PAPER LACE
It was two days after Jane promised to marry Frederick Towne that Evans
bought a Valentine for her.
The shops were full of valentines--many of them of paper lace--the
fragile old-fashioned things that had become a new fashion. They had
forget-me-nots on them and hearts with golden arrows, and fat pink
cupids.
Evans found it hard to choose. He stood before them, smiling. And he
could see Jane smile as she read the enchanting verse of the one he
finally selected:
“Roses red, my dear,
And violets blue--
Honey’s sweet, my dear,
And so are you.”
As he walked up F Street to his office, his heart was light. It was
one of the lovely days that hint of spring. Old Washingtonians know
that such weather does not last--that March winds must blow, and storms
must come. But they grasp the joy of the moment--masquerade in carnival
spirit--buy flowers from the men at the street corners--sweep into
their favorite confectioner’s to order cool drinks, the women seek
their milliner’s and come forth bonneted in spring beauty--the men
drive to the links--and look things over.
Oh, what a world it is--this world of Washington when Winter welcomes,
for the moment, Spring!
Evans wished that Jane were there to see. To let him buy flowers for
her--ices. He wondered if the time would come when he might buy her
a spring hat. Well, why not? If things went like this with him! He
knew he was getting back. He could see it in the eyes of women. Where
once there had been pity--was now coquettish challenge. He was having
invitations. He accepted only a few, but they came increasingly.
And clients came. Not many, but enough to point the way to success. He
had sold more of the old books. His mother’s milk farm was becoming a
fashionable fad.
Edith Towne had helped to bring Mrs. Follette’s wares before her
friends. At all hours of the day they drove out, Edith with them. “It
is such an adorable place,” she told Evans, “and your--mother! Isn’t
she absolutely herself? Selling milk with that empress air of hers. I
simply love her.”
Evans liked Edith Towne immensely. Even more than Baldy he divined
her loneliness. “In that great house there isn’t a soul for real
companionship. Towne’s eaten up with egotism, and the cousin is an
echo.”
Edith asked herself out to dinner very often. “It is perfect with just
the four of us,” she told Mrs. Follette, and that lady, flattered
almost to tears, said, “Telephone whenever you can come and take
pot-luck.”
Edith had planned to have dinner with them to-night. Evans took an
early train to Sherwood. When he reached home Edith and his mother were
on the porch and the Towne car stood before the gate.
“I’ve got to go back,” Edith explained. “Uncle Fred came in from
Chicago an hour or two ago and telephoned that he must see me.”
“Baldy will be broken-hearted,” Evans told her, smiling.
“I couldn’t get him up. I tried, but they said he had left the office.
I thought I’d bring him out with me.” She kissed Mrs. Follette. “I’ll
come again soon, dear lady. And you must tell me when you are tired of
me.”
Evans went to the car with her, and came back to find his mother in an
exalted mood. “Now if you could marry a girl like Edith Towne.”
“_Edith_,” he laughed lightly. “Mother, are you blind? She and Baldy
are mad about each other.”
“Of course she isn’t serious. A boy like that.”
“Isn’t she? I’ll say she is.” Evans went charging up the stairs to
dress for dinner. “I’ll be down presently.”
“Baldy may be late; we won’t wait for him,” his mother called after him.
The dining-room at Castle Manor had a bare waxed floor, an old
drop-leaf table of dark mahogany, deer’s antlers over the mantel, and
some candles in sconces.
Old Mary did her best to follow the rather formal service on which Mrs.
Follette insisted. The food was simple, but well-cooked, and there was
always a soup and a salad.
It was not until they reached the salad course that they heard the
sound of Baldy’s car. He burst in at the front door, as if he battered
it down, stormed through the hall, and entered the dining-room like a
whirlwind.
“Jane’s going to be married,” he cried, “and she’s going to marry
Frederick Towne!”
Evans half-rose from his chair. Everything turned black and he sat
down. There was a loud roaring in his ears. It was like taking
ether--with the darkness and the roaring.
When things cleared he found that neither his mother nor Baldy had
noticed his agitation. His mother was asking quick questions. “Who told
you? Does Edith know?”
Baldy threw himself in a chair. “Mr. Towne got back from Chicago this
afternoon. Called me up and said he wanted me to come over at once to
his office. I went, and he gave me a letter from Jane. Said he thought
it was better for him to bring it, and then he could explain.”
He threw the note across the table to Mrs. Follette. “Will you read
it? I’m all in. Drove like the dickens coming out. Towne wanted me
to go home with him to dinner. Wanted to begin the brother-in-law
business right away before I got my breath. But I left. Oh, the darned
peacock!” Jane would have known Baldy’s mood. The tempest-gray eyes,
the chalk-white face.
“But don’t you like it, Baldy?”
“Like it? Oh, read that note. Does it sound like Jane? I ask you, does
it sound like _Jane_?”
It did not sound in the least like Jane. Not the Jane that Evans and
Baldy knew.
“Baldy, dear. Mr. Towne will tell you all about it. I am going to
marry him as soon as Judy is better. I know you will be surprised,
but Mr. Towne is just wonderful, and it will be such a good thing for
all of us. Mr. Towne will tell you how dreadfully ill Judy is. He
wants to do everything for her, and that will be such a help to Bob.
“And so we will live happy ever after. Oh, you blessed boy, you know
how I love you. Send a wire, and say that it is all right. Tell Evans
and Mrs. Follette. They are my dearest friends and will always be.”
