 XXVII How nearly I lost you! Dickey and I had been so engrossed in our quarrel that we had not noticed our proximity to Grace Draper. Whether she had purposely approached us or not, I could not tell. At any rate, when after Dickey's outburst of jealous anger against Dr. Pettit and my retort concerning his model, he had cried out loudly, to the devil with Grace Draper—I'm not bothering about her—she's getting on my nerves, anyway. I heard a choking little gasp from behind me, and, turning swiftly, saw the girl standing quite near to us. Except when excited, Grace Draper never has any color, but the usual clear pallor of her face had changed to a grayish whiteness. I had reason enough to hate the girl. I had schemed with Lillian to save Dickey from her influence. But in that moment, as I gazed at her, I felt nothing but deep pity for her, for all the poise and pretense of the girl was stripped from her. She was a ghastly, pityable sight, as she stood there, her big eyes fixed on Dickey, her breath coming unevenly and shattering gasps. Then she glanced at me, and her eyes held mine for a moment, fascinated. Then, with a little shrug of her shoulders, she turned away, and I knew that the danger of Dickey's realizing her agitation was past. "'What are you looking at so earnestly?' Dickey demanded. Without waiting for an answer, he turned swiftly, following my gaze, and catching sight of the retreating back of Grace Draper. "'Good Lord!' he gasped in consternation. Do you suppose she heard what I said?' "'Oh, I'm sure she didn't,' I replied, mendaciously. Dickey looked at me curiously. Whether he believed me or not, I do not know. At any rate he did not press the question. Neither did he again refer to Dr. Pettit, to my sincere relief. We made a merry picnic of our impromptu luncheon, and after it, when we were dried by the sun, we spent a comfortable, lazy two hours lounging on the beach. If I had not seen Grace Draper's blanched face and the terrible look in her eyes when she had heard Dickey's exclamation of indifference toward her, I would not have dreamt that her heart held any other emotion except that of happy enjoyment of the day. She laughed and chatted as if she had not a care in the world directing much of her conversation to me. It cost my mind that, for some reason of her own, she was trying to make it appear to everyone that we were on especially friendly terms. It was after one of Dickey's periodical trips to Jim's Fire, which Harry Underwood did not allow him to forget, and his report that the dinner would be shortly forthcoming, that Grace Draper rose and said carelessly, "'Suppose we all have another dip before dinner? There won't be time before we leave for a swim afterward, and the water is too fine to miss going in once more. What do you say, Mrs. Graham? Will you race me?' I saw Lillian's quick little gesture of dissuasion, and through me there crept an indefinable shrinking from going with the girl. But the men were already chasing each other through the shallow water, and I did not wish to humiliate my guest by refusing to go with her. "'It can hardly be called a race,' I answered quietly, for you swim so much better than I, but I will do my best.' I followed her into the water with every appearance of enjoyment, and exerted every ounce of my strength to try to keep up with her rushing through the waves. I knew she was not exerting her full strength, for she is a magnificent swimmer, but I found that I had all I could to keep pace with her. She seemed to be bent on showing off her skill to me, or else she was trying to test my nerves by teasing me. I knew that she was able to swim under the water when she chose, but that did not accustom me to the frequent sudden disappearances which she made, or to her equally sudden reappearances above the surface of the water. She would dash on ahead of me a few yards. Then her head would disappear beneath the waves. The next thing I knew she would bob up almost at my side. There was a fascination about the skill of hers which gripped me. I was so engrossed in watching her that I did not realize how far out we had gone until, at one of her quick turns, I followed her, caught a glimpse of the beach. To my overwrought imagination it seemed miles away. I suddenly felt an overwhelming terror of the cloudless sky, the rolling waves, even of the girl who had brought me out so far. I looked wildly around for her, but could not see her anywhere. Evidently she was indulging in one of her underwater tricks. I turned blindly toward the shore. As I did so I felt a sudden jerk, a quick clutch at my foot, a clutch that dragged me down relentlessly. I remembered gasping, struggling, fighting for life, with an awful sensation of being sunk in a gulf of blackness. I fancied I heard Lillian Underwood's voice in a piercing scream. Then I knew nothing more. The next thing I remember was a voice. There she's coming out of it. Let me have that brandy. And then I felt a spoon inserted between my teeth, and something fiery trickled gently drop by drop in my throat. The voice was that of Dr. Pettit. With a gasp as the pungent liquid almost strangled me, I opened my eyes to find that the physician's arm was supporting my shoulder, and his hand holding the spoon to my lips. Oh, thank God, thank God! Someone groaned brokenly on the other side of me, and I turned my eyes to meet Dickie's face bent close to mine and working with emotion. She is all right now, the physician said reassuringly. She will suffer far more from the shock than from any real damage by her immersion. Get her into the tent. He turned to Mrs. Underwood and said, rub her down hard, and if there are any extra wraps in the party, put them around her. Give her a stiff little dose of this. He handed Lillian the brandy flask. Then bring her out into the sunshine again. She'll be all right in a little while. Dickie picked me up in his arms as the physician spoke, as if I had been a child, and strode me toward the improvised tent Dr. Pettit had indicated. Sweetheart, sweetheart, suppose I had lost you, he said brokenly, and then, manlike, reproachfully, even in the intensity of his emotion, what possessed you to go out so far, if it hadn't been for Grace Draper being on hand when you went down, you would never have come back. Harry and I were too far away when Lill screamed to be of any use, but by the time we got there Mrs. Draper had you by the hair, and was towing you in. My brain was two days to comprehend much of what Dickie was saying, but one remark smote on my brain like a sledgehammer. Grace Draper had saved my life. Why, if I had any memory left at all, Grace Draper had Lillian came forward swiftly, and placed a restraining finger on my lips. You mustn't talk yet, she admonished. Then to Dickie, run away now, Dickie Bird, and give Mrs. Durkey and me a chance to take care of her. Little Mrs. Durkey's sweet, anxious face was close to Lillian's. Yes, Dickie, she echoed, hurry out now. Dickie waited long enough to kiss me, a long, lingering, tender kiss that did more to revive me than the brandy, and then went obediently away while Mrs. Durkey and Lillian ministered to me as only tender and efficient women can. When I was nearly dressed again, Lillian turned to Mrs. Durkey. Would you mind getting a cup of coffee for this girl? she asked. I know Jim and Katie have some in preparation out there. Of course Mrs. Durkey returned, and fluttered away. She had no sooner gone than Lillian gathered me in her arms with the protecting maternal gesture as if I had been her own daughter restored to her. Quick, she demanded fiercely, tell me just what happened out there when you went under. Did you get a cramp or what? I waited a moment before answering. The suspicion that had come to my brain was so horrible that I did not wish to utter it even to Lillian. I think it must have been the undertow, I said feebly. I felt something like a clutch at my feet dragging me down. Lillian's face hardened. Into her eyes came a revengeful gleam. Under-toe, she ejaculated. You poor baby, your undertow was that draper devil's calculating hand. I stared at Lillian, horrified. What Lillian? I protested, faintly. How is it that they all say she saved my life? If she really tried to drown me, why didn't she let me go? Got cold feet! returned Lillian laconically. You see, she isn't naturally evil enough deliberately to plan to kill you. I give her credit for that with all her devilishness. But something happened today between her and Dickie. I don't know what it was that drove her nearly frantic. I saw her look at you two or three times in a way that chilled my blood. I didn't like the idea of your going out there with her, but I didn't see any way of stopping you. Now, there's one thing I want you to promise me, she went on hurriedly, although I know you well enough to know what something you would do anyway without a promise. I don't want you to hint to anyone, even Dickie, what you know of the draper's attempt to put you out of commission. It's the chance I've been looking for, the winning card I needed so badly. I won't need to stay a week with you, my dear, as I thought when I first planned my little campaign to get Dickie out of the draper's clutches. I can go home to-night if I wish to, with my mission accomplished. Why, what do you mean?" I asked. Just this, retorted Lillian, that I'm going to spring the nicest little case of polite blackmail on Grace Draper before the day is over that you ever saw. I shall need you when I do it, so be prepared, although you won't need to say anything. But here comes Mrs. Durkey with the coffee. Do you think, after you drink it, you'll feel strong enough to have me tackle Grace Draper? I shivered inwardly, but bent my head in assent. Lillian had proved too good a friend of mine for me to go against her wishes in anything. After I had drunk the steaming coffee with Mrs. Durkey looking on and smiling approval, Lillian made another request of the cheery little woman. Would you mind asking Mrs. Draper to come here a moment? She said quietly, Mrs. Graham wants to thank her, and then do hunt up that husband of mine, and tell him to rig up some sort of couch for Mrs. Graham so she can lie down while we have our dinner. We can all take turns feeding her. As Mrs. Durkey hurried out, eager to help in any way possible, Lillian turned to me grimly. That will keep her out of the way while we have our saiyans with the Draper. Now brace up, my dear, just nod or shake your head when I give you the cue. It seemed ours, although in reality it was only a moment or two before Grace Draper parted the improvised sail-curtains and stood before us. I think she knew something of what we wished, for her face held the grayish whiteness that had been there when she heard Dickie's impatient words concerning her. But her head was held high, her eyes were unflinching as she faced us. Miss Draper, Lillian began, her voice low and controlled, but deadly in its icy grimness. We won't detain you but a