Introductory material (continued 5)

“It’s no use, Nannie,” interrupted John gently, laying his hand on Nannie’s arm, “but thank you, all the same. It’s a comfort that someone still thinks I’m not a brute.”

“John,” Lucy spoke steadily, controlling herself with an effort, “be careful what you do. Consider well before you side with my mother against me. I warn you, John—think before you do this.” The last words were imploring.

“She is warning you against me, John,” commented Mrs. Merwent, smiling bitterly.

“Wherefore all this tragedy, Lucy?” inquired John, returning to his sarcastic manner. “I only ask you to be just to Nannie.”

Dimmie looked from one to the other, his lip trembling. Lucy burst into tears and left the room, leading him by the hand.

“Now what do you know about that, Nannie?” John’s voice floated out to Lucy as she ascended the stairs.

“Poor John,” Nannie answered softly.

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d go crazy,” he declared.

“I know, John, dear.”

“Lucy acts as if her mind was unbalanced,” he went on.

“Now you see what I have had to bear. It’s the Merwent characteristic to have a tendency toward melancholia. Lucy’s father—but I won’t talk about my own troubles.”

“You’re a brick, Nannie!” John cried emotionally.

During most of the day Lucy remained in her room reading and talking with Dimmie. Dinner and tea were silent meals. That night, when she undressed Dimmie, she put him in her bed, and then lay down beside him. In about an hour John knocked at the locked door. Lucy took no notice.

“Where is the money I gave you the first of the month?” he called from the hall.

“It’s in the desk drawer,” Lucy replied. “Here is the key,” and she tossed it through the open transom above the door.

In a few minutes Mrs. Merwent tapped at the door.

“Good night, Lucy. We’re going to the theatre,” she volunteered.

“Hurry up, Nannie. We’ll be late.” John’s voice could be heard as he shouted from the hall beneath.

“I’m coming, John,” Nannie responded, not waiting for Lucy’s answer, and she hastened down the stairs.

The front door slammed and the house became silent.

When she and John returned, Mrs. Merwent stopped again before her daughter’s closed door.

“Good night, Lucy,” she called. There was no response.

Soon John came up and, finding the door still locked, rapped. There was no sound.

“All right. Just as you like,” he growled, and went to Jim’s room to sleep.

XXV

John and Lucy met the following morning without speaking. Nannie, who had been treating her face with alternate applications of hot water and ice, came down late as usual. She found Lucy in a white linen dress and wide black hat, ready for the street, while Dimmie, who had not been dispatched to kindergarten, wore one of the duck suits with hand embroidered collars that were generally reserved for late afternoons and Sundays.

“Why, where are you going, Lucy?” was Nannie’s immediate question. “Why hasn’t Dimmie gone to kindergarten?”

“I’m going down town,” Lucy replied distantly, ignoring her mother’s query in regard to the child.

“I was going down town, too, with Miss Powell,” Mrs. Merwent stated genially. “If you’ll wait till I can get ready, we can go that far together.”

“I haven’t time,” returned Lucy. “Come, Dimmie.” And she went out.

When Lucy and Dimmie reached home it was late. They found John and Nannie in the dining room. Nannie was apparently in the best of spirits.

“We’ve been out, too,” she announced, her voice raised to a higher pitch than usual and her eyes unnaturally bright, “and we had the nicest time. Didn’t we, John?”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed John, giving Lucy a resentful look.

“I ran across John going over to Layard’s, or whatever you call them, and took him for a half holiday. He works too hard down at that old office anyway.” Mrs. Merwent showed great animation.

Lucy went upstairs to remove her hat, leaving Dimmie in the dining room.

“Where did you and Mamma go, Jimmie?” Nannie asked, as soon as Lucy was out of hearing.

“We went to Miss Stormses, and see all the things I’ve got!” He showed several packages.

“Who did you see? Who gave them to you?” Mrs. Merwent inquired.

“Oh, we saw Miss Storms, and she give me this necktie, and my new grandpapa, he said he’d buy me a watch and chain. He said I could wear it all the time, and it ain’t going to be a play one neither. It’ll go just like a grown-up one.”

“Who else did you see?” persisted his interrogator.

“Oh, my new grandmamma, too. While I was there she didn’t give me nothing but cakes, but she kissed me a lot, and there’s something in one of my bundles she put there, she told me. She says I’m like my grandpapa. And do you know⁠⁠⸺” Dimmie stopped open mouthed, in the midst of his expansive confidences, and stared at his grandmother who had begun to sob violently, with her handkerchief to her eyes.

“Come away from there, Dimmie,” commanded John.

The child obeyed, approaching his father with a wondering gaze.

“Now you’ve made poor Nannie cry,” John looked at Dimmie sternly.

The child’s eyes filled and his lips began to quiver.

“I—I—d-didn’t m-make her c-cry!” Dimmie wailed, his face full of woe. “I d-didn’t hurt her!”

“Yes, you did hurt her,” John insisted firmly.

Dimmie dissolved into a rain of tears.

“It isn’t his fault, John—poor child,” interrupted Nannie gently through her own tears. Then to Dimmie, “Come here, darling. Come to Nannie.”

Dimmie held back suspiciously.

“Go to Nannie,” ordered John severely.

“Wait, John.” Mrs. Merwent had wiped her eyes and was smiling at Dimmie. There was an unusual tensity in her manner. “Come on, Jimmie. See! I’ve brought you something, too,” and she lifted a small square parcel from the table and held it out to him.

Dimmie approached her chair.

“See. It’s a box of chocolates your papa bought for Nannie, and I’m going to give it to you.”

Dimmie held out his hand.

“Wait a minute,” she demurred.

“What do you say, Dimmie?” demanded John.

“Thank you,” Dimmie whispered, securing the prize.

Mrs. Merwent put her arms around the child.

“So you love Nannie, Jimmie?” she whispered back.

He did not reply to this, but stood in rapt uncertainty contemplating the box of chocolates he held.

“Come on. Let me untie it for you. Here, sit in my lap.” She lifted him up. “There! Aren’t they nice? You can eat one if you want to.”

Dimmie placed a chocolate in his mouth.

“Now, do you love Nannie?” she whispered again.

“Yes,” said Dimmie.

“Do you love me better than the people you saw today?” This, too, was spoken in a whisper.

“Better than granpapa?” he inquired.

“Yes.”

“And Miss Storms?”

“Yes, and the other woman.”

“My new grandmamma?”

“She’s not your grandmamma.”

Dimmie replied stoutly:

“Grandpapa said she was.”

“Well, she isn’t. Nannie is your truly grandmamma. That woman only wants to be your grandmamma. Your papa’s mamma that you’ve never seen is your other grandmamma. This other woman at Miss Storms’ isn’t any relation to you. A little boy can’t have three grandmammas, can he?”

Dimmie considered this problem gravely.

“Stella Hamilton’s only got two,” he admitted.

“Yes. One is Mrs. Hamilton’s mother, and the other is Dr. Hamilton’s mother. I’m your mamma’s mother, and your papa has a mother. So this woman at Miss Storms’ isn’t your grandmamma at all.”

“All right. I don’t love her any more,” Dimmie decided bravely. “She didn’t give me nothin’ but cookies anyway.”

“And you love Nannie, don’t you?” Her words were inaudible to John.

“Yes,” he responded, leaning against her with his face close to hers.

“As well as you do Papa and Mamma?”

“As much as Papa, but Mamma is nicer,” he answered accurately.

“Don’t you love Nannie as much as you do Mamma? I’ll cry then. See all your chocolates! You’ve only eaten one.”

Dimmie took another chocolate.

“Yes, I love you as well as Mamma,” he confided under his breath.

Nannie kissed him.

“Now go and play,” she suggested, pushing him gently away from her, “and don’t get chocolates on your clean suit,” she added warningly.

Dimmie went in search of his mother. In a few moments he returned to the dining room.

“Mamma says she don’t want no dinner,” he announced. “She’s got a headache.”

“Let’s not wait any longer,” urged John.

“You can serve dinner, Katy,” Mrs. Merwent bade the servant.

“Yes, Miss Nannie. It won’t be a minute,” declared Katy, going out of the room and coming back with the soup tureen which she placed on the table.

John and Nannie seated themselves, and Dimmie climbed into his chair.

“Go upstairs and see if Mrs. Winter doesn’t want a little something to eat, or at least a cup of tea, Katy,” directed Nannie.

“No, Miss Nannie. She say she caint eat nothin’ ’t’all,” Katy reported when she reappeared.

“I’m afraid Lucy has another of her nervous spells,” Nannie remarked to John. “Those people at Miss Storms’ have been filling her head with all kinds of stuff and she probably thinks she is very badly used.”

“Nervous spells! A fit of dumps, you mean,” replied John.

“She’s cryin’,” Dimmie explained impassively between large mouthfuls of potato.

“I’ll swear life has gotten to be almost unbearable in this house,” continued John, frowning. “Not a day passes without some kind of a stunt. It’s either funereal gloom or hysterics. It’s enough to drive a man dippy.”

“I know, dear.” Mrs. Merwent smiled sympathetically.

“And such a thing as consideration for me never enters her head. But this deliberate disregarding of my wishes is going to be the last. She and I are going to have an understanding once for all.” John’s expression was relentless.

“Now, John, dear,” remonstrated Nannie gently, “you must be patient. I know it’s hard, but you know how abnormal Lucy is now. And I’m afraid it’s growing on her.”

Lucy was coming down the stairs.

When she reached the dining room John and Mrs. Merwent, who had heard her approach, both rose as though by a previous agreement.

“Lucy,” John began in a tone that was gravely didactic, “notwithstanding the fact that your mother has pled with you not to go near those people again, to say nothing of your husband’s wishes in the matter, you have been to Miss Storms’ to see them and taken my child with you.”

Lucy looked from John to her mother. Nannie’s eyelids were red but her eyes were hard and glittered brightly. Lucy’s own face was pale and she bit her lip to control its involuntary inclination to tremble. John returned her startled glance with a gaze that might have greeted a stranger.

“He is my child, too, John, and his grandfather wished to see him before he left,” she said in a suppressed voice.

“Didn’t I tell you not to go again?” he asked accusingly, taking no notice of her statement. His voice was unsteady and his face flushed.

“You have no right to order me to do or not to do anything, John.”

John’s flush grew deeper and duller. Dimmie had slid from his chair and run out to play.

