Theodora Farrington's saving grace lay in her sense of humor. It had
saved her from many dangers, from none more insidious than that lurking
in five years' experience as a successful author. It had rescued her from
the slough of despond when unappreciative publishers rejected her most
ambitious attempts; it had come to her aid also when a southern admirer
whose intentions were better than his rhetoric, sent her a manuscript ode
constructed in her honor. She had won success in her profession; but she
had won it at the expense of some hard knocks. But, however much the
world might be awry, two people had never lost faith in her talent. To
her father and her husband, to their encouragement and their belief in
her future, Theodora owed her best inspiration.
For the past year, she had forsaken her inky way and given herself up to
a well-earned rest, wandering from Mexico to Alaska and back again to
Helena. Now that she was settled in her home once more, the spirit of
work was lacking. Theodora was domestic, and she found it good to take up
her household cares again, so for a month after her return she turned a
deaf ear to her publisher while she and her husband revelled in their
coming back to humdrum ways much as a pair of children play at
housekeeping. Then Theodora's conscience asserted itself, with the
discouraging result that she became undeniably cross and, over his paper
of an evening, Billy watched her in respectful silence. Past experience
had taught him what this portended.
Two days later, Theodora came to luncheon with unruffled brow. Across the
table, her husband looked at her inquiringly.
"Under way, Teddy?"
"Yes, at last."
"I'm glad. I do hope nothing will interrupt you."
"Something will; it always does. Fortunately it is Lent and not much is
stirring. Anyway, I mean to have my mornings free, whatever comes."
"I'll mount guard on the threshold, if you want," he responded.
Only a week afterward, Theodora was in her writing-room, hard at work.
Her desk, surmounted by a shabby photograph of her husband in his
boyhood, was orderly and deserted; but the broad couch across the western
window was strewn with sheets of manuscript which overflowed to the
floor, while in the midst of them Theodora sat enthroned, a book on her
knee and her ink insecurely poised on one of the cushions beside her.
Across the lawn she could see The Savins among the tall, bare trees, and
she paused now and then to watch the yellow sunshine as it sifted down
through the branches. All at once she stopped, with a frown.
"But I must see her," Allyn was saying sharply.
"She is busy."
"Never mind; she will see me."
There was a word or two more; then a silence, and Theodora returned to
her interrupted sentence. The next minute, she started abruptly, as she
heard a boyish fist descend on the panels of her door.
"Go away! Oh, my ink!" she exclaimed. "Please let me alone. It's all
tipped over."
"I'm sorry, Ted; but I must come." And Allyn stalked into the room.
"Oh, what do you want?" she asked despairingly, as she took up the
dripping pillow by the corners and looked about for a suitable place to
deposit it.
"Throw it out of the window," he suggested briefly. "I didn't mean to,
Teddy; but there's a row, and I must tell you."
She shut down the window sharply. Then she turned to look at him, and of
a sudden the annoyance vanished from her face and in its place there came
a new expression gentler and of a great protecting love. Years before, in
his invalid boyhood, her husband had known that look. Of late, no one but
Allyn had called it forth. To-day there was need for it, for Allyn was in
evident want of sympathy. His cheeks were flushed; but there was a white
line around his lips, and his hands, like his voice, were unsteady. He
was short and slight, with a mass of smooth brown hair and brown eyes
that for the moment had lost all their merriment and were sternly sombre
under their straight brows. His chin was firm; but his lips were not so
full of decision.
Swiftly Mrs. Farrington gathered up her papers and shut them into her
Desk. Then she turned abruptly, laid her hands on the boy's shoulders
and looked straight down into his eyes.
"What is it, Allyn?" she asked gravely.