Chapter II: Part 2

Though such haphazard dressmaking was her only contribution to the household economy, it had a value that was more than apparent, and Mrs. Lockhart recognized it. She had determined that Nannie should find salvation for the family by attracting a husband whose pretensions to that distinction should rest on a solid financial basis.

* * * * *

It seemed almost a divine intervention to insure the Lockharts’ future when Arthur Merwent, a young lawyer from the north, came to the home town.

Young Merwent rented an office and bought some furniture. He purchased steel engravings of famous jurists to decorate his walls, unpacked his law books, and had a sign painted and hung over his door.

Mrs. Lockhart knew, by hearsay at least, that Merwent held expectations of inheriting some money, and, as the young man was attractive and a stranger, it was soon arranged that Arthur should live at the Lockhart home. He insisted on paying for his board and, after some perfunctory objections which embarrassed Nannie and Mr. Lockhart but did not disturb the mother, this was agreed to.

Arthur was agreeable but uncommunicative. His reserve pleased Nannie’s father, who was pompous of manner and weak of purpose, but invariably inclined to be enthusiastic about a new acquaintance.

“That young man can keep his mouth shut. He’ll rise,” Mr. Lockhart often said.

From the beginning Nannie assumed a light and jesting attitude toward Arthur. She was saucy and capricious, demanding services and attentions calculated to convince him of her superior birth and position, and suggesting with unconscious skill potentialities that she neither possessed nor appreciated. He said little, as was his wont, but Nannie was clever enough to perceive the favorable impression she was making.

Thrown into a continuous semi-intimacy the two young people reacted as might have been expected and soon the imperturbable Arthur gravely declared himself. Mrs. Lockhart preserved a grim neutrality in the affair. True, his financial prospects were inclined to soften her, but with all that he was a Yankee and there existed a grave doubt as to the aristocracy of his connections. Her husband, who had visited the Merwents and had been considerably impressed by the prosperity evinced in their domestic establishment, was, however, positive in his approbation. This did not alter his wife’s opinion or change her attitude, for she was not accustomed to take his point of view seriously; but when a friend made a self imposed pilgrimage to the Merwent home and returned with enthusiastic corroboration of Mr. Lockhart’s report, Mrs. Lockhart relented and her negative aloofness became encouragement.

Nannie, who shared the common conviction that Arthur was a rising young lawyer and a desirable catch, consented to become engaged.

This did not hinder her from indulging in coquettish tricks of a number and variety that her fiancé found disconcerting.

Finally he brought things to an issue, refusing to be played with longer, and, after exhausting her ingenuity in the endeavor to gain more delay, she fixed the wedding day for a date four months ahead.

Twice in the midst of the work on the extensive trousseau, Nannie and Arthur quarrelled, and on each occasion she returned his ring. But the misunderstandings were adjusted and the wedding morning finally arrived.

Nannie had shown much interest in the more obvious preparations for the ceremony, insisting that her gowns must be of such and such a price, that her bridesmaids outnumber those of her previously married friends, and that the affair as a whole be conducted with an _éclat_ which strained the resources of the Lockharts’ reduced finances to the uttermost.

Nevertheless, on the day before the wedding she showed herself to the household in a state of extraordinary depression, wandering listlessly from room to room, striking discordant notes on the piano, and finally, having fled from Arthur’s presence, she was discovered face downwards on an old horsehair sofa in a violent paroxysm of weeping.

Mrs. Lockhart, who had gone to seek her, was unable to elicit any explanation of her distress and called Merwent. But it was a mistake. Nannie turned on him with a storm of accusations.

“You’ve wrecked my life! I don’t know what’s to become of me!” she wailed.

“It’s not too late yet, Nannie,” Arthur answered. His voice was slightly unsteady and his eyes shone dangerously, but his manner was quiet.

“Oh! Oh! How dare you! I was never so insulted in my life! You don’t care how much disgrace and humiliation you heap on me! It doesn’t make any difference to _you_ what they say about me!”

Arthur was left alone. He sat on the sofa Nannie had quitted and held his head in his hands. After a few moments he rose and lighted a cigar. He was smoking when Mrs. Lockhart came in search of him a quarter of an hour later. She brought with her a glass of hot eggnog which she had made to comfort him.

“It’s all the perfectly natural result of her high strung state,” remarked Mrs. Lockhart emphatically. “You must remember this is the last day of her girlhood,” she added in a significant manner.

Arthur drank the eggnog and said nothing.

* * * * *

The next day, however, Nannie was radiant. Her mother and her cousin, Mrs. Sheldon, had helped to dress her. The wedding gown bore the mark of an expensive Louisville house, the bouquet was of white orchids, and the diamond pendant which Arthur had given her, though modestly small and fragile, glittered becomingly on her plump throat.

Arthur entered the church gravely, his head bent, and even as Nannie came toward him at the chancel rail he did not lift his eyes. It was only as they stood side by side that he glanced at her face. Every trace of depression had vanished. She held her head high with the slightly insolent air that she had so often been told was aristocratic, and she really looked prettier than he had ever seen her.

The recessional was played. As the bridal couple emerged from the church he turned slightly toward her.

“Well, Nannie,” he whispered, smiling a little.

They were close to the carriage steps. Arthur moved back to assist her. By some chance awkwardness his heel caught in a loop of satin. There was a tearing sound and Nannie flung herself from his grasp.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

An impassioned but enigmatic “Ah!” was her only reply, and until the house was reached she sat far away from him on the carriage cushions, replying in monosyllables until Arthur relapsed into moody silence. When they arrived at their destination Nannie left the carriage hurriedly and unassisted.

