 15 With my bag in my hand I fairly fled down the stairs which led from our third floor apartment to the street. I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do, only one idea possessed me, to put as much space as possible between me and the apartment which held my husband and his mother. Reaching the street I started to walk along into briskly, but, trembling as I was from the humiliating scene I had just gone through, I saw that I could not walk indefinitely and that I must get to some place at once where I could be alone and think. Taxi, ma'am? A taxi whose driver evidently had been watching me in the hope of a fair rolled up beside me. I dived into it gratefully, at least in its shelter I would be alone and safe from observation for a few minutes, long enough for me to decide what to do next. Where to, ma'am? I searched my memory wildly for a moment. Where to, indeed? But the chauffeur waited. Brooklyn Bridge, I said desperately. Very well, ma'am. And in another minute we were speeding swiftly southward. As I cowered against the cushions of the taxi, with burning cheeks and crushed spirit, I realized that my marriage with Dickie was not a yoke that I could wear or not as I pleased. It was still on my shoulders, heavy just now, but a burden that I realized I loved and could not live without. And I had thought to end it all when I dashed out of the apartment. I knew that I could have done nothing else but walk out after Dickie uttered his humiliating ultimatum. But I also knew Dickie well enough to realize that when he came to himself he would regret what he had done and tried to find me. I must make it an easy task for him. So I decided my destination quickly. I would go to my old boarding-place, where my mother and I had lived and where I had first met Dickie. My kindly old landlady, Mrs. Stewart, was one of my best friends. Without telling too broad a falsehood, I could make her believe I had come to spend the night with her. The next day I hoped would solve its own problems. This is the bridge entrance, ma'am. The chauffeur's voice broke my reverie. I had made my decision just in time. How fortunate it was that I had chosen the Brooklyn Bridge destination. I had only to walk up the stairs to the elevated train that took me within three squares of Mrs. Stewart's home. "'Bless your heart, child, but I am glad to see you,' was Mrs. Stewart's hearty greeting. Then she glanced at my bag. I hastened to explain. Mr. Graham's mother is with us, so I haven't any scruples about leaving him alone.' I said lightly, "'It's so far over here. I thought I would stay the night with you, so that we could have the good, long visit, I promised you, when I was here last.' "'That's splendid,' she agreed heartily, and I'll wager you can't guess who's here.' My prophetic soul told me the answer even before I saw the tall figure emerge from an immense easy-chair which had effectually concealed him. I was to bid Jack good-bye after all. Mrs. Stewart closed the door behind her softly as Jack came over to my side. "'What is the matter, Margaret?' he said tensely. "'Nothing at all. I told the falsehood gallantly, but it did not convince Jack.' "'You can't make me believe that, Margaret,' he said gravely. "'I know you too well. Tell me, have you quarreled with your husband?' Jack had played the elder brother role to me for so long that the habit of obedience to him is second nature to me. "'Yes,' I said faintly. "'Over me?' the question was quick and sharp. I nodded. "'You showed him my letter? Of course, I wished you to do so. "'Yes?' "'How serious is the quarrel! I see you have a bag with you.' "'It depends upon my husband's attitude how serious it is,' I replied. He made an issue of my not doing something which I felt I must do. Then he lost his temper and said things which, if they are to be repeated, will keep me away for ever. I saw Jack's fists clench, and into his eyes there flashed a queer light. I knew what it was. Before he knew I was married, he had told me of his long secret love for me. That he was fighting the temptation to let the breach between Dickie and me widen, I knew as well as if he had told me. Another moment, however, and he was master of himself again. "'Sit down,' he commanded tersely, and when I had obeyed he drew a chair close to my side. "'My poor child,' he said tenderly, "'I know nothing about your husband, so I cannot judge this quarrel. But I am afraid in this marriage-game you will learn that there must be a lot of giving up on both sides. Now I know you to be absolutely truthful. Tell me, is there any possibility that the overtures for a reconciliation ought to come from you?' He told me that if I went out of the door I must go out of it for good, I said hotly, and could have bitten my tongue out for the words the next moment. Jack drew a long breath. Did he think you were going to see me? I believe he had that idea, yes. Is he the sort of man who always says what he means, or does he say outrageous things when he is angry that he does not mean in the least? He has a most ungovernable temper, but he gets over the attacks quickly, and I know he doesn't mean all he says. That settles it. Jack sprang up, and going to a stand in the corner took his hat and coat and stick. "'What are you going to do, Jack?' I gasped. "'I am going to find your husband and send him after you,' he said sternly. "'Jack, you mustn't,' I said wildly. "'But I must,' he returned firmly, "'you have quarreled over me. I could not cross the water leaving you in an unsettled condition like this.' He came swiftly to my side and took my hands firmly in his. "'Margaret, remember this. If I die or live, all I am and all I have is at your service. If I die, there will be enough, thank heaven, to make you independent of anyone. If I live,' he hesitated for a long moment, then stooped closer to me. This may be a catish thing to do, but it is borne in upon me that I ought to tell you this before I go. I hope the settling of this quarrel will be the beginning of a happier life for you. But if things should ever get really unbearable in your life, bad enough for divorce, I mean, remember that the dearest wish of my life would be fulfilled if I could call you wife. Goodbye, Margaret. God bless and keep you.' I felt the touch of his lips against my hair. Then he released me and went quickly out of the room. It was hard work for me to obey Mrs. Stewart's command to eat the supper that she soon brought me on a tray. Every nerve was tense in anticipation of the meeting between Dicky and Jack, which I could not avoid and which I so dreaded. What was happening at my home while I sat here, my hands tied by my own foolish act? I did not realize that Mrs. Stewart's suspense was also intense until the doorbell rang and she ran to answer it. I stole to the door and noiselessly opened it just enough to be able to hear the voices in the lower hall. I heard the hall door open, and then a sound of a voice that sent me back to my chair breathless with terrified happiness. Dicky had arrived. He ran up the stairs, two steps at a time, and knocked at the door of the room in which I sat. "'Come in,' I said faintly. I felt as if my feet were shod with lead. Much as I loved him, great as was my joy at seeing him, I could no more have stirred from where I was sitting than I could have taken wings and flown to him. There was no need for my moving, however. Dicky has the most abominable temper of any person I know, but he is as royal in his repentance as in his rages. He crossed the room at almost a bound, his eyes shining, his face aglow, his whole handsome figure vibrant with life and love. "'Sweetheart, sweetheart,' he murmured, as he folded me in his arms. "'Will you forgive your bad boy this once more? I have been a jealous and salting brute, but I swear to you—' I put up my hand and covered his lips. I had heard him say something like this too many times before to have much faith in his oath. Besides, there is something within me that makes me a poor anything which savers of a scene. Dicky was mine again, my old impulsive kingly lover. I wanted no promises which I knew would be made only to be broken. It was a long time before either of us spoke again, and then Dicky drew a deep breath. "'I have a confession to make about your cousin, Maj.' He began carefully avoiding my eyes. And I might as well get it over with before we go home. Mother's probably asleep, but she might wake up, and then there would be no chance for any talk by ourselves. "'Don't tell me anything unless you wish to do so, Dicky,' I replied gently. I am content to leave things just as they are without question. "'No,' Dicky said stubbornly. "'It's do you and it's do your cousin that I tell you this. I don't often make a balayasse of myself. But when I do, I am about as willing a person to eat dirt about it as you can find. I never shall get used to Dicky's expressions. The language in which he couched his repentance seemed so uncoothed to me that I mentally shivered. Outwardly I made no sign, however. "'When he came to the apartment,' Dicky went on, "'I was just about as nearly insane as a man could be. I had no idea where you had gone, and I had just had the devil's own time with my mother and Katie over your sudden departure. "'What did your mother say to all this?' I asked the question timorously. "'Dicky laughed. Well, of course she didn't go into raptures over the affair,' he said, but I think she learned a lesson. At least I endeavored to help her learn one. I read the riot-act to her after you left. "'Oh, Dicky,' I protested. That was hardly fair.' "'I know it,' he admitted, shame-facedly. "'I am afraid I did rather take it out on the matter when I found you had really gone. But she deserved a good deal of it. You have done everything in your power to make things pleasant for her since she came, and she has treated you about as shabbily as was possible. "'Oh, not that bad, Dicky,' I protested again, but I knew in my heart that what he said was true. His mother had treated me most unfairly. I could not help a little malicious thrill of pleasure that he had finally resented it for me.' "'Just that bad little mis-forgiveness,' Dicky returned, smiling at me tenderly. My heart leaped at the words. When Dicky is in good humour, he coins all sorts of tender names for me. I knew that to Dicky our quarrel was as if it had never happened. "'I'll give you a pointer about my mother, Maj,' Dicky went on. "'When you see her, act as if nothing had happened at all. It's the only way to manage her. She can be most charming when she wants to be, but every once in a while she takes one of those silent tantrums, and there is no living with her until she gets over it. I didn't make any comment on this speech, fearing to say the wrong thing. "'But I didn't start to tell you about Katie,' Dicky switched the subject determinedly. I might as well get it off my chest. When your cousin came in and introduced himself, the first thing I did was to attempt to