Part 19

“It’s fine,” John whispered back. When they rose Mrs. Merwent and John went into the living room at once, and sat without a light talking in low tones.

“Did you notice how strangely Lucy acts even with Mr. Sprague?” Nannie glanced toward the door as she spoke.

“He’s enough to make anybody act strangely,” was John’s irritated response.

“He is, John, dear, and you were so wonderfully patient with him. But Lucy is sick. There’s no doubt about that. Mentally sick, I mean. Oh, John, I do so want to help you out of this terrible situation!”

He pressed her hand.

“You help me every time you breathe, God knows, Nannie,” he asserted feelingly.

Lucy and Jim were silent in the dining room. Contrary to his custom, Jim was not smoking.

“Lucy, are you offended with me?” he asked at length.

“No, Jim,” was the reply.

“What’s the matter?”

Tears started to Lucy’s eyes and she shook her head.

“I can’t tell you, Jim,” she said in a low tone, after a pause.

Jim’s eyes were deep as he watched her pale face and quivering lips.

“I would do anything, Lucy, anything--to help you.”

“Thank you, Jim. I know you would.”

“Won’t you let me try?” he began.

She shook her head.

“No, Jim. It’s no use. Nobody can help anybody. I--I----” The tears stood in her eyes again.

“Lucy,” Jim’s voice was tense, “if you knew how much I--prize your friendship--how much I----”

“Don’t--Jim----” She spoke under her breath.

Nothing was said by either for several minutes. The murmur of John’s and Nannie’s voices continued in the living room.

“I’m going.” Jim rose and held out his hand.

Lucy placed hers in it. His clasp was warmer and longer than it had ever been before.

“Lucy, if you need me--that is if I----” His voice trembled but his eyes sought hers insistently. “If you need me,” he repeated, and paused.

“Thank you, Jim.”

“Tell Dimmie good-bye for me.”

He went out without saying good night to John and Nannie. Lucy did not go to the door with him.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Merwent called from the living room after a time. “I’m coming in.” She did not show herself immediately.

Lucy made no reply, and Nannie approached the door and looked in.

“Why, where is Mr. Sprague?” she inquired.

“He has gone home.” Lucy’s expression was hostile. “And if he were here, you need not insult us both by warning us that you were coming.”

“Why, Lucy, I only thought----”

“You only thought something vile, as usual,” Lucy interrupted.

“What right have you got to say such a thing as that to me?”

“You have given me the right to say far worse things to you. You are not in a position to defend yourself from anything I care to say.” Lucy’s tone was hard. Nannie could not meet her daughter’s eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” demanded Mrs. Merwent angrily.

“You know very well what I mean,” declared Lucy evenly, rising and starting toward the hall.

John appeared on the threshold.

“Where’s Jim?” he questioned.

“He’s gone home,” Nannie informed him.

“Well, what did he sneak out without saying a word for?”

Lucy’s eyes glinted, but she only said, “You’d better ask him. I don’t know.”

Dimmie ran in from the kitchen.

“Mamma! Mrs. Hamilton wants----” he began.

“Come to bed. You can tell me upstairs.” Lucy caught the child’s hand.

The two went out. “John, what in the world do you suppose is the matter with Lucy? She treats me terribly.”

“I’m damned if I know!” exclaimed John fiercely. “I’m sick of it.”

“I don’t know what’s to become of us if she keeps on like this,” Nannie continued.

“Well, I know what will become of _me_ if it goes on much longer!” His tone was eloquent.

“Now, John,” Mrs. Merwent placed her hand on the sleeve of his coat. “For my sake, John. I have suffered so much for Lucy already.” Tears seemed near.

“I’ll sit tight and do the best I can, Nannie, but as much as you’ve done for me, there are some things I can’t bear.”

Nannie sighed.

“I’ve noticed that every time she sees Mr. Sprague she’s worse,” she remarked significantly a moment later.

She and John stood looking into each other’s faces.

“Poor John.” She took one of his hands in both hers.

He returned appreciatively the pressure she gave it, then moved away.

“Are you going to bed so early?” she interrogated uneasily.

“No. I’m going to take a walk,” he answered. And the door slammed after him.