A supper had been planned but the hour of the departure of the train they were to take prevented their presence. There was, however, no way to escape the brief reception. At this function Nannie, who had looked almost defiantly spirited during the ceremony, assumed a sudden appearance of disconcerting melancholy. The pair stood under an arch of smilax, and Nannie could see herself quite plainly in the long pier glass opposite and appreciated how large and dark her eyes seemed in the shadows that fell on her face.

The affair as a whole was not gay. Mrs. Lockhart shed a few impressive tears, glancing somewhat apprehensively from time to time at her daughter’s unresponsive features. Bob White had come to the reception, being herself engaged. Nannie greeted her with effusive sadness and clasped her in an embrace that was like a despairing renewal of devotion. The two girls talked in low tones, and Arthur was conscious of being ignored. A few moments later Nannie went off to prepare for travel and he was able to excuse himself.

* * * * *

It was half past eleven at night. The Pullman was dimly lighted. Merwent had avoided a stateroom and every appearance that might indicate that he and Nannie were a bridal couple, but he felt that the fresh modishness of Nannie’s costume betrayed them. They sat down in a vacant seat while the beds were being made up. Arthur kept an unresponsive profile turned to his wife. He had resolved not to make any more advances.

The two swayed stiffly with the motion of the car. The woodwork creaked. Long shadows moved up and down at the end of the passage. Snoring from a curtained berth was audible.

Nannie touched Arthur’s arm lightly. He looked down at her in surprise. She was regarding him with a new and softened expression.

“Arthur!” Her voice shook slightly.

His face cleared.

“Nannie!” They kissed stealthily.

When the conductor came down the aisle they were sitting consciously far apart and Arthur’s face was flushed.

V

Lucy was born about a year after the Merwent wedding.

Although everything was normal and the baby a fine healthy child, Nannie persistently vowed that she had gone through an experience never before equalled and that she could never have another child.

Toward the end of their wedding journey, over some slight misunderstanding at a hotel, Nannie had given way to a hysterical fit of passion that amazed and dismayed her husband, but this was nothing compared with the scene when she discovered that she was pregnant. Tears, screams, striking Arthur in the face, with threats of killing herself, him, and the child were only the beginnings of the drama. However, Arthur had by this time begun to perfect his attitude of non-reaction to the stimuli she employed, and went to his office unworried.

Nannie afterward in a thousand ways suggested that the coming of the child was in the nature of a crime and a calamity, and that Arthur was to blame for it. Nannie’s father died a month before her confinement and she even implied that Arthur was responsible for this coincidence. To add to her sense of disappointment and injury Mr. Merwent senior, who had been ill for some time, died also, leaving an involved estate, and the hope that Nannie had secretly treasured of inheriting his money died with him. Arthur’s future, from the Lockhart standpoint, had ceased to be. Mrs. Lockhart, calling to ascertain the truth of the rumor already circulated by gossiping neighbors, met Nannie’s tearful announcement with, “I always thought so!” and when Arthur entered the house a few moments later, she greeted him with marked coldness. After her mother’s departure Nannie turned on him with fresh reproaches.

“Now we are penniless and you don’t seem to care!” she exclaimed.

Arthur did not reply. “I seem to be the only one who ever thinks about the baby’s future. You haven’t opened your mouth since we got the letter!”

Arthur took out a cigar and lighted it.

“O--oh! _Why_ don’t you say something? I’ll go crazy!” she almost screamed.

“I don’t see just what there is to say,” Arthur answered quietly, and left the room.

Nannie’s bitterness was accentuated by the fact that Arthur could not afford to buy the Lockhart residence which had to be sold to clear her own father’s estate, and she was forced to see the property pass into the hands of “Cousin Minnie Sheldon” whom she cordially hated. The spirit of rivalry between Nannie and her cousin, the fruit of a childhood antipathy, had reached its climax in a contest for the affections of the well-to-do young business man who afterward became Minnie’s husband, and when he and his wife took formal possession of Nannie’s ancestral home she felt it as the cruel affirmation of her first defeat.

Mrs. Lockhart, who on previous occasions had not hesitated to express her own disapproval of “Cousin Minnie,” after feeble and unconvincing protestations to the effect that she did not wish to inconvenience her prosperous relatives, accepted a grudging offer which allowed her to remain in the old place on the bounty of its new owner.

Little Lucy was weaned soon after she was born, for Nannie declared that she could not nurse a baby. By great good fortune, however, sterilized cow’s milk agreed with the child and she thrived, thanks to the devoted care of old Martha who came to live with Nannie and Arthur and “bring up” their baby. Nannie continually quarreled with the old negress but Aunt Martha stayed on, partly from a habit of allegiance to the family and partly from real devotion to little Lucy.

Nannie gave scant attention to her baby until other people began to notice and praise the child, when she promptly asserted her proprietorship, pointing out with great pride the little thing’s remarkable feats and insisting that Lucy be given to her whenever visitors were present. Nevertheless, the child preferred Aunt Martha and even Arthur, as the latter often held his daughter during the evenings and sang lullabies to her. Nannie resented this deeply, and it made her secretly furious to see Lucy toddle toward him as he came into the room. She often said things to drive Arthur out of the house so that he need not divide the child’s affections.

Lucy did not begin to go to school until she was eight years old. Even then her mother objected to the separation, and in the little girl’s absence wandered restlessly about the house. Lucy, on her return, was covered with kisses. Acquaintances remarked on the unusual affection between the two, although Nannie spoke crossly and often cruelly to the child when they were alone, and not infrequently struck her. In attitude she placed herself on an equality with Lucy and at times depended on the little girl’s judgment and ideas.

