MRS. JOHNSON CARTER sat in the old rocker in the library, rocking
nervously, her feet tapping the floor. Her usually placid face had of
late become as troubled as an inland lake assailed by contrary winds.
It was growing full of new puckers and furrows between the eyes.
She crossed and uncrossed her hands in her lap, and glanced absently
from time to time toward the window. She happened to be alone in the
house except for Miranda. An occasional sound from the region of the
kitchen informed her that the colored maid of all work was at the helm;
but not even the recklessness of Miranda’s slams and thumps moved Mrs.
Carter from her chair. She was waiting for some one to come in--some
one to whom she could unbosom herself.
As the time passed and she heard the monotonous ticking of the clock
on the mantel, she was seized with a kind of panic. She dreaded Mr.
Carter’s arrival. If he came first, she might break down and tell him,
and she was afraid to tell him. She wanted Daniel. Unconsciously, in
her hour of need, she always turned to Daniel now. William had been
her mainstay, but it was obvious that William could not be her mainstay
any longer. The old saw about a son marrying a wife held good in his
case.
She waited, and the clock ticked tumultuously, as clocks do when you
wait. She began to rock violently again, and she nearly upset herself
by a tremendous start when the door finally opened. She thought it was
Mr. Carter, but it was only Emily with some books under her arm.
Emily came to the door of the library and looked in. She had long ago
obeyed her father’s order and washed her face. It was guiltless even of
becoming makeup, but she had an unnatural look to her mother for all
that.
“What’s the matter, mama?” she asked. “Where’s Fanchon? Has Leigh come
in?”
Mrs. Carter shook her head. She had stopped rocking and was staring at
her daughter. Emily saw it and retreated.
“I think I’ll go up-stairs,” she said hurriedly. “I passed the exams,
mama. Mr. Brinsted says I can go to high school in September.”
A gleam of momentary pleasure shot across Mrs. Carter’s worried face,
but she did not withdraw her fixed gaze.
“Emmy, you come here,” she said suddenly. “I want to look at your
dress.”
Emily backed.
“Oh, I want to go up-stairs, mama. I’m hot and tired. Mr. Brinsted’s so
prosy. Sallie Payson says--”
Mrs. Carter rose and made a dive at the hem of her daughter’s skirt.
“Well, I declare!” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t think what made it hang
like that! You’ve been taking it in on every seam to make it narrower.”
Emily pulled away, blushing.
“It was just horrid--all out of style, mama!” she cried. “I hate to--to
look like a frump!”
Mrs. Carter straightened up from her consideration of the skirt.
“Where did you get those striped silk stockings, Emily Carter?”
Emily, backing toward the door, looked sullen.
“Dan gave me the money,” she answered shortly. “I wanted something like
other girls.”
“I never saw such awful stockings in my life!” replied her mother.
“Your legs look like barbers’ poles. You take them off, or I’ll have to
tell your father.”
Emily grew tearful.
“I--I think you’re real mean, mama. I hate to be a frump!”
“Who called you a frump?” her mother asked severely.
“N-no one--but Fanchon says the people here are all provincials and
frumps--all of them!” stormed Emily. “And I think we’re awful frumps
ourselves!”
Mrs. Carter gazed at her in a dazed way; then she retreated to her
rocking-chair.
“Emily, you go up-stairs and rip those inside bastes out of that skirt.
It looks frightful; it hangs all up and down in waves! And listen--”
Emily, still sniffing violently, was half-way to the stairs.
“Listen, Emily, you take off those stockings, too. They’re vulgar. If
you don’t, I’ll have to do it myself.”
“I don’t see why I can’t wear them!” Emily stormed. “I’m grown up, I’m
sixteen, and Fanchon has a pair like them.”
Mrs. Carter flushed.
“You go up-stairs and take them off!” she cried, with her first dash of
anger. “I don’t want my girl to look like Fanchon!”
Emily grasped the banisters and shouted.
“She’s lovely; she’s stylish! I think you and papa are just awful to
her. You’re setting Willie against her, too. Leigh thinks so; he says
he’d do anything, he’d die for her!”
Mrs. Carter looked a little startled, but she rallied.