XXVII

Lucy rose early the following day, and when John and Nannie came downstairs they found her, pale and haggard, moving about the kitchen giving instructions to Katy.

“Now, Lucy,” objected Mrs. Merwent, “you shouldn’t do this. Dr. Hamilton said you were to have absolute rest.” Nannie herself looked fresh and immaculate. “If you don’t stop frowning like that,” she added, “nothing on earth will ever take the wrinkles out of your forehead.”

Without replying to her mother, Lucy finished her marketing list.

“Put breakfast on, Katy,” she said to the servant.

“Yes, you may put breakfast on, Katy,” repeated Mrs. Merwent. “Mr. Winter is waiting.”

“Yes, Miss Nannie. Right dis minute,” replied the negress with alacrity.

The postman’s whistle blew and, as Katy was busy with the dishes, Nannie went to the door. She returned with a letter in her hand.

“I suppose your father has some more insults to heap on me,” she observed acridly, as she gave the envelope to Lucy.

Lucy glanced at it and recognized Mr. Merwent’s handwriting. She left the room.

“Oh, don’t be afraid! I’m not going to ask you what’s in it!” Nannie called after her in a trembling voice.

John was reading the morning paper in the living room and Dimmie was out of doors, so when Lucy mounted the stairs the upper floor was deserted. She entered her bedroom and, locking the door, seated herself weakly on the edge of her bed. She opened the letter.

“Dear Daughter,” it began. “We leave in the morning as I expected. Ellen and I had hoped to see you and the boy once more before our departure, but Miss Storms learned through your husband that you were not coming again, and also that you were not well. I can understand that your nerves have been nearly ruined and imagine your condition.

“It seems strange that peace loving people like you and me and Ellen should be forced to quarrel with each other. I do not blame you (you will say I have no right to do so), nor is it my place to comment on the attitude your husband has taken. Sufficient to say that he has accepted your mother’s assessment of values in family matters.

“I know that you wish to remain neutral, but I have learned to my own sorrow the impossibility of a neutral peace where your mother is concerned. It seems to me, as things are, that the kindest thing Ellen and I can do in your interest is to do nothing and consider ourselves entirely out of the matter.

“Remember, Lucy, no matter what you may think of me, that I blame you in nothing, and that I try to regard your husband’s hostility to us with as much detachment as is in accord with my respect and affection for Ellen and the right I feel to demand that respect from others.

“Kiss the little boy for us both. We hope from our hearts that your indisposition is not serious. You know the cure. Ellen, in particular, regrets the impossible circumstances, etc. But why say more of that?

“Your friend and father, “Arthur Merwent.”

Lucy sat for some time with the letter in her hand. When she finally rose it was to begin to dress for the street.

A little later she descended the stairs, wearing her hat and carrying her gloves and purse. Nannie and John were breakfasting when she entered the dining room and took her place at the table.

“You’re not going out this morning, are you, Lucy?” Nannie inquired, staring at her daughter’s apparel. “You know the doctor said you were to keep quiet.”

“Yes, I’m going out,” Lucy told her.

“Now, Lucy, you ought not to disobey the doctor’s orders. You will be much better quiet here at home.”

Lucy did not reply. “Where are you going?” Mrs. Merwent persisted.

“I’m going down town.”

“Are you going shopping?”

“No.”

“Well, _I_ don’t think you ought to go. Do you, John?”

“What I think is of little consequence in this house,” answered John. He scanned the newspaper at his elbow as he spoke.

“Didn’t you say last night that you were going to Benton Harbor again today, John?” Nannie asked somewhat irrelevantly, glancing sharply at Lucy’s face.

“Yes.” John picked up his paper.

“And you won’t be back till night?” she pursued with her eyes still on Lucy’s profile.

“No.” John went on reading.

“Well, I’m certain Lucy ought not to go.” Nannie returned to the first topic with seeming carelessness.

Though Lucy had scarcely tasted her breakfast she rose and, taking up her purse and gloves, went upstairs again. She did not take Dimmie to Mrs. Hamilton’s until her husband and mother had gone to the station.

Dr. Hamilton, after a sleepless night with a bad patient, was sitting with his wife at the table finishing a late breakfast, when Lucy and Dimmie came in.

