Part 10

“I did want to,” acknowledged Dimmie, “but Nannie said I couldn’t.”

“Why, Jimmie!” Mrs. Merwent cried. “What an awful story!” She turned to John. “Did you ever see such a child! Lucy had changed his clothes after the ladies left and I only said to him that his mother was too tired to change him again just to go out for a few moments.”

“What do you mean by telling an untruth, Dimmie?” demanded John.

Dimmie began to cry. Lucy took the child’s hand.

“I don’t see any untruthfulness,” she contended. “Mamma didn’t want him and her exact wording doesn’t matter.”

“Why, Lucy,” said John reproachfully, “you surely don’t think your mother would----”

Nannie laid her hand on his arm.

“Don’t, John,” she urged. “Lucy is tired, and it’s really only a trifle. Let’s talk about something pleasant.”

“All right, but I must say you’re awfully good natured, Nannie!”

“I saw you carrying a roll of something. Did you get my music?” she asked.

“Yes. It’s in the hall with my hat. Do you want to try it now?”

“Why, if there’s time before supper. Is there, Lucy?”

“Yes,” said Lucy, and John and Nannie started toward the living room.

That night when John came whistling to bed, he found Lucy by the window staring out.

“Why, Lucy, aren’t you in bed yet?” he asked cheerfully. “John, I wish you’d mow the lawn again,” she said, as though not hearing his question. “It’s been over two weeks since you did and it looks ragged. You used to keep it so beautifully.”

* * * * *

The next morning Lucy was dusting the dining room furniture. Mrs. Merwent had just finished her usual tardy breakfast.

“Who was that woman with her hat stuck on the back of her head who came so early yesterday?” she asked, pushing her chair away from the table.

Lucy frowned slightly.

“I suppose you mean Mrs. Hamilton. I never noticed how she wore her hat but she was the one who came earliest. I told you she was our neighbor when I introduced you. I like her the best of all those who were here,” Lucy returned with antagonistic emphasis.

“Well, I could never like a woman who wore her hat like that,” Nannie asserted. “Now that Miss Powell was the smartest one present at your tea. The way she put her hat on had real dash to it. She studies herself and dresses to bring out her points to the best advantage. I think that it’s a woman’s duty to look as well as she can.”

“I never cared for Miss Powell,” said Lucy stubbornly. “She always seemed so selfish to me.”

“Well, I thought she was nice,” persisted Nannie injuredly. “Her brother is William J. Powell of Powell and Powell. John knows the firm. She’s going to call on me soon and before the season’s over we’re going to a matinée together. I tell you, Lucy, you’re making a mistake, living by yourself. You owe it to John to make friends. A woman can advance her husband in lots of ways if she’s clever about it.”

Lucy opened her lips to speak but restrained the impulse before she had put her reply into words.

“Now one thing we could do to extend your acquaintance would be to have nice teas on Sundays,” Nannie resumed. “Then you could have friends in, and in time keep sort of open house Sunday evenings.” “We can’t afford extra things, Mamma. Our means won’t allow it.”

“But, Lucy, it wouldn’t cost hardly anything. You are so clever about making things. Why your biscuits and fricasseed chicken the other day were the best things I ever tasted. Let’s try it next Sunday.”

“But whom shall we invite, Mamma?”

“Let’s invite your friend, Mr. Sprague,” suggested Nannie smiling.

“He’s not my friend any more than he is John’s, and not as much,” said Lucy coldly.

“Why, Lucy, who said he was! I meant yours and John’s both. I only wanted to please you. I declare, we can’t mention Mr. Sprague’s name without your getting offended.”

Lucy changed the subject and did not refer to it again, but Nannie brought up her suggestion when John came home, and he seconded the plan heartily.

“Yes. Let’s have Jim out Sunday!” he cried. “He’s moping around these days like he’d lost his grandmother. It’ll do him good.”

“All right,” suddenly agreed Lucy. “We will.”

Nannie seemed surprised at her ready acquiescence.

XV

Jim appeared punctually at the appointed hour on Sunday evening. It had been a brilliant spring day. The late sunshine was now mellowed by shadows that fell thick on the front of the Winter house and made it look cool and inviting. As he came up the walk he saw Mrs. Merwent on the front porch.

She wore an elaborate white _lingérie_ dress with a wide lavender sash. She had just cut some lilacs from the bush under the dining room window and as she mounted the steps she held them out for him to admire.

