned to enter the dining room. “Now, Lucy, you must go right

back to bed,” said her mother. “You shouldn’t have come down at all.”

Lucy went through the dining room into the living room without

replying.

“Please go back to bed,” pleaded Nannie, following her.

“No. I’m going to sit up a while,” answered Lucy.

“Well, if you’re sure it won’t hurt you, but remember I didn’t want you

to. Shall we eat some of the pudding now?”

“I don’t care for any, thank you.”

“Just taste it. I can hardly wait to see if it’s good or not.”

“Why don’t you try it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t eat any unless you did.”

Lucy drummed nervously on the arms of the chair she sat in.

“Do you remember how we used to send out and get oysters----?” Nannie

began suddenly.

Lucy rose.

“Lucy!” exclaimed Mrs. Merwent, following her daughter who was leaving

the room.

In the hall Lucy put on her raincoat and took an umbrella from the

stand.

“Where are you going?” asked her mother.

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Wait a minute. Don’t go! Please don’t!” But Lucy had passed through

the door.

When she returned from her outing it was nearly sunset. The rain was

over and a dim, yellow-green light shone on everything.

Nannie met her in the hall.

“Now, Lucy,” Mrs. Merwent’s voice was reproachful, “you are going to be

sick for all this.”

“On the contrary, I feel much better.” Lucy’s appearance supported her

assertion.

“Well, change your clothes at any rate,” Nannie advised.

“I think I will put on dry shoes and stockings,” agreed Lucy.

* * * * *

It was almost time to close the office, on the same evening, when there

was a knock at the outer door and it was slightly opened.

“Come in,” John called. He was alone, Jim having left him to keep an

engagement with the firm of Layard’s in the next street.

Miss Storms walked into the room.

“Well, John, I see you are alone,” she observed, hesitating just inside

the door.

“Good evening, Miss Storms. Won’t you sit down?” he answered distantly,

rising and making a motion toward the coat which he had removed some

time before.

“Don’t bother about that coat. I shan’t stay,” she interrupted, smiling

kindly.

But John put on the coat.

“Ellen and Arthur are leaving in the morning. They had hoped Lucy would

be in today--though she said yesterday that she didn’t think it would

be possible.” Miss Storms paused. “As there seems to be no way for

them to communicate with her----” she paused again with significant

emphasis, raising her eyebrows but continuing to smile in the same

manner, “I have brought this parcel from them. It is for Dimmie. His

grandfather promised him a watch.”

John did not speak at once and the two stared at one another. His face

grew red and sullen under the enigmatic inquiry of her expression.

She laid the parcel on the desk. Still John said nothing.

“If it is possible for Lucy to get in in the morning----” she began

again.

“Lucy is sick in bed,” John informed her shortly.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Poor child! What is----it isn’t anything serious, is

it?”

“No. Only an attack of nerves.”

Miss Storms continued to gaze at John, and he partially averted his

face, fingering some papers on the desk beside him.

“John,” interrogated Miss Storms, making a step forward, “isn’t there

anything to be done?”

He glanced up quickly and his hand on the paper shook.

“No,” he said, looking at Miss Storms almost defiantly, “I don’t see

that there is. Not so long as Mr. Merwent and--his wife insist on

thrusting their attention where it’s not wanted.”

“Oh?” Miss Storms lifted her eyebrows again and bit her lip. She

continued to regard John with an expression that was a mixture of

rather bitter humor and bafflement.

“Perhaps you’d rather not deliver my message?”

John frowned slightly.

“I’ll deliver it, Miss Storms. I’m not the one to settle Lucy’s

attitude toward her father.”

“Well, I certainly hope the dear child is stronger than she looks. I’ll

send over here tomorrow to inquire after her.” Miss Storms declared

with insistent good humor. “Good-bye.”

Smiling rather impersonally, she nodded to John and went out.

John walked to the window and stood staring into the rain, and he did

not hear Jim when he came in a few minutes later, his umbrella dripping

and his shoulders wet.

When Miss Storms reached home she told Merwent and his wife of her

visit.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Arthur said slowly, shaking his head as he spoke.

“It means that I have lost my daughter. I don’t wonder that she’s sick,

poor girl. I could see that she was nearly frantic yesterday. I’ll

write to her.” Then his voice grew bitter. “Of all the fiends in human

form----!” Ellen laid her hand on his arm. He was silent.

“I don’t think I’ll ever call myself a diplomat again,” announced Miss

Storms grimly.

* * * * *

John and Jim closed the office and walked to the station in silence.

Even in the close proximity of the suburban train they exchanged only a

few desultory remarks.

Lucy had hardly put on her dry clothes and returned downstairs after

her walk when John’s key was heard in the front door.

“Come in,” he said to Jim.

The two men hung their rain coats on the hat tree and John led the way

to the dining room. Lucy, who was seated by a window, rose at their

entrance.

“Well, Lucy, I concluded I’d turn myself into a surprise party. I told

John not to ’phone out,” Jim declared. “I thought you were sick a-bed.”

“No. I’m feeling better this evening,” she replied rather coldly,

shaking hands.

“Good evening, Mr. Sprague. What a nice surprise for Lucy! I hope you

weren’t worried about her.” Nannie came forward.

“Good evening, Mrs. Merwent,” returned Jim, ignoring her observations.

His perplexed gaze followed Lucy as he looked over her mother’s head.

“Where’s Dimmie?” he inquired at last.

“He has gone to the Hamiltons’. He’s getting to be quite a runabout.”

Nannie proffered the information.

“Kin I put dinnah on right away, Miss Nannie?” asked Katy, coming to

the door.

“Wait a minute, Katy,” replied Mrs. Merwent. “You must put an extra

plate on.” Then, addressing John and Jim, “Shall I mix you two some of

Mr. Sprague’s near cocktails before you eat?”