“I thought you were taking the rest cure,” the doctor greeted Lucy jocularly. He got up and lifted Stella from her high chair beside him. The little girl flew enthusiastically to welcome Dimmie.

“I am.” Lucy smiled rather wanly.

“How is your mother? She ought to have used her influence to keep you at home today,” Dr. Hamilton resumed.

“Mrs. Merwent is very well, thank you.” Lucy stooped to kiss Stella.

“I hope you’ve come to spend the day,” suggested Mrs. Hamilton cordially.

“No. I’m going down town,” replied Lucy.

“I don’t know about that,” objected the doctor doubtfully.

“Please don’t, Dr. Hamilton,” Lucy protested quickly.

He glanced at her keenly. “I think perhaps going out a little may do you good,” he conceded after a moment.

Lucy had seated herself in a bow window commanding the street. Soon she saw Nannie returning from the station.

“When does the train leave, Doctor?” Lucy asked.

“In eight minutes,” he informed her, after consulting his watch.

“Well, then, I’ll be going.” Lucy rose and shook hands.

“Come over whenever you can and bring Dimmie and stay as long as you can, won’t you, Mrs. Winter?” urged Mrs. Hamilton earnestly. “And your mother, too. I’m afraid she’s standing on ceremony.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton; I will,” Lucy smiled evasively.

In less than an hour she rang the bell at Miss Storms’s apartment.

“Why, Mrs. Winter!” exclaimed the maid as she opened the door and saw Lucy. “Miss Storms is out. She went to see Mr. and Mrs. Merwent off but she’ll be back at ten. Won’t you wait? I’m sure she would be disappointed at not seeing you. I think she thought you’d be at the station.”

“Yes, I’ll wait,” agreed Lucy.

“Come right in and take a chair, Mrs. Winter.”

Lucy entered the pleasant reception room and, taking up a book from a table, sat down by a window. Although the volume was the translation of a Russian novel she had often wished to see, her interest evidently was not in what she read. Most of the time while the book was in her hand she spent in staring over the roofs of the city that stretched before her. Finally Miss Storms’ key was heard in the latch and the door opened.

“Why, Lucy! Bless your heart. I’m so glad you’re better,” Miss Storms ejaculated, kissing her friend’s cheek. “They’ve just gone. If you’d come to the station you could have caught them.”

“I wanted to see you,” replied Lucy, not responding to her hostess’s smile.

Miss Storms was studying Lucy’s face carefully.

“I see you have been reading _Sanin_. What do you think of it?” “I didn’t read much,” Lucy confessed. “You said that if ever I was in trouble I must come to you.”

“Yes.” Miss Storms’ tone became sympathetic at once and she took the younger woman’s hand.

“Well, I’ve come.” Lucy’s voice trembled slightly.

There was a pause.

“What is it, dear?” Miss Storms asked at last, stroking the hand she held.

“Oh, Miss Storms, I got a note from Papa this morning just before I left. I--I----” Lucy stopped.

Miss Storms nodded comprehendingly.

“I hardly know what to say, dear,” she began.

Lucy lifted strange eyes with dilated pupils, then turned away.

“Arthur is terribly hurt by John’s attitude,” Miss Storms continued, scrutinizing Lucy’s half averted profile. “He resents John’s position in regard to Ellen. That’s natural, but don’t think that he ever, for one moment, mistakes the source of it, or holds it against you.”

Lucy’s hands moved uneasily.

“Oh, it isn’t just Papa, Miss Storms!” she burst forth.

Her voice was hoarse. She kept her eyes on the open window where the blue sky showed, overcast by the city smoke.

There was another long pause before Miss Storms went on.

“You must get your mother out of the house, Lucy.” Her tone was emphatic.

“But where can she go? She has no place to go, Miss Storms! Since my grandmother died there’s nobody but Cousin Minnie Sheldon, and she doesn’t want Mamma.” Lucy’s hands beat the air in a gesture of futility.

She rose and, walking to the window, stood with her back to Miss Storms, her shoulders shaking spasmodically.

Finally Lucy regained her self control and faced her friend.

“I’d advise you to poison her, dear, if I weren’t afraid of getting you in worse trouble than you are.”

