Chapter IX: Part 9

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

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

“No, Jim,” was the reply.

“What’s the matter?”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Jim. I know you would.”

“Won’t you let me try?” he began.

She shook her head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Jim.”

“Tell Dimmie good-bye for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why, Lucy, I only thought----”

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

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

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

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

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

John appeared on the threshold.

“Where’s Jim?” he questioned.

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

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

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

Dimmie ran in from the kitchen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nannie sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

XXVII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your friend and father,
“Arthur Merwent.”

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

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

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

“Yes, I’m going out,” Lucy told her.

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

Lucy did not reply. “Where are you going?” Mrs. Merwent persisted.

“I’m going down town.”

“Are you going shopping?”

“No.”

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

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

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

“Yes.” John picked up his paper.

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

“No.” John went on reading.

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

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

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

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

“I am.” Lucy smiled rather wanly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He glanced at her keenly. “I think perhaps going out a little may do you good,” he conceded after a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I’ll wait,” agreed Lucy.

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

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

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

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

Miss Storms was studying Lucy’s face carefully.

“I see you have been reading _Sanin_. What do you think of it?” “I didn’t read much,” Lucy confessed. “You said that if ever I was in trouble I must come to you.”

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

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

There was a pause.

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

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

Miss Storms nodded comprehendingly.

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

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

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

Lucy’s hands moved uneasily.

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

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

There was another long pause before Miss Storms went on.

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

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

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

Finally Lucy regained her self control and faced her friend.

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

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

“Oh, don’t! Please don’t, Miss Storms,” she begged hysterically. “There, dear. Sit down again.” Miss Storms rose and led her to the chair. “Lucy, I have to confess a spinster’s tendency to meddle, I suppose. I asked John around here the other day and talked to him about this.”

Lucy glanced at her quickly.

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

“Yes, dear?”

Under Miss Storms’ touch Lucy trembled violently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!” cried Lucy vehemently.

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

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

Miss Storms kissed her cheek.

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

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

Miss Storms’ smile was rather bitter as she answered.

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

Lucy was silent as she gazed out the window.

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

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

Here Miss Storms reverted abruptly to her practical mood.

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

Lucy hesitated a moment. Then she arose.

“Won’t you stay for luncheon, dear?”

“No. I must go.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yes it is. Don’t lose heart.”

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

Finally she rose and turned her steps toward the office.

XXVIII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jim!” she gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop, Lucy,” he pleaded. “Don’t go.”

She hesitated. Her manner was hunted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She put out her hand and as it touched his breast he stopped. “I can’t, Jim! Oh, don’t you see I can’t?” she begged.

Then she turned and went swiftly out of the office.

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

* * * * *

Lucy walked the streets and the park until dusk.

When she reached home neither John nor Nannie was there.

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Mother?”

“She has gone some place with Miss Powell.”

Lucy seated herself by the window.

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

Lucy looked at him.

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

“Well?” Lucy’s tone was dull.

“I want to know what this means. That’s what I want to know.” His voice grew less controlled as he proceeded. They gazed at each other with hostile faces. Dimmie entered the room.

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

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

“Good-bye, little son,” she smiled.

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

“Good-bye,” John responded impatiently.

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

“To go to kindergarten.”

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

“He could.”

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

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

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

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

“Did you see Jim Sprague?”

“Yes, I did.”

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

“I did.”

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

“I wanted to see Jim alone.”

“What for?” John’s face grew redder.

“I wanted to consult him.”

“Alone?” sneered John.

“Yes, alone.”

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

“That is my own affair, John.”

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

“Neither am I.”

“You won’t have to,” snarled John.

“Exactly. I have decided just that.” He stared at her in astonishment.

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

“I mean that I am going to leave.”

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

“Katy will hear you, John.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A frightened expression came into John’s eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John caught hold of her hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucy hesitated an instant. “No--John. I don’t think I really meant them,” she admitted.

John reached for his handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

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

“Yes, John, I still love you.”

They sat several minutes in silence.

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

She followed him to the hall.

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

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

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

XXIX

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucy made no response. “Did you fix the celery soup?” Mrs. Merwent asked the negress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why, Lucy----”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Has Nannie come?” inquired Dimmie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, dear,” she greeted him.

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

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

“No-o,” he responded indefinitely.

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

“Yes?” John noticed absently.

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

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

“Yes. She’s in her room.”

John’s frown deepened. He mounted the stairs.

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

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

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

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

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

The meal proceeded in constrained silence.

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

John smiled slightly but kept his eyes on his plate. Neither he nor Lucy replied to the remark. “We thought of coming past your office but we were afraid you might be busy.”

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

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

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

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

Silence hovered over the group once more.

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

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

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

“Are you, Son?” Lucy untied his bib.

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

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

“Will you sing, too?” stipulated Dimmie.

“Yes, I’ll sing too,” she promised.

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

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

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

“Oh, I’m all right,” exclaimed John irritably, at the same time lighting a cigarette. “I know you never let on, John, but you can always be sure that _I_ understand you, whether anyone else does or not.”

John drummed on the table.

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

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

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

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

Mrs. Merwent turned with a surprised air.

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

“What about Lucy?”

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

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

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

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

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

Mrs. Merwent’s eyes filled with tears.

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

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

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

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

John remained in an attitude of thought.

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

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

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

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

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

“John----”

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

Nannie linked and unlinked her fingers.

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

“Well?”

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

“How much do you want, Nannie?”

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

He took a bill from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “But, John!” she protested, glancing at the denomination of the money.

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

“Oh, John, I can’t tell you----” Nannie began; but for response the front door clicked.

She sighed and looked down at the money.

* * * * *

John walked up and down the street for more than half an hour. At the end of this time he met Dr. Hamilton returning from a patient.

“Well, Mr. Winter,” the doctor halted and shook hands, “you seem to be wandering around like a lost soul.”

“I had a slight headache,” lied John, “and came out to get a little fresh air.”

“Good stunt,” approved the doctor. “You lead a pretty sedentary life, and exercise is good for you. How is Mrs. Winter?”

“Oh, I think she’s all right now.” John shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Don’t allow anything to worry or excite her, Mr. Winter,” Dr. Hamilton urged earnestly. “Her nerves and heart won’t stand it. Well, good night. I’m going to get a cup of cocoa and go to bed.”

“Good night,” answered John. “I think I’ll turn in too.” And he made his way toward home.

Letting himself in through the front entrance, John found both living room and dining room dark.

“Where’s Mrs. Merwent?” he queried of Katy, who came in after locking the kitchen door and windows.

“Why, she done went to bed, Mr. Winter, right after you all went out.”