A SUDDEN CHANGE
Dull gray skies, a sobbing wind, and rain falling in monotonous
regularity greeted the day following the testimony party. The
contrast in temperature and condition was not cheerful, and as Mary
Cary stood upon the porch looking down the road which led to Yorkburg
she shivered in the damp, cold air, then breathed deeply that her
lungs might have their bath.
"It's between the twenty-four hours that all the changes in life
come, I suppose, but a change like this makes yesterday seem ages ago.
Was it really /yesterday/ Peggy and I ran like the King of France
down hill and up again? and just last night we had that dear, queer,
precious party?"
She sighed happily and began it walk up and down the porch. "It's too
bad John and Mr. Fielding should happen to be here together. John
despises Mr. Fielding. I don't wonder. When he shakes hands with me
I'm so afraid he'll hear me shiver I hold my breath. And yet he's a
very generous man. If I'd allow him he'd give me any amount needed for
any object. I'd as soon allow him to give me poison as a check for
library, or baths, or the asylum, or anything else in Yorkburg. I'm
sorry he's here, but I couldn't prevent his coming, not knowing he
intended doing so until he arrived. And John just wrote day before
yesterday he'd be here to-day. I haven't been very polite to Mr.
Fielding, but he has no reason to expect me to be polite. I've told him
I would never marry him and there wasn't the slightest use in coming
here, but I might as well talk to the wind. If for him there's to be
transmigration, he'll be a rubber ball next time. He's as persistent as
John--that is, as John used to be. For nearly six months John has
forgotten he ever wanted to marry me. I understand he and Lily Deford
have become great friends. Mrs. Deford never loses an opportunity of
telling me so."
She threw back her head and laughed. "Lily Deford! What on earth
does he talk to her about? Hand embroidery and silk stockings are Lily's
specialties, and she rarely gets beyond either in words or deeds. She's
a pretty little powder puff, and I'd feel sorry for her if she wasn't
so ma-ridden and spineless. But if John enjoys her--" She shut her
eyes tight, a trick caught unconsciously from Miss Gibbie, then turned
and went indoors. And in the hall Hedwig heard her humming cheerfully
as she put on raincoat and overshoes and made ready for a walk to town.
An hour later the meeting called in Mr. Moon's office to settle certain
matters relating to the recent planting of trees was over, and, leaving
the mills, Mary Cary turned into King Street. The driving rain of the
morning had slackened somewhat, but the street was deserted, the hour
being that of Yorkburg's dinner, and as she neared the upper end nothing
was in sight but a stray dog whose wet tail flapped in dejected appeal
for the door before which he stood to be opened.
"You poor thing!" She stooped and patted the shivering creature, "I've
felt sometimes like you look, but I hope I'll never look like you feel."
The door was opened, and with an extra flourish of tail and a yelp of
gratitude the dog disappeared, and again she started up the street.
Only the drip of the rain, the trickle of water in the gutters, and the
flap of the torn awning in front of the drug store broke the sullen
stillness, and then some distance ahead she saw a man and a woman,
under an umbrella held close to their heads, coming slowly toward her.
The slowness of their walk caught her attention, but the intentness of
their talk made them unconscious of her approach, and not until she was
quite near them was the umbrella held by the man lifted so that she
could see who he was. She stopped suddenly as if hit, and in her face
the color surged so hotly that the damp air stung.
"Why, Mary!" John Maxwell's umbrella dropped to the ground, and
with hat in his left hand he extended his right in frank joy at
seeing her. "What in the world are you doing out on a day like
this?"
"Enjoying myself." The hand held eagerly toward her was barely
touched. "How do you do, Lily? Are you out for fun, too?"
"Oh no! I'm out for--" She turned helplessly to the man beside her.
In his face the color had leaped as swiftly as it had in Mary's, but
in his it died as quickly as it came, and her cool greeting whitened
it. "I came out to get some embroidery cotton number thirty-six from
Simcoe's and met Mr. Maxwell coming from the inn. He was--"
"Fortunate to meet you. When did you get in, John? She asked the
question as if for the time of day, opened her bag, took from it her
handkerchief, and wiped her face. "I believe my umbrella leaks. My
face is actually wet."
