THE only member of the Carter family who left the house with a cheerful
face on the following morning was Daniel. There had been practically
nothing said at breakfast. Fanchon kept to her room, William briefly
explaining the accident at the creek and adding that his wife had a
chill. Mrs. Carter went up to see her, but was refused admittance. So
was Emily. Mr. Carter read the newspaper more thoroughly than usual,
and Leigh ate in a dream.
Daniel, aware of the strained atmosphere, found difficulty in
suppressing a smile. He had encountered, at intervals, the expressive
whites of Miranda’s eyes. She had carried up Fanchon’s breakfast, and
she knew Job Wills, the hostler at the livery-stable, who had come by
in the morning, on his way home after an all-night shift. What Miranda
did not know about Mrs. William Carter’s ride wasn’t worth knowing.
Her eyes nearly upset Daniel’s gravity; but he finally left the house,
feeling a little guilty. It was wrong to find amusement in an incident
that seemed so tragic to the others. Daniel therefore suppressed the
twinkle in his eyes and set out for Judge Jessup’s office.
His way lay through the church lane and down to the lower corner of
the main street. It was a way that, at this season of the year, was
full of blossoming. It was past time now for the early flowers, but an
old-fashioned clustering yellow rose climbed over the Paysons’ fence
and tossed its fragrance and its falling petals to the passers-by like
the confetti at a carnival. A scarlet-hooded woodpecker was climbing
the tall trunk of the old oak by the churchyard gate.
Daniel walked slowly. Rapid motion increased his limp, but when he
moved in his usual leisurely way his step only halted a little. He was
no longer thinking of his own family, nor of the whites of Miranda’s
eyes. His mind had reverted, as it usually did, to Virginia Denbigh.
He was not startled, therefore, when he saw her standing at the corner
of the church. She was not wearing her big hat to-day, but an odd
little bonnet-shaped affair that showed her pretty hair and her white
forehead, and she was dressed in pink. He thought it was the most
lovely shade of pink he had ever seen.
She smiled as she saw him coming.
“I was waiting for you, Dan.”
He flushed, and his eyes shone.
“I like that bonnet, Virginia. At first I thought I couldn’t like
anything but the big hat, but this shows your hair. It’s like sunshine
to-day.”
She laughed.
“My hat was a thousand years old! This is brand-new--I trimmed it.”
“I wish I could do anything so well,” he said in a tone of real regret.
“I couldn’t.”
“Not even a speech to the jury?”
She laughed a little tremulously. Something in Daniel always touched
her. She supposed it was his accident.
“Any one can address a jury,” he replied, “but no one but you could
trim that bonnet, Virginia.”
“If you praise it so much, I shall never take it off.” She laughed
again, but her eyes grew very grave and kind. “Dan, I heard you speak
in court yesterday.”
He was startled.
“Really? Where were you, Virginia?”
“Oh, way back! I was passing the court-house, and I heard two colored
men speak about it. One said: ‘Dan Carter, he’s makin’ a great speech,
yessuh, he sho’ is. ’Pears like he’s got dat jury all bemuzzled!’”
Virginia laughed delightedly. “I went in after that. It was so crowded
I thought I’d have to stand, but Mr. Payson was there near the door,
and he made some one bring a chair. I could just see the back of your
head, Dan, but I heard.”
His face glowed now.
“How strange!” he exclaimed in a low voice. “I knew you were there. No,
I didn’t see you, Virginia. I was speaking, and suddenly--well, I felt
that you were there. I remember I half looked around. I thought you’d
smile at me.”
She gave him a quick, startled look--a look that seemed to express
some new perception of him; but his eyes were averted. He was smiling
absently, as if talking to himself.
“I didn’t smile, Dan,” she said softly. “I was too deeply touched. I
don’t know why we all felt that way, but we did. Yet when I took your
speech to pieces in my mind I found how simple it was. You just told
us that man’s story, but you told it so simply it went straight to our
hearts.”
He smiled.
“That’s all I can do, Virginia. I’m a simple fellow--I can only tell
the simple truth. There’s no cause for all this--this fanfare of
trumpets in the newspapers, I mean--about my speech. Anybody could do
it.”
She shook her head.
“Nobody else could do it. That’s just it. You’re like Lincoln, Dan.
They say he thought nothing of the Gettysburg address. I believe he
wrote it on his way there. I wish you’d tell me when you’re going to
speak again. I want to be there; I want to hear you ‘bemuzzle’ the jury
again.”
His eyes lit up.
“Will you come? Really?”
“Every time--if you’ll tell me. You can phone me, Dan.”
He drew a long breath.
“I shall make great speeches, sure enough, if you’re there! I couldn’t
help it. Only I wish you’d sit where I can see you--will you, Virginia?”
She laughed.
“In which hat, Dan?”
He considered a moment.
“The old one, please! When I have dreams about you I see you in that
hat.”
“I’m afraid it’s given you nightmare! I didn’t know it was as bad as
that!”