“Not for me, Mrs. Merwent, thank you,” Jim refused hastily.

“Well, let me make one for you, anyway, John,” she urged.

“All right, Nannie. I don’t mind if you do.”

“Then, come into the kitchen while I fix it.” John followed her.

“I invited myself out,” Jim remarked to Lucy, when they were alone. “I

was worried about you. And John told me on the train you had a fainting

spell and the doctor had to be called in.”

“It wasn’t serious,” Lucy explained impassively. “I was a little

nervous and unstrung. That’s all.”

“Well, that’s enough,” asserted Jim grimly.

“It’s not an uncommon female failing,” said Lucy.

Jim regarded her so long without speaking that she flushed under his

scrutiny.

“There’s no use trying to deceive me, Lucy. Your looks tell that you’ve

been through something serious.” “There’s no use in trying anything,

Jim.” Her tone was new to him.

“Lucy!” he exclaimed. “You know that I----”

John and Nannie came in and Jim stopped speaking.

“You can serve dinner now, Katy,” Mrs. Merwent called as she left the

kitchen.

The family were soon seated at the table.

“You’re quite a stranger, Mr. Sprague,” Nannie began.

“Yes, Mrs. Merwent,” said Jim stiffly.

“We have spoken of you so often. Haven’t we, Lucy?” Mrs. Merwent turned

to her daughter.

Jim interrupted before Lucy could reply.

“Business is very engrossing, Mrs. Merwent. We have new competition. A

lady architect has rented offices in the same building with us.”

“You must mean the lady architect is very engrossing, Mr. Sprague,”

smiled Nannie. “You seem to have quite forgotten poor Lucy and

me--though of course I don’t count.”

“The lady architect is designing small houses too rapidly to leave

either herself or me time for personal interests,” responded Jim.

“Well, I think she might be better employed than in trying to compete

with men in business,” declared Nannie vigorously. “I don’t believe in

women earning their own living. The woman’s place is in the home.”

“Why, more than the man’s?” Jim questioned.

John answered for her.

“Because she’s not fitted by nature to compete with men.”

“Our new competitor has gotten four contracts this month right under

our nose.” Jim smiled slightly.

“That’s only because she’s a sort of novelty. It won’t last.” There was

no lightness in John’s manner.

“Well, according to Layard’s she’s been at it for six years, and made

enough in a small place to enable her to break into big-city practice,

just as we did.”

“A woman can’t attend to her home and her children and be in business,”

persisted John.

“This one’s got neither, being unmarried, and there are thousands of

others in the same fix.” Jim warmed to his subject. “If a man wants

money and success, he’s free to get out and go after them, and I fail

to see why a woman hasn’t the same right. I don’t see why she lowers

herself any more than by living on charity.”

“Like me and Lucy,” put in Mrs. Merwent quickly.

“I don’t mean every woman,” said Jim. “You know what I mean, Lucy. You

and I have discussed it a dozen times. What’s the use of insisting

a woman’s place is in the home whether she has any home or not, or

whether she and her children have enough to make them comfortable or

not?”

Lucy did not answer.

“Woman’s place is in the home because she has the babies and man

doesn’t,” John asserted again.

“I don’t see that she has them any more than the man does,” retorted

Jim.

“You don’t? Well, I don’t think you’d find many women to agree with

you!” John’s tone was finely sarcastic.

“Don’t you think that woman’s influence is destroyed when she becomes

masculine, Mr. Sprague?” parried Nannie, looking at John.

“What do you mean by masculine?” queried Jim sharply. “It used to be

that a woman had to turn all her money over to her husband when she

married. Now she can hold on to at least some of it. Is she any less

attractive? If she has a voice in the making of the laws that govern

her and her children, will she become coarsened by it? Why don’t you

help me out, Lucy? You know more about it than I do.”

“I had rather not discuss the subject,” objected Lucy coldly, her eyes

downcast.

“I think she is wise,” approved John, “since you only care to ridicule

and sneer at opinions other than your own.”

“Nonsense, John. I wasn’t ridiculing you or anybody else. But that

stuff about woman’s place in the home is mediæval. What a decent woman

wants is less chivalry and more real respect and consideration.”

“Then you don’t believe that women should expect politeness and

deference from men at all?” insinuated Nannie.

“Well, I don’t exactly believe in fighting with them,” conceded Jim,

smiling once more. “I’m sure I’m not trying to get up a fight, Mr.

Sprague,” Nannie snapped. “I was simply asking your view. I don’t think

anybody can say I like quarrels.”

“I don’t either, Mrs. Merwent, and I don’t think we are going to

quarrel.” Jim spoke as though dismissing the subject.

“Well, I don’t care to quarrel either,” John’s cheeks were flushed,

“but I must say that I reserve the right to hold my own opinions on the

subject, and do not care to be dismissed as though I were impertinent

in daring to express them.”

“What’s the matter with you, John?” Jim looked straight at his partner.

“I don’t object to your having your opinion on this or any other

subject, but I suppose I may have mine too.”

“Well, please don’t call mine mediæval,” retorted John.

“As I am at your table and you choose the occasion to read me a lesson

in manners,” Jim flushed also, “I will of course not presume to

question any further opinion of yours.”

“Here! You two men frighten me,” protested Mrs. Merwent, laughing

forcedly. “Let’s change the subject. What shall we talk about--golf?”

“I don’t play golf, Mrs. Merwent.” Jim drank some water.

“Oh, dear!” Nannie made a gesture of despair. “What shall we discuss

then? Lucy, you know lots of things to talk about. You suggest

something.”

“It makes no difference to me what you talk about,” stated Lucy

enigmatically.

Jim glanced at her in surprise. She did not seem to notice his troubled

eyes.

