Part 15

“My name is Anna, but my family call me Nannie.”

“Nannie! Dat’s sho’ a fine name, an’ I’ll take keer o’ you, Miss Nannie. Don’t you fret any. When you doan’ like things you jes’ scold old Katy, an’ it’ll be all right.”

“Well, you can begin luncheon now, and anything you can’t find you can ask me or Mrs. Winter. That’s my daughter.”

“What’s her name, Miss Nannie?”

“Her name is Lucy.”

“Dat’s a fine name, too. All right, Miss Nannie. You jes’ run away an’ ’muse yo’se’f an’ quit studyin’ ’bout de kitchen, an’ old Katy’ll look after things. Run on now. I doan’ want you all pesterin’ ’round when I’se busy.”

Nannie went upstairs to where Lucy was sewing.

“The new servant has come,” she announced. “John wrote that she is just from Tennessee and has never worked in the North before. She’ll take care of us like a servant ought to. You won’t need to worry about anything now. I showed her where things were and set her to work.”

Lucy continued to sew without replying. “Northerners don’t understand negroes,” went on Nannie. “If you’ll leave this Katy to me you’ll see how a servant ought to be handled. There’s no sense in having to worry over every detail in the house. That’s what negroes are for.”

Yet Lucy did not speak.

“What in the world’s the matter with you? Can’t you say anything?”

Lucy stared at her mother for a moment in a disconcerting manner.

“I don’t see what there is to say, Mother,” she answered finally.

“‘Mother!’” repeated Nannie. “I declare I don’t know what has gotten into you, Lucy! You treat me like a perfect stranger. Anyone would think you had no affection whatever in your makeup to hear you.”

Lucy went on sewing in silence.

“Lucy!” exclaimed Nannie nervously. “What’s the matter with you? I feel like I wanted to shake you. Why don’t you talk?”

“I don’t feel like talking,” said Lucy quietly.

“Now, Lucy, just because we may have had an occasional little tiff or two, that’s no reason why you should be resentful and act like this. Such trifles are not worth mentioning, much less brooding over.” And Mrs. Merwent went to Lucy’s chair and bent down over her.

Lucy rose hastily and left the room.

In a few minutes Nannie found her in the living room.

“Lucy,” Nannie began, “I don’t think you ought to treat me this way. When I make all the first advances you ought at least be ready to make up.”

“I’d rather not talk about it, Mother,” insisted Lucy.

“There you go again! ‘Mother’! Lucy, if you want us to be enemies instead of friends, why don’t you say so and be done with it?”

“Well, aren’t we enemies?” Lucy gazed into her mother’s eyes.

“Lucy!” Nannie’s eyes filled with tears. “What in the world _is_ the matter? Are you crazy?”

“I’m not sure,” answered Lucy in a low voice. “Come on, Lucy,” pleaded Nannie. “Let’s be friends again. Kiss me,” and she moved toward Lucy.

Lucy rose again.

“Don’t!” she ejaculated excitedly. “I can’t stand it!” and she put out her hand as though to hold her mother away.

They stood staring at each other.

Lucy made a motion as if to go.

“Oh, don’t bother to leave!” snapped Nannie angrily. “If my presence is so distasteful to you _I_ will go.” And she left the room.

When John came home Mrs. Merwent met him at the door and there was a short conference between them before he entered the living room alone.

“Lucy,” he began, “what in creation do you want to treat Nannie this way for?”

Lucy eyed him without stirring or answering.

“She’s gone upstairs to cry, you hurt her feelings so. You’ll drive her into marrying that Walsh man yet. She heard from him only today, she says. I should think you’d have a little pity in your makeup.”

“John,” said Lucy, at last, “you don’t understand or _you_ would have a little pity.”

“Understand what?” he responded irritably. “What has she done?”

“If you can’t see, I doubt if there’s any use telling you.” Lucy’s voice was that of one suffering physical pain.

“Well, I’m sure _I_ don’t know what it is, and she says she doesn’t. If it’s a little fancied slight, or some such thing, for heaven’s sake say what it is, and don’t be babyish.”

A little shiver went through Lucy, but she controlled herself and her voice was steady.

“I don’t think I am babyish, John, and I don’t think I am merely pouting over a fancied slight. And as you can’t see how things are, and have asked me, I will tell you.”

