“Then choose this instant between me and my mother!” she commanded

hotly.

“I will, Lucy--I will. If you think best for her to go, I won’t say

anything more. But, Lucy----”

“There are no ’buts’ about it,” interrupted Lucy remorselessly.

“I don’t mean that I want her to stay,” explained John hastily, “but

you hurt me so when you say such awful things. You have told me a

thousand times how you looked up to me, and now, after what you have

said, I can never feel that you respect me.” He appeared almost

ridiculously like a small boy.

“You’ve hurt _me_, John, for a long time, and that’s why I said them,”

Lucy replied more gently.

John sat down in a chair and buried his face in his hands. Suddenly he

began to sob, his shoulders heaving and the tears dripping through his

fingers. Lucy hesitated and then came slowly up to him and laid her

hand on his hair.

“Don’t, John,” she entreated in a soft, almost maternal tone.

“You’ve hurt--me--so,” he faltered abjectly, his voice choked.

“Have I, John? Poor boy! Oh, John, _why_ couldn’t you see without all

this?” she whispered wistfully.

“Lucy----” John reached up and put his arm around her. “Lucy--you

didn’t mean all those things you said about--about--me--about my

being--only an excuse for a man, and about--despising me?” He still

kept one hand over his eyes.

Lucy hesitated an instant. “No--John. I don’t think I really meant

them,” she admitted.

John reached for his handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

“And you didn’t mean that you hated me?” He pulled her down to his

knee. “You still love me, don’t you, Lucy?”

“Yes, John, I still love you.”

They sat several minutes in silence.

“Now I’m going down to the office.” He lifted Lucy up gently and rose

from his chair.

She followed him to the hall.

“Good-bye,” he said. He took up his hat and held out his arms. She came

into them and he kissed her forehead as of old.

“Good-bye, dear. Come home as early as you can.” Lucy smiled at him as

he went down the steps.

She watched him as he halted in the gateway to light a cigarette.

XXIX

John entered the office and, after hesitating slightly, greeted Jim

rather ungraciously. Jim’s reply was scarcely audible. Their eyes

met for an instant but each showed that he was anxious to avoid the

other’s gaze. They exchanged a few necessary remarks. Jim held out

the photograph of a lately completed house. His hand was unsteady as

he called John’s attention to the picture. John barely glanced at it.

Coughing nervously, he walked to the window. After a few moments he

murmured something unintelligible about Layard’s and, taking up his

hat, went out.

When Jim was alone, he stood irresolute for a time, then, taking his

own hat and coat, followed John’s example.

In the street, Jim took the first surface car, without even noticing

the destination indicated on the front, and he did not reappear at the

office until late that evening.

Nannie did not return to Rosedene until nearly five o’clock in the

afternoon. She came at once, through the dining room, into the kitchen

where Lucy was making a dessert.

“Just look at my clothes! I have little enough without having this

ruined.” Mrs. Merwent held out her linen skirt which was ripped at the

hem and had a small tear suggestive of the imprint of a man’s boot

heel. “The cars were so crowded! It was so hot standing there and I

missed the first train. Miss Powell had an engagement and couldn’t wait

with me. If I had only known I was going to be so late I could have

gone to John’s office. Hasn’t he come yet?” Nannie’s air was injured.

“No, he hasn’t come yet.” Lucy bent over her work.

“Why, I already told Katy to have peaches and cream!” Mrs. Merwent’s

eye took in Lucy’s preparations and her voice rose irritably.

Lucy made no response. “Did you fix the celery soup?” Mrs. Merwent

asked the negress.

“No, Miss Nannie. You see Miss Lucy wanted me to have----”

“You needn’t bother about the dinner. Everything is ready,” interrupted

Lucy, looking full at her mother.

“Now, Lucy, there was no need for your working in the kitchen. I had

instructed Katy about everything, and two heads only make confusion.”

“There’s only one head,” replied Lucy.

“Of course I know that you are the mistress, but I have taken things

over for you, and it only mixes things up----”

“You haven’t taken things over,” Lucy interrupted. “I don’t need your

help any longer.”

“Why, Lucy----”

“From now on I shall attend to my own household. There is absolutely

nothing for you to do.”

“Why, Lucy, what has happened?” demanded Nannie in a voice in which was

mingled astonishment and alarm.

“A lot of things have happened, but suppose we don’t talk them over

before the servant.” Katy had gone into the dining room.

“Well! When John comes home I think I’ll ask about this!”

“Do,” advised Lucy as Katy returned to the kitchen.

Nannie left the room and went upstairs to experiment with a new device

for curling the hair, one of the day’s purchases.

“Hello, Mamma!” shouted Dimmie shortly afterward, coming in from the

back yard.

“Hello, Sonny,” beamed Lucy. “Here, let me get you ready for dinner.

Papa will be home soon.”

“Has Nannie come?” inquired Dimmie.

“Yes,” answered Lucy, washing his face and hands.

“Where is she?” he insisted. “Don’t wash so hard, Mamma. It hurts.”

“Oh, she’s upstairs, I think. Now come let me brush your hair.”

“I’m goin’ upstairs to see what Nannie’s got for me!” Dimmie was

impatient.

John’s key was heard in the latch. “There’s Papa!” exclaimed Lucy.

“Let’s run to meet him.” And catching Dimmie’s hand, she ran with him

into the hall.

Smiling uneasily, she waited for John. She wore a blue muslin dress and

had fastened a half opened white rose in her hair.

“Well, dear,” she greeted him.

His glance passed abstractedly over the dress and the rose. He kissed

her forehead but said nothing. He seemed worried and depressed.

“Is anything the matter, John?” she asked, regarding him timidly.

“No-o,” he responded indefinitely.

“I’m here, Papa,” called Dimmie who had not been kissed.

“Yes?” John noticed absently.

“Get washed, dear. Dinner is all ready to put on the table,” said Lucy.

“Has Nannie come back yet?” He avoided Lacy’s gaze as he spoke.

“Yes. She’s in her room.”

John’s frown deepened. He mounted the stairs.

Lucy superintended the placing of the meal on the table and John

reappeared almost immediately.

“Isn’t she coming down to dinner?” he inquired nervously.

“Go and call Mrs. Merwent, Katy,” Lucy bade the servant.

Nannie followed Katy downstairs and entered the dining room. Her hair

was beautifully curled and as she came in she put her hand to her head

with a self conscious gesture.

“Why, how are you, John?” she began. “I didn’t know you had come home.”

The meal proceeded in constrained silence.

“Miss Powell and I had such a nice day,” remarked Nannie at length,

“but this evening I got into a jam on the car. I did so wish you had

been with me, John. The most insulting man! He crowded me so I almost

ruined my dress. But that’s the way with these Chicagoans. If you had

been around he would have behaved mighty differently.”

John smiled slightly but kept his eyes on his plate. Neither he nor

Lucy replied to the remark. “We thought of coming past your office but

we were afraid you might be busy.”

“I’ve been very busy today,” said John.

“Then I’m glad we didn’t. And John, sometime next month I want you to

take me up the lake. Miss Powell says it’s such a lovely trip in the

early summer. You will, won’t you?”

John fidgeted uncomfortably and Lucy attended assiduously to Dimmie’s

wants.

“Why--of course,” John agreed after some hesitation. “That is, so far

as I know now.” He laughed uneasily and added, “We may all be dead by

that time.”

Silence hovered over the group once more.

“You look frightfully glum, John. I’m almost afraid of you tonight,”

observed Mrs. Merwent after some minutes. She, too, laughed rather

forcedly as she spoke.

“I didn’t know I was glum,” apologized John. “I’m rather tired. I’ve

had a hard day.” It was obvious that he talked with an effort.

“I’m through,” Dimmie announced with a sigh of satisfaction.

“Are you, Son?” Lucy untied his bib.

“Yes, and I want you to tell me stories like you promised to.”

“All right,” Lucy consented brightly. “Come on. Get down from your

chair and kiss Papa good night, and we’ll go upstairs and I’ll tell you

ever so many stories till you’re ready to go to bed.”

“Will you sing, too?” stipulated Dimmie.

“Yes, I’ll sing too,” she promised.

“I want to kiss Nannie, too,” Dimmie declared, climbing out of his

chair.

“Of course you do. You wouldn’t forget Nannie, would you, Jimmie?” Mrs.

Merwent put in quickly. “Wait a minute. Wipe your hands first.”

“Poor John!” sympathized Nannie as soon as they were alone. “I could

see that you were tired before you spoke of it.”

“Oh, I’m all right,” exclaimed John irritably, at the same time

lighting a cigarette. “I know you never let on, John, but you can

always be sure that _I_ understand you, whether anyone else does or

not.”

John drummed on the table.

“Let’s go into the sitting room,” suggested Mrs. Merwent, rising as

Katy entered to clear the table. “Shall I sing for you?” She passed

into the living room and moved toward the piano.

“I don’t believe I’ve got time,” explained John hurriedly. “I’ve got to

go out tonight. I ought to catch that next train.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Nannie. “I especially wanted to talk some things

over tonight. I got another letter from Professor Walsh,” she added

significantly.

“Talk what things over?” John gave her a quick scrutiny.

Mrs. Merwent turned with a surprised air.

“Why, about Lucy principally, John, and--and about what ought to be

done.”

“What about Lucy?”

“Well, nothing in particular, but she’s getting all worked up again

about the housekeeping, and I thought you might speak to her.”

“Why should I speak to her?” John’s manner was combative. Nannie gazed

at him reproachfully.

“Well, you know what you say has more effect on her than what I say. If

you would just tell her to leave things to me as they have been, and

not go and bother Katy with a lot of counter orders and that sort of

thing. It’s pretty hard, John, for me to look after everything and then

be interfered with all the time.”

John stood twirling the charm on his watch fob. When he spoke his voice

showed embarrassment.

“I think, Nannie, that--that is--that it would be better--if you

didn’t try to--to take things out of Lucy’s hands so much.”

Mrs. Merwent’s eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, John, how can you say such a thing when I try so hard, and all I

do is for her sake? I’ve never considered myself at all.”

“I know you haven’t, Nannie,” acceded John miserably, “but I’m--I’m in

a hard place. I wish you and Lucy didn’t have to--to disagree so much.

I’m almost at my wits’ end.”

Nannie studied his perplexed face. Suddenly she seemed to decide

something.

“All right, John. I’ll do anything you say,” she promised, wiping her

eyes. “I would do _anything_ for you, John. You have been so good to

me.”

John remained in an attitude of thought.

“Just try your best to get along without any friction, Nannie,” he

begged. “I know it’s hard for you sometimes. Lucy’s peculiar about some

things. But I’m about to go dippy with matters as they are, and I want

you to help me out.”

“Poor John! Of course I will. If I had my way you would never have a

care or a worry.”

“Thank you, Nannie. I knew you would help me all you could. Lucy is in

a terribly nervous state and we’ve got to get her out of this silly

notion that--that--well, that she’s left out--or she’ll do something

foolish.”

“I understand, John. Lucy has always been curious and babyish, but

now----” She paused expressively. “There has been so much tragedy in my

life, John, and now to see you going through the same thing!”

“I guess you never had anybody to help you out, Nannie.” John’s voice

was almost inaudible.

“John----”

“Yes, Nannie. I’ve got to be going, you know.” He moved toward the door.

Nannie linked and unlinked her fingers.

“We do sympathize with and understand each other, John! You know I told

you I got another letter from Professor Walsh.”

“Well?”

“Oh, John, if it were anyone but you I would rather die than ask money

of them--but the check didn’t come--and----Oh, John, what shall I do?”

She began to cry.

“How much do you want, Nannie?”

“Just a little, John. But Lucy always misunderstands things--and I have

no one else to go to!”

He took a bill from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “But,

John!” she protested, glancing at the denomination of the money.

“Cut that out, Nannie!” John’s voice was gruff with emotion. “Some

things may happen that I can’t help, but just remember, first, last,

and always, that what belongs to me and Lucy belongs to you too, and if

she----” He broke off abruptly and strode into the hall.

“Oh, John, I can’t tell you----” Nannie began; but for response the

front door clicked.

She sighed and looked down at the money.

* * * * *

John walked up and down the street for more than half an hour. At the

end of this time he met Dr. Hamilton returning from a patient.

“Well, Mr. Winter,” the doctor halted and shook hands, “you seem to be

wandering around like a lost soul.”

“I had a slight headache,” lied John, “and came out to get a little

fresh air.”

“Good stunt,” approved the doctor. “You lead a pretty sedentary life,

and exercise is good for you. How is Mrs. Winter?”

“Oh, I think she’s all right now.” John shifted his weight from one

foot to the other.