“Wasn’t that a terrible scandal about Mrs. Farnsworth?” Nannie ventured

again. She addressed Jim as before. “Don’t you think her husband ought

to get a divorce?”

“I don’t know much about it,” he answered.

“Why, the papers have been full of it.”

“I have only seen the headlines. I didn’t read the details.”

The conversation lagged during the remainder of the meal, John hardly

speaking, and Lucy saying not a word.

As Katy brought in the dessert Nannie whispered to John, “I made the

pudding.”

“It’s fine,” John whispered back. When they rose Mrs. Merwent and John

went into the living room at once, and sat without a light talking in

low tones.

“Did you notice how strangely Lucy acts even with Mr. Sprague?” Nannie

glanced toward the door as she spoke.

“He’s enough to make anybody act strangely,” was John’s irritated

response.

“He is, John, dear, and you were so wonderfully patient with him. But

Lucy is sick. There’s no doubt about that. Mentally sick, I mean. Oh,

John, I do so want to help you out of this terrible situation!”

He pressed her hand.

“You help me every time you breathe, God knows, Nannie,” he asserted

feelingly.

Lucy and Jim were silent in the dining room. Contrary to his custom,

Jim was not smoking.

“Lucy, are you offended with me?” he asked at length.

“No, Jim,” was the reply.

“What’s the matter?”

Tears started to Lucy’s eyes and she shook her head.

“I can’t tell you, Jim,” she said in a low tone, after a pause.

Jim’s eyes were deep as he watched her pale face and quivering lips.

“I would do anything, Lucy, anything--to help you.”

“Thank you, Jim. I know you would.”

“Won’t you let me try?” he began.

She shook her head.

“No, Jim. It’s no use. Nobody can help anybody. I--I----” The tears

stood in her eyes again.

“Lucy,” Jim’s voice was tense, “if you knew how much I--prize your

friendship--how much I----”

“Don’t--Jim----” She spoke under her breath.

Nothing was said by either for several minutes. The murmur of John’s

and Nannie’s voices continued in the living room.

“I’m going.” Jim rose and held out his hand.

Lucy placed hers in it. His clasp was warmer and longer than it had

ever been before.

“Lucy, if you need me--that is if I----” His voice trembled but his

eyes sought hers insistently. “If you need me,” he repeated, and paused.

“Thank you, Jim.”

“Tell Dimmie good-bye for me.”

He went out without saying good night to John and Nannie. Lucy did not

go to the door with him.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Merwent called from the living room after a time.

“I’m coming in.” She did not show herself immediately.

Lucy made no reply, and Nannie approached the door and looked in.

“Why, where is Mr. Sprague?” she inquired.

“He has gone home.” Lucy’s expression was hostile. “And if he were

here, you need not insult us both by warning us that you were coming.”

“Why, Lucy, I only thought----”

“You only thought something vile, as usual,” Lucy interrupted.

“What right have you got to say such a thing as that to me?”

“You have given me the right to say far worse things to you. You are

not in a position to defend yourself from anything I care to say.”

Lucy’s tone was hard. Nannie could not meet her daughter’s eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” demanded Mrs. Merwent angrily.

“You know very well what I mean,” declared Lucy evenly, rising and

starting toward the hall.

John appeared on the threshold.

“Where’s Jim?” he questioned.

“He’s gone home,” Nannie informed him.

“Well, what did he sneak out without saying a word for?”

Lucy’s eyes glinted, but she only said, “You’d better ask him. I don’t

know.”

Dimmie ran in from the kitchen.

“Mamma! Mrs. Hamilton wants----” he began.

“Come to bed. You can tell me upstairs.” Lucy caught the child’s hand.

The two went out. “John, what in the world do you suppose is the matter

with Lucy? She treats me terribly.”

“I’m damned if I know!” exclaimed John fiercely. “I’m sick of it.”

“I don’t know what’s to become of us if she keeps on like this,” Nannie

continued.

“Well, I know what will become of _me_ if it goes on much longer!” His

tone was eloquent.

“Now, John,” Mrs. Merwent placed her hand on the sleeve of his coat.

“For my sake, John. I have suffered so much for Lucy already.” Tears

seemed near.

“I’ll sit tight and do the best I can, Nannie, but as much as you’ve

done for me, there are some things I can’t bear.”

Nannie sighed.

“I’ve noticed that every time she sees Mr. Sprague she’s worse,” she

remarked significantly a moment later.

She and John stood looking into each other’s faces.

“Poor John.” She took one of his hands in both hers.

He returned appreciatively the pressure she gave it, then moved away.

“Are you going to bed so early?” she interrogated uneasily.

“No. I’m going to take a walk,” he answered. And the door slammed after

him.

XXVII

Lucy rose early the following day, and when John and Nannie came

downstairs they found her, pale and haggard, moving about the kitchen

giving instructions to Katy.

“Now, Lucy,” objected Mrs. Merwent, “you shouldn’t do this. Dr.

Hamilton said you were to have absolute rest.” Nannie herself looked

fresh and immaculate. “If you don’t stop frowning like that,” she

added, “nothing on earth will ever take the wrinkles out of your

forehead.”

Without replying to her mother, Lucy finished her marketing list.

“Put breakfast on, Katy,” she said to the servant.

“Yes, you may put breakfast on, Katy,” repeated Mrs. Merwent. “Mr.

Winter is waiting.”

“Yes, Miss Nannie. Right dis minute,” replied the negress with alacrity.

The postman’s whistle blew and, as Katy was busy with the dishes,

Nannie went to the door. She returned with a letter in her hand.

“I suppose your father has some more insults to heap on me,” she

observed acridly, as she gave the envelope to Lucy.

Lucy glanced at it and recognized Mr. Merwent’s handwriting. She left

the room.

