Chapter IV: Part 4

Only something of the utmost importance, I knew, could have induced my brother-cousin to write to me. He was too careful of my welfare to excite Dicky's unreasoning jealousy by a letter, unless there was desperate need for it.

Finally, I sat down in an arm-chair by the window, and breaking the seal, drew out the letter.

"Dear Cousin Margaret:

"I have decided, suddenly, to go across the pond and get in the big
mix-up. You perhaps remember that I have spoken to you frequently
of my friend, Paul Caillard who has been with me in many a bit of
ticklish work. He was with me in South America, and like me, heard of
the war for the first time when he got out of the wilderness. He is
a Frenchman, you know, and is going back to offer his services to the
engineering corps."

"And I am going with him, Margaret. I think I can be of service over
there. Paul Caillard is the best friend I have. As you know you are
the only relative I have in the world, and you are happily and safely
married, so I feel that I am harming no one by my decision.

"We sail tomorrow morning on the Saturn. It will be impossible for
me to come to your home before then. So this is good-by. When I come
back, if I come back, I want to meet your husband and see you in your
home.

"And now I must speak of a little matter of which you are ignorant,
but of which you must be told before I go. Before your mother died, I
had made my will, leaving her everything I possessed, for you and she
were all the family I had ever known. After her death I changed her
name to yours. If anything should happen to me, my attorney, William
Faye, 149 Broadway, will attend to everything for you. He is also my
executor.

"Most of what I have, would have come to you by law, anyway, Margaret,
for you are 'my nearest of kin'--isn't that the way the law puts it?
But you might have some unpleasantness from those Pennsylvania cousins
of ours, so I have protected you against such a contingency.

"And now, Margaret, good-by and God bless you.

"Your affectionate cousin, Jack."

I finished the letter with a numb feeling at my heart. It seemed to me as if one of the foundations of my life had given away.

When Jack had left me after that miserable reunion dinner where he had been hurt so cruelly by the news of my marriage during his year's absence, he had said--ah, how well I remembered the words--"I shall not see you again, dear girl, unless you need me, if you ever do. I can't be near you without loving you and hating your husband, whoever he may be, and that is a dangerous state of affairs. But wherever I am, a note or a wire to the Hotel Alfred will be forwarded to me, and if the impossible should happen, and your husband, ever fail you, remember Jack is waiting, ready to do anything for you."

I had not expected to see Jack for months, perhaps years, but the knowledge of his faithfulness, of his nearness, had been of much comfort to me. And now he was going away, probably to his death.

The most bitter knowledge of all, was that which forced itself upon my mind. Jack was going to the war because he was unhappy over my marriage. He had not said so, of course, in the letter which he knew my husband must read, but I knew it. The remembrance of his face, his voice, when I told him of my marriage was enough. I did not need written words to know that perhaps I was sending him to his death!

I glanced at the clock--11:15. Only three-quarters of an hour till the train which was bringing my mother-in-law to our home was due! She would be in the house within three-quarters of an hour! Would I have time to dress, go after the flowers and cream we needed for luncheon and be back in time to welcome her?

Common sense whispered to omit the flowers, and send Katie for the cream. But one of my faults or virtues--I never have been able to decide which--is the persistence with which I stick to a plan, once I have decided upon it. I made up my mind to take a chance on getting back in time.

I made my purchases and on my way back I stepped into the corner drug store and telephoned Jack. He would not hear of my seeing him sail, and he would not promise to write me. Then there was a long silence. I wondered what he was debating with himself.

"I am going to let you in on a little secret," he said at last. "I have provided myself with the means of knowing how you fare, and I suppose I ought to let you have the same privilege. You know Mrs. Stewart, who keeps the boarding house where you and your mother lived so many years?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, she and I are going to correspond. Now, understand, Margaret, I am going to send no messages to you. I want none from you. Remember, you are married. Your husband objects to your friendship with me. I will do nothing underhand. But if anything happens to you I shall know it through Mrs. Stewart, and she will always know where I am and what I am doing."

"That is some comfort," I returned earnestly. "What time does the Saturn sail tomorrow?"

"At 10 o'clock. But, Madge, you must not come."

"I know," I returned meekly enough, although a daring plan was just beginning to creep into my brain. "And I will say good-by now, Jack. Good-by, dear boy, and good luck."

My voice was trembling, and there was a tremor in the deep voice that answered.

"Good-by, dear little girl. God bless and keep you." The next moment I was stumbling out of the booth with just one thought, to get home and bathe my eyes and pull myself together before the arrival of my mother-in-law.

I was just outside the drug store, and had realized that I'd left my purchases in the telephone booth, when I heard my name called excitedly.

From the window of a taxicab Dicky was gesturing wildly, while beside him a stately woman sat with a bored look upon her face.

My mother-in-law had arrived!

"Madge! What under the heavens is the matter?"

Dicky sprang out of the taxicab, which had drawn up before the door of the drug store, and seized my arm.

