Introductory material (continued 4)

“Well, he ought to know⁠⁠⸺” Jim stopped speaking and glanced at Lucy.

“Yes, Jim, but so had she.”

Jim thought.

“Do you know yet if she’s going to stay—permanently?” he inquired after a pause.

“I don’t know, Jim. I shouldn’t be surprised. She talks sometimes as though she were eventually going to marry a Professor Walsh, back in Russellville. But I don’t know.”

Jim smoked hard for a while. When he spoke again his voice was low.

“Lucy, you know I would do anything in the world for you,” he said. “Anything,” he repeated vehemently.

“Yes, Jim. You are the best friend that ever was.” Lucy smiled at him frankly. “But I don’t see just how you can help in anything else.”

“I’d like to help,” he offered, almost wistfully.

“You have,” she declared, still smiling. “I feel a lot better already.”

“Do you, Lucy?” he asked eagerly. “Do I—do you—am I⁠⁠⸺” he stammered, growing red again.

“Why, of course you do,” she responded heartily and naturally. “It always does me good to talk to you.” Then she added rather plaintively, “Oh, Jim, why can’t people be honest with themselves and with others?”

“I’m damned if I know!” he declared savagely, not looking at her.

“I’m sure I don’t either,” she said, regarding him affectionately. “Well, good-bye. I’m going home.” She rose and shook hands.

“Good-bye, Lucy. You can depend on me.” Jim held her hand.

“Thank you, Jim,” she answered, pressing his hand.

And she was gone.

Mrs. Merwent was at the piano, practising, when Lucy reached home.

“Well, did you see Mr. Sprague?” Nannie asked sarcastically, going into the hall when she heard the front door open.

“Yes,” returned Lucy calmly.

“You ought to be careful, Lucy,” reminded Nannie. “Of course I wouldn’t say anything to John, but others might.”

“You can say anything you like to him,” retorted Lucy in a disgusted tone. “I’m going to tell him myself.”

That night John returned late. Nannie, Lucy, and Dimmie had finished their evening meal, and Lucy had tucked Dimmie safely into bed, when the front door clicked and a cheerful voice was heard in the hall.

“Now, Lucy, your croaking was all for nothing,” were John’s first words. “Look there!” he commanded, rushing into the living room and throwing a pile of bills on the table, his manner almost hilarious.

“How nice!” murmured Nannie.

“Where did that come from?” Lucy inquired quickly.

“Why, Jim put over a deal today while I was away, and this is my share of the lucre,” and John put his hands in his pockets and began to whistle.

“What kind of a deal was it?” persisted Lucy.

“Oh, some private scheme of his. Sold building materials or something on commission,” answered John.

Lucy looked nonplussed.

“Didn’t Mr. Sprague say anything to you about it?” Nannie inquired of Lucy in an innocent voice.

“Why, was Jim out here today?” asked John in surprise.

“No. I was at the office,” Lucy explained without hesitation.

“Why, he didn’t tell me,” said John, as though mystified. Then, apologetically, “I was only there a minute, Lucy. Went to Benton Harbor on business. I forgot to say anything about going last night.”

“Your dinner’s getting cold,” was all Lucy’s reply.

As John seated himself at the table a faint cry was heard from the upper floor and Lucy, exclaiming, “That’s Dimmie!” left the room quickly.

“John, I wish you would ask Mr. Sprague out again,” requested Nannie, when she thought her daughter was safely upstairs.

John looked teasingly at her.

“What’s the matter? Are you getting lonesome, or just yearning for more of Jim’s society?”

“Will you ask him out?” she repeated.

“Yes. Of course I will. Let’s see. Today is Tuesday. I’ll bring him out Thursday night. He’s going to work late tomorrow, I heard him say.”

“Now, don’t forget,” warned Nannie.

XX

Mrs. Merwent came downstairs with a headache, but after her insistent complaints elicited some sympathetic remarks from Lucy, she settled herself resignedly to mend a small hole in one of the grey silk stockings which she had worn to The Madcap Girl. It was a dull day. Lucy picked up the morning paper from the floor where John had dropped it as he went out, halted near a window and read aloud at random the few items which she thought her mother might find of interest.

“I see here that Miss Powell was one of the hostesses last night at the Ravenswood Golf Club,” said Lucy in a determinedly pleasant voice, laying the paper down.

“She has relatives with money so she can do such things,” her mother sighed, dropping the stocking into her lap and staring moodily out the window. “Little did I think I would ever be dependent on your charity,” she mourned, after a pause.

Lucy looked quickly at her mother.

“Well, I don’t envy Miss Powell. She’s too self centered to be very happy,” said Lucy.

“Like me, I suppose you mean,” complained Nannie. “I’ve ceased to expect any sympathy from you, Lucy.”

“I didn’t mean any such thing, Mamma, and you know it!” Lucy spoke with forced good nature. “You know I don’t make oblique or sarcastic comments.”

“Well, do I?” demanded her mother. “Did I ever imply that you envied Miss Powell or anyone else?”

“I didn’t mean you envied her, either,” explained Lucy. “I only said I didn’t.” She spoke over her shoulder as she left the room.

She had passed up the stairs when the tinkling of the telephone sounded from the hall and Nannie rose to answer it.

“This is John,” was the reply to her faint “hello.” “Is this Nannie speaking?”

“Yes,” she affirmed weakly, remembering her aching head.

“Well, I was mistaken about Jim’s working tonight. It’s tomorrow night. So I’m going to bring him out this evening. Tell Lucy, will you?”

“Certainly,” responded Nannie in a livelier tone.

“How’s your headache?”

“Oh, it’s ever so much better, thank you; it’s about all gone.”

“That’s good,” said John, and he hung up the receiver.

Lucy, dressed for the street, soon came down stairs.

“I’m going to do some shopping,” she informed Nannie. “I didn’t suppose you would care to go with your headache. I’ll be back by the time Dimmie comes from kindergarten and get him ready to go to Mrs. Hamilton’s. Your lunch is all fixed and in the refrigerator. There’s ice tea already made in the blue pitcher.”

“My headache’s not as bad as it was.”

“Well it’s too late now to wait for you to dress,” began Lucy.

“Oh, don’t worry, Lucy. I have no intention of going. I’ve got sense enough to know whether I’m wanted or not.”

“Mamma, please,” Lucy begged, almost in desperation.

“Well, Lucy, you started it.”

Lucy hurried toward the hall.

“Mr. Sprague is coming to dinner tonight,” Nannie called importantly.

Lucy halted an instant.

“Well, there’s plenty,” she called back enigmatically, and went out.

Nannie looked blank until the front door shut.

It was evening when Lucy returned from the city. On the train she encountered Mrs. Hamilton who had invited Dimmie to take tea with Stella. John and Jim had already arrived and were smoking in the dining room when Lucy came back from the Hamiltons’ where she had left Dimmie. Nannie, in a careful toilette with a rose in her hair, was chatting and laughing in the highest of spirits.

“Hello, Lucy!” exclaimed Jim cordially, rising and shaking hands. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m all right,” Lucy told him, smiling.

“You’re not looking any too well,” he observed, glancing at her face.

“Well, I’m feeling fine, anyway.”

“Where’s Dimmie?” he inquired.

“He’s gone out to tea.”

“Getting to be quite a swell.” Jim smiled affectionately.

“Yes, and with a young lady, too,” she laughed.

“Mr. Sprague, I was talking to you,” interrupted Nannie, pouting.

“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Merwent,” said Jim, hastily resuming his chair.

“Oh, don’t apologize. I don’t expect to compete with Lucy,” she declared with the sweetest intonation of voice.

Jim colored.

“What were we talking about?” he asked, straightening his cravat.

“There! That shows how much attention you pay to me,” she gibed. “Come on, John! Let’s leave them together.” She rose and moved toward the living room.

“Well, dinner’s ready, so there’s no use in your taking John away,” remarked Lucy, without heat. And the four sat down at the table.

“It’s been a long time since you were here, Mr. Sprague,” began Nannie in a sprightly manner as she was serving the soup.

“Yes,” conceded Jim.

“You used to come out at least once every week before I came, so Lucy tells me, and always stayed all night, and sometimes over Sunday.”

“I have been very busy lately.” Jim’s tone was defensive and he glanced at Lucy.

“And very successful lately, I believe,” Nannie continued. “You made a fine deal yesterday, didn’t you? John told me all about it.”

“Yes—it was a good deal.”

Jim reddened again and stared at the table cloth.

Lucy’s eyes were upon him.

Shortly after dinner, Dimmie, escorted to the back gate by Mrs. Hamilton and Stella, came in through the kitchen.

“Mrs. Hamilton brought me to the back gate,” he volunteered as he entered the dining room. Then, catching sight of Jim, he yelled, “Hello, Uncle Jim!” and rushed for his idol.

“You must go to sleepy town now, dear,” suggested Lucy, a few minutes later. “Say good night.” And Dimmie obeyed reluctantly, but with a special tight hug for “Uncle Jim.”

Soon the sound of Lucy’s voice as she sat upstairs singing Dimmie to sleep was heard by the trio in the dining room.

“I’ve often wondered why Lucy never sang before people,” declared Jim, lighting his pipe. “She certainly has a beautiful voice.”

“I gave her piano lessons for years,” answered Nannie quickly, “but she hasn’t kept it up. The reason I didn’t have her voice trained is that her ear is not true.”

“I never noticed that and I have overheard her singing a number of times,” persisted Jim. “Now take that thing from Butterfly she is singing now, for instance. She places the difficult intervals with absolute precision. And Puccini’s music is tricky.”

“Oh, I never knew you understood music, Mr. Sprague. You never seemed particularly interested in it.”

“Why, I have listened to your singing with much pleasure, Mrs. Merwent.”

“You couldn’t get away from it,” Nannie laughed. “Come on, John. Shall I sing for you? Mr. Sprague can shut the door if he doesn’t like it!” Nannie passed into the living room, followed by John.

Lucy came down stairs.

“Well, Jim, are you deserted?” was her question, as she opened the dining room door and saw him there alone.

He nodded his head without speaking.

“Let’s go in and hear Mamma sing,” she suggested.

He hesitated an instant as if about to make some comment, and then followed her.

Mrs. Merwent ceased singing and swung around on the piano stool as they entered.

“Go on, Mamma. Don’t stop,” Lucy urged, seating herself and indicating a chair to Jim.

“Mr. Sprague had rather hear you,” said Nannie.

“Nonsense, Mamma. You know I never sing,” protested Lucy, looking embarrassed. “What were you singing?”

“It’s a little thing called Juliet at the Window.”