“Oh, don’t be afraid! I’m not going to ask you what’s in it!” Nannie

called after her in a trembling voice.

John was reading the morning paper in the living room and Dimmie was

out of doors, so when Lucy mounted the stairs the upper floor was

deserted. She entered her bedroom and, locking the door, seated herself

weakly on the edge of her bed. She opened the letter.

“Dear Daughter,” it began. “We leave in the morning as I expected.

Ellen and I had hoped to see you and the boy once more before our

departure, but Miss Storms learned through your husband that you were

not coming again, and also that you were not well. I can understand

that your nerves have been nearly ruined and imagine your condition.

“It seems strange that peace loving people like you and me and Ellen

should be forced to quarrel with each other. I do not blame you (you

will say I have no right to do so), nor is it my place to comment on

the attitude your husband has taken. Sufficient to say that he has

accepted your mother’s assessment of values in family matters.

“I know that you wish to remain neutral, but I have learned to my

own sorrow the impossibility of a neutral peace where your mother is

concerned. It seems to me, as things are, that the kindest thing Ellen

and I can do in your interest is to do nothing and consider ourselves

entirely out of the matter.

“Remember, Lucy, no matter what you may think of me, that I blame you

in nothing, and that I try to regard your husband’s hostility to us

with as much detachment as is in accord with my respect and affection

for Ellen and the right I feel to demand that respect from others.

“Kiss the little boy for us both. We hope from our hearts that your

indisposition is not serious. You know the cure. Ellen, in particular,

regrets the impossible circumstances, etc. But why say more of that?

“Your friend and father,

“Arthur Merwent.”

Lucy sat for some time with the letter in her hand. When she finally

rose it was to begin to dress for the street.

A little later she descended the stairs, wearing her hat and carrying

her gloves and purse. Nannie and John were breakfasting when she

entered the dining room and took her place at the table.

“You’re not going out this morning, are you, Lucy?” Nannie inquired,

staring at her daughter’s apparel. “You know the doctor said you were

to keep quiet.”

“Yes, I’m going out,” Lucy told her.

“Now, Lucy, you ought not to disobey the doctor’s orders. You will be

much better quiet here at home.”

Lucy did not reply. “Where are you going?” Mrs. Merwent persisted.

“I’m going down town.”

“Are you going shopping?”

“No.”

“Well, _I_ don’t think you ought to go. Do you, John?”

“What I think is of little consequence in this house,” answered John.

He scanned the newspaper at his elbow as he spoke.

“Didn’t you say last night that you were going to Benton Harbor again

today, John?” Nannie asked somewhat irrelevantly, glancing sharply at

Lucy’s face.

“Yes.” John picked up his paper.

“And you won’t be back till night?” she pursued with her eyes still on

Lucy’s profile.

“No.” John went on reading.

“Well, I’m certain Lucy ought not to go.” Nannie returned to the first

topic with seeming carelessness.

Though Lucy had scarcely tasted her breakfast she rose and, taking up

her purse and gloves, went upstairs again. She did not take Dimmie to

Mrs. Hamilton’s until her husband and mother had gone to the station.

Dr. Hamilton, after a sleepless night with a bad patient, was sitting

with his wife at the table finishing a late breakfast, when Lucy and

Dimmie came in.

“I thought you were taking the rest cure,” the doctor greeted Lucy

jocularly. He got up and lifted Stella from her high chair beside him.

The little girl flew enthusiastically to welcome Dimmie.

“I am.” Lucy smiled rather wanly.

“How is your mother? She ought to have used her influence to keep you

at home today,” Dr. Hamilton resumed.

“Mrs. Merwent is very well, thank you.” Lucy stooped to kiss Stella.

“I hope you’ve come to spend the day,” suggested Mrs. Hamilton

cordially.

“No. I’m going down town,” replied Lucy.

“I don’t know about that,” objected the doctor doubtfully.

“Please don’t, Dr. Hamilton,” Lucy protested quickly.

He glanced at her keenly. “I think perhaps going out a little may do

you good,” he conceded after a moment.

Lucy had seated herself in a bow window commanding the street. Soon she

saw Nannie returning from the station.

“When does the train leave, Doctor?” Lucy asked.

“In eight minutes,” he informed her, after consulting his watch.

“Well, then, I’ll be going.” Lucy rose and shook hands.

“Come over whenever you can and bring Dimmie and stay as long as you

can, won’t you, Mrs. Winter?” urged Mrs. Hamilton earnestly. “And your

mother, too. I’m afraid she’s standing on ceremony.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton; I will,” Lucy smiled evasively.

In less than an hour she rang the bell at Miss Storms’s apartment.

“Why, Mrs. Winter!” exclaimed the maid as she opened the door and

saw Lucy. “Miss Storms is out. She went to see Mr. and Mrs. Merwent

off but she’ll be back at ten. Won’t you wait? I’m sure she would be

disappointed at not seeing you. I think she thought you’d be at the

station.”

“Yes, I’ll wait,” agreed Lucy.

“Come right in and take a chair, Mrs. Winter.”

Lucy entered the pleasant reception room and, taking up a book from a

table, sat down by a window. Although the volume was the translation of

a Russian novel she had often wished to see, her interest evidently was

not in what she read. Most of the time while the book was in her hand

she spent in staring over the roofs of the city that stretched before

her. Finally Miss Storms’ key was heard in the latch and the door

opened.

“Why, Lucy! Bless your heart. I’m so glad you’re better,” Miss Storms

ejaculated, kissing her friend’s cheek. “They’ve just gone. If you’d

come to the station you could have caught them.”

“I wanted to see you,” replied Lucy, not responding to her hostess’s

smile.

Miss Storms was studying Lucy’s face carefully.

“I see you have been reading _Sanin_. What do you think of it?” “I

didn’t read much,” Lucy confessed. “You said that if ever I was in

trouble I must come to you.”