"Nothing is the matter," I said shortly. "I went out to get some cream for Katie's pudding and some flowers. I stopped here in the drug store to get some of my headache tablets, and left the flowers and cream. Some dust blew in my eyes. I suppose that's what makes you think I have been crying."

"That's you, all over," Dicky grumbled. "Risk not being at home to greet mother in order to have a few flowers stuck around. Here, come on and meet mother, and I'll go in and get your flowers." He took my arm and made a step toward the taxicab.

"No, no," I said hastily. "I know exactly where I left them. I won't be a minute."

Luckily the flowers and cream were where I had left them. I detest the idea of arranging any part of one's toilet in public, but I did not want the critical eyes of Dicky's mother to see my reddened eyes, and roughened hair, which had been slightly loosened in my hurry.

There was a mirror near the telephone booth at the back of the store. I took off my fur cap, smoothed back my hair and put on the cap again. From my purse I took a tiny powder puff and removed the traces of tears. Then I fairly snatched my parcels and hurried to the door. Dicky was just entering the store as I reached it. His face was black. I saw that he was in one of his rages.

"Look here, Madge," he said, and he made no pretense of lowering his voice, "do you think my mother enjoys sitting there in that taxicab waiting for you? She was so fatigued by her journey that she didn't even want to have her baggage looked after, something unusual for her. That is the reason we got here so early. And now she is positively faint for a cup of tea, and you are fiddling around here over a lot of flowers."

If he had made no reference to his mother's faintness, I should have answered him spiritedly. But I remembered my own little mother, and her longing when fatigued for a cup of hot tea.

"I'm awfully sorry, Dicky," I said meekly. "You see you arrived before I thought you would. I'll get the tea for her the moment we reach the house."

But Dicky was not mollified. He stalked moodily ahead of me until he reached the open door of the taxicab. Then his manner underwent a sudden change. One would have thought him the most devoted of husbands to see him draw me forward.

"Mother," he said, and my heart glowed even in its resentment at the note of pride in his voice, "this is my wife. Madge, my mother."

Mrs. Graham was leaning back against the cushions of the taxicab. If she had not looked so white and ill I should have resented the look of displeasure that rested upon her features.

"How do you do?" she said coldly. "You must pardon me, I am afraid, for not saying the usual things. I have been very much upset."

The studied insolence of the apology was infinitely worse than the coldness of her manner. I waited for a moment to control myself before answering her.

"I am afraid that you are really ill," I said as cordially as I could. "I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, but I did not expect you quite so soon, and I had some errands."

"It doesn't matter," she said indifferently. Her manner put me aside from her consideration as if I had been a child or a servant. She turned to Dicky.

"Are we almost there, dear?"

The warmth of her tones to him, the love displayed in every inflection, set out in more bitter contrast the coldness with which she was treating me.

"Right here now," as the taxi drew up to the door of the apartment house. There was a peculiar inflection in Dicky's voice. I stole a glance at him. He was gazing at his mother with a puzzled look. I fancied I saw also a trace of displeasure. But it vanished in another minute as he sprang to the ground, paid the driver and helped his mother and me out.

She leaned heavily on his arm as we went up the stairs to the third floor upon which our apartment was.

At the door, Katie, who evidently had heard the taxicab, stood smiling broadly.

"This is Katie, mother," Dicky said kindly. "She will help take care of you."

"How do you do, Katie?" The words were the same, but the tones were much kinder than her greeting to me.

Dicky assisted her into the living room. She sank into the armchair, and Dicky took off her hat and loosened her cloak. She leaned her head against the back of the chair, and her face looked so drawn and white that I felt alarmed.

"Katie, prepare a cup of strong tea immediately," I directed, and Katie vanished. "Is there nothing I can do for you, Mrs. Graham?" I approached her chair.

"Nothing, thank you. You may save the maid the trouble of preparing that tea if you will. I could not possibly drink it. I always carry my own tea with me, and prepare it myself. If it is not too much trouble, Dicky, will you get me a pot of hot water and some cream? I have everything else here."

I really felt sorry for Dicky. He caught the tension in the atmosphere, and looked from his mother to me with a helpless caught-between-two-fires-expression. With masculine obtuseness he put his foot in it in his endeavor to remedy matters.

"Why do you call my mother Mrs. Graham, Madge?" he said querulously. "She is your mother now as well as mine, you know."

"I am nothing of the kind." His mother spoke sharply. "Of all the idiotic assumptions, that is the worst, that marriage makes close relatives, and friends of total strangers. Your wife and I may learn to love each other. Then there will be plenty of time for her to call me mother. As it is, I am very glad she evidently feels as I do about it. Now, Dicky, if you will kindly get me that hot water."

"I will attend to it," I said decidedly "Dicky, take your mother to her room and assist her with her things. I will have the hot water and cream for her almost at once."

In the shelter of the dining room, where neither Dicky nor his mother nor Katie could see or hear me, I clenched my hands and spoke aloud.

"Call _her_ mother! Give that ill-tempered, tyrannical old woman the sacred name that means so much to me. _Never_ as long as I live!"

