_A Triangle_
A curious division had developed between the four American Red Cross
girls since their arrival in Belgium. Perhaps this was due to the
arrangement of their work, perhaps to spiritual conditions which are not
always easy to see or define.
Eugenia, for reasons of her own, had given up the regular Red Cross
nursing, preferring to devote herself to the children whom the war had
made homeless. After Barbara's first visit to her and the discussion
that had arisen between them, she had not urged the younger girl to come
to see her often.
Barbara had been several times without invitation, but had not referred
to their past difference. Indeed, she hoped that Eugenia would believe
the idea had completely vanished from her mind. Nevertheless, she
watched affairs at the old house more closely than her friend dreamed.
There were other suspicious circumstances that Barbara kept tabulated.
Later on, if she considered Eugenia in danger, she meant to fight for
her and with her when the occasion arose.
However, Barbara had her own life and labor to occupy her time and was
apparently busier than ever before. For although she and Nona and
Mildred were working at the same hospital, they saw very little of one
another.
The American Red Cross hospitals in Brussels were not given up entirely
to the care of the wounded soldiers. The Germans looked after their own
men and their prisoners as well. But there were many ill and friendless
Belgians, unable to leave their country, who must have died without the
help of the American Red Cross.
Fifty thousand Belgian babies were born during the first year of the
present war. Their fathers had either been killed in defence of their
country or were away at the front fighting with their king. So there
were fifty thousand mothers as well as babies who must be looked after.
Barbara's work was among the women and children in the American
hospital, while Mildred and Nona were engaged in general nursing. The
hospital was not a large one; indeed, it had been a private home before
the coming of the Germans. But the Red Cross Societies of the United
States had outfitted the hospital and only American doctors and nurses
were taking part in the relief work.
So both from choice and opportunity Mildred and Nona were frequently
together. They shared the same bedroom and grew daily more intimate.
This had not been true at first. Indeed, Barbara had appeared as the
favorite of both girls, until a new bond had developed between them.
Always Mildred Thornton had been peculiarly devoted to her brother,
Dick. Even in his selfish, indolent days in New York City she had been
unable to see his faults. In her heart she had resented Barbara Meade's
criticism of him. Now it was charming to find that Nona was as
enthusiastic about Dick as she was.
Whenever the opportunity came, the three of them used to go upon long
excursions about Brussels. They visited the Royal Museums, the Palais
des Beaux Arts, the parks, the Palais de Justice, which is the largest
and most beautiful modern building in the world. And these parties did
each member of the expedition a great deal of good. No one of them ever
neglected work for pleasure, but the occasional happy times kept them
cheerful and well.
It might have been better for Barbara had she shared these amusements.
But after inviting her three or four times, finding that she always
refused, the others made no further efforts to persuade her. For they
seemed to be extremely content to be three, in spite of the old adage.
Indeed, Mildred cherished the unexpressed hope that Dick might be
falling in love with Nona. So whenever it was possible she used to leave
the two of them together. But she was wise enough never to have made
this conspicuous. Neither had she intimated any such idea either to her
friend or brother.
But it was fairly simple to find one self interested in a picture at one
end of a gallery when her two companions were strolling in the opposite
direction. Also one could grow suddenly weary just as the others had
expressed the desire to investigate some remote picture or scene.
Certainly it is not usual for a devoted sister to wish her only brother
to marry. But then, Mildred Thornton was an exceptional girl.
Selfishness had never been one of her characteristics, and, moreover,
she was deeply devoted to Nona. Besides this, she felt that the best
possible thing that could happen to Dick was to marry an attractive
girl. For ever since the loss of the use of his arm Mildred had feared
that he might become morose and unhappy. Indeed, he had seemed both of
these things during their stay in Paris. It was only since coming into
Brussels that he had regained a portion of his old debonair spirit. So
naturally Mildred believed Nona to have been largely responsible for
this.
There were few people in their senses who would have cared at the
present time to dispute Nona Davis' charm and beauty. She had always
been a pretty girl, but the past year in Europe had given her a delicate
loveliness that made persons stop to gaze at her as she passed them on
the street. A great deal of her former shyness had passed away. In spite
of the hard work and the sight of so much undeserved suffering, she had
grown stronger physically.
For before coming to Europe Nona had led too shut-in and conservative a
life. She had almost no friends of her own age and her poverty was not a
pretence like Eugenia's, but a very certain and to her a very
distasteful thing.
Nona wanted to see the world and to occupy an important place in it. In
spite of her real talent for her work and her unusual courage under
danger, she had no thought of being a hospital nurse all her life.
Nona's father was an old man at her birth. He had once belonged to a
family of wealth and prominence. But after the civil war had destroyed
his fortune he had made little effort to rise superior to circumstances.
Yet he had spent a great many hours talking to Nona about the true
position which she _should_ occupy and telling her long stories of her
family's past.
Charleston, South Carolina, is one of the most beautiful and at the same
time one of the most old-fashioned cities in the world. The tide of the
new American life and spirit has in a measure swept past it. At least
the new Americanism had never entered the doors of Nona's home during
her father's lifetime.
The old gentleman would have perished had he dreamed of his daughter's
becoming a trained nurse. However, after his death Nona had felt a
strong impulse toward the profession and so far had never regretted the
step.
But it was true that she had been greatly influenced by the possible
romance and adventure in her decision to help with the Red Cross work in
Europe. This did not mean that Nona was not tremendously in earnest.