strike him. "'Oh, Dicky, Dicky!' I moaned, horrified. What did he do?' Dicky's lips twisted grimly. Just put out his hand and caught my arm, saying with that calm and quiet voice of his, "'I shall not return any blow you may give me, Mr. Graham. So please do not do anything you will regret when you recover yourself.' I realized his strength of body and the grip he had on my arm, and even my half-crazed brain recognized the power of his spirit. I came to, apologized, and we had a long talk that made me realize what a thundering good fellow he must be. I don't see why you never fell in love with him,' Dicky continued. "'He's a better man than I am,' he paraphrased half wistfully. "'But I love you,' I whispered. Across Dicky's face there fell a shadow. I realized that thoughtlessly I had wounded him.' End of Chapter 15 Section 16 of Revelations of a Wife This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Mary Rodey. Revelations of a Wife by Adele Garrison Chapter 16 Interrupted Sightseeing Margaret My mother-in-law's tone was almost tragic. Richard has gone off with my trunk-checks. Why, of course he has, I returned, wondering a little at her anxious tone. I suppose he expects to give them to an expressman and have the trunks brought up this morning. Richard never remembered anything in his life, said his mother tartly. Those trunks ought to be here before I leave for the day. Oh, I don't think it would be possible for them to arrive here before we have to start, even if Dicky gives them to the expressman right away, as I am sure he will do. It seemed queer to be defending Dicky to his mother, but I felt a curious little thrill of resentment that she should criticize him. I sometimes may judge Dicky harshly myself, but I don't care to hear criticism of him from any other lips, even those of his mother. Richard will carry those checks in his pocket until he comes home again, if he is lucky enough not to lose them, said his mother decidedly. I wish you would telephone him at his studio and remind him that they must be looked after. Abediently I went to the telephone. I knew Dicky had had plenty of time to get to the studio, as it was but a short walk from our apartment. Madison Square 3694, I said, in answer to Central's request for number. When the answer came, I almost dropped the receiver in my surprise. It was not Dicky's voice that came to my ears, but that of a stranger, a woman's voice, rich and musical. Yes, with the rising inflection. This is Mr. Graham's studio. He has not yet reached here. What message shall I give him, please, when he comes in? Please ask him to call up his home. Then I hung up the receiver and turned from the telephone, putting down my agitation with a firm hand until I could be alone. Dicky has not yet reached the studio. I said to his mother calmly, I think very probably he has gone first to see an expressman about your trunks. If you will pardon me, I have a few things to attend to before we start on our trip. Is there anything I can do for you? No, thank you. Mrs. Graham's tone was still the cold, courteous one that she used in addressing me. I suppose I can bring for Katie when I am ready to have my dress fastened. Oh, by all means, I returned. I thought bitterly of the little services I used to perform for my own mother. How gladly I would anticipate the wants of Dicky's mother if she would only show me affection instead of the ill-concealed aversion with which she regarded me. My mother-in-law went into her room, and I, walking swishly to mine, closed and locked the door behind me. I threw myself face downward on the bed, my favorite posture when I wished to think things out. The voice of the woman at the studio haunted me. It was strange but familiar, and I could not remember where I had heard it. What was a woman doing in Dicky's studio at this time in the morning, anyway? I knew that Dicky employed feminine models, but I also knew that he always made it a point to be at the studio before the model was due to arrive. I suppose I am an awful crank. He had laughed once, but no models rummaging among my things for mine. I knew that Dicky employed no secretary, or at least he had told me that he did not. I had heard him laughingly promise himself that when his income reached ten thousand dollars a year he would hire one. All at once the solution to the mystery dawned upon me. The rich musical voice belonged to Grace Draper, the beautiful girl whom Dicky had seen first on a train on our memorable trip to Marvin. Why hadn't Dicky told me that she was at the studio? The question rankled in the back of my brain. That was not my main concern, however, what swept me with the sudden primitive emotion which I know must be jealousy was the picture of that beautiful face, that wonderful figure in daily close companionship with my husband. Suppose she should fall in love with Dicky. To my mind I did not see how any woman could help it. Would she have any scruples about endeavouring to win Dicky's love from me? My common sense told me that this was the various nonsense. But I could no more help my feelings than I could control the shape of my nose. The ring of the telephone bell put a temporary end to my speculations. I pulled myself together in order to talk calmly to Dicky, for I knew it must be he who was calling. Maj, is this you? Whatever has happened? Nothing is the matter, I said quickly, but you have your mother's trunk-chicks and she is anxious about them. By Jove Dicky's voice was full of consternation. I forgot everything about those trunk-chicks until this minute. I should have attended to them yesterday, but he hesitated, then finished lamely. I didn't have time. I felt my face flush as though Dicky could see me. The reason why he did not have time to see to his mother's trunks on the day of her arrival touched a subject any illusion to which would always bring a flush to my face. I was still too shaken with the varying emotions I had experienced the day before to bear well any reference to them, no matter how casual. Fortunately Dicky was too much taken up with his own remissness to notice my silence. I'll go out this minute and attend to them, he said. Try to keep the mother's mind diverted from them if you can. Better get her away on your sightseeing trip as soon as possible. Having thus shifted his responsibilities to my shoulders, Dicky blightly hung up the receiver. I turned to his mother. Well, she demanded. He is going out now to attend to the trunks, I said. There! I knew he had forgotten them! She exclaimed with a little malicious, feminine triumph running through her tones. When will they be here? I repeated Dicky's words in as matter-of-fact way as possible. Probably not until two or three o'clock in the afternoon. We might as well start on our trip. Katie is perfectly capable of attending to them. Then she said, How soon will you be ready? I am afraid it will be half an hour before I can start, I said apologetically. That will be all right. My mother-in-law returned good-humoredly. She was evidently much pleased at the prospect of the trip. It's wonderful, wonderful, she said as the full view of New York harbour burst upon our eyes when we came out of the subway and round at the barge-office into Battery Park. Wait a moment. I want to fill my soul with it. I felt my heart warm toward her. I have always loved the harbour. Many treasured hours have I spent watching it from the seawall or from the deck of one of the Staten Island ferries. To me it is like a loved friend. I enjoy hearing its praises. I shrink from hearing it criticised. Mrs. Graham's hearty admiration made me feel more kindly toward her than I had yet done. Neither of us spoke again for several minutes. My gaze followed my mother-in-laws as she turned from one marvel of the view to another. At last she turned to me, her face softened. I am ready to go on now, she said. I have always loved the remembrance of this harbour since I first saw it years ago. We walked slowly on toward the aquarium, both of us watching the ships as they came into the bay from the North River. The fussy, sputtering little tugs, the heavily laden ferries, the lazy fishing boats, the dredges and scows, even the least of them, was made beautiful by its setting of clear winter sun and sparkling water. How few large ocean steamers there seemed to be, commented my mother-in-law, as a large ocean-going vessel cast off its tug and glided past us on its way out to sea. I suppose it is on account of the war, she continued indifferently. At this moment I heard a comment from a passing man that brought back to me the misery of the day before. I guess that's the Saturn, he said to his companion as they walked near us. She was due to sail this morning, got a lot of French reservists on board, poor devils. Anybody getting into that hell over there has about one chance in a million to get out again. Forgetful of my mother-in-law's presence, indeed, of everything else in the world, I turned and gazed at the steamer making its way out to sea. I knew that somewhere on its deck stood Jack, my brother- cousin, the best friend my mother and I had ever known. When he had come back from a year's absence to ask me to be his wife, he had found that I had married Dickie, then he had announced his intention of joining the French engineering corps. What had that man said just now? Not one chance in a million. I felt as if it were my hand that was pushing him across the ocean to almost certain death. When I could no longer see the Saturn as she churned her way out to sea, I turned around quickly with the sense of guilt at having ignored my mother-in-law's presence, and then a voice sounded in my ear. You don't seem delighted to see me. I am surprised at you. Harry Underwood towered above me, his handsome face marred by the little, leering smile he generally wears, his bold, laughing eyes staring down into my horrified ones. I do not believe that ever a woman of a more superstitious time dreaded the evil eye as I do the glance of Harry Underwood. How to answer him or what to do I did not know. He evidently had been drinking enough to make himself irresponsible. He did not give me time to ponder long, however. Who is your lady-friend? He burlesque. Introduce me. A man less audacious than Harry Underwood would have been daunted by the picture my mother-in-law presented as he turned toward her. Her figure was drawn up to its extreme height, and she was surveying him through her lorn yet with an expression that held disgust mingled with the curiosity an explorer might feel at meeting some strange specimen of animal in his travels. Mrs. Graham, this is Mr. Underwood, I managed to stammer. Mr. Underwood, Mrs. Graham, Dickie's mother. My mother-in-law may overaw ordinary people, but Harry Underwood minded her to stay no more than he would have the contempt of a stately Plymouth Rock hen. She had lowered the lorn yet as I spoke, and he grabbed the hand which still held it, shaking it as warmly as if it belonged to some