“I won’t have it!” John broke out violently, seizing a chair and setting it down on the floor with a bump.

Lucy regarded him steadfastly.

“I think it’s time you thought very seriously about what you are doing, Lucy,” advised Nannie loftily.

Lucy continued to face them and spoke with self control, although the twitching of her lip was apparent. Her eyes seemed to grow wider and deeper without altering their expression.

“I think it is time you two also thought very seriously about what you are doing,” she began slowly. “It seems never to have occurred to either of you that there is anybody else to consider except my mother. But I will tell you,” here Lucy raised her voice a little, “that I will not endure this kind of treatment from you two, for always. I have struggled and hoped that you, John, at least, might come to your senses and see what all this is leading to, but⁠⁠⸺”

“I won’t hear you vilify your mother any longer,” John interrupted harshly. “I’m not a baby being led around by the nose, and she’s not an adventuress plotting to ruin you. If there is anything about your present situation you don’t like, you can blame yourself for it. You have sneered at her and belittled her ever since she came, and the minute you get a chance you go and tag around after your father and the woman he deserted Nannie for, and you and Miss Storms try to wean my child away from his own father and grandmother to please them. You have taken your stand with them and against us, and if you think we are going to sit by tamely and submit to it you are mightily mistaken.”

John’s manner had grown more and more violent during this speech. He lifted the chair he held and struck it on the floor to emphasize each phrase, and his face was distorted with passion.

“You must admit, Lucy, that this quarrel is of your own making and not our fault,” put in Nannie again.

Lucy ignored her.

“John, please try to think what you are saying. Oh, John, please think of me. Think of Dimmie. Don’t make things impossible for us all.” Lucy was pleading and her voice shook. She clasped and unclasped her hands nervously.

“Impossible!” repeated John bitterly. “Things are already impossible. And you’ve made them impossible.” He was almost shouting. “I tell you I won’t have you ignoring my wishes and making a fool of me in my own house.”

Lucy’s eyes kindled.

“And I tell you I won’t have you shouting at me, John Winter. And I won’t have you treating me as though I were a servant to be dictated to. If you have no decent pride, I have. Dimmie is not far away, and Katy is in the kitchen.”

“Lucy, Lucy⁠⁠⸺” interrupted Nannie.

Lucy turned on her with vicious suddenness.

“And you will please attend to your own business, Mother. If it includes running John’s affairs, that is no reason for its including my life. When I want your advice and interference in my relations with my husband I’ll ask you for them.”

Mrs. Merwent stopped short with open mouth.

“Why, Lucy⁠⁠⸺” she gasped.

“Don’t speak to me,” commanded Lucy, her eyes glowing.

Nannie crept closer to John and took hold of his arm.

“It seems to me you ought to remember the servant yourself, Lucy,” she protested feebly.

“You shall not treat your mother this way!” John had raised his voice until it could be heard all over the house.

“No?” Lucy inquired in a curious tone.

“No, you shall not,” he repeated.

“No?” she asked again in the same peculiar manner.

“Lucy, Lucy, what is the matter with you?” cried Nannie hastily. “You act so strangely!”

“Do I?” asked Lucy, still in a voice so unlike her usual self.

“Lucy! You frighten me! Don’t look like that!” insisted Nannie nervously. “How can you look as if you hated me? Is all your love for me gone out of your heart?”

Lucy began to laugh hysterically. As John and her mother appeared more and more astounded, she laughed louder and louder.

“Lucy! Stop that!” ordered John sharply. “I don’t know you. I never saw you act like this. What’s the matter with you?” He shook her arm as he spoke.

She only laughed the more wildly.

“Lucy!” John’s voice was uncertain now. “Lucy! Stop, I say. What on earth has gotten into you? Why, you act as if you were crazy.”

“Do I?” she reiterated with the same weird intonation.

She laughed again, her voice growing shriller and shriller with each breath.

Katy’s frightened face peered through a crack in the kitchen doorway, but no one observed it. John’s grip on Lucy’s arm tightened.

“Stop that laughing,” he repeated, but, as he shook her, this time more roughly, there was fear in his tone and glance.

Lucy ceased laughing and looked at him.

“Oh, John!” she exclaimed. “What is it, John? What have I done?” Then she hid her face in her hands and sobbed.

He loosened his hold on her.

Nannie gave a sigh of relief.

“Lucy, you should control yourself and not give way like that,” she admonished.

Lucy uncovered her face and gazed at John. The tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“Come now, Lucy,” he went on more quietly, “don’t act this way any longer. Any one would think, to see and hear you, that you had been terribly abused.”

“You have hurt me so. Oh, John, how you have hurt me.” Lucy’s tears continued to flow, but she did not sob.

“You have hurt us, too, Lucy,” said Nannie.

“I depended on you to understand, John,” Lucy pursued, without noticing her mother, “and you were the first to fail me. Others have been better to me than you have—been more true⁠⁠⸺”

“Lucy!” Mrs. Merwent interrupted sharply, “I should think you could do better than to bring Mr. Sprague in at a time like this!”

“Yes,” echoed John, flushing again. “If he has been more sympathetic than your husband, you might at least keep from throwing it up to me.”

“I wasn’t even thinking⁠⁠⸺” Lucy began in a dull voice. Then, suddenly, her eyes glittered angrily. “You two evil minded beings!” she almost screamed. “Do and say what you like, I despise you!”

“Lucy, I warn you⁠⁠⸺” articulated Mrs. Merwent.

“Don’t speak to me! I’m ashamed that you are my mother.”

Nannie cowered at the whip-like words. John moved toward Lucy once more, but she retreated before him defensively.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t come near me! Oh, how I hate myself that I ever thought you worthy to be the father of my child! Why did you ever seek me in the first place? Why did you? Why did you? Oh—oh—why did you?”

“John,” said Nannie, as Lucy paused for breath, “I think we’d better⁠⁠⸺”

“Yes, leave me!” Lucy broke in shrilly. “Leave me! Go away! I can’t look at you! Get away from me!” She was waving her hands at them excitedly. “Go! Go away! Oh, you—go—go now! Go at once! Go!” Her words ended in a shriek.

All at once she drew her breath in painfully and, before John could catch her, fell forward in a heap by the table. She lay there still and white.

Nannie knelt beside her calling her name and chafing her hands. Dimmie had run in and was crying at the top of his lungs. Katy stood in the kitchen doorway with mouth and eyes wide open.

“For heaven’s sake, be still!” John snapped at the child. “Come on, Katy. Let’s get Mrs. Winter on to the sofa. She’s been taken sick.”

“Yes, sah,” gasped Katy. “Suttenly, sah.” And they lifted Lucy from the floor.

“Keep still,” John commanded again, shaking Dimmie violently.

The child obeyed, still whimpering.

“Get me a wet towel to bathe her forehead, Katy,” directed John. The negress did as she was told.

“Go upstairs and get some smelling salts, Nannie,” he ordered Mrs. Merwent, and when she returned with the bottle, he added, “Let her smell of them, and sit by her till I get back. I’m going to bring Dr. Hamilton. It’ll be quicker than telephoning.” Almost before finishing his speech he had his hat on and was gone.

“Poor Lucy! Poor girl!” Mrs. Merwent ejaculated time after time, as Lucy lay with closed eyes. “I told John he was too hasty. Oh, my poor child!” And she continued to pat the pillows, rub Lucy’s hands and forehead, and apply the smelling salts with nervous and jerky movements.

Scarcely five minutes had elapsed when John reentered followed by Dr. Hamilton, who dropped his hat on the table, swung his medicine case beside it, pushed Mrs. Merwent gently out of his way, and seated himself by the sofa without a word.

John, Nannie, and Katy stood watching him anxiously while he felt Lucy’s pulse, observed her breathing, and lifted her eyelids, staring carefully at her pupils. Then he deftly prepared a hypodermic and injected its contents beneath the skin of her arm.

“Mrs. Winter has had a bad nervous shock,” he informed the group about him at length. As he talked he was still watching Lucy intently. “Her heart is none too strong. However I think that strychnine will pick her up in a minute.”

Soon Lucy’s eyelids fluttered, and then opened.

“Where am I? What is the matter?” she asked, staring about her wildly, and attempting to raise herself on her elbow.

“You were taken ill, Mrs. Winter,” replied Dr. Hamilton in a reassuring manner, gently forcing her back on the pillow. “You just lie quiet for a few minutes and you will be all right.”

Lucy obeyed and closed her eyes once more. When she opened them again her face had regained a little of its color.

“Come on, Mr. Winter,” suggested the doctor. “We’ll carry her upstairs now so she can be put to bed. That’s the place for her.”

“Can’t I walk?” Lucy asked in faint protest.

“No. We had better carry you.”

Lucy made no further objection. When she was in her room, Dr. Hamilton turned from her and spoke to Nannie who followed close behind.

“You had best get her undressed and quiet at once, Mrs. Merwent,” he said, “and when that’s done, leave her, and on no account disturb her.”

To John in the hall at the moment of departure he added, “Keep her perfectly quiet. On no pretext allow her to become excited, and if anything you don’t understand comes up, call me at once. I’ll look in again in the morning.”

Nannie arranged a lounge in Lucy’s room and slept near her, getting up a dozen times to ask, “Do you want anything, dear?”

Lucy, generally awakened by these queries, always answered, “No, thank you.”

After midnight, however, Mrs. Merwent slept soundly, and Lucy attended to her own needs.

XXVI

It was late the next morning when Nannie awoke, and Lucy had already combed her own hair and arranged herself for the day. Dr. Hamilton came in before Mrs. Merwent was dressed and there was a scurrying when she ran to her own room as she heard him on the stairs.

“You will be all right, now, Mrs. Winter,” he announced, after listening to her heart. “I advise you, however, to spend a few days in bed so as to insure against a repetition of this business. I won’t come any more unless you need me.” He turned to John, who stood by the bed. “You use your marital authority and make her keep still, Mr. Winter.”

“All right, Doctor,” promised John.

When John was ready to leave for the office he came in, hat in hand, and stood by Lucy’s bed.

“Good-bye, Lucy. I’m going down town.”

“Good-bye,” she answered listlessly.

After looking at her a moment, he went out. He reached the office later than usual.

“Anything wrong?” inquired Jim, looking up from his desk as John entered.

“Lucy’s not very well.” John hung up his coat and stood by his desk, fitting a pen into a holder.

Jim watched his face with growing anxiety.

