NO QUARTER
DURING the time of Jack's absence, Frank Kent passed through a strange
state of mind, one which he did not himself understand. He was both
angry and miserable. Resentment against another human being is always
folly, since one suffers as much, if not more than the other person.
However, Frank did not answer a single one of Jack's letters, although
she managed to write him several times, telling of her safe arrival, of
the kindness which had been shown her along the way, and of Captain
MacDonnell's recognition of her and his pleasure in finding an old
friend near him. Jack also wrote that there was hope of his partial
recovery, but that he would probably be unable to fight again. She would
be able to tell more on her return home.
Two weeks after the day of her departure, Jack came back to Kent House.
She had telegraphed when she reached British soil so that her family
knew when to expect her. Frank was not at home when she arrived, so she
saw her children and Olive and Frieda first. Then, after dressing for
dinner, she went down into the library alone to wait for her husband.
Jack was very tired from the strain of her trip and from the sights she
had witnessed in the past fourteen days. She felt as if she were
entering a new world in coming back tonight to her home in the peaceful
Kentish country. Whatever human beings might be suffering inwardly,
there were at least no changes in the tranquillity of the blue hills and
the gentle, mist-veiled English landscape.
It had required an effort for Jack to dress, but she did not know in
what spirit Frank would meet her and did not wish to have him think she
was too much exhausted by the experience which she had wilfully chosen
for herself. She feared that Frank was still aggrieved, because of his
not having written or sent her a message of any kind, and yet she rather
hoped the reunion with her and the news she brought back would soften
him.
Partly because of her fatigue, partly because it seemed impossible to
wear gay clothes after those days and nights in the hospital, Jack had
put on a black satin gown which she had had some time. It was made
simply as her evening clothes always were, but the black tulle which
covered it was caught with jet ornaments on each shoulder and loosely
belted in at the waist, falling in beautiful lines to her feet. At her
belt Jack wore a golden rose which the old gardener had brought up to
the house as a special offering. The rose had bloomed that morning in
one of the greenhouses. Jack's hair was coiled closely about her small
head, and she had less color than usual.
She was resting in one of the big library chairs with her eyes closed,
when she heard her husband enter the hall, and after making some
inquiry, move toward the library door.
At this she rose up at once and ran forward with her arms outstretched
to meet him, her face glowing with happiness.
"Oh, Frank, I am so glad to be at home again. It has all been so
distressing. Poor Bryan is going to get well, but I fear he will hate it
when he does, for he may never walk again. He does not know this yet."
Frank turned his eyes so that he could not see Jack's beauty nor
appreciate her warm sweetness so close beside him.
"I am horribly sorry for Bryan," he replied. But he made no effort to
kiss Jack or to express the least pleasure in her return. Instead, he
walked away a few steps and began taking off his overcoat, which he had
not removed before.
"You are still angry with me, Frank?" Jack queried, though the question
was scarcely a necessary one. "You have not yet seen that I had the
right to judge for myself in this thing about Bryan? After all, what
possible wrong have I done? And I did give Bryan pleasure; he does not
dream, of course, that I went to him without your consent."
Although Frank still remained silent, Jack's sweetness did not desert
her. She followed after him, in spite of the fact that he had turned his
back upon her.
"After all, Frank, even if you do continue to disapprove of me and to
think I did wrong to disobey you, won't you make friends with me? Please
say I'm forgiven?"
At this Jack smiled and stood with her hands clasped together against
the soft, black folds of her dress.
In fact, she had not yet appreciated the extent of Frank's anger against
her, nor the unbending quality of his nature. Though they had been
married a number of years, this was the first serious difficulty between
them. Jack had too great an admiration for her husband, too deep a
belief in him, to think that he could continue to sulk and to hurt her
through a kind of stupid obstinacy.
And for a single instant Frank did hesitate, but the next he made up his
mind that unless Jack was made to realize the extent of his displeasure
she would probably never yield to him again. He honestly believed that
he had the right to be the master in his own family.
"I presume, Jack, that you consider it a very simple matter for me to
say I forgive you and to overlook your utter disregard of my wishes, and
your deception in the matter. But I cannot see the thing in that light.
You have not only wounded me, but you have made me ridiculous. To say I
forgive you, or feel as I did before would not be the truth."
"Very well, Frank," Jack answered quietly and went out of the room.
A little later she came down to dinner, revealing no sign of what had
taken place between herself and her husband and hoping that Frieda and
Olive would not guess that she was still unforgiven. Frank's manner was
perfectly polite and they talked freely of Captain MacDonnell and of the
tragedy of his recovering only to find his work as a soldier ended.
Afterwards, Jack excused herself early in the evening, because, of
course, she had every reason to feel weary.
But even if Frieda and Olive did not grasp the situation at once, they
could not continue to remain long in ignorance, for Jack and Frank did
not return to their old intimacy and devotion.
But, as the days went on, this was, perhaps, as much Jack's fault as her
husband's.