Dicky met me at the door of the dining room and took the tray I carried. It held my prettiest teapot filled with boiling water, a tiny plate of salted crackers, together with cup, saucer, spoon and napkin.

"Say, sweetheart," he whispered, "I want to tell you something. My mother isn't always like this. She can be very sweet when she wants to. But when things don't go to suit her she takes these awful icy 'dignity' tantrums, and you can't touch her with a ten-foot pole until she gets over them. She was tired, from the journey, and the fact that you kept her waiting in the taxicab made her furious. But she'll get over it. Just be patient, won't you, darling?"

If the average husband only realized how he could play upon his wife's heart-strings with a few loving words I believe there would be less marital unhappiness in the world. A few minutes before I had been fiercely resentful against Dicky's mother. And my anger had reached to Dicky, for I felt in some vague way that he must be responsible for his mother's rudeness.

But the knowledge that he, too, was used to her injustice and that he resented it when directed against me made all the difference in the world. I reached up my hand and patted his cheek.

"Dear boy, nothing in the world matters, if _you_ aren't cross and displeased."

XIV

A QUARREL AND A CRISIS

"Can you give me a few minutes' time, Dicky? I have something to tell you."

Dicky put down the magazine with a bored air. "What is it?" he asked shortly.

Involuntarily my thoughts flew back to the exquisite courtesy which had always been Dicky's in the days before we were married. There had been such a delicate reverence in his every tone and action. I wondered if marriage changed all men as it had changed my husband.

I went to my room and brought the letter back to Dicky. He read it through, and I saw his face grow blacker with each word. When he came to the signature, he turned back to the beginning and read the epistle through again. Then he crumpled it into a ball and threw it violently across the room.

"See here, my lady," he exploded. "I think it's about time we came to a show-down over this business. When I found that first letter from this lad, I asked you if he were a relative, and you said 'No.' Then you hand me this touching screed with its 'nearest of kin' twaddle, and speaking of leaving you a fortune. Now what's the answer?"

"Oh, hardly a fortune, Dicky," I returned quietly. "Jack has only a few thousand at the outside."

I fear I was purposely provoking, but Dicky's sneering, insulting manner roused every bit of spirit in me.

"A few thousand you'll never touch as long as you are my wife," stormed Dicky. "But you are evading my question."

"Oh, no, I'm not," I said coolly. "That real relationship between Jack and myself is so slight as to be practically nothing. He is the son of a distant cousin of my mother's. Perhaps you remember that on the day you made the scene about the letter you had just emphasized your very close friendship for Mrs. Underwood in a fashion rather embarrassing to me. I resolved that, to speak vulgarly, 'what was sauce for the gander,' etc., and that I would put my friendship for Jack upon the same basis as yours for Mrs. Underwood. So when you asked me whether or not Jack was a relative I said 'No.'"

"That makes this letter an insult both to you and to me," Dicky said venomously, his face black with anger.

I sprang to my feet, trembling with anger.

"Be careful," I said icily. "You don't deserve an explanation, but you shall have one, and that is the last word I shall ever speak to you on the subject of Jack. His letter is the truth. I am his 'nearest of kin,' save the cousins in Pennsylvania of whom he speaks. He was orphaned in his babyhood and my mother's only sister legally adopted him, and reared him as her own son. We were practically raised together, for my mother and my aunt always lived near each other. Jack was the only brother I ever knew. I the only sister he had.

"When my aunt died she left him her little property with the understanding that he would always look after my mother and myself. He kept his promise royally. My mother and I owed him many, many kindnesses. God forbid that I ever am given the opportunity to claim Jack's property. But if he should be killed"--I choked upon the word--"I shall take it and try to use it wisely, as he would have me do."

"Very touching, upon my word," sneered Dicky, "and very interesting--if true." He almost spat the words out, he was so angry.

"It does not matter to me in the least whether you believe it or not," I returned frigidly.

Dicky jumped up with an oath. "I know it doesn't matter to you. Nothing is of any consequence to you but this"--he ripped out an offensive epithet. "If he is so near and dear to you, it's a wonder you don't want to go over and bid him a fond farewell."

I was fighting to keep back the tears. As soon as I could control my voice I spoke slowly:

"The reason why I did not go is because I thought you might not like it. God knows, I wanted to go."

I walked steadily to my room, closed the door and locked it and fell upon the bed, a sobbing heap.

"Where are you going?" Dicky's voice was fairly a snarl as I faced him a little later in my street costume.

"I do not know," I replied truthfully and coldly. "I am going out for the rest of the afternoon. Perhaps you will be able to control yourself when I return."

It was not the most tactful speech in the world. But I was past caring whether Dicky were angry or pleased. I am not very quick to wrath, but when it is once roused my anger is intense.

"You know you are lying," he said loudly. "You are going to see this precious-cousin-brother-lover, whichever he may be."

My fear that Katie or his mother would hear him overcame the primitive impulse I had to avenge the insolent words with a blow, as a man would.

