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And then she crept back to the mirror


IN THE HOUSE
OF ANOTHER
- BY
BEATRICE MANTLE
Author of “GRET,” etc.
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1920
Q &S
• - * * *





IN THE HOUSE OF
ANOTHER
CHAPTER I
NA waked partially. She could hear voices
and could dimly see faces bending over her.
Faces suspended in mid-air, as it were.
“I really think it will be quite safe to let her
sleep,” said a man's voice. “There is absolutely no
sign of —”
She fell back, down into that river of velvety
soft darkness that bore her along past eerie cliffs and
whispering caverns, through great living silences that
caressed and soothed her soul. She did not think as
she entered that wonderful darkness again. Still,
she knew she was not asleep: only floating in the
most profound peace she had ever known.
Again she came to a place where voices murmured.
Some of the words came down to her in the river
of darkness. She heard them impersonally as if
the words floated idly with her and did not refer to
her. ~
“ Una,” said a voice. And the name seemed to
3


4 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
echo softly from bank and cavern. “Yes — it is a
queer name.”
“Una.” The soft darkness whispered it. “A
queer name—a queer name. Una — a queer
name.”
“No, it was a collision,” said another voice.
Many murmurs, it might be of still more voices,
floated about her. But only some of the words came
to her: “Oh, no. . . . He 's an oldish man. . .
Stenographer. . . . He had detained her at the office,
and was just taking her home.”
The murmuring went on. Una did not listen, and
yet it seemed as if every part of her quiescent body
could hear. She heard, but did not heed.
“She never had a very good time. And she must
have wanted it. All girls do. Just had to work and
support her mother.”
Just had to work and support. . . . Just had to
work. . . . The words tried to follow her, but the
river was getting deeper and swifter; she went on
into that profound but living darkness, where not
even the sound of a voice could come.
After countless miles of voyaging, Una came to
where there was light. It penetrated her eyelids.
And though for a while she still lay with closed eyes,
yet she knew the time had come for her to wake.
Presently she opened her eyes.
She was wide awake, immensely refreshed and
rested, like a child waking from a night of dream-
3.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 5
less sleep. There may have been a slight languor
of body, for she realized with a content that stretched
the full length of her the yielding softness of the
bed; but her senses were fully alert, and she looked
about the spacious room with pleasure and interest.
It was quite plainly a woman's room, and the room
of a dainty woman, too. Una followed every detail
of its arrangement with approval — the cream
wicker-paneled bed in which she lay, the triple-mirror
dressing-table that stood well to the middle of the
room, the polished floor and delicately tinted rugs,
the ivory panels and exquisite vining morning-
glories of the walls, and the softly flowered drapings
edging the big windows. How more than satisfying
life must be with such surroundings! she thought.
Before the window sat a nurse, reading. She had
not noticed Una's reëntrance into the world of
things, and Una made no effort to enlighten her.
She lay idly for a while, enjoying to the full the
delights of absolute repose. Then she considered
the nurse again, and presently, studying this starched,
professional presence, it was borne in on her that
she had forgotten to investigate herself. She won-
dered whimsically whether she were broken some-
where, or supposed to be ill. She certainly felt well
enough—not a single ache nor pain. Gently, be-
Ineath the covers, she tested each hand, each foot,
and sensed the comfortable length of her spine. All
was easy obedience. She turned her head from side


6 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
to side—and then froze into a very paralysis of
bewilderment.
On the pillow beside her right cheek, and quite
evidently depending from her own scalp, lay a shin-
ing braid of hair — warm, sunny hair, shot through
with glints of red and gold. It was at least twice
the length and thickness of Una's hair, and about as
much like it as sunlight is like shade, for Una's hair
had been nearly black. She stared at it fixedly for
a moment. Then, yielding to a quick instinct of
fear, closed her eyes and retreated suddenly into
darkness again. Even before she had time to think
a trembling horror seized her. Perhaps, after all,
Her brain had been injured, and hereafter illusions
would be with her. And illusions were the begin-
ning of insanity. She shivered and shut the lids
still more tightly over her eyes. She tried to calm
herself, to reason. Perhaps she had been dreaming.
The room and the nurse — it must be all a dream.
She opened her eyes gently and was bitterly disap-
pointed. Every one of the unfamiliar objects was
still there; she could not even delude herself into
believing it was a dream. She backed into darkness
and safety again. Perhaps she had been ill a long
time, and that hair had grown out. Sometimes, per-
haps, it did — She opened her eyes and spoke.
The idea of the dream was still upon her, and she
put so much unnecessary effort into the speech im-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 7
pulse that the words fairly burst out. The nurse
jumped as if she had been shot and hurried to the
bedside. A glance at Una's face, however, seemed
to reassure her. She smiled, a pleasant, professional
smile.
“Well, you’ve wakened. Feeling almost your-
self again?”
“Yes, thank you. How long have I been here?”
“Oh, just since last night. Don't you re-
member?”
s “No-o. Why did you bring me here?”
From her expression the nurse evidently consid-
ered that a somewhat foolish question. “Well, you
were unconscious, of course. But there seemed ab-
solutely no injury done, no need to take you to a
hospital. And so — they brought you home.”
Home! Last night! Una closed her eyes again,
while a wave of sick apprehension passed over her.
What terrible muddle was it? And yet she could re-
member the accident — every detail of it.
“What — how —? Were the others hurt?” she
asked, and her voice sounded sweeter and rounder
than usual, even in spite of her fears.
“Well, not much, considering. The lady in the
other car had her collar-bone fractured. And she
may have internal injuries; they don't know yet.
The - the gentleman with you’— Una could al-
most believe the nurse looked prim as she said this —


8 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“had his wrist rather badly sprained. But no one
was very seriously hurt, I guess. It was really a
very lucky accident.”
Una closed her eyes, and turned her head away.
She was entirely lost, entirely at sea. She could not
even think. There seemed to be no starting-place
from which to begin to think.
As she lay, panting internally as it were, there
came a knock at the door. The nurse went and
opened it, and a man's deep voice spoke as the owner
thereof evidently entered the room. “Well, nurse,
how is she now?”
“Excellent,” replied the nurse, as both approached
the bedside. “She woke up a moment ago and
spoke to me. She was quite normal. Just a little
languid, perhaps, from the shock, but otherwise per-
fectly normal.”
“That’s good,” said the man's voice. It was a
very agreeable, well-bred voice. And — so much
can one judge from a voice when intuitive attention
is not divided by visual consideration — Una in-
stinctively knew that the man uttering those, tones
was master of himself and the life he lived. Also,
she thought she detected a faintly tired note, the echo
of a spirit disappointed somewhere. “Well, you
had better remain with her until she herself tells you
what she wishes done.”
Una felt that he stood and looked at her a mo-
ment longer; and she lay like a frightened fugitive


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 9
behind the wall of her tightly closed eyelids. Then
he went, and she heard the nurse go back to her
Seat. -
She lay for a while, trying desperately not to
think. But thoughts came trooping, crowding, like
frightened multitudes coming to view a tragedy.
Presently, almost as frightened of the internal state
as she was of the exterior, Una opened her eyes
again. The nurse noticed this and came back to the
bedside.
“Mr. Leland came in to see you a few minutes
ago.”
“Yes?” Una was almost sullenly unresponsive.
“Yes. You had fallen asleep again.”
As this was stating an apparently obvious fact,
Una made no reply. She felt hunted, wary, like a
fugitive hiding in a strange house. And that, out
of the chaos and turmoil of her feelings, was as yet
the only impression definite enough to produce any
resultant action. She was distrustful of the nurse,
too, of the faint intimation of something withheld in
her manner. She closed her eyes again.