moment, for we are going to get right down to brass tacks. I know exactly what happened out there in the surf a little while ago. I was watching from the shore and saw enough to make me suspicious, and what I have learned from Mrs. Graham has confirmed my suspicions. She glanced toward me. You felt a hand clutch your foot and then drag you down, did you not, Maj? I nodded weakly, conscious only of the terrible burning eyes of Miss Draper fixed upon me. It is a lie, Miss Draper began, fiercely, but Lillian held up her hand in a gesture that appeared to cow the girl. Don't trouble either to deny or affirm it, she said, icily. There is but one thing I wish to hear from your lips. It is the answer to this question. Will you take the offer Mr. Underwood made you to get you that theatrical engagement? And having done this, will you keep out of Dickie Graham's way for every day of your life hereafter? I don't mind telling you that if you do this, I shall keep my mouth closed about this thing. If you do not, I shall call the rest of the party here now and tell them what I know. Mr. Graham will not believe you, the girl said through stiff lips. Her attitude was like the final turning of an animal at bay. Don't fool yourself, Lillian retorted costically. I am Mr. Graham's oldest friend. He would believe me almost more quickly than he would his wife, for he might think that his wife was prejudiced against you. I am not a patient woman, Miss Draper. Don't try me too far. Take this offer or take the consequences. The girl stood with bent head for a long minute as Lillian flared out her ultimatum. Then she lifted it and looked steadily into Mrs. Underwood's eyes. Remember, I admit nothing, she said defiantly, but, of course, I accept your offer. There is nothing else for me to do in the face of the very ingenious story which you two have concocted between you. She turned and walked steadily out of the tent. Her words, the blaze in her eyes, the very motion of her body, was magnificently insolent. She's a wonder, Lillian admitted, drawing a deep breath as the girl vanished. I didn't think she had bravado enough to bluff it out like that. Oh, now my dear, Lillian spoke briskly, just lean your head against my shoulder, shut your eyes, and try to rest for a little. I know that sand with the raincoat covering doesn't make the most comfortable couch in the world, but I think I can hold you so that you may be able to take a tiny nap. What Dickies amised concerning the events of the afternoon, I do not know. He must have known that the girl was madly in love with him. Something had happened to put an end to the infatuation into which he had been slipping so rapidly. Had he become tired of the girl's open pursuit of him? Had he guessed to what lengths her desperation had driven her? Had the shock of my narrow escape from drowning startled him into a fresh realization of his love for me? I felt too weak even to guess the solution of the riddle. All I wanted to do was to nestle close to Dickie's side, to be taken care of, and petted like a baby. The ride home through the sunset was a quiet one. To me it was one of the happiest hours of my life. Dickie fussing over me as if I were a fragile piece of china sat in the most sheltered corner of the boat and held me securely against him, protecting me with his arm from any sudden lurch or jolt the boat might give. Seemingly, by tacit agreement, the others of the party left us to ourselves. They talked in subdued tones, apparently unwilling to spoil the wonderful beauty of the twilight ride home with much conversation. When the boat landed, Harry Underwood, at Dickie's suggestion, telephoned for taxis to meet the little trolley upon which we journeyed from the beach to Cresthaven. One of these bore the dirties and Grace Draper to their homes. The other was to carry Harry and Lillian with Dickie and me to the old Brennan house. Dr. Pettit, who was to take a train back to the city, came up to us after we were seated in the taxi. I would advise you to go directly to bed, Mrs. Graham, he said, with his most professional air. You have had an unusual shock, and rest is the one imperative thing. I felt that common courtesy demanded that I extend an invitation to the physician to call at our home when next he came to Marvin. But fear of Dickie's possible displeasure tied my tongue, I could not do anything to jeopardize the happiness so newly restored to me. To my great surprise, however, Dickie impulsively extended his hand and smiled upon the young physician. Thanks ever so much, old man, he said cordially, for the way you pulled a little lady through this afternoon. Don't forget to come to see us when next you're in Marvin. I was tucked safely into Dickie's bed, which he insisted on my sharing, saying that he could take care of me better there than in my own room when he gave me the explanation of his cordiality. I'm not particularly stuck on that doctor chap, he said, tucking the coverlet about me with awkward tenderness. But I'm so thankful tonight I just can't be sour on anybody. Sweetheart, sweetheart, he put his cheek to mine. To think how nearly I lost you. And my heart echoed the exclamation it could not speak aloud. Ah, Dickie, to think how nearly I lost you. End of Chapter 27 Section 28 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 28 A Dark Night and a Troubled Dawn How many more trains are there tonight? Lillian Underwood's voice was sharp with anxiety. My voice reflected worry as I answered her query. To one at twelve-thirty and the last until morning, two o'clock. Well, I suppose we might as well lie down and get some sleep. They probably will be out on the last train. You don't suppose, I began, then stopped, that they've slipped off the water wagon? Lillian returned grimly. That's just what I'm afraid of. We will know in a little while, anyway. Harry will begin to telephone me and keep it up until he gets too lazy to remember the number. Come on, let's get off these clothes and get into comfortable négligés. We probably shall have a long night of worry before us. I obeyed her suggestion, and I was wild with an anxiety which Lillian did not suspect. My question which she had finished for me had not meant what she had thought at all. In fact, until she spoke of it, that possibility had not occurred to me. It was a far different fear that was gripping me. I was afraid that Grace Draper had failed to keep the bargain she had made with Lillian to keep out of Dickie's way in return for Lillian's silence concerning the Draper girl's mad attempt to drown me during our desert island picnic. Whether or not my narrow escape from death had brought Dickie to a realization of what we meant to each other, I could not tell. At any rate, he never had been more my royal lover than in the five days since my accident. Indeed, since that day he had made but one trip to the city beside this with Harry Underwood, the return from which we were so anxiously awaiting. When the men left in the morning, they had told us not to plan dinner at home, but to be ready to accompany them to a nearby resort for a shore dinner as they were coming out on the five o'clock train. No wonder that at ten thirty Lillian and I were both anxious and irritated. Dickie's behavior toward me, since death so nearly gripped me, certainly had given me no reason to doubt that his infatuation for Grace Draper was at an end. But no one except myself knew how apparently strong her hold had been on Dickie through the weeks of the late summer, nor how ruthless her own mad passion for him was. Had she reconsidered her bargain? Was she making one last attempt to regain her hold upon Dickie? The telephone suddenly rang out its insistent summons. I ran to it, but Lillian brushed past me and took the receiver from my trembling hand. I sank down on the stairs and clutched the stair rail tightly with both hands to keep from falling. Yes, yes, this is Lill, Harry. What's the matter? Seriously? Where are you? Yes, we were coming, anyway. Yes, we'll bring Miss Draper's sister. Don't bother to meet us. We'll take a taxi straight from the station. Staggering with terror I caught her hand and prevented her putting the receiver back on its hook. Is Dickie dead? I demanded. No, no, child, she said soothingly. I don't believe it, I cried, maddened at my own fear. Call him to the phone. Let me hear his voice myself. Then I'll believe you. She took the receiver out of my grip, put it back upon the hook, and grasped my hands firmly, holding them as she would those of a hysterical child. See here, Maj, she said sternly, Dickie is very much alive, but he has hurt slightly and needs you. We have barely time to get Mrs. Gorman in that train. Hurry and get ready. Dickie's eager eyes looked up from his white face into mine. His voice, weak but thrilling with the old love note, repeated my name over and over as if he could not say it enough. I sank on my knees beside the bed in which Dickie lay. I realized in a hazy sort of fashion that the room must be Harry Underwood's own bed-chamber, but I spent no time in conjecture. All my being was fused in the one joyous certainty that Dickie was alive and in my arms, and that I had been assured he would get well. I laid my face against his cheek, shifted my arms so that no weight should rest against his bandaged, left shoulder, which at my first glimpse of it had caused me to shudder involuntarily. If you only knew how awful I felt about this, Dickie murmured contritely, and as I raised my eyes to look at him, his own contracted as with pain. It's a fine mess I've brought you into by my carelessness this summer, but I swear I didn't dream. I laid my hand on his lips. Don't, sweetheart, I pleaded. It is enough for me to know that you are safe in my arms. Nothing else in the world matters. Just rest and get well for me. He kissed the hand against his lips, then reached up the unbandaged arm and with gentle fingers pulled mine away. But there is one thing I must talk about, he said solemnly, something you must do for me, Madge, for I cannot get up from here to see to it. It's a hard thing to ask you to do, but you are so brave and true, I know you will understand. Tell me, is that poor girl going to die? I—I don't know, Dickie, I faltered, saving my conscience with the thought that he must not be excited with the knowledge of Grace Draper's true condition. Poor girl, he sighed, I never dreamt she looked at things in the light she did, but I feel guilty anyhow, responsible. She must have the best of care, Madge, best physicians, best nurses, everything. I must meet all expenses, even the ones which will be necessary if she should die. He brought out the last words fearfully. Little drops of moisture stood on his forehead. I saw that the shock of the girl's terrible act had unnerved him. Nerving myself to be as practical and matter of fact as possible, I wiped the moisture from his brow with my handkerchief and patted his cheek soothingly. I will attend to everything, I promised, just