"You will apologize for that language to me when I come back," I said icily. "I do not know whether I shall go to bid Jack good-by or not. I have no idea what I shall do, save that I must get away from here for a little while. But if you have any sense of the ordinary decencies of life you will lower your voice. I do not suppose you care to have either your mother or Katie overhear this edifying conversation."

"Much you care about what my mother thinks," Dicky rejoined, and this time his voice was querulous, but decidedly lower. "Fine courteous treatment you're giving her, leaving her like this when she has been in the house but a couple of hours."

"Your mother has shown such eagerness for my society that no doubt she will be heartbroken if she awakens and finds that I am not here."

"That's right, slam my mother. Why didn't you say in the first place you couldn't bear to have her in the same house with you?"

"Dicky, you are most unjust," I began hotly, and then stopped horror-stricken.

"What is the matter, my son?" The incisive voice of my mother-in-law sounded from the door of her room.

"Go back to bed, mother," Dicky said hastily. "I'm awfully sorry we disturbed you."

"Disturbing me doesn't matter," she said decidedly, "but what you were saying does. I heard you mention me, and I naturally wish to know if I am the subject of this very remarkable conversation."

I know now where Dicky gets the sneering tone which sets me wild when he directs it against me. His mother's inflection is exactly like her son's. The contemptuous glance with which she swept me nerved me to speak to her in a manner which I had never dreamed I would use toward Dicky's mother.

"Mrs. Graham," I said, raising my head and returning her stare with a look equally cold and steady, "my husband"--I emphasized the words slightly--"and I are discussing something which cannot possibly concern you. You were not the subject of conversation, and your name was brought in by accident. I hope you will be good enough to allow us to finish our discussion."

My mother-in-law evidently knows when to stop. She eyed me steadily for a moment.

"Dicky," she said at last, and her manner of sweeping me out of the universe was superb, "in five minutes I wish to speak to you in my room."

"All right, mother." Dicky's tone was unsteady, and as his mother's door closed behind her I prepared myself to face his increased anger.

"How dared you to speak to my mother in that fashion?" he demanded hoarsely.

When I am most angry, a diabolically aggravating spirit seems to possess me. I could feel it enmeshing me.

"Please don't be melodramatic, Dicky," I said mockingly, "and if you have quite finished, I will go."

"No, you won't, at least not until I have told you something," he snarled.

He sprang to my side, and seized my shoulder in a cruel grip that made me wince.

"We'll just have this out once for all," he said. "If you go out of this door you go out for good. I don't care for the role of complacent husband."

The insult left me deadly cold. I knew, of course, that Dicky was so blinded by rage and jealousy that he had no idea of what he was saying. But ungovernable as I knew his temper to be, he had passed the limits of my forebearance.

"I will answer that speech in 10 minutes," I said and walked into my room again.

For I had come to a decision as startling as it was sudden. I hastily threw some most necessary things into a bag. Then I put a ten-dollar bill of the housekeeping money into my purse, resolving to send it back to Dicky as soon as I could get access to my own tiny bank account, the remnant of my teaching savings. Into a parcel I placed the rest of the housekeeping money, my wedding and engagement rings and the lavalliere which Dicky had given me as a wedding present. I put them in the back of the top drawer of my dressing table, for I knew if I handed them to Dicky in his present frame of mind he would destroy them. Then I walked steadily into the living room, bag in hand.

Dicky was nowhere to be seen, but I heard the murmur of voices in his mother's room. I went to the door and knocked. Dicky threw it open, his face still showing the marks of his anger.

"You will find the housekeeping money in the top drawer of my dressing table," I said calmly. "I will send you my address as soon as I have one, and you will please have Katie pack up my things and send them to me."

I turned and went swiftly to the door. As I closed it after me, I thought I heard Dicky cry out hoarsely. But I did not stop.

XV

"BUT I LOVE YOU"

With my bag in my hand, I fairly fled down the stairs which led from our third floor apartment to the street. I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do. Only one idea possessed me--to put as much space as possible between me and the apartment which held my husband and his mother.

Reaching the street, I started to walk along it briskly. But, trembling as I was from the humiliating scene I had just gone through, I saw that I could not walk indefinitely, and that I must get to some place at once where I could be alone and think.

"Taxi, ma'am?"

A taxi whose driver evidently had been watching me in the hope of a fare rolled up beside me.

I dived into it gratefully. At least in its shelter I would be alone and safe from observation for a few minutes, long enough for me to decide what to do next.

"Where to, ma'am?"

I searched my memory wildly for a moment. Where to, indeed! But the chauffeur waited.

"Brooklyn Bridge," I said desperately.

"Very well, ma'am," and in another minute we were speeding swiftly southward.

As I cowered against the cushions of the taxi, with burning cheeks and crushed spirit, I realized that my marriage with Dicky was not a yoke that I could wear or not as I pleased. It was still on my shoulders, heavy just now, but a burden that I realized I loved and could not live without.

And I had thought to end it all when I dashed out of the apartment!