“I won’t offer you any more flowers, Mr. Sprague,” she began, referring to the incident of the _boutonnière_ on the occasion of his first visit.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Merwent. They are certainly pretty,” Jim answered without returning her smile.

“They would go well with your grey suit too,” she persisted teasingly.

Jim was very careful of his attire but shy of personalities of any nature. He ignored Mrs. Merwent’s remark and turned to John who had just emerged from the house.

“Hello, John,” he called. “Where’s Lucy?”

“In the kitchen as usual.” John laughed. “She seems to have adopted cooking as her life work lately. It’s a good thing I have Nannie to console me.”

Jim scrutinized John but did not speak. The three made their way to the living room.

“Hello, Uncle Jim! The cookies are made in stars!” Dimmie cried, rushing up to Jim and embracing his knees.

“Everything seems to be in gala array,” Jim observed, looking around the room and noticing a bowl of violets and narcissi, and two or three bunches of lilacs on the piano and mantel shelf.

“Nannie is a real artist at arranging flowers, Jim,” John declared admiringly. Mrs. Merwent smiled.

“With John’s pictures the house hardly needs any other decoration,” she began. “I think they’re----”

“Come and see Mamma, Uncle Jim,” Dimmie begged, tugging at Jim’s trouser leg.

“Did she tell you to call him, Jimmie?” Nannie inquired quickly.

“Come on, Uncle Jim,” Dimmie begged, not heeding his grandmother.

“Answer Nannie, Dimmie,” commanded John sternly.

“She won’t say my name,” protested Dimmie.

“Do what I tell you. Answer Nannie.”

“Now, John, I’m sure Jimmie doesn’t mean to be rude.”

“Well, he’s got to learn not to be.”

“I want to go back to Mamma,” wailed Dimmie.

“Come along, kid,” Jim said, as though he were oblivious to the discussion between John and Nannie. He lifted the child to his shoulder and the two left the room.

“Of course he has to go to Lucy as soon as he gets here. There are few men as big souled as you, John, who wouldn’t resent such devotion to their wives.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Nannie.” John looked at Mrs. Merwent in a worried, perplexed way.

“Of course you don’t, you great-hearted fellow! Suppose we go out on the veranda until tea is ready.”

Not long after Lucy sent Dimmie to call them in.

Nannie and John praised the hot biscuit and fricasseed chicken. When tea was over they returned to the living room leaving Jim and Lucy still at the table.

“I’m going to sing the new song John brought me,” Nannie explained as she went out.

“Let’s go too so we can hear better,” said Lucy to Jim.

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were unusually bright. She and Jim seated themselves near the piano, Dimmie perched on Jim’s knee, while John stood by Nannie and turned the music for her.

“I think it’s pretty. Don’t you, Jim?” Lucy commented when the last notes died away.

“Very,” agreed Jim. “‘Pretty’ isn’t the word,” put in John. “It’s a beautiful little gem. And how well Nannie sings it! Don’t you think her expression is perfect?”

“You’ll make me blush if you don’t stop, John,” protested Nannie with her silveriest laugh.

“Well, I want you to be appreciated,” insisted John warmly.

“Don’t you think we appreciate Mamma’s singing?” asked Lucy.

“You don’t either of you seem much moved by it,” answered John.

“Now, John,” interrupted Nannie soothingly, smiling up at him.

“Sing that other one, the one I got last week,” urged John. “Here it is,” and he laid a piece of music open on the rack.

“Now wait a minute! Let me rest,” Nannie objected.

There was a pause.

“Let’s not sing any more now. You forget that perhaps everybody isn’t as fond of music as you are, John,” she began after an awkward moment.

“Do sing it, please,” pleaded Lucy. “Jim and I both love music, and Jim hasn’t heard it.”

“No, I’m not in very good voice tonight. It’s a mistake to sing when you’re not feeling like it. You lose your reputation.”

“Please,” Lucy begged again.

“I should like very much to hear it,” Jim joined in.

“Thank you, but you’ll have to excuse me this time,” said Nannie.

Again silence descended on the little group.

“Singing makes me thirsty,” announced Nannie at length, rising and moving toward the dining room.

“Let me get you a drink,” offered John, following her. “Don’t you want some lemonade? I’ll get the ice for you.”