“She’s not seriously sick, is she?” Jim tried to control his voice but it was unsteady in spite of him.

“I don’t know,” John answered, his eyes on what he was doing.

Jim said no more, but he remained a long time eyeing the plan of a building before him, his pencil idle in his hand. After a time, he rose.

“I’m going to dictate a letter to Miss Burns,” he remarked, referring to the public stenographer whose office was only a few doors down the hall.

Jim went to Miss Burns’ room but, finding her occupied, paced the corridor for a quarter of an hour or more. When he finally went back to John his manner displayed none of the agitation which had been apparent while he was alone.

“I’m going out to Rosedene with you tonight, if you don’t mind, John. I’m worried about what you say about Lucy,” he announced as he reseated himself and began to work.

John hesitated perceptibly before he replied.

“All right,” he conceded somewhat ungraciously.

At one o’clock Katy brought up Lucy’s luncheon. During the course of the morning Mrs. Merwent had been to the bedroom several times to make inquiries regarding her daughter’s condition, but Lucy, a cloth wet with eau de Cologne on her forehead, her eyes closed defensively, had made barely audible replies to her mother’s interrogations. Nannie, on these occasions, patted the bed clothes, raised and lowered the window shades, and set to rights Lucy’s bureau and wash-stand, but, finding no further excuses for lingering, was finally obliged to leave the invalid in peace.

When Nannie reentered the room early in the afternoon Lucy started to rise.

“Don’t get up. I only wanted to ask you a question,” began Nannie. “Why, Lucy, you have been crying again.”

“I still have a very bad headache,” interrupted Lucy.

“You ought to control yourself and not give way to this abnormal melancholy.” Nannie’s tone was virtuous.

Lucy rose and stood looking at her mother.

“It’s about a pudding,” resumed Nannie. “I’m making it for dinner—that baked lemon custard you used to make at home; you remember. Do you use one dozen eggs, or two?”

“It depends on how much custard you want to make,” said Lucy.

“Oh, well—you know what I mean—enough for our family.”

“I should use five eggs,” Lucy replied, holding one hand to her drawn forehead.

“Wait a minute till I put it down.” Mrs. Merwent wrote on a scrap of paper which she had brought with her.

“And how many lemons?”

“Two.”

“And two cups of sugar?”

“No, three fourths of a cup.”

“Why don’t you call me by my name, Lucy? Anyone would think you were talking to one of the tradesmen. You’re so brusque and curt. It makes me feel like I had done something terrible.”

“Is that all?” demanded Lucy.

“Why, yes—no—let’s see. Two cups of sugar?”

“Three fourths of a cup,” repeated Lucy.

“Wait a minute. I think I’ll just have Katy bring the things up here, so you can show me how to do it.” And Nannie ran down stairs, returning, followed by the old negress who was panting from the exertion of her hasty ascent to the upper floor, her arms laden with bowls and pans.

Katy went back to the kitchen twice to bring the full assortment of ingredients and utensils.

“Now,” said Nannie, when she had completed the mixing of the pudding under Lucy’s direction, “I hope it’ll be good. What are you wrinkling up your forehead so for, Lucy? Does your head still ache?”

“Yes.” Lucy answered.

“Law’s sakes, Miss Nannie, dere wa’n’t no sense in pesterin’ Miss Lucy wid dat ’ere custard at all. I cu’d ’a’ done it mase’f. I done made ’em a thousand times.” Old Katy glanced anxiously at Lucy’s pale face.

“You just attend to what you’re told, Katy, and don’t give advice when you’re not asked for it,” Nannie retorted pettishly.

“Yes, Miss Nannie. Suttenly, Miss Nannie. I didn’t mean no ha’m,” Katy apologized, beginning to carry the dishes and materials back to the kitchen.

“Now I must go down and see that it doesn’t burn,” remarked Mrs. Merwent, bustling out the door. “I won’t be long,” she called back as she descended the stairs.

Lucy rubbed her head again with eau de Cologne, lay down on the bed and placed a cloth wet with cold water over her eyes. The afternoon was dull and cloudy and it soon began to rain. Soothed by the patter of drops on the tiled roof of the veranda just outside her window, she gradually relaxed and dozed lightly, but her peace was not for long. In a short time Nannie appeared again. As Lucy heard footsteps in the hall she removed the cloth from her eyes.

“Lucy, I wanted to ask you if you think the pudding is ready to take out.” Mrs. Merwent’s manner was agitated.

“How long has it been in?” inquired Lucy.

“Oh, I haven’t timed it, but one edge is getting brown already.”

“Katy will know when it’s done.” Lucy spoke with a visible effort.

“I’m afraid to trust her judgment,” Nannie objected. “I’m so anxious for it to be just perfect.”

“I’ll go and see,” said Lucy, rising.

“Now I didn’t mean for you to go,” protested Mrs. Merwent. “I just wanted your opinion, that was all.”

Lucy started into the hall.

“Lucy, come back,” besought Nannie, following her. “You know Dr. Hamilton ordered that you should be perfectly quiet. Don’t go, Lucy.” They were at the head of the stairs. “Well, Lucy, if you will go, remember that I didn’t ask you to, and did all I could to keep you from it.”

“Why, where is it?” she inquired agitatedly as Lucy reached the kitchen and opened the door of the empty oven.

“I done tuk it out, Miss Nannie. H’it’s in de pantry,” explained Katy.

“What did you mean by touching my pudding, Katy?” Nannie demanded.

“Shucks! H’it ’ud ’a bin all spiled if I hadn’t,” Katy expostulated respectfully, bringing the pudding out for inspection.

“It’s just right,” decided Lucy, examining it carefully.

“I’m so glad,” announced Nannie with a sigh. “I should have felt awfully if it hadn’t been just perfect.”

Lucy turned to enter the dining room.

“Now, Lucy, you must go right back to bed,” said her mother. “You shouldn’t have come down at all.”

Lucy went through the dining room into the living room without replying.

“Please go back to bed,” pleaded Nannie, following her.

“No. I’m going to sit up a while,” answered Lucy.

“Well, if you’re sure it won’t hurt you, but remember I didn’t want you to. Shall we eat some of the pudding now?”

“I don’t care for any, thank you.”

“Just taste it. I can hardly wait to see if it’s good or not.”

“Why don’t you try it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t eat any unless you did.”

Lucy drummed nervously on the arms of the chair she sat in.

“Do you remember how we used to send out and get oysters⁠⁠⸺?” Nannie began suddenly.

Lucy rose.

“Lucy!” exclaimed Mrs. Merwent, following her daughter who was leaving the room.

In the hall Lucy put on her raincoat and took an umbrella from the stand.

“Where are you going?” asked her mother.

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Wait a minute. Don’t go! Please don’t!” But Lucy had passed through the door.

When she returned from her outing it was nearly sunset. The rain was over and a dim, yellow-green light shone on everything.

Nannie met her in the hall.

“Now, Lucy,” Mrs. Merwent’s voice was reproachful, “you are going to be sick for all this.”

“On the contrary, I feel much better.” Lucy’s appearance supported her assertion.

“Well, change your clothes at any rate,” Nannie advised.

“I think I will put on dry shoes and stockings,” agreed Lucy.

It was almost time to close the office, on the same evening, when there was a knock at the outer door and it was slightly opened.

“Come in,” John called. He was alone, Jim having left him to keep an engagement with the firm of Layard’s in the next street.

Miss Storms walked into the room.

“Well, John, I see you are alone,” she observed, hesitating just inside the door.

“Good evening, Miss Storms. Won’t you sit down?” he answered distantly, rising and making a motion toward the coat which he had removed some time before.

“Don’t bother about that coat. I shan’t stay,” she interrupted, smiling kindly.

But John put on the coat.

“Ellen and Arthur are leaving in the morning. They had hoped Lucy would be in today—though she said yesterday that she didn’t think it would be possible.” Miss Storms paused. “As there seems to be no way for them to communicate with her⁠⁠⸺” she paused again with significant emphasis, raising her eyebrows but continuing to smile in the same manner, “I have brought this parcel from them. It is for Dimmie. His grandfather promised him a watch.”

John did not speak at once and the two stared at one another. His face grew red and sullen under the enigmatic inquiry of her expression.

She laid the parcel on the desk. Still John said nothing.

“If it is possible for Lucy to get in in the morning⁠⁠⸺” she began again.

“Lucy is sick in bed,” John informed her shortly.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Poor child! What is⁠⁠⸺it isn’t anything serious, is it?”

“No. Only an attack of nerves.”

Miss Storms continued to gaze at John, and he partially averted his face, fingering some papers on the desk beside him.

“John,” interrogated Miss Storms, making a step forward, “isn’t there anything to be done?”

He glanced up quickly and his hand on the paper shook.

“No,” he said, looking at Miss Storms almost defiantly, “I don’t see that there is. Not so long as Mr. Merwent and—his wife insist on thrusting their attention where it’s not wanted.”

“Oh?” Miss Storms lifted her eyebrows again and bit her lip. She continued to regard John with an expression that was a mixture of rather bitter humor and bafflement.

“Perhaps you’d rather not deliver my message?”

John frowned slightly.

“I’ll deliver it, Miss Storms. I’m not the one to settle Lucy’s attitude toward her father.”

“Well, I certainly hope the dear child is stronger than she looks. I’ll send over here tomorrow to inquire after her.” Miss Storms declared with insistent good humor. “Good-bye.”

Smiling rather impersonally, she nodded to John and went out.

John walked to the window and stood staring into the rain, and he did not hear Jim when he came in a few minutes later, his umbrella dripping and his shoulders wet.

When Miss Storms reached home she told Merwent and his wife of her visit.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Arthur said slowly, shaking his head as he spoke. “It means that I have lost my daughter. I don’t wonder that she’s sick, poor girl. I could see that she was nearly frantic yesterday. I’ll write to her.” Then his voice grew bitter. “Of all the fiends in human form⁠⁠⸺!” Ellen laid her hand on his arm. He was silent.

“I don’t think I’ll ever call myself a diplomat again,” announced Miss Storms grimly.

John and Jim closed the office and walked to the station in silence. Even in the close proximity of the suburban train they exchanged only a few desultory remarks.

Lucy had hardly put on her dry clothes and returned downstairs after her walk when John’s key was heard in the front door.

“Come in,” he said to Jim.

The two men hung their rain coats on the hat tree and John led the way to the dining room. Lucy, who was seated by a window, rose at their entrance.