CHAPTER II
NA was glad when the nurse, after vainly try-
ing to tempt her patient with proposed deli-
cacies, went down to luncheon. She was glad to be
rid, if only for half an hour, of what she felt to be
a watchful presence. When the woman returned to
the room, she kept her head steadily averted.
Toward the middle of the afternoon Una yielded
to a desire that embodied both fear and fascination.
She wanted to remain in bed. Tucked under the
clothes, with her eyes shut, she felt safer from in-
spection and detection. Yet she was conscious of
an ever-growing, more urgent impulse to rise and
look in that triple mirror to see who she was. Or
was it she? What would it show? Una slowly
passed her hand from the strange luxuriant hair over
her forehead, the bridge of the nose, and the mouth,
down to the chin. Were these really her features?
She shivered with nervous fear and the watchful
nurse looked up inquiringly.
“I think I shall get up.”
“And dress?” inquired the nurse. “Or just for
the bedroom?” -
“Just for the bedroom,” replied Una. Sitting
on the edge of the bed, she surveyed unaccustomed
IQ


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER II
feet with wonder, a queer satisfaction, and dismay.
They were slender feet, beautifully kept — feet that
no girl might object to owning. But Una looked
at them with distrust and dislike, as the feet of an-
other brought into close contact with herself. And
then she noticed for the first time that she had new
and strange rings on her hands: a slender wedding-
ring — Una's eyes grew wide as she looked at it —
and a half-hoop of diamonds; and on her right hand
a pearl marquise — a large, wonderfully lovely pearl,
surrounded with diamonds.
Meanwhile the nurse opened a door paneled with
a full-length mirror, inspected the contents of the
spacious closet for a minute, and selected a loose
negligée of pretty flowered crêpe and lace.
“I wonder whether this will be warm enough,”
she deliberated as she came across the floor with the
garment held critically up before her.
Una nodded. “Yes. I shall slip it over my
nightgown.”
The nurse helped her to put the negligée on, pro-
duced a pair of fur-topped slippers from somewhere,
and Una stood up. She felt perfectly safe on her
feet and walked unhesitatingly to the dressing-table.
She sat down before it, inhaled sharply, and raised
her eyes.
Before her she saw other eyes, wide, solemn,
dilated — eyes that stared into hers and besought.
She saw a finely sculptured face, with curved, pas-


12 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
sionate lips, tightly closed now, as though forcibly
to keep something back. Quietly, almost rigidly,
Una looked for a moment or so; then, leaning her
arms on the table, she suddenly covered her face
with her hands and blotted out the vision.
“Are n't you feeling well, Mrs. Leland?” came
the anxious voice of the nurse behind her. With a
quick stab of fear and caution, Una was recalled to
herself, and saved from the attack of grief and ter-
ror about to overwhelm her.
“Oh, yes; I'm all right, thank you.” Una knew
that her voice, coming in answer to so civil and
harmless a question, sounded curt and strange. She
forced herself to rise and leave the fascinating mir-
ror without another glance. To stay before it was
to betray at least the fact of something unusual.
She walked to a deep, cretonne-upholstered chair
and sat down. In all that she did just now Una
hardly seemed dependent upon either her will or her
reason. She was impelled, hypnotized into right
action by the pursuing, sickening fear of being ad-
judged insane.
From the chair she looked through the window
upon an unusually beautiful suburban garden.
With a certain faint sense of rest Una's troubled
eyes followed the green lawn spaces into shady cor-
ners, where, between piled, mossy stones ferns were
growing. Contemplating these beauty spots, Una
forgot her sorrows for a moment. But they re-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 13
turned, almost swooping on her, as it were; and
with an unconscious gesture of weariness she turned
her eyes from the garden to meet those of the nurse
intently watching her face. Out of the depths of
an unreasoning and unreasoned resentment, Una
returned the woman's gaze with a cool stare. With
unbroken professional calm the nurse's eyes traveled
from Una's face to the bed from which she had
lately risen, and getting up in a matter-of-fact way,
she went over to throw it wide open.
Una turned over in her mind the best way of
getting rid of the nurse. Though in the utmost
extreme of nervousness and bewilderment, in a
chaos of fears and apprehensions, Una still could
plan for her own safety. Paradoxically speak-
ing, the only period of rest from strain that her
brain apparently knew was when scheming to find
an explanation or a way out. So now she consid-
ered the nurse problem. She did not know how the
woman would be paid, nor even who would pay
her. She held her breath when she thought of the
man who had come to see her. The nurse called him
Mr. Leland, and her Mrs. Leland. Again from
Una's heart welled the silent cry that in the last few
hours had risen so often: “Oh, what shall I do?
Where shall I turn? Where can I go?”
The nurse came back to the window-seat, remark-
ing upon the pleasant outlook provided by the gar-
den beneath. Una answered perfunctorily and be-


14 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
gan the diplomatic task of trying to rid herself of
her unwelcome attendant in a pleasant and natural
Inanner.
“There won't be the least necessity for your re-
maining with me to-night, nurse. I'm perfectly
myself. And I suppose you were up the whole of
last night.”
“Oh, yes. It was necessary to watch you,” re-
plied the nurse. “But I thought perhaps I had bet-
ter find a way of getting some sleep in here for an-
other night, until we are quite sure —”
“I am already quite sure that I am perfectly
right,” said Una quickly. “And who should know
better than I?” Usually controlled and patient,
she felt her temper slipping unaccountably. “Go
and find a real bed, and get a good night's sleep.”
This was obviously to the nurse's liking. “There
is a spare bedroom across the hall —”
“Yes. Is the bed made up?” inquired Una with
diplomatic coolness.
“It appears to be. And if not —”
“Yes.” Again with a deceptive resource and
facility that she felt were previously foreign to
her, Una passed her hand over her eyes as if too
preoccupied and weary for detail. “Arrange things
to suit yourself and be comfortable. When you go
down to breakfast in the morning —”
“Oh, I shall come in to see you before doing
that.”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 15
“Very well. And then —”
“Well, then, if you no longer need me, I can
make my report to Mr. Leland,” hazarded the nurse.
- “Yes. That will be all right.” Una tried to
curb into politeness her determination to be rid of
this watchful, professional presence. “Now go
and take a walk. Some fresh air will improve your
night's sleep.”
The nurse smiled and rose.
When she had been safely away a few minutes
Una, fascinated by the mirror and yet afraid to face
it, explored the room she was in. She peered into
the wardrobe closet, filled with delicate and appar-
ently rich clothing, and opened drawers full of
woman's belongings, glancing in furtively as if ex-
pecting the rightful owner to appear and resent the
impertinence. She opened the door into a tasteful,
square hallway, glanced down the staircase, and
noiselessly withdrew in a panic. She tried another
door and found herself in a handsomely appointed
bath-room. Facing her, another door led out of
this room. This one, too, after listening nervously
and intently for a few seconds, Una opened. She
looked into another bedroom, more plainly and
massively fitted than the one she was in, and lacking
the feminine quality. It was, even to her uninitiated
gaze, a man's room. Moreover, her wandering eyes
discovered on the solid-looking bureau a case of
military brushes and a man's collar. With a rapidly