“Let’s you and I make lemonade for everybody,” proposed Nannie as they entered the dining room.

“All right,” acceded John gleefully. Then, raising his voice, “You two stay in there. Nannie and I are fixing a surprise for you.”

“Good,” said Jim grimly. For a moment Lucy sat looking at Jim without a word. The voices of John and Nannie and the tinkling of glasses and ice came faintly from the other room.

“You can’t make a square into a circle, Lucy,” Jim began very soberly, breaking the silence.

Lucy’s lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears.

“Thank you for understanding, Jim,” she replied unsteadily.

Jim glanced at her.

“I’m going to smoke,” he decided sourly.

Lucy smiled.

“I wish you would, Jim. I must take Dimmie up to bed. I’ll be right down.”

She led the child away, but in a short time rejoined Jim in the living room. He was walking up and down. His pipe was still in his mouth but it had gone out.

“I feel better,” she informed him. “Dimmie is the sweetest thing after he gets into bed at night.”

“He’s a great kid,” Jim growled approvingly.

John appeared with one of Nannie’s dainty tea aprons around him, carrying a tray on which were two glasses. Nannie followed him with the pitcher of lemonade.

“Mrs. Winter.” She stopped in front of Lucy and made a curtsey. “Hold the tray straight, John,” and she poured one of the glasses full.

Lucy took it.

“Do you think the mistress is pleased with us, John?” Mrs. Merwent murmured, with mock humility.

“Give Jim some too, Mamma,” Lucy interrupted gently.

“Wait a minute! I’m going as fast as I can, Lucy!” Nannie exclaimed with some irritation.

She led John over to Jim.

“Mr. Sprague,” she said with another curtsey.

“Aren’t you going to have any, Mrs. Merwent?” asked Jim.

“Oh, Mr. Sprague, the mistress wouldn’t like us to drink with the gentlefolk,” she answered coquettishly. “We’ll have ours later in the dining room.”

“That’s right, Mary. I’m glad to see you know your place. I’m strong for the proprieties myself,” Jim responded, drinking the lemonade. “You needn’t wait, either of you,” he added, returning the glass to the tray. “When we want you we’ll ring for you.” Jim was gazing straight into Nannie’s eyes and she tittered uneasily.

John laughed extravagantly.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. “Come on, Nannie,” and he departed, followed by Mrs. Merwent, who glanced back covertly at Jim as she passed him.

“Don’t you see, John!” Nannie exclaimed as soon as they reached the dining room. “They had rather be alone. Lucy don’t want us.”

“It was only Jim’s way of joking. He didn’t mean anything,” John explained soothingly, looking worried in spite of himself, as he remembered Nannie’s enigmatic remark earlier in the evening.

“Yes, he did. You didn’t see the hostile look he gave me. Lucy and he always manage to make us seem foolish!”

“Now, Nannie, you’re imagining,” said John soothingly. Lucy didn’t say anything.

“That’s just it!” retorted Mrs. Merwent. “She never does but she always sees to it that she and Mr. Sprague----” Nannie’s eyes and mouth opened for, chancing to turn, she saw Lucy in the doorway.

“Lucy, you’re spying on us! I didn’t think you’d stoop to do a thing like that!” she cried excitedly, recovering from her surprise.

“No, I wasn’t, Mamma, I came to ask you and John to come into the sitting room,” replied Lucy, eyeing her mother squarely.

“I won’t stand it!” cried Nannie hysterically, and as she spoke she almost ran into the hall, and seizing a scarf as she passed the hat and umbrella stand, went out, slamming the front door behind her.

John stood undecided and uneasy by the dining table.

“Lucy, you oughtn’t to have come in like this without saying a word----” he faltered.

“Why not?” demanded Lucy.

“Because--because--Nannie wasn’t saying anything,” he stammered. Lucy turned to leave the room.

“Where do you think she’s gone?” he asked nervously.

“I don’t know,” replied Lucy.

“Shall I go and look for her?” he continued.

“I don’t know,” she repeated, and disappeared into the sitting room.

As Lucy entered the room where Jim was the front door clicked after John. She seated herself in a chair near Jim.

“Don’t you think I’d better go home, Lucy?” queried Jim in a low voice.

“Please don’t go,” she begged, laying a hand on his sleeve. “Let’s talk.”

“What about?” he asked with a grimace.