“Well, Lucy, I concluded I’d turn myself into a surprise party. I told John not to ’phone out,” Jim declared. “I thought you were sick a-bed.”

“No. I’m feeling better this evening,” she replied rather coldly, shaking hands.

“Good evening, Mr. Sprague. What a nice surprise for Lucy! I hope you weren’t worried about her.” Nannie came forward.

“Good evening, Mrs. Merwent,” returned Jim, ignoring her observations. His perplexed gaze followed Lucy as he looked over her mother’s head.

“Where’s Dimmie?” he inquired at last.

“He has gone to the Hamiltons’. He’s getting to be quite a runabout.” Nannie proffered the information.

“Kin I put dinnah on right away, Miss Nannie?” asked Katy, coming to the door.

“Wait a minute, Katy,” replied Mrs. Merwent. “You must put an extra plate on.” Then, addressing John and Jim, “Shall I mix you two some of Mr. Sprague’s near cocktails before you eat?”

“Not for me, Mrs. Merwent, thank you,” Jim refused hastily.

“Well, let me make one for you, anyway, John,” she urged.

“All right, Nannie. I don’t mind if you do.”

“Then, come into the kitchen while I fix it.” John followed her.

“I invited myself out,” Jim remarked to Lucy, when they were alone. “I was worried about you. And John told me on the train you had a fainting spell and the doctor had to be called in.”

“It wasn’t serious,” Lucy explained impassively. “I was a little nervous and unstrung. That’s all.”

“Well, that’s enough,” asserted Jim grimly.

“It’s not an uncommon female failing,” said Lucy.

Jim regarded her so long without speaking that she flushed under his scrutiny.

“There’s no use trying to deceive me, Lucy. Your looks tell that you’ve been through something serious.”

“There’s no use in trying anything, Jim.” Her tone was new to him.

“Lucy!” he exclaimed. “You know that I⁠⁠⸺”

John and Nannie came in and Jim stopped speaking.

“You can serve dinner now, Katy,” Mrs. Merwent called as she left the kitchen.

The family were soon seated at the table.

“You’re quite a stranger, Mr. Sprague,” Nannie began.

“Yes, Mrs. Merwent,” said Jim stiffly.

“We have spoken of you so often. Haven’t we, Lucy?” Mrs. Merwent turned to her daughter.

Jim interrupted before Lucy could reply.

“Business is very engrossing, Mrs. Merwent. We have new competition. A lady architect has rented offices in the same building with us.”

“You must mean the lady architect is very engrossing, Mr. Sprague,” smiled Nannie. “You seem to have quite forgotten poor Lucy and me—though of course I don’t count.”

“The lady architect is designing small houses too rapidly to leave either herself or me time for personal interests,” responded Jim.

“Well, I think she might be better employed than in trying to compete with men in business,” declared Nannie vigorously. “I don’t believe in women earning their own living. The woman’s place is in the home.”

“Why, more than the man’s?” Jim questioned.

John answered for her.

“Because she’s not fitted by nature to compete with men.”

“Our new competitor has gotten four contracts this month right under our nose.” Jim smiled slightly.

“That’s only because she’s a sort of novelty. It won’t last.” There was no lightness in John’s manner.

“Well, according to Layard’s she’s been at it for six years, and made enough in a small place to enable her to break into big-city practice, just as we did.”

“A woman can’t attend to her home and her children and be in business,” persisted John.

“This one’s got neither, being unmarried, and there are thousands of others in the same fix.” Jim warmed to his subject. “If a man wants money and success, he’s free to get out and go after them, and I fail to see why a woman hasn’t the same right. I don’t see why she lowers herself any more than by living on charity.”

“Like me and Lucy,” put in Mrs. Merwent quickly.

“I don’t mean every woman,” said Jim. “You know what I mean, Lucy. You and I have discussed it a dozen times. What’s the use of insisting a woman’s place is in the home whether she has any home or not, or whether she and her children have enough to make them comfortable or not?”

Lucy did not answer.

“Woman’s place is in the home because she has the babies and man doesn’t,” John asserted again.

“I don’t see that she has them any more than the man does,” retorted Jim.

“You don’t? Well, I don’t think you’d find many women to agree with you!” John’s tone was finely sarcastic.

“Don’t you think that woman’s influence is destroyed when she becomes masculine, Mr. Sprague?” parried Nannie, looking at John.

“What do you mean by masculine?” queried Jim sharply. “It used to be that a woman had to turn all her money over to her husband when she married. Now she can hold on to at least some of it. Is she any less attractive? If she has a voice in the making of the laws that govern her and her children, will she become coarsened by it? Why don’t you help me out, Lucy? You know more about it than I do.”

“I had rather not discuss the subject,” objected Lucy coldly, her eyes downcast.

“I think she is wise,” approved John, “since you only care to ridicule and sneer at opinions other than your own.”

“Nonsense, John. I wasn’t ridiculing you or anybody else. But that stuff about woman’s place in the home is mediæval. What a decent woman wants is less chivalry and more real respect and consideration.”

“Then you don’t believe that women should expect politeness and deference from men at all?” insinuated Nannie.

“Well, I don’t exactly believe in fighting with them,” conceded Jim, smiling once more.

“I’m sure I’m not trying to get up a fight, Mr. Sprague,” Nannie snapped. “I was simply asking your view. I don’t think anybody can say I like quarrels.”

“I don’t either, Mrs. Merwent, and I don’t think we are going to quarrel.” Jim spoke as though dismissing the subject.

“Well, I don’t care to quarrel either,” John’s cheeks were flushed, “but I must say that I reserve the right to hold my own opinions on the subject, and do not care to be dismissed as though I were impertinent in daring to express them.”

“What’s the matter with you, John?” Jim looked straight at his partner. “I don’t object to your having your opinion on this or any other subject, but I suppose I may have mine too.”

“Well, please don’t call mine mediæval,” retorted John.

“As I am at your table and you choose the occasion to read me a lesson in manners,” Jim flushed also, “I will of course not presume to question any further opinion of yours.”

“Here! You two men frighten me,” protested Mrs. Merwent, laughing forcedly. “Let’s change the subject. What shall we talk about—golf?”

“I don’t play golf, Mrs. Merwent.” Jim drank some water.

“Oh, dear!” Nannie made a gesture of despair. “What shall we discuss then? Lucy, you know lots of things to talk about. You suggest something.”

“It makes no difference to me what you talk about,” stated Lucy enigmatically.

Jim glanced at her in surprise. She did not seem to notice his troubled eyes.

“Wasn’t that a terrible scandal about Mrs. Farnsworth?” Nannie ventured again. She addressed Jim as before. “Don’t you think her husband ought to get a divorce?”

“I don’t know much about it,” he answered.

“Why, the papers have been full of it.”

“I have only seen the headlines. I didn’t read the details.”

The conversation lagged during the remainder of the meal, John hardly speaking, and Lucy saying not a word.

As Katy brought in the dessert Nannie whispered to John, “I made the pudding.”

“It’s fine,” John whispered back.

When they rose Mrs. Merwent and John went into the living room at once, and sat without a light talking in low tones.

“Did you notice how strangely Lucy acts even with Mr. Sprague?” Nannie glanced toward the door as she spoke.

“He’s enough to make anybody act strangely,” was John’s irritated response.

“He is, John, dear, and you were so wonderfully patient with him. But Lucy is sick. There’s no doubt about that. Mentally sick, I mean. Oh, John, I do so want to help you out of this terrible situation!”

He pressed her hand.

“You help me every time you breathe, God knows, Nannie,” he asserted feelingly.

Lucy and Jim were silent in the dining room. Contrary to his custom, Jim was not smoking.

“Lucy, are you offended with me?” he asked at length.

“No, Jim,” was the reply.

“What’s the matter?”

Tears started to Lucy’s eyes and she shook her head.

“I can’t tell you, Jim,” she said in a low tone, after a pause.

Jim’s eyes were deep as he watched her pale face and quivering lips.

“I would do anything, Lucy, anything—to help you.”

“Thank you, Jim. I know you would.”

“Won’t you let me try?” he began.

She shook her head.

“No, Jim. It’s no use. Nobody can help anybody. I—I⁠⁠⸺” The tears stood in her eyes again.

“Lucy,” Jim’s voice was tense, “if you knew how much I—prize your friendship—how much I⁠⁠⸺”

“Don’t—Jim⁠⁠⸺” She spoke under her breath.

Nothing was said by either for several minutes. The murmur of John’s and Nannie’s voices continued in the living room.

“I’m going.” Jim rose and held out his hand.

Lucy placed hers in it. His clasp was warmer and longer than it had ever been before.

“Lucy, if you need me—that is if I⁠⁠⸺” His voice trembled but his eyes sought hers insistently. “If you need me,” he repeated, and paused.

“Thank you, Jim.”

“Tell Dimmie good-bye for me.”

He went out without saying good night to John and Nannie. Lucy did not go to the door with him.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Merwent called from the living room after a time. “I’m coming in.” She did not show herself immediately.

Lucy made no reply, and Nannie approached the door and looked in.

“Why, where is Mr. Sprague?” she inquired.

“He has gone home.” Lucy’s expression was hostile. “And if he were here, you need not insult us both by warning us that you were coming.”

“Why, Lucy, I only thought⁠⁠⸺”

“You only thought something vile, as usual,” Lucy interrupted.

“What right have you got to say such a thing as that to me?”

“You have given me the right to say far worse things to you. You are not in a position to defend yourself from anything I care to say.” Lucy’s tone was hard. Nannie could not meet her daughter’s eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” demanded Mrs. Merwent angrily.

“You know very well what I mean,” declared Lucy evenly, rising and starting toward the hall.

John appeared on the threshold.

“Where’s Jim?” he questioned.

“He’s gone home,” Nannie informed him.

“Well, what did he sneak out without saying a word for?”

Lucy’s eyes glinted, but she only said, “You’d better ask him. I don’t know.”

Dimmie ran in from the kitchen.

“Mamma! Mrs. Hamilton wants⁠⁠⸺” he began.

“Come to bed. You can tell me upstairs.” Lucy caught the child’s hand.

The two went out.

“John, what in the world do you suppose is the matter with Lucy? She treats me terribly.”

“I’m damned if I know!” exclaimed John fiercely. “I’m sick of it.”

“I don’t know what’s to become of us if she keeps on like this,” Nannie continued.