I knew that I could have done nothing else but walk out after Dicky uttered his humiliating ultimatum. But I also knew Dicky well enough to realize that when he came to himself he would regret what he had done and try to find me. I must make it an easy task for him.

So I decided my destination quickly. I would go to my old boarding place, where my mother and I had lived and where I had first met Dicky. My kindly old landlady, Mrs. Stewart, was one of my best friends. Without telling too broad a falsehood, I could make her believe I had come to spend the night with her. The next day, I hoped, would solve its own problems.

"This is the bridge entrance, ma'am." The chauffeur's voice broke my revery. I had made my decision just in time.

How fortunate it was that I had chosen the Brooklyn Bridge destination! I had only to walk up the stairs to the elevated train that took me within three squares of Mrs. Stewart's home.

"Bless your heart, child, but I am glad to see you!" was Mrs. Stewart's hearty greeting. Then she glanced at my bag. I hastened to explain.

"Mr. Graham's mother is with us, so I haven't any scruples about leaving him alone," I said lightly. "It's so far over here I thought I would stay the night with you, so that we could have the good long visit I promised you when I was here last."

"That's splendid," she agreed heartily, "and I'll wager you can't guess who's here."

My prophetic soul told me the answer even before I saw the tall figure emerge from an immense easy chair which had effectually concealed him.

I was to bid Jack good-by after all.

Mrs. Stewart closed the door behind her softly as Jack came over to my side.

"What is the matter, Margaret?" he said tensely.

"Nothing at all." I told the falsehood gallantly, but it did not convince Jack.

"You can't make me believe that, Margaret," he said gravely. "I know you too well. Tell me, have you quarrelled with your husband?"

Jack has played the elder brother role to me for so long that the habit of obedience to him is second nature to me.

"Yes," I said faintly.

"Over me?" The question was quick and sharp.

I nodded.

"You showed him my letter? Of course, I wished you to do so."

"Yes."

"How serious is the quarrel? I see you have a bag with you."

"It depends upon my husband's attitude how serious it is," I replied. "He made an issue of my not doing something which I felt I must do. Then he lost his temper and said things which if they are to be repeated, will keep me away forever!"

I saw Jack's fists clench, and into his eyes there flashed a queer light. I knew what it was. Before he knew I was married he had told me of his long secret love for me. That he was fighting the temptation to let the breach between Dicky and me widen, I knew as well as if he had told me.

Another moment, however, and he was master of himself again.

"Sit down," he commanded tersely, and when I had obeyed he drew a chair close to my side.

"My poor child," he said tenderly, "I know nothing about your husband, so I cannot judge this quarrel. But I am afraid in this marriage game you will learn that there must be a lot of giving up on both sides. Now I know you to be absolutely truthful. Tell me, is there any possibility that the overtures for a reconciliation ought to come from you?"

"He told me that if I went out of the door, I must go out of it for good," I said hotly, and could have bitten my tongue out for the words the next moment.

Jack drew a long breath.

"Did he think you were going to see me?"

"I believe he had that idea, yes."

"Is he the sort of a man who always says what he means or does he say outrageous things when he is angry that he does not mean in the least?"

"He has a most ungovernable temper, but he gets over the attacks quickly, and I know he doesn't mean all he says."

"That settles it." Jack sprang up, and going to a stand in the corner took his hat and coat and stick.

"What are you going to do, Jack?" I gasped.

"I am going to find your husband and send him after you," he said sternly.

"Jack, you mustn't," I said wildly.

"But I must," he returned firmly. "You have quarrelled over me. I could not cross the water leaving you in an unsettled condition like this."

He came swiftly to my side, and took my hands firmly in his.

"Margaret, remember this, if I die or live, all I am and all I have is at your service. If I die there will be enough, thank heaven, to make you independent of any one. If I live--"

He hesitated for a long moment, then stooped closer to me.

"This may be a caddish thing to do, but it is borne in upon me that I ought to tell you this before I go. I hope the settling of this quarrel will be the beginning of a happier life for you. But if things should ever get really unbearable in your life, bad enough for divorce, I mean, remember that the dearest wish of my life would be fulfilled if I could call you wife. Good-by, Margaret. God bless and keep you."

I felt the touch of his lips against my hair.

Then he released me and went quickly out of the room.

It was hard work for me to obey Mrs. Stewart's command to eat the supper that she soon brought me on a tray. Every nerve was tense in anticipation of the meeting between Dicky and Jack, which I could not avoid, and which I so dreaded. What was happening at my home while I sat here, my hands tied by my own foolish act?

I did not realize that Mrs. Stewart's suspense was also intense until the door bell rang and she ran to answer it.

I stole to the door and noiselessly opened it just enough to be able to hear the voices in the lower hall. I heard the hall door open and then a sound of a voice that sent me back to my chair breathless with terrified happiness.

Dicky had arrived!

He ran up the stairs, two steps at a time, and knocked at the door of the room in which I sat.

"Come in," I said faintly.

