In Deborah's school, in the meantime, affairs had drawn to a climax. The
moment had come for the city to say whether her new experiment should be
dropped the following year or allowed to go on and develop. There came a
day of sharp suspense when Deborah's friends and enemies on the Board of
Education sat down to discuss and settle her fate. They were at it for
several hours, but late in the afternoon they decided not only to let her
go on the next year but to try her idea in four other schools and place her
in charge with ample funds. The long strain came to an end at last in a
triumph beyond her wildest hopes; when the news arrived she relaxed, grew
limp, and laughed and cried a little. And her father felt her tremble as he
held her a moment in his arms.
"Now, Baird," he thought, "your chance has come. For God's sake, take it
while it's here!"
But in place of Baird that afternoon came men and women from the press, and
friends and fellow workers. The door-bell and the telephone kept ringing
almost incessantly. Why couldn't they leave her a moment's peace? Roger
buried himself in his study. Later, when he was called to dinner, he found
that Allan was there, too, but at first the conversation was all upon
Deborah's victory. Flushed with success, for the moment engrossed in the
wider field she saw ahead, she had not a thought for anything else. But
after dinner the atmosphere changed.
"To hear me talk," she told them, "you'd think the whole world depended on
me, and on my school and my ideas. Me, me, me! And it has been me all
winter long! What a time I've given both of you!"
She grew repentant and grateful, first to her father and then to Allan, and
then more and more to Allan, with her happy eyes on his. And with a keen
worried look at them both, Roger rose and left the room.
* * * * *
Baird was leaning forward. He had both her hands in his own.
"Well?" he asked. "Will you marry me now?"
Her eyes were looking straight into his. They kept moving slightly,
searching his. Her wide, sensitive lips were tightly compressed, but did
not quite hide their quivering. When she spoke her voice was low and a
little queer and breathless:
"Do you want any children, Allan?"
"Yes."
"So do I. And with children, what of my work?"
"I don't want to stop your work. If you marry me we'll go right on. You see
I know you, Deborah, I know you've always grown like that--by risking what
you've got to-day for something more to-morrow."
"I've never taken a risk like this!"
"I tell you this time it's no risk! Because you're a grown woman--formed!
I'm not making a saint of you. You're no angel down among the poor because
you feel it's your duty in life--it's your happiness, your passion! You
couldn't neglect them if you tried!"
"But the time," she asked him quickly. "Where shall I find the time for it
all?"
"A man finds time enough," he answered, "even when he's married."
"But I'm not a man, I'm a woman," she said. And in a low voice which
thrilled him, "A woman who wants a child of her own!" His lean muscular
right hand contracted sharply upon hers. She winced, drew back a little.
"Oh--I'm sorry!" he whispered. Then he asked her again,
"Will you marry me now?" She looked suddenly up:
"Let's wait awhile, please! It won't be long--I'm in love with you, Allan,
I'm sure of that now! And I'm not drawing back, I'm not afraid! Oh, I want
you to feel I'm not running away! What I want to do is to face this square!
It may be silly and foolish but--you see, I'm made like that. I want a
little longer--I want to think it out by myself."
* * * * *
When Allan had gone she came in to her father. And her radiant expression
made him bounce up from his chair.
"By George," he cried, "he asked you!"
"Yes!"
"And you've taken him!"
"No!"
Roger gasped.
"Look here!" he demanded, angrily. "What's the matter? Are you mad?" She
threw back her head and laughed at him.
"No, I'm not--I'm happy!"
"What the devil about?" he snapped.
"We're going to wait a bit, that's all, till we're sure of everything!" she
cried.
"Then," said Roger disgustedly, "you're smarter than your father is. I'm
sure of nothing--nothing! I have never been sure in all my days! If I'd
waited, you'd never have been born!"
"Oh, dearie," she begged him smilingly. "Please don't be so unhappy just
now--"
"I've a right to be!" said Roger. "I see my house agog with this--in a
turmoil--in a turmoil!"
* * * * *
But again he was mistaken. It was in fact astonishing how the old house
quieted down. There came again one of those peaceful times, when his home
to Roger's senses seemed to settle deep, grow still, and gather itself
together. Day by day he felt more sure that Deborah was succeeding in
making her work fit into her swiftly deepening passion for a full happy
woman's life. And why shouldn't they live here, Allan and she? The thought
of this dispelled the cloud which hung over the years he saw ahead. How
smoothly things were working out. The monstrous new buildings around his
house seemed to him to draw back as though balked of their prey.
On the mantle in Roger's study, for many years a bronze figure there, "The
Thinker," huge and naked, forbidding in its crouching pose, the heavy chin
on one clenched fist, had brooded down upon him. And in the years that had
been so dark, it had been a figure of despair. Often he had looked up from
his chair and grimly met its frowning gaze. But Roger seldom looked at it
now, and even when it caught his eye it had little effect upon him. It
appeared to brood less darkly. For though he did not think it out, there
was this feeling in his mind:
"There is to be nothing startling in this quiet home of mine, no crashing
deep calamity here."
Only the steadily deepening love between a grown man and a woman mature,
both sensible, strong people with a firm control of their destinies. He
felt so sure of this affair. For now, her tension once relaxed with the
success which had come to her after so many long hard years, a new Deborah
was revealed, more human in her yieldings. She let Allan take her off on
the wildest little sprees uptown and out into the country. To Roger she
seemed younger, more warm and joyous and more free. He loved to hear her
laugh these nights, to catch the glad new tones in her voice.
"There is to be no tragedy here."
So, certain of this union and wistful for all he felt it would bring, Roger
watched its swift approach. And when the news came, he was sure he'd been
right. Because it came so quietly.
"It's settled, dear, at last it's sure. Allan and I are to be married." She
was standing by his chair. Roger reached up and took her hand:
"I'm glad. You'll be very happy, my child."
She bent over and kissed him, and putting his arm around her he drew her
down on the side of his chair.
"Now tell me all your plans," he said. And her answer brought him a deep
peace.
"We're going abroad for the summer--and then if you'll have us we want to
come here." Roger abruptly shut his eyes.
"By George, Deborah," he said, "you do have a way of getting right into the
heart of things!" His arm closed about her with new strength and he felt
all his troubles flying away.
"What a time we'll have, what a rich new life." Her deep sweet voice was a
little unsteady. "Listen, dearie, how quiet it is." And for some moments
nothing was heard but the sober tick-tick of the clock on the mantle. "I
wonder what we're going to hear."
And they thought of new voices in the house.