“There’s to be a revival of Romeo and Juliet at the Standard Theatre next week,” observed John.

“Yes. I saw by the papers that that little Hilda Knowlton is going to play Juliet. She’s much too young for the part,” said Nannie.

“I don’t see how she well could be,” objected Jim.

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Sprague,” began Nannie. “I’ve seen Mary Anderson, and Adelaide Neilson, and Julia Arthur, and Eleanor Robson, and Julia Marlowe, all in the part, and they weren’t young girls in their teens.”

“Well, according to the play a young girl in her teens would be exactly suited to the rôle,” answered Jim tenaciously.

“I’m sure that’s the first time I ever heard anyone say such a thing,” retorted Nannie.

“I’m not the only one who said so.” Jim was smiling but obstinate.

“For instance?” demanded Nannie sneeringly.

“Shakespeare,” replied Jim.

“Nonsense!” Nannie exclaimed irritably.

Jim walked to the bookcase and took down a volume of Shakespeare’s plays.

“‘Act one, scene three,’” he read. “‘She’s not fourteen. Come Lammas-eve at night, she shall be fourteen.’”

“Well, I’ve always thought she was older anyway,” insisted Nannie, “and I’m sure almost everybody thinks so. I’ve never seen a young chit of a girl take the part, and it would generally be considered ridiculous.”

“Perhaps Shakespeare didn’t know,” said Jim.

“Oh, well, if you want to be sarcastic and nasty about it, we better not discuss it. I suppose you feel very superior and triumphant over having gotten the best of me. I’m sure it makes no difference to me how old Juliet is supposed to be. Of course you never make any mistakes, Mr. Sprague.”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Merwent, for having ventured to offer an opinion on the subject,” apologized Jim coldly.

“Here! You two people will be pulling hair in a minute,” interrupted John, breezily. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“With pleasure,” agreed Jim in the same frigid tone.

Mrs. Merwent rose without a word and made her way to the dining room.

“Where are you, Nannie?” John called after a few minutes. Receiving no reply, he stepped to the door.

“What are you sitting out here alone for?” he began. Then, in response to a sign from her, he entered the room.

“You and Jim don’t seem to get on very well tonight.” He spoke in a lowered voice as he seated himself by her side.

“Well, I’m amazed that you do,” she responded cryptically.

“What do you mean, Nannie?”

Mrs. Merwent raised her eyebrows significantly.

“You watch him,” she advised, almost in a whisper.

“Watch him?” John repeated in surprise. “Why, what for?”

“Remember what I say!” she whispered. “You watch his attitude toward Lucy. Didn’t you notice how anxious she was to defend him last night?”

An expression of understanding came into John’s eyes.

“Why, Nannie, you don’t mean⁠⁠⸺” He paused.

“I don’t mean anything.” She paused. “But it’s as I said the other night,” she added; “you’re too good and trusting, John.”

In the other room Jim had risen to take his departure.

“It’s early yet,” Lucy was saying.

“I must get back,” he insisted.

“Well, thank you for coming, anyway.”

“I’m afraid I’ve done no good,” he answered, discouragedly.

“You’ve certainly done no harm, Jim.”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head.

They went into the hall and he took up his hat.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Merwent. Good night, John,” he said formally, stepping to the dining room door.

“Good night,” returned John absently.

“Good-bye, Mr. Sprague,” Nannie responded in her usual silvery tones.

As he was leaving, Jim grasped Lucy’s hand warmly.

After he had gone, Lucy came to the dining room door and glanced in at Nannie and John. Then she turned away and ascended the stairs. Neither of them had noticed her.

XXI

Egged on by Nannie, John, though temporarily distracted by other matters, had not relinquished his determination to secure a servant, and one morning, as the result of his efforts, a girl from an employment agency presented herself.

“My name is Grace Stanley,” she announced, handing Lucy the note of introduction which John had sent, “and I do no washing, ironing, or mending, and I want Thursday and Saturday afternoons off. Of course I’ll stay today,” she concluded.

Lucy, whose protests had been in vain, had been warned of John’s intention the morning before and now without comment led the girl to the servant’s room.

About noon Nannie appeared, carefully made up and tastefully dressed in a white and green linen gown. The new servant had removed her corsets and exchanged her shoes for felt house slippers. And, when Nannie entered the dining room, was cleaning the silver ware. Grace, from the corner of her eye, gave Mrs. Merwent a shrewd glance.

“Good morning,” said Nannie, passing on to the next room where she sat down to the piano.

She finished running over some music and turned on the stool.

“My, but you sing pretty!” exclaimed Grace, who had been watching unnoticed in the doorway.

“Thank you.” Nannie smiled condescendingly, rising to pick up a volume of songs which she had laid on a nearby chair.

“Is there anything I can do for you before I start luncheon, Mrs. Winter?” the servant inquired, still hesitating in the doorway.

“I am Mrs. Merwent. Mrs. Winter is my daughter. Yes, you can come upstairs with me and I will show you how I wish my room done every day.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Merwent,” acceded Grace. And the two went upstairs together.

“I surely never would have taken you to be Mrs. Winter’s mother,” the girl asserted with conviction, as they entered Nannie’s room.

“Grace!” Lucy called from the lower hall a few minutes later. “Where are you, Grace?”

“I’m busy, Mrs. Winter,” the girl called in answer.

“Well, leave whatever you are doing. I want you to begin luncheon. It’s late already.”

“I can’t come now, Mrs. Winter,” was Grace’s retort. “I’m helping Mrs. Merwent.”

“Wait a minute, Lucy. I’m explaining the work to Grace,” Nannie shouted impatiently.

Lucy went to the kitchen and began to prepare the meal herself.

“Is that a picture of you, Mrs. Merwent?” Grace was asking Nannie, pointing to a photograph on the dressing table.

“Yes, but it was taken a long time ago,” Nannie explained modestly.

“It’s a good likeness,” declared Grace.

“Oh, I look lots older than that now!” protested Nannie.

“Well, maybe you do look a teeny bit older, but I didn’t notice it,” Grace admitted, scrutinizing the picture again. “Ain’t Mrs. Winter your step-daughter?” she pursued.

“No. She’s my own daughter,” confessed Nannie.

“My, but you must have got married young!” exclaimed the girl.

“Now, you can go down and help Mrs. Winter,” suggested Nannie pleasantly. “You understand how I want things. And don’t forget to do my room first always.”

“I’ll not forget,” Grace promised, “and whenever you want anything, you just call me, Mrs. Merwent.”

“I will, thank you, Grace.” Nannie smiled, and the servant descended to the kitchen.

Lucy was looking hot and tired when luncheon was served.

“Why is it that Jimmie always goes so early to kindergarten now-a-days?” Mrs. Merwent asked her when they had seated themselves at the table.

“He goes over to Mrs. Hamilton’s after his breakfast,” replied Lucy, “and the wagon calls there for both children.”

“I should think you would let him go from here,” observed Nannie. “I don’t see the advantage of his going over to Mrs. Hamilton’s so early. And after he comes back you always send him or take him some place. A child ought not to be away from home so much. It’s not good for him.”

Lucy made no answer.

“One would think that you’d like to see more of your child, Lucy. I used to be miserable when you were at school. But it looks as though you send him away on purpose. Perhaps you want to keep him away from my evil influence?”

Lucy continued silent.

“Why don’t you say right out, Lucy, that you don’t want me to have anything to do with him?”

“That isn’t true, Mamma, that I don’t want you to see anything of him.”

“I suppose, then, you didn’t send him to kindergarten to get him away from me?”

“Well, I thought he bothered you a great deal, Mamma, and you and he are always quarreling.”

“Quarreling! I quarrel with a five year old child! You have a very dignified mother, I must say! No, that excuse won’t work. The real reason is that you want to estrange the child from me so you can have his affection all for yourself.”

“No, Mamma. That’s not so. But I do think it is bad for Dimmie to have you correcting him every time he breathes. Children should have a great deal of consideration.”

“And I have no consideration for him! I nag him every time he breathes! Lucy, of all the unjust, unkind things to say, and from my own daughter, too! After all I’ve gone through for you! If I’d only followed poor Mother’s advice and never come! Well, I’ll tell you this much, Lucy, I have some rights in the matter too, and I will not have my own grandson poisoned against me!”

“Well, I have some rights, too!” flared Lucy. “I will not have my child badgered to death by anybody!”

“Badgered! Well, I never! The child doesn’t belong to you alone, Lucy. He has a father, too, and we’ll see what John has to say about it!”

“It makes no difference what he says,” returned Lucy hotly. “You shall not ruin my boy, and neither shall his father!” Her eyes shone and her breast heaved.

“Why, Lucy! What are you getting into such a rage about?” Nannie temporized suddenly. “Anyone would think I was asking permission to murder him instead of⁠⁠⸺”

“That’s exactly what you are doing!” cried Lucy bitterly. “You would like to murder his soul. You want to interfere with every thought and impulse the child has!”

“Why, Lucy⁠⁠⸺” Nannie began again indignantly.

“Don’t ‘Lucy’ me!” interrupted her daughter vehemently, rising from her chair. “I tell you I won’t have my child tortured by you or anyone else. If it’s to be that or nothing we had better decide to part right now. So far as my own life goes, I say nothing, but my child⁠⁠⸺” She halted for breath, trembling with emotion.

“Lucy!” Nannie almost shrieked, rising also.

Lucy stared at her mother steadfastly for a moment, and did not speak. Nannie broke into hysterical sobbing. Lucy continued to regard her unmoved.

“Oh, Lucy, do you want to break my heart?” Nannie wailed.

“No,” said Lucy at last, the peculiar hard expression on her face relaxing slightly.

“Things used to be so different,” moaned Mrs. Merwent between sobs. “We were so congenial. And now that poor Mother’s dead, when I’m all alone and need affection so badly, and have forgiven all the past, to think that you could say such things to me!” And she wept afresh.

Lucy gazed at her with a look which mingled pity with contempt.

“Oh, Lucy, do you hate me?” Nannie’s voice was beseeching.

“No,” Lucy repeated impassively, hesitating a moment before she answered.

“Then, love me, Lucy! Don’t look at me that way!” Nannie threw her arms around her daughter’s neck.

For a moment Lucy submitted to the caress without responding. Then she put her arms around her mother.

“I can’t bear to have anything between us. We have always been so close together,” said Nannie, sniffing gently.

Lucy glanced across her mother’s shoulder and saw Grace standing in the doorway.

“You can clear the table,” Lucy ordered the girl sharply, at the same time loosening herself from Nannie’s embrace.

“Yes, ma’am,” agreed Grace cheerfully.

Nannie went upstairs to her room. She was followed, almost at once, by Grace.