“Don’t allow anything to worry or excite her, Mr. Winter,” Dr. Hamilton

urged earnestly. “Her nerves and heart won’t stand it. Well, good

night. I’m going to get a cup of cocoa and go to bed.”

“Good night,” answered John. “I think I’ll turn in too.” And he made

his way toward home.

Letting himself in through the front entrance, John found both living

room and dining room dark.

“Where’s Mrs. Merwent?” he queried of Katy, who came in after locking

the kitchen door and windows.

“Why, she done went to bed, Mr. Winter, right after you all went out.”

As he ascended the stairs, he saw through the transom of Lucy’s door

that her light was burning. He had been sleeping in Jim’s room for some

time past, and now made his way toward it. As he was opposite Lucy’s

door he heard her call softly.

“Why don’t you come in, John?” she asked.

He halted and, after a slight hesitation, turned the handle of the lock

and entered. Lucy was sitting on the edge of the bed braiding her hair.

She smiled pityingly at his troubled face.

“I heard you go out,” she said. “I expect you had a disagreeable time,

didn’t you? What did she say?”

“Why, I had a talk with Nannie,” John parried somewhat uncertainly,

“and she has agreed to--to--not to--interfere in the running of the

house, and to--well, _you_ know--cut out the kind of things that get

on your nerves. I thought that if she would quit worrying you,” he

went on rapidly, “that it would be more--more, well, more considerate

and--better, not to actually put her out of the house, at least not

without any warning.” He rattled the keys in his pocket, avoiding

Lucy’s gaze. “Of course if she continues to--to--that is, I mean if you

don’t want her at all, we can later gradually--and----”

“And you didn’t dare tell her to go?” Lucy sprang to her feet. Her

loose hair flowing down from her pale face gave her a ghost-like

appearance.

“Now, Lucy,” pleaded John, his eyes meeting hers for an instant and

then falling, “I really don’t think we ought to----” His voice died

away.

Lucy gathered up some clothing from the bed and walked past him into

the hall. A second later he heard the door of Jim’s room shut and the

key turn.

John went twice to the locked door, but did not knock. Finally he

went to bed in Lucy’s room. He lay restless for a long time. Once

he imagined he could hear Lucy sobbing, and at length he rose to

investigate. He could distinguish nothing but Nannie’s gentle snoring,

and returned to bed.

After midnight he fell into a sound sleep.

XXX

When John awoke it was late and he hastened to dress. On reaching the

lower hall he found the front door open. Mrs. Merwent stood on the

porch staring up and down the street.

“Where in the world is Lucy?” she began. “I heard her go to Mr.

Sprague’s room last night, but the door was open this morning when I

went past to go down to the kitchen.”

John had a frightened expression.

“She must have gone out for an early walk,” suggested Nannie, after a

minute’s time. “She used to do such things often when she was a girl,

whenever she got angry.”

“It looks like it was going to rain, too,” commented John worriedly.

He reëntered the hall and took his hat from the stand.

“Did you have a quarrel last night?” Nannie catechised in a matter of

fact way.

“No,” he denied shortly.

“Well, come on in, John. Don’t go out now. Wait a minute.” He had made

a motion toward the door. “Eat something first. She’ll probably be back

before we finish.”

He hesitated, turning his hat in his hands.

“Come on,” she coaxed. “There’s nothing to worry about.” Then, as he

vacillated, she caught hold of his arm. “I’ll give you some coffee

right away. The waffles won’t be fit to eat if you let them get cold,

and Katy has already put them on the table. You can go and look for

Lucy afterwards. She’s not gone far.”

As they turned to go in Dimmie appeared on the stairs in his night

clothes.

“I want my breakfast,” he clamored. “Where’s Mamma? She ain’t in her

room.” “Mamma will be back in a little while, Jimmie,” said Mrs.

Merwent soothingly. “Come on and I’ll give you your breakfast.”

* * * * *

Lucy was in the train bound for the city.

She sat staring straight before her at the back of the next car seat.

There were very few people going to town so early, and no one was

seated beside her. Her lips moved as the train sped on.

“Jim is the only one,” she repeated over and over.

She was, if possible, paler than ever, and her eyes shone with a

peculiar light.

At the station she boarded an electric car that passed the apartment

house where Jim lived. She and John had been there several times

together. In front of her sat a little boy in a wide sailor hat, and on

the same seat was a middle-aged woman. The boy evinced all a child’s

interest in his surroundings, and at length, turning around, wriggled

to his knees and smiled up into Lucy’s face. His blue eyes, bobbed

hair, and fresh color really suggested Dimmie, and to Lucy, in her

overwrought state, the resemblance was startling.

“I can’t! Oh, I can’t do it!” she murmured passionately, to the child’s

intense surprise.

His eyes opened wide and he stopped smiling, half frightened as she

bent over and kissed his cheek. The middle-aged woman jerked him back

into the seat and scrutinized Lucy suspiciously. Lucy rang the bell and

descended from the car at the next corner.

“I’ll go back! I’ll go back!” she whimpered, as a punished child

submits to an angry parent.

It had begun to drizzle. She was unmindful of the rain falling on her

hat and of her bedraggled skirts. Tears rolled down her cheeks and fell

with the rain drops to the pavement. She walked unsteadily and her

breast heaved. Reaching the station she took the next train to Rosedene.

Midway between the station and the house she met John, who was striding

along quickly, and anxiously scanning the street up and down.

“Where in the world have you been, Lucy? I’ve been worried almost

crazy!” he exclaimed pettishly, coming up to her.

Staring straight before her, she did not answer or pause. John followed

her to the house, glancing furtively, from time to time, at her

immobile profile.

“Lucy! What in the world do you go out without telling anybody for?”

cried Nannie who had been waiting in the hall. “It’s been raining, too.

John and I were nervous about you.”

Without replying, Lucy proceeded upstairs. Dimmie ran through the upper

hall to meet her.

“Hello, Mamma!” he called. “I thought you’d runned away. Nannie dressed

me.”

Lucy caught him in her arms and went into her room, locking the door.

Pulling him down beside her on the bed, she burst into a terrifying

paroxysm of weeping. Dimmie soon began to cry also, from fright, and

Lucy grew calmer.

“Oh, little son, little son!” she moaned again and again.

Soon Dimmie slipped to the floor and began to play with her work box,

while she remained in the same position, utterly exhausted.

“It’s past time for you to go to Mrs. Hamilton’s, dear,” she observed

finally, looking at the alarm clock on the table by the bed, and, at

the same time, rising.

She brushed his hair and brought his hat from the wardrobe.

“Kiss Mother.”

Dimmie obeyed, then clattered down the stairs.

Once alone, Lucy rearranged her hair carefully, put on a fresh house

dress, and descended to the living room.

John was walking up and down when Lucy appeared. They could hear Nannie

in the dining room instructing Katy regarding luncheon. The windows

were open and the breeze that stirred the curtains smelled of the rain

and of some aromatic weed that grew high and thick in the adjoining

meadow.

“You’ll miss your train, John,” Lucy suggested gently as she entered

the room. She had regained her usual composure.

John consulted his watch. “It’s gone long ago,” he replied moodily.

“Well, you can catch the next one if you start at once.” Lucy picked up

the small clock that stood beside Nannie’s metronome on the piano. “Go

on,” she continued as he hesitated. “There’s no need for your staying.”

“Well, Lucy, if you’re going to do things like this at a moment’s

notice, how can I----?”

“I’m not going to do anything more,” she returned calmly. “Go on to the

office. You needn’t worry about me any more.”

“Well, if I was certain that you----”

“You can be certain,” assured Lucy quickly.

“Well, good-bye, then.” John moved slowly toward the hall.

“Good-bye, John,” Lucy answered.

The front door had scarcely closed after him when Nannie came in from

the dining room.

“I was just giving Katy orders about luncheon, Lucy,” remarked Nannie

suavely, “but of course if you want something different you can tell

her and it will be all right.”

“It’s all right as it is, Mamma,” said Lucy.

Mrs. Merwent raised her eyebrows.

“Well! I’m glad you’ve started to call me by my right name.” Lucy did

not speak and Nannie continued virtuously. “It’s just as you say about

luncheon, Lucy. You are the mistress. I’m sure _I_ don’t want to do or

say anything that will make unpleasantness. John has enough to worry

about without us disagreeing. I wish we could get along without so many

misunderstandings, Lucy. I’m sure I do _my_ part.”

“I wish so too, Mamma.” Lucy’s tone was free from irritation or sarcasm.

“Well, Lucy, maybe we can from now on. I know nobody tries harder or

wants more to have things pleasant than I do.”

“Did you notice where my mending was put, Mamma?” Lucy inquired after a

moment in the same propitiatory manner.

“Wait a minute. I think it’s under that flower stand.” Nannie

brightened appreciably. “Did you find it?” she called back, on her way

to the kitchen.

“Oh, yes. Here it is.” Lucy gave a trembling sigh and seated herself.

* * * * *

At almost the same moment that Lucy took up her sewing Jim was walking

slowly down the boulevard, his fists in his coat pockets and his eyes

fixed on the ground.

He did not notice Miss Storms’s car until it was drawn up to the kerb

beside him, almost within reach.

She opened the door and leaned out.

“Get in, Jim. I want to talk to you a little,” she called. Jim obeyed

without a word.

“Where were you going?” she asked, shaking hands with him.

“Nowhere in particular,” he answered.

Miss Storms gave an order through the speaking trumpet to her

chauffeur, and the car started slowly.

“Jim, you’re a good boy,” she began.

“I’d rather have you think so than almost anyone,” he replied with a

slight smile.

“But you’re not very deep,” she continued, smiling back at him.

“That’s no news,” he returned.

“I’ve been thinking of Lucy night and day lately. It’s up to you to

straighten this thing out, Jim. I’ve tried and I can’t.”

Jim stared at the passing vehicles for several moments before he spoke.

“I know what you mean, Miss Storms. It’s no go. I’ve tried too, and

only balled things all up.” He looked straight at her an instant, then

glanced away once more, coloring painfully.

“But I’m helpless, Jim.”

“So am I.”

“Just wait a second.” Miss Storms touched his sleeve with her gloved

fingers. “It isn’t just that Lucy’s mother thinks I’ve aided and

abetted Ellen Low in stealing her husband. The trouble is that I’m not

a man.” Jim’s smile was wry.

“Being a man wouldn’t help you any, Miss Storms.” He fumbled a tassel

on the window curtain at his side. “I’ve tried to help Lucy all I

could--and John,” he added.

Miss Storms scrutinized him with kindly eyes. He grew red to his hair.

“You poor boy!” she said at length, squeezing his hand. “Do you know,

I’m inclined to fall in love with you myself.”

“Miss Storms,” he stammered, “that is--I’m afraid you don’t----”

“I’m afraid I do.” She contradicted him affectionately, releasing him

and turning to the window. “Do you want to smoke?” she resumed abruptly.

“I’m afraid I’ll contaminate your cushions and curtains,” he objected.

“I wish they never had anything worse than you and your pipe around

them!” Her expression was whimsical.

Jim lit his pipe.

“You’re a bad strategist, Jim,” she went on. “What is needed is attack

and not defence. And Jim,” she laid her hand on his arm again, “we must

save things _as they are_.”

“I understand.” He nodded. “You needn’t be afraid of me now.” He did

not see the pity in her eyes at the “now.” “I don’t know what more I

can do--either good or harm,” he supplemented.

“You can do everything--nearly.”

“I don’t see what you mean, Miss Storms.”

The ironical lines about her mouth deepened.

“Nobody sees,” she retorted almost impatiently. “That’s just it. Jim, I

want you to memorize something. It may do you good.”

“What is it?” Jim looked puzzled.

Miss Storms held up one finger as though speaking to a child, and

repeated gravely,

“Three blind mice,

See how they run.

They all run after the farmer’s wife.

She cut off their tails with a carving knife.

Did you ever see such fools in your life,

As three blind mice?”

Jim regarded her with a curious expression.

“That’s it,” she ended. “There’s nothing more that could be said.”

“We’re blind mice, all right,” Jim remarked without spirit, as if to

himself.

“Poor boy!” Miss Storms spoke simply, almost with tenderness.

“She’s cut more than our tails off,” he growled huskily.

Miss Storms laid her hand softly on his.

“Miss Storms, if you’ll tell me what to do, I’ll do it.” His voice had

a new note.

“A flank movement is the best, Jim. You must tell Lucy’s mother that

you are going to Russellville and will see the Professor Walsh she is

going to marry.”

“Oh!” There was understanding and admiration in Jim’s voice.