16 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
beating heart Una returned softly to her room and
locked the door connecting it with the bath-room.
And then she crept back to the mirror. She
gazed and gazed at the sweet face that rose to meet
her; only when she began to feel that it was hypno-
tizing her, that she was losing hold of herself and
all that she knew, could she force herself to rise
and go out of the reach of that magic reflection.
Before Una could finally lock her door on all the
world and face the night she longed for and yet
dreaded, she had to endure a visit from the doctor
and the nurse. The doctor wisely opined that she
was still somewhat excitable and feverish as a result
of the shock, but that a few days’ quiet would doubt-
less bring everything back to normal. In the mean-
time, if she felt the least discomfort mentally or
physically she was to summon him, and in any case
he would drop in again in the course of a day or so,
She allowed the nurse to put her to bed. She
could think as well there as anywhere — if she could
think at all.
When the last enemy, for so they all seemed, had
departed, she was left not in peace but at least
alone.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 19
More to gather into some sort of focus the merg-
ing, shifting states of her consciousness, she delib-
erately set herself to recall the scene in the office
before the accident. And although already it seemed
but a scene that she could recall, with great ease and
in perfect detail, still she sensed all the life that lay
back of that scene.
So easy was it in spirit to enter that office that
immediately she was back, sitting before her type-
writer. It was a little past office hours and her em-
ployer had explained that he would have to de-
tain her somewhat, but that to make up for lost
time he would afterward run her home in the ma-
chine. Now she was waiting the completion of
the transaction, the closing of which would need a
little of her work. She had an idea that her mother
would have supper ready, and would be chafing at
the delay. But that could not be helped.
She was resting now, while she waited. She
was very tired. Her hands were folded, and so
great was the veritable hypnosis of repose into which
she had fallen that the keys of the typewriter before
her were a blurred mass. Life lay behind her like
a dead weight. She did not think of it, but merely
sensed the weight. It was a woman's life, not a
girl's — never had been a girl's. Girls had parties
and love-affairs; and bought things because they
were pretty and not always because they were use-
ful.


20 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
As relaxation became more complete the rebel-
lious thoughts faded. So great was her abstrac-
tion that even her employer's entrance with papers
for typewritten inserts failed fully to rouse her. It
seemed to her that the brains in her skilful fingers
did the work.
Then she went down and got into her employer's
machine, which slid off with the silent speed of a
greyhound. The street and office lights were
twinkling out, but daylight still somewhat over-
powered them. Una sat and with hardly awakened
interest watched the different vehicles approach and
speed by.
Suddenly one of the big machines swerved, sprang
into the air and, like a beast of prey, leaped upon
her.
So much she remembered. When she tried to go
back of this, her brain reeled with sudden impotence
or fatigue, and when she went forward in her
thoughts and began to wonder about the body that
had been hers so recently, about that other mystery-
tortured soul that must now be hidden there, she
sickened with the impossible problem of it all.
Toward the middle of the night, threatened again
with a panic of fear and nervousness, she rose and
turned on the lights. The radiators were still warm;
she softly closed the windows and drew down the
shades. The light, the sight of the solid, everyday
objects comforted her somewhat. She put on the


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 21
negligée and seated herself in the chintz chair. She
would endure the darkness no more.
As morning approached and the magnifying in-
fluences of the night upon the emotions were grad-
ually withdrawn, the fever in her brain died down.
Worn with her frantic endeavors to think, Una let
go, and of her own volition tried to think no more.
And then it seemed as if, strengthened by her pas-
sivity, her brain began to scheme of its own accord
for the safety, mental and physical, of the entity
she then presented. It was borne in upon her that
it was useless, hopeless, to try to grasp in its en-
tirety the puzzle confronting her. And as from the
very first her most distinct feeling had been that
of a fugitive, so now her strongest anxiety was to
hide, and hide safely. She reflected and realized
with growing relief that none could actually pene-
trate the wall of flesh behind which she hid. It
would be like living behind a glass mask through
which she could see and they could not. She might
often imagine they could, but they really could not.
If she never told any mortal being the secret of what
had happened to her, none could ever guess. She
must never forget that the only clue any one could
have to the way things appeared to her was what-
ever clue she herself chose to afford. -
To this shortened statement of the logic of the
situation she clung as to the one plank of her sal-
wation. Over and over again she formulated it in


22 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
so many actual words. “If I never tell, they can
never know. And if they don't know what I think,
they can't think me insane.”
So soothing to the nerves is the effect of words
or a statement quietly and persistently repeated, that
presently Una began to feel almost comforted. She
was like one who, having come breathlessly through
a tunnel of darkness and horror, at length reaches
light and sits down to breathe. Unconsciously she
had fastened on a great secret of power — concen-
tration. Over and over again she mentally reiter-
ated this reassuring thought: “They can only know
what I tell them.”
Several times, though, during the morning par-
oxysms of fear threatened to attack her again, and
those wild, chaotic thoughts tried to close in upon
her. -
Perhaps after all she was insane and these
surroundings that seemed so real were but a de-
lusion. Perhaps she would not be allowed to stay
even where she now was, but would be hurled forth
again into some other strange phase of existence.
Perhaps —
Knowing instinctively that the firm grasp upon
one clear and well-established fact was her only
chance for mental safety, Una repeated her formula,
clinging to it as a man in a torrent clings to a rock.
This much seemed fairly certain, and it was all she
needed to begin with: if she kept strict silence she
ar


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 23
was safe. Surely there could never come a time
when she could not at least be silent.
Toward seven o'clock Una heard water running
in the bath-room, with much sound of splashing and
ablutionary activity. Soon the sounds ceased; but
they had wakened in Una a great desire to bathe
and refresh herself. She listened intently at her
door. All was quiet. She entered the now empty
bath-room and listened at the door of the man's
room opposite. No sound. Turning the little
thumb-key that appeared on both sides of each door,
she began her own bathing operations. The room
was equipped with a shower, so she took first a very
hot and then a cold one, emerging greatly refreshed
and rested.
Back in her own room she busied herself coiling
up the long waving hair. Engrossed in her task
and delighted with the beauty of her hair, she act-
ually forgot her troubles for the time being, until
recalled to herself by a knock at the door she had
forgotten to unlock. She admitted the nurse.
“I see everything is all right,” said that pleasant
professional after the first keen glance. “Do you
find any stiffness developing anywhere?”
“Not at all. I am quite myself,” responded Una,
much encouraged by her own coolness. She felt
exactly as if she were taking a part in some play
and playing the rôle successfully. “You have n't
had your breakfast yet, have you, nurse?”