But she was a girl who had read a great deal and dreamed many dreams.
All her life poetry and passion would appeal to her more than cold
arrangements of facts. There was no fault in this, it was merely a
matter of temperament. Perhaps it was partly responsible for the soft
light in Nona's brown eyes with their curiously golden iris. Also she
had a fashion of opening her lips slightly when she was specially
interested in a subject, as if she wished to breathe in the essence of
the idea.
A part of Nona's dreaming was due to the fact that she had never known
her mother after she was a small girl. More than this, she had been
brought up in such curious ignorance of her mother's history. Any child
in the world must have dreamed strange dreams under like circumstances.
Often Nona used to have a vision of her mother coming to stand at her
bedside. Always she appeared dressed in the white muslin and blue
ribbons, in which she remembered seeing her on a special Sunday
afternoon.
Moreover, there was always the question of her mother's family to be
pondered over. Naturally Nona believed that her mother must have been a
great lady. Her imagination even went so far as to conceive of her as a
foreign princess, who for reasons of state had been suddenly carried off
to her own land.
Until she grew old enough to laugh at herself, Nona often sat with her
delicate little nose pressed against the window pane in the drawing room
of her old Charleston home. If questions were asked she could invent
many reasons to explain her presence. She was actually waiting for a
splendid coach and four to drive up to the door and bear her away. The
coach was always decorated with a splendid coat of arms, and for some
absurd childish reason the coachman and footmen were dressed in
pumpkin-colored satin and wore tall black top hats.
As a matter of fact, as Nona Davis grew older these ridiculous fancies
faded; nevertheless, a few of her old dreams remained. For one thing,
she retained the impression that her mother had probably been a
foreigner. Yet she never could understand why, even after her father's
death, his few old friends continued to decline to give her any
information. Surely one of them must know something of her mother.
It was all too mysterious and disheartening. On coming to Europe, Nona
had made up her mind to put the trying mystery back of her and to forget
it as completely as she could. In a measure she had succeeded, but since
her confession to the Red Cross girls the old haunting desire had come
back to her. She _must_ find out whether her mother was dead or living
and in either case why she had been told nothing of her.
Then suddenly one day, without knowing why, she chose Dick Thornton for
a confidant. More than this, she asked for his advice. Whatever the
mystery, it was her right to be told the exact truth, she insisted, and
Dick agreed with her.
This was on one of the occasions when they were walking together out
from Brussels in the direction of the sea. They were not allowed to
travel very far, since the roads were all patrolled by German soldiers
in command of the fortifications along the way.
Mildred had chosen to rest for a few moments, so that Dick and Nona were
alone. Not that Mildred's presence would have interfered; this was
simply an accident.
Dick listened with unusual gravity to Nona's history. Perhaps it struck
him as even queerer than it did the girl herself. She had always been
accustomed to the mystery. Really, the entire story sounded like a
fabrication. Mysteries were out of fashion in these modern days in the
United States. Although, of course, there was nothing too mad or too
inconceivable that was not taking place in Europe at the present time.
Nothing was more antagonistic to Dick Thornton's nature than concealment
of any kind. Yet he felt profoundly touched by Nona's confession. The
girl herself was so attractive! She was still wearing the black silk
dress and hat she had bought in Paris the autumn before. Her face had
flushed, partly from embarrassment and partly from the emotion she
always felt at any mention of her mother.
Her eyes were luminous and brown and her features as exquisitely carved
as a Greek statue's.
Dick also had no other idea except that Nona's mother must have been a
woman of grace and breeding. The daughter was entirely aristocratic to
the tips of her slender fingers. For half a moment Dick thought of
suggesting that he or Mildred write to their own mother for advice. In
reality Mrs. Thornton would have enjoyed tremendously the unveiling of
an _agreeable_ mystery. But only if she should discover in the end that
Nona was the heir to a fortune or a great name. If the conclusion of the
mystery were disagreeable Mrs. Thornton would be profoundly bored.
Therefore he naturally hesitated. "I don't know exactly what to advise,
Nona," he confessed, since they were by this time calling each other by
their first names. "The sensible thing is to write to your lawyer and
demand to be told all that can be found out. If there are any letters
or papers, you must be twenty-one, so they are legally yours. Then
perhaps with something to go on, you can find out the truth later for
yourself. Only please don't consider my advice too seriously."
Here Dick's manner and voice both changed. He had grown accustomed to
relying upon his own strength and decision in the past year. Yet every
once in a while he remembered that not many months before he had seldom
given a serious thought to any subject except deciding what girl he
should invite to the theater or a dance.
"It was awfully kind of you to have thought my judgment worth while," he
concluded. Then his sudden turning of the subject of conversation
surprised Nona.
"I have a secret of my own which I may some day tell you, because I hope
to have the benefit of your advice," he added. "At present I am not sure
whether it would be wise to speak of it. For so far there is nothing to
be done with my secret but smile and bear it like a man."
Then Dick smiled. "Do you know, I have been thinking lately that perhaps
it is the women who smile and bear their burdens. A man is rather apt
to want to make a noise when he is hurt."
Nona glanced down at Dick's sleeve. "I don't think you have a right to
accuse yourself of that fault," she said gently.
But Dick shook his head. "I was not thinking of my arm; I am learning to
get on fairly comfortably with one arm these days."