“Well, I know what will become of me if it goes on much longer!” His tone was eloquent.

“Now, John,” Mrs. Merwent placed her hand on the sleeve of his coat. “For my sake, John. I have suffered so much for Lucy already.” Tears seemed near.

“I’ll sit tight and do the best I can, Nannie, but as much as you’ve done for me, there are some things I can’t bear.”

Nannie sighed.

“I’ve noticed that every time she sees Mr. Sprague she’s worse,” she remarked significantly a moment later.

She and John stood looking into each other’s faces.

“Poor John.” She took one of his hands in both hers.

He returned appreciatively the pressure she gave it, then moved away.

“Are you going to bed so early?” she interrogated uneasily.

“No. I’m going to take a walk,” he answered. And the door slammed after him.

XXVII

Lucy rose early the following day, and when John and Nannie came downstairs they found her, pale and haggard, moving about the kitchen giving instructions to Katy.

“Now, Lucy,” objected Mrs. Merwent, “you shouldn’t do this. Dr. Hamilton said you were to have absolute rest.” Nannie herself looked fresh and immaculate. “If you don’t stop frowning like that,” she added, “nothing on earth will ever take the wrinkles out of your forehead.”

Without replying to her mother, Lucy finished her marketing list.

“Put breakfast on, Katy,” she said to the servant.

“Yes, you may put breakfast on, Katy,” repeated Mrs. Merwent. “Mr. Winter is waiting.”

“Yes, Miss Nannie. Right dis minute,” replied the negress with alacrity.

The postman’s whistle blew and, as Katy was busy with the dishes, Nannie went to the door. She returned with a letter in her hand.

“I suppose your father has some more insults to heap on me,” she observed acridly, as she gave the envelope to Lucy.

Lucy glanced at it and recognized Mr. Merwent’s handwriting. She left the room.

“Oh, don’t be afraid! I’m not going to ask you what’s in it!” Nannie called after her in a trembling voice.

John was reading the morning paper in the living room and Dimmie was out of doors, so when Lucy mounted the stairs the upper floor was deserted. She entered her bedroom and, locking the door, seated herself weakly on the edge of her bed. She opened the letter.

“Dear Daughter,” it began. “We leave in the morning as I expected. Ellen and I had hoped to see you and the boy once more before our departure, but Miss Storms learned through your husband that you were not coming again, and also that you were not well. I can understand that your nerves have been nearly ruined and imagine your condition.

“It seems strange that peace loving people like you and me and Ellen should be forced to quarrel with each other. I do not blame you (you will say I have no right to do so), nor is it my place to comment on the attitude your husband has taken. Sufficient to say that he has accepted your mother’s assessment of values in family matters.

“I know that you wish to remain neutral, but I have learned to my own sorrow the impossibility of a neutral peace where your mother is concerned. It seems to me, as things are, that the kindest thing Ellen and I can do in your interest is to do nothing and consider ourselves entirely out of the matter.

“Remember, Lucy, no matter what you may think of me, that I blame you in nothing, and that I try to regard your husband’s hostility to us with as much detachment as is in accord with my respect and affection for Ellen and the right I feel to demand that respect from others.

“Kiss the little boy for us both. We hope from our hearts that your indisposition is not serious. You know the cure. Ellen, in particular, regrets the impossible circumstances, etc. But why say more of that?

“Your friend and father, “Arthur Merwent.”

Lucy sat for some time with the letter in her hand. When she finally rose it was to begin to dress for the street.

A little later she descended the stairs, wearing her hat and carrying her gloves and purse. Nannie and John were breakfasting when she entered the dining room and took her place at the table.

“You’re not going out this morning, are you, Lucy?” Nannie inquired, staring at her daughter’s apparel. “You know the doctor said you were to keep quiet.”

“Yes, I’m going out,” Lucy told her.

“Now, Lucy, you ought not to disobey the doctor’s orders. You will be much better quiet here at home.”

Lucy did not reply.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Merwent persisted.

“I’m going down town.”

“Are you going shopping?”

“No.”

“Well, I don’t think you ought to go. Do you, John?”

“What I think is of little consequence in this house,” answered John. He scanned the newspaper at his elbow as he spoke.

“Didn’t you say last night that you were going to Benton Harbor again today, John?” Nannie asked somewhat irrelevantly, glancing sharply at Lucy’s face.

“Yes.” John picked up his paper.

“And you won’t be back till night?” she pursued with her eyes still on Lucy’s profile.

“No.” John went on reading.

“Well, I’m certain Lucy ought not to go.” Nannie returned to the first topic with seeming carelessness.

Though Lucy had scarcely tasted her breakfast she rose and, taking up her purse and gloves, went upstairs again. She did not take Dimmie to Mrs. Hamilton’s until her husband and mother had gone to the station.

Dr. Hamilton, after a sleepless night with a bad patient, was sitting with his wife at the table finishing a late breakfast, when Lucy and Dimmie came in.

“I thought you were taking the rest cure,” the doctor greeted Lucy jocularly. He got up and lifted Stella from her high chair beside him. The little girl flew enthusiastically to welcome Dimmie.

“I am.” Lucy smiled rather wanly.

“How is your mother? She ought to have used her influence to keep you at home today,” Dr. Hamilton resumed.

“Mrs. Merwent is very well, thank you.” Lucy stooped to kiss Stella.

“I hope you’ve come to spend the day,” suggested Mrs. Hamilton cordially.

“No. I’m going down town,” replied Lucy.

“I don’t know about that,” objected the doctor doubtfully.

“Please don’t, Dr. Hamilton,” Lucy protested quickly.

He glanced at her keenly.

“I think perhaps going out a little may do you good,” he conceded after a moment.

Lucy had seated herself in a bow window commanding the street. Soon she saw Nannie returning from the station.

“When does the train leave, Doctor?” Lucy asked.

“In eight minutes,” he informed her, after consulting his watch.

“Well, then, I’ll be going.” Lucy rose and shook hands.

“Come over whenever you can and bring Dimmie and stay as long as you can, won’t you, Mrs. Winter?” urged Mrs. Hamilton earnestly. “And your mother, too. I’m afraid she’s standing on ceremony.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton; I will,” Lucy smiled evasively.

In less than an hour she rang the bell at Miss Storms’s apartment.

“Why, Mrs. Winter!” exclaimed the maid as she opened the door and saw Lucy. “Miss Storms is out. She went to see Mr. and Mrs. Merwent off but she’ll be back at ten. Won’t you wait? I’m sure she would be disappointed at not seeing you. I think she thought you’d be at the station.”

“Yes, I’ll wait,” agreed Lucy.

“Come right in and take a chair, Mrs. Winter.”

Lucy entered the pleasant reception room and, taking up a book from a table, sat down by a window. Although the volume was the translation of a Russian novel she had often wished to see, her interest evidently was not in what she read. Most of the time while the book was in her hand she spent in staring over the roofs of the city that stretched before her. Finally Miss Storms’ key was heard in the latch and the door opened.

“Why, Lucy! Bless your heart. I’m so glad you’re better,” Miss Storms ejaculated, kissing her friend’s cheek. “They’ve just gone. If you’d come to the station you could have caught them.”

“I wanted to see you,” replied Lucy, not responding to her hostess’s smile.

Miss Storms was studying Lucy’s face carefully.

“I see you have been reading Sanin. What do you think of it?”

“I didn’t read much,” Lucy confessed. “You said that if ever I was in trouble I must come to you.”

“Yes.” Miss Storms’ tone became sympathetic at once and she took the younger woman’s hand.

“Well, I’ve come.” Lucy’s voice trembled slightly.

There was a pause.

“What is it, dear?” Miss Storms asked at last, stroking the hand she held.

“Oh, Miss Storms, I got a note from Papa this morning just before I left. I—I⁠⁠⸺” Lucy stopped.

Miss Storms nodded comprehendingly.

“I hardly know what to say, dear,” she began.

Lucy lifted strange eyes with dilated pupils, then turned away.

“Arthur is terribly hurt by John’s attitude,” Miss Storms continued, scrutinizing Lucy’s half averted profile. “He resents John’s position in regard to Ellen. That’s natural, but don’t think that he ever, for one moment, mistakes the source of it, or holds it against you.”

Lucy’s hands moved uneasily.

“Oh, it isn’t just Papa, Miss Storms!” she burst forth.

Her voice was hoarse. She kept her eyes on the open window where the blue sky showed, overcast by the city smoke.

There was another long pause before Miss Storms went on.

“You must get your mother out of the house, Lucy.” Her tone was emphatic.

“But where can she go? She has no place to go, Miss Storms! Since my grandmother died there’s nobody but Cousin Minnie Sheldon, and she doesn’t want Mamma.” Lucy’s hands beat the air in a gesture of futility.

She rose and, walking to the window, stood with her back to Miss Storms, her shoulders shaking spasmodically.

Finally Lucy regained her self control and faced her friend.

“I’d advise you to poison her, dear, if I weren’t afraid of getting you in worse trouble than you are.”

Lucy smiled slightly but almost simultaneously her lip twitched and the tears started to her eyes.

“Oh, don’t! Please don’t, Miss Storms,” she begged hysterically.

“There, dear. Sit down again.” Miss Storms rose and led her to the chair. “Lucy, I have to confess a spinster’s tendency to meddle, I suppose. I asked John around here the other day and talked to him about this.”

Lucy glanced at her quickly.

“He didn’t tell me he was here,” she said in a low voice, staring at her lap. “Oh, Miss Storms⁠⁠⸺!”

“Yes, dear?”

Under Miss Storms’ touch Lucy trembled violently.

“John shouldn’t treat me the way he does,” she wailed like a child. “He shouldn’t believe her insinuations. He has no right to be suspicious of me. Oh, Miss Storms, it’s awful! Jim Sprague was at our house last night and I didn’t dare to treat him decently.” Lucy began to weep softly.

“Does he think that you and Jim⁠⁠⸺” Miss Storms interjected incredulously.

“I don’t know what he thinks!” cried Lucy passionately. “I don’t know anything about him any more. If it wasn’t for Dimmie⁠⁠⸺” and she broke into violent sobbing.

Miss Storms sat with her chin in her hands, her elbows on the arms of her chair. It was several minutes before she spoke again.

“I don’t know what to say, Lucy,” she admitted finally. “I realize that your mother is a moral idiot, and that John ought to see through her, but I know more about men and women than you do, dear, and I understand what a woman can do to a man.”