Nannie could never help Lucy with her lessons at night, saying that the figures in the book made her head ache, and if Arthur attempted to offer any assistance a situation was usually precipitated that resulted in driving him from the house. Left alone with the little girl, Nannie played and sang, or produced candy from some hiding place, while she persuaded the child to talk to her about teachers and schoolmates. She enjoyed giving her piano lessons because Arthur knew nothing of music. However, she never wanted Lucy to try to sing and always insisted that her daughter had no voice for singing.

Nannie, however, resented Lucy’s growing self-sufficiency as the girl became graver of manner and expressed herself positively on all sorts of subjects.

Arthur’s law practice did not increase and, as there were no more expectations from his father’s estate, it was decided to discharge Aunt Martha. After the old woman had gone Nannie made a few half-hearted experiments at cooking, but soon relegated this undertaking to her daughter, who at sixteen was virtually the head of the domestic establishment.

But, though Lucy was responsible under this arrangement for the selection and quantity of food bought for the family, Mrs. Merwent reserved for herself the prerogative of giving orders to the groceryman. The young solicitor, who always made a punctual appearance, had soft brown eyes and a beautiful complexion. Nannie never opened the back door to him without first looking into the mirror.

“Are you sure your eggs are fresh today?” she would ask coquettishly. She tapped him on the arm with the pencil she held as she objected to the exorbitant price of bacon.

Lucy, who was annoyed by his habit of staring, expressed her dislike.

“Well, _you_ don’t have to give the orders to him!” was her mother’s pettish answer.

Lucy worked too hard and, as a result, became ill. Arthur was away at the time. Nannie called the family physician and annoyed the girl with useless attentions. The doctor telegraphed Merwent that his daughter’s condition was serious. Arthur returned on the first train and, arriving at the house, found Nannie walking the floor with senseless gestures. He went into the sick room and seated himself beside Lucy’s bed. His quiet, emotionless manner seemed to drive Nannie to distraction. Her chief resentment, however, seemed to arise from the fact that he did not comfort her but only concerned himself with Lucy.

“Are you going to eat your dinner, or sit there all night?” she asked, her voice trembling with vindictiveness.

Arthur went into the dining room without answering. Nannie shut the door between them. She would not eat because she did not want to leave Arthur and Lucy alone together, and the doctor was obliged to order her to begin her meal. When she did go, however, her appetite was as hearty as usual.

After a few critical days Lucy’s condition improved and on the fourth morning, when the crisis was passed, she smiled at Arthur. Nannie, in the room at the time, bent over the bed.

“Why don’t you smile at Nannie?” she asked accusingly, and Lucy smiled at her mother too.

Arthur, as was his wont when he saw the approach of a useless scene, left the room.

During the convalescence Nannie invented a thousand meaningless attentions with which she endeavored to fix upon herself the regard of the invalid, but as Lucy grew stronger and began to walk about Nannie forgot to flutter around her and their life together resumed its former course.

VI

Even after reaching the age when young girls begin to notice the opposite sex, Lucy preferred girls to men. She also delighted in caring for younger children and babies. Nannie laughed at Lucy for not having beaux.

“I had dozens at your age,” she would say.

The most common cause of misunderstanding between the mother and daughter was Nannie’s trick of regarding every remark about other people, or about human nature in general, as a covert slur on herself. Each mention of an ignoble quality brought forth, “That’s just like me,” from Nannie, while any reference to an admirable characteristic was greeted with, “I haven’t got that.”

“I wish Mamma wasn’t that way,” Lucy confided to her father one night, after a number of irritating experiences with this mania. “It makes things so unpleasant.” The evening had ended in a quarrel and Nannie had gone upstairs to cry.

“Your mother has every defect of character that can be mentioned,” Arthur replied, “so I suppose she shouldn’t be blamed for being sensitive.”

Lucy was surprised by the bitter feeling in the tone of her usually silent and impassive father, and remembered his remark.

Nannie spent a great deal of time in beauty culture. She tried all sorts of exercises and devices for preserving her figure and warding off wrinkles. Every recipe she saw in the women’s columns of the newspapers she tested carefully. Each day a large part of the morning was devoted to a faithful observance of these rites, and she never neglected to take her “beauty nap” during the afternoon. Often she would gaze with envy at Lucy’s charming color and clear eyes.

“I don’t want to grow old and ugly, Lucy,” she would say. “I’m so afraid of growing old! Do you think I am beginning to show my age?”

“Why, Mamma, what nonsense! You look like a girl,” Lucy would reply, for Nannie’s efforts were not without a certain kind of effect.

“Do you really think so?” she would ask happily. “Don’t tell anybody I use rouge, will you?”

“I won’t,” Lucy always promised.

After taking up her residence with “Cousin Minnie Sheldon” Mrs. Lockhart seldom visited her daughter.

One summer afternoon, however, a carriage stopped before the Merwents’ gate.

“Why, I believe that’s Mamma coming here,” Nannie whispered excitedly, as the carriage door was opened. “There’s a young man with her!” she added. “Who in the world can it be? You stay here to receive them, Lucy. Tell Mamma I’ll be down in a minute,” and she ran upstairs to change her dress and improve her complexion.

“Well, well, is this my grandbaby?” Mrs. Lockhart ejaculated as she entered the hall and offered her cheek for Lucy to kiss. “You’re a young lady already,” and she surveyed Lucy’s reddened cheeks and well developed figure with approval.

The young man remained in the background, ill at ease.

“This is Kingsley Dodd,” Mrs. Lockhart announced, waving him forward. “He saw you at your father’s office and has given me no peace till I brought him over to call on you.”

Young Dodd, red to his hair, bowed and shook hands awkwardly.

“Where’s Nannie?” Mrs. Lockhart asked, entering the parlor and seating herself. “Sit down, Kingsley,” she commanded her follower.

