THE VOICE
"BUT, Frieda, how could you possibly have arranged to arrive in the
middle of the night like this?"
Jack had reached the waiting taxicab, which stood transfixed in the
middle of the road and had pulled open the door of the vehicle, only to
find her sister sitting inside, almost completely enveloped in steamer
blankets and bags and boxes.
"The cab broke down," Frieda remarked plaintively, evidently attempting
to explain last conditions first. It seemed not to have occurred to her
that even in the event of this difficulty, she could have gotten out and
walked up to the house. But it was eminently characteristic of Frieda
simply to sit still and call for her sister, as she always had done in
any emergency when they were both girls.
The next moment Lady Kent, with the assistance of the driver, had helped
her visitor to alight. If Olive and the butler had not arrived just
then, she might again have forgotten her dignity and begun dragging out
Frieda's bags. But instead, she and Olive, escorted Frieda up the
avenue, leaving the two men to bring her possessions.
"I was lonely after Olive left me in New York," Frieda explained. "So
when I read in the paper one morning that a particularly comfortable
steamer was sailing, I decided not to wait an entire week, if I could
get a nice stateroom. I thought Olive would not need but a few days to
tell you. You have told, haven't you, Olive?" Frieda demanded, with a
slight change of tone.
When Olive answered "yes," briefly, she went on:
"Please don't ask me any questions tonight, Jack. I'm most dead. No; I
didn't have a rough crossing, but I have never arrived anywhere alone
before in my whole life. I knew I could call up Frank at his club in
London, but I did not wish to see him first. Still, I don't care what he
thinks, since I have lost all faith in men. But I don't see why some one
did not meet me at the station here. I telegraphed from Liverpool that I
was on the way."
Jack shook her head.
"Curious dear, but we never received your telegram."
"Oh, well;" Frieda added more indulgently, "I didn't exactly telegraph
myself, but I gave the money to a boy and told him what to say. Perhaps
he made a mistake, or kept the money, or something," she ended
nonchalantly. For they were now entering the great hall at Kent House
and Frieda realized that she did not care very much for small things, so
grateful was she to be again with her sister.
Impulsively she turned and embraced her.
Perhaps it was because Frieda was tired, but Jack could see that she was
not so unaffected by what she had been passing through as Olive had
imagined.
It is true Frieda looked as much like an exquisite wax doll as ever. Her
eyes were as large and delicately blue, and her hair was a mass of soft
yellow curls; yet there was a subtle change in her expression.
Olive had led the way into the library.
"We won't talk about anything until you like, Frieda," Jack whispered.
"Will you go up to your rooms now or have something to eat first down
here with Olive and me?" she asked.
Frieda permitted Olive and Jack to remove her coat and hat. A few
moments later, however, she announced that she preferred going upstairs
to bed. So Jack finally bade her goodnight, after arranging that she was
to ring her bell for breakfast, when she wished it the next morning.
When Frieda rang for breakfast it was nearly eleven o'clock and Jack
went into her room with the maid who carried the tray.
Frieda ate her morning repast languidly, while her sister sat beside her
talking of trivial things.
"Where is Olive?" Frieda inquired finally. And when informed that Olive
was in the nursery with the children, protested: "I suppose you know I
am jealous of your baby's being named for Olive. Of course I know you
and she are very dear friends; but, after all, I am your sister."
"I felt that way about it too, Frieda, but Frank seemed not to wish a
German name," Jack answered, "and Vive has her own name now anyhow.
Maybe the next time."
Frieda frowned. "Don't talk of next time, Jack. I can't imagine your
having a family. I hate being married." And without any other warning
two large tears rolled down Frieda's cheeks.
"I'd rather tell you what has happened between Henry and me this minute
and get through with it. And I'd prefer to tell you without Olive's
hearing. I don't mean to be impolite, but Olive is almost an old maid
and old maids always take the man's part."
In spite of her anxiety Jack was compelled to laugh. Frieda had always
been such a funny mixture of babyishness and worldly wisdom.
She was now sitting up in bed with a number of white pillows piled
behind her and wearing a light blue cashmere jacket over her gown. The
English air was cooler than that to which she was accustomed.
"I hope nothing very serious, Frieda?"
"Nevertheless it is so serious that I never intend to speak to Henry
Russell again, if I can avoid it. You see," Frieda sighed, "I suppose it
is better to begin at the beginning and tell the whole thing. But, then,
who knows when anything actually begins? At any rate during the first
two years after Henry and I were married you remember we lived with
Henry's parents. They were awfully nice to me and gave me hundreds of
presents, but after awhile I became tired of living in another's house.