long-lost friend. Well, well, he said effusively. But this is great, dear old Dickie's mother. He stopped and fixed a speculating stare upon her. You mean his sister, he said reprovingly to me. Don't tell me you mean his mother. No, no, I can't believe that. He shook his head solemnly. Evidently he was much impressed with himself. If I had not been so miserable, I could have smiled at the idea of Harry Underwood trying, on the elder Mrs. Graham, the silly specious flatteries he addressed to most women. My mother-in-law did not deign to answer him. Her manner was superb in its haughty reserve, although I could not say much for her courtesy. As he released her hand, she let it drop quietly to her side and stood still, gazing at him with a quiet, disdainful look that would have made almost any other man wince. But it did not bother Harry Underwood in the least. He gave her a shrewd, appraising look, and then turned to me with an air of dismissal that was as complete as her ignoring of him. Say, he demanded, aren't you a bit curious about what brought me down here? You ought to be the funniest thing in the world, my being down here. His silly repetitions, his slurred annunciation, his slightly unsteady figure made me realize with the quick horror that the man was more intoxicated than I supposed. How to get away from him as quickly as possible was the problem I faced. I decided to humor him as I would any other insane person I dreaded. I am never curious, I responded lightly. I suppose, of course, that you are here to visit the aquarium as we are. Goodbye. No, you don't. Going to take you and little lady here on Nye's fairy-trip, he announced genially. Sorry, yacht's out of commission this morning, but fairy will do very well. I have not much reason to like my mother-in-law, but I shall always be grateful to her for the way she cut the Gordian knot of my difficulties. Young man, you are impertinent and intoxicated, she said haughtily. Please step aside. And taking me firmly by the arm, my mother-in-law walked steadily with me toward the door of the women's restroom. Her manner of conducting me was much the same as the matron of a reformatory would use in taking a charge from one place to another, but I was too relieved to care. The leering face of Harry Underwood was no longer before my eyes, and his befuddled words no longer jarred upon my ears. Those were the only things that mattered to me for the moment. In my relief I felt strong enough to brave the weight of my mother-in-law's anger which I was very sure was about to descend upon me. End of Chapter 16 Section 17 of Revelations of a Wife This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Mary Rody. Revelations of a Wife. By Adele Garrison. Chapter 17 A Danger and a Problem Safe in the shelter of the Aquarium restroom, my mother-in-law faced me. Her eyes were cold and hard, her tones like ice as she spoke. Margaret, what is the meaning of this outrageous scene to which you have just subjected me? Am I to understand that this man is typical of your associates and friends? If so, I am indeed sarier than ever that my son was ever invagaled into marrying you. For the moment I had a primitive instinct to scream and to smash things generally, a sort of berserk rage. The insult left me deadly cold. Fortunately we were alone in the room, but I lowered my voice almost to a whisper as I replied to her. Mrs. Graham, I said. I never in my life knew there was a man like Mr. Underwood until I married your son. He and his wife Lillian Gale are your son's most intimate friends. He has almost forced me to meet them time and again against my own inclinations. Of course, after what you have just said, there can be no further question of our trip together. If you will kindly wait here, I will telephone your son to come and get you at once. I started for the door, but a little gasping cry from my mother-in-law stopped me. She was feebly beating the air with her hands, her eyes were distended, and her cheeks and lips had the ash and color which I had learned to associate with my own little mother's frequent attacks. Filled with remorse, I flew to her side and lowered her gently into an armchair which stood near. Snatching her handbag, I opened it and took out a little bottle of volatile salts which I knew she carried. I pressed it into her hands and then took out a tiny bottle of drops with the familiar label. They were the same that my mother had used for years. Taking a spoon which I also found in the bag, I measured the drops, added a bit of water from the faucet at the adjoining room, and gave them to her. As I came toward her, I heard her murmuring to herself. Lillian Gale! Lillian Gale! she was saying. How blind I've been! Even in my anxiety for her condition, I found time to wonder as to the significance of her exclamations. Evidently, the name of Lillian Gale was familiar to her. From her tones, I also knew that it was not a welcome name. What was there in this past friendship of Dickie and Mrs. Underwood to cause his mother so much emotion? I remembered the comments I had heard at the theatre about my husband's friendship with this woman. All my old doubts and misgivings, which had been smothered by the very real admiration I had felt for Lillian Gale's many good qualities, revived. What was the secret in the lives of these two? I felt that for my own peace of mind I must know. The colour was gradually coming back to my mother-in-law's face. I stood by her chair, forgetting her insults, remembering nothing save that she was old and a sick woman. Is there anything I can get for you? I asked as I saw the strained look in her eyes die out. Nothing, thank you, she said. Then, to my surprise, she reached up her hand, took mine in hers, and pressed it feebly. I could not understand her quick transition from bitter contempt to friendly warmth. Evidently, something in my words had startled her, and had changed her viewpoint. But I put speculation aside until some more opportune time. The imperative thing for me was to minister to her needs, mentally and physically. How do you feel now? I asked. Much better, thank you, she replied. Then, in a tone I had never heard from her lips before. Come here, my child. I could hardly credit my own ears. Surely those gentle words, that soft tone, could not belong to my husband's mother, who, in the short time she had been an inmate of our home, had lost no opportunity to show her dislike for me and her resentment that her son had married me. But I obeyed her and came to her side. She put up her hand and took mine, and I saw her proud old face work with emotion. I was unjust to you a few moments ago, Margaret, she said, and I want to beg your pardon. If she had not been old, in feeble health, and my husband's mother, I would have considered the word scant reparation for the contemptuous phrases with which she had scourged my spirit a few moments before. But I was sane enough to know that the simple I beg your pardon from the lips of the elder Mrs. Graham was equivalent to a whole torrent of apologies from any ordinary person. I knew my mother-in-law's type of mind. To admit she was wrong, to ask for one's forgiveness, was to her a most bitter thing. So I put aside from me every other feeling, but consideration of the proud old woman holding my hand, and said gently, I can assure you that I cherish no resentment. Let us not speak of it again. I am afraid we shall have to speak of it, at least of the incident which led me to say the things to you I did, she returned. I saw with amazement that she was trying to conquer an emotion, the reason for which I felt certain had something to do with her discovery that the underwoods were Dick's friends. I have a duty to you to perform, she went on, a very painful duty which involves the reviving of an old controversy with my son. I beg that you will not try to find out anything concerning its nature, it is far better that you do not. I felt smothered as if I were being swathed in foals upon foals of black cloth. What could this mystery be, this secret in the past friendship of my husband and Lillian Gale, the woman whom he had introduced to me as his best friend, and into whose companionship and that of her husband, Harry Underwood, he had thrown me as much as possible? A hot anger rose within me. What right had anyone to deny knowledge of such a secret, or to discourage me in any attempt to find out its nature? I resolved to lose no time in probing the unworthy thing to its depths. My mother-in-law's next words crystallized my determination. I think I ought to see Richard at once, she said. I am sorry to give up our trip. I had quite counted upon seeing some of old New York today, but I wish to lose no time in seeing him. Besides, I do not think I am equal to further sightseeing. It will be of no use for you to go home, I said smoothly, for Richard will not be there, and he has left the studio by now, I am sure. He has an engagement with an art editor this afternoon. We may not be able to look at the churches you wish to see, but you ought to have some luncheon before we go home. I will call a cab, and we will go over to Francis Tavern. One of the most interesting places in New York. You know Washington said farewell to his officers in the long room on the second floor. The first part of my sentence was a deliberate falsehood. I had no reason to believe Dickie would not be at his studio all day, but I had resolved that no one should speak to my husband on the subject of the secret which his past and that of Lillian Gale shared, until I had had a chance to talk to him about it. I do not know when a simple problem has so perplexed me, as did the dilemma I faced while sitting opposite to my mother-in-law at lunch in Francis Tavern. With the obstinacy of a spoiled child, the elder Mrs. Graham was persisting in sitting with her heavy coat on while she ate her luncheon, although our table was next to the big old fireplace in which a good fire was burning. Indeed, it was the table's location which she had selected herself that was the cause of her obstinacy. She had construed an innocent remark of mine into a slur upon her choice, and had evidently decided to wear her coat to emphasize the fact that in spite of the fire she was none too warm, and there she sat all through lunch with her heavy coat on. As I watched the beads of perspiration upon her forehead, and her furtive dabbing at them with her handkerchief, I realized that something must be done. I saw that she would soon be in a condition to receive a chill which might prove fatal. Suddenly her imperious voice broke into my thoughts. Where is the long room of which you spoke, on the second floor? Yes, would you like to see it? Very much. She rose from her chair, crossed the dining-room into the hall, and descended the staircase, and I followed her upward, noting again with the quick remorsefulness her slow step, the way she leaned upon the stair-rail for support, and her quickened breathing as she neared