“You might mention Minnie Sheldon, too, and I’ll find out a few more

from some old letters of Ellen Low’s I have. As I told you, I am

helpless on account of Ellen and Arthur Merwent. Anything I might

do would make things worse, but you are exactly in the position to

succeed, Jim, and it will be easy.”

“I wonder where Lucy’s mother could go,” he mused.

“Ruthlessness appears to be a purely female trait.” Miss Storms’ half

humorous air was full of bitterness.

“Oh, I’ll do it all right,” Jim promised. “Don’t you worry.”

“I won’t. I’ll call you up and give you the ammunition early in the

morning.”

“We’re only two blocks from the office. Let me out here,” requested

Jim, observing the buildings. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Jim.” They shook hands warmly.

* * * * *

John’s expression as he came into the house in the evening was worried

and uncertain. He had left the office a little earlier than usual and

reached Rosedene on a train which arrived there before the customary

hour. He found Lucy, Dimmie, and Nannie sitting in the dining room.

Lucy was reading aloud to Dimmie from a book of fairy tales and Mrs.

Merwent was embroidering some underwear she had purchased on the

previous day in consultation with Miss Powell. As John entered both

women ceased their employment.

“Did you find everything all right at the office?” Lucy inquired with

her usual simple manner.

“And are you all tired out, John?” added Nannie, smiling at him.

“No, I’m not tired,” he answered. “I was worried, that’s all.” As he

spoke, he seated himself and lit a cigarette.

“Don’t worry, John,” Lucy said, drawing Dimmie to her side.

“No,” supplemented Mrs. Merwent. “There’s nothing to worry about, you

poor boy.”

“Well, I’m glad if there isn’t.” He drew a long breath.

“I’m going down town again in the morning,” Nannie continued a moment

later. “I just must get some more of this _lingérie_. It’s perfectly

lovely. I’m going to show you _part_ of what I bought after dinner,

John.” She laughed coquettishly.

“Anyone would think you were making a _trousseau_,” he commented

jealously.

Nannie became suddenly serious.

“No, John. Not for the present, at least.”

There was a brief pause.

“I see Carter’s are selling out. You might add to your collection

there, Mamma.” Lucy’s hands moved uneasily over Dimmie’s hair as she

talked. As she turned toward the child the light falling on her face

revealed its haggard outlines.

No one responded to her remark. She glanced up and caught John’s gaze

fixed on her mother. He drew another sigh of evident relief.

“Do you know,” he began with something of his old expansive manner,

pushing his hair back from his forehead, “I went to see the sculptures

of that new Polish artist today at lunch time. He is the beginning of a

new movement away from the Rodin worship of sex and emotion in art.”

“I don’t think they ought to allow some statues to be exhibited,”

declared Nannie.

“It isn’t so much the moral or ethical objection that influences me,”

John elaborated, “but, as I have said before, I don’t believe in the

emotional and literary in art. The artist’s business is to create

beauty, not to comment upon it. The public is intelligent enough to

understand and appreciate real artistic achievement, without tricks to

call their attention to it. You really ought to see the exhibit, Lucy.”

“I should like to,” said Lucy encouragingly.

“And I too,” seconded Nannie.

“Well, we’ll all go,” he proposed.

John talked much during dinner. When it was over and Lucy had

accompanied Dimmie up to bed, Nannie turned to John sweetly.

“I’ll sing to you a little, John,” she suggested.

“Yes, Nannie,” he acquiesced. He stretched his arms over his head in a

gesture of well being. “I feel in the mood for music tonight,” he added

comfortably.

Nannie seated herself at the piano. Lighting a cigarette, John reclined

in the Morris chair beside her.

* * * * *

The next day John whistled as he walked to the station.

“Good morning,” he called as he entered the office.

Jim was bending over a filing case and looked up with slight surprise.

“Good morning,” he said. “How is everybody at your house?”

“Oh, everybody’s well,” John answered, and, picking up his mail, began

to whistle again. “Nannie is coming down town on the nine-thirty to do

some shopping,” he observed as he was opening a letter a moment later.

Jim glanced up again, but was silent.

The two worked on without further conversation until about nine

o’clock, when Jim rose. He reached for his hat. “When will you be

back?” John inquired, tilting his chair toward the wall and opening his

cigarette case.

“Not till after lunch,” Jim informed him. “I’m going several places,

Layard’s among them.”

On reaching the street, however, Jim boarded a car from which he

descended near the station that was the terminus for suburban trains

from Rosedene, and when Mrs. Merwent emerged from the building he was

one of the first pedestrians she encountered.

“How do you do, Mrs. Merwent?” He greeted her pleasantly, raising his

hat as he spoke. “Aren’t you lost in this great city all alone?”

“Why, how do you do, Mr. Sprague?” cooed Nannie, shaking hands. “What a

pleasant surprise! I thought you were at the office with John.”

“I was until a few minutes ago,” he explained, turning and walking

beside her. “I’m out hunting for lath and cement now, but I’m glad to

have run across you. I’ve been wanting to have a little talk with you

for a long time.”

“Yes?” responded Nannie, scrutinizing him sharply from under her hat.

“Are you in a hurry now?” continued Jim. “Can’t I take you somewhere

where we can sit down and have a soft drink?”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Sprague,” she declined, “but I _am_ rather in a

hurry. I am anxious to get back to Lucy, you know. She depends so on

me, and just now she’s not as well as usual.”

“Is she worse?” Jim half halted.

“No. Just about as usual.” Nannie took note of his perturbation. “I

think the summers here are trying on her. I wish she could get away to

the country for a couple of months.”

Jim quickened his pace.

“Well, of course I don’t want to detain you, Mrs. Merwent, but what I

want to say won’t take more than ten minutes. Suppose we walk about in

this little park a moment. It’s almost empty and we’ll be practically

alone.” “Why, Mr. Sprague,” Nannie laughed nervously, “you almost

frighten me. You talk like a--conspirator!”

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not dangerous. Here, let’s go this way.” And he

led her from the street into a shady promenade.

Nannie, hesitating slightly at first, smiled and conversed about the

weather, the occasional people they met in the course of their walk,

and other irrelevant topics.

“Now what was it you wanted to tell me, Mr. Sprague?” she insisted

suddenly as they neared the center of the park.

“Well, it is this, Mrs. Merwent. I am going to Russellville.”

Nannie, of course, could not change her artificial color, but her eyes

and mouth opened their widest.

“On business?” she inquired uncomfortably.

“No. I am going to see Professor Walsh, and Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon, and

Mr. Blair, and Judge Dodd, and several other friends of yours.”

Nannie sat down on a bench by the path. Jim seated himself on the same

bench, a little distance from her. His brown eyes appeared yellowish in

the sunlight as they looked straight into hers.

“Wha--what for?” she faltered in a voice she strove in vain to control.

“I want to talk to them.”

“Why, you don’t know any of them,” objected Mrs. Merwent perplexedly,

her eyes falling before his.

“No. But I shall take letters of introduction from Professor Walsh’s

cousin and others--letters which will enable me to know them and to

have their confidence.”

“Professor Walsh’s cousin?” interrogated Nannie, her voice unsteady.

“How did you know about Professor Walsh? I never heard of his cousin.

Where does he live?”

“Here in Chicago.”

“Why, Professor Walsh never told me,” she confessed blankly. “He never

even said he had a relative near here. Who is he?”

“He’s a lawyer. He was consultant to Mr. Merwent’s attorney in the

divorce case against you. Professor Walsh himself gave Mr. Merwent the

letter of introduction.” Nannie’s eyes opened even wider, if possible,

at this.

“But what are you going for? What are you going to do?” she continued.

“I’m going to talk to your friends, Mrs. Merwent.”

“You’re trying to scare me.” Nannie made a feeble attempt at bravado.

“What have I got to do with all this? You have nothing to tell my

friends about me.”

“Yes, I have,” Jim asserted vigorously.

“What?” demanded Mrs. Merwent, her hands shaking as she played with her

purse and parasol handle.

“I’m going to ask them, especially Professor Walsh, if they approve of

what you are doing to your daughter’s home.”

Nannie gazed at him defiantly.

“What am I doing?”

“We probably shouldn’t agree as to that, Mrs. Merwent, but I shall give

them my version of it.”

Nannie was visibly working up her anger.

“This is pure spite, Mr. Sprague. You have never liked me, because

I saw through your weakness for Lucy, but you can’t frighten me. I

suppose _she’s_ put you up to this! I can tell my story, too, and we’ll

see who comes out of it best.”

“Now, you’re bluffing, Mrs. Merwent, and it won’t go. I am quite ready

to believe that you would befoul your daughter’s name to try to clear

yourself, but you know as well as I do that it wouldn’t save you. In

any case your daughter could not possibly be in a worse situation than

she is, and, if you want war, we’ll leave it to your friends and hers

to decide. She hasn’t the slightest idea that I am doing this. I think

that’s all I wanted to say, Mrs. Merwent.” And Jim rose.

“Have you written to Professor Walsh?” inquired Nannie weakly.

“Not yet,” Jim admitted grimly.

“It will be a fine thing for a _man_ to do, going around talking about

a woman behind her back!”

“We won’t discuss that, Mrs. Merwent.”

“I don’t know--I don’t understand what you mean by all this, Mr.

Sprague. One thing is sure, I shall tell Lucy and John about your

threats.” “Do!” Jim dared, turning to go.

“Wait a minute, Mr. Sprague.” Nannie was staring about aimlessly in

every direction. “I--I don’t know how long I shall stay in Chicago.

Of course your insinuations are ridiculous, but I hate to hurt Lucy’s

feelings, especially when she is already in such a nervous state, and

make trouble between you and John. So far as I am concerned you could

go to Russellville every day, but Lucy is very dear to me. She is my

only child. If you made trouble for me remember it would involve her.”

As Mrs. Merwent stared at Jim tears rose to her eyes but they did not

altogether veil her look of hate and bafflement.

“I’m not going for a week, Mrs. Merwent,” Jim told her inexorably.

Then, raising his hat, he left her sitting on the bench.

In the station, before taking the Rosedene train, Mrs. Merwent lingered

for twenty minutes or more in the neighborhood of the telegraph office.

Finally, with sudden decision she approached the desk and dispatched a

message.

XXXI

When Nannie alighted from the train at Rosedene she walked up the

street to the Winters’ house with a more rapid stride than was her

custom, and showed signs of nervousness and impatience while she waited

for Katy to open the front door.

Entering the hall, she almost ran up the stairs. In her room she

removed her gloves but left her hat on, and, without even glancing in

the mirror, sat down to write a letter.

The missive was quickly finished and addressed to Professor Walsh. She

then took up her gloves once more and descended to the street, dropping

the envelope in the nearest post box. After noting the time of the next

mail collection, she returned slowly to the house.

Katy appeared somewhat surprised at being summoned to the door by Mrs.

Merwent a second time. Nannie made no remark.

On reaching her room she now removed hat and gloves and carefully

touched up her rouge, washed her hands, and repolished her nails.

Making her way to the dining room she encountered Lucy.

“You’re back early, Mamma,” Lucy commented when she saw Nannie. “Did

you get the underwear you wanted?”

“No,” sighed her mother sadly. “It was all gone when I got to the

store, so I came right back.” She stared at Lucy’s hair, which was

arranged with more care than usual, and at the white organdie dress

which was only donned occasionally. “You must be expecting Mr. Sprague

out tonight, Lucy,” she gibed, viciously. “Well, don’t accuse _me_ of

being the only one weak enough to care about my looks.”

“I don’t, Mamma.” There was a barely perceptible tremor in Lucy’s

voice, but her manner was as calm and unswerving as ever. Mrs. Merwent

walked to the window and stood gazing at the gnarled elm tree and

Dimmie’s dangling swing. She passed her hand over her forehead several

times and tapped her foot uneasily on the floor.

“Don’t you feel well?” Lucy inquired at last.

Nannie turned and her eyes were full of tears.

“Oh, Lucy,” she cried piteously, “you haven’t meant all the terrible

things you’ve said, have you? We’ve got nobody in the world but each

other, and--it hurts me so for there to be any kind of hard feelings!”

Lucy hesitated only an instant.

“I don’t think there are any hard feelings, Mamma,” she replied. Her

voice was low. Her eyes rested on Dimmie, who was looking at a picture

book as he lay stretched on his stomach on the floor beside her.

Nannie came over and knelt by her daughter.

“Kiss me, Lucy! Oh, Lucy, I couldn’t bear to go away so misjudged

and----” Mrs. Merwent broke off her speech with a half sob.

Dimmie, laying aside his book, sat up and regarded the two with

interest.