as if you were able to see to it, but you must do something for me in return. You must promise not to talk any more and try to go to sleep. My own precious girl, he sighed happily, and then drowsily, kiss me. I pressed my lips to his, his eyes closed, and with his hand clinging tightly to mine, he slept. How long I knelt there, I do not know. No one came near the room, but through the closed door I could hear the hushed hurry and movement which marks a desperate fight between life and death. I felt numbed, bewildered. I tried to visualize what was happening outside the room, but I could not. I felt as if Dickie and I had come through some terrible shipwreck together, and had been cast up on this friendly piece of shore. I knew that later I would have to face my own soul in a rigid inquisition as to how far I had been to blame for this tragedy. I had been married less than a year, and yet my husband was involved in a horrible complication like this. But my brain was too exhausted to follow that line of thought. I was content to rest quietly on my knees by the side of Dickie's bed, with his hand in mine and my eyes fixed on his white face with the long lashes shadowing it. At first I was perfectly comfortable, then after a while little tingling pains began to run through my back and limbs. I dared not change my position for fear of disturbing Dickie, so I set my teeth and endured the discomfort. The sharpness of the pain gradually wore away as the minutes went by, and was succeeded by a distressing feeling of numbness extending all over my body. Just as I was beginning to feel that the numbness must soon extend to my brain, the door opened and someone came quietly in. My back was to the door, and so carefully were the footsteps crossing the room that I could not tell who the newcomer was, until I felt a firm hand gently unclasping my nervous fingers from Dickie's. Then I looked up into the solicitous face of Dr. Pettit. How is it that you have been left alone here so long? He inquired, indignantly, yet keeping his voice to the professional low pitch of a sick room. He put his strong firm hands under my elbows, raised me to my feet, and supported me to a chair. For my feet were like pieces of wood, I could hardly lift them. How long have you been kneeling there? he demanded. You would have fainted away if you had stayed there much longer. I do not know, I replied faintly, but it doesn't matter. Tell me, is my husband all right, and how badly is he hurt? He is not hurt seriously at all, the physician replied. The bullet went through the fleshy part of his left arm. It was a clean wound, and he will be around again in no time. He walked to Dickie's bed, bent over him, listened to his breathing, straightened, and came back to me. He is doing splendidly, he said, but you are not. You are on the point of collapse from what you have undergone tonight. You must lie down at once. If there is no one else to take care of you, I must do it. I felt as if I could not bear to answer him, even to raise my eyes to meet his. I do not know how long the intense silence would have continued. Just as I felt that I could not bear the situation any longer, Lillian Underwood came into the room, bringing with her, as she always does, an atmosphere of cheerful sanity. What is the matter? she asked. Her tone was low and guarded, but in it there was a note of alarm, and the same anxiety shown from her eyes as she came swiftly toward me. Mrs. Graham is in danger of a nervous collapse if she does not have rest and quiet soon. Dr. Pettit returned gravely. Will you see that she is put to bed at once? Mr. Graham will do very well for a while alone. Although, when you have made Mrs. Graham comfortable, I wish you would come back and sit with him. Lillian put her strong arms around me and led me through the door into the outer hall. But who is with Miss Draper? I protested faintly, as we started down the stairs toward the first floor. Her sister and one of the best-ranked nurses in the city, Lillian responded. Besides, Dr. Pettit will go immediately back to her room. But Dicky, there is no one with Dicky, I said, struggling feebly in an attempt to go back up the stairs again. Don't be childish, Maj. The words, the tone, were impatient. The first I had ever heard from Lillian toward me. But I mentally acknowledged their justice and braced myself to be more sensible as she guided me to her room and helped me into bed. I found her sitting by my bedside when I opened my eyes. Through the lowered curtains I caught a ray of sunlight, and knew that it was broad day. Dicky, I said wildly, staring up from my pillows. Lillian put me back again with the firm hand. Lie still, she said gently. Dicky is fine. And when you have eaten the breakfast Betty has prepared, and which Katie is bringing you, you may go upstairs and take care of him all day. But it is daylight, I protested. I must have slept all night. And you, have you slept at all? Don't bother about me, she returned lightly. I shall have a good long nap as soon as you are ready to take care of Dicky. But I meant to sleep only two or three hours. I don't see how I ever could have slept straight through the night. I really felt near to tears with Chagrin that I should have left Dicky to the care of any one else while I soundly slept the night through. Lillian looked at me keenly, then smiled. Can't you guess? she asked significantly. You mean you put something in the mulled wine to make me sleep? Of course! You have been through enough for any woman. Dicky was in no danger, and I had no desire to have you ill on my hands. I flushed a bit resentfully. I was not quite sure that I liked her high-handed way of disposing of me as if I were a child. Then as I felt her keen eyes upon me, I knew that she was reading my thoughts, and I felt mightily ashamed of my childish petulance. You must forgive my arbitrary way of doing things, she resumed a bit formally. I put out my hand pleadingly. Don't, Lillian, I said earnestly. I'll be good, and I do thank you. You know that, don't you?" Her face cleared. Of course, goosey, she answered, but I must help you dress. Your breakfast will be here in a moment. I sprang out of bed before she could prevent me, and gave her a regular bare hug. Help me dress, I exclaimed indignantly. Indeed, you will do no such thing. I feel as strong as ever, and I am going to put you to bed before I go to Dicky. But tell me, how is— She spared me from speaking the name, I so dreaded. Miss Draper is no worse. Indeed, Dr. Pettit thinks she has rallied slightly this morning. She is resting easily now, has been, since about three o'clock, when Dr. Pettit went home. I was hurrying into my clothes as she talked. Have you found out yet how it happened? I asked. I know that Harry does, she answered. He says that yesterday the girl appeared, as calm, even cheerful as ever, went with him to the manager's office, performed her dancing stunt as cleverly as she did the other night, and in response to the very good offer the manager made her, asked for a day to consider it. As she was leaving the office, she asked Harry if Dicky were in his studio, saying she had left there something she prized highly and would like to get it. Something in the way she said it made Harry suspicious. Of course I had told him confidentially of her attempt to drown you, so he remarked nonchalantly that he was also going to the studio. He said she seemed nonplussed for a moment, then coolly accepted his escort. They went to the studio, and Harry stuck close to Dicky, never permitting the Draper girl to be alone with him for a minute. After a few moments she bade them a common place good-bye and left, but she must have stayed nearby and cleverly shadowed them when they left. At any rate she appeared at the door of our house shortly after Harry and Dicky had entered. Harry wanted to get some things before coming out to Marvin again, and asked Betty to see Dicky. Unfortunately Harry was in his rooms and did not hear the request, so that Dicky went into the little sitting-room off the hall with her, and Betty says the girl herself closed the door. What was said no one knows but Dicky and the girl. Harry heard a shot, rushed downstairs and found Dicky with the blood flowing from his arm, struggling with the girl in an attempt to keep her from firing another shot. Harry took the revolver away, unloaded and pocketed it, and could have prevented any further tragedy only for Dicky's growing faint from loss of blood. Harry turned his attention to Dicky, and the girl picked up a stiletto which Harry uses for a paper-cutter. You know he has a house filled with all sorts of curios from all over the world, and drove it into her left breast. She aimed for her heart, of course, and she almost turned the trick. I imagine she has a pretty good chance of pulling through if infection doesn't develop. The stiletto hadn't been used for some time, and there were several small rust spots on it. But here comes your breakfast. Her voice had been absolutely emotionless as she told me the story. As she busied herself with setting out attractively on a small table the delicious breakfast Katie had brought, I had a queer idea that if it were not for the publicity that would inevitably follow, Lillian would not very much regret the ultimate success of Grace Draper's attempt at self-destruction. I do not believe that ever in my life can I again have an experience so horrible as that which followed the development of an infection in the dagger wound which Grace Draper had inflicted upon herself after her unsuccessful attempt to shoot Dicky. Against the combined protest of Dicky and Lillian I shared the care of the girl with the trained nurse whom Lillian's forethought had provided and Dicky's money had paid for. The reason for my presence at her bedside was a curious one. At the close of the third day following the girl's attempt at murder and self-destruction Lillian came to the door of the room where I was reading to Dicky who was now almost recovered and called me out into the hall. Mad, she said abruptly, that poor girl in there has been calling for you for an hour. We tried every way we could think of to quiet her but nothing else would do. She must see you. I imagine she has made up her mind she's going to die and wants to ask your forgiveness or something of that sort. I will go to her at once, I said quietly, as I moved toward the door my knees trembled so I could hardly walk. Lillian came up to me quickly and put her strong arm around me. We went down the hall to a wonderful room of ivory and gold which I knew must be Lillian's guest room. In a big ivory-tinted bed the girl lay, a pitiful wreck of the dashing insolent figure she had been. Her face was as white as the pillows upon which she lay, while her hands looked utterly bloodless as they rested listlessly upon the coverlet. Only her eyes held anything of her old spirit. They looked unusually brilliant. I wondered uneasily if their appearance was the