the top. It was a little thing, after all, I told myself sharply, to subordinate my individuality, and cater to her whims. I resolved to be more considerate of her in the future. But my native caution made me make a reservation. I would yield to her wishes whenever my self-respect would let me do so. I had a shrewd notion that a person who would cater to every whim of my husband's mother would be little better than a slave. She spent so much time over the letters in Washington's handwriting, the snuff-boxes and keys and coins with which the cases were filled, that I was alarmed lest she should overtire herself. I did not dare to venture the suggestion that she should postpone her inspection until another time. But when I saw her shiver, and draw her cloak more closely about her, I resolved to brave her possible displeasure. I am afraid you are taking cold, I said, going up to her. Do you think we had better leave the rest of these things for another visit? Her face as she turned it toward me frightened me. It was gray and drawn, and her whole figure was shaking as with the agieu. I am afraid I am going to be ill, she said faintly. I am so cold. I put her in a chair and dashed down the stairs. Please call a taxi for me at once, and bring some brandy or wine upstairs, I said to the attendant. My mother-in-law is ill. As the taxi hurried us homeward, I became more and more alarmed at her condition. Her very evident suffering now heightened my fears. Are we nearly there? she said faintly. I am so cold. Only a few blocks more. I tried to speak reassuringly. Then I ventured on something which I had wanted to do ever since we left the tavern, but which my mother-in-law's dislike of being aided in any way had prevented. I slipped off my coat, and turning toward her, wrapped it closely around her shoulders, and took her in my arms as I would a child. To my surprise she huddled closer to me, only protesting faintly. You must not do that, you will take cold. Nonsense, I replied. I never take cold, and we are almost there. I am so glad, she sighed, and leaned more heavily against me. As I felt her weight in my arms, I realized that she was actually clinging to me, actually depending upon me for help and comfort. I felt my heart warm toward her. I have never worked faster in my life than when I helped my mother-in-law undress before the blazing gas-log, put her nightgown and heavy bathrobe around her, and immersed her feet in the footpath of hot mustard water which Katie had brought to me. As I worked over her I came to a decision. I would get her safe and warm in bed, leave Katie within call, then slip out and telephone Dickey from a neighboring drugstore. I did not dare to send for a physician against my mother-in-law's expressed prohibition. On the other hand, I knew that Dickey would be very angry if I did not send for one. The hot foot bath and the steaming drink which I had given her when she first came in, together with the warmth of the gas-log, seemed to make my mother-in-law more comfortable. As I dried her feet and slipped them into a pair of warm-bedroom slippers, she smiled down at me. At least I am not cold now, she said. Do you think you had better come and lie down now? I asked. Yes, I think it would be better, she asserted. And with Katie and me upon either side, she walked into her room and got into bed. I slipped the bedroom slippers off, put one hot water bag to her feet, and the other to her back, covered her up warmly, and lowered the shade. Her eyes closed immediately. I stood watching her breathing for two or three minutes. It was heavier, I fancied, than normal. As I went out of the room, I spoke in a low tone to Katie, directing her to watch her till I returned. As I descended the stairs, all doubts of the morning rushed over me. It was long after two o'clock, the hour when Dickey usually returned to the studio. I had jumped at the conclusion that Dickey was slunching with Grace Draper, the beautiful art student who was his model and protege. It was not so much anger that I felt at Dickey slunching with another woman, as fear. I faced the issue, frankly. Grace Draper was much too beautiful and attractive a girl to be thrown into daily intimate companionship with any man. I felt in that moment that I hated her as much as I feared her. I hoped that it would not be her voice which I would hear over the phone. I felt that I could not bear to listen to those deep, velvety tones of hers. But when I reached the drugstore and entered the telephone booth, it was her voice which answered my call of Dickey's number. Yes, this is Mr. Graham's studio, she said smoothly. No, Mr. Graham is not here. He has not been here since eleven o'clock. Pardon me, is this not Mrs. Graham to whom I am speaking? I am Mrs. Graham, yes. I replied, trying to put a little cordiality into my voice. You are Mr. Draper, are you not? Yes, she replied. Mr. Graham wished me to give you a message. He was called away to a conference with one of the art editors about eleven o'clock. He expected to lunch with him, and said he might not be in the studio until quite late this afternoon. Have you any idea where he is lunching or where I could reach him? I asked sharply. Why, no, Mrs. Graham, I have not. Is there anything wrong? His mother has taken ill, and I am very much worried about her. If Mr. Graham comes in or telephones, will you ask him to come home at once, phoning me first, if he will? Of course, I will attend to it. Is there anything else I can do? Nothing, thank you. You are very kind. I returned, and there was genuine warmth in my voice this time. For the discovery that I had been mistaken in my idea of Dickey's luncheon engagement made me so ashamed of myself that I had no more rancor against my husband's beautiful portage. I laughed bitterly at my own silliness as I turned from the telephone. While I had been tormenting myself for hours at the picture I had drawn of Dickey and his beautiful model lunching vis-à-vis, Dickey had been keeping a prosaic business engagement with a man, and his model had probably lunched frugally and unromantically on a sandwich or two brought from home. 18. Call me Mother, if you can. Will you kindly tell me who is the best physician here? Why, I pardon me, the drug-store clerk stammered. Wait a moment, and I'll inquire. I'm new here. The boss says this chap's the best around here. He held out a penciled card to me. Dr. Pettit, Madison Square 4258. Dr. Pettit, I repeated to myself, why, that must be the physician who came to the apartment, the night of my shaping-dish party, when the baby across the hall was brought to us in a convulsion. A sudden swift remembrance came to me of the tact and firmness with which the tall young physician had handled the difficult situation he had found in our apartment. He was just the man I decided to handle my refractory mother-in-law. So I called him up, and he promised to call as soon as his office hours were over. My feet traveled no faster than my thoughts as I hurried back to my own apartment and the bedside of my mother-in-law. I dreaded inexpressibly the conflict I foresaw when the autocratic old woman should find out that I had sent for a physician against her wishes. As I entered the living-room, Katie rose from her seat at the door of my mother-in-law's room. She not move while you gone, she said. She sleep all the time, but I frayed she awful sick. She breathed so hard. I went lightly into the bedroom and stood looking down upon the austere old face against the pillow. It was a flushed old face now, and the eyelids twitched as if there were pain somewhere in the body. Her breathing, too, was more rapid and heavy than when I had left her, or so I fancied. My inability to do anything for her depressed me. By slipping my hand under the blankets I had ascertained that the hot water bags were sufficiently warm. There was nothing more for me to do but to sit quietly and watch her until the physician's arrival. I wanted to bring Dr. Pettit to her bedside before she should awaken. Then I would let him deal with the obstinate refusal to see a physician. But how I wished that Dickie would come home. As if I had rubbed a lantern's lamp, I heard the hall door slam, and my husband came rushing into the room. What is the matter with Mother? Dickie demanded, his face and voice filled with anxiety. I sprang to him and put my hands to his lips, for he had almost shouted the words. Hush! She is asleep! I whispered. Don't awaken her if you can help it. Why isn't there a doctor here? He demanded fiercely. Dr. Pettit will be here in a very few moments. I whispered rapidly. Your mother said she would not have a physician, but she appeared so ill I did not dare to wait until your return to the studio. I telephoned you, and when Miss Draper said she did not know where to get you, I phoned Dr. Pettit on my own authority. You don't think Mother is in any danger, do you, Maj? Why, I don't think I am a good judge of illness, I answered, evasively unwilling to hurt Dickie by the fear in my heart. The physician ought to be here any minute now, and then we will know. A sharp, imperative ring of the bell and Katie's entrance punctuated my words. Dickie started toward the door as Katie opened it to admit the tall figure of Dr. Pettit. Ah, Dr. Pettit, I believe we have met before, Dickie said easily. When Mrs. Graham spoke of you, I did not remember that we had seen you so recently. I am glad that we were able to get you. Thank you! The physician returned gravely. Where is the patient? In this room Dickie turned toward the bedroom door, and Dr. Pettit at once walked toward it. I mentally contrasted the two men as I followed them to my mother-in-law's room. There was a charming ease of manner about Dickie which the other man did not possess. He was, in fact, almost awkward in his movements, and decidedly stiff in his manner. But there was an appearance of latent strength in every line of his figure, a suggestion of power and ability to cope with emergencies. I had noticed it when he took charge of the baby in convulsions who had been brought to my apartment by its nurse. I mocked it again as Dickie paused at the door of his mother's room. I don't know how you will manage, doctor, he smiled deprecatingly. My mother positively refuses to see a physician, but we know she needs one. You are her nearest relative? Dr. Pettit queried gravely, almost formally. His question had almost the air of securing a legal right for his entrance into the room. Oh, yes! Very well! And he stepped lightly to the side of the bed, and stood looking down upon the sick woman. He took out his watch, and I knew he was counting her respirations. Then, with the same impersonal air, he turned to Dickie. It will be necessary to rouse her. Will you awaken her, please? Do not tell her I am here. Simply, awaken her. Dickie bent over his mother and took her hand. Mother, what was it you wished me to get for you? The elder Mrs. Graham opened her eyes languidly. I told you, quietine, she