She laughed again, a little tremulously. Suddenly she began to see what
she had never quite seen before. Poor Daniel cared for her! She was
afraid that he cared more than she had dreamed. It touched her so much
that her eyes misted.
“Nightmare? Not a bit of it. I tell you what to do, Virginia--when
you’re through with it let me have it. I’ll hang it up over my desk
when I want an inspiration. A poor lawyer needs an inspiration. The
law’s as dry as dust.”
She lifted her eyes reluctantly but smilingly to him. She had almost
been afraid to meet them, but she was not now. Dan’s look was just the
same look he had always given her--and she had never understood!
“I’ll give it to you for a waste-paper basket,” she said gaily.
Then she stopped, her hand on the stone gate-post of the old church.
They had been walking slowly through the lane, and Daniel halted,
surprised.
“Going in here, Virginia?”
She smiled.
“Yes. There’s to be a Sunday-school festival. Besides, they’ve just
cleaned up the church. I took all our prayer-books away for the
refurbishing; now I’m going to put them back in the pew.”
As she spoke, he glanced down at the armful of books she held. He had
been to church with the Denbighs more than once, and he remembered the
colonel’s big prayer-book and hymnal and the books for their guests. He
had used that old red one himself. Then his eye fell upon two smaller
ones of brown morocco with Virginia’s monogram on the clasp of the case.
“You’re still carrying your old set, Virginia,” he remarked
thoughtfully. Here was a chance for a gift, perhaps. “They’re worn at
the edges.”
She looked down, blushing suddenly.
“Are they? I hadn’t noticed.”
Something in her tone had made Daniel take the books from the pile on
her arm. It was a set, prayer-book and hymnal bound in one and prettily
mounted. He slipped the clasp and opened them. A faded pansy slipped
between the pages. He clasped it hastily and handed it back.
“I thought I knew them,” he said hastily.
“Yes?” Virginia’s eyes avoided his. Her lips were trembling, he
thought. “I’ve had them a long time. William--your brother--gave them
to me when I was just sixteen.”
“I wonder,” said Daniel, looking up at the old church, “how long ago
they planted that English ivy! There’s a perfect mantle of it, isn’t
there?”
“Grandfather says the old rector planted it--the one who married
grandfather and grandmother in this very church.”
“I suppose he did as much for my grandparents,” said Daniel. “I wonder
if they gave him a good fee!”
“Oh, you lawyer!” cried Virginia, and laughed happily.
But Daniel continued to look at the ivy. He had seen her face.
“She still loves William,” he thought bitterly.
Virginia, hiding her confusion, began to ascend the old stone steps.
“Why, there’s your father!” she exclaimed suddenly. “I didn’t know that
he often came this way.”
Daniel, who was very pale again, looked around.
“He counted on walking down with me, I fancy,” he remarked quietly,
aware of the thunderstorm in Mr. Carter’s face.
Virginia saw it, too, and made haste.
“I’m going in now. Good-by, Daniel, and remember--about that next
speech.”
He watched her as she went into the old church, stopping at the door to
wave a greeting to his father. Framed thus, she made a picture that he
kept in his mind all the day and many days thereafter.
Mr. Carter came up, a little out of breath and very red.
“Going my way, father?”
“I suppose I am!”
Mr. Carter slowed his steps to suit his lame son’s gait. He was moody,
and he had his morning paper done up like a club in his hand. He
slashed viciously at the church snowball as they reached it.
“My Lord, to think of that lovely girl--and what I’ve got for a
daughter-in-law!” he growled.
Daniel, who understood the process of his father’s mind without asking
any questions, said nothing.
“I’ve got a nickelette-show, a ballet-dancer, a runaway-with-a-gambler
daughter-in-law, that’s what I’ve got!”
They had reached the street now, and Daniel checked him.
“Hush, father!” the young man said gently. “Some one will hear you.”
“Hear me?” bawled Mr. Carter. “Hear me? Drat it! D’you suppose the
whole town doesn’t know? I met Dr. Barbour when I came out of the
house just now. He says the Bulls, those new people at the corner of
Hill Street, brought her home last night at one o’clock--I mean this
morning--in a motor. What d’you suppose they’ll say?”
“Perhaps they’ve got some sense and won’t say anything,” suggested
Daniel, thinking of the prayer-book and Virginia’s face.
“They told Barbour, and he’ll tell every one--and it isn’t twelve hours
old.”
“We can’t do anything, father. Give the girl a chance. William says it
was an accident.”
“An accident? And your mother saw her flirting with Corwin in the
morning!” Mr. Carter could not restrain his ire. “I tell you, Dan,
I wouldn’t mind so much if William wasn’t behaving like a lummox. He
won’t get a divorce. He told me so this morning.”
“Good Heavens, why should he? It isn’t as bad as that. She’s only
a wild girl, and she hates our ways. Why shouldn’t she? We’ve been
finding fault with her from the beginning. I don’t see why you spoke of
a divorce to William.”
“Why?” Mr. Carter set his teeth. Then, as they got to the corner, he
spoke his mind. “I want him to get a divorce, behave like a gentleman,
and marry Virginia Denbigh--if she’ll have him.”