I felt as if my feet were shod with lead. Much as I loved him, great as was my joy at seeing him, I could no more have stirred from where I was sitting than I could have taken wings and flown to him.

There was no need for my moving, however. Dicky has the most abominable temper of any person I know, but he is as royal in his repentance as in his rages.

He crossed the room at almost a bound, his eyes shining, his face aglow, his whole handsome figure vibrant with life and love.

"Sweetheart! sweetheart!" he murmured, as he folded me in his arms," will you forgive your bad boy this once more? I have been a jealous, insulting brute, but I swear to you--"

I put up my hand and covered his lips. I had heard him say something like this too many times before to have much faith in his oath. Besides, there is something within me that makes me abhor anything which savors of a scene. Dicky was mine again, my old, impulsive, kingly lover. I wanted no promises which I knew would be made only to be broken.

It was a long time before either of us spoke again, and then Dicky drew a deep breath.

"I have a confession to make about your cousin, Madge," he began, carefully avoiding my eyes, "and I might as well get it over with before we go home. Mother's probably asleep, but she might wake up, and then there would be no chance for any talk by ourselves."

"Don't tell me anything unless you wish to do so, Dicky," I replied gently. "I am content to leave things just as they are without question."

"No," Dicky said stubbornly, "it's due you and it's due your cousin that I tell you this. I don't often make a bally ass of myself, but when I do I am about as willing a person to eat dirt about it as you can find."

I never shall get used to Dicky's expressions. The language in which he couched his repentance seemed so uncouth to me that I mentally shivered. Outwardly I made no sign, however.

"When he came to the apartment," Dicky went on, "I was just about as nearly insane as a man could be. I had no idea where you had gone and I had just had the devil's own time with my mother and Katie over your sudden departure."

"What did your mother say to all this?"

I asked the question timorously.

Dicky laughed. "Well! of course she didn't go into raptures over the affair," he said, "but I think she learned a lesson. At least I endeavored to help her learn one. I read the riot act to her after you left."

"Oh! Dicky!" I protested, "that was hardly fair?"

"I know it," he admitted shamefacedly. "I am afraid I did rather take it out on the mater when I found you had really gone. But she deserved a good deal of it. You have done everything in your power to make things pleasant for her since she came, and she has treated you about as shabbily as was possible."

"Oh! not that bad, Dicky," I protested again, but I knew in my heart that what he said was true. His mother had treated me most unfairly. I could not help a little malicious thrill of pleasure that he had finally resented it for me.

"Just that bad, little Miss Forgiveness," Dicky returned, smiling at me tenderly.

My heart leaped at the words. When Dicky is in good humor he coins all sorts of tender names for me. I knew that to Dicky our quarrel was as if it had never happened.

"I'll give you a pointer about mother, Madge," Dicky went on. "When you see her, act as if nothing had happened at all, it's the only way to manage her. She can be most charming when she wants to be, but every once in a while she takes one of those silent tantrums, and there is no living with her until she gets over it."

I didn't make any comment on this speech, fearing to say the wrong thing.

"But I didn't start to tell you about Katie." Dicky switched the subject determinedly. "I might as well get it off my chest. When your cousin came in and introduced himself the first thing I did was to attempt to strike him."

"Oh, Dicky, Dicky," I moaned, horrified, "what did he do?"

Dicky's lips twisted grimly.

"Just put out his hand and caught my arm, saying with that calm and quiet voice of his:

"'I shall not return any blow you may give me, Mr. Graham, so please do not do anything you will regret when you recover yourself!'

"I realized his strength of body and the grip he had on my arm and even my half-crazed brain recognized the power of his spirit. I came to, apologized, and we had a long talk that made me realize what a thundering good fellow he must be.

"I don't see why you never fell in love with him," Dicky continued. "He's a better man than I am," he paraphrased half wistfully.

"But I love YOU," I whispered.

Across Dicky's face there fell a shadow. I realized that thoughtlessly I had wounded him.

XVI

INTERRUPTED SIGHT-SEEING

"Margaret!" My mother-in-law's tone was almost tragic. "Richard has gone off with my trunk checks."

"Why, of course, he has," I returned, wondering a little at her anxious tone. "I suppose he expects to give them to an expressman and have the trunks brought up this morning."

"Richard never remembered anything in his life," said his mother tartly. "Those trunks ought to be here before I leave for the day."

"Oh, I don't think it would be possible for them to arrive here before we have to start, even if Dicky gives them to an expressman right away, as I am sure he will do."

It seemed queer to be defending Dicky to his mother, but I felt a curious little thrill of resentment that she should criticise him. I sometimes may judge Dicky harshly myself, but I don't care to hear criticism of him from any other lips, even those of his mother.

"Richard will carry those checks in his pocket until he comes home again, if he is lucky enough not to lose them," said his mother decidedly. "I wish you would telephone him at his studio and remind him that they must be looked after."

Obediently I went to the telephone. I knew Dicky had had plenty of time to get to the studio, as it was but a short walk from our apartment.

"Madison Square 3694," I said in answer to Central's request for "number."