Oh, the house was big and I had plenty of rooms, but you know it isn't
like having a home of one's own is it, Jack?"
After waiting for her sister to nod agreement, Frieda went on.
"So I told Henry I wanted a house to myself, and I must say he and his
mother and father were very nice about it--at first." Frieda made a
dramatic pause.
"It was Henry's fault all through though. You know he is the only child
and his mother and father are dreadfully rich. But what do you suppose
Henry decided? When we went to housekeeping for ourselves we were to
live on the income he made as a Professor! Did you ever hear of anything
so selfish?"
"Well dear," Jack hesitated "maybe in a way it was selfish, because of
course Henry's father and mother must have been disappointed not to be
able to do for you. But, after all, it was self respecting of Henry. I
suppose a man--especially an American one--likes to feel that he is able
to be responsible for his own family."
"That is exactly what Ruth and Jim Colter wrote me," Frieda protested
indignantly. "I suppose it never occurs to any one of you to think of
me!"
"Yes, but you have your own income from our estate, Frieda," Jack added
quickly, not wishing to offend her sister at the beginning of her
confidence.
"I know," Frieda continued more amiably. "So, at first, when I saw how
much Henry's heart was set on our being independent, I agreed to try.
But you know, Jack, I never have had much experience in managing money,
and even when we were at school at Primrose Hall I got into debt. So,
although Henry told me just what we had to live upon, I couldn't seem to
make things come out even. Then, as I didn't want to worry him, I kept
using my own income till that gave out. And then--"
"Then what?" Jack inquired anxiously. Really she had been right in
disapproving of Frieda's marrying so young. And more important than
Frieda's youth was the fact that she, and all the people who had ever
had anything to do with Frieda, had never treated her as a responsible
human being. In her entire life she had never had any real care, or any
real demand made upon her. Jack felt deeply uneasy. But whatever had
happened, whatever might happen in the future, Frieda was her own
adored small sister, and she intended to stand by her.
"Oh nothing much," Frieda conceded, although her voice was less self
assured, "only I told Henry's father. He used to be very fond of me
before I left Henry; I don't know how he feels now," she murmured. "I
believe he thought I was some kind of a joke, for he gave me a lot of
money and told me not to worry. But he told Henry's mother and she did
not think it was fair to Henry and must have let him know. Anyhow he was
dreadfully angry and unkind to me."
"How unkind?" Jack demanded. For, of course, the fear that Professor
Russell had been unkind to Frieda had been always at the back of her
mind, since learning of her sister's unhappiness. However, when she
recalled the Professor's shyness and gentleness, it was difficult to
imagine him in the role of a brute. But Jack had learned enough of life
not always to trust to exteriors.
"Oh, nothing very dreadful I suppose," Frieda conceded. "Henry fussed a
lot and said I had not been fair to him and that it wasn't honest to
keep things from him. He was always saying that I was very young and
that I ought to confide everything in him."
"Was there anything else, dear?" Jack inquired gently.
Frieda nodded. "Yes. Oh, well, I might as well tell you the whole story
since I have started. I was getting on a little better with the house,
and Henry obtained some extra work to do, so that he made more money.
But it kept him at home more in the evenings and besides he never did
like to go out a great deal. He used to go sometimes because I liked it,
but I never felt he was enjoying himself, and Henry never would learn to
dance."
This struck Jack as a perfectly absurd reason for a vital difference
between a husband and wife, yet she dared not smile, nor did she wish to
smile, seeing how important this really appeared to Frieda.
But Frieda must have understood something of what was passing in her
sister's mind, for she said:
"I know that may sound ridiculous to you, Jack, but it has made a lot of
difference to me." There was a choking note in Frieda's voice. "A lot of
our trouble has come from it. You know I dearly love to dance, so I used
to go out in the afternoons as I didn't like staying at home by myself
and did not want to trouble Henry to take me often."
"Not by yourself?"
"Certainly not," Frieda returned pettishly, "one can't very well dance
alone."
"With any particular person?"
For a moment Jack held her breath.
At first Frieda shook her head. Afterwards she contradicted herself and
nodded.