“You aren’t going away, Mamma,” Lucy said, trying to make her tone

matter of fact, and at the same time submitting to her mother’s kiss.

Her breast heaved and two vivid spots of color tinged her cheeks.

“Oh, Lucy, you don’t _want_ me to go! Say you don’t want me to go!”

Nannie implored.

“Why, no-o, Mamma,” Lucy answered reluctantly, moistening her lips. “I

thought that was all settled,” she added. “I didn’t know that----” She

stopped speaking and regarded her mother with eager surprise.

Nannie rose to her feet.

“I have made up my mind to go. Of course I’m glad you’ll miss me, and I

shall leave without any hard feelings. But I’ve been so misunderstood,

and now that I----” She clasped and unclasped her hands.

“But where can you go? You can’t go back to Cousin Minnie.” Lucy’s tone

was strange. She caressed Dimmie’s hair with trembling fingers and

avoided her mother’s glance. “No, Lucy. I certainly couldn’t accept

Minnie Sheldon’s charity again, after the way she has treated me.”

Lucy stood up too. Her eyes were very bright. Involuntarily she put one

hand on her bosom. Nannie watched her.

“Oh, Lucy, I want to be loved! I want to be loved!” Nannie protested

suddenly, dissolving into tears again.

Placing one arm about her mother’s shoulders, Lucy’s eyes sought Dimmie

across Nannie’s bent head.

“So do I,” she murmured fervently, almost as if to herself.

“What makes you look so nice?” Dimmie asked Lucy suddenly.

Mrs. Merwent lifted her head.

“_You’re_ not glad I’m going away! Oh, Jimmie, you don’t want Nannie to

go, do you?”

He jumped up and ran to her.

“When Nannie goes away on the cars, do you want to go with her? I’ve

got some more chocolate drops upstairs,” she whispered.

“You bet I would!” he replied enthusiastically. “Where are they?”

“Don’t give him candy just before meals, Mamma,” Lucy requested gently.

“Oh, it won’t hurt this time. I’m going upstairs and I’ll get them.”

“I’m so afraid it’ll make him sick,” remonstrated Lucy. “Here, Son,

wait till after dinner. Don’t eat them now. Be a good boy.”

“No,” returned Dimmie rebelliously, backing away from his mother. “I

want ’em now. Please get ’em, Nannie.”

“We must mind Mamma or she’ll be angry. Because I’m going away, you

know, Jimmie. Wait a minute, dear. Dinner’ll soon be ready, and I’ll

take you on the train with me if you’re a good boy.”

Dimmie compromised without further parley.

When John arrived Lucy greeted him with suppressed excitement, but he

seemed to observe nothing unusual. Dinner was served. Nannie entered

the dining room smiling mournfully, and placed a rose at his plate.

“Did you get your shopping done?” he queried. “No,” she responded. “I

didn’t get what I wanted and came back early.”

After a few moment’s silence John laid down his knife and fork.

“What’s the matter, Nannie? You’re not eating anything,” he commented.

“Mamma ain’t eatin’ nothin’ neither,” observed Dimmie.

“Yes, I am.” Lucy hastily took up her knife and fork.

“Why, I’m eating as much as usual, John.” Nannie resumed her meal. “You

know I never eat very heartily. Did you have a hard day at the office?”

“No, indeed,” John declared. “I’m feeling fine. When shall we go and

see the sculptures?”

Mrs. Merwent was neglecting her food again, and seemed not to hear. She

wiped her eyes furtively.

“Why don’t you answer, Nannie?” he insisted reproachfully. “I asked you

when you wanted to go and see the sculptures. And you aren’t eating

again. What’s the matter? Are you dreaming?”

“No, John,” she sighed, “I’m not dreaming. What was it you said?”

John glanced from Nannie to Lucy and frowned.

“When do you want to go and see the sculptures I spoke of?” he repeated

with less enthusiasm.

“Why--I don’t know. Let’s see---- When had you rather go, Lucy?”

“Any day that is convenient for John.”

“Well, let’s see----” Nannie regarded her plate abstractedly.

“Would day after tomorrow do?” suggested John, still covertly

scrutinizing the two women.

“Why, yes--let’s see--day after tomorrow----” Mrs. Merwent’s eyes and

voice trailed off into space again.

“I’ll declare, Nannie,” remarked John with some irritation, “you act as

though you were a thousand miles away. Are you worried about anything?”

“No-o. That is--nothing in particular,” she amended.

“Well, then, shall we settle on day after tomorrow?”

“Why, yes, day after tomorrow will suit me.”

“Well, then, you two come down to the office after lunch and we’ll go.”

John took up his fork again.

The door bell rang and Katy came from the hall with a telegram in her

hand. Nannie reached for it, but John, unaware of her motion, took the

envelope from the servant. He read the address and passed it across the

table.

“It’s for you, Nannie.”

“Thank you.” She dropped the envelope in her plate and picked it up

again.

“Why don’t you read it?”

“I don’t like telegrams!” interjected Lucy. “I’m afraid of them. Maybe

something’s the matter with Cousin Minnie.”

“Nonsense!” ejaculated John. “It’s probably something very simple. Read

it and see. Where is it from?”

“It’s from R-Russellville,” Nannie stammered, opening it with uncertain

movements and tearing the message half across in the process.

“What does it say? Is anybody sick?” Lucy queried.

“Who is it from?” insisted John.

“It’s--it’s from--it’s from Professor Walsh,” Mrs. Merwent informed

them unsteadily, reading the telegram.

“What’s the matter with _him_?” sneered John.

“Why, he--you know he--his interest in me----” Nannie began with a

changed air of mingled relief and importance.

“Does he have to send telegrams to tell you about it?” demanded John

contemptuously. “Can’t he wait for the mails? He’s gotten along with

letters pretty well, so far!”

Lucy was observing her mother strangely.

“He’s been trying his best for weeks and weeks to get me to say

when--when--to name--to decide----” Nannie hesitated, regarding John

beseechingly.

“To name the day, eh!” snorted John, ignoring the look intended for him.

Lucy sat tense in her chair.

“Yes, John,” Nannie spoke almost apologetically, “that’s what he wants.

He--he’s very persistent. He wants me to come to Russellville at once.”

“Humph! It’s a funny notion to get all of a sudden. He’s been patient

enough until now.”

“John!” Mrs. Merwent’s voice quavered.

His glance encountered hers reluctantly.

Lucy was the personification of palpitating expectation. The color

flamed in her cheeks and her eyes were like scintillating stars.

“When do you think you will go, Mamma?” she asked, taking Dimmie’s hand

in hers and leaning forward as she spoke.

“Why, I don’t know. I----” Nannie began evasively.

John watched Lucy an instant. Becoming aware of his scrutiny, she

turned her head and their glances met. John’s lip curled.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he exclaimed, throwing down his napkin and

pushing his chair back from the table.

Lucy said nothing, but the color left her face. Her grip on Dimmie’s

hand tightened. John rose.

“Of all the contemptible scheming and plotting! If you were determined

to insult your mother why did you have to do it behind my back? If we

have to fight, let us at least be decent about it, and fight in the

open!” John’s tone was scathing and with each word his voice reached a

higher pitch. He stared at Lucy scornfully.

“What do you mean, John?” she began in a bewildered manner. Then she

exclaimed indignantly, “Oh, how dare you!” She rose. One hand still

clutched Dimmie.

“Now, John, Lucy didn’t mean----” Nannie, showing her fright, spoke

soothingly.

“Oh, I know, Nannie! ‘Lucy didn’t mean!’ She don’t want you out of the

house, I suppose! She hasn’t been driving you and me half crazy ever

since you came with her suspicions and jealousy!”

“Remember what I told you, John Winter!” Lucy warned, her eyes steely.

“Oh, I’ll remember!” John’s gaze was lowered for an instant. Then his

ire came to the aid of his courage. “I’ll remember, but you can’t

threaten me into forgetting my self respect!” he declared defiantly.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. The news that Mamma was going

was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”

“John----” Nannie went no further.

“Oh, I know you didn’t have anything to do with the telegram, but that

doesn’t alter what I say.” He glared at Lucy. “I saw how you were

looking at Nannie, as if you could hardly wait for the moment to come

when you could get her out of the house!”

“Now, John, surely when _I’m_ willing to forgive Lucy----” Nannie’s air

was soft and uncertain.

“Come, Dimmie!” Lucy almost jerked the whimpering child from his chair,

and, holding his hand, led him into the kitchen.

She left her own yard by the gate which adjoined Dr. Hamilton’s

premises.

“Come right in, Mrs. Winter,” Mrs. Hamilton’s maid-of-all work greeted

them at the back door. “Mrs. Hamilton is in the dining room.” And the

girl led Lucy through the kitchen.

“May I come in?” petitioned Lucy in an unsteady voice at the threshold

of the dining room.

“Dear me, yes,” Mrs. Hamilton said encouragingly.

She was rocking Stella to sleep and did not rise but held out her hand.

Lucy seized it.

“I just wanted to sit with you a little while, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“I’m so glad you came.” Mrs. Hamilton reached her unoccupied arm around

Stella and patted Lucy’s hand. “Draw up the other rocking chair. The

Doctor is out on another maternity case and I’m all alone again. I was

thinking about you. How is your mother?”

Without answering, Lucy placed a rocking chair near Mrs. Hamilton and

took Dimmie into her lap.

* * * * *

As soon as she and John were alone, Mrs. Merwent, who had risen also

during the altercation between John and Lucy, reseated herself at the

table in silence and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

“Won’t you sit down, John?” she urged compassionately.

Without speaking, he complied. He lighted another cigarette and, when

Katy entered, asked for a second cup of coffee.

“Is Mrs. Winter in the kitchen?” Nannie inquired of the negress. “No,

Miss Nannie. She done went out de back way. I ’specs she’s over to Mis’

Hamilton’s.”

“Oh, John, if there was anything else I could do I wouldn’t need to

leave you,” faltered Nannie sadly after Katy had returned to the

kitchen. “I was driven to this because Lucy has made no other course

possible!”

“Driven to it!” echoed John savagely. “Lucy’s got nothing to say about

it! What did you say to make that fellow send you such a telegram?”

“Nothing, John.” Nannie gazed at him with swimming eyes. He rumpled his

hair viciously. “You dear boy,” she murmured with tears in her voice.

John look at her sceptically. His lip quivered slightly.

“Really, didn’t you fix this thing up, Nannie?” he asked with a

wounded, distrustful air. “I never believed you’d lead me on into

thinking things were getting better while you were planning to----” He

could say no more. He crumpled his napkin into a ball and turned his

face away, placing one hand to his eyes.

“John!” Nannie reproached, “do you suppose it’s been easy for me to

seem lighthearted when I realized that I must give up--so much--that

which means so much to me?”

“Then why not cut it out? You must cut it out! It’s absurd! It’s

ridiculous! I won’t believe it. Why only this morning---- I don’t see

how you can torture me like this, Nannie. You know you’ve come here to

stay with us always. Why you’re a part of my home--part of my life,

Nannie! Do you think I’m going to submit to all this tamely, to please

Lucy! She’ll find out I’m not the weak, soft proposition she imagines.

We’ll fight it out and see who’s running things in this house. Never

you fear, Nannie, I won’t have you shoved out in the street. We’ll

stand together and Lucy can rant and rave all she pleases. By God, I

won’t have it! I’ll fight it to the last ditch! You’re her own mother,

and if she doesn’t realize that she owes anything to you, _I_ do, and

I’ll make her--make her stand up to her obligations whether she wants

to or not. She’ll either accept my standards in this household or--if

she’s going to have me she’s got to--I’m the master here whether she

likes it or not! She evidently thought when she married me that I was

a man without any backbone, exactly the opposite of Jim Sprague! I’ll

show her! I’ll show her, I tell you! She shan’t tear you away from

me, Nannie! She----” Almost inarticulate with angry emotion, he was

striding up and down the room. He halted near Nannie’s chair, clenching

and unclenching his fists as he stared away from her.

“John, dear,” Nannie’s voice was subdued, “we must talk reasonably.”

He snorted.

“I suppose that means bend to Lucy’s will!” he interjected bitterly.

Nannie was patient.

“No, dear. But don’t you see, John, what staying under the

circumstances would mean? It puts me in a position--Lucy will stop at

nothing, John. I think she’s capable of making us trouble with other

people. I’ve--I’ve----” Here Nannie looked at the floor, embarrassed.

“I’ve heard her go so far as to hint that she’d write to Cousin Minnie

and Professor Walsh and--and old friends of the family like Judge Dodd

and other people!”

“Professor Walsh!” John almost roared. “Let her write to Professor

Walsh! I’ll go to Russellville and break his neck if necessary!”