John’s eyes swerved a little.

“I don’t say mother is consciously trying to come between us, John. She doesn’t think things through sufficiently for that. But unless you and I can understand each other, she will ruin our home.” “I don’t know what you are driving at, Lucy. Nannie said it began with some trifling misunderstanding about the servant.”

“It isn’t _anything_ in particular. Oh, John, can’t you see?”

“I sure can’t. I’m blest if I can figure out any reason for all this tragic stuff. I didn’t take any stock at first in what Nannie said, that you had always been jealous of her, ever since you grew up, but I’ll swear it looks a little like it.”

Lucy regarded him in silence, her face drawn.

“What are you going to do about it? Are you going to keep on like this? You can’t put your mother in the street. She’s got no place to go. Your cousin has written her practically saying right out that she doesn’t want her.”

“No. That’s true,” Lucy almost moaned. “She has no place to go! Oh, John, what has changed you so? If we could only stand together in this!”

“Stand together in what?” John’s voice and manner were increasingly impatient. “You’re the one who has changed. You talk and act as if Nannie were a villainess in a melodrama, and yet you can’t state a single thing she has done. I’m getting about at the end of my forbearance.”

“So am I,” echoed Lucy, as though mentioning an unimportant fact.

“So far as I can see, Nannie has done absolutely nothing, and you are the one to blame for getting things into this beautiful mess.” John’s voice was like that of a judge, cold and impersonal.

Tears sprang to Lucy’s eyes.

“Oh, but she _has_, John. I am _not_ to blame. Oh, why can’t you see through her! Look at our home. Look at us. See how _everything_ is changed. Even Jim sees it. He realizes----” Lucy bit her lip.

“Yes, that’s probably the great trouble. Jim Sprague is more sympathetic than I am!”

“Oh, _don’t_, John,” pleaded Lucy, her eyes darkening.

“Yes. Nannie has been unfortunate enough to object to your showing so much interest in him. I had never thought anything about it, but it certainly explains----”

Lucy sprang to her feet.

“Be careful what you say,” she commanded. “Well, be careful what you do,” he retorted weakly, his eyes falling before hers.

Lucy left him standing there.

John and Nannie again sat down to dinner alone, talking in low tones. Dimmie came into the room while they were having soup and Nannie lifted her brows to John significantly.

“Tell the new servant to give you your dinner out in the kitchen. Your mother’s not coming down,” John told the child.

Dimmie hesitated, looking very much disappointed.

“Run along. That’s a good boy, Jimmie,” Nannie urged, smiling at him.

He turned on his heel and went out. A few minutes later he could be heard ascending the stairs to his mother’s room.

“Do you know, John, dear,” said Nannie after the child had gone, “that I sometimes think that Lucy is getting into an abnormal state. She is so melancholy and sensitive.”

“It certainly begins to look like it,” admitted John.

“If that is true, we must both be patient with her,” added Nannie.

John did not reply.

“That is one reason I hate so terribly to think of leaving you,” she remarked after a pause.

“Leaving us?” John glanced up quickly.

“I--I told you how I felt about Professor Walsh’s letter.” Nannie’s voice was unsteady and she stared at her plate.

“Nannie!” John leaned forward earnestly and laid his hand on hers where it rested on the table. “I want you to cut that nonsense out! Do you hear me?”

Nannie lifted her eyes.

“But, John----” she began.

“Don’t you ever talk of leaving us,” he interrupted. “It’s as you say. Lucy is in an abnormal state. She needs you to put some sanity into her. This is your home for as long as you will--for as long as you live----” John’s voice broke.

Nannie smiled uneasily. The two gazed at one another in silence.

“Thank you, dear John,” said Nannie, averting her face.

John withdrew his hand. There was another long pause.

“Will you pass me the spinach, John, dear,” Nannie requested in a tone different from that in which she had previously spoken.

* * * * *

On the succeeding morning Nannie rose early to eat with John. Lucy dressed Dimmie for kindergarten and sent him downstairs but she herself did not appear for breakfast.

John had hardly reached the office when the telephone rang.

“Miss Storms wants to speak to you, John,” said Jim, who had answered the call.

John took up the receiver.