24 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“No. I have just left my room.”
“Well, have a good meal before you go.” She
wondered whether there was any one to cook it for
her. “Can you see to getting it yourself?”
“Certainly,” she replied, with the pleasant smile
that seemed part of the uniform. “Annie will put
it on the table for me, I'm sure.”
Una sat down before the mirror again with a
brave show of resuming her hair-coiling operations.
No doubt the nurse would think it odd she did not
tell her to bring up her own breakfast and wait on
her patient. But she was determined not to have
that. She was not going to have those experienced,
professional eyes watching her.
The nurse approached the back of her chair.
“Let me do your hair for you, Mrs. Leland. It's
so beautiful.”
“No, thank you.” Una laughed nervously.
“I’m a freak about my head. It soothes me to
brush it myself, but I don't like any one else to
handle it.”
The nurse retreated with a smile. “Then you
are sure there is nothing more you would like me
to do for you?”
“Nothing, indeed. Thank you for the care you
have taken of me, nurse.” She turned away with
a nod of dismissal. “Your check —”
The nurse came all unwittingly to the rescue.
“Mr. Leland is down already, I think,” she volun-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 25
teered. “I’ll speak to him about it. Good-by.”
Having dressed her hair to her satisfaction, Una
went on a search for suitable morning attire. In
the closet, ivory-paneled, light and airy as a room,
she found everything that the heart of woman could
desire—except plain house clothing. She opened
a hat cupboard containing seven or eight costly hats,
and in deep drawers underneath this she found lin-
gerie and underwear calculated to fill any feminine
eyes with delight. On the hanger rails, mingled
with gowns, coats and negligées, were petticoats of
many and various shades and fabrics.
Una turned over the contents of the drawers with
a pleasure that was not unmixed. She could not
shake off that furtive, dishonorable feeling as of one
who pries secretly into the belongings of another.
Hastily but more or less completely she investigated
the contents of the big closet and came finally to
the conclusion that the former owner, though dainty
and most essentially feminine in all the details of
her apparel, had been, to Una's way of thinking, a
little given to over-elaboration and richness. From
the wide choice at her disposal she was able to find
underwear pretty much to her taste; but nowhere
could she discover anything at all approaching her
idea of a morning house dress. Finally Una took
the plainest gown she could find, a smoke-gray cloth.
In the smooth-rolling drawers of the dressing-table
she found, among an astonishingly varied and much-


26 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
tossed-over collection of neckwear, a fichu collar of
embroidered muslin. It made a pretty and demure
finish to her toilette.
When she was ready to go down, Una stood a
minute with her hand on the door-knob. Already
the room she was in had become somewhat familiar,
had begun to have a friendly aspect. It was all
she knew. She was going down to she knew not
whom or what. However, out of dire extremity
a certain grim courage is always born. The very
lack of choice which an extremity presents is in it-
self a strength, as all forces are marshaled to meet
the one course possible. So, mentally repeating her
resolution to maintain at all costs silence as to that
almost unbelievable thing which had happened, Una
began her descent of the staircase.


CHAPTER IV
ALF-WAY down, the stairs opened upon a
square, continuing at a different angle.
From the square, through leaded glass, Una looked
down into what appeared to be a morning- or sun-
room. It was long and rather narrow, mostly glass
overgrown with vines, with a brown-stone fountain
urn and basin at one end. At the farther end, his
breakfast on a small table beside him, sat a man read-
ing a newspaper. Una glanced at him, obtaining a
fleeting impression of graceful outline and ease of
attitude, and looked involuntarily down at the nar-
row gold band on her finger. Undoubtedly this
man was her husband, whoever she was, and Una's
eyes grew wide at the thought. She grasped the
wall to steady herself. However, she had decided
at dawn that it would be madness to attempt to
forecast the probable outcome of anything that
presented itself just now. She must strictly keep
all her wits at home and focused on the happening
of each hour. Hour ! Each moment, almost.
She went down the remaining stairs and stepped
into a large and exceedingly pleasant living-room.
Almost all one side of it was taken up by wide win-
27


28 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
dows; at one end was a large red granite fireplace;
near her were quaint sliding doors of leaded glass,
through which a well-appointed dining-room could
be seen. A few handsome rugs on the hardwood
floor, a piano, a library table, and chairs of many
and inviting shapes constituted about all the furnish-
ings of the room. But the dark woodwork and
the hangings were so harmoniously subdued that
the room seemed a picture of deep-toned beauty.
Una felt exactly like a guest going to breakfast
after a first night's sleep in a strange house. She
had to fight the inclination to sit down and wait for
some one to come and greet her. Instead, after
giving herself a moment's grace, she walked res-
olutely toward the small archway leading from the
farther end of the living-room into the morning-
room and into the presence of the master of the
house. He heard her coming and quietly put aside
his paper. Evidently he was not the man who had
been with her in the car, for both this man's wrists
were uninjured.
Forgetting for the moment to be other than cu-
rious, Una saw how nearly from the sound of his
voice last night, and the manner of his spoken words,
her intuition had been able to outline the owner.
She saw all that she had somehow expected to see,
even felt that she had expected to meet the direct
and exceedingly discerning glance bent on her.
He looked her over. The night had left faint


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 29
blue shadows beneath the wide, eager eyes; a fever
spot of color was still on each cheek, and the vivid,
full-engined body was languid after the night's
struggle. All this increased the essentially feminine
charm of her, but Una was entirely unconscious of
any such effect. Instead she was rapidly revolving
in her mind the obvious necessity of saying some-
thing. As the man before her was a total stranger,
this was decidedly a puzzle. However, she decided
that the usual morning greeting would be safe and
non-committal. With an embarrassed smile and a
still more embarrassed walk she approached the
table.
“Good morning.” -
“Good morning, Elsie,” he replied, drawing a
chair forward for her. “Are you feeling quite
yourself again?”
“Quite, thank you,” she answered, seating her-
self.
He sat and looked at her, detecting a difference
in her manner. Nothing else, of course, would
have been possible. The very concentration which
Una was bringing to bear on the situation was a
force emanating from her, and contradicting all
the man knew and expected of this woman who was
— and was not — his wife. Having absolutely no
clue to the real state of affairs, Leland sought for
an explanation in some assurance which circum-
stances might have given her.