“Tell me about when you were a little boy, Jim. Don’t you wish we never had to grow up!”

“No,” replied Jim. “But I’ll tell you about my first day in school,” he added with a slight smile.

“All right.” Lucy smiled back at him and settled herself comfortably in her chair.

She wore a dress of blue and white striped voile that was deeply open at the throat, and Lucy’s throat was youthfully lovely. To Jim she appeared more girlish than he had ever seen her.

“The teacher whipped a little girl and I bit him in the leg to make him stop,” began Jim.

“Tell me all about it,” begged Lucy, drawing her chair closer.

* * * * *

It was nearly an hour before John and Nannie returned.

“What do you suppose is keeping John and Mrs. Merwent?” Jim had repeated uncomfortably more than once before the time had elapsed.

“I don’t know, Jim. Go on with what you were telling,” Lucy always answered.

Jim had frowned but resumed his narrative.

All the while Lucy showed no perturbation whatever at the continued absence of her mother and husband. Jim told story after story of his boyhood experiences, she asking questions and adding comments at which they both laughed. When John and Mrs. Merwent entered the house they came through the hall straight into the living room.

“We’ve been for a walk,” John announced breezily. “It’s a great night. Did you people see the moonlight?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” said Jim.

Nannie’s eyes showed traces of tears and her voice was subdued.

“You two look cosy in here,” she remarked as if in search of something to say.

“We have been,” Lucy told her.

“Well, I must go.” Jim rose.

“Hadn’t you better stay till morning?” John suggested.

“No.”

Lucy was silent.

After good nights were exchanged Jim left the house.

“I’m going to bed.” Nannie did not speak to any one in particular.

“Good night,” responded John and Lucy, and Mrs. Merwent ascended the stairs.

“I could hardly get her to come back,” John told Lucy after they had gone to their room. “She’s so sensitive, Lucy. She talked about the way you felt toward her. She doesn’t think you have ever gotten over your old hard feelings.”

“It wasn’t _my_ hard feelings, John.” Lucy spoke in an emotionless tone.

“Now, Lucy,” John remonstrated, “anyone would think that you and I were perfect and nobody but Nannie was ever to blame for anything.” Lucy was silent and he went on. “She was so upset she talked about going home and marrying that Professor Walsh. I must say I think things are pretty bad when your own mother feels as though she was so little at home in her daughter’s house that she has to turn to a man like that----” He stopped.

“It’s your house, too, John,” put in Lucy, her lip quivering.

“Well, heaven knows, I don’t want to run her out of it!” he answered pettishly.

Lucy lay down on the bed, her face turned away from him. No more words passed between them and soon John, at least, was sleeping.

XVI

The morning following Jim’s visit it was raining. Dismal little rivers trickled along the eaves of the houses and Dimmie, kneeling in an arm chair by the dining room window, flattened his nose against the glass and regarded disconsolately the damp length of the rope swing that trailed from the elm tree. It swayed gently in the wind and its motion suggested many tantalizing possibilities to the small prisoner.

“Don’t mash your nose like that! You’ll get it all out of shape,” Nannie called to him, She had been eating her breakfast in mournful solitude. It was late and John had long ago gone to catch his train and Lucy was busy in the kitchen.

“Are you still angry with me, Lucy?” Mrs. Merwent questioned when Lucy came into the room for a moment.

“No,” said Lucy in a matter-of-fact voice. “I’m going shopping this afternoon if it clears off. Don’t you want to go? Mrs. Hamilton is going to look after Dimmie.”

“I suppose you despise me too much to be angry,” persisted Nannie.

“Let’s think of something else, Mamma.”

“How can I think of anything else when the only person I have in the world feels hard towards me?”

“But I don’t feel hard toward you, Mamma.”

“No! You can take a lofty attitude, Lucy. I was the one who was put in a humiliating position.”

“I didn’t suppose you were saying nasty and untrue things behind my back, Mamma, or I wouldn’t have come into the dining room.”

“You are so unjust, Lucy!” Nannie was in tears now. “You overhear a playful and joking word or two and immediately jump to the conclusion that I was backbiting you. Anybody can take a single phrase without the context and twist it into something mean.” “I heard plenty, Mamma, to know just the sort of situation you were trying to create. But nothing is gained by talking about what’s past, so let’s try and forget it.”