“Mamma will be down in a minute,” explained Lucy.

Nannie delayed many minutes, and Lucy became more and more self-conscious under the influence of her grandmother’s continued scrutiny and the confusion of the new acquaintance, answering briefly his timid observations and Mrs. Lockhart’s peremptory questions.

At last Nannie appeared on the stairs in her best afternoon frock.

“Why, Mamma,” she exclaimed, “how nice of you! I’m so glad to see you.”

“You kept us waiting long enough if you _are_ glad.”

“I was in my bath,” lied Nannie, “and couldn’t come sooner.”

Lucy looked at her mother.

“Well, I’m glad you still take baths,” remarked Mrs. Lockhart as Nannie kissed her.

Nannie laughed.

“We’re not that poor,” she tittered.

“This is Mr. Kingsley Dodd.” Mrs. Lockhart motioned her companion forward again. “Judge Dodd’s only son. You remember Judge Dodd, Nannie.”

“Yes indeed!” Nannie smiled her sweetest and shook hands with Kingsley. “We’re delighted to know you, too,” she declared as she beamed on the youth.

“Nannie, I want to see that old dresser your father gave you. We’re furnishing a guest room in antiques and maybe it will just fit in. If it does, I’ll give you another,” said Mrs. Lockhart after a brief conversation.

“But, Mamma----” Nannie began.

Mrs. Lockhart frowned at her meaningly.

“All right,” Nannie acquiesced hastily, and the two women ascended the stairs.

“Young Kingsley is greatly taken with Lucy,” explained Mrs. Lockhart, coming to the point at once as soon as they were out of hearing of Lucy and her guest. “You know all Judge Dodd’s money will go to Kingsley. It’s Lucy’s great chance. I don’t know how she did it. He’s just come back from college and all the girls in town have set their caps for him. Now I am going to look to you to see that Lucy doesn’t do anything foolish.”

Nannie nodded obediently.

“I’ll do all I can,” she agreed, “but Lucy is hard to manage. She----”.

“Nonsense!” interrupted Mrs. Lockhart. “If you will only use sense and firmness she will do anything you want her to. You made a mess of your own marriage. If you marry your daughter to the heir of Judge Dodd it isn’t too late to get back where you ought to be.”

“I will,” put in Nannie enthusiastically.

“Well, let’s go down again,” ordered her mother, after a few minutes further consultation. “We shouldn’t make things too marked the first visit.”

“We must go, Kingsley.” Mrs. Lockhart spoke imperatively as she reëntered the room where the two young people were seated.

The docile youth rose.

“You must come again.” Nannie smiled invitingly.

“Thank you,” he replied, glancing first at her and then at Lucy. “I’ve had a mighty nice time. What evening can I come?” He glanced at Lucy again.

“You haven’t anything for Thursday evening, have you, Lucy?” inquired Nannie, assisting him.

“No,” returned Lucy, who indeed had no engagements for any evening.

“Thanks,” Dodd said quickly, “then I’ll come Thursday.”

“Come early and have tea with us,” urged Nannie in response to a nod from her mother.

“Thanks,” he repeated, “I will. Good-bye,” shaking hands with Lucy. Then, “Good-bye, Mrs. Merwent. Thank you so much.”

“Oh, the pleasure will be ours,” Nannie declared.

Mrs. Lockhart kissed Nannie and Lucy, pinching the latter’s cheek.

“We’ll have to give a little party for my grandbaby. She’s the picture of her grandpapa,” the old lady declared, smiling.

“Did you hear what she said, Lucy?” Nannie asked delightedly as soon as their callers were gone.

“Yes,” answered Lucy.

“Isn’t it just grand?” continued Nannie with enthusiasm.

“What? The party?”

“Why, no--yes--the party and everything.”

“I don’t think so, Mamma. As for the party, I won’t have it. So far as the rest goes, you already have been invited to Cousin Minnie’s and I don’t want to be invited, so I don’t see what you have gained.”

“I!” exclaimed Nannie indignantly. “Why, Lucy, I wasn’t thinking of myself at all. It’s you I’m glad for.”

“But I don’t see what I have to do with it, Mamma. Cousin Minnie and Grandmamma have never paid any attention to me before and I wouldn’t thank them for their attention now.”

“But, Lucy----”

“What, Mamma?”

“Lucy, it isn’t only Mamma and Cousin Minnie. It means that--it means----” Lucy’s steady eyes were upon Nannie, “It means that others--that we will be----”

“If you mean that you want me to go around with Kingsley Dodd so as to be taken up by the people who dropped us when Papa failed to make money, I won’t do it, that’s all.”

“Why, Lucy!”

“Our own relatives have treated Papa like dirt and the others have followed them, so I, for one, don’t want anything to do with them.”

Nannie assumed a maternal and authoritative tone.

“Lucy, you don’t realize what you are saying. I won’t allow you to ruin your chances in any such manner. You told Kingsley Dodd that he could come Thursday night and----”

“You mean you invited him, Mamma.”

“Well, you agreed and it’s the same thing.”

“I’ll see him when he comes Thursday,” Lucy conceded, “but I won’t again, and I won’t go to the party, so you had better tell Grandmamma not to count on it.”

“What in the world have you got against Kingsley?” Nannie demanded, now on the defensive.

“I don’t like him, and if I did I wouldn’t have anything to do with him under the circumstances.”

Nannie lost her temper.

“You shan’t act this way!” she almost screamed.

Lucy’s gaze did not waver. “Yes, I shall,” she said steadily.

Nannie burst into tears. Lucy hesitated a moment before she continued.

“I’m sorry, Mamma, but I can’t help feeling this way,” she said at last.