“I know, John,” Nannie was fearful now, “but that wouldn’t save me, if

slurs were cast on my--my reputation. I’m a misjudged woman, John, and

after Arthur’s heartlessness has placed me in such a false position I

can’t afford to risk such a thing.”

John regarded her undecidedly.

“Don’t you think I’m able to take care of you, Nannie?” he asked in a

trembling voice.

“You would do all you could, John,” Nannie’s voice broke too, “but some

things are beyond your power.”

“And do you mean to say that we have to submit to this because Lucy

has the drop on us--that we can’t stop her from stooping to a lot of

underhand lying?” he demanded, defiance in his tone.

“Remember she’s done none of this,” Nannie continued hastily. “It’s

only,” again she looked away from him, “that certain things she’s said

have made me afraid she might. Anyway--now it’s all arranged----”

Katy came in to clear the table and Nannie led the way into the living

room.

“Don’t turn on the light,” John objected peevishly as she moved toward

the electric switch.

They seated themselves in the dim radiance that filtered in from the

hall.

“Nannie, you’ve got to give it up,” he repeated suddenly. “Put it off

for a month or two anyway,” he begged unsteadily.

“If Lucy were different! Oh, John, if Lucy only would----” She took one

of his hands in both of hers.

John’s fist clenched.

“I won’t forget what she’s done to us in a hurry!” he cried, glancing

away from Nannie as he spoke. There was a cruel edge to his tone.

“It’s her abnormal state. Oh, you poor, dear boy! And to think you must

bear all this and that I can’t do anything to ease your burden! I saw

this coming, John, and I didn’t dare to tell you what she was forcing

me to.” Nannie talked hurriedly. Half sobs broke in on her words.

John bent forward and leaned his brow against the hands that held his

own. There was a long pause.

“How long ago did you decide this?” he demanded, looking up suddenly

and pressing her fingers so that she winced.

“I’ve been trying to decide a long time, John. You don’t know all Lucy

says to me when you’re away. I made up my mind definitely a--a few

days ago. The telegram really has nothing to do with it, though I half

expected from what Professor Walsh had written that he would send one.”

“When are you going?” John went on with painful intensity.

“It’s better for me to go right away, dear. I think I’ll leave day

after tomorrow.”

John withdrew his hand and clasped his bowed head.

“Day after tomorrow!” he repeated, almost groaning. “The day we were to

see the sculptures!” He laughed bitterly.

“Don’t, John,” begged Nannie. “You frighten me.”

Again the two became silent.

“If only _you_ weren’t the one to suffer!” Nannie exclaimed at last.

“There is so much in our lives that is the same!”

“Yes, Nannie.”

“Your attitude toward Lucy is so noble, John! She doesn’t realize how

much she has to be thankful for in your forbearance. Oh, John, to think

that I should be in any way responsible, even innocently, for ruining

your life!”

“You’re not responsible for what Lucy does, Nannie.”

“Oh, John, perhaps later----”

“Yes, yes!” he said eagerly.

“Maybe Lucy won’t always be so strange and exacting.”

Another pause.

“Nannie!” John’s voice was smothered and his breath came quickly. “If

you’ll only cut out that talk about marrying! I can stand anything but

that! I can’t stand it, Nannie. I can’t stand it! Say you’re not going

to be married, Nannie?”

She did not answer at once.

“Not--right away, at least, dear boy,” she conceded finally, stroking

his hair with her free hand.

John lifted his head and sighed deeply.

“Well, Nannie, if you really think it’s for the best, I suppose you’ll

have to go, for the present, at least,” he resumed in a different tone.

“Don’t you want me to sing to you now, John?” Nannie offered, smiling

bravely. “I’ll be too tired tomorrow night.”

“Yes, sing to me.”

Nannie sang _Ouvrez tes yeux_.

When Dr. Hamilton reached home he found Lucy and Dimmie still there.

Dimmie was sound asleep. At Lucy’s request the Doctor picked the

little boy up and carried him through the back way to the Winter home,

delivering him into his mother’s arms at the kitchen door.

Lucy entered the house softly. As she mounted the stairs with her

burden she saw John and Nannie in the living room. They did not observe

her and she did not make her presence known.

It was late when they followed her. John found her door locked. All was

dark and quiet. He slept in Jim’s room.

XXXII

“Shall I stay at home and help you with your trunks?” John offered at

breakfast. He seemed depressed and addressed his remarks only to Nannie.

“No, thank you, John,” she replied. She gazed at him sympathetically.

As a concession to unwontedly early rising she wore a beribboned

négligée and a boudoir cap that was very becoming. “It’s so good and

thoughtful of you to offer, but I can pack my things very well alone.

But you mustn’t forget to send the express man out early this evening,

for I don’t want any doubt about the baggage going on the same train

with me.”

The two spoke as though they were alone. A perfect understanding seemed

to exist between them. Lucy did not make a comment.

“Well, I’ll go to the office, then,” he decided, rising.

“It’s time for you to get ready, Dimmie.” Lucy turned to the little boy

who sat beside her.

“Let him stay at home today, Lucy,” proposed Mrs. Merwent.

“Why, he oughtn’t to miss a day,” Lucy objected.

“Very well, if you dislike my seeing him my last day here!” Nannie

assumed her most aggrieved air.

“Let him stay,” John ordered shortly.

“All right,” acquiesced Lucy without further discussion.

Nannie followed John to the front door where they held a whispered

colloquy. When he had gone she went upstairs to begin her packing.

“Lucy!” she called after a few minutes.

Lucy came into the bedroom.

“Will you help me fold these things? I can’t do _everything_ alone.”

“Of course,” Lucy responded impassively, beginning to arrange the

garments indicated. “Where do you want them put?”

“Well, wait a minute. Give me time to turn around. Not that way, Lucy!

If you’re going to mix things all up, you’d better leave it for me to

do.” Mrs. Merwent’s tone showed increasing irritation. “I might have

known you couldn’t bear to do anything for me. I ought to have learned

that much this summer. I’ve learned several other things.”

“Tell me how you want them done, and I’ll do my best to please you.”

Lucy’s manner was still composed.

“Oh, don’t try to be a martyr at this late hour, Lucy!” snapped Nannie.

“It’s too transparent. You’ve gotten rid of me and so you can afford to

be saintly about it. Your Mr. Sprague was very clever but I understand

perfectly well now why you went to consult him.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.” Lucy gazed blankly at her

mother.

“Oh, no! Of course you haven’t! You know a great deal better than I do.

You needn’t lie to me.”

Lucy seemed scarcely to heed.

“Let’s not quarrel the last day we are together,” she said in a low

voice.

“No, ‘let’s not quarrel,’” mocked Nannie. “Let’s sit here and have you

crow over me.”

“How am I crowing over you?” Lucy inquired almost listlessly.

“You know just as well as I do,” accused Mrs. Merwent. “If you think I

haven’t seen through the scheme you and your Mr. Sprague have worked

from the very beginning, you’re greatly mistaken. But let me tell you

one thing, Lucy. You haven’t got as much to feel jubilant over as you

think you have.”

“I’m sure I _don’t_ know what you mean,” reiterated Lucy.

“Well, you’ll see what I mean.”

“You’re right that I have nothing to feel jubilant over.” Lucy lifted

spiritless eyes to her mother’s face. Nannie turned away.

The two women worked for some time in silence.

“Here, you pack these wash things in the bottom of the other trunk.

I want to go over my laces and see if they’re all here,” instructed

Nannie at length. “I suppose Mr. Sprague will begin to come out here

twice a week to spend the night again, as soon as I’ve left.”

“Please don’t talk about Mr. Sprague,” requested Lucy dully, beginning

the work her mother had ordered.

Nannie’s expression was virtuous.

“Yes! I should think you’d be ashamed to talk about him,” she remarked

reprovingly.

“I’m not ashamed of anything,” Lucy’s voice gained involuntary

vehemence, “but if you intend talking like this I’m going out of the

house.”

“Oh, it’s not necessary, Lucy. It’s not necessary. _I’m_ going out of

the house tomorrow, and if you want me to I can go today. I’ll go down

town and stay at a hotel as soon as my baggage is ready.”

Lucy continued to pack in silence for several minutes.

“Not that way, Lucy. I showed you once how I wanted them folded,”

complained Mrs. Merwent, interrupting the work with an impatient

gesture.

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“That’s right! Lose your temper. One would think we might get along

without a fuss for one day, especially as I’m going away for I don’t

know how long.”

“I’m not quarreling.”

“No, but you’re so hard, Lucy. You don’t seem to have a grain of

affection in your heart.”

“I don’t think I’m the only one who’s hard.”

“Why can’t you be like you used to before you left home? I do long for

a little affection sometimes. You’re my only child, and I’ve tried so

hard.” Nannie ceased her occupation in order to wipe her eyes. “But you

are so cold and hostile! Every trifling thing is an excuse for getting

angry and hurting me.” Sitting by the trunk, Mrs. Merwent began to

weep. “Oh, Lucy, you are so _ungrateful_. I overlooked all the past and

came here, and--and you’ve treated me so! I’m sure it’s not my fault.

If I were at all to blame--if--why, the fact that your husband and even

your own child feel kindly toward me shows I’m not. It’s only you. You

are so cold and unnatural. I feel sometimes that I haven’t got any

child. I’m all--alone--in the world----” and Nannie hid her face in her

hands and sobbed aloud.

Lucy went on laying garments in the trunk.

“You’ve got Professor Walsh,” she said.

“Lucy!” Nannie’s tone was eloquent of reproach. “How _cruel_ of you!

How cruel----!” The sobs were redoubled. “I don’t know--that I--would

ever have--thought of marrying--again, if you had been--different,” she

asserted brokenly.

“How different?”

“Oh, I know it’s no use, Lucy,” Nannie spoke reproachfully, drying her

eyes. “You don’t know what a daughter could mean to a mother’s heart.”

“Yes, I do,” affirmed Lucy softly, pausing in her work.

“Well, I hope if you ever have one, she won’t misunderstand you as you

have me. I know how much the sympathy of my own dear mother meant to

_me_.”

Lucy began to lay garments in the trunk again.

“Is there anything else?” she asked after a moment.

“No, but wait a minute. Let’s make up. Let’s not separate with hard

feelings like this.” Nannie left the pile of clothes she was sorting

and came toward her daughter. “I can’t bear to have you hate me,” she

explained, tears in her eyes again.

“I don’t hate you.”

“I’m glad.” Nannie bent over Lucy. “I shall go away now feeling

different. I’m sure by the next time I visit you we will have come to

understand each other better.”

Lucy hastily scrambled to her feet. Murmuring something about luncheon,

she almost ran from the room and down the stairs.

About two o’clock the transfer wagon came and the trunks were loaded

into it. Mrs. Merwent’s expression became worried as she watched the

departing motor truck.

“I’m sure that man won’t take them to the right station,” she

prophesied to Lucy.

“Yes, he will. That’s the largest express company in the city. They’ll

be perfectly safe.”

“The man didn’t look honest to me, Lucy.” But Lucy had left the hall.

Nannie was still at the front door when John opened the gate.

“I came early,” he remarked in an undertone as he greeted her.

“Yes. It’s our last evening, John,” answered Nannie sorrowfully. “I’ve

just been telephoning Miss Powell to say good-bye. She says she’s

coming to the station in the morning to see me off.”

“That’s nice,” he commented indifferently.

He regarded her careful toilette and the white rose in her belt with

melancholy approval.

“I’m all in over this thing, Nannie,” he told her, lowering his voice

confidentially. His face evidenced his perturbation.

“Dear John! I know!” She squeezed his arm. “Did you tell Mr. Sprague I

was going?” she inquired abruptly a little later.

“Yes,” answered John.

“What did he say?”

“He said that you had made quite a long visit.”

“He didn’t say he was coming to the station, did he?”

“No, he didn’t say anything else about it.”

“Do you know, John, Mr. Sprague hasn’t even treated me with common

ordinary courtesy since I’ve been here?”

“Don’t you worry, Nannie. He’ll hear from me about it, all right. Jim

Sprague has changed. He’s not the man he used to be at all.”

“I don’t think he ever was a true friend to you, John.”

“Well, I’ve got my eyes open at last, Nannie--thanks to you.”

“Oh, John, if I didn’t have to think about how Lucy is treating you.

She--she’s not--her morbidness is really bad for Jimmie, too. But then

you bear everything so nobly. You are--oh, I don’t know what to call

it! If all men had your patience and forbearance this world would be a

very different place for some of us. _I_ appreciate it for her if she

don’t for herself.” There was a catch in Nannie’s voice.