“Poor Mrs. Merwent,” the girl began, coming into Nannie’s room without knocking. “You look all pale and wore out.”

Nannie observed her rouged cheeks in the mirror, peering over the girl’s head surreptitiously.

“Am I pale, Grace?” she inquired nervously.

“No. Not exactly pale,” amended the girl, “but your eyes look tired and you are worried.”

“Do I show wrinkles?” insisted Nannie.

“Not at all,” said Grace hastily, “but it breaks my heart to see you look so sad.”

“It’s nothing, Grace. We all have our troubles. But you are a good, kind-hearted girl. Thank you.”

“Is there anything you want?” offered Grace solicitously.

“No. Not now. You can help Mrs. Winter. If I need you, I’ll call.”

“All right, Mrs. Merwent. I’ll run up again after a while.” And Grace descended the stairs, humming a song under her breath.

Lucy was in the kitchen beating eggs.

“Did you move some money that was on the writing table in the living room, Grace?” she asked as the girl entered.

“Why, no ma’am. Of course not!” denied Grace vigorously.

“I can’t find it,” said Lucy.

“Well, I didn’t touch it,” reasserted the girl with some indignation. “I don’t do such things, Mrs. Winter.”

“I didn’t say you took it, Grace,” responded Lucy patiently. “I thought you might have moved it, that’s all. I’ve looked every place for it.”

“No, I didn’t touch it,” Grace repeated.

Lucy went upstairs.

“Mamma, did you put away some money that was on the desk in the dining room?” she inquired.

“Why, no, Lucy, I never touch anything,” Nannie stated.

“Well, it’s very funny. I laid it down and came up here, and when I went back it was gone.”

“Maybe you locked it up, Mrs. Winter, and then forgot it.” Grace’s voice startled them both.

Lucy turned toward the girl who was standing in the hall just outside the door.

“What do you mean by following me about, Grace?” she reproved with vexation.

“I only came up to see how Mrs. Merwent was.” Grace had an injured air.

“Why, are you sick?” Lucy faced her mother quickly.

“No-o. Just a slight headache, that’s all,” murmured Nannie with some confusion.

“You didn’t tell me anything about it,” said Lucy.

“Why, it’s nothing.”

“You better start your work, Grace, if you expect to have dinner on time.” Lucy spoke to the girl again.

Grace went off sulkily.

“I don’t like that girl,” Lucy complained when Grace had gone.

“Why, I don’t see anything the matter with her. She is extremely thoughtful and respectful.”

“Well, she doesn’t do her work, for one thing, and eavesdrops for another, and I am going to have the matter of this money cleared up.”

“I don’t think you ought to accuse her of stealing without any proof, Lucy. It is so easy to be unjust. I know what it is to be misunderstood myself.”

“Injustice is the last thing I have in mind,” declared Lucy as she was leaving the room, “but I can’t let a thing like this pass without doing something.”

In about an hour Grace tapped at Nannie’s door.

“Come in,” Nannie called.

The girl entered noiselessly, as usual. She carried a tray on which were a teapot, cup and saucer, and a plate of buttered toast.

“I’ve fixed you a little tea and toast, Mrs. Merwent,” she announced. “Maybe if you eat a little it will make you feel better.”

“Wait a minute, till I put these things away.” Nannie glanced up from the open bureau drawer before which she was kneeling. Then, seeing the tray, she rose to her feet.

“Thank you, Grace, but I don’t feel like eating,” she protested mournfully.

“Oh, try just a teeny bit. Here, I’ll pour the tea out for you. Eat just this little bit of toast. See how brown and crisp it is. You ought to try to eat, Mrs. Merwent. I noticed you ate hardly any lunch at all.”

“Well, all right, Grace, seeing that you have been thoughtful enough to fix it.” And Nannie began to eat with good appetite. “I didn’t think I could touch a bite, but you’ve fixed everything so nicely. I don’t usually eat much,” she declared defensively after a few moments. She smiled wanly at Grace, munching the toast as she spoke.

“That’s right,” said the girl approvingly. “You ought to eat more.”

There was a pause.

“Did Mrs. Winter find the money she misplaced?” Grace questioned casually. “Here, let me pour you another cup of tea,” she added.

“I don’t think so, Grace. But it will turn up some place or other,” replied Nannie, holding out her cup for the girl to fill.

“Well, if it don’t, I never touched it.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, Grace.”

“We’re going to have cold roast and hot potatoes for dinner, Mrs. Merwent. How do you like potatoes best? Shall I fix them au gratin?” asked Grace, mispronouncing the French very badly.

“I like scalloped potatoes best,” specified Nannie.

“All right. I’ll fix ’em that way. And the salad, shall I fix mayonnaise or French dressing?”

“Mayonnaise, if it’s not too much work.”

“Oh, I don’t mind the work.” Grace laughed. “I want to have things as you like ’em.” She picked up the tray. “If you want me, just call me,” she reminded Nannie, and departed as before, humming the same song.

Lucy came into the kitchen a little later.

“You can get the potatoes ready to bake, Grace,” she directed, “and make the French dressing for the salad while they are baking.”

“I was goin’ to scallop the potatoes,” objected Grace. “Mrs. Merwent said she liked ’em that way, and she wanted mayonnaise for the salad.”

“Well, I don’t care, if you have time to do it. Mr. Winter likes to have his dinner promptly.”

“I’ll get it in time, all right, all right. You just leave me alone,” stipulated Grace.

It was several days before Lucy made an issue of Grace.

About ten o’clock one morning, missing the girl from the kitchen, she tapped at the door of the servant’s room. Receiving no response to her knock, and hearing the sound of snoring, she looked in. Finding Grace asleep, she awakened her.

“Haven’t you anything to do, Grace? Go and start luncheon at once.”

The girl descended the stairs, Lucy following her.

“You can hash and brown the potatoes that were left. They’re in the refrigerator.”

“There ain’t no potatoes left,” objected Grace sulkily.

“Why, where are they? I told you to save them for luncheon.”

“I throwed ’em away.”

“What did you mean by throwing them away after I told you to put them in the refrigerator?”

“I don’t like warmed over things,” Grace informed her insolently.

“You will not be needed after tomorrow, Grace,” pronounced Lucy angrily. “Your week is up then. Of course I will pay you an extra week’s wages.”

“Why, what have I done, Mrs. Winter?” was the answer in a tone of injured innocence.

“We need not discuss it. It is sufficient that I shall not require your services after tomorrow.”

“If you are hinting that I took that money, Mrs. Winter, I will just let you know that there is protection for a girl who is accused falsely of stealing.”

“I’m not accusing you,” returned Lucy. “The money disappeared. So did a dollar bill I purposely placed on the table. I have no proof that you took either sum, but I am not compelled to keep anyone in my employ unless I wish, so we will consider the matter settled.”

Grace sought Nannie’s room without delay.

Not long after, Nannie presented herself in the living room where Lucy was engaged in straightening some papers on the desk. The girl had remained upstairs.

“What are you discharging Grace for, Lucy?” Nannie began excitedly.

“I think I have good reasons, Mamma, or I shouldn’t do it.”

“I’m afraid you are prejudiced against her, Lucy. She complains to me that you are not treating her fairly.”

“I must be the judge of what I am doing, Mamma.”

“Well, I should be careful about reflecting on her character and honesty. You don’t know that she took that money, and I am convinced that she didn’t. A girl who is considerate and thoughtful of others is not likely to be a thief.”

“I have accused her of nothing, Mamma, but I will not have her around.”

“Now, Lucy, of course I know that you think I should never say a word in this house, but I think it’s my duty to protest in this matter.” Mrs. Merwent assumed an expression of great dignity.

“I’m a better judge than you are of what kind of a servant I want,” retorted Lucy, her cheeks flushing.

“In other words, I should attend to my own business.”

“Well, Mamma, you certainly ought to know that I am the one to take the responsibility in such matters.”

“Without considering the wishes or comfort of anyone else in the family!” snapped Nannie. “Of course I might have known that I needn’t expect to be considered. I never count for anything.”

“I think the lack of consideration is on your part, Mamma. You don’t care if the girl is lazy and inefficient and dishonest. Just so long as she flatters you and pays you special attention, you stand up for her. The welfare of the family is nothing.”

“Of course I might have expected to be insulted. It’s not true, I tell you! I wasn’t thinking of myself at all. I know you are jealous and resentful whenever anybody pays me the least attention, but my only thought was simple justice to the girl. I don’t propose to see anybody misused. We’ll see what John says to your putting a girl in the street without provocation.”

“You can tell John, or anybody else you want to, but I shall do as I please in my own house,” flared Lucy, and left the room.

When John came home that evening he found Nannie alone in the living room. She was in tears.

“Why what’s the matter, Nannie?” he cried in consternation.

“Oh, John!” She wept. “I don’t know what has come over Lucy! I’ve tried so hard to overlook everything, and came here with a fixed determination to forget the past and all I’ve suffered on account of her, and now she treats me like this! She knows that I’m at her mercy, too. I was brought up to expect such a different fate!”

“Why, what has she done?” he asked anxiously.

“She wants to dismiss Grace just because the girl likes me, and Lucy can’t bear to have anybody prefer me to her.”

Lucy entered the living room.

“What’s this about your wanting to discharge the girl, Lucy?” he questioned. “Have you got any reason for it?”

“I certainly shouldn’t want to unless I had,” replied Lucy coldly.

“Well, Lucy, you know you acknowledged yourself that you had no proof that she took the money,” put in Nannie gently, wiping her eyes.

“Yes. I didn’t think she took it when you told me, Lucy,” supplemented John.

“It was twice⁠⁠⸺” began Lucy.

“You probably spent it and forgot all about it,” interrupted John.

“No, I didn’t.” Lucy’s tone was rebellious. “I always put down every cent I spend, and besides, I don’t like the girl anyway.”

“You’ve never liked her, Lucy,” put in Nannie again.

“Now, Lucy, you shouldn’t let personal prejudices make you unjust.” John’s manner was lofty. “If Grace has faults, speak to her about them, but don’t allow a whim to destroy the girl’s livelihood. If Nannie wants the girl to stay, surely it is a little thing to make enough effort to readjust things, instead of putting her in the street.”

“John,” Lucy began once more in a suppressed voice, “my comfort and convenience and welfare used to be enough to justify any change I saw fit to make in our home.”

“Of course I have changed you into an inconsiderate husband, John,” jeered Nannie.

“Oh, nonsense, Lucy,” answered John irritably. “You are always magnifying every suggestion into some terrible injury now-a-days. You should get more sense of humor. There’s no sense or reason for discharging Grace and you shouldn’t act babyish about it.”

