Chapter XI: Part 11

Lucy hastily scrambled to her feet. Murmuring something about luncheon, she almost ran from the room and down the stairs.

About two o’clock the transfer wagon came and the trunks were loaded into it. Mrs. Merwent’s expression became worried as she watched the departing motor truck.

“I’m sure that man won’t take them to the right station,” she prophesied to Lucy.

“Yes, he will. That’s the largest express company in the city. They’ll be perfectly safe.”

“The man didn’t look honest to me, Lucy.” But Lucy had left the hall.

Nannie was still at the front door when John opened the gate.

“I came early,” he remarked in an undertone as he greeted her.

“Yes. It’s our last evening, John,” answered Nannie sorrowfully. “I’ve just been telephoning Miss Powell to say good-bye. She says she’s coming to the station in the morning to see me off.”

“That’s nice,” he commented indifferently.

He regarded her careful toilette and the white rose in her belt with melancholy approval.

“I’m all in over this thing, Nannie,” he told her, lowering his voice confidentially. His face evidenced his perturbation.

“Dear John! I know!” She squeezed his arm. “Did you tell Mr. Sprague I was going?” she inquired abruptly a little later.

“Yes,” answered John.

“What did he say?”

“He said that you had made quite a long visit.”

“He didn’t say he was coming to the station, did he?”

“No, he didn’t say anything else about it.”

“Do you know, John, Mr. Sprague hasn’t even treated me with common ordinary courtesy since I’ve been here?”

“Don’t you worry, Nannie. He’ll hear from me about it, all right. Jim Sprague has changed. He’s not the man he used to be at all.”

“I don’t think he ever was a true friend to you, John.”

“Well, I’ve got my eyes open at last, Nannie--thanks to you.”

“Oh, John, if I didn’t have to think about how Lucy is treating you. She--she’s not--her morbidness is really bad for Jimmie, too. But then you bear everything so nobly. You are--oh, I don’t know what to call it! If all men had your patience and forbearance this world would be a very different place for some of us. _I_ appreciate it for her if she don’t for herself.” There was a catch in Nannie’s voice.

“You’ve had nothing from me you don’t deserve, Nannie.” John did not look at her as he spoke.

“I’ve always tried to help you and study your interests, John. I feel so grateful to you. I’ll never forget how kind and good you’ve been to me. You’ve been better than anyone else in the world----”

“I don’t see how anybody could help being good to you, Nannie.”

At this juncture Lucy appeared on the stairs with Dimmie. Almost simultaneously Katy thrust her head through the dining room doorway.

“Dinnah’s ready, Miss Nannie. Kin I put it on de table?” she inquired.

“Don’t ask _me_, Katy,” said Nannie peevishly. “Mrs. Winter is your mistress. You’ll have to ask her.”

“Yes, Katy, you may serve dinner,” Lucy put in quietly.

Just as the family were seating themselves there was a clap of thunder. Katy waddled from one window to another, lowering the sashes. As she closed the last a flurry of rain spattered on the glass.

“Ugh! Lucy, I must say your Chicago climate is awful,” remarked Mrs. Merwent. “I wouldn’t live here for any consideration on earth. I don’t see how you stand it. I can’t understand why so many people stay here when there are other places fit to live in.”

“Lots of them can’t help themselves.”

“Well, at least I should think that you’d want to live in a little more accessible part of town. It’s practically impossible to get down to the shopping district unless the weather happens to be good.”

“We can’t afford to live anywhere closer in.”

“Maybe we can some time,” interposed John. “I’ve often thought we ought to try to get a place that was nearer to where respectable people live. Jim Sprague is the one who wished this proposition on us.”

“We were as much in for it as he was,” Lucy stated coldly.

“May be _you_ were,” retorted John sharply.

“And I certainly think, Lucy, that you have the most unfriendly and unattractive set of neighbors. That Mrs. Hamilton that you think so much of, for instance. She has absolutely no taste at all. I wouldn’t be seen on the street with her. Miss Powell is the only one I have met here who is at all congenial.”

“Mrs. Hamilton is a good woman and a beautiful mother.” Lucy defended her friend warmly.

“A contrast to me,” Nannie suggested bitterly.

“I wasn’t comparing her to anybody,” retorted Lucy. “I only meant _I_ wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with her any place.”

“Well, anyway it was meant as a rebuke for what I said. You can’t get out of that, Lucy.”

“I wasn’t rebuking anybody,” contested Lucy wearily.

“Then you shouldn’t make that kind of speeches,” John argued indignantly.

“I didn’t start this,” said Lucy rebelliously.

“No, but you never miss a chance to give me a dig, no matter what the conversation is about,” Nannie persisted accusingly.

“It’s not true!” Lucy flushed angrily.

“It is true,” declared John remorselessly.

Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. She rose from the table and went into the hall.

“_Now_ what’s the matter?” Nannie called after her.

Without replying, Lucy mounted the stairs.