said impatiently, as she spoke, Dr. Pettit reached past Dickie. His hand held a thermometer. Put this in your mouth, please. His air was as casual as if he had made daily visits to her for a fortnight. But the elder Mrs. Graham was not to be so easily routed. She scowled up at him, and half rose from her pillow. I do not wish a physician. I forbade having one called. I am not ill enough for a physician. Dr. Pettit put out his left hand, and gently put her back again upon her pillow. It was done so deftly that I do not think she realized what he had done until she was again lying down. You must not excite yourself, he said, still in the same grave impersonal tone. And you are more ill than you think. It is absolutely necessary that I get you temperature and examine your lungs at once. As if the words had been a talisman of some sort, her opposition dropped from her. Into her face came a frightened look. Oh, doctor, you do not think I am going to have pneumonia, do you? I was amazed at the cry. It was like that of a terrified child. Dr. Pettit smiled down at her. We hope not. We shall do our best to keep it away. But you must help me. Put this in your mouth, please. My mother-in-law obeyed him docilely. But my heart sank as I watched the physician's face. Suddenly she cried out, Richard, Richard, if I am in danger of pneumonia as this doctor thinks, I want a trained nurse here at once, one who has had experience in pneumonia cases. Margaret means well, but threatened pneumonia with my heart needs more than good intentions. Of course, mother, Dickie acquiesced. I was just about to suggest one to Dr. Pettit. But doctor, Dickie said anxiously when we followed him into the living-room, where are we to find a nurse? Fortunately, Dr. Pettit rejoined, I have just learned that absolutely the best nurse I know is free. Her name is Ms. Catherine Sonnet, and her skill and common sense are only equaled by her exquisite tact. She is just the person to handle the case, and if you will give me the use of your phone, I think I can have her here within an hour. Of course, assented Dickie, and let the way to the telephone. I did not hear what the physician said at first, but as he closed the conversation, a note in his voice arrested my attention. You are sure you are not too tired? Very well, I will see you here tonight. Goodbye. Womanlike, I thought I detected a romance. The tenderness in his voice could mean but one thing, that he admired, perhaps loved, the woman he had praised so extravagantly. After he went away, promising to return in the evening, I busied myself with the services to my mother-in-law he had asked me to perform, and then sat down to wait for Ms. Sonnet. Dickie wandered in and out like a restless ghost, until I wanted to shriek from very nervousness. But the first glimpse of the slender girl who came quietly into the room and announced herself as Ms. Sonnet steadied me. She was a slip of a thing, as my mother would have dubbed her, with great wistful brown eyes, that illumined her delicate face. But there was an air of efficiency about her every movement that made you confident she would succeed in anything she undertook. I have always been such a difficult, reserved sort of woman that I have very few friends. I did not understand the impulse that made me resolve to win this girl's friendship, if I could. One thing I knew. The grave sweet face, the steady eyes, told me. One could lay a loved one's life in those slim, capable hands, and rest assured that as far as human aid could go it would be safe. Keep her quiet. Above all things, do not let her get excited over anything. Ms. Sonnet was giving me my parting instructions as to the care of my sick mother-in-law, before taking the sleep which she so sorely needed on the day that Dr. Pettit declared my mother-in-law had passed the danger-point. Thanks to her ministrations, I had been able to sleep dreamlessly for hours. Now refreshed and ready for anything, I had prepared my room for her, and had accompanied her to it that I might see her really resting. She was so tired that her eyes closed even as she gave me the admonition. I drew the covers closer about her, raised the window a trifle, drew down the shades, and left her. As I closed the door softly behind me, I heard the querulous voice of the invalid. Margaret, Margaret, where are you? As I bent over my husband's mother, she smiled up at me. Her illness had done more to bridge the chasm between us than years of companionship could have done. One cannot cherish bitterness toward an old woman, helplessly ill and dependent upon one. And I think in her own peculiar way she realized that I was giving her all I had of strength and good will. What can I do for you? I asked, returning her smile. I want something to eat, and after that I want to have a talk with Richard. Where is he? He is asleep, I answered mechanically. In a moment my thoughts had flown back to the day my mother-in-law and I had met Harry Underwood in Tripp Aquarium, and she had discovered he was Lillian Gale's husband. What was it Dickie's mother had said that day in the Aquarium restroom? I have a duty to you to perform, she had declared, a very painful duty which involves the reviving of an old controversy with my son. I beg that you will not try to find out anything concerning its nature. It is better far that you do not. She had wished to go home at once and talk to Dickie. I had persuaded her to go first to Francis' tavern for luncheon. There she had been taken ill, and in the days that had intervened between that time and the moment I leaned over her bedside she and we around her had been fighting for her life. There had been no opportunity for a confidential talk between mother and son, and I was determined that there should be none yet. In the first place she was in no condition to discuss any subject let alone one fraught with so many possibilities of excitement. In the second place, I was determined that no one should discuss that old secret with my husband before I had a chance to talk to him concerning it. Well, you needn't go to sleep just because Richard is, my mother-in-law's impatient voice brought me back to myself. I apologized eagerly. I have never seen anyone enjoy food as my mother-in-law did the simple meal I had prepared for her. She ate every crumb, drank the wine, and drank the pot of tea before she spoke. How good that tasted! she said gratefully as she finished, sinking back against my shoulder. I had not only propped her up with pillows, but had sat behind her as she ate that she might have the support of my body. I think I can take a long nap now, she went on, when I awake send Richard to me. I laid her down gently, arranged her pillows, and drew up the covers over her shoulders. She caught my hand and pressed it. My own daughter could not have been kinder to me than you have been, she said. I am glad to have pleased you, Mrs. Graham. I returned. I supposed my reply sounded stiff, but I could not forget the day she came to us and her contemptuous rejection of Dickie's proposal that I should call her mother. She frowned slightly. Forget what I said that day I came, she said quickly, call me mother, that is, if you can. For a moment I hesitated. The memory of her prejudice against me would not down. Then I had an illuminative look into the narrowness of my own soul. The sight did not please me. With a sudden resolve I bent down and kissed the cheek of my husband's mother. Of course, mother, I said quietly. It must have been two hours at least that I sat watching the sick woman. She left her hand in mine a long time. Then, with a drowsy smile, she drew it away, turned over with her face to the wall, and fell into a restful sleep. I listened to her soft, regular breathing until the sunlight faded and the room darkened. I must have dozed in my chair, for I did not hear Katie come in or go to the kitchen. The first thing that aroused me was a voice that I knew, the high-pitched tones of Lillian Gale Underwood. I tell you, Dickie Bird, it won't do. She's got to know the truth. As Mrs. Underwood's shrill voice struck my ears, I sprang to my feet in dismay. My first thought was of the sick woman over whom I was watching. Both Dr. Pettit and the nurse Miss Sonnet had warned us that excitement might be fatal to their patient. And the one thing in the world that might be counted on to excite my mother-in-law was the presence of the woman whose voice I heard in conversation with my husband. I rose noiselessly from my chair and went into the living-room, closing the door after me. Then, with my finger lifted warningly for silence, I forced a smile of greeting to my lips, as Lillian Underwood saw me and came swiftly toward me. Dickie's mother is asleep, I said, in a low tone. I am afraid I must ask you to come into the kitchen, for she awakens so easily. Lillian nodded comprehendingly, but Dickie flushed guiltily as they followed me into the kitchen. Katie had left a few minutes before to run an errand for me. Dickie's voice interrupted the words Lillian was about to speak to me. I hardly recognized it. Horse choked with feeling as it was. Lillian, he said, you shall not do this. There is no need for you to bring all those old horrible memories back. You have buried them and have had a little peace. If Maj is the woman I take her for, she will be generous enough not to ask it, especially when I give her my word of honor that there is nothing in my past or yours which could concern her. You have the usual masculine idea of what might concern a woman, Lillian retorted tartly. But I answered the appeal I had heard in my husband's voice even more than in his words. You do not need to tell me anything, Mrs. Underwood, I said gently, and at the words Dickie moved toward me quickly and put his arm around me. I flinched at his touch. I could not help it. It was one thing to some encourage to refuse the confidence for which every tortured nerve was calling. It was another to bear the affectionate touch of the man, whose whole being I had just heard cry out in attempt to protect this other woman. Dickie did not notice any shrinking, but Mrs. Underwood saw it. I think sometimes nothing ever escapes her eyes. She came closer to me, gravely, steadily. You are very brave, Mrs. Graham, very kind, but it won't do. Dickie, keep quiet. She turned to him authoritatively as he started to speak. You know how much use there is of trying to stop me when I make up my mind to anything. She put one hand upon my shoulder. Dear child, she said earnestly, will you trust me till tomorrow? I had thought that I must tell you right away, but your splendid, generous attitude makes it possible for me to ask you this. I can see there is no place here where we can talk undisturbed. Besides, I must take no chance of your mother-in-law finding out that I am here. Will you come to my apartment tomorrow morning, any time after ten? Harry will be gone by then, and we can have the place to ourselves. I will be there at ten, I said gravely. I felt that her honesty and directness called for an explicit answer, and I gave it to her. Thank you! She smiled a little sadly, and then added, Don't imagine all sorts of impossible things. It isn't a very pretty story, but I am beginning to hope that after you have heard it, we may become very real friends. Preposterous as her words seemed, in the light of the things I had heard from the lips of my husband's mother, they gave me a sudden feeling of comfort. 