Lucy smiled slightly but almost simultaneously her lip twitched and the tears started to her eyes.

“Oh, don’t! Please don’t, Miss Storms,” she begged hysterically. “There, dear. Sit down again.” Miss Storms rose and led her to the chair. “Lucy, I have to confess a spinster’s tendency to meddle, I suppose. I asked John around here the other day and talked to him about this.”

Lucy glanced at her quickly.

“He didn’t tell me he was here,” she said in a low voice, staring at her lap. “Oh, Miss Storms----!”

“Yes, dear?”

Under Miss Storms’ touch Lucy trembled violently.

“John shouldn’t treat me the way he does,” she wailed like a child. “He shouldn’t believe her insinuations. He has no right to be suspicious of me. Oh, Miss Storms, it’s awful! Jim Sprague was at our house last night and I didn’t dare to treat him decently.” Lucy began to weep softly.

“Does he think that you and Jim----” Miss Storms interjected incredulously.

“I don’t know what he thinks!” cried Lucy passionately. “I don’t know anything about him any more. If it wasn’t for Dimmie----” and she broke into violent sobbing.

Miss Storms sat with her chin in her hands, her elbows on the arms of her chair. It was several minutes before she spoke again.

“I don’t know what to say, Lucy,” she admitted finally. “I realize that your mother is a moral idiot, and that John ought to see through her, but I know more about men and women than you do, dear, and I understand what a woman can do to a man.”

“Ain’t I a woman, too?” Lucy demanded fiercely, relapsing into the language of her childhood.

“Yes, dear, but you’re not the courtesan type. You’re the mother type, and you don’t understand the other. I used to think I was the cerebral type,” Miss Storms pursued musingly, smiling her gently ironical smile, “but I’m not. I’m the mother type, too, and I wish this minute that you were my child.”

“So do I,” said Lucy quickly, returning the pressure of Miss Storms’ hand.

“Sex is the most of life, dear. One can’t escape it any more than one can death, and the most fatal thing is to try to. Look at celibates for example. I have learned a great deal in forty years, Lucy, and I knew when I advised you to marry, that John was not great individually. But he is nature, dear, and the thing to do is to get the other woman out of the way. It frightens me to think of anything else, Lucy.”

“But I want to be loved, Miss Storms.” Tears were in Lucy’s eyes again. “I want--I want----” She could not go on.

“Lucy! Do you love Jim Sprague?” Miss Storms’ voice was sharper.

“No!” cried Lucy vehemently.

“And you do love John, don’t you?” Miss Storms almost pleaded.

“I--I would if I had a chance.” Hesitating over the first words, Lucy finished determinedly.

Miss Storms kissed her cheek.

“The only thing is to get rid of your mother, no matter what the difficulties are,” Miss Storms resumed in a practical tone. “Oh, _why_ doesn’t that Mr. Walsh say or do something! At all events we must get her away. And then you musn’t even forgive John. You must put the past out of your mind--never give it a thought. It must disappear as if it had never existed. Make all the responsibility yours. John must never be humiliated, never know that you have suffered.”

“But what about me?” Lucy reminded her indignantly.

Miss Storms’ smile was rather bitter as she answered.

“I know you think I am only considering the man, Lucy,” she replied. “As a rule, I do. I did in your father’s case. Women have to take the responsibility for life. Besides, the man is the potential father, and until the woman has children she worships the potential father. Afterward she worships the children. But I’m not ignoring you, dear. I am thinking of you, too. John is still the potential father, to you--of more children, I hope.”

Lucy was silent as she gazed out the window.

“You may think me hard on women, Lucy. Nature is hard on them. You may think there are other men--Jim Sprague, for instance--but there aren’t. The female is the type--the responsible one. They are the race. Men are their possessions. You chose John to be the father of your children--and you didn’t Jim.” Lucy was still silent.

“I have no highfalutin’ ideas about the sanctity of marriage, or any such nonsense,” Miss Storms went on in the same half musing tone, “although I realize that, in spite of what is perhaps some intellectual breadth, I have an old maid’s emotional idealism. But the fact remains, dear, that sex is greater than we, just as life and death are greater, and we can escape neither its ecstasy nor its agony. We mate to suffer as well as to joy, Lucy, and you are happier than I.”