“Let her go, Nannie, if she wants to lose her temper and pout about nothing again. I might as well get used to this sort of thing now that you’re leaving.” John drummed on the table with his knuckles.

Nannie took his hand.

“_Dear_ John,” she whispered.

“Don’t Mamma want Nannie to go?” asked Dimmie, who was staring curiously at the interchange of glances in which his elders were indulging.

“Oh, hell, Dimmie! You go to bed!” John exclaimed nervously, rising and moving to the window where he remained with his back turned.

“_You_ are sorry, aren’t you, Jimmie?” Nannie’s voice was full of emotion.

“Uh huh, but you’re goin’ to take me with you,” Dimmie replied, with his mouth full. He swallowed hastily.

“Yes, of course,” agreed Mrs. Merwent. Then, to John, “He’s _so_ much like you, John. Oh, John, won’t it be awful if Lucy----” She stopped, looking unspeakable things. “A morbid atmosphere reacts so on a child,” she explained.

“Uncle Jim says I’m like Mamma,” observed Dimmie, taking another bite of bread and butter.

“Of course _he_ would say so.” Nannie nodded and raised her brows significantly.

John glowered out the window a moment, then came back to his place at the table in silence.

When dinner was over, Dimmie followed John and Nannie into the living room.

“Go upstairs to bed as I told you,” reiterated John to the child.

“But I want to stay,” Dimmie parleyed.

“Do as I say,” commanded his father.

The little boy left the room, his chin quivering and the tears in his eyes about to fall. Mrs. Merwent ran after him.

“Here, kiss Nannie,” she whispered. “I’m going to get you some more candy when I go down town in the morning.”

Dimmie, after allowing himself to be kissed, ascended the stairs reluctantly. Nannie went back to John, sighing as she seated herself near him.

“Oh, John,” she sighed regretfully, “there are so few hours left!”

He smoked in moody silence.

“John.” She laid a hand on his knee.

“Yes?” He turned his head away and tried vainly to control his shaking voice.

“You _will_ think of me, John?”

“My God, Nannie, don’t talk rot!” He tossed his cigarette into the empty fireplace.

“And, John--I’m afraid Lucy wouldn’t understand it--but we might--might write to each other now and then.” She spoke softly. Her hand continued to rest on his knee, but her face was averted. John did not reply at once and she added, “I might send the letters to the office.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “If it wasn’t for Mr. Sprague.”

“Damn Mr. Sprague!” John rose and ran his fingers through his hair. “I could arrange that, Nannie. People are so confoundedly evil minded! But you could write to a box number.”

“Oh, John, can you bear it without me? My thoughts will be with you all the time, John.”

Nannie rose too, and they confronted one another.

“Yes, Nannie, I suppose I can bear it,” he answered at last. He placed one hand over his eyes. “I wish there wasn’t so confounded much light!” he supplemented with agitated irrelevance.

Nannie’s response was to go to the switch and press the button. The only light which now remained in the living room was the faint glow that came through the dining room transom. The summer rain beat against the window panes.

“Sit here, John,” Nannie suggested softly, and the two seated themselves on the sofa.

They remained silent for a long time. Katy, on her way to bed, knocked on the door discreetly. Mrs. Merwent made a little exclamation.

“What do you care what Katy thinks? She’s not the first person who has seen evil in innocent things,” growled John, at the same time rising.

“I’se locked up all de back. You all wants breakfas’ pow’ful soon, don’ you, Miss Nannie?” the negress inquired in the doorway, not accepting Mrs. Merwent’s hasty invitation to enter.

“Yes, Katy, I want early breakfast,” Nannie informed her.

“Good night, Miss Nannie. Good night, Mr. Winter.”

“Good night,” responded Mrs. Merwent.

John made no response.

It was after midnight when Nannie declared that she must retire in order to rest herself for her journey. John switched on the light.

“John----” she hesitated.

“Yes, Nannie?”

“There is nothing in the world so unpleasant to me as asking for money, but----” She paused.

“Yes, Nannie?” John repeated, his tone warm.

Her face flushed under the rouge.

“_Dear_ boy!” she murmured gratefully. “You see I didn’t have time to write to Professor Walsh, and there are all the expenses of the journey,” she added apologetically.

John took out his pocket book with trembling fingers.

“I don’t see where _he_ comes into it,” he grumbled unsteadily, taking out some money. “Will this be enough?” Rather shamefacedly he held up two bills.

Mrs. Merwent glanced at the denominations as she received them.

“Oh, John, you oughtn’t--ought you?” she protested weakly.

“There would be more than that if I had it to give!” he insisted.

“When I get to Russellville---- Oh, John!” Nannie crumpled the money in one hand. The other she placed on his shoulder.

He met her eyes. She leaned forward with a hasty movement and kissed his cheek.

“I may not have a chance tomorrow,” she whispered, then, turning quickly into the hall, went up the steps.

John heard her door close. He ascended the stairs after her very slowly.