“Leigh’s only eighteen,” she observed dryly. “It’s very easy to die
for people at eighteen! You’re impertinent to your mother, Emily. Go
up-stairs and study for an hour. Mind you take off those stockings!”
Emily began to cry. She cried easily, large tears rolling out of her
light-blue eyes. She went up-stairs looking like Niobe, and she cried
all the time she was taking off her stockings.
Mrs. Carter stopped rocking and thought. She thought deeply. Emily’s
outburst and Leigh’s devotion were such obvious things, and yet--
She lifted her handkerchief and pressed it against her trembling lips.
Was William really being set against his wife? Mrs. Carter was a good
woman, and the thought distressed her.
She did not resume her rocking, she sat motionless, looking straight
ahead of her, her face red. She was still sitting there when Daniel,
returning early from court, stopped at the door and looked in.
“What’s the matter, mother?” he asked pleasantly. “You look out of
sorts.”
“Oh, Dan, please come in here a moment; I want to talk to you.”
Daniel looked a little surprised, but he came in obediently, putting a
pile of law-books and papers on the table as he sat down to listen.
His mother saw the papers.
“Did you win that case, Dan?”
His face lit up.
“Yes. Just heard the verdict. We’ve got it, mother!”
She flushed with pleasure.
“Dan, the judge says you’ll be a great man some day. You’re a born
orator!”
“Nonsense!” said Daniel, but he blushed.
It seemed to his mother’s anxious eyes that he was less worn and tired
than usual; but her mind was full of other things.
“Dan,” she began in a low, horrified voice, “have you seen anything? I
mean--Fanchon and that--that man?”
Daniel shook his head.
“I’m too busy, mother.”
Mrs. Carter sank back in her rocking-chair and looked weak.
“I saw them this morning. I’d been to market. Mrs. Payson came along
in her new limousine, and she stopped and picked me up. I don’t know
why it had to happen so, but the chauffeur took the short cut for this
house--you know, the little lane behind the Methodist church.”
She paused for breath, and Daniel nodded. He was very grave now.
“As we turned the corner we both saw them--I mean Mrs. Payson and
I--and of course the chauffeur did, too, come to think of it. Fanchon
was talking to that man--I think his name’s Corwin.”
“Well, mother, if she knows him, perhaps she had to speak to him.”
“Speak to him? They were walking up and down in that out-of-the-way
corner, and they were quarreling. I’m sure they were quarreling. They
didn’t notice us.”
“Quarreling?” Daniel laughed. “I thought you were going to say that he
was making love to her.”
“It’s just the same thing--the way they looked. Mrs. Payson thought so,
too. Daniel, there’s talk about them; I know there is! What shall I do?”
“Don’t you think you’d better leave it alone, mother?” Daniel
suggested. “I’m not sure that we’re not to blame. Fanchon seems to
think we are.”
“You’re not taking her part, are you, Dan? Emily--that child’s
ridiculous, she’s copying her--Emily says we’re setting Willie against
her.”
Daniel smiled.
“I’m afraid Emmy’s right,” he said quietly. “It’s too bad, mother.”
“We never meant to do that--I mean your father and I!” cried Mrs.
Carter with emotion. “I can’t see why those two children adore her so.
Emmy says Leigh would die for her!” she added with a tremulous laugh.
“She’s got Leigh twisted about her finger--that’s true enough,” said
Daniel, smiling grimly. “I found a poem of his the other day. It
was addressed to ‘my soul-mate’! The mate was plainly Fanchon. Poor
Leigh--he’ll survive it!”
“I don’t think Willie really cares about her! I’ve been watching and
watching. He’s sickened of it all, poor dear boy! I know he’s always
loved Virginia Denbigh,” she added with conviction.
Daniel was silent for a moment, and then he spoke with determination.
“He has no right to care for Virginia or any one now but this poor
girl. He’s married her, and--” He paused, and added more quietly:
“Mother, I think she needs him.”
“There! She’s got you on her side with those--those fawn eyes of hers!”
Daniel laughed.
“She calls me her enemy,” he replied dryly.
Mrs. Carter looked exasperated.
“That’s just like her! She’s so absurd, so stagy--in a quiet family
like ours, too! She makes me hot all over.” She shuddered. “I can’t
forget that dance and those ministers.”