Lucy controlled herself with an effort. Tears stood in her eyes.

“There is a reason, more than one reason, John.”

“What?”

“Well, she is wasteful, for one thing. She uses a third more groceries than I did.”

“Rot! That’s just an excuse. You don’t like the girl because Nannie does. She’s going to stay. I’m not going to hunt up a new girl every week!”

Lucy gave him a look that startled him with its hostility, and left the room without a word. When she did not appear for dinner Mrs. Merwent went upstairs to call her, but returned alone.

“She says she doesn’t want any dinner,” Nannie informed John. “Shall we begin without her?”

“Why, of course. If she wants to pout, let her.”

“You poor boy!” continued Nannie, straightening his cravat. “It isn’t pleasant for you to come home and find things like this, when you work so hard all day. But you must be patient with Lucy, John. I used to have to be when she was a girl.”

Without waiting for him to reply Nannie went into the kitchen.

“You can put the dinner on, Grace,” she instructed.

“Do I have to go, Mrs. Merwent?” asked Grace in a low tone.

“No, Grace, but you must be careful not to offend Mrs. Winter again.”

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Merwent.”

“Hurry up, Grace, and serve the soup. Mr. Winter is waiting for his dinner.”

“All right, Mrs. Merwent. Go in and sit down. It won’t be a minute.”

Lucy had begun to grow pale and silent, speaking only when addressed, or when necessary orders were to be given the servant. Late one afternoon she entered the kitchen to inspect preparations for dinner.

“You can put this cauliflower in the ice chest when it is done,” she directed, “and we’ll have it for salad with French dressing.”

“Mrs. Merwent told me to serve it hot with cream dressing,” answered Grace.

“I don’t want to use up the milk for cream dressing,” Lucy informed her sharply. “There won’t be enough for Dimmie.”

“I can go out and get some more,” returned Grace stubbornly.

“It isn’t necessary. We’re getting a quart of milk a day extra already. You fix the cauliflower as I said.”

“Well, what about what Mrs. Merwent says?” inquired Grace impudently.

“I am mistress here. You do as I say, or leave the house,” ordered Lucy angrily.

“I dunno as I have to do either,” sneered Grace.

Lucy went into the dining room and returned with some money.

“Here are your wages. Get out of the house,” she commanded, a curious expression in her eyes that impressed Grace against her will.

“Mrs. Winter⁠⁠⸺” the girl began to parley.

“Get your things together and go,” repeated Lucy, moving slowly toward her.

Grace backed out of the kitchen, and, turning, ascended the stairs, sobbing. She was followed by Lucy. In a few minutes the two came through the upstairs hall. Grace had her hat and coat on and carried her suit case in her hand. Nannie, hearing the girl’s sobs, opened her door and looked out.

“Why, Grace, what in the world is the matter?” she queried.

“Oh, Mrs. Merwent, Mrs. Winter is sending me away,” cried the girl.

“Now, Lucy,” Nannie began, taking hold of her daughter’s arm.

Lucy shook off Nannie’s hand and faced her threateningly.

“Will you keep out of this, Mother?” she asked with a suppressed vehemence that staggered Nannie.

“Come now. Go at once,” Lucy told Grace, who, cowed as she was, allowed herself, without further protest, to be bundled down the stairs and through the front door.

Lucy then went to the kitchen to complete the preparations for dinner. Mrs. Merwent came after her, sad and injured.

“Mother!” Nannie repeated, echoing Lucy’s intonation. “You’ll be calling me Mrs. Merwent next! Lucy, you are certainly the hardest hearted⁠⁠⸺”

“Please! Don’t talk to me,” interrupted Lucy.

“But, Lucy⁠⁠⸺”

“Don’t talk to me!” ordered Lucy, her voice shrill.

Nannie retreated to her bedroom.

Soon after John entered the house whistling. Meeting no one in the hall and living room, he peered into the kitchen.

“Where’s Nannie?” he inquired of Lucy.

“I don’t know,” she replied shortly.

“What are you doing in the kitchen? Where’s your girl?” he persisted.

“I don’t know,” reiterated Lucy in the same tone.

Nannie, who had heard John’s voice, hurried down the stairs and came into the kitchen.

“Let me help you put the dinner on, Lucy,” she offered, after smiling at John.

“Please leave me alone,” answered Lucy in the same hostile enigmatic manner.

“Whew!” ejaculated John. “Let me get out of this! Come on, Nannie!” And the two went into the living room.

When Lucy had placed the dinner on the table, she returned to her bedroom. The meal had not been announced and it was not until Dimmie, entering the living room, wanted to know why Papa and Nannie did not come to dinner, that Nannie followed the child back to the dining room and discovered the cooling dishes.

“Why, John, dinner is on the table and getting cold!” she called. “There is cream pea soup, too. It’s so good when it’s hot and now it’s all spoiled,” she added disappointedly.

“Well, let’s eat,” said John, appearing in the doorway.

“I wonder whether Lucy is coming or whether she is not,” he remarked when they were seated.

“I’ll go and see,” offered Mrs. Merwent.

“No. If she wants to sulk, let her sulk,” John declared. “I’m getting tired of this kind of thing.”

Nannie rose and went to the kitchen.

“Where’s Grace?” John asked when Mrs. Merwent reseated herself.

“She’s gone.” Nannie’s air was mysterious.

“Gone where?”

“Well, John, I don’t want to say anything⁠⁠⸺”

“Did Lucy send her away?”

“Yes, John.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know, John. I was in my room and heard the girl crying, and when I came out Lucy was in such a temper I was afraid to inquire or say anything.”

John struck the table with his fist.

“I’m not going to stand Lucy’s tantrums much longer!” he cried. His lips were drawn back and showed the edges of his teeth.

Dimmie, who had with difficulty climbed from his mother’s chair into his own highchair, sat there unnoticed, staring at his father, his eyes very wide open and his lips parted.

“Now, John,” Nannie began soothingly. “I know you have been like a saint, but you mustn’t get discouraged. I’m going to talk to Lucy and maybe things will be better.”

“You’re the saint, Nannie.”

“Well, now promise me that for my sake you will go on being just as forbearing as you have been so far? I couldn’t bear to have anything come between you and Lucy.”

“I don’t enjoy quarreling, Nannie, but I’m sick of coming home every night and finding a situation like this all fixed up for me.”

“I know it, poor fellow, but you just must promise me that you will be patient till I can bring Lucy to see what she is doing.” Then, after a moment, she continued. “I got another letter from Professor Walsh today. He is as anxious to have me back as ever, but I can’t bear to think of leaving you and Lucy, especially when you need me so, John, dear.”

There was a short silence.

“I should hope not,” John said, at last, stirring his soup viciously. “You’re a good sort, Nannie,” he finished, not looking at her as he spoke.

“Thank you, dear boy,” cooed Mrs. Merwent. “After dinner I’m going to sing all your favorite songs. Let me help you to a little more meat, won’t you?”

“Thanks, I will.” John passed his plate.

“But you mustn’t call me good,” she objected archly, as she put the meat on the plate. “You’re the one who’s good.”

“You’re an angel,” declared John.

“Ain’t I goin’ to have any dinner?” asked Dimmie.

XXII

The Winter’s second servant was a stout negress. Nannie received her at the front door.

“Go ’round to the back door. What is your name?” she greeted the newcomer.

“Yes, ma’am. My name’s Katy, ma’am,” replied the woman, bowing several times, and she waddled breathlessly around the house.

Nannie, passing through the hall and dining room, met her in the kitchen.

“Now, we want things taken care of without any nonsense, Katy. I’m from the South, Katy, and I know how things ought to be done.”

“Yes, ma’am, Miss—Miss⁠⁠⸺What’s yo’ name, miss?”

“I’m Mrs. Merwent.”

“I mean, what’s yo’ baby name?”

“My name is Anna, but my family call me Nannie.”

“Nannie! Dat’s sho’ a fine name, an’ I’ll take keer o’ you, Miss Nannie. Don’t you fret any. When you doan’ like things you jes’ scold old Katy, an’ it’ll be all right.”

“Well, you can begin luncheon now, and anything you can’t find you can ask me or Mrs. Winter. That’s my daughter.”

“What’s her name, Miss Nannie?”

“Her name is Lucy.”

“Dat’s a fine name, too. All right, Miss Nannie. You jes’ run away an’ ’muse yo’se’f an’ quit studyin’ ’bout de kitchen, an’ old Katy’ll look after things. Run on now. I doan’ want you all pesterin’ ’round when I’se busy.”

Nannie went upstairs to where Lucy was sewing.

“The new servant has come,” she announced. “John wrote that she is just from Tennessee and has never worked in the North before. She’ll take care of us like a servant ought to. You won’t need to worry about anything now. I showed her where things were and set her to work.”

Lucy continued to sew without replying.

“Northerners don’t understand negroes,” went on Nannie. “If you’ll leave this Katy to me you’ll see how a servant ought to be handled. There’s no sense in having to worry over every detail in the house. That’s what negroes are for.”

Yet Lucy did not speak.

“What in the world’s the matter with you? Can’t you say anything?”

Lucy stared at her mother for a moment in a disconcerting manner.

“I don’t see what there is to say, Mother,” she answered finally.

“‘Mother!’” repeated Nannie. “I declare I don’t know what has gotten into you, Lucy! You treat me like a perfect stranger. Anyone would think you had no affection whatever in your makeup to hear you.”

Lucy went on sewing in silence.

“Lucy!” exclaimed Nannie nervously. “What’s the matter with you? I feel like I wanted to shake you. Why don’t you talk?”

“I don’t feel like talking,” said Lucy quietly.

“Now, Lucy, just because we may have had an occasional little tiff or two, that’s no reason why you should be resentful and act like this. Such trifles are not worth mentioning, much less brooding over.” And Mrs. Merwent went to Lucy’s chair and bent down over her.

Lucy rose hastily and left the room.

In a few minutes Nannie found her in the living room.

“Lucy,” Nannie began, “I don’t think you ought to treat me this way. When I make all the first advances you ought at least be ready to make up.”

“I’d rather not talk about it, Mother,” insisted Lucy.

“There you go again! ‘Mother’! Lucy, if you want us to be enemies instead of friends, why don’t you say so and be done with it?”

“Well, aren’t we enemies?” Lucy gazed into her mother’s eyes.

“Lucy!” Nannie’s eyes filled with tears. “What in the world is the matter? Are you crazy?”

“I’m not sure,” answered Lucy in a low voice.

“Come on, Lucy,” pleaded Nannie. “Let’s be friends again. Kiss me,” and she moved toward Lucy.