“Ain’t I a woman, too?” Lucy demanded fiercely, relapsing into the language of her childhood.

“Yes, dear, but you’re not the courtesan type. You’re the mother type, and you don’t understand the other. I used to think I was the cerebral type,” Miss Storms pursued musingly, smiling her gently ironical smile, “but I’m not. I’m the mother type, too, and I wish this minute that you were my child.”

“So do I,” said Lucy quickly, returning the pressure of Miss Storms’ hand.

“Sex is the most of life, dear. One can’t escape it any more than one can death, and the most fatal thing is to try to. Look at celibates for example. I have learned a great deal in forty years, Lucy, and I knew when I advised you to marry, that John was not great individually. But he is nature, dear, and the thing to do is to get the other woman out of the way. It frightens me to think of anything else, Lucy.”

“But I want to be loved, Miss Storms.” Tears were in Lucy’s eyes again. “I want—I want⁠⁠⸺” She could not go on.

“Lucy! Do you love Jim Sprague?” Miss Storms’ voice was sharper.

“No!” cried Lucy vehemently.

“And you do love John, don’t you?” Miss Storms almost pleaded.

“I—I would if I had a chance.” Hesitating over the first words, Lucy finished determinedly.

Miss Storms kissed her cheek.

“The only thing is to get rid of your mother, no matter what the difficulties are,” Miss Storms resumed in a practical tone. “Oh, why doesn’t that Mr. Walsh say or do something! At all events we must get her away. And then you musn’t even forgive John. You must put the past out of your mind—never give it a thought. It must disappear as if it had never existed. Make all the responsibility yours. John must never be humiliated, never know that you have suffered.”

“But what about me?” Lucy reminded her indignantly.

Miss Storms’ smile was rather bitter as she answered.

“I know you think I am only considering the man, Lucy,” she replied. “As a rule, I do. I did in your father’s case. Women have to take the responsibility for life. Besides, the man is the potential father, and until the woman has children she worships the potential father. Afterward she worships the children. But I’m not ignoring you, dear. I am thinking of you, too. John is still the potential father, to you—of more children, I hope.”

Lucy was silent as she gazed out the window.

“You may think me hard on women, Lucy. Nature is hard on them. You may think there are other men—Jim Sprague, for instance—but there aren’t. The female is the type—the responsible one. They are the race. Men are their possessions. You chose John to be the father of your children—and you didn’t Jim.”

Lucy was still silent.

“I have no highfalutin’ ideas about the sanctity of marriage, or any such nonsense,” Miss Storms went on in the same half musing tone, “although I realize that, in spite of what is perhaps some intellectual breadth, I have an old maid’s emotional idealism. But the fact remains, dear, that sex is greater than we, just as life and death are greater, and we can escape neither its ecstasy nor its agony. We mate to suffer as well as to joy, Lucy, and you are happier than I.”

Here Miss Storms reverted abruptly to her practical mood.

“You just hold on, dear,” she advised. “Men, even the greatest of them, never grow up. I think I have a plan that will do the trick. Let me gnaw over it tonight, and I’ll see you in a day or two. Everything’s going to be all right.” Miss Storms nodded reassuringly.

Lucy hesitated a moment. Then she arose.

“Won’t you stay for luncheon, dear?”

“No. I must go.”

“Well, you will hear from me soon. But on account of John’s attitude toward Arthur and Ellen, and toward me, he must never know—more than he already knows—about my having anything to do with it. Women are always deceiving men for their own good, you know, dear.” Miss Storms jested sourly.

Lucy made no sign and Miss Storms proceeded in a business-like tone.

“Now, Lucy, you’re strong—women have to be—and sensible. You can handle this situation, dear. You must. I’ll help. I believe my idea will work. If it fails we’ll try another.”

“I don’t think it’s any use,” Lucy confessed hopelessly.

“Oh, yes it is. Don’t lose heart.”

From the apartment Lucy went to the park, and, seeking a secluded spot, seated herself on a bench and leaned her head against her hand. She remained thus for more than an hour. Tears sometimes flowed down her cheeks, but she made no sound.

Finally she rose and turned her steps toward the office.

XXVIII

The torpor of summer was in the air, but it did not affect Jim’s industry. Coming into the office from a luncheon he had scarcely tasted, he removed his coat, and settled himself for a hard afternoon’s work. The windows were raised but not a breath came to stir the papers on his desk. The murmur of the street sounded as remote as the echo of the ocean in a shell.

The door opened and Lucy came in. Jim glanced up, startled, but did not speak.

“I want to talk to you, Jim,” Lucy said without preamble. Her face was set.

“Sit down,” he replied, looking at her keenly. The pencil in his hand trembled.

“I couldn’t say anything last night, Jim. I am in the greatest trouble of my life.” She picked up a paper weight and examined it as she spoke.

“I know, Lucy,” he said, laying down his pencil.

She shivered as though chilled by the warm summer atmosphere. Her forced calmness forsook her suddenly.

“Oh, Jim!” she sobbed, and leaning forward on the desk, hid her face in her arms.

He reached out his hand to take hers, then withdrew it, and, picking up the pencil again, began tapping the desk with it.

“What shall I do, Jim?” Lucy lifted her head. She had command of herself now.

Jim went on tapping the desk until Lucy reached over and took the pencil from him and laid it down.

“Your mother must go away,” he declared at last.

“But where can she go? She has no money. Cousin Minnie doesn’t want her. She has no other relations, and besides, John won’t hear of her going.”

“She must go anyway,” he repeated.

“I can’t put her in the street. Oh, Jim, I don’t know what to do! She’s changed John so he’s not himself any more. Everything she does is perfect in his eyes. I’m always to blame. Everything I say is wrong. She’s even turned him against Dimmie. What shall I do? What shall I do?” and Lucy wrung her hands, her eyes fixed upon Jim’s in hungry appeal.

Sprague stared at her. His own eyes widened. His self control went to the winds.

“Do, Lucy? Do! Why come to me!” he cried, seizing her hand and gripping it until she winced.

“Jim!” she gasped.

“I’ve stood all I can.” His tone grew more intense with each word, “I’ve never been too honest with myself about you, Lucy, but I knew I loved you a long time ago. I’ve resented seeing your youth slipping by, and John not noticing it. I’ve tried not to covet his wife, because I thought he wanted her. But now I’ve got to tell you, Lucy. I want you. And I don’t want just a mystical idea of you either. I love you, dear, and you won’t have to be afraid of my ever stopping. Let’s leave the people who don’t want us and take each other. We know we’re good enough for each other. Come on, Lucy. I need you. You are the only person in the world I ever trusted implicitly. You must. I won’t give you up. I can’t give you up. Lucy, Lucy⁠⁠⸺”

She had withdrawn her hand from his and was regarding him now with an expression of wonder.

“Why, Jim, what do you mean?” she asked, aghast at his torrent of words. She had never before seen him under stress of uncontrollable excitement.

“I mean what I say. Can’t you see how I love you?”

Lucy had forgotten the troubles which brought her there and rose from her chair with fear in her eyes.

“Stop, Jim,” she commanded. “I’ve trusted you, too, and you have no right to talk this way.”

Jim had risen also, and now he came around the desk and stood in front of her, his eyes seeking hers insistently.

“Right!” he repeated. “I have the right that my love gives me, a love that never let me think of another woman since I first saw you. You’ve trusted me and you ought to have, because I’m worthy to be trusted. You trusted your husband too, and he allows the first miserable flirt that comes into his house to⁠⁠⸺”

“I’m going, Jim. I can’t listen to such things.” Lucy moved toward the door.

“Stop, Lucy,” he pleaded. “Don’t go.”

She hesitated. Her manner was hunted.

“I’ll talk reasonably,” he promised. He was very pale. His voice was low again. “Sit down, please,” he added as she remained undecided.

She reseated herself, smoothing out her gloves over and over with shaking fingers. Jim took his place in his chair by the desk and picked up the pencil. They regarded each other with fear and questioning. He had the look of a man prepared to overcome hard things.

“I suppose you’re thinking of John’s confidence in me, and what I owe myself in view of it, and all that,” he began.

“No, I don’t judge you. You have always seemed so like a—no, not like a brother, but like a dear friend and comrade that I could always depend on—I never thought⁠⁠⸺” The words would not come and Lucy continued smoothing her gloves.

Jim had himself in hand again and began speaking very carefully, drawing circles and squares on a piece of paper as he talked.

“John and I have been together nearly all our lives. I am not going to say anything against him, Lucy, but before I knew you I realized that he was—was not as strong as he should be. When I saw you I gave you the devotion of my soul that—I needed somebody, Lucy—that I had been trying to give him, because you were worthy of it. I knew you were the most desirable woman I had ever seen and I acknowledged this to myself without cant. I was proud to give you this honor in my heart, and I was prouder that I gave it to you as you really were. What John gave to you was a hazy outline of a woman seen through a mist of sex idealism. Anyone else would have done as well as you. But I never doubted the reality of his love, such as it was.”

Lucy began to show uneasiness again. Jim noticed it and hastened on.

“When your mother came I realized at once that you were in for a hard time and I stood ready to help John. I saw that she wanted to be a high priestess between you two and I set out to combat her influence over him. I tried my best, but he didn’t want any help. He could have stood with you and it would have been easy, for your mother is too cowardly to carry anything through against opposition. But he fell for any suggestion she put out, and turned against me, which wasn’t so bad, and then against you who were more loyal to him than I even. Every cheap, despicable little woman’s trick that a baby could see through was another excuse for turning away from the straightest and most lovable woman in the world and putting a little contemptible, shallow⁠⁠⸺”

“Jim, please,” interrupted Lucy, stretching out her hand and touching his.

His body stiffened at the contact, but with a strong effort he restrained himself from another outburst.

“Lucy, I can’t help it. His idea of woman is the harem idea. He doesn’t want you because you are too big and too good. She suits him better. They don’t want you. They don’t want us. We’ve only got each other. We need each other, Lucy. I would never have said a word or made a sign if he’d been square—if he’d appreciated you and wanted you. But you’ve wanted honesty in your relation with him, and he couldn’t stand it. He’s failed. He’s had his chance. You don’t owe him anything more, and I don’t. We’re free, Lucy. We’re free to take each other. My darling, if you knew how I love you⁠⁠⸺” His voice grew husky with emotion.