XXXIII

Nannie’s alarm clock roused her when the sky was yet grey with dawn, but the details of her toilette were so exactingly executed and the final preparations for departure so numerous that the air had already begun to lose its early freshness when she emerged from her room.

“Lucy!” she called to her daughter in a flustered manner. “Please come and help me finish packing these suit cases.”

Lucy obeyed.

When all was ready Mrs. Merwent halted in front of her.

“You are a hard woman, Lucy. Maybe we’ll never see each other again.”

“I haven’t any hard feelings,” Lucy reasserted, staring over her mother’s head.

“Well, let’s have breakfast then. I don’t want to be late and hurried at the last. It makes you look like a fright.”

The two descended the stairs.

“I can’t eat in such a rush,” Mrs. Merwent complained at the table. “I _do_ hope there’ll be a good diner on the train.” She turned to John, “When does the suburban leave, John?”

“Oh, I’ve ordered a machine for you, Nannie. It’s muddy from the rain last night and it will be much more comfortable going down.”

“Thank you, John. You are always thinking of other people’s comfort and welfare. It was just like you to do that.”

The automobile came as they were finishing the meal.

Nannie ran into the kitchen.

“Good-bye, Katy,” she said.

“Good-bye, Miss Nannie. I hopes you all has a fine trip,” Katy responded, smiling her widest.

“I’m going to carry down your grips,” declared John. And he and Mrs. Merwent mounted the stairs together.

“The last time!” she breathed.

As they turned to quit her room she stared around her.

“I’m so sorry to leave it,” she murmured, her eyes dim.

John bit his lips.

Nannie removed the rosebud which she had pinned to her travelling suit.

“Wear it for me, John,” she sighed as she thrust it into the lapel of his coat.

He picked up the satchel and suit case and went out.

As the automobile moved off Nannie gazed back long and solemnly at the house. With the exception of Dimmie, who was still clamoring to go on the train with his grandmother, the party of four was silent during the ride.

Once inside the station John excused himself.

“Stay here a minute and I’ll get the tickets,” he instructed the women.

“Buy me a small box of candy, too, John,” Nannie requested.

“All right,” he acceded.

He soon returned carrying several magazines, a basket of fruit, a bunch of carnations, and the box of chocolates Nannie had requested.

During his absence Miss Powell had joined Lucy and Nannie. She greeted him affably as he approached the little group.

“Good morning. You look like a regular Santa Claus,” she smiled, extending her hand as John raised his hat. “Where’s Mr. Sprague? Didn’t he come?”

“Oh, no,” interrupted Nannie. “Mr. Sprague doesn’t put himself out for _everybody_ in the family.”

John handed over the tickets, the flowers, and the parcels.

“How lovely!” Nannie whispered, burying her nose in the bouquet. “Here, Jimmie.” She bestowed the box of sweetmeats on the child. “Don’t forget Nannie, will you, darling?”

“I want to go with you,” he stated, holding tightly to the box.

“Here, Nannie, you’re not treating yourself fair,” objected John. “If you ladies will excuse me again?” He bowed interrogatively toward Miss Powell.

“Certainly,” smiled the lady. “You aren’t going to allow Mrs. Merwent to deny herself, are you?”

“No,” said John. He walked across the waiting room to a fruit stand on the other side. When he came back he presented Nannie with a box of bonbons three or four times the size of the package she had given Dimmie.

“So you are going away, Mrs. Merwent?” resumed Miss Powell, after she and Nannie had expatiated on the dimensions of the sweetmeat box. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant visit. It has been so nice for Mrs. Winter to have had you with her. You’ll come back every year, I hope. When you return we must see more of each other.”

Nannie smiled graciously.

“Mother is going to be married,” announced Lucy suddenly.

Mrs. Merwent looked up quickly, then averted her face, and finally glanced at John. His air indicated that he was furious.

“Why, Lucy! Why--why, you mustn’t believe everything my daughter says, Miss Powell.” Nannie laughed nervously.

“O-oh, but I do. I’ve never had occasion to doubt Mrs. Winter’s veracity. My congratulations to the happy man!” and Miss Powell kissed Nannie. “I don’t blame him. You look like a girl. No one would believe that you were Mrs. Winter’s mother,” regarding Lucy. “Why didn’t you tell me before? Be sure you send me an invitation.”

“I’ll not forget--if it ever happens,” Nannie promised rather shamefacedly. She kept edging toward John whose eyes were fixed on the ground.

A uniformed official droned something unintelligible in a sing-song voice.

“That’s your train, Nannie,” John informed her abruptly. The party moved toward one of the gates.

“Good-bye, Lucy, I’m sorry to go,” Nannie murmured, hugging and kissing Lucy. “We may have had our little tiffs but it has done us both good. By the time I come back we’ll have forgotten all about them. Be sure to write me every week.”

“Good-bye, Jimmie.” She turned to her grandson.

“Dimmie,” he corrected, adding, “Ain’t I goin’?”

Nannie bent down and kissed him.

“I wish you were, darling,” she whispered.

“I want to go,” wailed Dimmie.