Lucy rose again.

“Don’t!” she ejaculated excitedly. “I can’t stand it!” and she put out her hand as though to hold her mother away.

They stood staring at each other.

Lucy made a motion as if to go.

“Oh, don’t bother to leave!” snapped Nannie angrily. “If my presence is so distasteful to you I will go.” And she left the room.

When John came home Mrs. Merwent met him at the door and there was a short conference between them before he entered the living room alone.

“Lucy,” he began, “what in creation do you want to treat Nannie this way for?”

Lucy eyed him without stirring or answering.

“She’s gone upstairs to cry, you hurt her feelings so. You’ll drive her into marrying that Walsh man yet. She heard from him only today, she says. I should think you’d have a little pity in your makeup.”

“John,” said Lucy, at last, “you don’t understand or you would have a little pity.”

“Understand what?” he responded irritably. “What has she done?”

“If you can’t see, I doubt if there’s any use telling you.” Lucy’s voice was that of one suffering physical pain.

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know what it is, and she says she doesn’t. If it’s a little fancied slight, or some such thing, for heaven’s sake say what it is, and don’t be babyish.”

A little shiver went through Lucy, but she controlled herself and her voice was steady.

“I don’t think I am babyish, John, and I don’t think I am merely pouting over a fancied slight. And as you can’t see how things are, and have asked me, I will tell you.”

John’s eyes swerved a little.

“I don’t say mother is consciously trying to come between us, John. She doesn’t think things through sufficiently for that. But unless you and I can understand each other, she will ruin our home.”

“I don’t know what you are driving at, Lucy. Nannie said it began with some trifling misunderstanding about the servant.”

“It isn’t anything in particular. Oh, John, can’t you see?”

“I sure can’t. I’m blest if I can figure out any reason for all this tragic stuff. I didn’t take any stock at first in what Nannie said, that you had always been jealous of her, ever since you grew up, but I’ll swear it looks a little like it.”

Lucy regarded him in silence, her face drawn.

“What are you going to do about it? Are you going to keep on like this? You can’t put your mother in the street. She’s got no place to go. Your cousin has written her practically saying right out that she doesn’t want her.”

“No. That’s true,” Lucy almost moaned. “She has no place to go! Oh, John, what has changed you so? If we could only stand together in this!”

“Stand together in what?” John’s voice and manner were increasingly impatient. “You’re the one who has changed. You talk and act as if Nannie were a villainess in a melodrama, and yet you can’t state a single thing she has done. I’m getting about at the end of my forbearance.”

“So am I,” echoed Lucy, as though mentioning an unimportant fact.

“So far as I can see, Nannie has done absolutely nothing, and you are the one to blame for getting things into this beautiful mess.” John’s voice was like that of a judge, cold and impersonal.

Tears sprang to Lucy’s eyes.

“Oh, but she has, John. I am not to blame. Oh, why can’t you see through her! Look at our home. Look at us. See how everything is changed. Even Jim sees it. He realizes⁠⁠⸺” Lucy bit her lip.

“Yes, that’s probably the great trouble. Jim Sprague is more sympathetic than I am!”

“Oh, don’t, John,” pleaded Lucy, her eyes darkening.

“Yes. Nannie has been unfortunate enough to object to your showing so much interest in him. I had never thought anything about it, but it certainly explains⁠⁠⸺”

Lucy sprang to her feet.

“Be careful what you say,” she commanded.

“Well, be careful what you do,” he retorted weakly, his eyes falling before hers.

Lucy left him standing there.

John and Nannie again sat down to dinner alone, talking in low tones. Dimmie came into the room while they were having soup and Nannie lifted her brows to John significantly.

“Tell the new servant to give you your dinner out in the kitchen. Your mother’s not coming down,” John told the child.

Dimmie hesitated, looking very much disappointed.

“Run along. That’s a good boy, Jimmie,” Nannie urged, smiling at him.

He turned on his heel and went out. A few minutes later he could be heard ascending the stairs to his mother’s room.

“Do you know, John, dear,” said Nannie after the child had gone, “that I sometimes think that Lucy is getting into an abnormal state. She is so melancholy and sensitive.”

“It certainly begins to look like it,” admitted John.

“If that is true, we must both be patient with her,” added Nannie.

John did not reply.

“That is one reason I hate so terribly to think of leaving you,” she remarked after a pause.

“Leaving us?” John glanced up quickly.

“I—I told you how I felt about Professor Walsh’s letter.” Nannie’s voice was unsteady and she stared at her plate.

“Nannie!” John leaned forward earnestly and laid his hand on hers where it rested on the table. “I want you to cut that nonsense out! Do you hear me?”

Nannie lifted her eyes.

“But, John⁠⁠⸺” she began.

“Don’t you ever talk of leaving us,” he interrupted. “It’s as you say. Lucy is in an abnormal state. She needs you to put some sanity into her. This is your home for as long as you will—for as long as you live⁠⁠⸺” John’s voice broke.

Nannie smiled uneasily. The two gazed at one another in silence.

“Thank you, dear John,” said Nannie, averting her face.

John withdrew his hand.

There was another long pause.

“Will you pass me the spinach, John, dear,” Nannie requested in a tone different from that in which she had previously spoken.

On the succeeding morning Nannie rose early to eat with John. Lucy dressed Dimmie for kindergarten and sent him downstairs but she herself did not appear for breakfast.

John had hardly reached the office when the telephone rang.

“Miss Storms wants to speak to you, John,” said Jim, who had answered the call.

John took up the receiver.

“Good morning, Miss Storms.”

“Good morning, John. How did you leave Lucy this morning?”

“Oh, she’s all right,” he responded after a moment’s hesitation.

“I didn’t call up the house because I fancy Mrs. Merwent feels I am a sort of female Machiavelli.” Miss Storms laughed slightly. “I want to ask a favor, John. I am all tied up with engagements and can’t get down to your office. Can you come in for a few minutes this afternoon? I want to speak with you about something very important.”

John thought an instant.

“Yes,” he acceded.

“Could you come about four o’clock?”

“All right. Good-bye.” And he hung up the receiver.

Jim was silent all morning and seemed to be pondering something. When the two went out to luncheon together he unburdened himself.

“John, don’t you think Lucy is looking badly?” he demanded suddenly.

“I hadn’t noticed it,” John answered shortly.

“She’s thinner and paler and looks terribly worried,” Jim persisted.

John stared at his plate and made no reply. Jim was not to be discouraged.

“See here, John. You and I have been pretty close together ever since we were small kids—and I doubt if there’s anyone in the world who has the welfare of you and Lucy more at heart than I have.” Jim paused before resuming his unwonted loquacity.

John was still silent.

“I’ve got something on my mind, John, and I hope you won’t be offended at what I say?” Jim hesitated questioningly. “I know you are in a hard place, and it’s a hard thing to say, but if you don’t do something radical, Lucy’s mother is going to play hell in your home.” Jim stopped and showed his embarrassment. “I hope you don’t think I’m meddling. I’ve thought a long time before saying anything, and I expect you’ve lost more sleep over it than I have.”

“No, I’m not offended,” said John, flushing, “but I don’t think you understand the situation. It’s evident enough that you don’t like her.”

“Don’t like Lucy?” Jim almost gasped. “Since when?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that you like Lucy,” returned John coldly.

Jim set down his stein and motioned the waiter to bring his check.

“I’m going down the street. I’ll be back to the office about three o’clock,” he volunteered, after paying the cashier, and he went off in a direction opposite to that taken by John.

John rang at Miss Storms’ apartment at four o’clock.

“Come in, John,” she invited, opening the door.

She was alone. The servant was not to be seen.

“I was just going to make some tea for myself. Sit down.” She indicated an easy chair.

“I don’t believe I care for any tea, thanks,” John said a little stiffly when she was ready to pour it.

“No? Well, you smoke then. This is an age of nerves.”

“I think I will, thank you.” John lighted a cigarette.

“That’s right.” Miss Storms sipped her tea. “I hope I didn’t interrupt any business this morning when I called you up. I saw Lucy day before yesterday, and she frightened me. I never saw her looking so worn and harassed. She said she was well, but I couldn’t get her out of my mind.”

“She has seemed nervous and⁠⁠⸺” John paused uncomfortably.

“Irritable?” suggested Miss Storms, smiling kindly.

“Yes, irritable,” admitted John, looking at his cigarette.

“Lucy is a dear girl,” Miss Storms remarked.

John smoked moodily.

“I was thinking yesterday about the time when she was here. I shall always remember it and what a privilege and pleasure it was to have her. I did so miss her when she left me. She met you at my first little party for her, didn’t she?”

John nodded his head.

“And then the day you were married—she looked radiant. You know an old maid loves to watch things she can’t have.” This was the first time Miss Storms had ever spoken intimately to John.

Without replying John lit another cigarette.

It was not Miss Storms’s way to be devious.

“I’m not asking you to confide in me, John,” she said, looking at him directly, “but something ought to be done.”

“There is nothing to confide, Miss Storms,” he answered, still distantly. “Lucy seems to have gotten a case of nerves lately, that’s all. I have about decided to have a doctor look her over. I’m sure I’m quite as interested in her health as you are.”

“Of course you are, more than I am,” agreed Miss Storms heartily, ignoring his tone, “but,” and her voice became grave, “I’m afraid you are the doctor, John.”

“I know you are fond of Lucy, Miss Storms,” returned John, nettled, “and I appreciate your interest. But if you think I am responsible for her state of mind you are mistaken.”

“If I had thought that I shouldn’t have asked you to come here,” was Miss Storms’s reply. “I know exactly who is to blame. And I realize that you are in almost as difficult a situation as Lucy. I have known a great deal of Mrs. Merwent for years.”

“From others,” put in John.

Miss Storms looked startled.

“Yes, from others,” she admitted, gazing curiously at him, “but certainly enough to understand some things.”

“You can discount most of what you hear from her enemies,” said John, coloring.

“Men are stronger on justice than women.” Miss Storm’s smile was a little bitter. “They can afford it better. But listen to my plan. Mrs. Merwent is fond of society and—well, admires rich people. Now I have some friends to whom I can get Miss Powell to introduce her, and they will invite her to their country place, and in general take her out of the way for a part of the summer at least. You and Lucy can⁠⁠⸺”

“I don’t see any need at all for any such thing, Miss Storms. You entirely misjudge Mrs. Merwent. She is as anxious about Lucy as⁠⁠⸺”

Miss Storms set down her cup.

“Have you seen the Art Loan Exhibition?” she inquired in a changed manner. “We have a fine showing of the younger Spanish schools, loaned from Madrid.”

“No,” said John, surprised.