Lucy rose again, pale as he. Jim sprang to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Lucy! You can’t, you shan’t leave me without saying you love me. I won’t allow you to let a convention rob you of my love. You’re mine, Lucy, mine, mine, mine!” and he strained her to him.

For an instant her resistance was broken and she rested in his arms as though it were at last a place where she could be safe. Then she gently drew herself away and Jim sank into the chair beside her, his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” she began in a shaking voice. “I believe you are a noble man, Jim. You stand for more to me now than anyone else in the world, but—I can’t. Poor Jim, I—I⁠⁠⸺” She was crying softly.

Jim raised his head and looked at her. His eyes hungrily took in the rounded forehead, the straight nose, beautiful in profile, the ear set too high for harmony and spoiling the effect of the line of the jaw, the almost perfect mouth and chin, so appealingly feminine. His gaze devoured her eyes with their clear unflinching depths of honesty, suggesting little of sex as it is generally sought for by men; the brown of her hair with almost golden strands arranged, as always, low on her too generous brow and swept down over her ears with the exact curve that she instinctively knew would hide and pick out all the points that needed suppression or emphasis; her clear skin, so really white and delicate of texture as he knew by the glimpses her morning dresses had given him of her neck down by the shoulder and of the inner surface of her forearms; her hands and feet of normal efficient size, the hands with supple slender fingers widened at the tips; her body, the waist but moderately restricted and the bosom low, suggesting the long and willing nursing of her child—he knew her so well!

Suddenly he groaned. Beads of cold moisture were on his brow.

“I can’t give you up.” He spoke with difficulty. “Lucy, Lucy, he’s not fit for you!”

Lucy did not try to hide the tears that coursed down her cheeks.

“My whole life is yours,” he continued with suppressed intensity. Then, springing to his feet again he strode toward her. “Nothing can keep me away from you, Lucy!” he said hoarsely.

She put out her hand and as it touched his breast he stopped.

“I can’t, Jim! Oh, don’t you see I can’t?” she begged.

Then she turned and went swiftly out of the office.

Jim stared at the closed door for several minutes. At last he sat down slowly at his desk. He covered his face with his hands and began to sob.

Lucy walked the streets and the park until dusk.

When she reached home neither John nor Nannie was there.

“Dey’s done et deir dinnah. I ’lows dey’s gone to de t’eayter, Miss Lucy,” volunteered Katy.

Dimmie was asleep on the sofa in the dining room. Lucy carried him upstairs and undressed him.

When the child, whom she but half awakened, had gone to sleep again she lay face downward on the bed and wept until John and Nannie were heard ascending the stairs.

Lucy did not go to breakfast the next morning. Katy came up with a tray.

“I don’t care for any, thank you,” Lucy said through the locked door.

When she descended the stairs she was surprised to find John still at home, smoking by the dining room table. Mrs. Merwent was not to be seen.

“Aren’t you going to the office?” Lucy inquired of him.

“No. I want to talk to you,” he answered. His face was stern and his voice was cold.

“Where’s Mother?”

“She has gone some place with Miss Powell.”

Lucy seated herself by the window.

“I came back to the office yesterday evening,” John began.

Lucy looked at him.

“As I came around the corner I saw you coming out of the building. I went in to see if there were any letters and Jim Sprague was there alone, and, what is more, he seemed very surprised to see me.”

“Well?” Lucy’s tone was dull.

“I want to know what this means. That’s what I want to know.” His voice grew less controlled as he proceeded.

They gazed at each other with hostile faces. Dimmie entered the room.

“I’m ready to go to Mrs. Hamilton’s,” he announced.

Lucy kissed him, inspected his clothes, and straightened his hat.

“Good-bye, little son,” she smiled.

“Good-bye, Papa,” Dimmie called as he went out.

“Good-bye,” John responded impatiently.

“What do you send that boy over to Mrs. Hamilton’s every day for?” he demanded harshly.

“To go to kindergarten.”

“Kindergarten! There’s no sense in his going to kindergarten in the summer. But if there was, why couldn’t he go from here?”

“He could.”

“Then what’s the use of bothering your neighbors?”

“I send him early so as to get him away from Mother as much as possible,” admitted Lucy.

“We’ll discuss that later,” John’s lip curled, “but first I want an explanation of why you went to the office yesterday.”

“I shall explain nothing, John,” Lucy answered.

“Did you see Jim Sprague?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, didn’t you know I wouldn’t be there?”

“I did.”

“Then why did you pick out a day when I would be away?”

“I wanted to see Jim alone.”

“What for?” John’s face grew redder.

“I wanted to consult him.”

“Alone?” sneered John.

“Yes, alone.”

“What did you need to consult him about?” John demanded in a more peremptory tone.

“That is my own affair, John.”

“Well, it just isn’t your own affair. I’m not going to stand this kind of thing any longer.”

“Neither am I.”

“You won’t have to,” snarled John.

“Exactly. I have decided just that.”

He stared at her in astonishment.

“What do you mean, Lucy?” He lowered his voice.

“I mean that I am going to leave.”

“With Jim Sprague?” John almost shouted, springing to his feet and walking back and forth.

“Katy will hear you, John.”

“Damn Katy! I don’t care who hears!” he snapped.

“Very well then. Neither do I,” returned Lucy calmly.

“I’ll just tell you one thing right here,” John continued, “and that is that you and Jim Sprague are not going to take my child away from me.” He was breathing heavily and his eyes were suffused.

“We will settle about the child legally,” replied Lucy, in the same manner, “but you are mistaken about Jim. I am not going away with him. I am going alone.”

“How will you support yourself? I suppose your father’s wife will do that.” John almost ground his teeth.

“She knows nothing about my plans. I shall do anything I can to earn a living for myself and Dimmie. Miss Storms will take me in till I can get started. I can do book binding. I don’t intend ever to be dependent on anybody again.”

A frightened expression came into John’s eyes.

“Lucy, you are crazy! You’re trying to scare me. What reason have you got for leaving your home—your husband and child?”

“I don’t intend to leave my child!” she retorted.

John gazed at her in silence, his face paling. When he spoke again his manner was conciliatory.

“Lucy! Lucy, you don’t know what you are saying.”

“Yes, I do. I know precisely what I am saying.”

“Lucy,” John was on the defensive now. “I can’t understand what has changed you so. I’m not accusing you of anything in regard to Jim Sprague, but it’s natural that I shouldn’t want you to get yourself talked about. You used to think I was always right, but now you seem almost to despise me.” His voice quivered a little. “Let’s talk things over, Lucy, and not go on like this.” The last words were almost beseeching.

“Very well, John, if you really want to talk over matters and are ready to see things squarely, I am ready, too, but if not, I have made up my mind and know exactly what I shall do.”

John sat down again and tried to light a cigarette, but his hand shook so that he desisted and put the cigarette in his pocket.

“What is it, Lucy?” he asked at length.

“Well, in the first place, my mother must leave here.”

“Now, Lucy,” he began querulously, “I knew you were going to say that. Why you should be so prejudiced and so vindictive against Nannie is beyond me. What earthly reason is there for putting her in the street—for she’s got no place to go if she leaves here!”

“If you hadn’t flattered her and influenced her she would probably have been married by now.”

“Lucy!” John was horror stricken. “Married to that⁠⁠⸺!” He could not find a word to express his feelings. “You are absolutely without heart, Lucy,” he protested.

“Well, if you insist on her staying,” cried Lucy, rising from her chair, “I will apply for a divorce and the custody of my child and will name my mother as correspondent in the case!”

“Lucy!” articulated John. “You’re crazy!”

“No, I’m not crazy,” she went on tensely. “That’s a dozen times you’ve told me I was since she came, but I’m not. You are the one who is crazy, and if you can’t come to your senses in any other way, I’ll bring you to them right now.”

“You wouldn’t dare do such a thing, Lucy! Why, it’s ridiculous,” John argued. “How could you prove such a fantastic joke? Where are your witnesses?” John grew almost hysterical. “You’re crazy, Lucy!”

“You’ll find out I’m sane.” Lucy’s calm was ominous. “There are witnesses enough to prove what she is—my father, Miss Storms, Jim Sprague, the Hamiltons, the two servants we’ve had, and plenty in Russellville. If you think it’s a joke, John Winter, you just go on and find out who the joke is on. Everybody but you sees through her contemptible tricks. I won’t stand it!” she continued wildly. “I’ll go right now. I’m going to kindergarten to get Dimmie. Oh, to think that I ever thought I loved such a pitiable excuse for a man! Let me get away from the sight of you! I hate you! I despise you! I—I—oh! How can I say what I feel for you! Get out of my way!” and she started swiftly for the hall door.

John caught hold of her hand.

“Don’t touch me again—ever—ever!” she almost screamed, wrenching herself free.

“Lucy, Lucy—please—how can you say such things!” John was cowed. He regarded her pleadingly. Tears were in his eyes.

Lucy stood pale and defiant, her eyes shining as if with exaltation.

“Then choose this instant between me and my mother!” she commanded hotly.

“I will, Lucy—I will. If you think best for her to go, I won’t say anything more. But, Lucy⁠⁠⸺”

“There are no ’buts’ about it,” interrupted Lucy remorselessly.

“I don’t mean that I want her to stay,” explained John hastily, “but you hurt me so when you say such awful things. You have told me a thousand times how you looked up to me, and now, after what you have said, I can never feel that you respect me.” He appeared almost ridiculously like a small boy.

“You’ve hurt me, John, for a long time, and that’s why I said them,” Lucy replied more gently.

John sat down in a chair and buried his face in his hands. Suddenly he began to sob, his shoulders heaving and the tears dripping through his fingers. Lucy hesitated and then came slowly up to him and laid her hand on his hair.

“Don’t, John,” she entreated in a soft, almost maternal tone.

“You’ve hurt—me—so,” he faltered abjectly, his voice choked.

“Have I, John? Poor boy! Oh, John, why couldn’t you see without all this?” she whispered wistfully.

“Lucy⁠⁠⸺” John reached up and put his arm around her. “Lucy—you didn’t mean all those things you said about—about—me—about my being—only an excuse for a man, and about—despising me?” He still kept one hand over his eyes.

Lucy hesitated an instant.

“No—John. I don’t think I really meant them,” she admitted.

John reached for his handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

“And you didn’t mean that you hated me?” He pulled her down to his knee. “You still love me, don’t you, Lucy?”

“Yes, John, I still love you.”

They sat several minutes in silence.