Nannie made no reply and went on sobbing. Looking rather miserable, Lucy left her and went to the kitchen to prepare supper.

* * * * *

The day after Kingsley Dodd’s presentation Nannie paid a visit to her mother.

“Lucy, your grandmother wants you to go over and see her in the morning,” Nannie announced on her return.

“All right, Mamma,” Lucy acceded without hesitation.

The following morning Lucy made her appearance at the Sheldon home with her customary punctuality.

“Well, well, it’s a long time since my grandbaby came to see me,” began Mrs. Lockhart kindly as Lucy entered the library where she sat tatting.

“It’s been a long time since I was asked,” Lucy answered simply.

“Yes, of course,” agreed her grandmother hastily. “I haven’t a home of my own, as you know, Lucy, and can’t always do as I would like to.”

Lucy did not reply to this but continued to regard her grandmother expectantly.

“You remember what I said yesterday?” resumed Mrs. Lockhart briskly. “Well, we’ve begun to make the arrangements for a little dance in your honor. It’s high time you were introduced to society.”

“I don’t know whom you want to introduce me to, Grandmamma. Everybody in town knows me already.”

“Oh, you know what I mean, Lucy. You ought to take your place as a young lady, and this is the nicest way to do it.”

“Thank you, Grandmamma, but I’d rather not have the dance.”

“Stuff and nonsense! I never saw a young girl yet who didn’t love parties and attentions. We’ll consider it all settled then.”

“No, we won’t, Grandmamma. I am not going to have a party of any kind.”

“Lucy, you’re crazy, my child. Why people will think you’re queer. I’ve already told several people of our plans.” “I don’t dance, Grandmamma.”

“What? Well, Nannie must have paid lots of attention to your education! I’ll have a little talk with her. The idea of a young lady who can’t dance! Well, we’ll have a little bridge party then.”

“I don’t play bridge, either.”

“Don’t play bridge!” Mrs. Lockhart eyed her granddaughter quizzically. “Then we’ll have just an old fashioned party,” she said at length.

“Thank you, Grandmamma, but I don’t want the party,” reiterated Lucy.

“I really believe you don’t,” admitted Mrs. Lockhart with a grim smile, “but we’ll have it anyway. What night next week shall we decide on?”

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful, Grandmamma, but I’m not coming to any party.”

Mrs. Lockhart stared at Lucy only to encounter a gaze as firm as her own.

“Very well, Lucy,” she said at last in an icy tone. “I had intended to do a great many things for you, but if you want to throw away your chances like this I can do nothing. You evidently don’t want either friends or relations. You must excuse me now as I’m going out.” And Mrs. Lockhart rose and left the room.

Lucy made her way through the hall alone and went into the street.

* * * * *

Thursday evening came and Kingsley Dodd appeared very promptly. The day had been rainy and the remaining clouds were tinged crimson by the setting sun. The windows of the Merwents’ house were open and as the visitor went up the walk he saw Lucy lighting the gas jets in the parlor. She was the only one ready to receive him, for Nannie had not yet completed her careful toilette and Arthur was away from home, being engaged on a legal case out of town.

Nannie soon descended the stairs, however, and the three sat down to supper. During the meal she and young Dodd became such friends that it was with an obvious effort that she excused herself, when they had risen from the table, and returned to her bedroom, leaving the young people together.

“We’re going to have an all-day picnic out at Dad’s country place next Saturday,” Dodd observed, after some ordinary conversation, “and I want you to come. Your grandmother and Colonel and Mrs. Mainter and Dad and Aunt Sally are going to be the chaperones, and we’ll have a great time. I’ll come around with a single buggy and my bays and drive you out. The rest are going in surreys and on horseback. We better start early so as to----”

“Thank you, Mr. Dodd,” Lucy stopped him, “but I shan’t be able to go.”

“Why, have you got something on for Saturday?” he asked. “Well, I’ll have the thing put off till next week.”

“No, it’s not another engagement but I can’t go because----”

“Because you don’t like picnics,” he laughed. “All right. We’ll get up something at the house here in town. What shall it be?”

Lucy opened her lips to speak, but hesitated. At the same instant a gust of wind blew through the room and one of the window curtains fluttered out and threatened to overturn some ornaments on a nearby table. She hastened to secure the drapery.

“Let me fix it!” he offered, starting toward her. Lucy turned to face him as he reached her side.

“It’s fixed, thank you,” she began, then hesitated, flushing painfully. “Mr. Dodd,” she met his eyes steadily, “I know you mean to be nice in giving me the picnic, and coming here to see me, and all that. We are glad to have you and I hope we shall always be friends, but Grandmamma is trying to throw us at each other’s heads, and I won’t have it!”

Kingsley stared at her a moment. His glance fell.

“I couldn’t help it,” she resumed, finally. “I had to say it. I hope we will be friends, but if you are angry I can’t help that either.”

“I guess I’d better go.” Kingsley’s face was a dull brick red. Lucy stood in the same place while he took his hat from the hall tree, and she did not move until the front door had closed behind him.

“Lucy! Lucy!” Nannie called almost instantly, as she leaned over the stair rail in the upper hall, “Are you and Mr. Dodd going out?”

“He’s gone,” Lucy announced, coming out of the parlor and looking up into her mother’s anxious face.

“Why, what in the world’s the matter?” Nannie asked agitatedly, descending the stairs as she spoke.

“Nothing’s the matter, Mamma, except that I don’t intend to let you and Grandmamma dispose of me as though I were an animal.”

“Did you say such an awful thing to Kingsley?” gasped Nannie, wringing her hands.

“Not exactly,” replied Lucy, almost smiling in spite of herself. “I told him we were being thrown at each other and I wouldn’t permit it.”