She signed herself:
“Loving you more than ever,
“JANE.”
Mrs. Follette looked up from the letter, took off her reading glasses,
and said complacently, “I think it is very nice for her.” The dear lady
quite basked in the thought of her intimate friendship with the fiancée
of Frederick Towne.
But the two men did not bask.
“_Nice, for Jane?_” they threw the sentences at her.
“Oh, can’t you see why she has done it?” Baldy demanded. He caught up
the note, pointing an accusing finger as he read certain phrases. “_It
will be such a good thing for all of us ... he wants to do everything
for her ... it will be such a help to Bob...._”
“Doesn’t that show,” Baldy demanded furiously, “she’s doing it because
Judy and Bob are hard up and Towne can help--I know Jane.”
Evans knew her. Hadn’t he said to her not long ago, “You’d tie up the
broken wings of every wounded bird.... You’d give crutches to the lame,
and food to the hungry....”
“I don’t see why you should object,” Mrs. Follette was saying; “it will
be a fine thing for her. She will be Mrs. Frederick Towne!”
“I’d rather have her Jane Barnes for the rest of her life. Do you know
Towne’s reputation? Any woman can flatter him into a love affair. A fat
Lothario.” Baldy did not mince the words.
“But he hasn’t married any of them,” said Mrs. Follette triumphantly.
She held to the ancient and honorable theory that the woman a man
marries need not worry about past love affairs since she had been paid
the compliment of at least legal permanency.
“But Jane,” Baldy said, brokenly, “you know her. She’s a child, a
darling child. With all her dreams----” He ran his fingers through his
hair with the effect of a ruffled eagle.
Evans’ lips were dry. “What did you say to Towne?”
“Oh, what _could_ I say? That I was surprised, and all that. Something
about hoping they’d be happy. Then I beat it and got here as fast as I
could. I had to talk it over with you people or--burst.” His eyes met
Evans’ and found there the sympathy he sought. “It’s a rotten trick.”
“Yes,” said Evans, “rotten.”
“I think,” said Mrs. Follette, “that you must both see it is best.”
Yet her voice was troubled. Through her complacency had penetrated the
thought of what Jane’s engagement might mean to Evans. Yet, it might,
on the other hand, be a blessing in disguise. There were other women,
richer--who would help him in his career. And in time he would forget
Jane.
Old Mary gave them their coffee. “Shall we walk for a bit, Baldy?”
Evans said, when at last they rose.
The two men made their way towards the pine grove. The twilight sky
was a deep purple with a thin sickle of a moon and a breathless star.
And there in the little grove under the purple sky Evans said to Baldy,
“I love her.”
“I know. I wish to God you had her.”
“Perhaps she has chosen wisely. Towne can make things--easy.”
“But you should hear what Edith says about him. He’s an old grouch
around the house. And you know Janey? Like a bird--singing.”
_Like a bird singing!_
“Baldy,” Evans said, “I don’t agree with you that it was--the money.
That may have helped in her decision. But I think she cares----”
“For Towne--nonsense.”
“It isn’t nonsense. She knows nothing of love. She may have taken the
shadow for the substance. And he can be very--charming.” It wrung his
heart to say it. But almost with clairvoyance he saw the truth.
When they returned to the house Baldy found a message from Edith. He
was to call her up.
“Uncle Frederick has just told me,” she said, “that Jane is to be my
aunt. Isn’t it joyful?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, Towne’s all right. But not for Jane.”
“I see. But he’s really in love with her, poor old duck. Talked about
it all through dinner. He’s going to try awfully hard to make her
happy.”
“Then you approve?”
He heard her gay laugh over the wire. “It will be nice--to have you--in
the family. I’ll be your niece-in-law.”
“You’ll be nothing of the kind.”
“You can’t help being--Uncle Baldy. Isn’t that--delicious? And now,
will you come in to-night and sit by my fire? Uncle Frederick is out.”
“I’ve sat too often by your fire.”
“Too often for your own peace of mind? I know that. And I’m glad of
it.” Again he heard a ripple of laughter.
“It isn’t a thing to laugh at.”
She hesitated, then said in a different tone, “I am not laughing. But I
want you by my fire to-night.”
It was late when Evans went up-stairs. He had spent the evening with
his mother, discussing with her some matters where his legal knowledge
helped. They did not speak of Jane. Their avoidance of the subject
showed their preoccupation with it. But neither dared approach it.
On the bedside table in Evans’ room lay the valentine he had bought
for Jane. There it was, with its cupids and bleeding hearts--its
forget-me-nots--and golden darts.
Of course he could not send it now. He couldn’t ever send another
valentine to Jane. She belonged to Towne.
It didn’t seem credible. It was one of the things--like war--that men
refused to believe could ever happen. Yet it had happened.
After this Jane would be out of his life--utterly. It was all very well
to talk of friendship. But he wouldn’t be her friend. He didn’t want
to see her. He didn’t want to hear her voice. He thought he should die
when he had to meet her as Mrs. Frederick Towne.
But what was he going to do without her? What...?
He paced the room restlessly. Ahead of him had been always the hope
that he might win her. And now, she was won, and not by him. It
was--unthinkable.
His excitement increased. The valentine seemed to mock him as it lay
there fragile in its loveliness.
“Roses red, my dear,
And violets blue,
Honey’s sweet, my dear....”
He reached out his hand for it and tore it into shreds. Paper lace!...
Paper lace!...