"I got in yesterday afternoon. I went by to see Miss Gibbie and
heard she was spending the evening with you."
"So he came to see us. Wasn't it good of him?" And Lily, whose slow
brain was confused by an undefined something she could not
understand, looked first at one and then the other. "I wanted mam-ma
to send for Mr. Brickhouse so we could play cards, but she wouldn't
do it and went to bed by nine o'clock. Mam-ma never will play cards
with Mr. Maxwell; says he's too good a player. But won't you come in
some evening while he's here, Mary, and play with us? I'll get five
more people and that will make two tables. Mr. Maxwell is going to
stay some time."
"Is he?" Mary Cary fastened the buttons of her left glove, then held
her umbrella straight, as if to go on. "I'm sorry I can't come in for
cards while he's here, but I don't care for cards." She laughed
lightly and nodded. "Too bad I've kept you standing in the rain.
Good-bye!" and she started off.
"Hold on a minute, Mary!" Hat still in hand, John handed the umbrella
to Lily Deford and took a few steps behind her. "What time are you
going out this afternoon? I'll come by for you. May I stay to tea? I
must see you this evening."
"Must you?" She shook the rain off her umbrella. "I'm sorry, but I
have an engagement this evening."
He looked at her as if not understanding. "You mean I can't come?"
His face flushed, and a quick frown swept over it.
Her shoulders shrugged slightly, a movement she knew he disliked.
"If you perfer to so put it--that is what I mean."
His clear gray eyes were searching hers as if what he had heard was
unbelievable. "Your engagements must be very imperative. I have not
seen you for nearly six months and naturally my time here must be
short."
Mary Cary looked up, and the smile on her face was one he did not
know. "Short? I understood Lily to say a minute ago you would be
here some time."
"Lily knows nothing about it."
"No?" Again her eyebrows lifted. "She seemed to speak with
authority. But whether she did or not, it is hardly kind to keep
her standing in the rain. Don't you think you had better go back
to her?"
"I think I had." He looked down, and then again in her baffling
eyes. "You haven't on your overshoes. Your feet are soaking wet."
She too looked down. "I started out with them. Guess I left them
in Mr. Moon's office. Are you sure Lily has on hers?"
"I don't know whether she has or not. Lily can take care of her
own feet."
"And I of mine. Standing on wet ground isn't good for them.
Good-bye!" And with a half-nod she walked on up the street.
What was it? What was the matter with her? Her blood was pounding
through heart and brain, and the damp air on her face only added to
its burning. In her eyes was an angry light, and she bit her lips
lest they make movements of the words which sprang to them.
"Got here yesterday! Didn't come out, didn't telephone, spent the
evening at the Defords', and with Lily the first thing this morning.
Wants to see me this evening!" Her head went up. "I guess not. His
time will probably be short. With me it will certainly be short.
What did he come for if only to stay a little while?" In her face
indignation faded into incredulity and her lips curved. "To see the
little powder puff, I suppose! Well, he can see her. I'll certainly
not take his time. For nearly six months it has pleased him to stay
away, to write scraps of letters at long intervals, to send nothing,
do nothing that he used to do. And now he comes back and expects me
to receive him with outstretched arms. He expects wrong!"
She reached the Moon's gate, hesitated, and walked on. Lunch was to
be taken with them, but the sudden transition from expected
sensations to the unexpected made it best to stay in the cold air a
while longer, and without a look toward the house she passed it
hurriedly.
What was the matter with John? For ten years he had been the friend
who never failed--the friend to whom she could always turn and know
what to find; the one to whom subconsciously all things were
referred, and who, without always agreeing with her, always stood
by her. What was the matter with him?
Walking as if to catch a train, and yet without looking where she
was going, she turned into Pelham Place and neared Miss Gibbie's
house. Her eyes were upon it in indecision, and not seeing the
puddle of water ahead, she stepped into it and splashed well with
mud the low shoes and thin stockings she was wearing. The sudden
chill provoked her, and she looked down at her wet feet.