“Yes.” Miss Storms’ tone became sympathetic at once and she took the

younger woman’s hand.

“Well, I’ve come.” Lucy’s voice trembled slightly.

There was a pause.

“What is it, dear?” Miss Storms asked at last, stroking the hand she

held.

“Oh, Miss Storms, I got a note from Papa this morning just before I

left. I--I----” Lucy stopped.

Miss Storms nodded comprehendingly.

“I hardly know what to say, dear,” she began.

Lucy lifted strange eyes with dilated pupils, then turned away.

“Arthur is terribly hurt by John’s attitude,” Miss Storms continued,

scrutinizing Lucy’s half averted profile. “He resents John’s position

in regard to Ellen. That’s natural, but don’t think that he ever, for

one moment, mistakes the source of it, or holds it against you.”

Lucy’s hands moved uneasily.

“Oh, it isn’t just Papa, Miss Storms!” she burst forth.

Her voice was hoarse. She kept her eyes on the open window where the

blue sky showed, overcast by the city smoke.

There was another long pause before Miss Storms went on.

“You must get your mother out of the house, Lucy.” Her tone was

emphatic.

“But where can she go? She has no place to go, Miss Storms! Since my

grandmother died there’s nobody but Cousin Minnie Sheldon, and she

doesn’t want Mamma.” Lucy’s hands beat the air in a gesture of futility.

She rose and, walking to the window, stood with her back to Miss

Storms, her shoulders shaking spasmodically.

Finally Lucy regained her self control and faced her friend.

“I’d advise you to poison her, dear, if I weren’t afraid of getting you

in worse trouble than you are.”

Lucy smiled slightly but almost simultaneously her lip twitched and the

tears started to her eyes.

“Oh, don’t! Please don’t, Miss Storms,” she begged hysterically.

“There, dear. Sit down again.” Miss Storms rose and led her to the

chair. “Lucy, I have to confess a spinster’s tendency to meddle, I

suppose. I asked John around here the other day and talked to him about

this.”

Lucy glanced at her quickly.

“He didn’t tell me he was here,” she said in a low voice, staring at

her lap. “Oh, Miss Storms----!”

“Yes, dear?”

Under Miss Storms’ touch Lucy trembled violently.

“John shouldn’t treat me the way he does,” she wailed like a child. “He

shouldn’t believe her insinuations. He has no right to be suspicious

of me. Oh, Miss Storms, it’s awful! Jim Sprague was at our house last

night and I didn’t dare to treat him decently.” Lucy began to weep

softly.

“Does he think that you and Jim----” Miss Storms interjected

incredulously.

“I don’t know what he thinks!” cried Lucy passionately. “I don’t know

anything about him any more. If it wasn’t for Dimmie----” and she broke

into violent sobbing.

Miss Storms sat with her chin in her hands, her elbows on the arms of

her chair. It was several minutes before she spoke again.

“I don’t know what to say, Lucy,” she admitted finally. “I realize that

your mother is a moral idiot, and that John ought to see through her,

but I know more about men and women than you do, dear, and I understand

what a woman can do to a man.”

“Ain’t I a woman, too?” Lucy demanded fiercely, relapsing into the

language of her childhood.

“Yes, dear, but you’re not the courtesan type. You’re the mother type,

and you don’t understand the other. I used to think I was the cerebral

type,” Miss Storms pursued musingly, smiling her gently ironical smile,

“but I’m not. I’m the mother type, too, and I wish this minute that you

were my child.”

“So do I,” said Lucy quickly, returning the pressure of Miss Storms’

hand.

“Sex is the most of life, dear. One can’t escape it any more than one

can death, and the most fatal thing is to try to. Look at celibates for

example. I have learned a great deal in forty years, Lucy, and I knew

when I advised you to marry, that John was not great individually. But

he is nature, dear, and the thing to do is to get the other woman out

of the way. It frightens me to think of anything else, Lucy.”

“But I want to be loved, Miss Storms.” Tears were in Lucy’s eyes again.

“I want--I want----” She could not go on.

“Lucy! Do you love Jim Sprague?” Miss Storms’ voice was sharper.

“No!” cried Lucy vehemently.

“And you do love John, don’t you?” Miss Storms almost pleaded.

“I--I would if I had a chance.” Hesitating over the first words, Lucy

finished determinedly.

Miss Storms kissed her cheek.

“The only thing is to get rid of your mother, no matter what the

difficulties are,” Miss Storms resumed in a practical tone. “Oh, _why_

doesn’t that Mr. Walsh say or do something! At all events we must get

her away. And then you musn’t even forgive John. You must put the past

out of your mind--never give it a thought. It must disappear as if it

had never existed. Make all the responsibility yours. John must never

be humiliated, never know that you have suffered.”

“But what about me?” Lucy reminded her indignantly.

Miss Storms’ smile was rather bitter as she answered.

“I know you think I am only considering the man, Lucy,” she replied.

“As a rule, I do. I did in your father’s case. Women have to take the

responsibility for life. Besides, the man is the potential father,

and until the woman has children she worships the potential father.

Afterward she worships the children. But I’m not ignoring you, dear. I

am thinking of you, too. John is still the potential father, to you--of

more children, I hope.”

Lucy was silent as she gazed out the window.

“You may think me hard on women, Lucy. Nature is hard on them. You

may think there are other men--Jim Sprague, for instance--but there

aren’t. The female is the type--the responsible one. They are the race.

Men are their possessions. You chose John to be the father of your

children--and you didn’t Jim.” Lucy was still silent.