“Well, you must take Lucy and Mrs. Merwent to see it. It’s really worth while.”

“I will,” promised John perfunctorily, rising with a dazed air.

“Must you go? Well, good-bye. It was good of you to come. Give my love to Lucy, and remember me to Jim Sprague. I haven’t seen him for a long time.”

They touched hands stiffly.

When John had gone, Miss Storms went into her bedroom and shook her fist at her reflection in the pier glass.

John walked toward the office with his head bent and his eyes fixed on the ground, a puzzled, abstracted expression on his face. He did not see Jim who came out of the office building as he reached it. Jim passed on down the street in the direction of Layard’s.

It had begun to drizzle. John went into the draughting room and closed some windows which had been left open. Then he sat down in front of his desk with his hat on.

Lucy’s picture in a leather easel frame confronted him. He took it up and studied the clear eyes and beautiful mouth. Resting his chin on his hand he remained so, frowning at the wall.

XXIII

John left the office earlier than usual and reached home before anyone expected him. Nannie had just completed her toilette, however, and she fluttered into the hall to meet him.

“Are you tired, John, dear?” she asked as he hung up his hat.

“No, I’m not tired,” he answered without glancing at her. “Where’s Lucy?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she replied in a hurt tone of voice. “I suppose she is in her own room.”

John ascended the stairs without further conversation.

Left alone, Nannie examined her carefully groomed image in the hall mirror, and saw there a rather nonplussed face.

John entered the bedroom and found Lucy seated in a rocking chair crooning to Dimmie who was in her lap. The light in the room was dim, and her profile, as she bent over the child, was silhouetted against the glowing square of a western window.

“How do you feel, Lucy?” John asked, going over to her and hesitating awkwardly by her chair.

“I’m feeling all right. Why?” she returned, looking up quickly.

“Why—nothing. That is, I’ve been thinking that you haven’t looked very well of late. And you weren’t downstairs so I came up to see if anything was the matter.”

“Oh, thank you, John! I thought you⁠⁠⸺” Lucy could say no more. The tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Thought what? You little goose!” His voice shook slightly but it had something of its old time tone of affectionate banter. “You’re all frazzled out nervously. That’s what’s the matter with you. I’ve been noticing for some time that you didn’t look well. Come on down to dinner and quit thinking about imaginary troubles.”

Lucy’s eyes were grateful. Her lips quivered a little.

“All right,” she answered, smiling with tears still on her lashes.

“Come on, Son,” invited John, lifting Dimmie to his shoulder. And the three descended the stairs.

Mrs. Merwent was sitting in the shadowy dining room without a light. John opened the electric switch.

“Kin I put de dinnah on?” asked Katy, emerging from the kitchen.

“Yes, Katy. I think everybody is ready at last,” responded Nannie, rising from her chair with reproachful dignity.

“Gee, but I’m hungry!” exclaimed John.

“Me, too!” chimed in Dimmie.

“How about you, Lucy?” laughed John.

“I think I am, too.” Lucy smiled rather wanly.

“Well, let’s eat.” John picked up his napkin. “The soup smells good.”

“It’s crawfish bisque,” Nannie put in quickly. “I had it made especially for you.”

“Can’t the rest of us have any?” asked Lucy with a slight attempt at pleasantry.

“I didn’t mean that,” observed Nannie acidly. “I only meant that I thought of John. He said the other day that he had never eaten any. But of course I might have expected that you would misunderstand me.”

“Now, Nannie,” expostulated John, “that was only an innocent joke. For heaven’s sake let’s not have another quarrel! I’d like a little peace.”

Mrs. Merwent’s eyes filled with tears.

“Well, I’ll go and—leave you in peace,” she sniffed, laying down her napkin and rising from the table.

“Well, what do you know about that!” ejaculated John after Nannie had left the room. “You two women will run me crazy. If it’s not one it’s the other.”

“John, I’m not to blame!” Lucy uttered this in the form of a statement but her tone was tremulously beseeching.

“I’m hanged if I know who’s to blame!” declared John petulantly. “All I’m certain of is that I’ve got about all I can stand of it.”

Katy rushed breathlessly into the room.

“Miss Lucy,” she wheezed, “I ’spec’s Miss Nannie am dretful sick. She am groanin’ an’ cryin’ pow’ful bad.”

John sprang to his feet.

“I wonder what’s the matter?” he exclaimed questioningly. “Why don’t you go and see, Lucy?” he added accusingly.

“She’s only angry, John,” answered Lucy, watching his face with anxiety.

Nannie’s moans could be heard.

“People don’t make sounds like that because they are angry,” retorted John. “If you’re not going upstairs, I am!”

Lucy rose.

She ascended the stairs to Nannie’s room. John followed her almost immediately, but remained in the hall outside the door.

“What is the matter, Mother?” Lucy inquired, approaching the bed where Nannie lay in an abandon of weeping, her face hidden by the pillows.

“Oh, go away! Go away!” cried Mrs. Merwent, breaking into a fresh paroxysm of sobs.

“Now, Mother, don’t act this way.” Lucy spoke as to a child. “Tell me what it is you’re crying about.”

“Oh, Lucy, is it—oh, it was John—oh, I can’t⁠⁠⸺” she moaned.

“What did he do?” insisted Lucy. “If you mean what he said at dinner, I don’t see anything to get into this state over.”

“It wasn’t that alone. It was when he came home. O-oh⁠⁠⸺” and Nannie lamented afresh.

“Mother,” ordered Lucy impatiently, seizing Mrs. Merwent’s shoulder as though with intent to shake her, “either stop crying or tell what you are crying about. You’ll drive everybody crazy. John is half distracted already, and nobody can do anything for you while you act like this.”

Nannie continued to weep, but less violently.

“Tell us what it is so we can do something, and let John go down and eat his dinner.”

“Is he upstairs?” inquired Nannie, glancing at the door.

“Yes, of course. He’s standing outside in the hall.”

Nannie redoubled her sobs and wails.

“Well, if you intend to keep on like this, I am going,” threatened Lucy, losing her temper.

“Oh, don’t go, Lucy! Please don’t go!” moaned Nannie.

“Well, then, stop acting as though you were dying, and say what you’re crying about.”

“Oh, you are so cruel,” sighed Nannie.

“Very well. I’m going.” Lucy moved toward the door.

“Come back! Come—back—and I—will tell⁠⁠⸺” Nannie entreated brokenly.

“Well?” Lucy returned to the bed.

Nannie seized her hand.

“It was when—he—came home. I—went to meet—him—and he—he was so cold and cross with me! I have just written to Professor Walsh—and told him—I couldn’t go—back to Russellville yet—and now—John—makes me feel like I ought—to have gone right away. O-oh!” and a fresh fit of weeping began.

“What did John say?”

“Why—why he—he hardly answered me—and—and—o-oh what have I done?” she wailed again in a storm of sobbing.

“I’m sure you misunderstood him, Mother. He was probably worried and tired. John is human like the rest of us, and you are foolish to make a mountain out of a mole hill.”

“No, I didn’t misunderstand him, Lucy,” persisted Mrs. Merwent, forgetting to cry. “He has never spoken to me in that way before. Something has happened to make him hate me.”

Lucy smiled in spite of herself.

“Well, let’s not have any more tragic scenes over it. It’s doubtless something very simple, and I’ll speak to him about it. Come on down and finish your dinner.”

“Oh, I couldn’t see him like this. I don’t care for any dinner.” Nannie sat up in bed and reached for the hand mirror which lay on her dressing table.

“I’ll send you up some then.”

“All right. You can tell Katy to bring me up a little something. I’d like some of the bisque I had her fix for John. He’ll feel hurt if I don’t taste it,” asserted Nannie apologetically.

Lucy made a motion toward the door but Mrs. Merwent held her hand.

“Wait a minute. Kiss me, Lucy. I’m so lonely.”

Lucy hesitated almost imperceptibly, and then bent down and kissed her mother’s cheek.

“Tell Katy she can send up the saucer of blanc mange she saved for me yesterday,” Nannie instructed as her daughter reached the door.

“What was the matter?” inquired John anxiously as he descended the stairs behind Lucy.

“Why, she was crying because she thought you were angry with her when you came home,” replied Lucy.

“Angry? I didn’t say anything to her.”

“I think it was your manner as much as what you said.”

“Well, I can’t be eternally thinking of my every word and intonation in this house. I’ll lose my mind. It’s first on one side, and then on the other. A man don’t know how to talk or act.”

“I don’t think you can quite compare us, John. I haven’t made any scenes like this.”

“No, but here you are jumping on me for not keeping your mother in a good humor, while I was only worried about you. You’re a very appreciative person, I must say!”

“I’m not jumping on you, John.”

“Well, you said I was the cause of all this to-do.”

“I didn’t say you were to blame, John.”

“Well, my good intentions weren’t very successful, if that’s so. You go around like the chief mourner at a funeral, and then when I make any attempt to help, you give me a slap like this.”

“You certainly don’t help me when you start situations like this one.” Lucy’s voice became cutting. “You don’t have to spend all day with her. It will take me a week to get her over the fit of blues she has.”

“Yes! That’s all the thanks I get for trying to show consideration! Talk about being misunderstood! I think I’ll keep my mouth shut after this.” John reseated himself at the table, and began to eat again in gloomy silence.

“John, what has gotten into you? You are so changed I hardly know you. Yow didn’t use to be so sensitive and childish.”

“Thank you,” he retorted sarcastically.

“Well, you are. Since Mother came you have gotten to be more like her every day. I think I am the one who has a hard time. I feel sometimes as though I would lose my mind.”

“That’s the second time you have said I was changed,” he snapped. “You are the one who is changed, and I think I can guess the reason. It’s not your mother half so much as it is someone else.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Lucy, her cheeks paling.

“Never mind what I mean. I don’t want to hear you accuse Nannie of anything more. If you are so warped that you think she has destroyed my manhood and made me into a baby, the less we have to say to each other, the better. She may be sensitive but she at least appreciates attempts at kindness, which you don’t.”

“I don’t want to talk any more,” announced Lucy wearily, with an effort at self control.

“Neither do I. I’m going down town,” he declared savagely. He threw down his napkin and went into the hall. Taking his hat from the stand, he left the house. Lucy heard the gate slam.

She took Dimmie up to bed.

It was Saturday night. John did not come in until past midnight.

Nannie did not get downstairs even for the usual late Sunday breakfast, and Katy took coffee, toast, eggs, and fruit to the bedroom. When the invalid finally appeared she was wearing an elaborate négligée. She clung to the walls, chairs, and tables, as she walked, and otherwise exhibited symptoms of extreme prostration.