“Good morning, Miss Storms.”

“Good morning, John. How did you leave Lucy this morning?”

“Oh, she’s all right,” he responded after a moment’s hesitation.

“I didn’t call up the house because I fancy Mrs. Merwent feels I am a sort of female Machiavelli.” Miss Storms laughed slightly. “I want to ask a favor, John. I am all tied up with engagements and can’t get down to your office. Can you come in for a few minutes this afternoon? I want to speak with you about something very important.”

John thought an instant.

“Yes,” he acceded.

“Could you come about four o’clock?”

“All right. Good-bye.” And he hung up the receiver.

* * * * *

Jim was silent all morning and seemed to be pondering something. When the two went out to luncheon together he unburdened himself.

“John, don’t you think Lucy is looking badly?” he demanded suddenly.

“I hadn’t noticed it,” John answered shortly.

“She’s thinner and paler and looks terribly worried,” Jim persisted.

John stared at his plate and made no reply. Jim was not to be discouraged.

“See here, John. You and I have been pretty close together ever since we were small kids--and I doubt if there’s anyone in the world who has the welfare of you and Lucy more at heart than I have.” Jim paused before resuming his unwonted loquacity.

John was still silent.

“I’ve got something on my mind, John, and I hope you won’t be offended at what I say?” Jim hesitated questioningly. “I know you are in a hard place, and it’s a hard thing to say, but if you don’t do something radical, Lucy’s mother is going to play hell in your home.” Jim stopped and showed his embarrassment. “I hope you don’t think I’m meddling. I’ve thought a long time before saying anything, and I expect you’ve lost more sleep over it than I have.”

“No, I’m not offended,” said John, flushing, “but I don’t think you understand the situation. It’s evident enough that you don’t like her.”

“Don’t like Lucy?” Jim almost gasped. “Since when?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that you like Lucy,” returned John coldly.

Jim set down his stein and motioned the waiter to bring his check.

“I’m going down the street. I’ll be back to the office about three o’clock,” he volunteered, after paying the cashier, and he went off in a direction opposite to that taken by John.

* * * * *

John rang at Miss Storms’ apartment at four o’clock.

“Come in, John,” she invited, opening the door.

She was alone. The servant was not to be seen.

“I was just going to make some tea for myself. Sit down.” She indicated an easy chair.

“I don’t believe I care for any tea, thanks,” John said a little stiffly when she was ready to pour it.

“No? Well, you smoke then. This is an age of nerves.”

“I think I will, thank you.” John lighted a cigarette.

“That’s right.” Miss Storms sipped her tea. “I hope I didn’t interrupt any business this morning when I called you up. I saw Lucy day before yesterday, and she frightened me. I never saw her looking so worn and harassed. She said she was well, but I couldn’t get her out of my mind.”

“She has seemed nervous and----” John paused uncomfortably. “Irritable?” suggested Miss Storms, smiling kindly.

“Yes, irritable,” admitted John, looking at his cigarette.

“Lucy is a dear girl,” Miss Storms remarked.

John smoked moodily.

“I was thinking yesterday about the time when she was here. I shall always remember it and what a privilege and pleasure it was to have her. I did so miss her when she left me. She met you at my first little party for her, didn’t she?”

John nodded his head.

“And then the day you were married--she looked radiant. You know an old maid loves to watch things she can’t have.” This was the first time Miss Storms had ever spoken intimately to John.

Without replying John lit another cigarette.

It was not Miss Storms’s way to be devious.

“I’m not asking you to confide in me, John,” she said, looking at him directly, “but something ought to be done.”

“There is nothing to confide, Miss Storms,” he answered, still distantly. “Lucy seems to have gotten a case of nerves lately, that’s all. I have about decided to have a doctor look her over. I’m sure I’m quite as interested in her health as you are.”

“Of course you are, more than I am,” agreed Miss Storms heartily, ignoring his tone, “but,” and her voice became grave, “I’m afraid you are the doctor, John.”

“I know you are fond of Lucy, Miss Storms,” returned John, nettled, “and I appreciate your interest. But if you think I am responsible for her state of mind you are mistaken.”