“I have no highfalutin’ ideas about the sanctity of marriage, or any

such nonsense,” Miss Storms went on in the same half musing tone,

“although I realize that, in spite of what is perhaps some intellectual

breadth, I have an old maid’s emotional idealism. But the fact remains,

dear, that sex is greater than we, just as life and death are greater,

and we can escape neither its ecstasy nor its agony. We mate to suffer

as well as to joy, Lucy, and you are happier than I.”

Here Miss Storms reverted abruptly to her practical mood.

“You just hold on, dear,” she advised. “Men, even the greatest of them,

never grow up. I think I have a plan that will do the trick. Let me

gnaw over it tonight, and I’ll see you in a day or two. Everything’s

going to be all right.” Miss Storms nodded reassuringly.

Lucy hesitated a moment. Then she arose.

“Won’t you stay for luncheon, dear?”

“No. I must go.”

“Well, you will hear from me soon. But on account of John’s attitude

toward Arthur and Ellen, and toward me, he must never know--more than

he already knows--about my having anything to do with it. Women are

always deceiving men for their own good, you know, dear.” Miss Storms

jested sourly.

Lucy made no sign and Miss Storms proceeded in a business-like tone.

“Now, Lucy, you’re strong--women have to be--and sensible. You can

handle this situation, dear. You must. I’ll help. I believe my idea

will work. If it fails we’ll try another.”

“I don’t think it’s any use,” Lucy confessed hopelessly.

“Oh, yes it is. Don’t lose heart.”

From the apartment Lucy went to the park, and, seeking a secluded spot,

seated herself on a bench and leaned her head against her hand. She

remained thus for more than an hour. Tears sometimes flowed down her

cheeks, but she made no sound.

Finally she rose and turned her steps toward the office.

XXVIII

The torpor of summer was in the air, but it did not affect Jim’s

industry. Coming into the office from a luncheon he had scarcely

tasted, he removed his coat, and settled himself for a hard afternoon’s

work. The windows were raised but not a breath came to stir the papers

on his desk. The murmur of the street sounded as remote as the echo of

the ocean in a shell.

The door opened and Lucy came in. Jim glanced up, startled, but did not

speak.

“I want to talk to you, Jim,” Lucy said without preamble. Her face was

set.

“Sit down,” he replied, looking at her keenly. The pencil in his hand

trembled.

“I couldn’t say anything last night, Jim. I am in the greatest trouble

of my life.” She picked up a paper weight and examined it as she spoke.

“I know, Lucy,” he said, laying down his pencil.

She shivered as though chilled by the warm summer atmosphere. Her

forced calmness forsook her suddenly.

“Oh, Jim!” she sobbed, and leaning forward on the desk, hid her face in

her arms.

He reached out his hand to take hers, then withdrew it, and, picking up

the pencil again, began tapping the desk with it.

“What shall I do, Jim?” Lucy lifted her head. She had command of

herself now.

Jim went on tapping the desk until Lucy reached over and took the

pencil from him and laid it down.

“Your mother must go away,” he declared at last.

“But where can she go? She has no money. Cousin Minnie doesn’t want

her. She has no other relations, and besides, John won’t hear of her

going.” “She must go anyway,” he repeated.

“I can’t put her in the street. Oh, Jim, I don’t know what to do! She’s

changed John so he’s not himself any more. Everything she does is

perfect in his eyes. I’m always to blame. Everything I say is wrong.

She’s even turned him against Dimmie. What shall I do? What shall I

do?” and Lucy wrung her hands, her eyes fixed upon Jim’s in hungry

appeal.

Sprague stared at her. His own eyes widened. His self control went to

the winds.

“Do, Lucy? Do! Why come to me!” he cried, seizing her hand and gripping

it until she winced.

“Jim!” she gasped.

“I’ve stood all I can.” His tone grew more intense with each word,

“I’ve never been too honest with myself about you, Lucy, but I knew I

loved you a long time ago. I’ve resented seeing your youth slipping

by, and John not noticing it. I’ve tried not to covet his wife, because

I thought he wanted her. But now I’ve got to tell you, Lucy. _I_ want

you. And I don’t want just a mystical idea of you either. I love you,

dear, and you won’t have to be afraid of my ever stopping. Let’s leave

the people who don’t want us and take each other. We know we’re good

enough for each other. Come on, Lucy. I need you. You are the only

person in the world I ever trusted implicitly. You must. I won’t give

you up. I can’t give you up. Lucy, Lucy----”

She had withdrawn her hand from his and was regarding him now with an

expression of wonder.

“Why, Jim, what do you mean?” she asked, aghast at his torrent of

words. She had never before seen him under stress of uncontrollable

excitement.

“I mean what I say. Can’t you see how I love you?”

Lucy had forgotten the troubles which brought her there and rose from

her chair with fear in her eyes.

“Stop, Jim,” she commanded. “I’ve trusted you, too, and you have no

right to talk this way.”

Jim had risen also, and now he came around the desk and stood in front

of her, his eyes seeking hers insistently.

“Right!” he repeated. “I have the right that my love gives me, a love

that never let me think of another woman since I first saw you. You’ve

trusted me and you ought to have, because I’m worthy to be trusted. You

trusted your husband too, and he allows the first miserable flirt that

comes into his house to----”

“I’m going, Jim. I can’t listen to such things.” Lucy moved toward the

door.

“Stop, Lucy,” he pleaded. “Don’t go.”

She hesitated. Her manner was hunted.

“I’ll talk reasonably,” he promised. He was very pale. His voice was

low again. “Sit down, please,” he added as she remained undecided.

She reseated herself, smoothing out her gloves over and over with

shaking fingers. Jim took his place in his chair by the desk and picked

up the pencil. They regarded each other with fear and questioning. He

had the look of a man prepared to overcome hard things.

“I suppose you’re thinking of John’s confidence in me, and what I owe

myself in view of it, and all that,” he began.