When the answer came I almost dropped the receiver in my surprise. It was not Dicky's voice that came to my ears, but that of a stranger, a woman's voice, rich and musical.

"Yes?" with a rising inflection, "this is Mr. Graham's studio. He has not yet reached here. What message shall I give him, please, when he comes in?"

"Please ask him to call up his home." Then I hung up the receiver and turned from the telephone, putting down my agitation with a firm hand until I could be alone.

"Dicky has not yet reached the studio," I said to his mother calmly. "I think very probably he has gone first to see an expressman about your trunks. If you will pardon me I have a few things to attend to before we start on our trip. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, thank you." Mrs. Graham's tone was still the cold, courteous one that she used in addressing me. "I suppose I can ring for Katie when I am ready to have my dress fastened?"

"Oh! by all means," I returned. I thought bitterly of the little services I used to perform for my own mother. How gladly I would anticipate the wants of Dicky's mother if she would only show me affection instead of the ill-concealed aversion with which she regarded me.

My mother-in-law went into her room, and I, walking swiftly to mine, closed and locked the door behind me. I threw myself face downward on the bed, my favorite posture when I wished to think things out.

The voice of the woman at the studio haunted me. It was strange, but familiar, and I could not remember where I had heard it.

What was a woman doing in Dicky's studio at this time in the morning, anyway? I knew that Dicky employed feminine models, but I also knew that he always made it a point to be at the studio before the model was due to arrive.

"I suppose I am an awful crank," he had laughed once, "but no models rummaging among my things for mine."

I knew that Dicky employed no secretary, or at least he had told me that he did not I had heard him laughingly promise himself that when his income reached $10,000 a year he would hire one.

All at once the solution to the mystery dawned upon me. The rich, musical voice belonged to Grace Draper, the beautiful girl whom Dicky had seen first on a train on our memorable trip to Marvin.

Why hadn't Dicky told me that she was at the studio? The question rankled in the back of my brain.

That was not my main concern, however. What swept me with a sudden primitive emotion, which I know must be jealousy, was the picture of that beautiful face, that wonderful figure in daily close companionship with my husband.

Suppose she should fall in love with Dicky! To my mind I did not see how any woman could help it. Would she have any scruples about endeavoring to win Dicky's love from me?

My common sense told me that this was the veriest nonsense. But I could no more help my feelings than I could control the shape of my nose.

The ring of the telephone bell put a temporary end to my speculations. I pulled myself together in order to talk calmly to Dicky, for I knew it must be he who was calling.

"Madge, is this you? Whatever has happened?"

"Nothing is the matter," I said quickly, "but you have your mother's trunk checks, and she is anxious about them."

"By Jove!" Dicky's voice was full of consternation. "I forgot everything about those trunk checks until this minute. I should have attended to them yesterday, but"--he hesitated, then finished lamely--"I didn't have time."

I felt my face flush as though Dicky could see me. The reason why he did not have time to see to his mother's trunks on the day of her arrival, touched a subject any allusion to which would always bring a flush to my face.

I was still too shaken with the varying emotions I had experienced the day before to bear well any reference to them, no matter how casual. Fortunately, Dicky was too much taken up with his own remissness to notice my silence.

"I'll go out this minute and attend to them," he said. "Try to keep the mater's mind diverted from them if you can. Better get her away on your sight-seeing trip as soon as possible."

Having thus shifted his responsibilities to my shoulders, Dicky blithely hung up the receiver. I turned to his mother.

"Well!" she demanded.

"He is going out now to attend to the trunks," I said.

"There! I knew he had forgotten them," she exclaimed, with a little malicious feminine triumph running through her tones. "When will they be here?"

"Not before noon at the earliest," I repeated Dicky's words in as matter-of-fact way as possible. "Probably not until 2 or 3 o'clock in the afternoon. We might as well start on our trip. Katie is perfectly capable of attending to them."

Then she said, "How soon will you be ready?"

"I am afraid it will be half an hour before I can start," I said apologetically.

"That will be all right," my mother-in-law returned good humoredly. She was evidently much pleased at the prospect of the trip.

"It's wonderful! Wonderful!" she said as the full view of New York harbor burst upon our eyes when we came out of the subway and rounded the Barge office into Battery Park.

"Wait a moment. I want to fill my soul with it."

I felt my heart warm toward her. I have always loved the harbor. Many treasured hours have I spent watching it from the sea wall or from the deck of one of the Staten Island ferries. To me it is like a loved friend. I enjoy hearing its praises, I shrink from hearing it criticised. Mrs. Graham's hearty admiration made me feel more kindly toward her than I had yet done.

Neither of us spoke again for several minutes. My gaze followed my mother-in-law's as she turned from one marvel of the view to another.

At last she turned to me, her face softened. "I am ready to go on now," she said. "I have always loved the remembrance of this harbor since I first saw it years ago."

We walked slowly on toward the Aquarium, both of us watching the ships as they came into the bay from the North river. The fussy, spluttering little tugs, the heavily laden ferries, the lazy fishing boats, the dredges and scows--even the least of them was made beautiful by its setting of clear winter sun and sparkling water.