result of their contrast to her deathly white face or whether the fever which the doctor dreaded had set in. She looked at me steadily for a long minute. Then spoke huskily. I was surprised at the strength of her voice. Of course I have no right to ask anything of you, Mrs. Graham, she said. But death, you know, always has privileges, and I am going to die. I saw the nurse glance swiftly, sharply at her, and then go quietly out of the room. She's hurrying to get the doctor, the girl said, with the uncanny intuition of the very sick. But he can't do me any good. I'm going to die, and I know it, and I want you to promise to stay with me until the end comes. I shall probably be unconscious and not know whether you are here or not. But I know you. You're the kind that if you give a promise you won't break it, and I have a sort of feeling that I'd like to go out holding your hand. Will you promise me that? Her eyes looked fiercely compelling into mine. I stepped forward and laid my hand on hers, lying so weak on the bed. Of course I promise, I said pitifully. There was a quick savage gleam in her eyes which I could not fathom, a gleam that vanished as quickly as it came. I told myself that the look I had surprised in her eyes was one of ferocious triumph, and that as my hand touched hers she had instinctively started to draw her hand away from mine, and then yielded it to my grasp. All right, she said, indifferently, closing her eyes. Remember now, don't go away. Dicky, Dicky, what have I done that you are so changed? How can you be so cruel to me when you remember all that we have been to each other? Don't be so cruel to me. Kiss me just once, just once as you used to do. Over and over again the plaintive words pierced the air of the room where Grace Draper lay, while Dr. Pettit and the nurse battled for her life. The theme of all her delirious cries and mutterings was Dicky. She lived over again all the homely little humorous incidents of their long studio association. She went with him upon the little outings which they had taken together, and a which I learned for the first time from her fever-crazed lips. Isn't this a delicious salad, Dicky? She would cry. What a magnificent view of the ocean you can get from here! Wouldn't Belasco envy that moonlight effect? Then more tender memories would obsess her. To me, crouching in my corner, bound by my promise to stay in the room, it seemed a most cruel irony of fate that I should be compelled to listen to this unfolding of my husband's faithlessness to me within so short a time of our tender reconciliation. I do not think Dr. Pettit knew I was in the room when he first entered it, anxious because of his imperative summons by the nurse. Lillian's guest-room had the alcove characteristic of the old fashion New York houses, and she and I were seated in that. The physician bent over the bed, carefully studying the patient. Through his professional mask I thought I saw a touch of bewilderment. He studied the girl's pulse and temperature, listened to her breathing, then turned to the nurse sharply. How long has she been delirious? Since just after I called you, the girl replied. Did you notice anything unusual about her before that? You said something over the telephone about her talking clearly. The nurse looked quickly over to the alcove where Lillian and I sat. Dr. Pettit's eyes followed her glance. With the quick-muttered exclamation he strode swiftly to where we sat and towered angrily above us. What does this mean? he asked imperatively. Why are you here listening to this stuff? It is abominable. I agree with you, Dr. Pettit. It is abominable. But she made Madge promise to stay, Lillian said quietly. She made an almost imperceptible gesture of her head toward the bed, and her voice was full of meaning. He started, looked her steadily in the eyes, then nodded slightly as if asserting some unspoken thought of hers. Dickie darling! the voice from the bed rose pleadingly. Don't you remember how you promised me to take me away from all this? How we planned to go far, far away, where no one would ever find us again? Dr. Pettit turned almost savagely on me. Promise or no promise, he said. I will not allow this any longer. You must go out of this room and stay out. I stood up and faced him unflinchingly. I cannot, Dr. Pettit, I answered firmly. I must keep my promise. Then I will get your release from that promise at once, he said, and strode toward the bed. I watched him with terrified fascination. Had he gone suddenly mad? What did he mean to do? As Dr. Pettit turned from Lillian and me as strode toward the bed where the sick girl lay, apparently raving in delirium, I called out to him in horror. Oh, don't disturb that delirious, dying girl! I made an impetuous step forward to try to stop him when Lillian caught my arm and hurled me into a recess of the alcove. You unsuspecting little idiot! she said, giving me a tender little shake that robbed the words of their harshness. Can't you see that girl is shamming? For a moment I could not comprehend what she meant. Then the full truth burst upon me. If what Lillian said were true, if the girl was pretending delirium that she might utter words concerning Dickie's infatuation for her, which would torture me, then it was more than probable, almost certain, in fact, that there was no word of truth in her pretended delirious mutterings. Dickie was not faithless to me, as I had feared during the tortured moments in which I had listened to the girl's ravings. The joy of the sudden revelation almost unnerved me. I believe I would have spooned and fallen had not Lillian caught me. Listen, she said in my ear, pinching my arm almost cruelly to arouse me. Listen to what Dr. Pettit is saying, and you'll see that I'm right. My eyes followed hers to the bed where Dr. Pettit stood gazing down upon the seemingly unconscious girl and speaking in measured, merciless fashion. This won't do, my girl, he was saying, and his tone and manner of address seemed in some subtle fashion to strip all semblance of dignity from the girl and leave her simply a case of the doctors, of a type only too familiar to him. It won't do, he repeated. You are simply shamming this delirium, and you are lessening your chances for life every minute you persist in it. I'm sorry to be hard on you, but I'm going to give you an ultimatum right now. Either you will release Mrs. Graham from her promise at once and quit this nonsense, or I shall call an officer, report the truth of this occurrence, and you will be arrested not only upon a charge of attempted suicide, but of attempted murder. Of course, you will then be removed to the jail hospital, where I am afraid you may not enjoy the skillful care you are getting now, and, if you live, the aftereffects of these charges will be exceedingly unpleasant for you. My heart almost stopped beating as I listened to the physician's relentless words. Suppose Dr. Pettit was mistaken, and the girl should be really delirious after all. But just as I had reached the point of torturing doubt hardly to be borne, the girl stopped her delirious muttering, opened her eyes, and looted steadily up at the physician. You devil! she said at last, with quiet malignity. You've called the turn. I throw up my hands. I thought so. This was the physician's only response. He stood quietly waiting while the girl gazed steadily, unwinkingly at him. Tell me, she said at last, coolly, am I going to die? I do not know. The physician returned, as coolly. You have a slight temperature, and I am afraid infection has developed. But I can tell you that your performance of the last hour or two has not helped your chances any. You must be perfectly quiet and obedient. Conserve every bit of strength if you wish to live. How about that very chivalric threat you made just now? The girl retorted, sneeringly. If I live, are you going to have me arrested for this thing? Not if you behave yourself, and promise to make no more trouble, the physician replied gravely. There was another long silence. The girl lay with eyes closed. The physician stood watching her keenly. Presently she opened her eyes again. Call Mrs. Graham over here, she said, peremptorily. What are you going to say to her? The physician shot back. That's my business and hers. Ms. Draper turned, with the flash of her old spirit. If you want a release from that promise, you'd better let her come over here. Otherwise I'll hold her to it. Disregarding Lilian's clutch upon my arm, I moved swiftly to the side of the bed, and looked down into the sick girl's eyes, brilliant with fever. Did you wish to speak to me? I asked gently. Yes, she said it properly. I release you from my promise, and you are free to believe or not what I have said during my delirium. She emphasized the last word with a little mocking smile. The same smile was on her lips as she added, slowly, sneeringly. But you will never know, will you, Magi-dear, just how much of what I said was false and how much true. Her eyes held mine a moment longer, and the malignans in their feverish brightness frightened me. Then she closed them wearily. As I turned away from her bedside, I realized that she had prophesied only too truthfully. There would be times in my life when I would believe Dickie only, but I was also afraid there would be others when her words would come back to me with intensified power to sear and scar. Grace Draper did not die. Thanks to the assiduous care of Dr. Pettit and the two trained nurses Dickie had provided, she gradually struggled up from the valley of the shadow of death in which she had lain to convalescence. As soon as she was able to travel she went to the home of the relative in the country whom she had visited in the summer. One of the nurses went with her to see that she was settled comfortably, and upon returning reported that she was getting strong fast, and in a month or two more would be her usual self again. Neither Dickie nor I had seen her before she left. Indeed, Dickie appeared to have taken an uncontrollable aversion to the girl since her attempt to kill him and herself and disliked hearing even her name mentioned. As for me I had a positive dread of ever looking into the girl's beautiful false face again. It was Lillian who made all the necessary arrangements, both for the girl's stay in her own home and her transfer to the country. But between the time of my mother-in-law's arrival at our house in Marvin and the departure of Grace Draper from Lillian's home lay an interval of a fortnight in which what we all considered the miraculous happened. My mother-in-law grew to like Lillian Underwood. For the first three or four days after the ultimatum which I had given her that she should respect our guests if she stayed in our house, she was like a sulky child. She kept to her room, affecting fatigue, and demanded her meals be carried up to her by Katie. Of course Lillian and Harry wanted to go away at once, but Dickey and I overruled them. I was resolved to see the thing through. I