3o IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“And so,” he went on then, “Nemesis did not
overtake you this time.”
He referred, Una did not doubt, to the accident
of the night before. And also, quite apparently, to
much more; but of that she could not even guess.
“Would you call it an overtaking?” she parried in
reply. -
“I suppose not — literally.” He pointed to the
paper on the floor beside him. “I see Renshaw has
been able to keep it out of the papers. That is
rather easy for him, anyway. But where do you
consider I stand in the matter?”
Una looked at him in silence. She could not
possibly make any safe reply.
“I mean,” he went on, “in respect to what I
once told you about bringing my name into actual
public disfavor. Do you remember?”
Una made answer what was for her the truth.
“No, I don't remember what you particularly refer
to.”
“I think you do,” Leland contradicted quietly.
“I told you that the first time you made a public
parade of my name I should banish at once the re-
luctance I feel at giving a woman the first actual
turn into the downward path. Not to mince mat-
ters, that I should begin divorce proceedings. I
suppose you’ll say that my name has n’t been
paraded yet. It has n't — in print.”
He paused, as if expecting her to make some re-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 31
ply. But it was impossible for Una to speak. She
was expected to take up the thread of a story she
knew nothing of. His words, however, conveyed a
great deal to her shamed, intent understanding.
Some of the terror and helplessness of the night re-
turned to her. What was going to become of her,
after all?
“You have always ridiculed what you were
pleased to call my unfounded suspicions,” he went
on after a moment. “But I was n't suspecting —
I knew. Still, I let it go at that, as being less un-
dignified on the whole. But what are we going
to do now? We can't either of us pretend that we
don't know — and know that the other knows.”
It was a direct question and demanded an an-
swer. Gathering as firm a grasp of the situation as
she could, Una voiced what seemed to her the only
possible course. “You must do whatever you think
best,” she said gently.
Again Leland looked at her with faint curiosity
in his eyes. “Well, I like that better than the silly
tears and denials that I have been treated to of
late,” he observed.
Until he spoke, Una, with all her perplexity and
trouble, had never once thought of tears. But now
that he mentioned them she was conscious of a sense
of fullness about the eyes, as if they would flood at
a moment's notice; and she was both surprised and
disgusted. Tears had never been one of her weak-


32 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
nesses. However, she combated the suggestion in
the best possible way. She dismissed it, and turned
her whole attention to meeting the odds against
her. * -
Leland leaned forward a little, resting his arm
on the arm of the chair and his chin on his hand.
“I often wonder what it is you're banking on,
Elsie. Well, of course I know it’s one of two
things. Perhaps both. But I can't account for
your crediting either. Because usually you’re no
fool.” A slight, reflective smile was on his lips, but
in his eyes neither resentment nor sadness. He was
too strong a man for either to last long. “But I
suppose that as long as a woman of your kind can
look into her mirror and see that her bodily charms
are still undiminished, she cannot possibly con-
ceive of any man's infatuation waning. Mind and
character have nothing to do with the matter, see-
ing that the physical was all that was ever taken
into account. I'll wager”— his smile deepened —
“that you’re as confident as you are that you’re
sitting there before me, that it's my still unbroken
infatuation for you that makes' me so wilfully blind
to many things. Doubtless you think I'm breaking
my heart in secret. And it’s so romantic! Neither
you nor your associates — who must think me either
a great idiot or a spiritless cur – could understand
that, though my love and respect for you are dead,
I still have a shade of respect left for the vows I


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 33
took to protect and cherish you. I know your na-
ture; I know the man you are dealing with. I know
that as soon as I withdraw my name and the protec-
tion of my home from you, your path will be one
steady, even if slow, descent. I’ve seen it all before.
But "- his tone was quieter, more deliberate —
“don’t go too far. Just as soon as I'm obliged to
take official cognizance, I shall — in only one way.
And there will be no withdrawing from that stand,
once taken.” -
His cool, deliberate gaze still rested on her face,
and Una returned the gaze, almost fascinated, un-
able, it seemed, to think, much less speak. Then
Leland bent over and picked up the paper which
he had cast loosely on the ground.
“I don't believe Annie knows you’re down,” he
said. “Better ring.”
After Leland had left the house, going presum-
ably to his office or business, Una remained at the
table, too confused, too dazed to ring. The mael-
strom of her thoughts and emotions was so great
that, as if by some centrifugal force born of it, she
herself seemed in the center of the wild current, mo-
tionless, feelingless, thoughtless.
Presently Annie came in to remove the breakfast
dishes. She proved to be a strong, competent-look-
ing young woman of probably Swedish or Finnish
extraction. She exclaimed with surprise on seeing
Una, explained that she had been about to go up


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 35
She looked at the servant so thoughtfully that Annie
decided her mistress must be still ill-tempered and
moody. So she took up the tray and went.
The food seemed to act as a tonic to Una.
After Annie had gone, she no longer tried to think
of everything at once. Her thoughts cleared. One
subject now occupied her attention, but that just
now seemed the bitterest of all. It was Leland
and his words. As she thought them over a sense
of injustice amounting to a perfect rage possessed
Una. It seemed impossible to contemplate seeing
much of this man and not telling him — insisting
and shouting it — that she was not, and never could
be, what he evidently thought she was. The fact
that she was plainly not going to be troubled with
any displays of conjugal affection failed to comfort
her. The relief that this fact might have afforded
was swallowed up in shame and disgust at the char-
acter he invested her with — justly, no doubt, as
far as he knew. If he had been a man she could
dislike it would have been easier. But he was not.
She liked him.
Seeing that like and dislike are not a matter of
personal choice, but a demand made with mathe-
matical precision by the worth of the accosting spirit
and paid willy-nilly with like precision, it stands
decided that no man or woman can be in the com-
pany of another for even the first half-hour and
not really know beyond any doubt what it is to be


36 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
—like or dislike. Una did not attempt to argue
away the fact that she liked Leland. She liked the
level, unwavering glance; the ease and grace of
movement that gave silent assurance of balanced
nerves as well as balanced muscles; the calm
strength of a character that could not be diverted
from its course by woman's tears or men's sneers.
Moreover, and this seemed to give most of the
sting to the situation, Una felt quite ridiculously sure
that Leland would like her, too, did he really know
her. -
Here Una rose abruptly, as if bringing to a close
an unpleasant conversation with herself. She real-
ized very vividly that much thought along these
lines would bring back the dread sense of unreality
and insecurity, that her present salvation lay in con-
templating and handling only strictly material
things.
She went into the living-room and investigated
it more closely. On each side of the fireplace wide
bookcases were built into the wall. The volumes on
the shelves announced, as if with staring placards,
the diverse characters of the two occupants of the
house. It was quite plain that the two had never
shared the same literary tastes. Una divined that
some fiat of Leland's had produced so clean a di-
vision. In the one case were engineering works,
mathematical books, encyclopædias, dictionaries in


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 37
several languages, poets and philosophers. Among
these latter were some volumes that Una felt she
was glad to see. In the other case stood books on
card games, on tennis, musical works, and dozens
of novels by modern writers. On the library table
at one end of the room were heaped indiscriminately
fashion papers and music; on the piano stood a row
of songs, some good and some merely popular. Una
looked lovingly at the keys of the instrument. She
had a feeling that she played a little, and loved music
exceedingly. But she did not dare to touch the
inviting ivory keys. She might be so much less of
a musician than the other woman that they would
inevitably betray her even to so great a novice in
the art of piano-playing as Annie probably was.
So she turned away and went into the dining-room.
She admired the fine oak woodwork; the massive,
simple sideboard built boldly out from the wall;
the plain, heavy-beamed ceiling. She went up to
the sideboard and examined each piece of silver and
cut glass: pulled doors and drawers open and busied
herself, like a bride in a newly furnished house, with
an inspection of its contents. While she was still
engaged in this fascinating occupation, she was start-
led by the distant ringing of a telephone bell.
She looked round almost helplessly. The tele-
phone was not in the room with her, and she hur-
ried back into the living-room. Again it rang.