When she came into the dining room, John, who was seated by the table, reading, looked up with an air of constraint.

Nannie greeted him in a faint voice.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he answered.

After a second’s hesitation, he put down his paper and rose and went toward her.

“You look pale, Nannie,” he remarked in a low tone, pushing forward an armchair, but avoiding her glance as he did so.

“I’m all right, John. It’s nothing,” she replied in the same weak voice. “Thank you so much,” she added, sinking into the chair.

“Let me get you a little port wine,” he offered, standing beside her and watching her face as she leaned back with closed eyes.

“Oh, no, John. Don’t bother. I’ll be better in a minute,” she protested, smiling bravely. Then, with a sigh, she reached into the bosom of her gown and took out an envelope. “I want you to mail this letter for me,” she continued, with an obvious effort.

John took the letter from her and stared at the address uncomfortably.

There was a pause.

“I slept so badly last night,” said Nannie, moving her head from one side to the other as it rested against the chair.

“Nannie!” John blurted out, unconsciously crushing the envelope in his hand as he spoke, “I didn’t mean anything last night. I didn’t intend to hurt your feelings at all. I was tired and worried, that’s all.”

His face flushed and he hesitated, gazing at her expectantly.

She did not answer at once, but when she opened her eyes she was smiling faintly. Reaching out her hand she laid it on his. He gave a relieved sigh.

“I know, John, dear! Lucy is so abnormal,” she breathed, tenderly sympathetic, lowering her voice and glancing toward the kitchen as she spoke.

“And you won’t talk any more about this confounded Professor Walsh?” John spread out the envelope and looked at it.

“I must write to him and acknowledge the check,” Nannie protested, accepting the letter which he held out.

“But you’ll tear this one up?”

Nannie tore the paper in two and replaced the fragments in her dress.

“I thought you didn’t want me here any longer, John,” she murmured, averting her face.

“And that’s what you wrote him?” John was too full for further utterance.

“I told him I was coming back soon,” she admitted.

“Nannie!” John gasped reproachfully.

She touched his hand again. He caught her fingers and clasped them, but his expression was still hurt.

“You mustn’t be angry with me, John, dear!” she begged, lifting her face to his.

“I can’t be angry with you very long, but if you do that again⁠⁠⸺!”

“I won’t, John! I—I⁠⁠⸺” With an effort that looked heroic Nannie tried to rise but sank back in her chair. “I’m still so faint,” she apologised almost inaudibly.

“Don’t move, Nannie. I’ll get you the wine,” and John hurried to the pantry, returning with a glass and a bottle. “Take a good stiff drink,” he urged, pouring some of the liquor into the tumbler as he spoke.

She made a wry face as she sipped it.

“You are so good, John. I feel better now.”

“So do I,” said John.

“While Lucy is so morbid we must try to coöperate, John.” She lowered her voice again.

“You’re right, Nannie,” he agreed with conviction.

When Lucy entered the room a few moments later John and Mrs. Merwent were talking as though there had never been a misunderstanding between them.

XXIV

On Monday morning Nannie was descending the stairs when the telephone on the landing rang and she stopped to answer it.

“Is this Mrs. Winter?” a voice responded to her “hello.”

“Who is this speaking?” interrupted Nannie.

“It’s Miss Storms. Is that you, Lucy?”

Nannie hesitated a second.

“No. This is Mrs. Merwent. Mrs. Winter is upstairs. Is there anything I could tell her?”

“If you wouldn’t mind asking her to step to the ’phone I should be so obliged,” said Miss Storms.

“Oh, very well. Wait a minute. Hold the wire.” And Nannie went into the kitchen.

“That woman wants to speak to you on the ’phone,” she told Lucy. “It must be something very private as she insisted on your coming to the ’phone yourself. I told her you were busy.”

Lucy turned from the table where she was mixing cake batter.

“Whom do you mean? Miss Storms?” she asked.

“Of course. Who else!” Nannie replied impatiently.

Lucy went into the hall and, mounting to the landing, picked up the receiver.

“Good morning, Miss Storms,” she called.

“I’m sorry to bring you downstairs, but I wanted to speak to you personally, Lucy,” began Miss Storms.

“Why, I wasn’t upstairs,” Lucy explained.

“Well⁠⁠⸺” and Miss Storms paused, “anyway I’ve some news for you. Your father is here, and his wife. I wondered if you would like to see them here. Can you come and have a cup of tea with us this afternoon?”

“Oh, thank you. Of course I’ll come. When did they get in?”

“Last night. Well, we’ll expect you, dear.”

“What time?”

“We’ll have tea about four o’clock, but you come as early as you can and stay as long as you can. Good-bye till afternoon.”

“Good-bye,” answered Lucy, “and thank you so much.”

Nannie had been listening.

“What did she want?” was demanded of Lucy as soon as she hung up the receiver.

“She wants me to take tea with her this afternoon.”

“Who is that you asked when they arrived? Some friends of hers she wants you to meet?”

“Yes,” returned Lucy, not knowing what else to say.

“She didn’t say anything about me?” pursued Nannie.

“No,” responded Lucy, relieved.

“Well, she doesn’t have to invite me if she doesn’t want to. I’m sure I’m not dying to have anything to do with either her or her friends. Of course it makes no difference to you whether your mother is given the cold shoulder or not. You go running after her just the same. Well, I don’t care. It doesn’t make any difference to me. She needn’t think I give it a single thought. I wouldn’t go to her teas if she begged me to, and I shouldn’t think you would either after the way she’s treated me. First, she puts that Mrs. Low up to making trouble between me and your father, and then she tries to ignore me. But all she has to do is to crook her finger, and you go tagging after her. I should think you’d have more pride about you than that, Lucy.”

“But, Mother⁠⁠⸺” expostulated Lucy.

“Oh, well, don’t mind me. Go on. I’m used to being ignored and humiliated. I can forgive and forget, but little credit do I get for it. Anybody is better than I am, in your eyes. Go on. Go to your tea. I’ll find someone who thinks I’m worth looking at. I was going down town with Miss Powell this afternoon anyway.” And Nannie sat down to her as yet untouched breakfast.

Lucy had just returned from her visit and was removing her hat and gloves before the hall mirror when John entered. She turned to face him and greeted him expectantly.

“Hello,” he answered sulkily.

“I’ve been to Miss Storms’,” Lucy volunteered.

“Oh, I know all about your Miss Storms!” John told her. “Where’s Nannie?” He glanced about inquiringly.

“She’s upstairs.” Lucy’s tone had become as distant as his own.

“I don’t think your father ought to have come to Chicago while Nannie was here,” he began, speaking in a low voice, but with some heat.

“What do you mean, John? I didn’t know you knew they were here.”

“Miss Storms brought them by the office in her machine. She said she had just driven you to the station. I don’t think you ought to have gone under the circumstances.” His speech became louder.

“Why?” demanded Lucy, looking at him.

“Out of consideration for Nannie, of course.”

“What would you have done?”

“I should have told Miss Storms.”

“Told her that I wouldn’t see my own father? I couldn’t do that, John. He’s dearer than anyone else in the world, after you and Dimmie, and⁠⁠⸺” Lucy paused.

“More so than your own mother,” accused John.

A noise was heard. John stepped to the foot of the stairs and saw Nannie disappear in the upper hallway.

“I wonder if she heard,” he mused, frowning.

Lucy’s face grew hard. She turned and mounted the stairs.

“Dinner is ready, Mother,” she called, knocking at Mrs. Merwent’s door.

There was no answer. Lucy repeated the knock several times, always with the same result. John had followed her.

“I’ll talk to Nannie,” he announced pugnaciously.

Lucy turned away.

He tapped at the door. “Don’t you want some dinner?” he called in a voice that he tried to make careless.

Mrs. Merwent did not reply, but he could hear the sound of soft sobbing within. He tapped again.

“Please try to eat some dinner, Nannie,” he called once more pleadingly. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“No thank you, dear John. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t swallow food. I o-oh,” and the sobbing was redoubled.

When John returned to the dining room Lucy was at the table. He seated himself in silence.

“She won’t come,” he announced gloomily after a few moments. “Now you see what you’ve done. Nannie is heartbroken.”

“I don’t see that I’ve done it,” retorted Lucy quickly. “I couldn’t help their coming to Chicago, and I didn’t tell her about it.”

“Well, if you had refused to go,” argued John, “and told Miss Storms you didn’t care to see the woman your father had deserted your mother for⁠⁠⸺”

“That would have been a good way to keep it from Mamma, who was listening to every word I said!” Lucy gazed at John defiantly.

“At any rate, if you had refused without any explanation Nannie would have needed to know nothing.”

“If she had not listened to what wasn’t intended for her ears she would have needed to know nothing.”

“How could she help hearing when we were talking in the hall?”

Lucy did not reply.

“I think you ought to take your stand, Lucy, without vacillating.”

“What do you mean by taking my stand, John?”

“Well, you are either on Nannie’s side, or you are on your father’s side. You can’t be on both.”

“I don’t see why not. That is just the stand I’ve taken. I’m not to blame for the divorce and I have a right to see my father whenever I wish.”

“Not after the way he has treated Nannie!” John answered hotly.

“I see her after the way she has treated him!” Lucy returned with equal heat.

“Lucy, do you mean to say that you have taken your father’s side against Nannie?” John interrogated incredulously.

“I’ve just said that I’ve taken neither side.”

“But if you took sides, it would be for him,” persisted John.

“Yes,” admitted Lucy.

Dimmie came in through the kitchen doorway and halted by the table. Lucy drew her to him, and he leaned against her chair. John took no notice of him.

“Lucy, I am surprised. How a woman can turn against her own mother⁠⁠⸺”

“What about her own father?” Lucy interrupted angrily.

“You are unjust, cruel and ungrateful,” continued John, paying no attention to her question.

Lucy was white.

“It is entirely my own affair,” she said coldly. “Suppose we don’t discuss it further.”

“It’s not your own affair,” contradicted John, “and I don’t propose to see you insult and humiliate your mother in any such way.”

“You have no right to dictate to me in this matter or any other.” Lucy rose from the table, her eyes blazing.

John sprang up and went out through the hall, slamming the front door after him.

“What is Papa mad about?” Dimmie asked of his mother.

Lucy sat down again and buried her face in her arms on the table.

As Lucy had not taken any dinner to her the previous evening, Mrs. Merwent appeared at the breakfast table at an unwonted hour, shortly after John’s departure for the office. She was almost without rouge and wore the négligée of the previous Sunday, a creation of grey and rose.

“I’m not hungry,” she explained as she seated herself and began to eat. “Every bite I take chokes me. But I am so empty and weak that I must take some nourishment or I’ll be sick.”