“No, you can’t go now,” she continued in the same whisper. “Your Mamma won’t let you. But when I come back we’ll ask Papa.”

The child began to cry lustily.

“Good-bye, Miss Powell.” Nannie kissed the newcomer again.

“Now, John.” Nannie drew him slightly apart from the others and raised her veil. “I’m going to kiss you after all,” she said, putting her arms around his neck. “Don’t forget me, dear John,” she murmured, sobbing a little. “And try to get along with Lucy, no matter how hard it is.”

John thrust a slip of paper into her hand.

“You can write me there, until I get a box number, Nannie,” he advised brokenly.

A porter took her bags and she passed through the gate. Before entering the train she turned and waved her handkerchief.

“Well, I must go to the office.” John gulped, blowing his nose and wiping his eyes.

“I’m going to do a little shopping. Won’t you come along, Mrs. Winter?” Miss Powell invited perfunctorily.

“No, thank you.” Lucy grasped Dimmie’s hand. “I must take this little boy home.”

* * * * *

Half an hour later, as John’s step was heard in the corridor, Jim, who was sitting at his table with his face buried in his hands, straightened himself and took up his drawing pencil.

John entered without any greeting and, going to his desk, began to examine his mail. After a moment he paused with an air of abstraction, and, removing from his button hole the flower that Nannie had given him, locked it in a convenient drawer and returned the key to his pocket.

Jim worked for some minutes and then rose from his chair.

“I believe I’ll go over to Benton Harbor and see about that material for Wilson’s next houses. Layard’s say that it would be best for one of us to look over the stone before cutting, as we can save considerable on the specifications by taking advantage of the natural rock wherever possible. It’s certainly worth while spending three days to save thirty per cent on the shaping expenses.”

“I’ll go over,” offered John quickly.

“Why, there’s no use going for one day. I don’t expect to be back till--let’s see--today is Wednesday--Thursday--Friday--Saturday--at least not till Sunday noon.”

“I’ll go,” repeated John. “You said yesterday that you ought to keep a close eye on that concrete work in the foundations of the other row of houses we’re building for Wilson. That’s more important than the stone.”

“But I didn’t like to ask you to be away from your family so long,” protested Jim.

“I’d like the trip,” explained John. “I’m in a state of nervous fidgets, and a change would do me good.”

“All right. Just as you like,” returned Jim with a curious expression.

“I’ll go home for lunch, and get off at three o’clock,” John continued.

“The drawings and specifications are in that file marked ‘W,’” indicated Jim. John took the papers and went out.

He was soon in the Rosedene train.

“I’m going across the lake on business and won’t be back till Sunday or Monday,” he announced when he reached home, coming into the dining room where Lucy was seated, sewing.

She looked startled, but her only remark was, “All right, John.”

“I’ll pack my suit case now,” he told her, and started upstairs.

“Shall I have luncheon at once?” she called to him.

“No. I haven’t time. I’ll get something on the boat going across,” he answered over his shoulder.

As he passed Nannie’s room the door was ajar and he saw that the windows were open and that the room had already been scrubbed and the bedding hung out to air.

In a few minutes he returned to the lower hall, his bag in his hand. Lucy was still seated in the dining room but she rose when she heard his step.

“Are you going, John?” she asked, coming to the hall door and leaning out. He hastened his pace.

“Good-bye,” he called, going out on the veranda without looking back.

“Good-bye, John.”

She sat down to her sewing again, the tears slowly chasing each other down her cheeks.

That evening when dinner was served Lucy called Dimmie and began the meal.

“Where’s Papa?” he inquired.

“Papa’s gone away for a little while, Son.”

“Has he gone where Nannie is?” pursued Dimmie eagerly.

“No--I don’t think so,” said Lucy after a little hesitation.

* * * * *

When Jim left the office for the day, he made his way to a restaurant where he often dined.

“What shall I bring you, Mr. Sprague?” questioned the waiter who always served him.

Jim took up the menu listlessly.

“The fish is very nice tonight,” suggested the man.

“I don’t want any fish!” exclaimed Jim with unwonted irritation. “I don’t want any dinner,” he decided abruptly, noticing that the waiter was lingering by the table. “Bring me a large cup of black coffee.”

When he had finished his coffee, he paid his bill and went out to the street. Here he boarded a surface car and was soon at his apartment house. Reaching his room, he put on a smoking jacket and lighted his pipe. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and began slowly pacing up and down the floor.

“He’ll never grade that stone right,” he remarked to the bookcase, pausing in his walk and relighting his pipe which had gone out.

Suddenly he went to the telephone and took down the receiver.

“Give me Rosedene----” He paused.

“What number did you say?” asked the operator.

“Never mind, thank you,” he responded, hanging up the receiver again.

Going to his wardrobe he exchanged the smoking jacket for a coat, and, taking his hat, descended in the elevator to the street. It was after nine o’clock when he found himself in front of a familiar station for suburban trains.