19 Lillian Underwood's Story Well, I suppose we might as well get it over with. Lillian Underwood and I sat in the big tapestry chairs on either side of the glowing fire in her library. She had instructed Betty, her maid, to bring her neither call or nor telephone message, until our conference should be ended. The two doors leading from the room were locked, and the heavy velvet curtains drawn over them, making us absolutely secure from intrusion. I suppose so. The answer was banal enough, but it was physically impossible for me to say anything more. My throat was parched, my tongue thick, and I clenched my hands tightly in my lap to prevent their trembling. Mrs. Underwood gave me a searching glance, then reached over and laid her warm, firm hand over mine. See here, my child, she said gently, this will never do, before I tell you the story there is something you must be sure of. Look at me, no matter what else you may think of me, do you believe me to be capable of telling you a falsehood when I make a statement to you upon my honour? Her eyes met mine fairly and squarely. Mrs. Underwood has wonderful eyes, blue-gray, expressive. They shone out from the atrocious mask of makeup which she always uses, and I unreservedly accepted the message they carried to me. I am sure you would not deceive me, I returned quickly, and meant it. Thank you. Then, before I begin my story, I am going to assure you of one thing upon my honour. She spoke slowly, impressively, her eyes never wavering from mine. You have heard rumours about Dickie and me. You will hear things from me today which will show you that the rumours were justified in part, and yet I want you to believe me when I tell you that there is nothing in any past association of your husband and myself which would make either of us ashamed to look you straight in the eyes. I believed her. I would challenge anyone in the world to look into those clear, honest eyes and doubt their owner's truth. There was a long minute when I could not speak. I had not known the full measure of what I feared until her words lifted the burden from my soul. Then I had my moment, recognized it, rose to it. I leaned forward and returned the earnest gaze of the woman opposite to me. Dear Mrs. Underwood, I said, why tell me any more? I am perfectly satisfied with what you have just told me. Be sure that no rumours will trouble me again. Her clasp of my hand tightened until my rings hurt my flesh. Into her face came a look of triumph. I knew it, she said jubilantly. I could have banked on you. You're a big woman, my dear, and I believe we are going to be real friends. She loosened her clasp of my hands, leaned back in her chair, and looked for a long meditative moment at the fire. You cannot imagine how much easier your attitude makes the telling of my story, she began, finally. But I just assured you that there was no need for the telling, I interrupted. I know, but it is your right to know, and it will be far better if you are put in possession of the facts. It is an ugly story, I think I had better tell you the worst of it first. I marveled at the look that swept across her face. Bitter pain and humiliation were written there, so plainly, that I looked away. Then my eyes fell upon her strong, white, shapely hands, which were resting upon the arms of the chair. They were strained, bloodless, where the fingers gripped the tapestryed surface. When she spoke, her voice was low, hurried, abashed. Seven years ago, she said, my first husband sued me for divorce, and named Dicky as a co-respondent. I sprang from my seat. Oh no, no, no! I cried, hardly knowing what I said. Surely not! I remember reading the old story when you were married to Mr. Underwood three years ago. I've always admired your work so much that I've read every line about you, and surely Dicky's name wasn't mentioned. I would have remembered it when I met him, I know. There, there, she was on her feet beside me, and with the gentle yet compelling hand put me back in my chair. Her voice had the same tone a mother would use to a grieving child. Dicky's name wasn't mentioned when the story was printed the last time, because at the time the divorce was granted, Mr. Morton would drew the accusation that he had made against him. Why, the question left my lips almost without volition, I sensed something tragic, full of meaning for me behind the statement she had made. She did not answer me for a minute or two. I can only answer the question, on your word of honour not to tell Dicky what I am going to tell you, she said. It is something he suspects, for which I would never confirm. She paused expectantly. Upon honour, of course, I answered simply. She rose and moved swiftly toward one of the built-in bookcases. I saw that she put her hand upon one of the sections and pulled upon it. To my astonishment it moved toward her, and I saw that behind it was a cleverly constructed wall safe. She turned the combination, opened the door, and took from the safe an inlaid box which, as she came toward me, I saw was made of rare old woods. She sat down again in the big chair and looked at the box musingly, tenderly. I leaned forward expectantly. Again I had the sense of tragedy near me. Drawing the key from her dress, she opened the box and took from it a miniature, gazed at it a minute, and then handed it to me. Oh, Mrs. Underwood! I exclaimed. How exquisite! The miniature was of the most beautiful child I had ever seen, a tiny girl of perhaps two years. She stood poised as if running to meet one, her baby arms outstretched. It was a picture to delight or bake a mother's heart. I looked up from the miniature to the face of the woman who had handed it to me. Yes, she answered my unspoken query, my little daughter, my only child. She is the price which I paid for Dickie's immunity from the scandal which the unjust man that I called my husband brought upon me. My first impulse was one of horror-stricken sympathy for her. Then came the reaction. A flaming jealousy enveloped me from head to foot. How she must have loved Dickie to do this for him! The thought beat upon my brain like a sledgehammer. Don't think that, my dear, for it isn't true. I had not spoken, but with her almost uncanny ability to divine the thoughts of other people she had fathomed mine. I was always fond of Dickie, but I never was in love with him. Then why did you make such a sacrifice? I stammered. Why, there was absolutely no other way, she said, opening her wonderful eyes in amazement, that I had not at once grasped her point of view. Dickie was absolutely innocent of any wrongdoing, but through a combination of circumstances of which I shall tell you, my husband had gathered a show of evidence which would have won him the divorce if it had been presented. He bargained with me. I, to give up all claim to the baby, he, to withdraw Dickie's name and all other charges, except that of desertion. Thus Dickie was saved a scandal which would have followed and hampered him all his life, and I was spared the fastening of a shameful verdict upon me. Of course, everybody who read about the case and did not know me believed me guilty anyway, but my friend stood by me gallantly, and that part of it is all right. But every time I look at that baby-face I am tempted to wish that I had let honor, the writing of Dickie, everything go by the boards, and had taken my chance of having her, even if it were only part of the time. Her voice was rough, uneven, as she finished speaking, but that was the only evidence of the emotion which I knew must have her stretched upon the rack. Right there I capitulated to Lillian Underwood. Always, through my dislike and distrust of her, there had struggled an admiration which would not down, even when I thought I had most caused to fear her. But this revelation of the real bigness of the woman caught my allegiance and fixed it. She had sacrificed the thing which was most precious to her to keep her ideal of honor unsullied. I felt that I could never have made a similar sacrifice, but I mentally saluted her for her power to do it. I realized, too, the reason for Dickie's deference to Mrs. Underwood which had often puzzled and sometimes angered me. Once when she had given him a raking over the temper he displayed toward me in her presence he had said, You know I couldn't get angry at you no matter what you said, I owe you too much. I had wondered at the time what it was that my husband owed Mrs. Underwood. The riddle was solved for me at last. I am not an impetuous woman, and I do not know how I ever mustered up courage to do it, but the sight of Lillian Underwood's face as she looked at her baby picture was too much for me. Without any conscious volition on my part I found my arms around her and her face pressed against my shoulder. I expected a storm of grief, for I knew the woman had been holding herself in with an iron hand. But only a few convulsive movements of her shoulders betrayed her emotion, and when she raised her face to mine her eyes were less tear-bedewed than my own. Something stirred me to quick questioning. Oh, is there a chance of you having her again? I am always hoping for it, she answered quietly. When her father married again several years ago, that was before my marriage to Harry, I hoped against hope that he would give her to me, for he knew, the hound, knew better than anybody else that all his vile charges were false. Her eyes blazed, her voice was strident, her hands clasped and unclasped. Then, as if a string had been loosened, she sank back in her chair again. But he would not give her to me, she went on, dully, and he could not, even if he would, for his mother, who has the child, is old and devoted to her. It would kill her to take Marion away from her. You saw my pink room, she demanded abruptly. I nodded, the memory of that rose-colored nest and the look in my hostess's eyes, when on my other visit she had said she had prepared the room for a young girl was yet vivid. I spent weeks preparing it for her when I heard of her father's remarriage, she said. When I finally realized that I could not have her, I lay ill for weeks in it. On my recovery I vowed that no one else but she or I should ever sleep there. I have another bedroom where I sleep most of the time, but sometimes I go in there and spend the night and pretend that I have her little body snuggled up close to me, just as it used to be. The crackling of the logs in the grate was the only sound to be heard for many minutes. With her elbow resting on the