“If I had thought that I shouldn’t have asked you to come here,” was Miss Storms’s reply. “I know exactly who is to blame. And I realize that you are in almost as difficult a situation as Lucy. I have known a great deal of Mrs. Merwent for years.”

“From others,” put in John.

Miss Storms looked startled.

“Yes, from others,” she admitted, gazing curiously at him, “but certainly enough to understand some things.”

“You can discount most of what you hear from her enemies,” said John, coloring. “Men are stronger on justice than women.” Miss Storm’s smile was a little bitter. “They can afford it better. But listen to my plan. Mrs. Merwent is fond of society and--well, admires rich people. Now I have some friends to whom I can get Miss Powell to introduce her, and they will invite her to their country place, and in general take her out of the way for a part of the summer at least. You and Lucy can----”

“I don’t see any need at all for any such thing, Miss Storms. You entirely misjudge Mrs. Merwent. She is as anxious about Lucy as----”

Miss Storms set down her cup.

“Have you seen the Art Loan Exhibition?” she inquired in a changed manner. “We have a fine showing of the younger Spanish schools, loaned from Madrid.”

“No,” said John, surprised.

“Well, you must take Lucy and Mrs. Merwent to see it. It’s really worth while.”

“I will,” promised John perfunctorily, rising with a dazed air.

“Must you go? Well, good-bye. It was good of you to come. Give my love to Lucy, and remember me to Jim Sprague. I haven’t seen him for a long time.”

They touched hands stiffly.

When John had gone, Miss Storms went into her bedroom and shook her fist at her reflection in the pier glass.

* * * * *

John walked toward the office with his head bent and his eyes fixed on the ground, a puzzled, abstracted expression on his face. He did not see Jim who came out of the office building as he reached it. Jim passed on down the street in the direction of Layard’s.

It had begun to drizzle. John went into the draughting room and closed some windows which had been left open. Then he sat down in front of his desk with his hat on.

Lucy’s picture in a leather easel frame confronted him. He took it up and studied the clear eyes and beautiful mouth. Resting his chin on his hand he remained so, frowning at the wall.

XXIII

John left the office earlier than usual and reached home before anyone expected him. Nannie had just completed her toilette, however, and she fluttered into the hall to meet him.

“Are you tired, John, dear?” she asked as he hung up his hat.

“No, I’m not tired,” he answered without glancing at her. “Where’s Lucy?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she replied in a hurt tone of voice. “I suppose she is in her own room.”

John ascended the stairs without further conversation.

Left alone, Nannie examined her carefully groomed image in the hall mirror, and saw there a rather nonplussed face.

John entered the bedroom and found Lucy seated in a rocking chair crooning to Dimmie who was in her lap. The light in the room was dim, and her profile, as she bent over the child, was silhouetted against the glowing square of a western window.

“How do you feel, Lucy?” John asked, going over to her and hesitating awkwardly by her chair.

“I’m feeling all right. Why?” she returned, looking up quickly.

“Why--nothing. That is, I’ve been thinking that you haven’t looked very well of late. And you weren’t downstairs so I came up to see if anything was the matter.”

“Oh, thank you, John! I thought you----” Lucy could say no more. The tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Thought what? You little goose!” His voice shook slightly but it had something of its old time tone of affectionate banter. “You’re all frazzled out nervously. That’s what’s the matter with you. I’ve been noticing for some time that you didn’t look well. Come on down to dinner and quit thinking about imaginary troubles.” Lucy’s eyes were grateful. Her lips quivered a little.

“All right,” she answered, smiling with tears still on her lashes.

“Come on, Son,” invited John, lifting Dimmie to his shoulder. And the three descended the stairs.

Mrs. Merwent was sitting in the shadowy dining room without a light. John opened the electric switch.

“Kin I put de dinnah on?” asked Katy, emerging from the kitchen.

“Yes, Katy. I think everybody is ready at last,” responded Nannie, rising from her chair with reproachful dignity.

“Gee, but I’m hungry!” exclaimed John.

“Me, too!” chimed in Dimmie.

“How about you, Lucy?” laughed John.

“I think I am, too.” Lucy smiled rather wanly.

“Well, let’s eat.” John picked up his napkin. “The soup smells good.”

“It’s crawfish bisque,” Nannie put in quickly. “I had it made especially for you.”

