He stopped her with an abrupt gesture. 'I've won this victory for
Kitty's sake,' he said. 'This is the first time in my life I've lived up
to her hope of me. If you were a failure you'd realize how much that
means.'
She was standing by the vase of roses, scattering petals with ruthless
fingers. She crossed over to him and put both her hands in his.
'You're not a failure, John Scidmore,' she said simply.
The rose-petals were dropping in a steady shower on the table. He saw
them lying lightly on the white glove. He felt a great relief as he put
his clenched hand to his eyes.
V
As John Scidmore rode home he felt desperately tired. He could not
remember a day which had seemed longer.
He dragged up the elm-shaded street, down which he had whistled his
confident way twelve hours before, a shuffling, ineffectual figure. As
he opened the front door his hand shook.
He lingered in the hall, hanging his hat with unnecessary care, twisting
his necktie into shape, smoothing the thin wisps of hair about his
temples.
He found Kitty in the living-room. A tiny fire crackled in the grate.
Standing in the doorway he watched the needle which Kitty deftly plied
slipping about its task with fascinating gleams. Her face was happily
flushed and she was humming softly to herself. The elegant memory of
Julia Norris rose before him. He saw again the golden shower of light
from the huge table-lamp, the vase of American Beauty roses, the lace
scarf thrown carelessly across a brocade chair. He pressed his lips
together and entered the room.
Kitty looked up.
He stopped short. 'Something new?' he ventured.
She gave a little laugh. 'New? I should say not. Just freshening up a
bit for to-morrow.'
'To-morrow?' he echoed dully. 'What's on for to-morrow?'
'Guest day at the club. Mrs. Wiley has asked me to pour tea. What kept
you out so late, Johnny?'
He crossed over to the fire, pulling his easy chair into place.
'I went over to the city--to see Julia Norris.'
He stood a moment, undecided, his back turned toward Kitty, his hand
upon the chair. He was waiting for Kitty to question him. Finding that
she did not answer, he turned and looked at her. She was intent on her
sewing, but he fancied that the flush of happiness suddenly had fled her
cheeks.
'I went over to see Julia Norris,' he repeated desperately. 'You said
your advice wouldn't be necessary.'
He sank into a chair. Across the room he heard the monotonous ticking of
a clock.
He was wondering what Kitty would say. Of course she understood; the
whiteness of her face told him that her feminine intuition had bridged
the gaps in his explanation. He began to have a terror lest she would
come up to him, or speak--perhaps even weep. The fire in the grate
flared up suddenly, turned faintly blue, and died. Still Kitty said
nothing; still the clock ticked rhythmically.
He leaned back, closed his eyes, and drew a long breath. Kitty was
stirring. She came over and dropped gently before the fire, leaning her
head against him.
'I forgot to tell you,' she said slowly. 'I asked Julia Norris over for
Sunday dinner. She's so awfully stuffed up in that horrible hotel.'
Her bravery smote him more than tears could have. He did not answer, but
he just put out his hand and touched her hair caressingly, as she
finished,--
'It's very grand, I know, and all that. But, after all, it isn't home,
Johnny, is it?'