“You’ve had nothing from me you don’t deserve, Nannie.” John did not

look at her as he spoke.

“I’ve always tried to help you and study your interests, John. I feel

so grateful to you. I’ll never forget how kind and good you’ve been to

me. You’ve been better than anyone else in the world----”

“I don’t see how anybody could help being good to you, Nannie.”

At this juncture Lucy appeared on the stairs with Dimmie. Almost

simultaneously Katy thrust her head through the dining room doorway.

“Dinnah’s ready, Miss Nannie. Kin I put it on de table?” she inquired.

“Don’t ask _me_, Katy,” said Nannie peevishly. “Mrs. Winter is your

mistress. You’ll have to ask her.”

“Yes, Katy, you may serve dinner,” Lucy put in quietly.

Just as the family were seating themselves there was a clap of thunder.

Katy waddled from one window to another, lowering the sashes. As she

closed the last a flurry of rain spattered on the glass.

“Ugh! Lucy, I must say your Chicago climate is awful,” remarked Mrs.

Merwent. “I wouldn’t live here for any consideration on earth. I don’t

see how you stand it. I can’t understand why so many people stay here

when there are other places fit to live in.”

“Lots of them can’t help themselves.”

“Well, at least I should think that you’d want to live in a little more

accessible part of town. It’s practically impossible to get down to the

shopping district unless the weather happens to be good.”

“We can’t afford to live anywhere closer in.”

“Maybe we can some time,” interposed John. “I’ve often thought we ought

to try to get a place that was nearer to where respectable people live.

Jim Sprague is the one who wished this proposition on us.”

“We were as much in for it as he was,” Lucy stated coldly.

“May be _you_ were,” retorted John sharply.

“And I certainly think, Lucy, that you have the most unfriendly and

unattractive set of neighbors. That Mrs. Hamilton that you think so

much of, for instance. She has absolutely no taste at all. I wouldn’t

be seen on the street with her. Miss Powell is the only one I have met

here who is at all congenial.”

“Mrs. Hamilton is a good woman and a beautiful mother.” Lucy defended

her friend warmly.

“A contrast to me,” Nannie suggested bitterly.

“I wasn’t comparing her to anybody,” retorted Lucy. “I only meant _I_

wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with her any place.”

“Well, anyway it was meant as a rebuke for what I said. You can’t get

out of that, Lucy.”

“I wasn’t rebuking anybody,” contested Lucy wearily.

“Then you shouldn’t make that kind of speeches,” John argued

indignantly.

“I didn’t start this,” said Lucy rebelliously.

“No, but you never miss a chance to give me a dig, no matter what the

conversation is about,” Nannie persisted accusingly.

“It’s not true!” Lucy flushed angrily.

“It is true,” declared John remorselessly.

Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. She rose from the table and went into

the hall.

“_Now_ what’s the matter?” Nannie called after her.

Without replying, Lucy mounted the stairs.

“Let her go, Nannie, if she wants to lose her temper and pout about

nothing again. I might as well get used to this sort of thing now that

you’re leaving.” John drummed on the table with his knuckles.

Nannie took his hand.

“_Dear_ John,” she whispered.

“Don’t Mamma want Nannie to go?” asked Dimmie, who was staring

curiously at the interchange of glances in which his elders were

indulging.

“Oh, hell, Dimmie! You go to bed!” John exclaimed nervously, rising and

moving to the window where he remained with his back turned.

“_You_ are sorry, aren’t you, Jimmie?” Nannie’s voice was full of

emotion.

“Uh huh, but you’re goin’ to take me with you,” Dimmie replied, with

his mouth full. He swallowed hastily.

“Yes, of course,” agreed Mrs. Merwent. Then, to John, “He’s _so_ much

like you, John. Oh, John, won’t it be awful if Lucy----” She stopped,

looking unspeakable things. “A morbid atmosphere reacts so on a child,”

she explained.

“Uncle Jim says I’m like Mamma,” observed Dimmie, taking another bite

of bread and butter.

“Of course _he_ would say so.” Nannie nodded and raised her brows

significantly.

John glowered out the window a moment, then came back to his place at

the table in silence.

When dinner was over, Dimmie followed John and Nannie into the living

room.

“Go upstairs to bed as I told you,” reiterated John to the child.

“But I want to stay,” Dimmie parleyed.

“Do as I say,” commanded his father.

The little boy left the room, his chin quivering and the tears in his

eyes about to fall. Mrs. Merwent ran after him.

“Here, kiss Nannie,” she whispered. “I’m going to get you some more

candy when I go down town in the morning.”

Dimmie, after allowing himself to be kissed, ascended the stairs

reluctantly. Nannie went back to John, sighing as she seated herself

near him.

“Oh, John,” she sighed regretfully, “there are so few hours left!”

He smoked in moody silence.

“John.” She laid a hand on his knee.

“Yes?” He turned his head away and tried vainly to control his shaking

voice.

“You _will_ think of me, John?”

“My God, Nannie, don’t talk rot!” He tossed his cigarette into the

empty fireplace.

“And, John--I’m afraid Lucy wouldn’t understand it--but we might--might

write to each other now and then.” She spoke softly. Her hand continued

to rest on his knee, but her face was averted. John did not reply at

once and she added, “I might send the letters to the office.” Then,

after a moment’s hesitation, “If it wasn’t for Mr. Sprague.”

“Damn Mr. Sprague!” John rose and ran his fingers through his hair. “I

could arrange that, Nannie. People are so confoundedly evil minded! But

you could write to a box number.”

“Oh, John, can you bear it without me? My thoughts will be with you all

the time, John.”

Nannie rose too, and they confronted one another.

“Yes, Nannie, I suppose I can bear it,” he answered at last. He placed

one hand over his eyes. “I wish there wasn’t so confounded much light!”

he supplemented with agitated irrelevance.

Nannie’s response was to go to the switch and press the button. The

only light which now remained in the living room was the faint glow

that came through the dining room transom. The summer rain beat against

the window panes.

“Sit here, John,” Nannie suggested softly, and the two seated

themselves on the sofa.

They remained silent for a long time. Katy, on her way to bed, knocked

on the door discreetly. Mrs. Merwent made a little exclamation.

“What do you care what Katy thinks? She’s not the first person who has

seen evil in innocent things,” growled John, at the same time rising.

“I’se locked up all de back. You all wants breakfas’ pow’ful soon, don’

you, Miss Nannie?” the negress inquired in the doorway, not accepting

Mrs. Merwent’s hasty invitation to enter.

“Yes, Katy, I want early breakfast,” Nannie informed her.

“Good night, Miss Nannie. Good night, Mr. Winter.”

“Good night,” responded Mrs. Merwent.

John made no response.

It was after midnight when Nannie declared that she must retire in

order to rest herself for her journey. John switched on the light.

“John----” she hesitated.

“Yes, Nannie?”

“There is nothing in the world so unpleasant to me as asking for money,

but----” She paused.

“Yes, Nannie?” John repeated, his tone warm.

Her face flushed under the rouge.

“_Dear_ boy!” she murmured gratefully. “You see I didn’t have time

to write to Professor Walsh, and there are all the expenses of the

journey,” she added apologetically.

John took out his pocket book with trembling fingers.

“I don’t see where _he_ comes into it,” he grumbled unsteadily, taking

out some money. “Will this be enough?” Rather shamefacedly he held up

two bills.

Mrs. Merwent glanced at the denominations as she received them.

“Oh, John, you oughtn’t--ought you?” she protested weakly.

“There would be more than that if I had it to give!” he insisted.

“When I get to Russellville---- Oh, John!” Nannie crumpled the money in

one hand. The other she placed on his shoulder.

He met her eyes. She leaned forward with a hasty movement and kissed

his cheek.

“I may not have a chance tomorrow,” she whispered, then, turning

quickly into the hall, went up the steps.

John heard her door close. He ascended the stairs after her very slowly.

XXXIII

Nannie’s alarm clock roused her when the sky was yet grey with dawn,

but the details of her toilette were so exactingly executed and the

final preparations for departure so numerous that the air had already

begun to lose its early freshness when she emerged from her room.

“Lucy!” she called to her daughter in a flustered manner. “Please come

and help me finish packing these suit cases.”

Lucy obeyed.

When all was ready Mrs. Merwent halted in front of her.

“You are a hard woman, Lucy. Maybe we’ll never see each other again.”

“I haven’t any hard feelings,” Lucy reasserted, staring over her

mother’s head.

“Well, let’s have breakfast then. I don’t want to be late and hurried

at the last. It makes you look like a fright.”

The two descended the stairs.

“I can’t eat in such a rush,” Mrs. Merwent complained at the table. “I

_do_ hope there’ll be a good diner on the train.” She turned to John,

“When does the suburban leave, John?”

“Oh, I’ve ordered a machine for you, Nannie. It’s muddy from the rain

last night and it will be much more comfortable going down.”

“Thank you, John. You are always thinking of other people’s comfort and

welfare. It was just like you to do that.”

The automobile came as they were finishing the meal.

Nannie ran into the kitchen.

“Good-bye, Katy,” she said.

“Good-bye, Miss Nannie. I hopes you all has a fine trip,” Katy

responded, smiling her widest.

“I’m going to carry down your grips,” declared John. And he and Mrs.

Merwent mounted the stairs together.

“The last time!” she breathed.

As they turned to quit her room she stared around her.

“I’m so sorry to leave it,” she murmured, her eyes dim.

John bit his lips.

Nannie removed the rosebud which she had pinned to her travelling suit.

“Wear it for me, John,” she sighed as she thrust it into the lapel of

his coat.

He picked up the satchel and suit case and went out.

As the automobile moved off Nannie gazed back long and solemnly at the

house. With the exception of Dimmie, who was still clamoring to go on

the train with his grandmother, the party of four was silent during the

ride.

Once inside the station John excused himself.

“Stay here a minute and I’ll get the tickets,” he instructed the women.

“Buy me a small box of candy, too, John,” Nannie requested.

“All right,” he acceded.

He soon returned carrying several magazines, a basket of fruit, a bunch

of carnations, and the box of chocolates Nannie had requested.

During his absence Miss Powell had joined Lucy and Nannie. She greeted

him affably as he approached the little group.

“Good morning. You look like a regular Santa Claus,” she smiled,

extending her hand as John raised his hat. “Where’s Mr. Sprague? Didn’t

he come?”

“Oh, no,” interrupted Nannie. “Mr. Sprague doesn’t put himself out for

_everybody_ in the family.”

John handed over the tickets, the flowers, and the parcels.

“How lovely!” Nannie whispered, burying her nose in the bouquet. “Here,

Jimmie.” She bestowed the box of sweetmeats on the child. “Don’t forget

Nannie, will you, darling?”

“I want to go with you,” he stated, holding tightly to the box.

“Here, Nannie, you’re not treating yourself fair,” objected John. “If

you ladies will excuse me again?” He bowed interrogatively toward Miss

Powell.

“Certainly,” smiled the lady. “You aren’t going to allow Mrs. Merwent

to deny herself, are you?”

“No,” said John. He walked across the waiting room to a fruit stand

on the other side. When he came back he presented Nannie with a box

of bonbons three or four times the size of the package she had given

Dimmie.

“So you are going away, Mrs. Merwent?” resumed Miss Powell, after she

and Nannie had expatiated on the dimensions of the sweetmeat box. “I

hope you’ve had a pleasant visit. It has been so nice for Mrs. Winter

to have had you with her. You’ll come back every year, I hope. When you

return we must see more of each other.”

Nannie smiled graciously.

“Mother is going to be married,” announced Lucy suddenly.

Mrs. Merwent looked up quickly, then averted her face, and finally

glanced at John. His air indicated that he was furious.

“Why, Lucy! Why--why, you mustn’t believe everything my daughter says,

Miss Powell.” Nannie laughed nervously.

“O-oh, but I do. I’ve never had occasion to doubt Mrs. Winter’s

veracity. My congratulations to the happy man!” and Miss Powell kissed

Nannie. “I don’t blame him. You look like a girl. No one would believe

that you were Mrs. Winter’s mother,” regarding Lucy. “Why didn’t you

tell me before? Be sure you send me an invitation.”

“I’ll not forget--if it ever happens,” Nannie promised rather

shamefacedly. She kept edging toward John whose eyes were fixed on the

ground.

A uniformed official droned something unintelligible in a sing-song

voice.

“That’s your train, Nannie,” John informed her abruptly. The party

moved toward one of the gates.

“Good-bye, Lucy, I’m sorry to go,” Nannie murmured, hugging and kissing

Lucy. “We may have had our little tiffs but it has done us both good.

By the time I come back we’ll have forgotten all about them. Be sure to

write me every week.”