Entering the building he was soon seated in a departing car. He alighted at Rosedene and walked in the direction of the Winters’ house. As he passed it he gazed fixedly at the darkened upstairs windows. Half a block further on he turned back and repassed the house, still staring at the darkened panes. Then he continued his way to the station and from there returned to the city.

Lucy was lying in her room. She wept silently with Dimmie asleep in her arms.

* * * * *

After breakfast the next morning Dimmie began to search for his hat.

“You don’t need to go to kindergarten, Son. You can stay at home with Mother if you like,” said Lucy.

“But I want to go,” he argued. “There’s lots of little boys and girls goes and the teacher is dandy. We have lots of fun.”

“All right, Son. You can go if you’d rather,” consented Lucy sadly, “but there’s no use in your going over to Mrs. Hamilton’s any more so early. You can go from here when the wagon passes.”

“But I like to go early,” protested Dimmie. “Mrs. Hamilton always laughs an’ Stella an’ me play till the wagon comes. It’s too lonesome here.”

Lucy tied his little cravat and, fixing his hat on properly, allowed him to depart without further words.

XXXIV

When John returned on Sunday he again found Lucy seated in the dining room by an open window, a book in her lap.

“Hello!” he greeted, pausing in the doorway and setting down his suit case.

Lucy looked up.

Going over to her chair, he bent and kissed her forehead lightly. He seemed to have regained some of his former cheerful spirits. His color was nearer normal and his eyes were brighter.

“I think we ought to get rid of Katy, John,” advised Lucy that evening after dinner. “There are not so many in the family now and it will save money. I don’t really need her. I can do the work without any difficulty.”

“I don’t want you tied up here at home all the time,” he replied. “You need a girl.”

“But, John, a servant costs so much and I don’t mind the work a bit.”

“No. We can’t stay shut in the house night and day. We’ll go dotty.”

“All right, John. Just as you say.” Lucy sighed as she spoke.

“I’m sleepy,” said Dimmie yawning.

“All right, Sonny,” she said. “Kiss Papa good night.” And Lucy led the child away.

John entered the living room, and, seating himself at the piano, attempted to play the accompaniment to _Ouvrez tes yeux_.

When Lucy came downstairs again after putting Dimmie to bed, John rose.

“Let’s walk over to the Hamiltons’ for a few minutes,” he suggested.

“Why----” she began, and hesitated, adding hastily. “All right, John. Let me get a scarf from my room and speak to Katy.”

In her room she scrutinized her face in the mirror. Tears rolled down her pale cheeks. She wiped the tears viciously away, and, seizing a coarse wash cloth, rubbed her cheeks fiercely until a little color appeared in them.

When they arrived at the Hamiltons’ home the doctor met them at the door.

“Come in,” he invited cordially. “Mrs. Hamilton is putting Stella to bed. She’ll be down in a minute. How are you feeling by this time, Mrs. Winter? You’re looking better.”

“I’m feeling all right, thank you, Doctor.”

Doctor Hamilton pushed forward chairs for his visitors and they seated themselves.

“Your mother went away yesterday, didn’t she?” he continued. “Is she coming back soon?”

“Oh, probably not till next summer, anyway,” put in John.

“She’s been gone several days. She’s going to be married soon,” supplemented Lucy.

John gave her a quick accusing glance.

“Indeed,” commented Doctor Hamilton.

Mrs. Hamilton appeared in the doorway.

“Come on into the study, Mr. Winter, and smoke a cigar. We’ll leave the ladies to talk gossip,” urged the Doctor, rising.

“You mean leave the ladies in order _to_ talk gossip.” Mrs. Hamilton laughed as she straightened her husband’s cravat.

It was after ten o’clock when John and Lucy reached home.

“Let’s go to a show tomorrow night,” he proposed as he unlocked the front door. “I’ll get the tickets when I go down town.”

“All right, John,” Lucy acquiesced without demur.

“We ought to get out more than we’ve been in the habit of doing,” he went on. “It’s a good thing to know more people. We have practically no friends at all.”

“I don’t----” Lucy ventured. Then, checking herself, “We have a few good friends, John.”

“I don’t know who they are. I don’t count Jim Sprague as a friend any more, and Miss Storms, that you used to be so crazy about, has shown herself to be a two-faced cat. The Hamiltons are all right in their way, but----”

“I don’t think you are just to Miss Storms, John. She----”

“Now, see here, Lucy,” John’s face began to grow red, “if you are going to stick up for that woman after all she’s done, we might as well understand each other right now. I simply won’t have you----”

“Don’t be angry, John,” pleaded Lucy humbly. “I won’t say any more about her.”

“I don’t want you to have any more to do with her, either,” he dictated with suppressed vehemence.

“All right, John,” Lucy submitted again.

* * * * *

The following Sunday Mrs. Hamilton invited John and Lucy to tea.

“I suppose we might as well accept,” John had remarked when Lucy told him of the invitation. “We’ve no place else to go.”