felt that if my mother-in-law did not yield her prejudices at this time she never would, and that I would simply have to go through the same thing again later. Lillian saw the force of my reasoning and agreed to stay, although I knew that the sensitive delicacy of feeling which she concealed beneath her rough and ready mask made her uncomfortable in a house which held such a disapproving element as my mother-in-law. Then one day the little god of chance took a hand. Harry and Dickey had gone to the city. It was Katie's afternoon off, and she and Jim, who had become a regular caller at our kitchen door, had gone away together. Mother Graham was still sulking in her room, and Lillian was busy in Dickey's improvised studio, with some drawings and jingles which were a rush order. The day was a wonderful autumn one, and I felt the need of a walk. I think I will run down to the village, I said to Lillian. This is the day the candy kitchen makes up the fresh toasted marshmallows. I think we could use some, don't you? Lovely! agreed Lillian enthusiastically. I don't think Mother Graham will come out of her room while I'm gone. I went on. Just keep an eye out for her if she should need you. She'd probably bite me if I offered her any assistance. Returned Lillian, laughing. But I'll look out for her. But when I came back with the marshmallows, after a longer walk than I had intended, I found Lillian sitting by my mother-in-law's bedside, watching her as she slept. When she saw me, she put her finger to her lips and stole softly out into the hall. She had a slight heart attack while you were gone, and I was fortunate enough to know just what to do for her. It was not serious at all. She is perfectly all right now, and she hesitated and smiled a bit. I do not think she dislikes me any more. Oh, I'm so glad! I exclaimed, ecstatically hugging her. Everything will come out all right now. During the rest of the Underwood's day it seemed as if my words had come true. The ice one spoken, my mother-in-law's heart thawed perceptibly toward Lillian. By the time the day came when Harry and Lillian left us to go back to their apartment, the elder Mrs. Graham had so far gotten over her prejudices as to bid Lillian a reluctant farewell and express a sincere wish that she might soon see her again. Toward Harry Underwood, my mother-in-law's demeanor remained rigid. She treated him with formal icy politeness, which irritated Dicky, but appeared greatly to amuse Mr. Underwood. He took delight in paying her the most elaborate attentions, laying fresh nosegaze of flowers at her plate at each meal. If he had been a lover preceding a beautiful girl's heart, he could not have been more attentive, while he was absolutely impervious to all the chilling rebuffs she gave him. I think that the touch of malice which is always a part of this man's humor was gratified by the frigid annoyance which the elder Mrs. Graham exhibited toward his attentions. At any rate, he kept them up until the very hour of his departure. It was when he happened to be alone with me on the veranda of few moments before the coming of the taxi which was to bear them to their homeward train that he gave me the real explanation of his conduct. Tell me, loveliest lady, he said, with the touch of exaggeration, which his manner always holds toward me. Tell me, haven't I squared up part of your account with the old girl this last week? Why, what do you mean? I stammered. Don't pretend such innocence, he retorted. If you want me to tell you in so many words, I beg leave to inform you that I've been doing my little best to annoy your august mother-in-law to pay her off for her general cussedness toward you and incidentally me. But she hasn't been crossed to me, I protested. Not the last three or four days, perhaps, but I'll bet you've had quite a dose since she came to live at your house, and you'll have another if she ever finds out my wicked designs upon you. He smiled mockingly and took a step nearer to me. Don't forget you owe me a kiss, he said with teasing maliciousness, referring to the time when he had threatened to kiss me under water. Don't you think you had better give in to me now? Dicky's step in the hall prevented my rebuking him as I wished. I told myself that, of course, his persistent reference to that kiss was simply one of mockery, and I also admitted to myself that as much as I loved Lillian, I was glad that her husband was to be no longer a guest in our house. Chapter 31 A Mysterious Stranger Well, my dear, what are you moaning over that you didn't see me come in? I beg your pardon, Madge. What is the matter? Tell me. Lillian Underwood stood before me a week after her visit to us. Lillian, whose entrance into the small reception-room of the synonym at which we had an appointment, I had not even seen. She stood looking down at me with an anxious, alarmed expression in her eyes. There is nothing the matter, I returned evasively. Don't tell me, a pterodiddle, my dear, Lillian countered smoothly. You're as white as a sheet, and I can see your hands trembling this minute. Something has happened to upset you, but, of course, if you'd rather not tell me. There was a subtle hint of withdrawal in her tone. I was afraid that I had offended her. After all, why not tell her of the stranger who had so startled me? Look over by the door, Lillian, I said, in a low voice. Not suddenly as if I had just spoken to you about it, but carelessly. Tell me if there is a man still standing there staring at us. Lillian whistled softly beneath her breath. A little trick she has when surprised. Oh! she breathed and turning. She looked swiftly at the place I had indicated. I see a disappearing back which looks as though it might belong to a masher. I just caught sight of him as he turned. Well-set-up man about middle age, hair sprinkled with gray, rather stunning looking. Yes, that is the man, I returned faintly. But Lillian, I'm sure he isn't an ordinary masher. He had the strangest, saddest, most mysterious look in his eyes. It was almost as if he knew me, or thought he did. And I have the most uncanny feeling about him, as if he were someone I had known long ago. I can't describe to you the effect he had upon me. Nonsense, Lillian said briskly. The man is just an ordinary common lady-killer of the type that infests these hotels, and ought to be horse-whipped at sight. You're getting fanciful, and I don't wonder at it. You've had a terrible summer, with all that trouble the draper cost you, and I imagine you haven't been having any too easy a time with dear Mama-in-law. I'm mighty glad you're going to get away with Dickie by yourself. A week in the mountains ought to set you up wonderfully, and you certainly need it when you start weaving mysterious tragedies about the common garden variety of masher. Lillian's rough common sense steadied me, as it always does. I felt ashamed of my momentary emotion. I fancy you're right, Lillian, I said nonchalantly. Let's forget about it, and have some lunch. Where shall we go? There's a bully little tea-room down the street, she said, the tea-cosies, and all that sort of frills, and some of their luncheon-dishes are delicious. Shall we try it? By all means, I returned, and we went out of the hotel together. Although I looked around furtively and fearfully as we left the hotel entrance, I could see no trace of the man who had so startled me. Scoring myself for being so foolish as to imagine that the man might still be keeping track of me, I put all thought of his actions away from me, and kept up with Lillian's brisk pace, chatting with her gaily over-our-past experience in buying hats and other execrable creations turned out by milleners generally. The tea-room proved all that Lillian had promised. Fortunately we were early enough to escape the noon-hour rush and secure a good table near a window looking out upon the street. I'd like to look out upon the people passing, don't you? Lillian said as she seated herself. Yes, I do, I assented, and then we turned our attention to the menu cards. I'm fearfully hungry, Lillian announced. I've been digging all morning. Oh, it's chicken pie here to-day! Her voice held all the glee of a gormandizing child. I don't think these individual chicken pies they serve here can be beaten in New York, she went on. You know the usual mess, potatoes and onions? And a little bit of chicken mixed up with the sauce they insult with the name gravy. These are the real article, just the chicken meat with the delicious gravy covering it, baked in the most flaky crust you can imagine. What do you say to those, with some baked potatoes, new lima beans, sliced tomatoes, and an ice for dessert? I don't think it can be improved upon, I said gaily, and then I clutched Lillian's arm. Look quickly, I whispered, the other side of the street. Lillian's eyes followed mine to the opposite side of the street, where walking slowly along was the man I had seen in the hotel. He did not once look toward the tea-room, but as he came opposite to it he turned from the pavement and crossed the street legially toward us. Oh, I believe he is coming in, I gasped, and my niece began to tremble beneath me. Suppose he is, Lillian snapped back. Her tone held a contemptuous impatience that braced me as nothing else could. The man has a right to come in here if he wishes. It may be a mere coincidence, or he may have followed you. You're rather fetching in that little sport-rig, my dear, as your mirror probably told you this morning. Unless he obtrudes himself there is nothing you can do or say, and if he should attempt to get fresh, well, I pity him, that's all. Lillian's threatening air was so comical that I lost my nervousness and laughed outright at her belligerency. The laugh was not a loud one, but it evidently was audible to the man entering the door, for he turned and cast a quick, sharp look upon me before moving on to a table farther down the room. The waitress indicated a chair which, if he had taken it, would have kept his back toward us. He refused it with the slight shake of the head, and passing around to the other side of the table, sat down in a chair which commanded a full view of us. Lillian's foot beat a quick tattoo beneath the table. The insolent old goat, she murmured vindictively, he'd better look out. I'd hate to forget I'm a perfect lady, but I'm afraid I may have to break loose if that chap stays around here. Oh, don't say anything to him, Lillian. I pleaded, terribly distressed and upset at the very thought of a possible scene. Let's hurry through our luncheon and get out. We'll do nothing of the kind, Lillian said. Don't think about the man at all. Just go ahead and enjoy your luncheon as if he were not here at all. I'll attend to his case good and plenty if he gets funny. In spite of Lillian Underwood's kindly admonition, I could not enjoy the delicious lunch we had ordered. The presence of a mysterious man at the table opposite ours robbed the meal of its flavor and me of my self-possession. I