"Of course he saw I had on no overshoes. He always sees the things
I leave off and don't do and thinks I'm nothing but a child.
Suppose I am! What business is it of his whether I wear overshoes
or not? What business is it of his what I do or where I go or what
I say? We are nothing to each other!"
The thought stopped her. For a moment she shivered in the damp,
penetrating wind, then hurriedly passed Miss Gibbie's house. She
would not go in. No one must see her until she grew calmer. But
what was she angry about? She didn't know, only--only for weeks
she had been looking forward to John's coming. She had expected
him the first of October, but the month passed and he had not come.
Then came a hurried note merely saying he would reach Yorkburg on
the thirtieth, and the vague unrest of past days faded. She hadn't
been as nice to John as she ought to have been, had taken too much
as a matter of course perhaps, but this time she was going to be
really very good. There were many things to talk over, and she wanted,
too, to hear about his trip. She had visited Norway, but the stay
was short, and she would like to go again. She had honestly intended
to be very nice, and only a few hours ago she had talked with Hedwig
about supper, deciding on the things John liked best. And now--
She laughed, and for the first time in her life her laughter had a
bitter tinge.
"Good-morning! The girl worth while is the girl who can smile, when
the rain--"
She looked up. The man in front of her was blocking her way. He
touched his hat, but did not lift it, and at sight of him she
frowned. There were times when she loathed Horatio Fielding.
"Good-morning!" Her tone was short, then, a sudden thought occurring,
she changed it. "You evidently like to walk in the rain as much as I
do. Suppose you come out to tea to-night. I was going to telephone,
but this will save time." She started to pass on. "We have tea at
seven."
"I'll be there. In front of your fire is the place for me. But
can't I walk with you? You seem in an awful hurry this morning."
"I am. Have an engagement. Will see you to-night." And as if to
escape what was unendurable she hurried on, and again turned into
King Street.
"Two stories in half an hour is doing well for one who hates a lie
as nothing on earth is hated," she said under her breath, holding
the umbrella close down over her head. "A little more time and you
may lie without effort. You told John you had an engagement. I
thought I did, with him. And you had no more idea of telephoning
Mr. Fielding before you saw him than of telephoning the--I'd much
rather telephone the latter. He'd certainly be more entertaining
and far more polished. It isn't Mr. Fielding's dulness that is so
unpardonable, but his horrible cocksureness and insufferable assurance.
He doesn't eat with his knife, but only from obvious restraint, and
in an unguarded moment he'll do it yet. He could never be convinced
that if a woman had fine clothes and carriages and bejewelled fingers
and throat that she could wish for something else. To him a woman
is property." She drew in her breath. "After a visit from him I need
prayers and want incense. And I've asked him to eat John's supper
to-night!"
The wind had changed, and the rain, coming down in heavy, shifting
sheets, beat upon her umbrella with such force that only with
difficulty could it be held. Her feet were wet, loose strands of
hair, damp and breeze-blown, brushed in irritating tappings across
her face, and as she again neared Mrs. Moon's house she knew she
must go in.
Sarah Sue had seen her coming, and the door was opened when she
reached it. "What in the world made you go by here half an hour ago
instead of coming in?" she asked, taking the umbrella and helping
off with the raincoat. "I knocked on the window and called you, but
you didn't hear. Aren't your shoes wet? Soaking! Come right on up
to my room and put your feet on my fender and get them good and hot.
My slippers and stockings are too big, but you can keep them on
until yours are dry. I don't understand why you didn't come in
first."
Sarah Sue led the way up-stairs, followed by Mary Cary, who had
submitted to comments and questions and the off-taking of wraps
without reply, but halfway up the steps she stopped and turned
back.
"A package was left here for you just now," she said. "I'd better
give it to you before I forget." She took up the bundle on the
hall-table and came back with it.
"What is it?" Mary's voice was indifferent as she broke the
wrapping; then as she saw the writing on it she frowned. "It's
nothing--just my overshoes." She threw them down the steps and
under the table from which Sarah Sue had taken them.