They arrived early. The summer was established and a crimson sunset ended a brilliant day. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton were seated on the porch and both rose as their visitors came up the walk.

“We were enjoying the view over our park,” Mrs. Hamilton observed facetiously, nodding toward the vacant ground which permitted an unobstructed view of the sky, and extending her hand as she spoke.

“Yes, indeed. There are worse places to live than Rosedene,” declared the doctor, pulling forward a rocking chair for Lucy.

“You used to stay at home so closely,” Mrs. Hamilton told her guests when the party was seated, “but now you seem to go out ’most every evening, and we want to see something of you.”

“How pretty!” interrupted Lucy uneasily, calling their attention to the thin new moon as it rose above the straggling houses.

“I suppose you are missing your mother,” Mrs. Hamilton resumed when the conversation paused again. “It was so long since you had seen her. I envied you having her with you. I haven’t seen my own mother for over two years. I was surprised when the doctor told me Mrs. Merwent was going to be married, though I don’t know why I should have been. She is certainly a wonderfully well preserved woman. I suppose you and Mr. Winter will go to the wedding.”

“I don’t think so.” Lucy glanced at John and Doctor Hamilton, who had withdrawn a little from the two women and were smoking together.

“I don’t care much for the Hamiltons,” John commented, as he and Lucy were on their way home. “I want to make friends that are not so dull and commonplace. Their idea of high-brow art goes about as far as the pictures on the popular magazine covers. I think I’ll join the Craftsman’s Club. Mathews of Layard’s belongs and he’s offered several times to put my name up. It will cost fifty dollars a year dues. A lot of artists belong and it would be a good place to spend an evening now and then.”

As they were preparing to retire John returned again to the subject of society.

“I think we ought to give a little dinner, Lucy,” he said. “We have been several places and we ought to do something to pay them all back. Besides, in that way you gradually get a larger circle of acquaintances.”

“All right, John,” agreed Lucy, “if you would like to--if you think we can afford it. I’ve no dinner gown, you know.”

“Oh, go ahead and get something. We’ll make up the list of people we want tomorrow night,” he insisted.

* * * * *

The next evening at dinner he burst forth in a sudden impatient tirade.

“What’s the matter with Katy, Lucy?” he exclaimed. “Since your mother’s not here to push her along she seems to have forgotten how to cook! This is certainly what I call a thin dinner.”

“It isn’t Katy, John. We have just the same cooking that we used to have before Mother came. I thought better to cut down our expenses.” Lucy colored as she spoke, but looked steadfastly at him. “Well, _I’m_ not ready to starve yet to save a penny, even if you are!”

After the meal they considered the list of invitations for the dinner.

“Miss Powell we want, of course,” John began. “I’ll think of a man for her. Oh, yes! There’s Mathews, Layard’s head bookkeeper. He’s a bachelor. Then there’s the Hamiltons. I suppose they’ll have to come. Miss Storms we don’t want--we don’t know many people, Lucy. Let’s see---- There’s Miss Lyle, and Mrs. Morris, too. They came to the tea you gave for Nannie, didn’t they? We must invite Mrs. Morris’s husband, too. I know him slightly. And we can find a man for Miss Lyle. Oh, yes. Jim Sprague. I’d rather not invite him, but I’m afraid people will talk. He used to practically live here. I guess we can’t get out of it. And we mustn’t leave out Nora Stimpson, although she’s seemed to forget that we are alive since we came out here. But she’s still at the Art School. I saw her the other day on the car. She’s on the faculty now. I’ll have to think of a man for her. Why, it’ll be quite a little dinner--just about the right size!”

* * * * *

The succeeding morning at the office, John handed Jim an envelope.

“Lucy is giving a little informal dinner,” he explained.

Jim read the invitation and put it in his pocket.

“I’m afraid I can’t come,” he observed after a moment’s consideration. “I was going to run over our Layard’s materials bills with Mathews Wednesday night.”

“Mr. Mathews is coming, too,” stated John stiffly, “so he won’t be able to work Wednesday night.”

“I had planned to see Wilson later in the evening,” pursued Jim, flushing. “He thinks he may want still another row of cottages built in the spring. However, I’ll see and let you know a little later.” And Jim left the office.

He took a car that passed Miss Storms’ apartment. It was a warm day.

“I hardly expected to find you in,” Jim remarked as he greeted her.

She smiled.

“You shouldn’t have found me, but the heat was stronger than my good resolutions.”

They began to talk earnestly.

“Thank you for coming, Jim,” she told him after a short conversation. He had risen and taken his hat. “I’m not invited. In fact things look as though I were dumped. I don’t know all--but you go.” She rose and laid her hand on his arm. “Don’t lose sight of that dear child,” she added seriously.

Jim nodded his head.

“You might call me up before the evening is over,” he suggested. “Neither one of them will answer the ’phone at a dinner party. It will give me a chance to get away in case my welcome is worn out.”

A half an hour later he entered the office.

“I think I’ll be able to come after all,” he said to John.