could not be sure, of course, that the man had purposely followed me from the little reception room of the Synonym where I had waited for Lillian. There I had first seen him staring frankly at me with such a sad, mysterious, tragic look in his eyes that I had been most bewildered and upset by it. But his appearance at the tea-room within a few minutes of our entering it and his choice of a chair which faced our table indicated rather strongly that he had purposely followed me. Whether or not Lillian's flashing eyes and the withering look she gave him deterred him from gazing at me as steadily as he had at the hotel I had no means of knowing. At any rate he did not once stare openly at me. I should have known it if he had, for his position was such that unless I kept my eyes steadily fixed upon my plate I could not help but see him. He was unobtrusive, but I received the impression that he was keeping track of every movement in the furtive glasses he cast at us from time to time. Although he had ordered after us his meal kept pace with our own. In fact he called for his check, paid it, and left the restaurant before we did. As he passed out of the door I drew a breath of relief and fell to my neglected lunch. I hope I've seen the last of him, I said vindictively. Lillian did not answer. I looked up surprised to see her chin cupped in her hands in the attitude which was characteristic of her when she was studying some problem, her eyes following the man as he made his way slowly down the street, swinging his stick with the preoccupied air. She continued to stare after him until he was out of sight, then with the start she came back to herself. You were right, Maj, and I was wrong, she said reflectively, still as if she were studying her problem. That man is no masher. I looked up startled. What makes you think so? I asked breathlessly. I don't know, she returned, but he either thinks he knows you, or you remind him of some dead daughter or sister or sweetheart, or, oh, there might be any one of a dozen reasons why he would want to stare at you. I think he's harmless, though. He probably won't ever try to speak to you. Just take it out and following you around and looking at you. Oh, I gasped. Do you think he's going to keep this up? Looks like it, Lillian returned, but simply ignore him. He has all the earmarks of a gentleman. I don't think he will annoy you. Now forget him and enjoy your ice, and then we'll go and get that hat. Under Lillian's guidance the selection of the hat proved an easy task. Lillian bade me good-bye at the door of the hat shop. You don't need me any longer, do you? She asked. Now that this hat question is settled. No, no, Lillian, I returned, and I am awfully grateful to you for giving me so much of your time. Till Wednesday, then, Lillian said, good-bye. I had quite a long list in my purse of small purchases to be made. At last even the smallest item on my list was attended to, and reread as only shopping can tire a woman, I went over to the railroad station. In my hurry of departure in the morning I had forgotten my mileage ticket, so that I had to go to the ticket office to purchase a ticket to Marvin. I had forgotten all about the man who had annoyed me in the reception-room of the synonym and the little English tea-room, so when I turned from buying my ticket to find him standing near enough to me to have heard the name of Marvin I was startled and terrified. He did not once glass toward me, however, but strolled away quickly as if in finding out the name of my hometown he had learned all he wished. I was thoroughly upset as I hurried to my train, and all through my hour's journey home to Marvin the thought of the man troubled me. What was the secret of his persistent espionage? The coincidences of the day had been too numerous for me to doubt that the man was following me around with the intention of learning my identity. When the train stopped at Marvin I was aghast to see the mysterious stranger alight from it hurriedly and go into the waiting-room of the station. I thought I saw his scheme. From the window of the station he could see me as I alighted and either ascertain my identity from the station agent or from the driver of whatever taxi I took. I had only felt terror of the man before, but now I was thoroughly indignant. The thing had gone far enough, I told myself grimly. Instead of getting off the train I passed to the next car resolving to stop at the next village, Cresthaven, and take a taxi home from there. The rue succeeded. As the train sped on toward Cresthaven I had a quiet little smile at the way I had foiled the curiosity of the mysterious stranger. I debated for some time whether or not I ought to tell Dickie of the incident. I had so much experience of his intensely jealous temperament that I feared he might magnify and distort the incident. Finally I temporized by resolving to say nothing to Dickie, unless the man's tracking of me reached the point of attempting to speak to me. But the consciousness of keeping a secret from Dickie made me preoccupied during our dinner. Dickie reached home an hour after I did, and all through the dinner hour I noticed him casting curious glasses at me from time to time. What's the matter? he asked, as after dinner he and I went out to the screened porch to drink our coffee. Why, nothing! I responded guiltily. Why do you ask? You act as if you thought you had the responsibility of the great war on your shoulders. Dick returned. I haven't a care in the world, I assured him gaily, and arousing myself from my depression I spent the next hour in gay, inconsequential chatter, in an attempt to prove to Dickie that I meant what I said. In the kitchen I heard the voices of Jim and Katie. They were raised earnestly, as if discussing something about which they disagreed. Presently Katie appeared on the veranda. Please, Mrs. Graham, can you use come to kitchen, used one little minute? Certainly, Katie, I replied, rising, while Dickie mumbled a half laughing, half serious protest. I'll be back in a minute, Dickie, I promised lightly. It was full five before I returned, for Jim had something to tell me which confirmed my impression that the mysterious stranger spying upon me was something to be reckoned with. I didn't think I ought to worry you with this, Mrs. Graham, but Katie thinks you ought to know it, and what she says goes, you know. He cast a fatuous smile at the girl who giggled joyously. Tonight, down at Crest Haven, I overheard one of the taxi drivers telling another about a guy that had come down there and described a woman whom he said must have gotten off at Crest Haven and taken a taxi back to Marvin. The description fitted you all right, and the driver gave him your name and address. He said he got a five-spot for doing it. My face was white, my hands cold, as I listened to Jim, but I controlled myself and said quietly, Thank you, Jim, very much for telling me, but I do not think it amounts to anything. End of Chapter 31 Section 32 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. Revelations of a Wife by Adele Garrison Chapter 32 The Dearest Friend I Ever Had Dinner with Dickie in a public dining-room is almost always a delight to me. He has the rare art of knowing how to order a perfect dinner, and when he is in a good humor he is most entertaining. He knows by sight or by personal acquaintance almost every celebrity of the city, and his comments on them have an uncommon fascination for me because of the monotony of my life before I met Dickie. But the very expression of my mother-in-law's back, as I followed her through the glittering grill-room of the sitanum, told me that our chances for having a pleasant evening were slender indeed. Well, mother, what do you want to eat? Dickie began, genially, when an obsequious waiter had seated us and put the menu-cards before us. Please do not consider me in the least, my mother-in-law said, with her most Christian, martyr-like expression. Whatever you and Margaret wish will do very well for me. Dickie turned from his mother with a little impatient shrug. What about you, Maj? he asked. Chicken a la Maryland in a shaping-dish and a combination salad with that anchovy and sherry dressing you make so deliciously, I replied promptly, the rest of the dinner I'll leave to you. My mother-in-law glared at me. It strikes me there isn't much left to leave to him after an order of that kind, she said, tartly. You haven't eaten many of Dickie's dinners, then, I said audaciously, with a little moo at him. He orders the most perfect dinners of any one I know. Of course, with your wide experience you ought to be a critical judge of his ability, my mother-in-law snapped back. Her tone was even more insulting than her words. It tipped with cruel venom her allusion to the quiet, almost cloistered life of my girlhood. I drew a long breath as I saw my mother-in-law adjust her lorn yet and proceed to gaze through it with critical hoture at the other diners. I hoped that her curiosity and interest in the things going on around her would make her forget her imaginary grievances, but my hope was destined to be short-lived. It was while we were discussing our oysters the very first offered of the season that she spoke to me suddenly, abruptly. Margaret, do you know that man at the second table back of us? He hasn't taken his eyes from you for the last ten minutes. My heart almost stopped beating, for my intuition told me at once the identity of the gazer. It must be the man whose uncanny, mournful look had so distressed me when I was waiting for Lillian Underwood in the little reception-room at the sitinum the preceding Monday, the man who had followed us to the little tea-room, who had even taken the same train to Marvin with me. I felt as if I could not lift my eyes to look at the man, my mother-in-law indicated, and yet I knew I must glance casually at him if I were to avert the displeased suspicion which I already saw creeping into her eyes. When my eyes met his, he gave not the slightest sign that he knew I was looking at him, simply continued his steady gaze, which had something a wistful mournfulness in it. I averted my eyes as quickly as possible, and tried to look absolutely unconcerned. I am sure he cannot be looking at me, I said lightly, I do not know him at all. I hoped that my mother-in-law would not notice my evasion, but she was too quick for me. You may not know him, but have you ever seen him before? She asked shrewdly. Really, mother! Dicky interposed, his face darkening. You're going a little too far with that catechism. Madge says she doesn't know the man, that settles it. By the way, Madge, is he annoying you? If he is, I can settle him in about two seconds. Oh, no! I said nervously. I don't think the man's really looking at me at all. He's simply gazing out into space, thinking, and happens to be facing this way. It would be supremely ridiculous to call him to account for it. My mother-in-law snorted, but made no further comment, evidently