"How few large ocean steamers there seem to be!" commented my mother-in-law, as a large ocean-going vessel cast off its tug and glided past us on its way out to sea. "I suppose it is on account of the war," she continued indifferently.

At this moment I heard a comment from a passing man that brought back to me the misery of the day before.

"I guess that's the Saturn," he said to his companion as they walked near us. "She was due to sail this morning. Got a lot of French reservists on board. Poor devils! Anybody getting into that hell over there has about one chance in a million to get out again."

Forgetful of my mother-in-law's presence, indeed, of everything else in the world, I turned and gazed at the steamer making its way out to sea. I knew that somewhere on its decks stood Jack, my brother-cousin, the best friend my mother and I had ever known. When he had come back from a year's absence to ask me to be his wife he had found that I had married Dicky. Then he had announced his intention of joining the French engineering corps.

What had that man said just now? Not one chance in a million! I felt as if it were my hand that was pushing him across the ocean to almost certain death.

When I could no longer see the Saturn as she churned her way out to sea, I turned around quickly with a sense of guilt at having ignored my mother-in-law's presence, and then a voice sounded in my ear.

"You don't seem delighted to see me. I am surprised at you."

Harry Underwood towered above me, his handsome face marred by the little, leering smile he generally wears, his bold, laughing eyes staring down into my horrified ones.

I do not believe that ever a woman of a more superstitious time dreaded the evil eye as I do the glance of Harry Underwood.

How to answer him or what to do I did not know. He evidently had been drinking enough to make himself irresponsible.

He did not give me time to ponder long, however, "Who is your lady friend," he burlesqued. "Introduce me."

A man less audacious than Harry Underwood would have been daunted by the picture my mother-in-law presented as he turned toward her. Her figure was drawn up to its extreme height, and she was surveying him through her lorgnette with an expression that held disgust mingled with the curiosity an explorer might feel at meeting some strange specimen of animal in his travels.

"Mrs. Graham, this is Mr. Underwood," I managed to stammer. "Mr. Underwood, Mrs. Graham, Dicky's mother."

My mother-in-law may overawe ordinary people, but Harry Underwood minded her disdain no more than he would have the contempt of a stately Plymouth Rock hen. She had lowered the lorgnette as I spoke, and he grabbed the hand which still held it, shaking it as warmly as if it belonged to some long-lost friend.

"Well! Well!" he said effusively. "But this is great. Dear old Dicky's mother!" He stopped and fixed a speculating stare upon her. "You mean his sister," he said reprovingly to me. "Don't tell me you mean his mother. No, no, I can't believe that."

He shook his head solemnly. Evidently he was much impressed with himself. If I had not been so miserable I could have smiled at the idea of Harry Underwood trying on the elder Mrs. Graham the silly specious flatteries he addressed to most women. My mother-in-law did not deign to answer him. Her manner was superb in its haughty reserve, although I could not say much for her courtesy. As he released her hand she let it drop quietly to her side and stood still, gazing at him with a quiet, disdainful look that would have made almost any other man wince.

But it did not bother Harry Underwood in the least. He gave her a shrewd appraising look and then turned to me with an air of dismissal that was as complete as her ignoring of him.

"Say!" he demanded, "aren't you a bit curious about what brought me down here? You ought to be. The funniest thing in the world, my being down here."

His silly repetitions, his slurred enunciation, his slightly unsteady figure made me realize with a quick horror that the man was more intoxicated than I supposed. How to get away from him as quickly as possible was the problem I faced. I decided to humor him as I would any other insane person I dreaded.

"I am never curious," I responded lightly. "I suppose, of course, that you are here to visit the Aquarium, as we are. Good-by."

"No you don't--goin' to take you and little lady here on nice ferry trip," he announced genially. "Sorry, yacht's out of commission this morning, but ferry will do very well."

I have not much reason to like my mother-in-law, but I shall always be grateful to her for the way she cut the Gordian knot of my difficulties.

"Young man, you are impertinent and intoxicated," she said haughtily. "Please step aside."

And taking me firmly by the arm my mother-in-law walked steadily with me toward the door of the women's rest room. Her manner of conducting me was much the same as the matron of a reformatory would use in taking a charge from one place to another, but I was too relieved to care. The leering face of Harry Underwood was no longer before my eyes, and his befuddled words no longer jarred upon my ears. Those were the only things that mattered to me for the moment. In my relief I felt strong enough to brave the weight of my mother-in-law's anger, which I was very sure was about to descend upon me.

XVII

A DANGER AND A PROBLEM

Safe in the shelter of the Aquarium rest room my mother-in-law faced me. Her eyes were cold and hard, her tones like ice, as she spoke.

"Margaret! What is the meaning of this outrageous scene to which you have just subjected me? Am I to understand that this man is typical of your associates and friends? If so, I am indeed sorrier than ever that my son was ever inveigled into marrying you."