XXXV

The day before the dinner Lucy went shopping and purchased a ready-made dinner dress and some rouge.

“You’re looking so well, dear Mrs. Winter,” remarked Miss Powell, the next night when the guests were arriving.

Lucy’s gown was a white demi-toilette and her hair was dressed high. Her cheeks glowed brightly.

When Jim came he shook hands with kindly formality.

“I’m glad to see you looking better,” he said to Lucy.

“Thank you,” she replied, smiling.

When the dinner was over and the ladies had retired to the living room, Doctor Hamilton, who had moved next to Jim, offered him a cigar.

“You’re getting thin, young man,” the doctor observed. “I expect you’re working too hard.”

Jim took the cigar.

“See here, Doctor,” he replied in a joking tone, “you can’t get a new patient here. I’m feeling as fine as silk.”

“Well, don’t work too hard.” Doctor Hamilton lighted his own cigar.

Soon the hired waiter came to the table.

“A telephone message for Mr. Sprague,” he announced.

“Now you’re trying to make me jealous,” laughed the doctor. “If you were a colleague I’d accuse you of trying to make us think you had more patients than I.”

Jim rose and went to the hall.

“Hello!” he called, taking up the receiver. “This is Mr. Sprague speaking.”

“I’ve called you up as you asked, Jim.” It was Miss Storms’ voice. “Is everything all right?”

“I’ll be there in about half an hour,” he answered, his tone louder than necessary, and hung up the receiver.

“I’m sorry to interrupt such a pleasant evening.” He approached the table and addressed John. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave.”

“Excuse me,” apologized John to the others, and he stepped to the living room door.

“Lucy!” he motioned to her. “Mr. Sprague is called away. He’s going.”

“I’m so sorry you couldn’t stay,” she declared, extending her hand.

“I too,” responded Jim, “but it was very nice of you to let me come.”

Taking his hat and coat he went out to catch the train.

“Excuse me a minute.” Lucy smiled to the other ladies. “I must run up and see if my baby is asleep.”

Once in her room she sat down by the dressing table and cried a little, her face hidden in her hands. Suddenly she lifted her head.

After carefully examining her eyes in the mirror she put a tiny bit more rouge on her cheeks, patted her hair, and returned to her guests.

When the male visitors joined the ladies, John seated himself by Miss Powell. She wore an old gold evening gown that displayed her handsome shoulders, and she turned her dark eyes on him.

“I hear you are quite an artist, Mr. Winter,” she commented agreeably. “Mrs. Merwent told me you were responsible for these lovely pictures.” She nodded toward the water colors on the wall. “I’ve admired them so much.”

“Well, Miss Powell, ‘artist’ is a big word, but I can say that I am interested in art.”

“You are too modest, Mr. Winter. I can’t call myself an artist, certainly, but I appreciate good work when I see it.”

“I might have done something, but it’s my fate to design cheap houses instead of painting great pictures, Miss Powell. I attended the Art School here and I thought of going to Europe afterwards, but I married and--well, here I am.”

His listener’s dark eyes were sympathetic.

“The beauty of a Corot, or an Inness,” he continued, “cannot fail to thrill one, even if he is bound down to humdrum tasks. I have always held that it is the artist’s business to create beauty--simply and purely. There’s little enough of it in common life.”

“That’s just how I feel, Mr. Winter.”

“I don’t approve of the didactic spirit of some of the modern schools,” he ended. “For me art must be purely idealistic.”

John met Miss Powell’s gaze earnestly.

Lucy, who was talking with Mr. Mathews quite near, overheard snatches of this conversation, and from time to time her glance sought John and his companion. Miss Powell noticed her preoccupation.

“We’re talking about art, Mrs. Winter,” she volunteered at length. “Don’t you adore it?”

“I’m afraid I’m deficient in the finer feelings, Miss Powell,” answered Lucy somewhat waspishly, and turned again to Mr. Mathews.

Miss Powell looked at John and lifted her brows.

“I understand and sympathize with your appreciation of sentiment and beauty, Mr. Winter,” she resumed in her low, rich voice. “Thank you for telling me of it.”

“We must talk again some time, Miss Powell,” declared John with feeling. “It was so good of you to come this evening. We must get better acquainted.”

“Thank you. I think so, too,” she agreed with her most brilliant smile.

When the little party broke up there were murmurs of pleasure from the guests.

“I’ve had the best time. I’m coming out again right away,” declared Miss Stimpson, who had been talking with John all the latter part of the evening.

“Do,” he smiled. “We’ll love to have you.”

“I’m so glad to see you and Mr. Winter going out some at last!” exclaimed Mrs. Morris to Lucy. “It’s a good thing to get out occasionally. You must come to us some evening.”

* * * * *

The next morning at breakfast John was in good spirits.

“I think it went off all right,” he remarked approvingly, “but you shouldn’t be so abrupt to people as you were to Miss Powell. You must cultivate tact.”

“I think Miss Powell’s nice,” decided Dimmie, spoon in air.