38 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
Now she recognized the sound as coming from the
morning-room. She reached the instrument and
automatically placed the receiver to her ear before
realizing her predicament.


CHAPTER V
“TS this Park two-five-seven?” inquired a woman's
voice.
“Yes,” said Una, wondering if it was.
“Is that you, Elsie?” asked the voice dubiously.
“Of course.” Una's face was a study in con-
centrated attention. It was as if her wits would
reach out across the space that hid her interlocutor
from her.
There was a moment's silence, as if the speaker
detected something strange in the voice — perhaps
a lack of friendliness where there should have been
full and instant recognition. And then, “It did n't
sound a bit like you.”
“I was breathless. I ran to the telephone,” ex-
plained Una. She waited. She could not say any
more, had nothing more to say.
Again a second's speculative silence. And then,
in a slightly lowered, confidential tone, “Are you
alone?”
“Yes,” answered Una, endeavoring to pattern
her tones likewise.
“Well, I'm so awfully glad you’re up and about.
I was coming over anyhow if you were not. They
would n't let me yesterday: Said you'd be best left
39


40 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
alone,” went on the voice. It was a charming voice,
with a quaint little affected gasp in it. “How are
you now P Feeling all right?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Una. Hastily bethinking her-
self of the necessity of having something to cloak
the inexplicable, her tones took on a languor to fit
the statement: “Of course I feel considerably
shaken up.”
“Of course, you poor dear,” agreed the invisible
one instantly. “But, oh, is n’t it a blessing you got
off as well as you did? When Willett called me up
I — Well, I just held my breath. Just think what
it might have been.”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Una — with much appar-
ent fervor, but with a grim little smile. “ Just
think what it was ' "
“Willett did n't say exactly where you had been
going,” went on the voice, “but he said you had
changed your mind, and that you had turned round
and were headed for home. That's such a bless-
ing. Supposing, you know — it had been out in
the country —” *
“No, I don't want to suppose,” said Una.
“No. But as it was —” the voice appeared to
contemplate matters again for a moment. And
then: “Did Alan — How did you explain?”
“I did n't,” replied Una, truthfully enough.
“Oh!” A moment's thought. “Well, did he
know, then?”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 41
“Oh, yes.”
“Goodness!” breathed the voice. “Did you —
oh, good Lord! — get an awful scolding?”
“No-o: not a scolding.”
“Humph!” the voice took on a dry quality.
Probably, Una reflected, the voice was acquainted
more or less with Leland. “Not much, but strictly
to the point, I suppose.”
“Yes,” agreed Una, with a little involuntary
sigh.
“Oh, well, don't mind,” comforted the voice,
“What do you care — the old crank!”
“Well, of course —” said Una, deprecatingly.
Her sympathies were all on Leland's side. She
hated to hear him spoken of slightingly.
“Oh, yes, of course it’s awkward,” agreed the
voice, judicially; “but then it was still daytime.
Whatever he may think, I don't see that he can
make so very much capital —” The sentence was
left trailing in the air, which Una decided was a
very artistic ending for just that kind of sentence.
“He won't try to use it,” she said.
“Not this time, I suppose,” rejoined the voice,
with a little laugh.
“ No.”
“But you feel you have to be very careful — on
probation, as it were,” guessed the voice with a sort
of dry understanding.
Una divined that her predecessor — which was


42 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
the name she had for all that had gone before — had
made so much of a confidante of this girl, or
woman, that she was intimately acquainted with all
possibilities, both of personalities and circumstances.
“Yes, something like that,” she agreed quietly.
“Bother!” complained the voice petulantly.
“That makes things so awkward. And that re-
minds me. Willett's just crazy to see or hear from
you. He called me up just a little while ago. I
can't remember half the things he told me to tell
you. How can he see you?”
“I don't know,” replied Una, easily enough.
“Well, you’d better come on over. And then
he can let his man drive him out. You know he
can't drive the car himself on account of his wrist.
He —”
“Oh, no — I don’t believe I’d better,” demurred
Una. “I — I don't feel so sure of myself yet.”
“You’ve had a good scaring, have n't you?” said
the voice reflectively after a moment.
“No. No; but I don't want to come out to-day,”
said Una. Recognizing the necessity of being ex-
planatory and friendly, she added: “Honestly, I
don't feel myself yet. I'm not hurt or anything
like that — but — oh, I’m just not myself. If I
come I’m liable to cry, or laugh in the wrong place
— or do something silly.”
There was a moment's silence before the voice
spoke again. “Well, you poor kidlets, I expect you


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 43
have gone through a lot.” Whether the soft tones
were full of sympathy or disbelief Una could not
tell. “But you’ll get over it in a day or so, and
laugh to think how scared you were. What shall I
tell Willett?”
“Oh "— Una was inclined to be impatient at
this insistent mention of a man she knew nothing of
—“oh — tell him anything.”
“Well!” Una heard a distinct gasp. “No
thank you. I want to live a little longer.”
Una laughed — a bubbling laugh of real mirth.
The amazement at the other end of the telephone
was so apparent and so funny. “Oh, well,” she
amended then. “You know I did n’t exactly mean
that. Oh, you know what to tell him,” she coaxed.
“I don't. I won't even try to think.”
Una tried to for herself. She hated to send any
kind of message to the man. She felt it was added
disloyalty, though she could not have told why nor
how she reasoned it. At the same time she was so
utterly in the dark as to this other man — his iden-
tity, how far involved with him she was — and as
to the extent of his hold on her, that obviously her
only safety lay in making no decisive move what-
eVer.
“Tell him,” she said, “that I'm sorry about his
wrist. And tell him that I feel foolish and shaken
up, and don’t want to come out yet. That’s all.
That will be enough. Men hate hysterical women.”