silenced by Dicky's reproof. I may have imagined it, but it seemed to me that Dicky looked at me a little curiously when I protested my belief that the man was simply absorbed in thought and not looking at me at all. When we were dallying with the curiously molded ices which Dicky had ordered for dessert, I saw his eyes light up as he caught sight of someone he evidently knew. Pardon me just a minute, will you?" He said, turning to his mother and me apologetically. I see Bob Simons over there with the bunch of fellows, haven't seen him in a coon's age. His been over across the pond in the big mix-up, didn't know he was back. I don't want any more of this ice anyway, and when the waiter comes, order cheese, coffee, and a cordial for us all. He was gone in another instant, making his way with the swift, debonair grace which is always a part of Dicky, to the group of men at a table not far from ours, who welcomed him joyously. My mother-in-law's eyes followed mine, and I knew that for once at least we were of one mind, and that mind was full of pride in the man so dear to us both. He was easily the most distinguished figure at the table full of men who greeted him so joyously. I knew that his mother noted with me how cordial was the welcome each man gave Dicky, how they all seemed to defer to him and hang upon his words. Then across my vision came a picture most terrifying to me. It was as if my mother-in-law and I were spectators of a series of motion-picture films. Toward the table where Dicky stood surrounded by his friends, there sauntered the mysterious stranger who had attracted to my mother-in-law's attention by his scrutiny of me. But he was no stranger to the men surrounding Dicky. Most of them greeted him warmly. Of course, I was too far away to hear what was said, but I saw the pantomime in which he requested an introduction to Dicky of one of his friends. Then I saw the stranger meet Dicky and engage him in earnest conversation. I did not dare to look at my mother-in-law. I knew she was gazing in open-mouthed wonder at her son, but I hoped she did not know the queer mixture of terror and interest with which I watched the picture at the other table. For it was no surprise to me when, a few minutes later, Dicky came back toward our table. With him, talking earnestly, as if he had been a childhood friend, walked the mysterious stranger. I told myself that I had known it would be so from the first. From the moment I had first seen this man's haunting eyes gazing at me in the reception room of the Synonym, I had felt that a meeting with him was inevitable. How or where he would touch my life I did not know, but that he was destined to wield some influence sinister or favourable over me, I was sure, and I trembled with vague terror as I saw him drawing near. Mother, may I present Mr. Gordon. My wife, Mr. Gordon. Dicky's manner was nervous, preoccupied as he spoke. His mother's face showed very plainly her resentment at being obliged to meet the man upon whose steady staring at me she had so acidly commented a few minutes before. For my own part, I was so upset that I felt actually ill as the eyes of the persistent stranger met mine. How had this man, who had so terrified me by his persistent pursuit and scrutiny, managed to obtain an introduction to Dicky? Dicky made a place for the man near me and signaled to waiter. I know you have dined, he said courteously, but you'll at least have coffee and a cordial with us, will you not? Thank you, Mr. Gordon said, in a deep, rich voice. I have not yet had coffee. If you will be so kind, I should like a little apricot brandy instead of a cordial. Dicky gave the necessary order to the waiter, and we all sat back in our chairs. I, for one, felt as though I were a spectator at a play, waiting for the curtain to run up upon some thrilling episode. For the few minutes while we waited for our coffee, Dicky had to carry the burden of the conversation. His mother, with her lips pressed together in a tight, thin line, evidently had resolved to take no part in any conversation with the stranger. I was really too terrified to say anything, and besides the briefest of assents to Dicky's observations, the stranger said nothing. There was something about the man's whole personality that both attracted and repelled me. With one breath I felt that I had a curious sense of liking and admiration for him, and was proud of the interest in me which he had taken no pains to conceal. The next moment a real terror and dislike of him swept over me. I waited with beating heart for him to finish his coffee. It seemed to me that I could hardly wait for him to speak. For I had a psychic presentiment that before he left the table he would make known to us the reason for his rude pursuit of me. His first words confirmed my impression. I am afraid, Mrs. Graham, he said courteously, turning to me as he finished his coffee, that I have startled and alarmed you by my endeavour to ascertain your identity. I did not answer him. I did not wish to tell him that I had been frightened. Neither could I truthfully deny his assertion, and I wished that I had not evaded my mother-in-law's query concerning him. He did not appear to heed my silence, however, but went on rapidly. It is a very simple matter, after all, he said. You see, you resemble so closely a very dear friend of my youth, in fact, the dearest I ever had, that when I caught sight of you the other day in the reception room of the Sydenham it seemed as if her very self stood before me. There was a vibrant haunting note in his voice that told me better than words that whoever this woman of his youth might have been her memory was something far more to him than of a mere friend. I could not rest until I found out your identity and secured an introduction to you, he went on. You will not be offended if I ask you one or two rather personal questions, will you? Indeed, no, I returned mechanically. Mr. Gordon hesitated. His suave self-possession seemed to have deserted him. He swallowed hard twice, and then asked nervously, May I ask your name before you were married, Mrs. Graham? Margaret Spencer, I returned steadily. There was a cry of astonishment from Dickie. Mr. Gordon had reeled in his chair as if he were about to faint. Then, with closed eyes and white lips, he sat motionless gripping the table as if for support. Do not be alarmed, I am all right. Only a momentary faintness, I assure you. Mr. Gordon opened his eyes and smiled at us wanly. I knew that Dickie was as much relieved as I at our guest's return to self-command. That he was resentful as well as mystified at the singular behavior of Mr. Gordon I also gleaned from his darkened face and a little steely glint in his eyes. I hope that you will forgive me, Mr. Gordon went on, and his rich voice was so filled with regret and humility that I felt my heart soften toward him. I trust you have not gained the impression that my momentary faintness had anything to do with your name. He said, My attack at that time was merely a coincidence. I am subject to these spells of faintness. I hope this did not alarm you. He looked at me directly as if expecting an answer. I am not easily alarmed. I returned, trying hard to keep out of my voice anything saved the indifferent courtesy which one would bestow upon a stranger, for the atmosphere of mystery seemed deepening about the stranger and me. I did not believe he had spoken the truth when he said that my utterance of my maiden name, in response to his question, had nothing to do with his faintness. I was as certain as I was of anything that it was the utterance of that name, the revelation of my identity thus made to him that cost his emotion. I sat thrilled, tense, in anticipation of revelations to follow. Mr. Gordon's voice was quiet, but a poignant little thrill ran through it, which I caught as he spoke again. Was not your mother's name Margaret Bickett and your father's Charles Spencer, he asked? You are quite correct. I forced the words through lips stiffened by excitement. I saw Dickie look at me curiously, almost impatiently, but I had no eyes, no ears, save for the mysterious stranger who was quizzing me about my parents. One of Mr. Gordon's hands was beneath the table. As I was sitting next to him, I saw what no one else did, that the long, slender, sensitive fingers pressed themselves deeply, quiveringly into the palm at my affirmation of his question. But except for that momentary grip there was no evidence of excitement in his demeanor as he turned to me. I thought so. He said quietly, I have found the daughter of the dearest friends I ever had. Your resemblance to your mother is marvellous. I remember that you looked much like her when you were a tiny girl. You were at our home in my childhood, then? I asked, wondering if this might be the explanation of my uncanny notion that I had some time in my life seen this man bending over his Demetaz as he had done a few minutes before. Oh yes, he said, your mother, as I have told you, was the dearest friend I ever had, and your father was my other self, then. His emphasis upon the word then gave me a quick stab of pain, for it recalled the odium with which every one who had known my childhood seemed to regard the memory of my father. I myself had no memories of my father. My mother had never spoken of him to me but once when she had told me the terrible story of his faithlessness. When I was four years old he had run away from us with my mother's dearest friend, and neither she nor any of his friends had ever heard of him afterward. I had always felt a sort of hatred of my unknown father who had deserted me and so cruelly treated my mother, and the knowledge that this man was an intimate of his turned me faint. But if Mr. Gordon's inflection meant anything, it meant that even if he had been my father's other self, my mother's desertion had aroused in him the same contempt for my father that all the rest of our little world had felt. I felt my indefinable feeling of repulsion against the man melt into warm approval of him. He had loved the mother I had idolised, had resented her wrongs, and I felt my heart go out to him. I cannot tell you what this finding of your wife means to me, said Mr. Gordon, turning to Dickie. The inflection of his voice, the movement of his hand, spelled a subtle appeal to the younger man. I have been a wanderer for years, the deep, rich voice went on. I have no family ties. He hesitated for a moment with the curious little air of indecision. No wife, no child. I am a very lonely man. I wonder if it would be asking too much to let me come to see you once in a while and renew the memories of my youth in this dear child. He turned to me with the most fascinating little air of deferential admiration I had ever seen. But I looked in vain for any answer to his appeal in Dickie's eyes. My husband still retained the air of formal, puzzled courtesy with which he had brought Mr. Gordon to our table and introduced him to us. I could see that the