“You’ve got good taste, Son,” commented his father, opening the morning paper.

When John and Lucy came to make up the list of guests for their next dinner, Jim was excepted.

“Jim Sprague acted last time like it was a condescension for him to come, so we’ll just leave him off altogether.” John frowned as he spoke.

Lucy was silent.

“We’ll invite Mathews, of course. He’s a fine fellow. I’m going to bring him out some evening to stay over night.”

“I wish----” began Lucy, then stopped. She stared at John and as she did so she seemed to shrink up, physically as well as spiritually, and her pupils widened. John was busy with the list and did not appear to notice.

“I’ll bring Mathews out some night,” he said again.

“All right, John,” she replied quite naturally.

Dimmie’s manner was perplexed.

“Why don’t Uncle Jim ever come any more?” he demanded.

Neither of his parents answered him.

Several times during the weeks that followed the query was repeated.

“Dimmie, don’t ask that again!” commanded John angrily on one occasion. “He doesn’t come because he doesn’t want to.”

* * * * *

On the first of the month the mail brought an unusual number of bills, the largest of which was that of the caterer from whom Lucy had several times ordered cakes and ices. After dinner, while John was still seated at the table, she went to the desk in the living room and took them out. Coming back into the dining room, she laid them before him without speaking.

“Well?” John glanced up at her with a resentful air.

“John, _don’t_ you think I ought to send Katy away? We _oughtn’t_ to spend so much money.” There was a tremor in Lucy’s voice.

“See here, Lucy, if I’m going to have to stand for curtain lectures every time I’m at home, I’m going out.” “I’m not giving curtain lectures, John.”

“Well, I’m going out anyway. The atmosphere of this house is enough to drive a man to anything.”

He went into the hall and seized his hat.

* * * * *

Lucy and Dimmie were in Lucy’s room alone. Lucy bent her head and pressed her cheek to the little boy’s hair.

“Oh, Dimmie, Dimmie,” she said.

“You can tell me a story,” he replied consolingly.

* * * * *

About one o’clock John came in. Lucy had retired, but she was still awake, and the night lamp in the adjoining room, where Dimmie slept, was burning.

John’s step, as he mounted the stairs, was halting. He entered the room unsteadily, and did not greet Lucy as he opened the electric switch. When he turned toward her and she saw his flushed cheeks and dull bloodshot eyes, she buried her face in the pillows.

He swore over his refractory collar as he took it off, but refrained from addressing her.

Long after he lay, sleeping heavily on the pillow beside her, she remained with wide open eyes, staring at the night lamp.

XXXVI

It was more than a month after Nannie’s departure when Lucy visited the office again.

For the trip to town, she selected a morning when John had mentioned that Jim was going out of the city for several days. She entered the office timidly. John was working at an interior decoration scheme. He glanced up as she came in but did not trouble himself with more than a greeting. She went to the window and gazed out for a time, then sat down at Jim’s desk.

Suddenly Jim himself opened the door and came briskly into the office.

“I decided to wait till next week----” he began. Then, catching sight of Lucy, he stopped.

She rose.

The even red color flowed up over his face and he stood undecided an instant. Then he shook hands formally.

“Are you keeping well this hot weather?” he inquired stiffly.

“Very well, thank you.”

“And how is Dimmie?”

“He’s well, too, thank you,” she replied.

“Excuse me. I must see a man at Layard’s before lunch,” he explained awkwardly, going out.

He did not return.

“Jim Sprague is growing more peculiar every day,” John complained to Lucy, as the sound of Jim’s steps died away. “He’s become impossible to get along with, even in business.”

Lucy did not speak. She sat down near John, her face averted.

“I was going to tell you last night,” he continued, “but didn’t. He has offered me his share of the business--at a low price--in fact almost nothing--and on liberal terms: time payments. He has an offer from Layard’s and wants to get out. It’s far and away a better position than I had with them. That shows what kind of a friend _he_ was.”

Lucy stared at the papers on the table before her.

“I think you’d better buy it,” she advised at last.

“I think so too,” John agreed. “I couldn’t do it alone because I’m very badly in debt now----” Lucy looked up at him startled--“but Mathews thinks he’s had enough of bookkeeping. He’s been at it fifteen years now, and has got something laid by, and he’ll go in with me. His experience with Layard’s will be very useful to us. What do you think?”

Lucy shivered slightly.

“I think that will be the best scheme,” she declared without hesitation.

“All right,” concluded John, “I’ll begin to make plans that way, then. Now you sit here a minute, Lucy, while I go across the hall to a lawyer’s office about this contract, and then we’ll go and get lunch together.” And John passed into the corridor.

Lucy rose again and, walking rather unsteadily to Jim’s desk, laid her hands softly upon it. She rested so for a minute. Then she went slowly to the window opposite the street and gazed across the roofs to the tall building in which Layard’s offices were situated.

THE END

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Spelling errors and typos were corrected.
A new Table of Contents was created for this edition.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.
Text between _underlines_ represent italics.