Here Miss Storms reverted abruptly to her practical mood.

“You just hold on, dear,” she advised. “Men, even the greatest of them, never grow up. I think I have a plan that will do the trick. Let me gnaw over it tonight, and I’ll see you in a day or two. Everything’s going to be all right.” Miss Storms nodded reassuringly.

Lucy hesitated a moment. Then she arose.

“Won’t you stay for luncheon, dear?”

“No. I must go.”

“Well, you will hear from me soon. But on account of John’s attitude toward Arthur and Ellen, and toward me, he must never know--more than he already knows--about my having anything to do with it. Women are always deceiving men for their own good, you know, dear.” Miss Storms jested sourly.

Lucy made no sign and Miss Storms proceeded in a business-like tone.

“Now, Lucy, you’re strong--women have to be--and sensible. You can handle this situation, dear. You must. I’ll help. I believe my idea will work. If it fails we’ll try another.”

“I don’t think it’s any use,” Lucy confessed hopelessly.

“Oh, yes it is. Don’t lose heart.”

From the apartment Lucy went to the park, and, seeking a secluded spot, seated herself on a bench and leaned her head against her hand. She remained thus for more than an hour. Tears sometimes flowed down her cheeks, but she made no sound.

Finally she rose and turned her steps toward the office.

XXVIII

The torpor of summer was in the air, but it did not affect Jim’s industry. Coming into the office from a luncheon he had scarcely tasted, he removed his coat, and settled himself for a hard afternoon’s work. The windows were raised but not a breath came to stir the papers on his desk. The murmur of the street sounded as remote as the echo of the ocean in a shell.

The door opened and Lucy came in. Jim glanced up, startled, but did not speak.

“I want to talk to you, Jim,” Lucy said without preamble. Her face was set.

“Sit down,” he replied, looking at her keenly. The pencil in his hand trembled.

“I couldn’t say anything last night, Jim. I am in the greatest trouble of my life.” She picked up a paper weight and examined it as she spoke.

“I know, Lucy,” he said, laying down his pencil.

She shivered as though chilled by the warm summer atmosphere. Her forced calmness forsook her suddenly.

“Oh, Jim!” she sobbed, and leaning forward on the desk, hid her face in her arms.

He reached out his hand to take hers, then withdrew it, and, picking up the pencil again, began tapping the desk with it.

“What shall I do, Jim?” Lucy lifted her head. She had command of herself now.

Jim went on tapping the desk until Lucy reached over and took the pencil from him and laid it down.

“Your mother must go away,” he declared at last.

“But where can she go? She has no money. Cousin Minnie doesn’t want her. She has no other relations, and besides, John won’t hear of her going.” “She must go anyway,” he repeated.

“I can’t put her in the street. Oh, Jim, I don’t know what to do! She’s changed John so he’s not himself any more. Everything she does is perfect in his eyes. I’m always to blame. Everything I say is wrong. She’s even turned him against Dimmie. What shall I do? What shall I do?” and Lucy wrung her hands, her eyes fixed upon Jim’s in hungry appeal.

Sprague stared at her. His own eyes widened. His self control went to the winds.

“Do, Lucy? Do! Why come to me!” he cried, seizing her hand and gripping it until she winced.

“Jim!” she gasped.

“I’ve stood all I can.” His tone grew more intense with each word, “I’ve never been too honest with myself about you, Lucy, but I knew I loved you a long time ago. I’ve resented seeing your youth slipping by, and John not noticing it. I’ve tried not to covet his wife, because I thought he wanted her. But now I’ve got to tell you, Lucy. _I_ want you. And I don’t want just a mystical idea of you either. I love you, dear, and you won’t have to be afraid of my ever stopping. Let’s leave the people who don’t want us and take each other. We know we’re good enough for each other. Come on, Lucy. I need you. You are the only person in the world I ever trusted implicitly. You must. I won’t give you up. I can’t give you up. Lucy, Lucy----”

She had withdrawn her hand from his and was regarding him now with an expression of wonder.

“Why, Jim, what do you mean?” she asked, aghast at his torrent of words. She had never before seen him under stress of uncontrollable excitement.

“I mean what I say. Can’t you see how I love you?”