“Why, how could you say such a thing as that!” she protested. “Was he mad?” Then, before Lucy could answer, “Why couldn’t you have waited till you saw whether you liked him or not?”

“I don’t need to wait, Mamma.”

“But, Lucy, there are other things to be considered.”

“No, there aren’t, Mamma.”

Nannie’s tone changed.

“Well, I think you might consider me a little at any rate!”

Lucy eyed her mother squarely.

“I don’t, Mamma--not in this matter. I’m willing to work for you.”

“You are certainly an ungrateful child, Lucy!” Lucy winced. “Nobody knows what I sacrificed when I married your father. He has done nothing and nobody pays any attention to him. His father died with everything in a muddle and he’s never made anything for himself. All the society or notice I get is through my own people, and now when they are disposed to take you up, and give us a chance to be somebody, you won’t even look at one of their friends! I should think you would be glad of the chance to help your family. You would if you had any feelings at all!”

Lucy was white. Without answering she walked past her mother and went upstairs to her room.

VII

Late on the night of Kingsley Dodd’s visit Arthur returned from his trip, and the next morning he had only time for a hasty greeting to his family before leaving to keep an early appointment with the out-of-town client who engaged his services at the moment. An hour after his departure Lucy appeared in the hall with her hat on and her gloves and sun-shade in her hand.

“Where are you going, Lucy?” Nannie demanded.

“I’m going to Papa’s office,” replied Lucy as she passed out the door.

When Lucy reached her father’s place of business she found Mr. Merwent alone. As his daughter entered he was reading a letter. He put it into a drawer in his desk and turned the lock.

“Well, Lucy?” He leaned back in his chair and smiled his slow smile as he spoke.

She gazed around on the dingy furniture, the old books, the discolored steel engravings, the dusty floor, and other signals of her father’s run-down law practice. Her heart almost failed her, but the memory of the preceding day rushed back upon her.

“Papa,” she began, “I want to earn my own living.”

Her father scrutinized her face kindly.

“I don’t blame you, speaking in general,” he observed, “but why have you so suddenly decided it?”

“Mamma and Grandmamma are trying to marry me to Kingsley Dodd in spite of myself, and Mamma thinks I am ungrateful because I object. I don’t think I ought to be dependent on any one any longer.”

“You seem to have all the self respect in the family, Lucy,” Mr. Merwent commented, “but what can you do?”

“I can learn book binding,” she responded without hesitation. “The pay for fine tooled hand binding is good. Mamie Willis, who used to be in my class at high school, has been to Chicago Art School to learn it. I think I should like to go there. I want to go right away.”

“Let me think, Daughter,” he said meditatively. “I have a friend I should like to consult about it. It is very possible that it may be the best thing. We’ll talk it over again tomorrow. Come down here about this time and we’ll decide.”

Lucy kissed her father, amazed at his complaisance.

“I wonder who the friend he spoke of is,” she said to herself as she went back to the house. “Papa’ll probably have to borrow money of him to send me away.”

* * * * *

The following day Mrs. Merwent preserved an air of gentle sadness and grief, replying softly to her daughter’s remarks but avoiding any reference to what had happened. When Lucy went out a little before the hour appointed for the conference at the office, Nannie did not ask her errand, but returned the girl’s kiss and volunteered a statement that she would not be gone long, with a look of patient melancholy.

“Well, it is all arranged,” were Arthur’s first words, as he greeted Lucy. “You are to go to Chicago where I have planned for you to stay with the relative of a friend. We agree--that is, I agree that you couldn’t do better than go to the Art School, as it is a recognized institution and the courses are reliable.”

“Oh, Papa, thank you so much!”

“The thanks are due to someone else, Lucy, and I hope some day you can thank the friend who has made it possible.”

“Who is it, Papa? Is it someone I know?”

Mr. Merwent looked at her a moment before replying.

“It’s a woman friend, Lucy, Mrs. Ellen Low.”

He continued to regard his daughter. Lucy’s face turned pink.

“I didn’t know you knew her, Papa,” she said.

Mr. Merwent, though he did not take his eyes from the young girl’s, seemed, in his turn, somewhat embarrassed.

“Yes, I’ve known her quite a while. When her husband died I was retained with Mr. Blair to settle up the estate,” he answered.

“Oh!” Lucy relapsed into thoughtful silence.

She knew Mrs. Low by sight and in spite of herself rather liked the pleasant homely face with its strongly marked features, though she had, almost against her will, absorbed some of the prejudiced tone in which she had heard her mother and grandmother make occasional references to the woman.

Mrs. Low was the widow of a handsome man, who had been very fond of the ladies, and she had not lived happily with him. She appeared, in a whimsical way, to hold men in little awe. The unpopularity of her outspoken manner, which voiced a point of view that Russellville found unbecoming in a lady, had sent her to seek a more congenial atmosphere with relatives in Chicago. However, she continued to spend several months of each year in her native town.

“I expect you have accepted the family’s hostility to Mrs. Low, Lucy,” Arthur went on after a minute.

“I’ve hardly ever heard Mamma speak of her,” Lucy returned, her glance drooping before the bitter, slightly amused expression that crept into her father’s face.

“Mrs. Low is too big a woman for her environment. She’s got too much self respect to be understood by the people in this place. It’s because she’s too big-hearted to be prudent, she’s let herself be unpleasantly criticised!” Mr. Merwent’s manner was warm.

Lucy, surprised at her father’s outburst, stared at him in silence, her lips slightly parted. He rose from his chair and walked over to the open window. He stood there for a moment with his back turned, and when he finally reseated himself he appeared as self-contained and emotionless as usual.