arm of her chair, her chin cupped in her hand, her whole body leaning toward the warmth of the fire, she sat gazing into the leaping flames, as if she were trying to read in them the riddle of the future. I patiently waited on her mood. That she would open her heart to me further, I knew, but I did not wish to disturb her with either word or movement. I might as well begin at the beginning. There was a note in her voice that all at once made me see the long years of suffering which had been hers. Only the beginning is so commonplace that it lacks interest. It is the record of a very mediocre stenographer with aspirations. That she was speaking of herself, her tone told me, but I was genuinely surprised. Mrs. Underwood was the last woman in the world one would picture as holding down a stenographer's position. I can't remember when I didn't have in the back of my brain the idea of learning to draw, she went on, but it took years and years of uphill work and saving to get a chance. I was an orphan with nobody to care whether I lived or died, and nothing but my own efforts to depend on. But I stuck to it, working in the daytime and studying evenings and holidays, till at last I began to get a foothold, and then when I had enough to put by to risk it, I went to Paris. Her voice was as matter of fact as if she were describing a visit to the family butcher shop, but I visualized the busy, plucky years with their reward of Paris as if I had been a spectator of them. Of course, by the time I got there I was almost old enough to be the mother, or at least the elder sister of most of the boys and girls I met, and I had learned life and experience in a good hard school. Some of the youngsters got the habit of coming to me with all their troubles, fancied or real. I made some stanch friends in those days, but never a stancher, truer one than Dicky Graham. Tell me, dear girl, when you were teaching those history classes, did any of your boy pupils fall in love with you? I answered her with an embarrassed little laugh. Her question called up memories of shy glances, gifts of flowers and fruit, boyish confidences, all the things which fall to the lot of any teacher of boys. Well, then you will understand me when I tell you that in the studio days in Paris Dicky imagined himself quite in love with me. There was something in her tone and manner which took all the sting out of her words for me. All the jealousy and real concern which I had spent on this old attachment of my husband for Mrs. Underwood vanished as I listened to her. She might have been Dicky's mother speaking of his early and injudicious fondness for green apples. I shall always be proud of the way I managed Dicky that time. Her voice still held the amused maternal note. It's so easy for an older woman to spoil a boy's life in a case like that, if she's despicable enough to do it. But you see, I was genuinely fond of Dicky, and yet not the least bit in love with him, and I was able, without his guessing it, to keep the management of the affair in my own hands. So when he woke up, as boys always do, to the absurdity of the idea, there was nothing in his recollections of me to spoil our friendship. Then there came the early days of my struggle to get a foothold in New York in my line. There were thousands of others like me. Six or seven of the struggleers had been my friends in Paris. We formed a sort of circle, for offense and defence, Dicky called it, settled down near each other, and for months we worked and played and starved together. When one of us sold anything, we all feasted while it lasted. I tell you, my dear, those were strenuous times, but they had a zest of their own. I saw more of the picture she was revealing than she thought I did. I could guess that the one who most often sold anything was the woman who was so calmly telling me the story of those early hardships. I knew that the dominant member of that little group of stragglers, the one who heartened them all, the one who would unhesitatingly go hungry herself if she thought a comrade needed it, was Lillian Underwood. And then I spoiled my life. I married. Don't misunderstand me, she hastened to say. I do not mean that I believe all marriages are failures. I believe tremendously in married happiness, but I think I must be one of the women who are temperamentally unfitted to make any man happy. Her tone was bitter, self-accusing. You cannot make me believe that, I said stoutly. I would rather believe that you were very unwise in your choice of husbands. She laughed ironically. Well, we will let it go at that. At any rate, there is only one word that describes my first marriage. It was hell from start to finish. The look on her face told me she was not exaggerating. It was a look only graven by intense suffering. When the baby came, my feeling for will changed. He had warned me out. The love I had given him, I lavished upon the child. Will's mother came to live with us. She had been drifting around miserably before, and while she failed me at the time of the divorce, yet she was a tower of strength to me during the baby's infancy. I was very fond of her, and I think she sincerely liked me. But Will, her only son, could always make her believe black was white, as I later found out to my sorrow. With the vanishing of the hectic love I had felt for Will, things went more smoothly with me. I worked like a slave to keep up the expenses of the home and to lay by something for the baby's future. My husband was away so much that the boys and girls gradually came back to something like the old term of intimacy. I never gave the matter of propriety a thought. My mother-in-law, a baby and a maid, were certainly chaperones enough. Afterward I found out that my husband, equipped with his legal knowledge, had set all manner of traps for me, had bribed my maid, and diabolically managed to twist the most innocent visits of the voice of the old crowd to our home to his own evil meanings. Then came the crash. Dicky came in one Sunday afternoon, and I saw at once that he was really ill. You know his carelessness. He had let a cold go until he was as near pneumonia as he could well be. A sleet storm was raging outside, and when Dicky, after shivering before the fire, started to go back to his studio, Will's mother, who liked Dicky immensely, joined me in insisting that he must not go out at all but to bed. Dicky was really too ill to care what we did with him, so we got him into bed, and I took care of him for two or three days, until he was well enough to leave. Of course, the greater part of his care fell on me, for Will's mother was old and not strong. I am not going to tell you the accusations which my unspeakable husband made against me, or the affidavits which the maid was bribed to sign about Dicky and me. You can guess. Worst of all, Will's mother turned against me, not because of anything she had observed, but simply because her son told her I was guilty. I never would have thought it of you, Lillian, she said to me with the tears streaming down her wrinkled old face. I never saw anything out of the way, but of course Will wouldn't lie, and I loved you so. Poor old woman, those last few words of affection made it easier for me to give the baby up to her when the time came. She idolizes Marion. She gives her the best of care, and I do not think she will teach her to hate me as Will would. But there has never been a moment since I kissed Marion and gave her into the arms of her grandmother that I have not known exactly how she was treated, she said. I have made it my business to know, and I have paid liberally for the knowledge. You see, about the time of the divorce Mr. Morton had a legacy left him, so that life has been easy for him financially. His mother had always kept a maid. Every servant she has had has been in my employ. There has scarcely been a day since I lost my baby that from some unobserved place I have not seen her in her walks. I know every line of her face, every curve of her body, every trick of movement and expression. I shall know how to win her love when the time comes, never fear. Her voice was nauntless, but her face mirrored the anguish that must be her daily companion. One thing about her recital jarred upon me. This paying of servants, this furtive espionage, was not in keeping with the high resolve that had let the mother to keep her word to the man who had ruined her life. And yet I dared not judge her. In her place I could not imagine what I would have done. One thing I knew. Never again would I doubt Lillian Underwood. The ghost of the past romance between my husband and the woman before me was laid for all time, never to trouble me again. Remembering the sacrifice she had made for Dickie, considering the gallant fight against circumstances she had waged since her girlhood, I felt suddenly unworthy of the friendship she had so warmly offered me. I turned to her trying to find words which should fittingly express my sentiments, but she forestalled me with the kaleidoscopic change of manner that bewildered me. "'Enough of horrors,' she said, springing up and giving a little expressive shake of her shoulders, as if she were throwing a weight from them. I'm going to give you some luncheon.' "'Oh, please,' I put up a protesting hand. But she was across the room and pressing a bell before I could stop her.' I thought I understood. The grave of her past life was closed again. She had opened it because she wished me to know the truth concerning the old garbled stories about herself and Dickie. Having told me everything, she had pushed the grisly thing back into its apulcher again and had sealed it. She would not refer to it again. One thing puzzled me, something to which she had not referred. Why had she married Harry Underwood? Why, after the terrible experience of her first marriage, had she risked linking her life with an unstable creature like the man who was now her husband? I put all questionings aside, however, and tried to meet her brave, gay mood. CHAPTER XX My mother-in-law's convalescence was as rapid as the progress of her sudden illness had been. By the day that I gave my first history lecture before the Lotus Steady Club, she was well enough to dismiss Dr. Pettit with one of her sudden, imperious speeches and to make plans that evening for the welcoming and entertaining of her daughter Harriet and her famous son-in-law, Dr. Edwin Braithwaite, who were expected next day on their way to Europe, where Dr. was to take charge of a French hospital at the front. That night I could not sleep. The exciting combination of happenings effectually robbed me of rest. I tried every device I could think of to go to sleep, but could not lose myself in even a dose. Finally, in despair, I rose cautiously not to awaken Dicky, and slipping on my bathrobe and fur-trimmed mules made my way into the dining-room. Turning on the light I looked around for something to read until I should get sleepy. What is the matter, Mrs. Graham? Are you ill? Miss Sonnet's