“Now I’m going down to the office.” He lifted Lucy up gently and rose from his chair.

She followed him to the hall.

“Good-bye,” he said. He took up his hat and held out his arms. She came into them and he kissed her forehead as of old.

“Good-bye, dear. Come home as early as you can.” Lucy smiled at him as he went down the steps.

She watched him as he halted in the gateway to light a cigarette.

XXIX

John entered the office and, after hesitating slightly, greeted Jim rather ungraciously. Jim’s reply was scarcely audible. Their eyes met for an instant but each showed that he was anxious to avoid the other’s gaze. They exchanged a few necessary remarks. Jim held out the photograph of a lately completed house. His hand was unsteady as he called John’s attention to the picture. John barely glanced at it. Coughing nervously, he walked to the window. After a few moments he murmured something unintelligible about Layard’s and, taking up his hat, went out.

When Jim was alone, he stood irresolute for a time, then, taking his own hat and coat, followed John’s example.

In the street, Jim took the first surface car, without even noticing the destination indicated on the front, and he did not reappear at the office until late that evening.

Nannie did not return to Rosedene until nearly five o’clock in the afternoon. She came at once, through the dining room, into the kitchen where Lucy was making a dessert.

“Just look at my clothes! I have little enough without having this ruined.” Mrs. Merwent held out her linen skirt which was ripped at the hem and had a small tear suggestive of the imprint of a man’s boot heel. “The cars were so crowded! It was so hot standing there and I missed the first train. Miss Powell had an engagement and couldn’t wait with me. If I had only known I was going to be so late I could have gone to John’s office. Hasn’t he come yet?” Nannie’s air was injured.

“No, he hasn’t come yet.” Lucy bent over her work.

“Why, I already told Katy to have peaches and cream!” Mrs. Merwent’s eye took in Lucy’s preparations and her voice rose irritably.

Lucy made no response.

“Did you fix the celery soup?” Mrs. Merwent asked the negress.

“No, Miss Nannie. You see Miss Lucy wanted me to have⁠⁠⸺”

“You needn’t bother about the dinner. Everything is ready,” interrupted Lucy, looking full at her mother.

“Now, Lucy, there was no need for your working in the kitchen. I had instructed Katy about everything, and two heads only make confusion.”

“There’s only one head,” replied Lucy.

“Of course I know that you are the mistress, but I have taken things over for you, and it only mixes things up⁠⁠⸺”

“You haven’t taken things over,” Lucy interrupted. “I don’t need your help any longer.”

“Why, Lucy⁠⁠⸺”

“From now on I shall attend to my own household. There is absolutely nothing for you to do.”

“Why, Lucy, what has happened?” demanded Nannie in a voice in which was mingled astonishment and alarm.

“A lot of things have happened, but suppose we don’t talk them over before the servant.” Katy had gone into the dining room.

“Well! When John comes home I think I’ll ask about this!”

“Do,” advised Lucy as Katy returned to the kitchen.

Nannie left the room and went upstairs to experiment with a new device for curling the hair, one of the day’s purchases.

“Hello, Mamma!” shouted Dimmie shortly afterward, coming in from the back yard.

“Hello, Sonny,” beamed Lucy. “Here, let me get you ready for dinner. Papa will be home soon.”

“Has Nannie come?” inquired Dimmie.

“Yes,” answered Lucy, washing his face and hands.

“Where is she?” he insisted. “Don’t wash so hard, Mamma. It hurts.”

“Oh, she’s upstairs, I think. Now come let me brush your hair.”

“I’m goin’ upstairs to see what Nannie’s got for me!” Dimmie was impatient.

John’s key was heard in the latch.

“There’s Papa!” exclaimed Lucy. “Let’s run to meet him.” And catching Dimmie’s hand, she ran with him into the hall.

Smiling uneasily, she waited for John. She wore a blue muslin dress and had fastened a half opened white rose in her hair.

“Well, dear,” she greeted him.

His glance passed abstractedly over the dress and the rose. He kissed her forehead but said nothing. He seemed worried and depressed.

“Is anything the matter, John?” she asked, regarding him timidly.

“No-o,” he responded indefinitely.

“I’m here, Papa,” called Dimmie who had not been kissed.

“Yes?” John noticed absently.

“Get washed, dear. Dinner is all ready to put on the table,” said Lucy.

“Has Nannie come back yet?” He avoided Lacy’s gaze as he spoke.

“Yes. She’s in her room.”

John’s frown deepened. He mounted the stairs.

Lucy superintended the placing of the meal on the table and John reappeared almost immediately.

“Isn’t she coming down to dinner?” he inquired nervously.

“Go and call Mrs. Merwent, Katy,” Lucy bade the servant.

Nannie followed Katy downstairs and entered the dining room. Her hair was beautifully curled and as she came in she put her hand to her head with a self conscious gesture.

“Why, how are you, John?” she began. “I didn’t know you had come home.”

The meal proceeded in constrained silence.

“Miss Powell and I had such a nice day,” remarked Nannie at length, “but this evening I got into a jam on the car. I did so wish you had been with me, John. The most insulting man! He crowded me so I almost ruined my dress. But that’s the way with these Chicagoans. If you had been around he would have behaved mighty differently.”

John smiled slightly but kept his eyes on his plate. Neither he nor Lucy replied to the remark.

“We thought of coming past your office but we were afraid you might be busy.”

“I’ve been very busy today,” said John.

“Then I’m glad we didn’t. And John, sometime next month I want you to take me up the lake. Miss Powell says it’s such a lovely trip in the early summer. You will, won’t you?”

John fidgeted uncomfortably and Lucy attended assiduously to Dimmie’s wants.

“Why—of course,” John agreed after some hesitation. “That is, so far as I know now.” He laughed uneasily and added, “We may all be dead by that time.”

Silence hovered over the group once more.

“You look frightfully glum, John. I’m almost afraid of you tonight,” observed Mrs. Merwent after some minutes. She, too, laughed rather forcedly as she spoke.

“I didn’t know I was glum,” apologized John. “I’m rather tired. I’ve had a hard day.” It was obvious that he talked with an effort.

“I’m through,” Dimmie announced with a sigh of satisfaction.

“Are you, Son?” Lucy untied his bib.

“Yes, and I want you to tell me stories like you promised to.”

“All right,” Lucy consented brightly. “Come on. Get down from your chair and kiss Papa good night, and we’ll go upstairs and I’ll tell you ever so many stories till you’re ready to go to bed.”

“Will you sing, too?” stipulated Dimmie.

“Yes, I’ll sing too,” she promised.

“I want to kiss Nannie, too,” Dimmie declared, climbing out of his chair.

“Of course you do. You wouldn’t forget Nannie, would you, Jimmie?” Mrs. Merwent put in quickly. “Wait a minute. Wipe your hands first.”

“Poor John!” sympathized Nannie as soon as they were alone. “I could see that you were tired before you spoke of it.”

“Oh, I’m all right,” exclaimed John irritably, at the same time lighting a cigarette.

“I know you never let on, John, but you can always be sure that I understand you, whether anyone else does or not.”

John drummed on the table.

“Let’s go into the sitting room,” suggested Mrs. Merwent, rising as Katy entered to clear the table. “Shall I sing for you?” She passed into the living room and moved toward the piano.

“I don’t believe I’ve got time,” explained John hurriedly. “I’ve got to go out tonight. I ought to catch that next train.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Nannie. “I especially wanted to talk some things over tonight. I got another letter from Professor Walsh,” she added significantly.

“Talk what things over?” John gave her a quick scrutiny.

Mrs. Merwent turned with a surprised air.

“Why, about Lucy principally, John, and—and about what ought to be done.”

“What about Lucy?”

“Well, nothing in particular, but she’s getting all worked up again about the housekeeping, and I thought you might speak to her.”

“Why should I speak to her?” John’s manner was combative. Nannie gazed at him reproachfully.

“Well, you know what you say has more effect on her than what I say. If you would just tell her to leave things to me as they have been, and not go and bother Katy with a lot of counter orders and that sort of thing. It’s pretty hard, John, for me to look after everything and then be interfered with all the time.”

John stood twirling the charm on his watch fob. When he spoke his voice showed embarrassment.

“I think, Nannie, that—that is—that it would be better—if you didn’t try to—to take things out of Lucy’s hands so much.”

Mrs. Merwent’s eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, John, how can you say such a thing when I try so hard, and all I do is for her sake? I’ve never considered myself at all.”

“I know you haven’t, Nannie,” acceded John miserably, “but I’m—I’m in a hard place. I wish you and Lucy didn’t have to—to disagree so much. I’m almost at my wits’ end.”

Nannie studied his perplexed face. Suddenly she seemed to decide something.

“All right, John. I’ll do anything you say,” she promised, wiping her eyes. “I would do anything for you, John. You have been so good to me.”

John remained in an attitude of thought.

“Just try your best to get along without any friction, Nannie,” he begged. “I know it’s hard for you sometimes. Lucy’s peculiar about some things. But I’m about to go dippy with matters as they are, and I want you to help me out.”

“Poor John! Of course I will. If I had my way you would never have a care or a worry.”

“Thank you, Nannie. I knew you would help me all you could. Lucy is in a terribly nervous state and we’ve got to get her out of this silly notion that—that—well, that she’s left out—or she’ll do something foolish.”

“I understand, John. Lucy has always been curious and babyish, but now⁠⁠⸺” She paused expressively. “There has been so much tragedy in my life, John, and now to see you going through the same thing!”

“I guess you never had anybody to help you out, Nannie.” John’s voice was almost inaudible.

“John⁠⁠⸺”

“Yes, Nannie. I’ve got to be going, you know.” He moved toward the door.

Nannie linked and unlinked her fingers.

“We do sympathize with and understand each other, John! You know I told you I got another letter from Professor Walsh.”

“Well?”

“Oh, John, if it were anyone but you I would rather die than ask money of them—but the check didn’t come—and⁠⁠⸺Oh, John, what shall I do?” She began to cry.

“How much do you want, Nannie?”

“Just a little, John. But Lucy always misunderstands things—and I have no one else to go to!”

He took a bill from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.

“But, John!” she protested, glancing at the denomination of the money.

“Cut that out, Nannie!” John’s voice was gruff with emotion. “Some things may happen that I can’t help, but just remember, first, last, and always, that what belongs to me and Lucy belongs to you too, and if she⁠⁠⸺” He broke off abruptly and strode into the hall.