Lucy sat down wearily, saying nothing.

“I never saw such coarseness before in my whole life,” resumed Nannie. “The idea of that woman calling you up to go and see your father and that creature while I was actually in your house! I suppose that is fine feeling here in the North.”

Katy had gone to market, so it was Lucy who went into the kitchen when Nannie was ready for hot waffles.

“I suppose you saw her,” continued Mrs. Merwent, when Lucy returned.

“Have another cup of coffee, Mother.”

“I think I had better. I feel faint and dizzy.”

Lucy poured the coffee and pushed the bacon and eggs nearer her mother’s plate.

“You saw her, didn’t you?” repeated Nannie, helping herself to waffles and taking more bacon and eggs.

“Saw whom?” asked Lucy.

“You know whom I mean, Lucy. There’s no use trying to get out of it.”

“I’m not trying to get out of anything, Mother. I saw Miss Storms and Papa and—Papa’s wife.” Lucy hesitated a little over the last two words.

“I hope she dresses better than she used to in Russellville,” remarked Nannie.

Lucy was silent.

“Did she say anything about me?” Nannie took another waffle.

“No, Mother. No one mentioned you.”

“I see. Nobody even thought of me. Did that woman seem very fond of your father?”

“Who? Miss Storms?” interrogated Lucy, in a lame attempt at pleasantry.

“You know whom I mean, Lucy. It’s not funny to me if it is to you.”

“Let’s not discuss Papa’s wife.” Lucy showed that she anticipated an outburst.

“Why not?” insisted Nannie virtuously.

“Because⁠⁠⸺” Lucy looked out the window.

“Because what?” demanded her mother.

“Why, don’t you think it’s in—well, bad taste, Mother?”

The explosion came.

“You’re a nice one to try to teach me good taste and propriety!” Nannie’s voice was suddenly raised to its highest pitch. “I may be divorced but I was never talked about while I was living with your father.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Lucy regarded her mother steadily.

“No, of course you don’t!” taunted Nannie. “Well, other people do. A married woman ought to be satisfied with the friendship of her husband.”

“If you are referring to Jim Sprague,” Lucy’s tone was menacing, “my friendship for him or anybody else is none of your business.”

She had risen. Her breast heaved and her nostrils widened as she gazed at her mother.

“Why, Lucy! How can you fly into such a passion!” Nannie was frightened. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong about it.”

“You said people were talking about us,” accused Lucy in a trembling voice.

“Why, no, I didn’t. I only meant that I was afraid people might talk.”

“That wasn’t what you said.” Lucy was very pale and continued to eye her mother steadily.

“You misunderstood me, Lucy. You are always misunderstanding me,” protested Mrs. Merwent soothingly. “I only consider your own welfare, and at the least thing you flare up like you hated me—over the merest trifles. I think I’m the one who ought to get angry.” Nannie assumed an air of injury.

“Oh, I’m too tired to talk about it, Mother.” Lucy’s eyes filled with tears.

“Yes, ‘Mother’! You always used to call me ‘Mamma’.”

Lucy did not reply.

“I suppose you didn’t get a chance to talk a minute alone with your father,” resumed Mrs. Merwent, as if nothing had happened. “Did you?” she repeated after a moment’s silence.

“Yes.”

“Did he say anything about me?” Nannie went on.

“I told you once, Mother, that nobody said anything about you.”

“Well, did he seem conscience stricken and ashamed of what he had done?”

“No. Please let’s not talk about it.”

“I suppose then he looked happy?”

Lucy did not answer.

“Of course he did,” concluded Nannie, “and you said nothing at all about it. You were afraid to tell him what you thought of his crime. You are a nice daughter⁠⁠⸺”

Lucy went into the kitchen.

Nannie, having finished her meal, rose from the table and followed.

“Did you tell him what we think of his cruel and contemptible action? I suppose that creature gloats over it. What did you say to him, Lucy?”

Dimmie bounded into the room, breathless from play.

“Mother,” Lucy’s manner was defensive, “I wish you wouldn’t insist on knowing what it is better not to discuss.” Then, turning to the child she added, “Get your hat, Son. It’s time for you to go to Mrs. Hamilton’s. The wagon will be there pretty soon.”

“Then you did not take my part at all?” continued Mrs. Merwent tenaciously.

Again Lucy made no reply.

“You took his side, and the side of that odious snake in the grass who tempted him away from us. I should have thought that your self respect would have kept you from making friends with her, even if your mother’s suffering couldn’t. She’s no better than a common⁠⁠⸺”

“Mother!” Lucy’s eyes were dangerous once more.

“And that sneaking Miss Storms is no better. I⁠⁠⸺”

“Stop!” cried Lucy in a voice of command.

Mrs. Merwent paused involuntarily and shrank back.

“So far I have taken nobody’s part in this matter, Mother, and have tried to blame nobody. But if you are wise you will not make it too hard for me.”

“I suppose that means that you are going to take your father’s side,” sneered Nannie.

“It means just what I say,” Lucy was growing angrier with every word, “but I will not listen to you insult my father, or Miss Storms, who is my friend, or my father’s wife⁠⁠⸺”

“Who is also your friend,” supplied Nannie with another sneer.

“Yes, she is,” declared Lucy defiantly. “And they all had the decency not to discuss you in your absence,” she finished bitterly.

“And I’m not decent!” her mother almost screamed, throwing a cup she held in her hand on the kitchen table.

The cup broke into a dozen pieces and Dimmie, who had been listening with open mouth, began to cry from fright. Mrs. Merwent rushed from the kitchen upstairs.

Lucy took Dimmie to Mrs. Hamilton’s house. The carry-all arrived as they were approaching. After Stella and Dimmie were safely ensconced in the vehicle Lucy followed Mrs. Hamilton into the house.

“You look all tired out, Mrs. Winter,” Lucy’s neighbor observed as they seated themselves in the neat kitchen.

The tears started to Lucy’s eyes.

“I just felt as if it would do me good to see you, Mrs. Hamilton,” she replied.

“How is your mother?” Lucy’s hostess inquired pleasantly, a few moments later. “I’m afraid she thinks I’m never going to get over to see her. She was out when I called after the tea, and I’m just so busy I haven’t time to turn around. I wish she’d do as I said and just run in now and then.”

“She’s been going out a good deal. Is little Stella over her cold? She seems quite well again.” Lucy changed the subject quickly, looking uncomfortable.

Mrs. Hamilton had risen to open a window and did not hear.

“Mrs. Merwent is so wonderfully young looking. You ought to learn her secret, whatever it is, and take care of your nerves, Mrs. Winter.” Mrs. Hamilton smiled sympathetically and patted Lucy’s arm as she spoke.

Lucy bit her lip.

The telephone in the Winter home rang shortly after Lucy’s departure and Nannie came downstairs to answer.

A voice asked for Lucy.

“Is this Miss Storms?” interrogated Nannie.

“Yes.”

“Well, this is Mrs. Merwent. If you wish to insult me again in my daughter’s house, please don’t do it over the telephone, Miss Storms. If you want to crow over your cousin’s success in⁠⁠⸺” Miss Storms had hung up the receiver with a jerk. Nannie, after listening a minute, hung up her receiver also.

When Lucy returned Nannie met her in the hall. She smiled nervously into her daughter’s unresponsive eyes.

“Where have you been, Lucy?” she began in a conciliatory manner.

“I went over to Mrs. Hamilton’s for a few minutes.”

“I suppose you felt you needed sympathy, with such a difficult mother,” said Mrs. Merwent in a joking tone.

“No, Mother,” Lucy answered a little wearily. “I don’t take my troubles to others.”

“Except Mr. Sprague!” Nannie’s tone became quickly caustic.

Lucy met her mother’s eyes coldly.

“What I meant was that I do not tell my troubles to the neighbors.”

“I’m much obliged, I’m sure,” retorted Nannie cuttingly.

Lucy moved toward the stairs.

“Lucy,” Mrs. Merwent resumed in a voice which showed a desire to propitiate.

Lucy ascended the stairs without heeding her.

The next morning being Sunday, breakfast was late and Nannie took her meal with the rest of the family. She asked John for the woman’s page of the morning paper and soon became engrossed in a perusal of “Complexion Hints.”

The door bell rang. Katy answered it and returned with a letter, which she handed to Lucy, who, without opening it, laid it by her plate.

“Who’s your letter from?” questioned Mrs. Merwent, looking up from her paper.

“It’s from—Miss Storms.” Lucy hesitated as she glanced at the handwriting on the envelope.

Nannie’s expression became disturbed and she watched her daughter silently.

“Good Sunday atmosphere,” remarked John sarcastically, not raising his eyes from the paper he was reading. “Cheerful as a funeral.”

Lucy took up her letter and opened it.

“Now, Lucy,” her mother began uneasily, her voice gentle, “Miss Storms will probably have something mean to say about me in that letter, because she called up on the ’phone yesterday and I answered. But just remember that you haven’t heard my side.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she rang up?” demanded Lucy, with the open letter in her hand.

“Why—I—she didn’t leave any message, and I forgot it,” explained Nannie with embarrassment.

“What difference does it make anyway!” put in John. “Miss Storms had no right to call up while Nannie was here and it served her right.”

Lucy read the letter.

“What does she say?” inquired Nannie, trying to sound casual but not succeeding.

Lucy, her lips compressed, folded up the letter and put it in the envelope before she answered.

“Why don’t you tell?” urged John impatiently. “What’s the use of keeping Nannie in hot water about it?”

“She says she’s sorry for what happened,” announced Lucy quietly.

“She ought to be!” declared John. “I hope you gave her a piece of your mind, Nannie.”

“No. I only said that I didn’t think she ought to call up here under the circumstances,” cooed Nannie softly.

“Well, I think you were too forbearing,” returned John. “I’ll put it in stronger terms when I see her.”

“I don’t think either you or Mother have any right to treat my friends in any such way!” exclaimed Lucy feelingly.

“Lucy thinks I’ve already robbed her of Mr. Sprague’s friendship,” insinuated Nannie in the same silvery tone, “and now I suppose I’m to blame for Miss Storms considering herself injured.”

“In the first place, you have no right to have any friends who insult your mother,” began John dictatorially.

“I have no obligation to defend my mother when she insults my friends,” retorted Lucy, rising from the table, pale with anger.

“Nor your husband, either,” interposed Mrs. Merwent pointedly.

“No! Nor my husband either!” Lucy exploded stormily, looking straight at John.

“Lucy, you ought to think about what you say,” warned Nannie virtuously. “A woman who has as good a husband as you have should⁠⁠⸺”