Chapter XVIII

Anthony’s sister stood in her cool country living room, arranging her flowers. There were a mass of them that she had brought in from the rough-and-tumble garden by the cottage wall--hollyhocks, tall and pink and already in their place in a green vase against the wall--cerise cinnamon phlox, filling the air with their vivid fragrance, a riot of nasturtiums of all colors, sweet peas whose pastel lavenders and pinks were spoiled until Marjorie put them in a glass basket before a little mirror, poppies, and deep orange African marigolds. Marjorie separated them from each other and then reassembled them, mixing in now bachelors’ buttons with marigolds, and baby’s breath with poppies. She was quite absorbed and her brother, lying on a cushion-piled settle, watched her admiringly and for a few moments silently. When he spoke he seemed to be taking up an interrupted conversation.

“You’re sure she is coming then?”

“Mrs. Williams told me so in town yesterday.”

“And you think that the skillful Maud was trying to hint that it was off between Horatia and Jim Langley?”

“She had a saddened and romantic air about Horatia. I don’t know exactly what she was trying to imply. But from a rather steady stream of inquiries as to your whereabouts I was inclined to have vulgar suspicions that she was really interested in you and your movements. And then she said, ‘I suppose you know how it is, Mrs. Clapp, when these young things turn to you with their romantic difficulties.’ And then she giggled. How that remarkable young woman can giggle!” finished Marjorie.

Anthony sat puzzling.

“Of course Horatia doesn’t tell her a thing,” he said, “but that sort of woman is astute as the devil in some ways. Well, if she comes down here, Langley or no Langley, I’m going to go after her. If she wanted to marry Langley badly enough she has had time enough to make sure by this time. But it’s ridiculous to think of her wasting her time on one of these awfully complicated intellectual emotional affairs if it’s not going to come to anything. If she doesn’t want me she can tell me again--stronger--to get to hell out--and I’ll get. But I’m going to get the thing settled. I thought maybe I’d get over it when I got West. I didn’t see a girl while I was out there who seemed real at all. And I’d catch myself mooning. It’s unhealthy. It’s got to be stopped.”

“You want to remember,” said Marjorie, “that Horatia has had a hard summer and that she will be tired. Don’t rush her too hard or she’ll go to pieces or send you packing from sheer weariness.”

“I don’t mean to tire her. I want to rest her.” There was a strange mixture of protectiveness and sullenness in Anthony’s tone.

“It’s all nonsense anyway,” he went on, “to think of her wearing herself out in that miserable office. Girls oughtn’t to be allowed to knock themselves to pieces that way. Where it’s necessary it’s bad enough but when a girl----”

“Has only to sit back and let you support her,” laughed Marjorie.

“When a girl is like Horatia she’s altogether too valuable to throw herself away for some fetish like earning a living. You know exactly what I mean and you agree with me too, Marge.”

“It all depends on how much you can make her care for you.”

“I could make her care from sheer force of imitation if I could get this Langley stuff out of her head.”

“Granted. But if she does happen to be in love with Langley?”

“He’s no person for her to marry.”

“You can’t do it by dogma, my dear.”

Anthony shook himself like an impatient puppy.

“Well, I’ll be damned if I don’t find some way to do it.”

“Love is queer,” reflected Marjorie, “in its effect on people. Now you show it principally by a marked increase in profanity.”

Anthony grinned and left her.

The cottage stood well back from a road which wound itself around a series of lakes and up steep hills into a district which was almost mountainous. Anthony knew every foot of the country and loved it as well as his cottage which had been the scene of so many pleasant parties, both his own and Marjorie’s. It was the place above all which he would have chosen for this biggest adventure of his life. The place which Maud had taken was a few miles farther up the road but within easy distance. There was every reason for Anthony’s contemplative smile as he swung down the wooded road.

The Williams party arrived a few days later with some bustle. It was Maud’s first venture into country residences and though it was on a small scale it appealed to her immensely. Only her sudden acquaintance with Marjorie Clapp had given her courage for the move, for the district in the hills was a refuge for a society somewhat older and better acquainted than Maud’s town crowd. She and Harvey had taken the children away for the summer once before, but going to a summer hotel was a different and incomparably insignificant thing beside the pride of belonging to a genuine summer colony. She had asked Mrs. Clapp a little diffidently about places in the hills and Mrs. Clapp had been unexpectedly helpful--even giving her the name of a special cottage which could probably be rented. An unpretentious little cottage enough but pleasant to Maud because the Hilltons, the Straights, the Clapps and the Morrises wore their ginghams and sun hats within a radius of ten miles, pleasant to Jackie because he had been promised a rabbit, pleasant to Harvey on account of a neighboring trout stream, and pleasant to Horatia because the woods around it offered refuges and solace.