44 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
The voice laughed. “Well, maybe. But I don't
believe he hates you in any mood. You know, I had
no idea how great a -” She paused. “I don't
think you realize what a -” She seemed to have
an odd, expressive way of leaving sentences sus-
pended at advisable points.
Una sniffed in audible and sincere disgust. Al-
ready she outlined some conceited society fop.
Rich, no doubt, but—bah! This disgust was not
intended to travel over the wire, and did not in its
entirety. But the listener sensed a very independ-
ent, troublesome mood. -
“Well, I can tell you're not yourself one little
bit,” she avowed with conviction. “For goodness'
sake, go and lie down again. Put in the whole of
to-day in bed, and then call me up in the morning
and tell me you’re sorry.”
“No, you call me,” said Una quickly.
& & Why P y?
“Oh — just because.”
“Because,” mimicked the voice. “You have a
reason, of course. And I shall make you tell me
everything when I see you. You — why, I'd like
to spank you!” She laughed. “Now go to bed.”
“I will,” agreed Una meekly.
“See you do. Bye-bye, old lady.”
Una hung up with a sigh of relief, and laughed,
really laughed. What a fairy tale! What an in-
credible farce! How long could it last?


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 45
After hanging up the telephone receiver, Una
slowly and reflectively took down the telephone di-
rectory. Leland had spoken of one Renshaw, and
the unknown woman had talked incessantly of a
Willett. They were probably one and the same.
She opened the directory at W, and found nothing
nearer than Willard. Then she looked for Ren-
shaw, and found what she expected: “Renshaw,
Willett R., Fairview Drive,” and beneath: “Office,
220 Renshaw Building.” -
Renshaw Building. Yes, that sounded as if he
were a rich man, as she had surmised. She pon-
dered a moment, considering the possibilities of the
book as a source of additional information concern-
ing the strangers who so unaccountably had come
into her life.
She turned to the L columns, and looked for
Leland. Yes, it was there. “Leland, Alan T.,
civil engineer, Lake View and Eastern Railroad Co.,
Blain Building.” And just below, the same name
with the residence address, “945 Schuyler Ave.,
June Park.”
That was it. Una glanced out at the window
with fresh approbation. June Park was evidently
One of the nice, conservative suburbs of the town.
She hung up the directory again. It was, of course,
useless for her to try to look up her recent telephone
visitor. That identity time alone would disclose.
She frowned — a puzzled, worried frown, and rose


46 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
hurriedly. Puzzling and worrying would not help
her. •
Like a restless spirit, she wandered from room to
room that morning. She looked each room and all
its appointments over closely. The only room she
did not go into was the kitchen. Not being able
to guess whether the former Mrs. Leland had fre-
quented the kitchen much, nor what she had done
when she was in there, Una stayed out of it for
the present. -
About one o'clock she heard two taps on the
dinner gong. Guessing that it was for luncheon,
she went down with some misgivings, wondering
whether or not Alan Leland came home for the
midday meal. Evidently he did not, for the table
was laid for one, and that one very plainly a
WO111a11.
Hot chocolate and whipped cream, crab Newberg
on toast, cake, and fruit formed a dainty luncheon.
Recollecting what she had eaten for breakfast, Una
was surprised to find that the prospect of con-
suming another meal was not unpleasant. She ate
the Newberg and toast, and drank the chocolate; but
for some reason, possibly out of deference to the
small appetite she felt she ought to have, she de-
nied herself the fruit.
Luncheon over, Una went quietly upstairs. She
was going to prepare to take the step which her
mind, ceaselessly busy, like a captive in a laby-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 47
rinth, had decided upon as her next in her search
for herself. She was terrified at the idea of what
it might lead to. But, like the desire to see herself
in the mirror, it was irresistible and had to be
obeyed. Besides, a sort of rule had formulated it-
self within her during the last twenty-four hours, a
mandate imposed by she knew not what. She felt
that, whatever confronted her in her new life from
hour to hour, she must walk boldly up and face it.
In hesitation she would be lost. .
So now she was going down into the city — to
where she felt she must have been many times be-
fore, to the center of it, whence most roads must
surely diverge. She felt that the force of associa-
tion could give her at least a clue to the mystery.
Of course, as far as locality was concerned, she ap-
peared to be at present just where she belonged;
but if, on reaching the city, she had even the least
inclination in one direction more than another, she
was going to take it. It might take her to that
mother she felt was still somewhere in the back-
ground waiting. Just now anything, even the worst,
would be better than this horrible uncertainty:
Entering her room, she sought with much inter-
est among her new wardrobe for a plain street suit.
It was not to be found, as regards the plain part.
The severely neat tailored suit had evidently found
no place in the previous Mrs. Leland's scheme of
dressing. Among the many coats, wraps, and cos-


48 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
tumes Una discovered three street suits; and of
these the plainest was a lovely wistaria chiffon cloth,
which she proceeded to put on.
Una surveyed with free and open admiration and
pleasure the handsome reflection thrown upon her
mirror. She did not feel for a moment as if she
were admiring herself. All the love of beauty and
of beautiful things that was so strong in her welled
up and was satisfied as she turned slowly from side
to side.
As she stepped outside the heavy street door of
the residence and was about to close it behind her,
Una stopped and clutched it suddenly. It had just
occurred to her that she was going out without one
cent of money. What was the matter with her?
She hurried back upstairs. This might mean a final
setback to her plans. Though surely there must be
some money belonging to her predecessor some-
where, if she could only find it. She remembered to
have seen, while glancing into the drawers of her
dressing-table, a beaded hand-bag. That might
have some money in it.
She investigated that first of all, and was re-
warded by finding within it a small-change purse
containing a five-dollar bill, a fifty-cent piece, and
a few pennies; also, in an inside pocket of the bag, a
card-case with Mrs. Alan T. Leland's cards; and
besides these things two small keys, whose use Una
promised herself to investigate when she returned —


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 49
if she did return. Indeed, if she returned she was
going to examine her room very thoroughly — the
desk, drawers, even the pockets of the coats — to
see what information of one kind or another they
might contain.
Again Una made a start for the street. This
time she looked the house over very carefully from
the outside, noting its surroundings and memoriz-
ing the appearance of both corners of the block.
Though at the back of her mind was really a lurk-
ing doubt that she would ever return to this par-
ticular scene at all, still, if she were not claimed
elsewhere, she might need to return to this last
known anchorage, and she must know how to find
it.


CHAPTER VI
HREE blocks below her house, walking in
what she took to be the direction of the city,
Una came upon a car line. She did not know in
which direction the car she wanted ran; but she
made up her mind to board the next one. She could
at least stay on to the end of the run, and then go
back down-town with it. As it happened, the next
car was going to the city; and so she was soon
started on her adventure.
As she sat on the car, Una felt like a person who
had suddenly found herself on another planet and
was trying desperately not to attract attention to the
fact that she was a stranger. She almost marveled
that no one seemed particularly interested in her ap-
pearance. The ride into town was not a long one;
but to Una it was surely the strangest ride she had
ever taken in her life. She was traveling with
Aladdin's lamp and any minute she might accident-
ally rub it. Only, for her the lamp would work in-
versely and kill the brief dream of splendor. She
sighed involuntarily. Two things already she liked
more than well — the man and the home.
She alighted at a point that must certainly be one
of the most central spots of the city. One of the
50


