Part 2

“It is one of my abiding faiths that life must be forward-looking and onward-pressing, not with forgetfulness of those who have gone, but with strength and even happiness in the knowledge that we carry on their work and that they do not die; that through us, and through our children and friends, and all to whom we pass on something of what we received from them, they are borne on to everlasting life.

“For the moment we feel only the great loss--and today I feel as if something had gone from my life because so much has gone from yours--but sad as the moment is, it should also be one of the greatest moments of life; for from it should arise, purified from everything earthly, an ideal which may be as a torch to light the way. Thus among the most beautiful things still in the world are the spirits of those who have gone.

“With love, “WALTER.”

She folded the sheet that carried the consoling message--the only word that had helped her bear the loss of her mother and chum, whom she had seen buried but a few days before. She walked to the faded white roses which had accompanied it and which stood on a table close by. She touched them gently and then turned to the bed, and throwing herself on the pillow sobbed softly to herself.

Suddenly someone knocked gently upon the door.

How long had she been there? Rising she caught a glimpse of one very red cheek as she passed the mirror. She must have slept a long while.

“Why, Aunt Martha, what time can it be?” she inquired of a small kindly faced woman who stood outside the door.

“Eight-thirty, dear,” her aunt replied, patting her on the arm. “Walter is waiting down stairs to know if you will see him for a moment.”

“Yes, Marty,” she said, using the pet name to compensate her aunt for climbing three flights of stairs. “I shall be right down.” She closed the door, and sat down to think over the problem with which she was confronted. Her thoughts returned to the subject which occupied her mind before she fell asleep. She glanced at the letter which had fallen to the floor--such a message. Only one with a great heart could put such thoughts into words. There was no doubt in her mind that some day Walter would be a “big” man. He had already accumulated a fortune, and his name was on the lips of all her friends. He loved her devotedly--that she was sure of, and he had been the favorite of her mother, who had cautioned her to think twice before she rejected him.

“And why shouldn’t I marry him?” she asked herself over and over. “There is lots in life besides love. If he is willing to take me with a heart that is just friendly and accept other qualities instead of love, why shouldn’t I make the deal for myself--just as he made one in lumber? He received large profits, and so would I. In return he gave good lumber, and I would supply good material as a wife. He signed a contract, and so will I.”

She arose, bathed her face in cold water, carelessly twisted her hair low on her neck, and descended the stairs.

Walter stepped to meet her, she extended her hands, more cordially than she had ever done before, and he took them in his own. Never had he been so much in love with her. He gazed into the eyes that were of a surpassingly beautiful shade of brown. They looked larger than ever from grief and loss of sleep, and seemed to match the hair which clung to her forehead with a weblike softness. The nose was not large, but straight and well formed. The lips were a bit thinner and the mouth a bit larger than those an artist would choose for a model, but the even white teeth that had always been her salient attraction compensated for these deficiencies. These features went to make up a face that was not indicative of weakness, yet would not impress one as strong.

“I can’t tell you how my heart goes out to you in your sorrow,” he whispered softly.

“The letter, such a comforting letter,” she answered, tears filling her eyes. “It helped more than anything.”

“Then it has fulfilled its mission.”

“How sweet of you to send the flowers,” she added.

“It isn’t a fraction of what I should I like to do for you. Betty, if you only knew how I love you! But there, I didn’t come to worry you again. My new machine has just come, and I thought you might like a breath of air.”

“How refreshing it would be,” she answered. And she accepted with her eyes and turned to pick up a wrap. In fact, Betty was a flirt, and quite often her eyes said things that her lips did not confirm.

“What a monster in comparison with our little Ford,” said she, as she sank into the softly cushioned seat beside Walter.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Then I wish it was yours instead of mine.”

“But then it would not be wonderful if you were not here beside me.”

Walter gasped and almost ran into a passing machine. He looked down at the small figure beside him and asked. “Really--really, Betty, do you mean what you say?”

And in her heart Betty almost believed herself that she meant it.

* * * * *

It was a season of reaction. War was over and with spring came the end of the winter festivities. Betty had derived much benefit from Walter’s newly acquired fortune. There had been rides, dinners, flowers and everything dear to the heart of a girl. She found Walter’s attentions the envy of other girls, and she reveled in the thought that he had eyes for no one but her--until she accepted his proposal of marriage and the wedding day was not far distant.

Then she revolted against the affection which she had obtained so easily, and which required such little effort to hold.

Jack often made the third party, and she found she liked it better when he was there. About Jack was a vagueness--an air of uncertainty and superiority that had always attracted her, even though he had paired off with Sarah.