mysterious stranger's appeal to be made an intimate of our home did not meet with Dickie's approval. I could not understand the impulse that made me turn toward the stranger and say, earnestly, I shall be so glad to have you come to see us, Mr. Gordon. I want you to tell me about my mother's youth. It may have been the preparation we were making for an autumn vacation in the Catskills, or it may have been that Dickie was becoming more the master of himself, that he did not voice to me the very real uneasiness with which I knew he viewed Robert Gordon's attitude toward me. But whatever may have been the cause, the fact is that during the preparations for our trip and during the vacation itself in the gorgeous autumn-clad mountains Dickie did not refer to Robert Gordon. It was my mother-in-law who brought his name up the day of our return. She had moved from the hotel where we had left her in the city to the house at Marvin, and when we arrived there her greeting of me was almost icy. As soon as we had taken off our wraps she explained her departure from the hotel without any questioning from us. I never had been so insulted and annoyed in my life, she began abruptly, and it is all your fault, Richard, if you never had brought the unspeakable person over he would not have had the chance to annoy me. And as for you, Margaret, I cannot begin to tell you what I think of your conduct in leading your husband to believe you had never seen the man before. For heaven's sake, mother, Dickie exploded, his slender patience evidently worn to its last thread by my mother's incoherence. What on earth are you talking about? Don't pretend ignorance, she snapped. You introduced the man to me yourself the night before you went on your trip. You cannot have forgotten his name so soon. Robert Gordon? Dickie exclaimed in amazement. Yes, Robert Gordon, his mother returned grimly, and let me tell you, Richard Graham, that if you do not settle that man he will make you the laughing stock and the scandal of everybody. The way he talks of Margaret is disgusting. Dickie's face became suddenly stern and set. He didn't exhibit his lack of good taste the first time he came over to my table in the dining-room. My mother-in-law went on. But the second time he sat down with me he began to talk of Margaret in the most fulsome, extravagant manner. From that time his sole topic of conversation was Margaret, the wonderful woman she had grown into, the wonderful attraction she has for him. You would have thought him a man who had discovered his lost sweetheart after years of wandering. Imagine the lack of decency and good taste the man must have to say such things to me, the mother of Margaret's husband. Is that all you have to say, mother? he asked. She looked at him in amazement. Are you lost to all decency that you do not resent such extravagant praise and admiration of your wife from the lips of another man? she demanded, and then in the same breath went on rapidly. Richard, you are a perfectly hopeless! The man may have been in love with Margaret's mother, I do not doubt that he was, but have you never heard of such men falling in love with the daughters of the women they once loved hopelessly? Don't make the poor man out of potential Mormon, mother! Dickie jibed. Dear at your old mother, if you wish, Richard, his mother went on icily, but let me tell you that Mr. Gordon is madly in love with Margaret, and if you do not look out, you will have a scandal on your hands. You are going a bit too far in your excitement, mother, Dickie said sternly. You may not realize it, but you are insinuating that there might be a possible chance of mages returning the man's admiration. I am not insinuating anything, his mother returned, white-lipped with anger, but I certainly think Margaret owes both you and me an explanation of the untruth she told us at the supper-table the night you introduced Mr. Gordon to us. I sprang to my feet with my cheeks of fire. Mother Graham, I have listened to you with respect as long as I can, I exclaimed. Whatever else you have to say to my husband about me you can say in my absence. If he at any time wishes an explanation of any action of mine he has only to ask me for it. White with rage I dashed out of the room, up the stairs and into my own room, locking the door behind me. In a few minutes Dickie's steps came swiftly up the stairs, his knock sounded on my door. Mag, let me in, he commanded, but the note of tenderness in his voice was the influence that hurried my fingers in the turning of the key. As I opened the door he strode in past me, closed and locked the door again, and turning caught me in his arms. Don't you dare to cry? he stormed, kissing my reddened eyelids. Aren't you ever going to get used to mother's childish outbursts? You know she doesn't mean what she says in those tantrums of hers. She simply works herself up to a point where she's absolutely irresponsible, and she has to explode or burst. You wouldn't like to see a perfectly good mother-in-law strewn in fragments all over the room, simply because she had restrained her temper, would you? He added, with the quick transition from hot anger to whimsical good nature, that I always find so bewildering in him. I struggled for composure. My mother-in-law's words had been too scathing, her insult too direct for me to look upon it as lightly as Dickie could, but the knowledge that he had come directly after me, and that he had no part in the resentment his mother showed, made it easy for me to control myself. I ought to remember that your mother is an old woman, and an invalid, and not allow myself to get angry at some of the unjust things she says. I returned, swallowing hard. So we'll just forget all about it, and pretend it never happened. You, darling! Dickie exclaimed, drawing me closer, and for a moment or two I rested in his arms, gathering courage for the confession I meant to make to him. Dickie, dear! I murmured at last. There is something I want to tell you about this miserable business, something I ought to have told you before, but I kept putting it off. Dickie held me from him and looked at me quizzically. Confession is good for the soul, he quoted. So unburden your dreadful secret! He drew me to an easy chair and sat down, holding me in his arms as if I were a little child. Now for it! he said, smiling tenderly at me. It isn't so very terrible, I smiled at him, reassured by his tenderness. It is only that, without telling you a deliberate untruth, that I gave both you and your mother the impression that I had never seen Mr. Gordon before that night at the Sydenham. Is that all, mock Dickie? Why, I knew that the moment you spoke, as you did that night. You are as transparent as a child, my dear, and besides, your elderly friend let the cat out of the bag when he said he feared he had annoyed you by trying to find out your identity. I knew you must have seen him somewhere. You don't know all, I persisted, and then, without reservation, I told him frankly the whole story of Mr. Gordon spying upon me. I admitted nothing. When I had finished, Dickie's face had lost its quizzical look. He was frowning, not angrily, but as if puzzled. Don't think I blame you one bit, he said slowly, but it looks to me as if mother's dope might be right, as if the old guy is smitten with you after all. I cannot hope to make you understand, Dickie, I began, how confused my emotions are concerning Mr. Gordon. I think perhaps I can tell you best by referring to something about which we have never talked, at once, the story I told you before we were married, of the tragedy in my mother's life. I believe you told me that neither your mother nor you had ever heard anything of your father since he left. Dickie's voice was casual, but there was a note in it that puzzled me. That is true, I said, and then stopped, for my conviction had suddenly come to me that while I had never seen nor heard my father since he left us, indeed I had no recollection of him, yet I was not sure whether or not my mother had ever received any communication from him. I had heard her say that she had no idea whether he was living or dead, and I had received my impression from that. But even as I answered Dickie's question, there came to my mind the memory of an injunction my mother had once laid upon me, an injunction which concerned a locked and sealed box among her belongings. I felt that I could not speak of it, even to Dickie, so put all thought of it aside until I should be alone. I do not think I can make you understand, I began, how torn between two emotions I have always been when I think of my father. Of course the predominant feeling toward him has always been hatred for the awful suffering he caused my mother. I never heard anything to foster this feeling, however, from my mother. She rarely spoke of him, but when she did it was always to tell me of the adoration he had felt for me as a baby, of the care and money he had lavished on me. But while with one part of me I longed to hear her tell me of those early days, yet the hatred I felt for him always surged so upon me as to make me refuse to listen to any mention of him. But since she went away from me the desire to know something of my father has become almost an obsession with me. My hatred of his treachery to my mother is still as strong as ever, but in my mother's last illness she told me that she forgave him, and asked me if ever he came into my life to forget the past and to remember only that he was my father. I am afraid I never could do that, but yet I longed so earnestly to know something of him. So now you see, Dickie, I concluded, why Mr. Gordon has such a fascination for me. He knew my father and my mother. From his own words I gathered that he was the nearest person to them. He is the only link connecting me with my babyhood, for Jack Bicket, my nearest relative, was but a young boy himself when my father left, and remembered little about it. I don't want to displease you, Dickie, but I would so like to see Mr. Gordon occasionally. Dickie held me close and kissed me. Why, certainly, sweetheart, he exclaimed, whenever you wish I'll arrange a little dinner downtown for Mr. Gordon. What do you think about inviting the Underwoods, too? They could entertain me while you're talking over your family history. That would be very nice, I agreed, but I had an inward dread of talking to Robert Gordon with the malicious eyes of Harry Underwood upon me. Indeed, I felt intuitively that if ever Mr. Gordon were to reveal the history of his friendship for my mother to me, it would be when no other ears, not even Dickies, were listening. Dickie kissed me again, and then he rose and went out of the room quickly, closing the door behind him. I waited until I heard his footsteps descending the stairs before turning the key in the lock. Then I went directly to a little old trunk which I had kept in my own room ever since my mother's death, and, kneeling before it, unlocked it with reverent fingers. CHAPTER XXIII