soft voice sounded just behind me. As I turned I thought again, as I had many times before, how very attractive the little nurse was. She had on a dark blue negligee of rough cloth, made very simply, but which covered her night attire completely, while her feet, almost as small as a child's, were covered with fur-trimmed slippers of the same color as the negligee. Her abundant hair was braided in two plates and hung down to her waist. You look like a sleepy little girl, I said impulsively. And you, like a particularly wakeful one, she returned, mischievously. I am glad you are not ill. I feared you were when I heard you snap on the light. No, you did not awaken me. In fact, I have been awake nearly an hour. I was just about to come out and rob the water of a cracker and a sip of milk in the hope that I might go to sleep again when I heard you. Splendid, I ejaculated, while Miss Sonnet looked at me, wonderingly, can your patient hear us out here? If you could hear her snore you would be sure she could not, Miss Sonnet smiled, and I partly closed her door when I left. She is safe for hours. Then we will have a party, I declared triumphantly, a regular boarding school party. Then on to the kitchen. She raised one of her long braids of hair and waved it like a banner. We giggled like fifteen-year-old schoolgirls as we tiptoed our way into the kitchen, turned on the light, and searched refrigerator, pantry, bread and cake boxes for food. Now for our plunder, I said, as we rapidly inventoried the eatables we had found. Bread, butter, a can of sardines, eggs, sliced bacon, and a dish of stewed tomatoes. I wish we had some oysters or cheese. Then we could stir up something in the shaping-dish, I said mournfully. Do you know, I believe I have a shaping-dish recipe we can use, in a scrapbook which I always carry with me, responded Miss Sonnet. It is in my suitcase at the foot of my couch. I'll be back in a minute. She noiselessly slipped into the living-room, and returned almost instantly with the substantially bound book in her hands. She sat down beside me at the table and opened the book. I couldn't live without this book, she said extravagantly. In it I have all sorts of treasured clippings and jottings, the things I need most I have pasted in. The shaping-dish recipes are in an envelope. I just happened to have them along. She was turning the pages as she spoke. On one page, which she passed by more hurriedly than the others, were a number of Kodak pictures. I caught a flash of one which made my heart beat more quickly. Surely I had a print from the same negative in my trunk. The tiny picture was a photograph of Jack Bicket, or I was very much mistaken. What was it doing in the scrapbook of Miss Sonnet? I put an unsteady handout to prevent her turning the page. It was Jack Bicket's photograph. I schooled my voice to a sort of careless surprise. Why, isn't this Jack Bicket? She started perceptibly. Yes, do you know him? He is the nearest relative I have. I returned quickly, a distant cousin, but brought up as my brother. Her face flushed, her eyes shone with interest. Oh! Then you must be his Margaret! She cried. As the words left Miss Sonnet's lips, she gazed at me with the half-frightened little air as if she regretted their utterance. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Graham, she said contritely. You must think I have taken leave of my senses, but I have heard so much about you. Mr. Bicket? My head was whirling. I had never heard Jack speak the name of Sonnet. Indeed, I would never have known he had met her, save for the accidental opening of her scrapbook to this picture when she and I were searching for Shafing-Dish recipes. Oh! No! Indeed! I have never seen Mr. Bicket myself. A rosy, embarrassed flush stole over her face as she spoke. Her eyes were starry. Through my bewilderment came a thought which I voiced. That is his loss, then. He would think so if he could see you now. She laughed confusedly, while the rosy tint of her cheeks deepened. I must explain to you, she said simply, I have never seen Mr. Bicket, but my brother is one of his friends. They used to correspond, and I enjoyed his letters as much as Mark did. I think he is a wonderful personality, don't you? Naturally, I returned, a trifle dryly. The little nurse was revealing more than she dreamed. There was romantic admiration in every note in her voice. I was not quite sure that I liked it, but I put all selfish considerations down with an iron hand and smiled in most friendly fashion at her. Isn't it wonderful that after hearing so much of each other we should meet in this way? I said heartily, if only our brothers were here. Miss Sonnet's face brightened again. Is Mr. Bicket in this country? She asked, her voice carefully nonchalant. I have not heard anything about him for two or three years. He sailed for France a week ago, I answered slowly. He intends to join the French engineering corps. There was a long moment of silence. Then Miss Sonnet spoke slowly, and there was a note almost of reverence in her voice. That is just what he would do, and then, impetuously, how I envy him. Envy him, I repeated incredulously. Yes, indeed, her voice was militant, her eyes shining, her face aglow. How I wish I were a man ever since this was started. I am just waiting for a good chance to join a hospital unit, but I do not happen to know any surgeon who has gone, and of course they all pick their own nurses. But my chance will come. I am sure of it, and then I am going to do my part. Why, my great grandfather was an officer in Napoleon's army. I feel ashamed not to be over there. I saw very little of Dickie's sister and her husband during the week they spent in New York before sailing for France. True, Harriet spent some portion of every day with her mother, but she ate at our table only once, always hurrying back to the hotel to oversee the menu of her beloved Edwin. Reasoning that in a similar situation I should not care for the presence of an outsider, I left the mother and daughter alone together as much as I could without appearing rude. I think they both appreciated my action, although with their customary reserve they said very little to me. After Brathwaite came twice during the week to see us, each time making a hurried call, Harriet appeared to wish to impress us with the importance of these visits from so busy and distinguished a man, but the noted surgeon himself was simple and unaffected in his manner. One thing troubled me. I had done nothing, said nothing to further Miss Sonnet's desire to go to France as a nurse. She had left us the day after Dickie's sister and brother-in-law arrived, left with the admiration and good wishes of us all. The big surgeon himself, after watching her attention to his mother-in-law upon the day of arrival, made an approving comment. Good nurse that, he had said. I took the first opportunity to repeat his words to the little nurse, who flushed with pleasure. I knew that I ought to at least inquire of the big surgeon or his wife about the number of nurses he was taking with him, but there seemed no fitting opportunity, and I did not make one. I did not try to explain to myself the curious disinclination I felt to lift a hand toward the sending of Miss Sonnet to the French hospitals, but every time I thought of the night she had told me of her wish I felt guilty. Jack was already somewhere in France. If Miss Sonnet entered the hospital service there was a possibility that they might meet. I sincerely liked and admired Miss Sonnet. My brother-cousin had been the only man in my life until Dickie swept me off my feet with his tempestuous wooing. My heart ought to have leaped at the prospect of their meeting and its possible result, but I felt unaccountably depressed at the idea instead. The last day of the Braithwaite's day Harriet came unusually early to see her mother. I can stay only a few minutes this morning, Mother, she explained, as she took off her heavy coat. I know, in answer to the older woman's startled protest, it is awful this last day, too. I'll come back toward night, but I must get back to Edwin this morning. He is so annoyed, one of his nurses has fallen ill at the last moment and cannot go. He has to secure another good one immediately, that he may get her passport attended to in time for tomorrow's sailing. And he will not have one unless he interviews her himself. I left him eating his breakfast and getting ready to receive a flock of them sent him by some physician he knows. I must hurry back to help him through. Miss Sonnet's opportunity had come. I knew it, knew also that I must speak to my sister-in-law at once about her. But she had finished her flying little visit and was putting on her coat before I finally forced myself to broach the subject. Mrs. Braithwaite, to my disgust I found my voice trembling. I think I ought to tell you that Miss Sonnet, the nurse your mother had, wishes very much to enter the hospital service. She could go to-morrow, I am sure, and I remember your husband spoke approvingly of her. My sister-in-law rushed past me to the telephone. The very thing! She threw the words over her shoulder as she took down the receiver. Thank you so much! Then, as she received her connection, she spoke rapidly, enthusiastically. Edwin, I have such good news for you. Dickie's wife thinks that little Miss Sonnet, who nurse's mother, could go to-morrow. She said while she was here that she wanted to enter the hospital service. Yes, I thought you'd want her. All right. I'll see to it right away and telephone you. By the way, Edwin, if she can go, you won't need me this forenoon, will you? That's good. I can stay with mother, then. Take care of yourself, dear. Goodbye. She hung up the receiver and turned to me. Can you reach her by phone right away? And if she can go, tell her to go to the Clinton at once and ask for Dr. Braithwaite. I paid a mental tribute to my sister-in-law's energy, as I, in my turn, took down the telephone receiver. I realized how much wear and tear she must save her big husband. Miss Sonnet, I could not help being a bit dramatic in my news. Can you sail for France to-morrow? One of Dr. Braithwaite's nurses is ill, and you may have her place, if you wish. There was a long minute of silence. And then the little nurse's voice sounded in my ears. It was filled with awe and incredulity. If I wish, and then, after a pregnant pause, surely I can go, where do I learn the details? I gave her full directions and hung up the receiver with the sigh. She came to see me before she sailed, and after she had left me, I went into my bedroom, locked the door, and let the tears come which I had been forcing back. I did not know what was the matter with me. I felt a little as I did once long before when a cherished doll of my childhood had been broken beyond all possibility of mending. Unreasonable as the feeling was, it was as if a curtain had dropped between me and any part of my life that lay behind me. End of chapter 20