Never before had she ever made an overture to any human being who had
not responded. Moreover, she could not tell Frank that she was sorry for
what she had done, for she was not sorry, nor did she regret her own
action. She was merely disillusioned concerning her husband.
Always Jack had said that she had more of the Indian in her than Olive
ever had, in spite of Olive's upbringing. By this she meant that for one
thing she could hide better the things that hurt her. Yet in a way she
was difficult for anyone to approach on an intimate subject at this
time, certainly neither Olive nor Frieda made any mention that they saw
her continuing trouble with Frank.
Unconsciously Jack held her head up before people unfailingly. No
outsider would have guessed at any change. Only those who cared for her
deeply realized how she was hurt by Frank's attitude.
Several times it occurred to Frank that perhaps he and Jack were making
a mistake to allow their estrangement to go on too long. The next time
his wife asked his pardon Lord Kent had concluded to forgive her.
Moreover, he and Frieda had an interview which annoyed and amused him,
but which he did not forget then, or ever afterwards.
It was one Sunday afternoon in early March, an unexpected spring-like
day, and he and Frieda were taking a motor ride together. They had only
one small car on the estate, having sent the large one to be turned into
an ambulance.
After their midday dinner Frank had found himself in need of diversion,
Olive and Jack having explained that they were going to see a friend who
was ill. And as a matter of fact Frieda diverted Frank from serious
affairs more than any other grown up person he knew and consequently he
fell in readily with her suggestion for the ride. He had not the
faintest idea that she was not in a friendly mood toward him, for Frieda
had wisely concealed the fact, although in reality she was thoroughly
enraged.
It seemed to her that Frank's treatment of Jack was almost unpardonable.
It is true that she, perhaps, had rather an exaggerated opinion of her
sister's virtues, but then Jack had been a kind of mother to her always.
Although they quarreled a little now and then, as most sisters do, it
was beyond Frieda's comprehension that anyone could believe Jack would
wilfully do wrong, or be forced to suffer the consequences. Moreover,
what Frieda still thought of as her own "misfortune" made her
particularly "touchy" at present.
However, she and Frank started off cheerfully, Frank admiring an
especially pretty bright blue motor coat and small close fitting blue
silk hat, which Frieda had purchased in New York a few days before
sailing. Nevertheless Frieda had already planned to have a talk with
Frank before their return and only awaited the proper opportunity.
She was quiet at first, allowing her brother-in-law to tell her stories
about the country and his neighbors, stories in which she was really not
much interested. But Frieda smiled and answered, "yes and no," at the
proper times, and this was what Frank really wished. Most men would
rather talk intimately to women than to other men and Frank had missed
his long hours of conversation with Jack more than he appreciated.
Yet Frieda's inattention finally forced itself upon his notice, so that
her brother-in-law turned and smiled at her.
"What are you thinking about, Frieda? Certainly not of what I just said
to you."
Frieda turned her large blue eyes with their heavy golden lashes half
veiling them toward her companion.
"Still I was thinking of you, Frank," she answered, smiling, "and that
is the attention men like best, isn't it?"
Lord Kent laughed. "Perhaps as a matter of vanity, yes, Frieda? But of
course a good deal depends upon what one is thinking. What were you
thinking of me?"
"Oh, only how unlike you and Henry are," she replied sweetly.
However, Frank understood something of her hidden meaning, for he
flushed.
"Well, considering the fact that you didn't find it possible to continue
to live with 'Henry,' I suppose I ought to be flattered. Only as a
matter of fact, Frieda, I admire Professor Russell very much."
This time Frieda flushed, realizing that Frank had scored.
"Yet even though that is true, Frank, Henry never took the tone with me
of insisting that he was always right and I was always in the wrong. Do
you know, Frank, I am beginning to think--oh well, Henry was never so
horrid to me as you are to Jack. He isn't a bit of a bully."
"So you think I am 'horrid' to Jack and a bully besides, do you,
Frieda?" Frank returned grimly. He was angry, but not as angry as he
felt he had the right to be. Somehow he could not manage to get into a
violent state of mind with his youthful sister-in-law.
Frieda nodded energetically in response, without appearing the least bit
frightened.
"Of course you are going to think I am interfering, Frank, and no one
ever pays any real attention to what I say, but I just thought I'd tell
you anyhow. You are making a big mistake. Of course I realize that you
are not so silly as not to appreciate Jack, but I don't believe you
have ever thought what it might mean to lose her. You see she isn't like
most women, she really does not know how to quarrel for any length of
time. But when she was hurt or seriously angry as a girl she used to
keep still for a long time not saying a word. Then she used to do
something unexpected." Frieda's voice shook a little with stronger
feeling than she often showed.
"I've been afraid lately that Jack might do something queer now,
something no one of us dreams she would think of doing. She is so very
unhappy. You remember, Frank, don't you, what a long time it took you to
win Jack? I wonder if it might not take you even longer to win her back
again!"
Frank stiffened. "I cannot discuss my relations with Jack, even with
you, Frieda. That is a matter between us alone."
Frieda nodded pensively.
"Certainly I appreciate your point of view, Frank, from my own sad
experience."