As for Jack--deep in his heart there was the desire to prove to Betty that she could not number him among her many suitors. Yet recently he had been forced to admit that he liked and even sought her company.

It was a day brisk and cool for spring. Betty was in a perverse mood. She had whipped her dog without just provocation, and she had answered her aunt shortly several times that morning. The ’phone rang--it was Walter.

“Do you need me to help open packages?” “Why--no, Walter; there are only a few, and I’m so frightfully busy with the dressmakers that I can’t stop just now.”

“When you need me you’ll call me, won’t you, dear?” he asked, in a half pleading voice.

“Yes, I--I surely shall.”

“This evening, may I come up?”

“I really ought to go to bed early; I’m so tired.”

“Very well,” he answered in a disappointed but conciliatory tone.

Betty slowly hung up the receiver, slipped into a scarlet sweater, and prepared for a walk in the country. The vivid color contrasted strongly with the pale cheeks, that had grown whiter and whiter of late. Her mind dwelt only on one subject. In two days the fatal knot would be tied--would she able to live up to the bargain? Could she give full pay for value received? Walter, she knew, was the embodiment of gentleness and would make a good husband, but she craved for someone whom she must strive to win, and then plan to hold; neither had been necessary here. She had won him without competition, and now he was wholly at her command. “If only he were more elusive,” she thought, “if only he went to places and did a few things without me.”

“I miss the office dreadfully, Marty,” said she between yawns.

“You always wanted to be out of it when you were there,” answered her aunt in a tone of surprise.

“The work was drudgery, simply because filing cards required no brains. It was only repetition, but it was something to do.”

“It will not be long that you will wish for something to do. Soon there will be work, work and more work.”

“How can one work without an incentive?”

“An incentive! What more of an incentive could you and Walter wish than each other? You must conjure him to climb rung by rung to the top of the ladder, and that can be done only by setting a good example. A wife can lead her husband in paths that are good or bad. A man is more pliant than a woman, more susceptible to influence; therefore, she leads and he follows. One must be careful not to leave the other behind. Bear and forbear, and pull together.”

“Walter is entirely too easily led,” said Betty musingly.

“That’s only because he loves you,” said her aunt in absolute surprise, “and without the charms that were given you by God, you never could have won him. And remember, the seeds of love must be sown very deeply now, in order to hold him when your charms have failed. Beauty doesn’t last forever, and age makes furrows in women’s faces much quicker than in those of men. Men are out in the world where a variety of people and circumstances tends to keep them young; their minds are diverted, and they have no time for worry over petty annoyances, while women’s minds become stagnant from the repetition of a daily routine. Their lives are confined within a narrow periphery, and there are only a few who enlarge the circle by wandering forth.”

Betty hurriedly made preparations to be gone.

“Why will you not see Walter this afternoon when he wants so much to see you?”

“I just want to be alone,” flung back Betty as she closed the door, but she had walked only a short distance when on turning the corner, she ran full into Jack. Always immaculately dressed, he wore the nonchalant air of a person who was confident that his appearance was an asset.

“And where is Walt this fine afternoon?” he asked, manifesting his pleasure at the chance meeting.

“He ’phoned a while ago, but I have to go to the dressmaker.”

“Are you going to be there long?”

“Not so very.”

“May I wait and will you take a walk with me? It’s just the kind of a day for a walk.”

“I think I should love to,” she answered. And within she was conscious of both happiness and guilt.

She made haste and it was not long before she was back, sauntering slowly by Jack’s side, and keeping in step without effort.

“Betty, do you know you walk like a boy, and don’t we step nicely together?” Jack asked her, leaning down to peep into her eyes under the broad hat. “I’ve always heard that people who keep step uniformly are well matched,” he continued.

“I believe I can keep step with most anyone,” she answered, catching the significance of his words.

“But not so nicely as with me, I’m confident,” he replied.

“Don’t you hate to see the trees lose their leaves?” asked Betty to turn the subject, as she would divert a naughty child from something that exasperated it. “It is always such a sad season to me,” she continued.

“Fall isn’t always a sad season, but this one is especially so,” said Jack wickedly, “because the trees are losing their leaves and so am I losing my little friend.”

“Will I be lost, just because I’m married?”

“In a way.”

“Oh no, you must come to see us even more often than you come now, and bring Sarah with you. By the way, where is Sarah? She has not been around for a week?”

“Indeed I don’t know,” was the indifferent reply, and this very attitude of indifference particularly pleased Betty. She resolved somewhere within her (if she could keep Walter from finding it out), to hold Jack’s admiration at all costs.