“I’m sure Virginia wouldn’t have him, if he got a divorce to ask her,”
said Daniel quietly. “She’s not that kind of a woman.”
“She’s in love with him,” replied Mr. Carter; “but I don’t care for
that, either, if I can make the fool shake off this--this wildcat!”
Daniel, who had reached Judge Jessup’s door, smiled.
“I’m really sorry for the wildcat,” he said quietly. “She’s alone, and
she hasn’t a friend--unless you count Leigh.”
“Leigh’s a ninny!” Mr. Carter retorted, and went on, still storming, to
his office.
But by twelve o’clock he had worked some of his temper off. The
process of cooling down began and ended, too, in sympathy for William.
After all, it was hardest on William. He had been a donkey, but he
had--in common with the other Carters--a natural horror of notoriety
for his women-folks.
Divorce and scandal! Mr. Carter, thinking hard, could not recall
a single case in his own family. Of course Uncle Duff Carter had
quarreled with his wife, but it was about a back lot that adjoined
their place. He wanted to sow it to oats for his horses, and his wife
wanted to keep it for a private burial-ground for the family. There
hadn’t been the least bit of scandal about that quarrel, and it was
made up before his uncle died. He was buried, by the way, in that same
back lot, with a monument of Florentine marble. His widow had her own
way!
As for a runaway wife, or any kind of a wife who wasn’t what Mr. Carter
called “a lady,” there was no record of it. William, his eldest son and
the pride of his heart, seemed about to make the first break in a long
line. It must distress William as much as it did his father.
Mr. Carter began to feel the greatest compunction about his son. The
boy had behaved like a donkey, but there was no use in crying over
spilt milk. The only way was to help him set it right. Of course, if
the talk got no farther, and William chose to forgive her and could
keep her in hand, there was nothing to be done about it.
As Mr. Carter’s rage against Fanchon began to cool, he saw the
advantage of suppressing the scandal and making her behave. He had no
very clear idea of how this should be done, except his firm belief
that any sensible man could prevent such doings in his own household.
He belonged, too, to a type of manhood that has long ago decided on
the simplest method to avenge an insult to his family. He couldn’t
recall an ancestor who under such provocation would fail to shoot his
man. Times had changed now, but Mr. Carter felt an intense desire to
annihilate that brute, Corwin.
He had no intention of mentioning this to William. The cooling-off
process had reached the stage of common sense; but he felt that he must
talk things over with his son. He had experience of life, if he had
no experience with a recalcitrant wife, and he wanted to suggest some
kind of restraint for his daughter-in-law. It seemed to him a perfectly
practical thing--because he had never tried it. A moral strait-jacket
for Fanchon appealed to his mind, at the moment, more strongly than any
other idea in life.
He got through the morning’s work, lunched alone, and then waited
until three o’clock. At that time he could endure it no longer. He
had caught his two girl stenographers whispering, and he had seen the
office-boy watching the inn opposite, where Corwin had stayed the day
before. The office-boy brought Mr. Carter’s resolution to a head. He
closed his desk sharply, snatched up his hat, and started for William’s
office.
The office was situated on the top floor of the Payson Building.
William was the buyer and traveling agent of Mr. Payson’s chain of
department-stores. There was only a modest branch store in the home
town, but in larger cities there were towering beehives bearing the
name of Payson.
William had traveled abroad for these stores, and now, in his private
office here, he was still directing the foreign correspondence of
the firm. It was a position of great responsibility, and it carried
a handsome salary and perquisites. Mr. Carter was proud of his son’s
advance and proud of his ability to keep up with it. It was his pride
in him that made this unfortunate marriage such a bitter disappointment.
He passed through the crowded shop, glancing at the long aisles of
merchandise and noting the rugs--some of them brought from Turkey
by William, others imported by his advice to be sent to the larger
markets in the North. At the elevator Mr. Carter encountered Mr.
Payson--the rich man who had paid for the singers at the concert where
Fanchon had made herself notorious.
“I’m going up to see my son a moment,” said Mr. Carter, as they shook
hands.
Payson nodded, but he did not repeat his commendation of William.
Instead, he looked rather odd and spoke about the weather.
“Fine for the crops,” he said; “but we need more rain.”
Mr. Carter assented. He felt uneasy. There was something odd in
Payson’s manner. The magnate got off at the second floor, and the
elevator continued its ascent. At the top Mr. Carter got out and
hurried to his son’s door. As no one answered his knock, he opened it
and went in.
It was a good-sized office, furnished in accordance with Mr. Payson’s
ideas of business--that is, in the latest and most solid fashion. On a
table in the center of the room stood a bottle and a glass, and William
Carter was stretched in a chair beside it, lying half on the table, his
head down, sound asleep.
Mr. Carter stood aghast. He could see the haggard profile and the dark
rings under the closed eyes. Worn out with his heart-breaking night
vigil, William had fallen asleep; but his father felt that he was
looking on the wreck of his son’s life, that William, in his misery,
had sought oblivion in the old and time-honored way.