“Good-bye, Jimmie.” She turned to her grandson.

“Dimmie,” he corrected, adding, “Ain’t I goin’?”

Nannie bent down and kissed him.

“I wish you were, darling,” she whispered.

“I want to go,” wailed Dimmie.

“No, you can’t go now,” she continued in the same whisper. “Your Mamma

won’t let you. But when I come back we’ll ask Papa.”

The child began to cry lustily.

“Good-bye, Miss Powell.” Nannie kissed the newcomer again.

“Now, John.” Nannie drew him slightly apart from the others and raised

her veil. “I’m going to kiss you after all,” she said, putting her arms

around his neck. “Don’t forget me, dear John,” she murmured, sobbing a

little. “And try to get along with Lucy, no matter how hard it is.”

John thrust a slip of paper into her hand.

“You can write me there, until I get a box number, Nannie,” he advised

brokenly.

A porter took her bags and she passed through the gate. Before entering

the train she turned and waved her handkerchief.

“Well, I must go to the office.” John gulped, blowing his nose and

wiping his eyes.

“I’m going to do a little shopping. Won’t you come along, Mrs. Winter?”

Miss Powell invited perfunctorily.

“No, thank you.” Lucy grasped Dimmie’s hand. “I must take this little

boy home.”

* * * * *

Half an hour later, as John’s step was heard in the corridor, Jim,

who was sitting at his table with his face buried in his hands,

straightened himself and took up his drawing pencil.

John entered without any greeting and, going to his desk, began to

examine his mail. After a moment he paused with an air of abstraction,

and, removing from his button hole the flower that Nannie had given

him, locked it in a convenient drawer and returned the key to his

pocket.

Jim worked for some minutes and then rose from his chair.

“I believe I’ll go over to Benton Harbor and see about that material

for Wilson’s next houses. Layard’s say that it would be best for one of

us to look over the stone before cutting, as we can save considerable

on the specifications by taking advantage of the natural rock wherever

possible. It’s certainly worth while spending three days to save thirty

per cent on the shaping expenses.”

“I’ll go over,” offered John quickly.

“Why, there’s no use going for one day. I don’t expect to be back

till--let’s see--today is Wednesday--Thursday--Friday--Saturday--at

least not till Sunday noon.”

“I’ll go,” repeated John. “You said yesterday that you ought to keep a

close eye on that concrete work in the foundations of the other row of

houses we’re building for Wilson. That’s more important than the stone.”

“But I didn’t like to ask you to be away from your family so long,”

protested Jim.

“I’d like the trip,” explained John. “I’m in a state of nervous

fidgets, and a change would do me good.”

“All right. Just as you like,” returned Jim with a curious expression.

“I’ll go home for lunch, and get off at three o’clock,” John continued.

“The drawings and specifications are in that file marked ‘W,’”

indicated Jim. John took the papers and went out.

He was soon in the Rosedene train.

“I’m going across the lake on business and won’t be back till Sunday or

Monday,” he announced when he reached home, coming into the dining room

where Lucy was seated, sewing.

She looked startled, but her only remark was, “All right, John.”

“I’ll pack my suit case now,” he told her, and started upstairs.

“Shall I have luncheon at once?” she called to him.

“No. I haven’t time. I’ll get something on the boat going across,” he

answered over his shoulder.

As he passed Nannie’s room the door was ajar and he saw that the

windows were open and that the room had already been scrubbed and the

bedding hung out to air.

In a few minutes he returned to the lower hall, his bag in his hand.

Lucy was still seated in the dining room but she rose when she heard

his step.

“Are you going, John?” she asked, coming to the hall door and leaning

out. He hastened his pace.

“Good-bye,” he called, going out on the veranda without looking back.

“Good-bye, John.”

She sat down to her sewing again, the tears slowly chasing each other

down her cheeks.

That evening when dinner was served Lucy called Dimmie and began the

meal.

“Where’s Papa?” he inquired.

“Papa’s gone away for a little while, Son.”

“Has he gone where Nannie is?” pursued Dimmie eagerly.

“No--I don’t think so,” said Lucy after a little hesitation.

* * * * *

When Jim left the office for the day, he made his way to a restaurant

where he often dined.

“What shall I bring you, Mr. Sprague?” questioned the waiter who always

served him.

Jim took up the menu listlessly.

“The fish is very nice tonight,” suggested the man.

“I don’t want any fish!” exclaimed Jim with unwonted irritation. “I

don’t want any dinner,” he decided abruptly, noticing that the waiter

was lingering by the table. “Bring me a large cup of black coffee.”

When he had finished his coffee, he paid his bill and went out to the

street. Here he boarded a surface car and was soon at his apartment

house. Reaching his room, he put on a smoking jacket and lighted his

pipe. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and began

slowly pacing up and down the floor.

“He’ll never grade that stone right,” he remarked to the bookcase,

pausing in his walk and relighting his pipe which had gone out.

Suddenly he went to the telephone and took down the receiver.

“Give me Rosedene----” He paused.

“What number did you say?” asked the operator.

“Never mind, thank you,” he responded, hanging up the receiver again.

Going to his wardrobe he exchanged the smoking jacket for a coat, and,

taking his hat, descended in the elevator to the street. It was after

nine o’clock when he found himself in front of a familiar station for

suburban trains.

Entering the building he was soon seated in a departing car. He

alighted at Rosedene and walked in the direction of the Winters’ house.

As he passed it he gazed fixedly at the darkened upstairs windows. Half

a block further on he turned back and repassed the house, still staring

at the darkened panes. Then he continued his way to the station and

from there returned to the city.

Lucy was lying in her room. She wept silently with Dimmie asleep in her

arms.

* * * * *

After breakfast the next morning Dimmie began to search for his hat.

“You don’t need to go to kindergarten, Son. You can stay at home with

Mother if you like,” said Lucy.

“But I want to go,” he argued. “There’s lots of little boys and girls

goes and the teacher is dandy. We have lots of fun.”

“All right, Son. You can go if you’d rather,” consented Lucy sadly,

“but there’s no use in your going over to Mrs. Hamilton’s any more so

early. You can go from here when the wagon passes.”

“But I like to go early,” protested Dimmie. “Mrs. Hamilton always

laughs an’ Stella an’ me play till the wagon comes. It’s too lonesome

here.”

Lucy tied his little cravat and, fixing his hat on properly, allowed

him to depart without further words.

XXXIV

When John returned on Sunday he again found Lucy seated in the dining

room by an open window, a book in her lap.

“Hello!” he greeted, pausing in the doorway and setting down his suit

case.

Lucy looked up.

Going over to her chair, he bent and kissed her forehead lightly. He

seemed to have regained some of his former cheerful spirits. His color

was nearer normal and his eyes were brighter.

“I think we ought to get rid of Katy, John,” advised Lucy that evening

after dinner. “There are not so many in the family now and it will

save money. I don’t really need her. I can do the work without any

difficulty.”

“I don’t want you tied up here at home all the time,” he replied. “You

need a girl.”

“But, John, a servant costs so much and I don’t mind the work a bit.”

“No. We can’t stay shut in the house night and day. We’ll go dotty.”

“All right, John. Just as you say.” Lucy sighed as she spoke.

“I’m sleepy,” said Dimmie yawning.

“All right, Sonny,” she said. “Kiss Papa good night.” And Lucy led the

child away.

John entered the living room, and, seating himself at the piano,

attempted to play the accompaniment to _Ouvrez tes yeux_.

When Lucy came downstairs again after putting Dimmie to bed, John rose.

“Let’s walk over to the Hamiltons’ for a few minutes,” he suggested.

“Why----” she began, and hesitated, adding hastily. “All right, John.

Let me get a scarf from my room and speak to Katy.”

In her room she scrutinized her face in the mirror. Tears rolled down

her pale cheeks. She wiped the tears viciously away, and, seizing a

coarse wash cloth, rubbed her cheeks fiercely until a little color

appeared in them.

When they arrived at the Hamiltons’ home the doctor met them at the

door.

“Come in,” he invited cordially. “Mrs. Hamilton is putting Stella to

bed. She’ll be down in a minute. How are you feeling by this time, Mrs.

Winter? You’re looking better.”

“I’m feeling all right, thank you, Doctor.”

Doctor Hamilton pushed forward chairs for his visitors and they seated

themselves.

“Your mother went away yesterday, didn’t she?” he continued. “Is she

coming back soon?”

“Oh, probably not till next summer, anyway,” put in John.

“She’s been gone several days. She’s going to be married soon,”

supplemented Lucy.

John gave her a quick accusing glance.

“Indeed,” commented Doctor Hamilton.

Mrs. Hamilton appeared in the doorway.

“Come on into the study, Mr. Winter, and smoke a cigar. We’ll leave the

ladies to talk gossip,” urged the Doctor, rising.

“You mean leave the ladies in order _to_ talk gossip.” Mrs. Hamilton

laughed as she straightened her husband’s cravat.

It was after ten o’clock when John and Lucy reached home.

“Let’s go to a show tomorrow night,” he proposed as he unlocked the

front door. “I’ll get the tickets when I go down town.”

“All right, John,” Lucy acquiesced without demur.

“We ought to get out more than we’ve been in the habit of doing,” he

went on. “It’s a good thing to know more people. We have practically no

friends at all.”

“I don’t----” Lucy ventured. Then, checking herself, “We have a few

good friends, John.”

“I don’t know who they are. I don’t count Jim Sprague as a friend any

more, and Miss Storms, that you used to be so crazy about, has shown

herself to be a two-faced cat. The Hamiltons are all right in their

way, but----”

“I don’t think you are just to Miss Storms, John. She----”

“Now, see here, Lucy,” John’s face began to grow red, “if you are going

to stick up for that woman after all she’s done, we might as well

understand each other right now. I simply won’t have you----”

“Don’t be angry, John,” pleaded Lucy humbly. “I won’t say any more

about her.”

“I don’t want you to have any more to do with her, either,” he dictated

with suppressed vehemence.

“All right, John,” Lucy submitted again.

* * * * *

The following Sunday Mrs. Hamilton invited John and Lucy to tea.

“I suppose we might as well accept,” John had remarked when Lucy told

him of the invitation. “We’ve no place else to go.”

They arrived early. The summer was established and a crimson sunset

ended a brilliant day. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton were seated on the porch

and both rose as their visitors came up the walk.

“We were enjoying the view over our park,” Mrs. Hamilton observed

facetiously, nodding toward the vacant ground which permitted an

unobstructed view of the sky, and extending her hand as she spoke.

“Yes, indeed. There are worse places to live than Rosedene,” declared

the doctor, pulling forward a rocking chair for Lucy.

“You used to stay at home so closely,” Mrs. Hamilton told her guests

when the party was seated, “but now you seem to go out ’most every

evening, and we want to see something of you.”

“How pretty!” interrupted Lucy uneasily, calling their attention to the

thin new moon as it rose above the straggling houses.

“I suppose you are missing your mother,” Mrs. Hamilton resumed when the

conversation paused again. “It was so long since you had seen her. I

envied you having her with you. I haven’t seen my own mother for over

two years. I was surprised when the doctor told me Mrs. Merwent was

going to be married, though I don’t know why I should have been. She

is certainly a wonderfully well preserved woman. I suppose you and Mr.

Winter will go to the wedding.”

“I don’t think so.” Lucy glanced at John and Doctor Hamilton, who had

withdrawn a little from the two women and were smoking together.

“I don’t care much for the Hamiltons,” John commented, as he and Lucy

were on their way home. “I want to make friends that are not so dull

and commonplace. Their idea of high-brow art goes about as far as

the pictures on the popular magazine covers. I think I’ll join the

Craftsman’s Club. Mathews of Layard’s belongs and he’s offered several

times to put my name up. It will cost fifty dollars a year dues. A lot

of artists belong and it would be a good place to spend an evening now

and then.”

As they were preparing to retire John returned again to the subject of

society.

“I think we ought to give a little dinner, Lucy,” he said. “We have

been several places and we ought to do something to pay them all

back. Besides, in that way you gradually get a larger circle of

acquaintances.”

“All right, John,” agreed Lucy, “if you would like to--if you think we

can afford it. I’ve no dinner gown, you know.”

“Oh, go ahead and get something. We’ll make up the list of people we

want tomorrow night,” he insisted.

* * * * *

The next evening at dinner he burst forth in a sudden impatient tirade.

“What’s the matter with Katy, Lucy?” he exclaimed. “Since your mother’s

not here to push her along she seems to have forgotten how to cook!

This is certainly what I call a thin dinner.”

“It isn’t Katy, John. We have just the same cooking that we used to

have before Mother came. I thought better to cut down our expenses.”