"There were three or four persons--young fellows--some of them students
at the University, and most of the time other girls, too. At first Henry
did not mind. Then he said people were beginning to talk and there was
one person I liked especially, because he danced better than any one
else, whom Henry said I could not go with at all. But I did go. Then I
told Henry I was bored anyhow and wanted to be free. He was very
disagreeable. So I ran away and just left a note. But I haven't been
very happy for a long time, Jack, darling. I suppose you were right when
you said I ought not to have married so young. Perhaps I am spoiled and
selfish. Henry says I am, but some people like me anyhow."
Jack leaned over and took Frieda's chin in one of her firm white hands.
"There isn't anybody else, is there little, sister?" she demanded.
Returning her gaze straightforwardly, Frieda answered severely.
"Certainly not, Jack; what do you think of me? Don't you know I am
married. I told you I didn't like men any more, and never intend to have
anything to do with them again."
"Then I'll leave you now, dear, and send one of the maids to help you
dress, if you like," Jack answered. "Let's don't talk any more today on
this subject and please don't worry. You have lost all your color shut
up by yourself in that wretched New York hotel. Hurry and come out in
the garden with Olive and the babies and me."
But when Jack had left her sister, she did not dismiss the thought of
their conversation so lightly as her words implied. Perhaps Frieda had
not made out a very good case for herself against her husband. It looked
as if Professor Russell must have a story to tell as well. But the main
fact appeared that Frieda was not happy in her marriage. Whatever the
reasons, or whoever was at fault, it was the _thing_ itself which
worried Jack. It was plain enough that Professor Russell was too old
for Frieda, and that his scholarly tastes were not suited to her girlish
ones.
"A Professor of Dead Languages married to Frieda!" Jack whispered,
blaming herself once again for allowing the marriage. Well, nothing
could be decided for the present at any rate. One must wait for at least
a little more light!
Out in the garden Jack and Olive and Frieda played all morning with
Jack's two babies. Jimmie was a little fair haired, blue eyed, rose
cheeked English boy. Vive was a different kind of baby; she had light
yellow hair, and dark eyes unlike either Jack's or Frank's. Perhaps she
was going to resemble the lovely old time portrait in the library.
Frieda spent several hours with Vive in her arms, although she never had
been particularly interested in any baby before.
When lunch was over, Jack said unexpectedly:
"I hope you'll forgive me, Frieda, if I leave you and Olive for a little
while. I promised a friend, Captain MacDonnell, to ride with him this
afternoon before I dreamed you were coming, and I have forgotten to let
him know. Besides," Jack added, since never even in small matters could
she be dishonest, "I really want the ride. Captain MacDonnell is the
one person who likes to ride as hard as I do. Oh, of course, English
women ride marvelously well--far better than I, and there is nothing
they won't attempt in hunting. But what I like now and then is just a
straight cross country ride--as near like the old rides across the
prairies as I can manage, though I must say this country does not look
much like the prairies," Jack ended, as she glanced smiling out the
window at her own beautiful, well kept English lawn. "Wait, Frieda, and
meet Bryan won't you? he is one of Frank's and my dearest friends."
So Olive and Frieda were standing together on the veranda at the side of
Kent House when Jack and Captain MacDonnell finally rode off,
accompanied by a groom.
"I declare Jack looks better on horseback than any one in the world,"
Frieda announced admiringly. "Her costume is more stylish than the old
khaki or corduroy things she used to wear at the ranch, but I don't
think Jack herself is very much changed, except that she is more
attractive."
At this instant Jack turned to wave her riding whip back at her sister
and friend. She had on a perfect fitting tan cloth habit with a long
English coat and short trousers and high riding boots. Her yellow brown
hair was braided low on her neck and she wore a small derby.
"Captain MacDonnell is handsome too, isn't he?" Frieda remarked
reflectively, before moving to go indoors. "I wonder if he and Jack are
very intimate and if Frank minds her riding with him like this? I
suppose not, or Jack wouldn't," she acknowledged.
Then she turned to Olive. "Don't look so cross, for goodness sake,
Olive. I am not criticizing Jack. I don't suppose you imagine she is any
more perfect than I do, only I was just thinking how you and the entire
family will probably blame me for doing pretty much the same kind of
thing that Jack is doing. Of course, I don't think there is anything
wrong in it. It is absurd and horrid of people to believe there is."
Olive was about to reply, but before she could speak, Frieda interrupted
her.
"Oh, I know exactly what you are going to say, Olive. Jack and I are
very different persons! I know that as well as you do. I know, too, that
Jack would never do anything except what was right. She could not if she
tried. But she might do something silly. I don't suppose there is any
human being in the world who fails to be foolish at one time or other in
this life," Frieda concluded.