“Are--are the people you want me to stay with Mrs. Low’s friends?” Lucy paused, once more embarrassed by her father’s calm scrutiny.

“Her cousin, Miss Storms,” he explained. “She is very well known in Chicago and could do a lot for you, we think.” This time he used the plural pronoun without hesitation. “You haven’t told your mother anything about this yet?”

“No, Papa, I’m afraid Mamma won’t like it.”

“So am I, Daughter. We’ll have to talk it over with her tonight.”

Lucy looked troubled.

“I’m afraid she won’t consent.”

“Yes, she will. You go on back now, and we’ll see after supper.”

Lucy was very thoughtful as she walked home. She had been much astonished to learn that Mrs. Low and her father were acquainted.

“Lucy is going to Chicago to school,” Mr. Merwent announced that night without preamble, toward the end of the evening meal.

Nannie looked up from her plate with a startled expression.

“What in the world are you talking about, Arthur?”

“About Lucy going away to school, as my words implied,” returned Mr. Merwent.

“But who said Lucy was going away?” insisted Nannie.

“I did,” responded her husband shortly.

“Lucy, what is all this about?” asked Nannie, appealing to her daughter.

“It’s about Lucy going away to school. Do you think you can manage to understand or shall I repeat it a few more times?” interrupted Arthur almost menacingly.

Nannie studied the face of her long silent husband and read in it something that experience taught her to be the signal of an occasion when tears, arguments, and tantrums would avail nothing. She rose suddenly and left the table and not long after they heard the front door close as she went out.

“A council of war,” remarked Arthur with a wry smile.

Lucy shut herself in her room and cried.

About nine o’clock Nannie returned from the “big house” as the Sheldon home was called, where she had received neither comfort nor suggestion.

“Don’t ask me to take over the management of your husband too, Nannie!” Mrs. Lockhart had exclaimed with asperity. “Any effort to help you is wasted because you make no attempt to coöperate.” And Nannie had left in tears.

When it became apparent that both Arthur and her daughter must be taken at their word, curiosity got the better of the secret resolve Nannie had made to show no interest in the matter of Lucy’s future.

“Of course it’s none of my business, Lucy, but I should think you and your father would at least tell me where you are going to stay when you get to Chicago. You don’t know a soul there and you’ve never been away from home in your life.”

“I told you I was going to stay with Miss Storms,” replied Lucy, repeating information she had previously offered, to which Nannie, being in a temper at the time, had refused to listen. “She is the friend of somebody Papa knows,” Lucy hesitated and flushed, “and he wrote and asked her if she’d take me.”

“I don’t know what your father is thinking about to let you go off like this to people he knows nothing of. She may be as common as dirt for all we know. I’d like to find out who the mutual friend is. I notice he don’t mention his name,” Nannie finished with a sneering intonation.

Lucy, her cheeks still scarlet, glanced away but said nothing.

* * * * *

During the days in which Lucy was preparing for departure Nannie relapsed into tearful silence and repelled her daughter’s advances and demonstrations until the girl, still not much more than a child in experience, was almost ill and about to relinquish her plan.

At this point a note came from Mrs. Lockhart which spurred Nannie to more decisive speech.

“I want to tell you something,” she announced, calling Lucy to her. “You had better think carefully before you leave home for if you go you can’t come back here! It will be final.”

“But, Mamma, Papa----” Lucy began.

“This is my final decision,” interrupted Nannie in a manner almost ludicrously like Mrs. Lockhart’s.

“Very well, Mamma,” replied Lucy, hardly able to keep back the tears, and choking with a sense of injustice.

Arthur came in at this juncture.

“What’s this, Anna?” he inquired peremptorily.

Nannie was silent and avoided his gaze. He turned to Lucy who told him what had taken place.

“My child shall come to my home as often and as long as she pleases,” he declared. “Lucy, come upstairs. I want to talk with you.”

The father and daughter left the room together.

Aunt Martha had been called in to help with the arrangements for Lucy’s departure. Nannie heard the old negress’s voice, then the voices of Arthur and Lucy, and the sound of a trunk being moved. Shut in her own room she was conscious of the feet that hurried past her door and the general bustle of packing for a journey. When there was no one about she stepped into the hall and listened. She convinced herself that Lucy would not really take this step but that the appearance of unusual preparation was arranged to deceive and punish her.

After a time, the father and daughter went out, Lucy locking her door. Aunt Martha went home at the same time. Nannie, from a window, watched them until they were out of sight and, notwithstanding her determination to discredit all evidences of Lucy’s decision, began to feel very forlorn.

She prepared herself some luncheon, eating as heartily as usual, but she was convinced that she was heartbroken. She was indeed bothered by the uncertainty and, most of all, by the fact that her daughter and husband were together.

Late in the afternoon Lucy and her father returned with a number of packages.

“Where did he get the money to buy all those things? I wonder what they are?” Nannie said to herself.

She could hear the murmur of their voices in Lucy’s room as they opened the packages and arranged the contents of the trunk and valises. When Lucy descended to the kitchen to prepare supper Nannie tip-toed to the open door of the bedroom and peered in at the still scattered belongings of her daughter. She saw a pair of new shoes and an unfamiliar hat which were a concrete affirmation of all that she had tried to deny.

“Lucy leaves in the morning on the nine fifteen,” volunteered Arthur when the three were seated at their evening meal.

Nannie was speechless. She gave him one scathing look and fled to her room.

Lucy followed her and knocked but Nannie would not open the door. She could be heard sobbing. What disturbed the girl was that the supper she carried up on a tray and left outside her mother’s door was not eaten. At bed time Nannie had not appeared. Lucy kissed her father good night, but when she lay down she could not sleep.