Harvey took them up in the new stream line touring car which was the outward sign of his increasing prosperity, and while Maud watched a road map to be sure that Harvey would not miss the road which went by the Country Club which the summer-people had built, Horatia sat with her arm around a weary little Jack, breathing in the freshness of the woods with their summer scents and thinking. She felt very old and disappointed and disillusioned, and she thought with envy of the first time she had driven over this road with Anthony in the winter, feeling so happy and full of love for Jim. Maud poured out a steady stream of comment and conjecture--and Horatia hardly listened, knowing that expression and not attention was what Maud sought. She had never liked her sister so well as she had during these past days. Maud had let her alone and asked no questions. She seemed to be waking into a kind of appreciation of Horatia’s feelings and Horatia was very grateful, entirely ignorant as she was of Maud’s unrelinquished plans about Anthony. Horatia had just thought of Anthony for the first time in weeks. She had thought of him as the man who had driven the car when she had gone through these places thinking of Jim, and first rejoicing in the happiness of love.

They reached their cottage and Maud was soon unpacking and opening the house while the cook, imported lest life in the country become too strenuous, began to prepare dinner. Horatia, bravely attired in her rose sweater and hat, started out for a walk. She wanted to adjust her thoughts and get perfectly calm, for she meant to be a gay companion and not a doleful one.

Little leaf-covered paths wandered into the woods here and there. She turned at random into them and went along, anxious to lose her loneliness in the greater loneliness and friendliness of the forest. And here, for the first time, she succeeded. The trees were motionless in the still afternoon. Their branches curved and interlocked and made great, cool, dark green shadows. The ferns stirred as she passed and she heard the lazy chirping of some birds. It was deep and still and calm and sure, so that in the midst of it Horatia became calm and sure for a moment. She felt her ache for Jim’s presence pass, and for the first time since she had gone from him there came a feeling that she was back where she belonged. For the first time she felt awakened pleasure and she stood very still, almost afraid to stir lest the peace that was filling her should change to misery again. After a little she went on. She did not want to go back to the cottage yet. Later she would be ready for them but as yet she was ready only for herself.

And so Anthony came upon her--a bright bit of color in the midst of the woods with her eyes shining with peace. At the sight of her he felt the flush of his own face. It was all very well to be full of bravado before Marjorie but in the presence of Horatia his confidence waned. Yet she was clearly glad to see him.

“I heard you were West.”

“I came back last week and heard that your sister had taken the Warner cottage. I was hoping you’d come out with her. Every month seems the best out here but this one is especially nice. And there are wonderful places to walk and ride. We have a swimming place and a very poor tennis court----”

“I don’t think I shall like the tennis court half as well as just this. I like your woods.”

“So do I,” answered Anthony with happy sympathy. “Let me show you a finer place than this though. Deeper in.”

They went on until they came to a little clearing like a great room with the trees interlocked above it. Along one side ran a tiny clear stream.

“But this is too perfect. This isn’t natural.”

“This is my room. I made it myself and furnished it by opening up the stream. The bed was there for it but the water had been choked by a dam of leaves. I cleared it out and now you see I have running water in my room. That’s all I need.”

“It’s the most beautiful interior decoration I ever saw.”

“You shall have a key for that.”

He did not keep her. But he walked towards his sister’s cottage and they came out in her garden. Horatia went into the house to see Marjorie and the children. She felt curiously at home there, and Marjorie was so very glad to see her that Horatia felt even more happy. She thought suddenly that she could tell Marjorie a little about Jim, and that Marjorie was the only person in the world to whom she could tell even a little. But there was little time to think. Everyone wanted to plan things to do and to arrange for many things. Then Anthony insisted that he had walked her unconscionably far and to save her stiffness he must take her home. She got into the car with delightful familiarity. Anthony said never a personal word and if he thought them, Horatia did not guess. She found him very handsome in his country khaki and even more wholesome than ever. She was in a mood to yearn for wholesomeness.

Maud would have Anthony stay for dinner. Horatia found herself urging him too and to her greater surprise found herself thoroughly anticipating dinner. She had not been hungry for some time but tonight----

“I’ve never seen Horatia eat so much,” said Anthony, “except on a memorable evening at the Redtop Hotel.”

Banter and nonsense--healthy nonsense. How restful they were after introspection and worry. How friendly and cheerful everyone was, and how quiet and peaceful it was about them. Maud watched Anthony as she crocheted a sweater for herself--Anthony watched Horatia--Harvey with a secret amusement watched his wife and his sister-in-law, but Horatia watched no one. She was revelling in peace. Jim was in her mind but no longer torturing her. She thought of him as loving her and of herself as loving him. No solutions of her difficulty came to her and she did not look for any. She was content to be in the midst of life. It no longer frightened her.

“Good-night,” said Anthony. “I’ll be over often. Look for me on the doorstep every morning.”