“No, I don’t judge you. You have always seemed so like a--no, not like

a brother, but like a dear friend and comrade that I could always

depend on--I never thought----” The words would not come and Lucy

continued smoothing her gloves.

Jim had himself in hand again and began speaking very carefully,

drawing circles and squares on a piece of paper as he talked.

“John and I have been together nearly all our lives. I am not going to

say anything against him, Lucy, but before I knew you I realized that

he was--was not as strong as he should be. When I saw you I gave you

the devotion of my soul that--I needed somebody, Lucy--that I had been

trying to give him, because you were worthy of it. I knew you were the

most desirable woman I had ever seen and I acknowledged this to myself

without cant. I was proud to give you this honor in my heart, and I was

prouder that I gave it to you as you really were. What John gave to

you was a hazy outline of a woman seen through a mist of sex idealism.

Anyone else would have done as well as you. But I never doubted the

reality of his love, such as it was.”

Lucy began to show uneasiness again. Jim noticed it and hastened on.

“When your mother came I realized at once that you were in for a hard

time and I stood ready to help John. I saw that she wanted to be a high

priestess between you two and I set out to combat her influence over

him. I tried my best, but he didn’t want any help. He could have stood

with you and it would have been easy, for your mother is too cowardly

to carry anything through against opposition. But he fell for any

suggestion she put out, and turned against me, which wasn’t so bad, and

then against you who were more loyal to him than I even. Every cheap,

despicable little woman’s trick that a baby could see through was

another excuse for turning away from the straightest and most lovable

woman in the world and putting a little contemptible, shallow----”

“Jim, please,” interrupted Lucy, stretching out her hand and touching

his.

His body stiffened at the contact, but with a strong effort he

restrained himself from another outburst.

“Lucy, I can’t help it. His idea of woman is the harem idea. He doesn’t

want you because you are too big and too good. She suits him better.

They don’t want you. They don’t want us. We’ve only got each other. We

need each other, Lucy. I would never have said a word or made a sign

if he’d been square--if he’d appreciated you and wanted you. But you’ve

wanted honesty in your relation with him, and he couldn’t stand it.

He’s failed. He’s had his chance. You don’t owe him anything more, and

I don’t. We’re free, Lucy. We’re free to take each other. My darling,

if you knew how I love you----” His voice grew husky with emotion.

Lucy rose again, pale as he. Jim sprang to her and placed his hands on

her shoulders.

“Lucy! You can’t, you shan’t leave me without saying you love me. I

won’t allow you to let a convention rob you of my love. You’re mine,

Lucy, mine, mine, mine!” and he strained her to him.

For an instant her resistance was broken and she rested in his arms as

though it were at last a place where she could be safe. Then she gently

drew herself away and Jim sank into the chair beside her, his head in

his hands.

“I’m sorry,” she began in a shaking voice. “I believe you are a noble

man, Jim. You stand for more to me now than anyone else in the world,

but--I can’t. Poor Jim, I--I----” She was crying softly.

Jim raised his head and looked at her. His eyes hungrily took in the

rounded forehead, the straight nose, beautiful in profile, the ear

set too high for harmony and spoiling the effect of the line of the

jaw, the almost perfect mouth and chin, so appealingly feminine. His

gaze devoured her eyes with their clear unflinching depths of honesty,

suggesting little of sex as it is generally sought for by men; the

brown of her hair with almost golden strands arranged, as always, low

on her too generous brow and swept down over her ears with the exact

curve that she instinctively knew would hide and pick out all the

points that needed suppression or emphasis; her clear skin, so really

white and delicate of texture as he knew by the glimpses her morning

dresses had given him of her neck down by the shoulder and of the inner

surface of her forearms; her hands and feet of normal efficient size,

the hands with supple slender fingers widened at the tips; her body,

the waist but moderately restricted and the bosom low, suggesting the

long and willing nursing of her child--he knew her so well!

Suddenly he groaned. Beads of cold moisture were on his brow.

“I can’t give you up.” He spoke with difficulty. “Lucy, Lucy, he’s not

fit for you!”

Lucy did not try to hide the tears that coursed down her cheeks.

“My whole life is yours,” he continued with suppressed intensity. Then,

springing to his feet again he strode toward her. “Nothing can keep me

away from you, Lucy!” he said hoarsely.

She put out her hand and as it touched his breast he stopped. “I can’t,

Jim! Oh, don’t you see I can’t?” she begged.

Then she turned and went swiftly out of the office.

Jim stared at the closed door for several minutes. At last he sat down

slowly at his desk. He covered his face with his hands and began to sob.

* * * * *

Lucy walked the streets and the park until dusk.

When she reached home neither John nor Nannie was there.

“Dey’s done et deir dinnah. I ’lows dey’s gone to de t’eayter, Miss

Lucy,” volunteered Katy.

Dimmie was asleep on the sofa in the dining room. Lucy carried him

upstairs and undressed him.

When the child, whom she but half awakened, had gone to sleep again she

lay face downward on the bed and wept until John and Nannie were heard

ascending the stairs.

* * * * *

Lucy did not go to breakfast the next morning. Katy came up with a tray.

“I don’t care for any, thank you,” Lucy said through the locked door.

When she descended the stairs she was surprised to find John still at

home, smoking by the dining room table. Mrs. Merwent was not to be seen.

“Aren’t you going to the office?” Lucy inquired of him.

“No. I want to talk to you,” he answered. His face was stern and his

voice was cold.

“Where’s Mother?”

“She has gone some place with Miss Powell.”

Lucy seated herself by the window.

“I came back to the office yesterday evening,” John began.

Lucy looked at him.

“As I came around the corner I saw you coming out of the building. I

went in to see if there were any letters and Jim Sprague was there

alone, and, what is more, he seemed very surprised to see me.”

“Well?” Lucy’s tone was dull.