They walked, chatted and laughed away the time until darkness completely overtook them. Walter did not hear of the little escapade; and if he had he was by nature too gentle, kind and unsuspecting to have thought long or hard of it.

After the wedding the young pair settled down in a lovely old colonial home, which spread itself against a hill in a rambling fashion. It was made conspicuous and inviting by a new coat of paint. Their choice had fallen upon this house, because of Betty’s admiration of its finely detailed mantels, the broad stair, the quaint colonial windows, the box-wood garden, and the rustic spring house, with the little stream bordered by a row of weeping willows, whose boughs drooped so low that they seemed to be replenishing the brook with their tears.

Here Betty learned to know Walter. He taught her to love the out-of-doors. He patiently labored to teach her the correct strokes in golf and tennis, although he himself was handicapped in his participation in these games. In the evenings he tried to pick up the threads of his and her neglected education--he sought diligently to teach her to love the best in literature. And taking his life as a whole it centered about this little creature whom God had made too perfect in form and face.

Betty was fascinated and even entertained by the atmosphere of this new environment while it was new, but in the course of time she began to long for a change--adventure, and admiration for the world at large.

About two years after the marriage Jack paid one of his visits to the Garys. It was springtime, and the air was filled with the beauty of the season. Romance with her transforming wand had already touched Betty, and thoughts of Jack never failed to quicken her pulse.

It was his fourth or fifth visit since Christmas; and each time Walter and Betty had welcomed him wholeheartedly.

Jack had risen early this morning prepared to take a long walk, and had been served a cup of hot coffee before starting. He was, as usual, perfectly dressed. One could not call him vain; yet he had an inherent desire to appear handsomer, more learned, and more of an athlete, in the company of Betty than he really was.

Going down the drive he heard a happy peal of laughter. It was childish, yet more mellow and appealing in its ring. Looking around Jack perceived the slight figure of Betty perched high in a tree. She was climbing higher with the agility of a squirrel, stepping from limb to limb and frolicking among the branches like a young animal, that had not yet been burdened with the care of gathering food or preparing for winter shelter. On limbs lower down were two small boys of about eight and ten, children of the overseer. They had already become Betty’s playmates, and were making a desperate effort not to be outdone by her. Jack gave a long low whistle. Betty clung closer to the trunk of the tree and then peeped out, disclosing to view one eye and a part of her dishevelled hair. In answer to the whistle she encircled her mouth with her hand and called, “It’s too early for anyone to be up yet.”

“May I climb up there?” called back Jack softly.

“No, I’m all disarranged.”

“Please let me,” he pleaded.

“I’m coming down this minute,” answered Betty, lowering herself to the ground.

“Will you walk a little with me?” asked Jack, bound not to lose her for the two long hours before the morning meal.

“I’m only in bloomers,” answered Betty still protecting herself from view.

“They are all the better for walking--come with me, the air is wonderful.”

“Come along then.”

In less than a minute Jack was by her side. “How adorable,” he remarked, as he caught his breath and surveyed the small figure before him attired in a middy blouse, bloomers and sneakers.

“Is it bad for me to walk with you so early without Walter,” she asked slyly, pretending not to know.

“Why what’s bad about it? It isn’t premeditated, and I’m not going to abduct you.”

“Abduct me,” repeated Betty, “I never thought of such a thing.”

“But I have,” Jack replied, complacently. “I’d steal you this very second, if I dared.”

“If you talk like that, Jack, I shall not stay with you.”

Jack’s persistence in making intimate and affectionate remarks served apparently to discompose Betty at times, although more than once she was conscious of having feigned annoyance. But now she turned quickly and started toward the house. Jack leaped forward and caught her by the wrist.

“Don’t be prudish,” he pleaded.

“But you say such disrespectful things to me,” pouted Betty.

“I didn’t mean to; please forgive me.”

Betty yielded and they started off again over the hills at a brisk pace.

“Let’s run a race,” suggested Betty.

“All right, we’ll start at the foot of the hill, and race to the second big tree.”

“May I have a handicap?” asked Betty.

“Yes, to the little rock just there,” said Jack, pointing to a stone a few feet away.

“Oh, that isn’t enough,” grumbled Betty.

“It’s all you can have,” answered Jack in his usual decided manner. “Don’t start until I say three. One--two--three.”

They were off. Betty sprang up the hill like a deer. Jack gradually overtook her, but when she heard him gaining on her, she summoned all of her remaining strength and fairly leapt over the ground. Jack pulled ahead and won by only a few paces--and he had done his best. She backed to the tree for support while Jack threw himself to the ground.