Lucy colored as she spoke, but looked steadfastly at him. “Well, _I’m_

not ready to starve yet to save a penny, even if you are!”

After the meal they considered the list of invitations for the dinner.

“Miss Powell we want, of course,” John began. “I’ll think of a man

for her. Oh, yes! There’s Mathews, Layard’s head bookkeeper. He’s a

bachelor. Then there’s the Hamiltons. I suppose they’ll have to come.

Miss Storms we don’t want--we don’t know many people, Lucy. Let’s

see---- There’s Miss Lyle, and Mrs. Morris, too. They came to the tea

you gave for Nannie, didn’t they? We must invite Mrs. Morris’s husband,

too. I know him slightly. And we can find a man for Miss Lyle. Oh, yes.

Jim Sprague. I’d rather not invite him, but I’m afraid people will

talk. He used to practically live here. I guess we can’t get out of

it. And we mustn’t leave out Nora Stimpson, although she’s seemed to

forget that we are alive since we came out here. But she’s still at the

Art School. I saw her the other day on the car. She’s on the faculty

now. I’ll have to think of a man for her. Why, it’ll be quite a little

dinner--just about the right size!”

* * * * *

The succeeding morning at the office, John handed Jim an envelope.

“Lucy is giving a little informal dinner,” he explained.

Jim read the invitation and put it in his pocket.

“I’m afraid I can’t come,” he observed after a moment’s consideration.

“I was going to run over our Layard’s materials bills with Mathews

Wednesday night.”

“Mr. Mathews is coming, too,” stated John stiffly, “so he won’t be able

to work Wednesday night.”

“I had planned to see Wilson later in the evening,” pursued Jim,

flushing. “He thinks he may want still another row of cottages built in

the spring. However, I’ll see and let you know a little later.” And Jim

left the office.

He took a car that passed Miss Storms’ apartment. It was a warm day.

“I hardly expected to find you in,” Jim remarked as he greeted her.

She smiled.

“You shouldn’t have found me, but the heat was stronger than my good

resolutions.”

They began to talk earnestly.

“Thank you for coming, Jim,” she told him after a short conversation.

He had risen and taken his hat. “I’m not invited. In fact things look

as though I were dumped. I don’t know all--but you go.” She rose and

laid her hand on his arm. “Don’t lose sight of that dear child,” she

added seriously.

Jim nodded his head.

“You might call me up before the evening is over,” he suggested.

“Neither one of them will answer the ’phone at a dinner party. It will

give me a chance to get away in case my welcome is worn out.”

A half an hour later he entered the office.

“I think I’ll be able to come after all,” he said to John.

XXXV

The day before the dinner Lucy went shopping and purchased a ready-made

dinner dress and some rouge.

“You’re looking so well, dear Mrs. Winter,” remarked Miss Powell, the

next night when the guests were arriving.

Lucy’s gown was a white demi-toilette and her hair was dressed high.

Her cheeks glowed brightly.

When Jim came he shook hands with kindly formality.

“I’m glad to see you looking better,” he said to Lucy.

“Thank you,” she replied, smiling.

When the dinner was over and the ladies had retired to the living room,

Doctor Hamilton, who had moved next to Jim, offered him a cigar.

“You’re getting thin, young man,” the doctor observed. “I expect you’re

working too hard.”

Jim took the cigar.

“See here, Doctor,” he replied in a joking tone, “you can’t get a new

patient here. I’m feeling as fine as silk.”

“Well, don’t work too hard.” Doctor Hamilton lighted his own cigar.

Soon the hired waiter came to the table.

“A telephone message for Mr. Sprague,” he announced.

“Now you’re trying to make me jealous,” laughed the doctor. “If you

were a colleague I’d accuse you of trying to make us think you had more

patients than I.”

Jim rose and went to the hall.

“Hello!” he called, taking up the receiver. “This is Mr. Sprague

speaking.”

“I’ve called you up as you asked, Jim.” It was Miss Storms’ voice. “Is

everything all right?”

“I’ll be there in about half an hour,” he answered, his tone louder

than necessary, and hung up the receiver.

“I’m sorry to interrupt such a pleasant evening.” He approached the

table and addressed John. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave.”

“Excuse me,” apologized John to the others, and he stepped to the

living room door.

“Lucy!” he motioned to her. “Mr. Sprague is called away. He’s going.”

“I’m so sorry you couldn’t stay,” she declared, extending her hand.

“I too,” responded Jim, “but it was very nice of you to let me come.”

Taking his hat and coat he went out to catch the train.

“Excuse me a minute.” Lucy smiled to the other ladies. “I must run up

and see if my baby is asleep.”

Once in her room she sat down by the dressing table and cried a little,

her face hidden in her hands. Suddenly she lifted her head.

After carefully examining her eyes in the mirror she put a tiny bit

more rouge on her cheeks, patted her hair, and returned to her guests.

When the male visitors joined the ladies, John seated himself by Miss

Powell. She wore an old gold evening gown that displayed her handsome

shoulders, and she turned her dark eyes on him.

“I hear you are quite an artist, Mr. Winter,” she commented agreeably.

“Mrs. Merwent told me you were responsible for these lovely pictures.”

She nodded toward the water colors on the wall. “I’ve admired them so

much.”

“Well, Miss Powell, ‘artist’ is a big word, but I can say that I am

interested in art.”

“You are too modest, Mr. Winter. I can’t call myself an artist,

certainly, but I appreciate good work when I see it.”

“I might have done something, but it’s my fate to design cheap houses

instead of painting great pictures, Miss Powell. I attended the Art

School here and I thought of going to Europe afterwards, but I married

and--well, here I am.”

His listener’s dark eyes were sympathetic.

“The beauty of a Corot, or an Inness,” he continued, “cannot fail to

thrill one, even if he is bound down to humdrum tasks. I have always

held that it is the artist’s business to create beauty--simply and

purely. There’s little enough of it in common life.”

“That’s just how I feel, Mr. Winter.”

“I don’t approve of the didactic spirit of some of the modern schools,”

he ended. “For me art must be purely idealistic.”

John met Miss Powell’s gaze earnestly.

Lucy, who was talking with Mr. Mathews quite near, overheard snatches

of this conversation, and from time to time her glance sought John and

his companion. Miss Powell noticed her preoccupation.

“We’re talking about art, Mrs. Winter,” she volunteered at length.

“Don’t you adore it?”

“I’m afraid I’m deficient in the finer feelings, Miss Powell,” answered

Lucy somewhat waspishly, and turned again to Mr. Mathews.

Miss Powell looked at John and lifted her brows.

“I understand and sympathize with your appreciation of sentiment and

beauty, Mr. Winter,” she resumed in her low, rich voice. “Thank you for

telling me of it.”

“We must talk again some time, Miss Powell,” declared John with

feeling. “It was so good of you to come this evening. We must get

better acquainted.”

“Thank you. I think so, too,” she agreed with her most brilliant smile.

When the little party broke up there were murmurs of pleasure from the

guests.

“I’ve had the best time. I’m coming out again right away,” declared

Miss Stimpson, who had been talking with John all the latter part of

the evening.

“Do,” he smiled. “We’ll love to have you.”

“I’m so glad to see you and Mr. Winter going out some at last!”

exclaimed Mrs. Morris to Lucy. “It’s a good thing to get out

occasionally. You must come to us some evening.”

* * * * *

The next morning at breakfast John was in good spirits.

“I think it went off all right,” he remarked approvingly, “but you

shouldn’t be so abrupt to people as you were to Miss Powell. You must

cultivate tact.”

“I think Miss Powell’s nice,” decided Dimmie, spoon in air.

“You’ve got good taste, Son,” commented his father, opening the morning

paper.

When John and Lucy came to make up the list of guests for their next

dinner, Jim was excepted.

“Jim Sprague acted last time like it was a condescension for him to

come, so we’ll just leave him off altogether.” John frowned as he spoke.

Lucy was silent.

“We’ll invite Mathews, of course. He’s a fine fellow. I’m going to

bring him out some evening to stay over night.”

“I wish----” began Lucy, then stopped. She stared at John and as she

did so she seemed to shrink up, physically as well as spiritually, and

her pupils widened. John was busy with the list and did not appear to

notice.

“I’ll bring Mathews out some night,” he said again.

“All right, John,” she replied quite naturally.

Dimmie’s manner was perplexed.

“Why don’t Uncle Jim ever come any more?” he demanded.

Neither of his parents answered him.

Several times during the weeks that followed the query was repeated.

“Dimmie, don’t ask that again!” commanded John angrily on one occasion.

“He doesn’t come because he doesn’t want to.”

* * * * *

On the first of the month the mail brought an unusual number of bills,

the largest of which was that of the caterer from whom Lucy had several

times ordered cakes and ices. After dinner, while John was still seated

at the table, she went to the desk in the living room and took them

out. Coming back into the dining room, she laid them before him without

speaking.

“Well?” John glanced up at her with a resentful air.

“John, _don’t_ you think I ought to send Katy away? We _oughtn’t_ to

spend so much money.” There was a tremor in Lucy’s voice.

“See here, Lucy, if I’m going to have to stand for curtain lectures

every time I’m at home, I’m going out.” “I’m not giving curtain

lectures, John.”

“Well, I’m going out anyway. The atmosphere of this house is enough to

drive a man to anything.”

He went into the hall and seized his hat.

* * * * *

Lucy and Dimmie were in Lucy’s room alone. Lucy bent her head and

pressed her cheek to the little boy’s hair.

“Oh, Dimmie, Dimmie,” she said.

“You can tell me a story,” he replied consolingly.

* * * * *

About one o’clock John came in. Lucy had retired, but she was still

awake, and the night lamp in the adjoining room, where Dimmie slept,

was burning.

John’s step, as he mounted the stairs, was halting. He entered the room

unsteadily, and did not greet Lucy as he opened the electric switch.

When he turned toward her and she saw his flushed cheeks and dull

bloodshot eyes, she buried her face in the pillows.

He swore over his refractory collar as he took it off, but refrained

from addressing her.

Long after he lay, sleeping heavily on the pillow beside her, she

remained with wide open eyes, staring at the night lamp.

XXXVI

It was more than a month after Nannie’s departure when Lucy visited the

office again.

For the trip to town, she selected a morning when John had mentioned

that Jim was going out of the city for several days. She entered the

office timidly. John was working at an interior decoration scheme. He

glanced up as she came in but did not trouble himself with more than

a greeting. She went to the window and gazed out for a time, then sat

down at Jim’s desk.

Suddenly Jim himself opened the door and came briskly into the office.

“I decided to wait till next week----” he began. Then, catching sight

of Lucy, he stopped.

She rose.

The even red color flowed up over his face and he stood undecided an

instant. Then he shook hands formally.

“Are you keeping well this hot weather?” he inquired stiffly.

“Very well, thank you.”

“And how is Dimmie?”

“He’s well, too, thank you,” she replied.

“Excuse me. I must see a man at Layard’s before lunch,” he explained

awkwardly, going out.

He did not return.

“Jim Sprague is growing more peculiar every day,” John complained to

Lucy, as the sound of Jim’s steps died away. “He’s become impossible to

get along with, even in business.”

Lucy did not speak. She sat down near John, her face averted.

“I was going to tell you last night,” he continued, “but didn’t. He has

offered me his share of the business--at a low price--in fact almost

nothing--and on liberal terms: time payments. He has an offer from

Layard’s and wants to get out. It’s far and away a better position than

I had with them. That shows what kind of a friend _he_ was.”

Lucy stared at the papers on the table before her.

“I think you’d better buy it,” she advised at last.

“I think so too,” John agreed. “I couldn’t do it alone because I’m very

badly in debt now----” Lucy looked up at him startled--“but Mathews

thinks he’s had enough of bookkeeping. He’s been at it fifteen years

now, and has got something laid by, and he’ll go in with me. His

experience with Layard’s will be very useful to us. What do you think?”

Lucy shivered slightly.

“I think that will be the best scheme,” she declared without hesitation.

“All right,” concluded John, “I’ll begin to make plans that way, then.

Now you sit here a minute, Lucy, while I go across the hall to a

lawyer’s office about this contract, and then we’ll go and get lunch

together.” And John passed into the corridor.

Lucy rose again and, walking rather unsteadily to Jim’s desk, laid her

hands softly upon it. She rested so for a minute. Then she went slowly

to the window opposite the street and gazed across the roofs to the

tall building in which Layard’s offices were situated.

THE END

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Spelling errors and typos were corrected.

A new Table of Contents was created for this edition.

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the

public domain.

Text between _underlines_ represent italics.