“I want to know what this means. That’s what I want to know.” His voice

grew less controlled as he proceeded. They gazed at each other with

hostile faces. Dimmie entered the room.

“I’m ready to go to Mrs. Hamilton’s,” he announced.

Lucy kissed him, inspected his clothes, and straightened his hat.

“Good-bye, little son,” she smiled.

“Good-bye, Papa,” Dimmie called as he went out.

“Good-bye,” John responded impatiently.

“What do you send that boy over to Mrs. Hamilton’s every day for?” he

demanded harshly.

“To go to kindergarten.”

“Kindergarten! There’s no sense in his going to kindergarten in the

summer. But if there was, why couldn’t he go from here?”

“He could.”

“Then what’s the use of bothering your neighbors?”

“I send him early so as to get him away from Mother as much as

possible,” admitted Lucy.

“We’ll discuss that later,” John’s lip curled, “but first I want an

explanation of why you went to the office yesterday.”

“I shall explain nothing, John,” Lucy answered.

“Did you see Jim Sprague?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, didn’t you know I wouldn’t be there?”

“I did.”

“Then why did you pick out a day when I would be away?”

“I wanted to see Jim alone.”

“What for?” John’s face grew redder.

“I wanted to consult him.”

“Alone?” sneered John.

“Yes, alone.”

“What did you need to consult him about?” John demanded in a more

peremptory tone.

“That is my own affair, John.”

“Well, it just isn’t your own affair. I’m not going to stand this kind

of thing any longer.”

“Neither am I.”

“You won’t have to,” snarled John.

“Exactly. I have decided just that.” He stared at her in astonishment.

“What do you mean, Lucy?” He lowered his voice.

“I mean that I am going to leave.”

“With Jim Sprague?” John almost shouted, springing to his feet and

walking back and forth.

“Katy will hear you, John.”

“Damn Katy! I don’t care who hears!” he snapped.

“Very well then. Neither do I,” returned Lucy calmly.

“I’ll just tell you one thing right here,” John continued, “and that is

that you and Jim Sprague are not going to take my child away from me.”

He was breathing heavily and his eyes were suffused.

“We will settle about the child legally,” replied Lucy, in the same

manner, “but you are mistaken about Jim. I am not going away with him.

I am going alone.”

“How will you support yourself? I suppose your father’s wife will do

that.” John almost ground his teeth.

“She knows nothing about my plans. I shall do anything I can to earn a

living for myself and Dimmie. Miss Storms will take me in till I can

get started. I can do book binding. I don’t intend ever to be dependent

on anybody again.”

A frightened expression came into John’s eyes.

“Lucy, you are crazy! You’re trying to scare me. What reason have you

got for leaving your home--your husband and child?”

“I don’t intend to leave my child!” she retorted.

John gazed at her in silence, his face paling. When he spoke again his

manner was conciliatory.

“Lucy! Lucy, you don’t know what you are saying.”

“Yes, I do. I know precisely what I am saying.”

“Lucy,” John was on the defensive now. “I can’t understand what has

changed you so. I’m not accusing you of anything in regard to Jim

Sprague, but it’s natural that I shouldn’t want you to get yourself

talked about. You used to think I was always right, but now you seem

almost to despise me.” His voice quivered a little. “Let’s talk things

over, Lucy, and not go on like this.” The last words were almost

beseeching.

“Very well, John, if you really want to talk over matters and are ready

to see things squarely, I am ready, too, but if not, I have made up my

mind and know exactly what I shall do.”

John sat down again and tried to light a cigarette, but his hand shook

so that he desisted and put the cigarette in his pocket.

“What is it, Lucy?” he asked at length.

“Well, in the first place, my mother must leave here.”

“Now, Lucy,” he began querulously, “I knew you were going to say that.

Why you should be so prejudiced and so vindictive against Nannie is

beyond me. What earthly reason is there for putting _her_ in the

street--for she’s got no place to go if she leaves here!”

“If you hadn’t flattered her and influenced her she would probably have

been married by now.”

“Lucy!” John was horror stricken. “Married to that----!” He could not

find a word to express his feelings. “You are absolutely without heart,

Lucy,” he protested.

“Well, if you insist on her staying,” cried Lucy, rising from her

chair, “I will apply for a divorce and the custody of my child and will

name my mother as correspondent in the case!”

“Lucy!” articulated John. “You’re crazy!”

“No, I’m not crazy,” she went on tensely. “That’s a dozen times you’ve

told me I was since she came, but I’m not. You are the one who is

crazy, and if you can’t come to your senses in any other way, I’ll

bring you to them right now.”

“You wouldn’t dare do such a thing, Lucy! Why, it’s ridiculous,” John

argued. “How could you prove such a fantastic joke? Where are your

witnesses?” John grew almost hysterical. “You’re crazy, Lucy!”

“You’ll find out I’m sane.” Lucy’s calm was ominous. “There are

witnesses enough to prove what she is--my father, Miss Storms, Jim

Sprague, the Hamiltons, the two servants we’ve had, and plenty in

Russellville. If you think it’s a joke, John Winter, you just go on

and find out who the joke is on. Everybody but you sees through her

contemptible tricks. I won’t stand it!” she continued wildly. “I’ll go

right now. I’m going to kindergarten to get Dimmie. Oh, to think that I

ever thought I loved such a pitiable excuse for a man! Let me get away

from the sight of you! I hate you! I despise you! I--I--oh! How can I

say what I feel for you! Get out of my way!” and she started swiftly

for the hall door.

John caught hold of her hand.

“Don’t touch me again--ever--ever!” she almost screamed, wrenching

herself free.

“Lucy, Lucy--please--how can you say such things!” John was cowed. He

regarded her pleadingly. Tears were in his eyes.

Lucy stood pale and defiant, her eyes shining as if with exaltation.