“Ah, you’re all out of breath.”

“Not a bit of it,” answered Jack, jumping to his feet. “Why are--are you using the tree for a prop?”

“But I didn’t fall down and I’m not out of breath.”

Jack moved to her side, drew her arm through his, and said, “Come on, little boy, you did very well, and I love you against that tree.”

“I believe I shall stay by the tree,” she added wickedly, glancing into Jack’s face to see if he caught the significance of her words.

Quick as a flash he answered, “The tree isn’t necessary. It is the same anywhere.”

A flash of deep scarlet rose to Betty’s cheeks, as she realized that, for the first time in her acquaintance with Jack, she had deliberately invited his advances. And though a feeling of joy surged through her being at the thought of it, she was conscious of a deep sense of shame on realizing that she, who had always esteemed herself above such practices, had not only allowed another than her husband to make open advances to her, but had even encouraged him to do so.

“Please will you tell me the time?” she asked, with eyes averted.

“Just ten minutes after eight.”

“We must be hurrying along,” she said, quickening her step, “breakfast will be served, and besides we’re very bad.”

“Bad,” repeated Jack, “why bad?”

“Because it is bad for us to be speaking this way to each other--I’m deceiving Walter--I didn’t mean to say what I said.”

“But I meant what I said,” replied Jack, in his habitual positive tone, “and what’s more I can’t help it. Love is the only thing in life that can’t be regulated. It comes and goes unbidden. To work or to be idle, to be kind-hearted or cruel, to accustom ourselves to outdoor or indoor lives is ours to decree, but to love or not to love is beyond the power of any human being, and right at this moment I am loving you more than I ever loved any one in all my life.

“What causes this great love,” he continued philosophically, “I am at a loss to know. Candidly I should much prefer to love Sarah, because I believe she loves me, and besides she is not encumbered with a husband.”

“Walter is not an inc----.”

“Tell me honestly, Betty dear,” interrupted Jack, “do you want me to love you, or must I go away?”

“I think you must go away.” But she wished he would not take her at her word.

“When?”

“I--I don’t know,” she stammered, restraining her tears.

“But you care, don’t you? Admit it, do admit it. Admit it so that I can go back to my work and accomplish something.” He had not yet felt the sting of a troubled conscience, nor did he realize that the inconstancy of his friend was drawing a cloud around her life that might never be cleared away.

Betty stepped closer to the man, who had so dominated her will. She looked straight into his compelling eyes, and the words which she wanted to say failed her. She felt that she could not see him go from her, yet she knew that there was no comparison between him and her husband; that her husband possessed all the qualities of a strong and good man that the other man lacked.

Walter sat reading the morning paper. Jack paced slowly up and down on the veranda. The family gathered for breakfast. Betty appeared in a fresh yellow muslin, relieved by a snow white collar and sash. As she descended the stairs Walter laid aside the paper.

“Aren’t you going to church, dear?” he asked. “I thought you would be ready by this time.”

“Can we leave Jack?” her heart jumping at the mere mention of his name.

“Make him go along,” responded Walter.

“He doesn’t like church; and especially on a day like this, I am sure he would rather be out of doors.”

“Oh, well there is lots for him to do--ride, play golf, anything he likes. We’ll be gone but a short time.”

“Can’t we worship in the open today? It’s so wonderful out-of-doors.”

“It is wonderful,” replied Walter, drawing out Betty’s chair for her, “and it does seem hard to shut one’s self up on a day like this. But there is no getting around it--there are certain duties we owe to the Creator of these wonderful days, and there is only one day in the week on which we can openly pay them. If I evade them I am conscious all the week of having neglected my duty. It’s all right, dear, to say let’s worship in the open, but we just don’t do it. Once off, that’s the end of it.”

“Oh, come, Walt, don’t make me feel like a heathen,” interposed Jack. “I don’t mind going to church, but it’s the everlasting long sermons we are subjected to, that I dislike.”

“I admit it isn’t the sermon that attracts me; I go simply to offer my thanks, and--and to worship in a way, although I must confess that it is the whole service that does me good--the sermon, the hymns and the prayers. It’s like taking a shower on a hot day.”

“It is indeed,” remarked Aunt Marty. “I can tell you children from experience, that material things do not satisfy when one is nearing the end of life. It’s the good we’ve done and the trust we’ve had on the journey, and it is that worship that Walter speaks of that stimulates and inspires us to do the good and have the trust.”