“Can’t the rest of us have any?” asked Lucy with a slight attempt at pleasantry.

“I didn’t mean that,” observed Nannie acidly. “I only meant that I thought of John. He said the other day that he had never eaten any. But of course I might have expected that you would misunderstand me.”

“Now, Nannie,” expostulated John, “that was only an innocent joke. For heaven’s sake let’s not have another quarrel! I’d like a little peace.”

Mrs. Merwent’s eyes filled with tears.

“Well, I’ll go and--leave you in peace,” she sniffed, laying down her napkin and rising from the table.

“Well, what do you know about that!” ejaculated John after Nannie had left the room. “You two women will run me crazy. If it’s not one it’s the other.”

“John, I’m not to blame!” Lucy uttered this in the form of a statement but her tone was tremulously beseeching.

“I’m hanged if _I_ know who’s to blame!” declared John petulantly. “All I’m certain of is that I’ve got about all I can stand of it.” Katy rushed breathlessly into the room.

“Miss Lucy,” she wheezed, “I ’spec’s Miss Nannie am dretful sick. She am groanin’ an’ cryin’ pow’ful bad.”

John sprang to his feet.

“I wonder what’s the matter?” he exclaimed questioningly. “Why don’t you go and see, Lucy?” he added accusingly.

“She’s only angry, John,” answered Lucy, watching his face with anxiety.

Nannie’s moans could be heard.

“People don’t make sounds like that because they are angry,” retorted John. “If you’re not going upstairs, I am!”

Lucy rose.

She ascended the stairs to Nannie’s room. John followed her almost immediately, but remained in the hall outside the door.

“What is the matter, Mother?” Lucy inquired, approaching the bed where Nannie lay in an abandon of weeping, her face hidden by the pillows.

“Oh, go away! Go away!” cried Mrs. Merwent, breaking into a fresh paroxysm of sobs.

“Now, Mother, don’t act this way.” Lucy spoke as to a child. “Tell me what it is you’re crying about.”

“Oh, Lucy, is it--oh, it was John--oh, I can’t----” she moaned.

“What did he do?” insisted Lucy. “If you mean what he said at dinner, I don’t see anything to get into this state over.”

“It wasn’t that alone. It was when he came home. O-oh----” and Nannie lamented afresh.

“Mother,” ordered Lucy impatiently, seizing Mrs. Merwent’s shoulder as though with intent to shake her, “either stop crying or tell what you are crying about. You’ll drive everybody crazy. John is half distracted already, and nobody can do anything for you while you act like this.”

Nannie continued to weep, but less violently.

“Tell us what it is so we can do something, and let John go down and eat his dinner.”

“Is he upstairs?” inquired Nannie, glancing at the door.

“Yes, of course. He’s standing outside in the hall.” Nannie redoubled her sobs and wails.

“Well, if you intend to keep on like this, I am going,” threatened Lucy, losing her temper.

“Oh, don’t go, Lucy! Please don’t go!” moaned Nannie.

“Well, then, stop acting as though you were dying, and say what you’re crying about.”

“Oh, you are so cruel,” sighed Nannie.

“Very well. I’m going.” Lucy moved toward the door.

“Come back! Come--back--and I--will tell----” Nannie entreated brokenly.

“Well?” Lucy returned to the bed.

Nannie seized her hand.

“It was when--he--came home. I--went to meet--him--and he--he was so cold and cross with me! I have just written to Professor Walsh--and told him--I couldn’t go--back to Russellville yet--and now--John--makes me feel like I ought--to have gone right away. O-oh!” and a fresh fit of weeping began.

“What did John say?”

“Why--why he--he hardly answered me--and--and--o-oh what have I done?” she wailed again in a storm of sobbing.

“I’m sure you misunderstood him, Mother. He was probably worried and tired. John is human like the rest of us, and you are foolish to make a mountain out of a mole hill.”

“No, I didn’t misunderstand him, Lucy,” persisted Mrs. Merwent, forgetting to cry. “He has _never_ spoken to me in that way before. Something has happened to make him hate me.”

Lucy smiled in spite of herself.

“Well, let’s not have any more tragic scenes over it. It’s doubtless something very simple, and I’ll speak to him about it. Come on down and finish your dinner.”