* * * * *

When Arthur and Lucy were eating breakfast the next morning an expressman came for the trunk. Nannie had not yet descended to the dining room and still refused to open her door though Lucy had been to her several times and asked for admittance. When Mrs. Merwent saw the baggage carried away, however, her tragic resolution was broken, and, after hesitating at the head of the stairs, she composed her face to what seemed an appropriate expression of her state of mind and went down.

It was a beautiful late summer morning. The lawn was visible through the half open front door. The grass was parched, and the vines on the porch were beginning to turn yellow. There was a tinge of autumn crispness in the air, but the sunshine that flooded the hall was golden.

Lucy came out of the dining room and laid her gloves, coat, and a little hand bag on the hat stand. She had on the new hat, which was very becoming, and wore a new blue serge frock. She was excited by the unusual prospect of a journey and looked exceptionally pretty.

“Lucy!” Nannie began in an ominous voice. The girl, a little startled, turned to face her mother.

Mrs. Merwent wore a soiled lace négligée. Her hair hung down her back, loose and uncombed. Her habitual precautions to ward off wrinkles and retain her good looks had been neglected. She seemed much older than on the previous day when Lucy had seen her carefully dressed, rouged and with well ordered hair.

“You wicked, selfish, cruel girl!” continued Nannie in high pitched strident tones. “You mean, hard hearted, wretched beast!” She suddenly advanced toward Lucy who retreated in frightened astonishment.

Arthur appeared in the hall doorway.

“That is enough!” he said sternly.

Nannie suddenly lost all self control.

“Get out of my house!” she screamed. “You stinking----!” and a stream of awful invectives that seemed from a brothel poured from her lips. She picked up Lucy’s belongings from the hat stand and threw them against the front door where they fell on the threshold.

“Anna!” Arthur spoke calmly, but he only succeeded in evoking another paroxysm of screams and vile words directed at himself.

“Put your things on, Lucy,” he said, and in a moment the two fairly fled into the street, leaving Nannie in a state of hysteria bordering on madness.

“I can’t go on this way, Papa!” exclaimed Lucy, looking back at the house after they had walked half a block.

“All right. Do as you wish,” he responded without emotion.

“Yes, it’s better that I should go,” she decided as if to herself, and they did not speak again until they reached the station.

As they stood waiting for the train Lucy studied Arthur’s set face furtively.

“I don’t want my going to make more trouble between you and Mamma,” she ventured at last, timidly.

Arthur’s eyes sought hers slowly.

“Don’t worry,” he replied heavily in his deep voice. “What you saw today is only a fair sample of what I’ve enjoyed for years. In the beginning I used to hold a quarter of an hour’s argument to get two minutes’ peace. Then I quit that and she tried to punish me with long periods of curdled gloom. Finally I took to staying away from the house in self defense. Long before you grew up things were as bad as they could be, so don’t blame yourself, Daughter. You have had nothing to do with it.”

Lucy was surprised by this unprecedentedly long speech.

“Don’t you think that maybe when I’m gone you and Mamma----” she did not know how to proceed.

“I wouldn’t ask her for a drink of water if I were dying,” Arthur answered. Lucy had never heard such suppressed hatred and vehemence in his tone. “There’s the train,” he added in his ordinary manner, and they moved toward the platform.

“Here are your tickets, and here is your money,” explained Arthur as they entered the Pullman. “Miss Storms will meet you. She will wear a bunch of white carnations. Here is a white carnation for you to wear. Miss Storms knows all about your plans.” He removed a flower that was in his button hole and Lucy fastened it on her jacket. They kissed. The train began to move.

“Good-bye, Daughter. Write often. I will try to get up there to see you soon,” he called.

The journey began.

* * * * *

It was late at night and rain was falling when Lucy arrived in Chicago. Leaving the train she was bewildered by the people, noises, and bustle about her. As she stood looking around the thronged platform misted by the radiance of many lights, a very tall woman, dressed in a grey linen tailored suit with a grey hat, and holding some white carnations in her hand, came up and spoke.

“I think you are Lucy.”

“Are you Miss Storms?”

“I am. Where are your baggage checks, dear?”

Lucy handed over her single check and pointed out her smaller baggage which Miss Storms entrusted to a leather coated chauffeur. In a few minutes Lucy found herself in a luxurious limousine gliding through the crowded streets of the city.

* * * * *

A few evenings later, at a small dinner to which Miss Storms had invited some young people of her acquaintance, Lucy found herself between a red haired girl and a fresh faced young man, both from the Art School.

“Lucy, this is Nora Stimpson,” began Miss Storms, and Lucy bowed to the red haired girl. “Your right hand partner is John Winter,” continued Miss Storms.

Lucy, following Miss Storms’ direction, looked into the smiling blue eyes of John. He rose and reached out his hand to take hers.

Lucy’s romance had begun.

VIII

After Lucy’s departure the Merwent home went from bad to worse. In times past her presence had often sufficed to prevent the more sordid expressions of the disgust and contempt which Arthur felt for Nannie, and of Nannie’s feeling of fear and distrust toward him. He now avoided being at home alone with his wife until he became almost a stranger in the house.

The scandal loving people of Russellville, like the inhabitants of all small towns when similar opportunity is afforded, began to talk, and Arthur’s name was linked with that of Mrs. Low. This, in time, came to Nannie’s ears.

Arthur’s law practice, now that he was put to extra expense for Lucy’s maintenance and education, barely supported the family, and Nannie began to feel the pinch of poverty more keenly, especially in the matter of her wardrobe. Mrs. Lockhart was bitter toward her daughter and made no effort toward consolation. In short, Nannie felt herself hardly used by the world.

She exerted all her ingenuity, however, in making an appearance that belied her pocket book, and achieved a certain amount of success.