“Oh, Lucy, I don’t see how you can be so cruel! There is absolutely no generous spirit in you. I have overlooked everything and never refer to it.”

“I didn’t refer to this, Mamma.”

Nannie sobbed violently.

“I see that you will never, never forgive me, Lucy.”

“I have forgiven you, Mamma.”

“Well, you wouldn’t say so. You would rather let me suffer.”

“No, Mamma. I don’t want you to suffer. It is I who have suffered about this matter.”

“That sounds a lot like you had forgiven me.”

“Well, I have,” repeated Lucy in a gentler tone.

Mrs. Merwent went to her daughter and put her arms around Lucy’s neck.

“Kiss me, Lucy,” she implored. “I can’t bear to have you not love me and respect me. I hate to be forgiven by my own child!”

Lucy softened suddenly and returned Nannie’s kiss, but without speaking.

* * * * *

The sky cleared later in the day, and when Dimmie was dispatched to Mrs. Hamilton’s house with a note Lucy and Nannie took the train to the city.

Mrs. Merwent wore a black tailored suit and a black and white hat. Her heavily figured veil was very becoming.

As they were leaving the station Miss Storms in her car called out: “Lucy! Are you going to give me the dead cut, dear child? How are you?” and she descended from the automobile.

“You’re looking fagged, dear,” she observed as she kissed Lucy. Then her eye caught Nannie’s.

“This is my mother, Mrs. Merwent, Miss Storms,” Lucy explained.

Nannie bowed stiffly, ignoring Miss Storms’ smile and half extended hand. Lucy showed that she was disturbed. Miss Storms stood very straight, drew herself up to her tallest, and kept one hand on the open door of her limousine.

“How are John and dear little Dimmie?” she inquired. “And Jim Sprague too? I haven’t seen him for a month.”

“Oh, we’re all well, thank you,” replied Lucy. “I would have been in to see you but I’ve been very busy since Mamma came.”

“I can imagine so.” Miss Storms smiled impersonally. “I’m sure you are enjoying your mother’s visit.” Then, including Nannie, “How do you like Chicago, Mrs. Merwent?”

“Very much indeed,” stated Nannie with great dignity.

“By the way, Lucy, I’ve been wanting to see you, but I’ll call you up on the ’phone in a day or two.” Miss Storms then spoke in a general tone. “Can I take you two anywhere?”

“No, thank you,” answered Lucy.

“Well, good-bye, dear. Don’t work too hard,” and she pinched Lucy’s cheek. Again in the impersonal tone she had used a moment before, “Good-bye, Mrs. Merwent,” and Miss Storms returned to her seat in the car and snapped the door to, scarcely waiting to hear Nannie’s response.

As the machine whirred away Miss Storms waved her hand to Lucy, who waved back with a smile.

“Shall we walk, Mamma, or had you rather take a street car?” asked Lucy.

“Lucy,” said Nannie, her voice trembling, “I shouldn’t think you’d have the face to introduce that woman to me!”

“What could I do, Mamma?” retorted Lucy.

“You could have ignored her. I should think that your mother would come before a mere acquaintance.”

“But, Mamma, she’s not a mere acquaintance.”

“Well, I should think a woman who was your mother’s enemy would hardly be the one to make an intimate of.”

“She’s been very good to me, Mamma.”

“Of course that excuses all she has done to me, Lucy. All you know is that she hates me and that is sufficient to make you idolize her.”

“But, Mamma, I know lots about her. She is one of Papa’s friends and----”

“Yes! That’s it! Anybody _he_ picks up on the street is good enough for you. Don’t think of _me_ or my feelings, I beg of you, Lucy. Anybody, no matter what her reputation----”

“Mamma, Miss Storms is one of the most distinguished women in the United States. Here in Chicago her influence is greater than almost any man’s in public life. The whole city is proud of her.”

“How do _you_ know all this?”

“Why you only have to read the newspapers. Everybody knows it.”

“Is she rich, Lucy?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. I think she must be, she gives so much away.”

“Was that her machine?”

“Why, yes. She has an electric too, and her flat is the most beautiful thing you ever saw.”

“She certainly dresses elegantly,” admitted Nannie, “doesn’t she!”

“Yes,” agreed Lucy.

“Does she entertain much?”

“No, Mamma. She’s too busy.”

“I suppose she doesn’t go into society, then?” pursued Nannie interrogatively.