“Wasn’t it rather biblical, mother?” asked Daniel, and for the first
time he laughed happily.
Mrs. Carter rose from her rocking-chair and walked absently to the
window, blinking a little as she looked out into the sunshine. She
sighed.
“Daniel, do you think I ought to tell your father?”
“Tell him what, mother?”
“About Fanchon and that man behind the church.”
“Good Heavens, no!”
“I’ve always told your father things that--that concerned us all.”
“Mother, you know what father would do--he’d storm at William, and
William’s right on edge now. For Heaven’s sake, let them alone--those
two, I mean!”
She drew a breath of relief.
“I’d rather not tell,” she confessed; “only I felt--I felt as if I
should.”
“What good would it do!” her son asked her gravely. “It would only make
matters worse.”
“But, Danny”--she called him Danny sometimes, as she had when he was
two years old--“she’s Willie’s wife, and she’s being talked about!”
“Hush!” said Daniel, lifting a warning hand.
Unheard by either of them, the front door had opened and closed.
Fanchon crossed the hall lightly, her quick ear catching their voices.
She came to the door now and stood there with flashing eyes.
“You were talking about me,” she said with her amazing and terrible
frankness. “I heard you!”
“Oh, good gracious!” Mrs. Carter fled hastily to the door that opened
into the kitchen pantry. “I’ve got to go and see Miranda,” she panted,
and went out and shut the door.
Daniel, left alone, rose from his chair. He was flushed, but his eyes
twinkled.
“We can’t help it, Fanchon,” he said amiably. “You’re the kind, you
know. You don’t leave any neutrals in your territory.”
She came in and flung her hat down on the table, uncovering her lovely,
spirited head. She was dressed in a pale-yellow, clinging garment
that seemed to reveal every line of her small figure, and certainly
displayed her ankles, in silk stockings as amazing as Emily’s.
“You’re awfully good people,” she said bitterly. “_Mon Dieu_! I’d
rather meet some bad ones--who’d let me alone. You’re helping to make
my husband hate me!”
Daniel’s face sobered.
“You’re doing William an injustice,” he said quietly. “I’m sure he
doesn’t hate you. I’m very sure, too, that I’m not trying to make him.”
She lifted her eyes slowly to his face and scanned it. Then she bit her
lip.
“No, I don’t think you are,” she replied with emphasis; “but your
mother does, and so does your father. And there’s no need of
it--there’s enough without that!”
Daniel, who was still standing, leaned against the mantel, supporting
himself and watching her gravely, unsmilingly.
“Fanchon,” he said gently, “you don’t understand. It’s been your
misfortune to come to us without knowing us. We’re just old-fashioned,
stodgy people, and you amaze us. You’re like a bird of paradise in a
chicken-yard. Give us a little time, Fanchon.” He paused and then added
soberly: “My brother loves you.”
She tossed her head, her bosom rising and falling stormily.
“Leigh does!” she cried in a choked voice. “The boy--Leigh!”
“I mean William,” said Daniel.
She stared at him, breathing hard.
“You think so? _Voilà!_ You haven’t heard him quarrel, you haven’t
seen how he takes your mother’s side and your father’s side against
me! And”--she laughed wildly--“you haven’t seen him alone--under the
horse-chestnut tree--with that paragon, Virginia Denbigh!”
Daniel’s arm fell from the mantel. He said nothing. He walked slowly to
the table and picked up his books and papers. But Fanchon was stinging
with anger. She had seen Mrs. Carter’s face, she had been treated with
cold politeness by Mr. Carter, her whole wild, stormy nature was up in
arms. Because she saw it hurt, she struck and struck deeply.
“I tell you she’s stealing his heart away from me. _Mais hélas_, it
doesn’t matter, she’s a paragon and I’m a dunce! She--”
Daniel walked past her out of the room without a word. But Fanchon
followed him to the door, white with rage.
“_Mon Dieu!_ You needn’t feel like that!” she cried shrilly. “She says
she’s sorry for you because you’re a cripple.”
Daniel did not pause. He heard her, but he went on, toiling slowly
upward. He never once looked back at the little creature in the
doorway, but went steadily on with a white face and haggard eyes.