IN THE House OF ANOTHER 5.I
main arteries ran through this point, and five appar-
ently important streets debouched into it. Street
cars came and went in all directions. She stood on
one of the corners, near the doors of a department
Store. -
After waiting a few minutes, watching the people
come and go until her mind was calmer and more
easily concentrated, she began to examine the cars
to see if she were drawn to one more than to an-
other. She looked at the buildings about her, but
no faintest inclination to go in any particular direc-
tion could be detected or even imagined. And still
she did not feel like a woman in an entirely strange
city; she felt at home and comfortable.
Baffled, she turned and went into the department
store near her. It was an immense concern, doubt-
less one of the largest in the city, and she must cer-
tainly have been in it before. But as she wandered
through its aisles nothing opened up before her,
neither was the veil rent that had fallen behind her.
Suddenly she wearied and decided to go home —
back to that place whence she had started. She
would go back and wait. Just wait and see what
she was shown — what seemed to come to her to do.
As Una rode back to her new home on the June
Park car, she reflected. One thing, at all events,
this effort — unrewarded and a failure though it
seemed to be — had done for her. It had shown
her that for the present she was Elsie Leland. To


52 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
think of herself as Una and try to answer to the
name of Elsie would bring about confusion sooner
or later. So she left Una behind in the city and
turned her face determinedly toward the new phase
of life she had to deal with.
So deeply, in spite of the almost hypnotic influ-
ence which material forms have upon it, does the
human soul realize that circumstances are but a set
of conditions encircling a certain state of perception,
changing as time, which is change of perception,
goes on, that before Elsie was half-way back to her
new home she had accepted the startling state of
affairs thrust upon her and was almost breathlessly
diverted and interested. -
Elsie got back to Schuyler Avenue without further
surprises, save that an unknown lady smiled and
bowed to her in the car. Elsie hastened to return
the greeting and reflected that among her many dif-
ficulties would be that of meeting people whom she
would be supposed to know and naturally could
not.
On her way up Schuyler Avenue from the car
it occurred to Elsie that possibly one of those two
keys in her purse might be the latch-key to Number
945. She chose the larger of the two, and when
she reached the door, tried it. It worked; and she
felt a wave of decided satisfaction pass over her —
a sense of reality, of taking possession of her new
life.
j


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 53
Annie was caroling loudly in the kitchen as she
entered, but dropped three or four keys in pitch
as she heard the closing of the front door. Elsie
went straight up to her room and changed her
suit for a crêpe de chine gown of a deep, rich blue.
When all was done she delighted in herself before
the mirror for the space of four or five round-eyed,
delicious moments.
She discovered by the ivory timepiece on her
dressing-table that it was nearly five o'clock. She
wondered at what time dinner was usually served
and whether Annie did the entire cooking and serv-
ing. But in this, as in everything else, she must
wait and see. If she were supposed to help in any
way and did not, perhaps it would be set down to
her indisposition.
She went downstairs and amused herself taking
in the view from each window. Now that it seemed
likely that she would be here for at least some
time she was interested anew. A little later the
telephone bell rang. Elsie answered it with that
strained apprehension, that keen summoning of all
her wits which each new happening called forth.
Her heart gave a quick little beat as she recognized
the voice of the man speaking.
“Is this you, Elsie?” .
& & Yes.”
“I find I shall have to go up the line,” went on
the voice. Elsie decided as she listened that it must
y


34. IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
be the railway line with which he was connected.
“So I sha’n’t be home for dinner.”
“That’s too bad,” replied Elsie, with a mingled
feeling of relief and resentment.
There came the sense of a moment's considera-
tion at the other end of the line. Then. “Well, I
wanted you to know. Good-by.”
Elsie hung up the receiver and went into the
kitchen. It was beautifully light and clean, mod-
ern and up-to-date. She glanced round in quick,
covert admiration. On the table, dressed and ready
for the oven, in a pan of the latest glass cooking-
ware, was a duck. Annie turned inquiringly from
the range as Elsie entered.
“Mr. Leland won't be home for dinner, Annie.”
“Oh! You're going out, then?”
“No.”
Annie seemed both surprised and disappointed.
“You need not get up a full dinner for me. What
have you got besides that?” nodding at the duck.
Annie meditated a moment. “Some veal cut-
lets. And then there's ice-cream and cake; and
potatoes in the oven.”
“That will do nicely. And you can put it on
as soon as you like, Annie. I'm hungry.”
Elsie felt as she turned away that Annie stood
looking after her, faintly puzzled. It was embar-
rassing, but would have to be lived through in the
case of each person coming into contact with her life.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 55
Her physical appearance and movements would be
the same — for a time at all events — as those of
her vanished predecessor; the inflection of her voice
would be the same, or nearly the same. But the
manner of expressing her individuality could not
possibly resemble that of the woman whose place
she had usurped. There was one comforting
thought, however, she must keep rigidly in mind:
though people might marvel, they could never guess
the clue to the change. Unless she were exposed,
unless the real Elsie reappeared, they would soon
get used to the change and cease to notice it.
After dinner Annie came to her again: “You
going to the show to-night?”
“No.” Elsie shook her head, divining what was
behind the question. “Why? Do you want to go
out, Annie?” -
“Yes, I’d like to. But you’d be afraid,
would n’t you?” From her easy manner of speak-
ing Annie evidently had always been on familiar
terms with her mistress.
“Oh, no!” Elsie laughed and turned back to the
fashion magazine whose pages she had been turning,
noting the many points of similarity between the
costumes depicted therein and those hanging in her
wardrobe upstairs. “You may go out, Annie.
Only don't be late. I want to go to bed early.”
Annie departed with promptness. After Elsie
had heard her somewhat heavy steps go down the


56 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
cement walk and away, she turned at once to do
what she had already longed so many times to do.
She sat down before the piano, touching softly and
tentatively the mellow-sounding keys of the upright.
She felt somehow as if the ends of her fingers
craved to play and she allowed them to place them-
selves. After a few chords, she turned over the
array of music on the piano and chose a popular,
semi-classic song with a fairly simple accompani-
ment as being the nearest to her mark for a begin-
ning.
She was not surprised at the ease with which her
fingers found the required notes and chords. She
had always been able to play and somehow she ex-
pected these new shapely fingers to obey her. But
she had always envied those who could sing. Could
she? she wondered with a great thrill of hope, and
knowing the melody of the song before her, began
softly to sing. As she listened to the first bar, her
joy was unbounded. She sang in a full, round
mezzo-soprano, which she felt was trained. As a
matter of fact, the training was but partial and the
voice was full of technical faults, but Elsie was no
judge of this. She only felt the ease with which it
rolled out of her mouth, and noted the volume, and
was almost beside herself with joy. The beautiful
home, the jewels in her case upstairs, the pretty
clothes in her wardrobe – none of these had given
her the warm glow of delight, almost ecstasy, that


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 57
this new-found possession did. She almost felt like
speaking aloud and begging that, whatever else
might fade, this one thing might be left her.
For about two hours she sat there, oblivious of
time, trying one thing after another. But at last
her voice grew husky and tired and with reluctance
she rose. It was best not to overdo things at first.
She stood in the middle of the floor for a few
minutes, undecided what to do — to be exact, unde-
cided what to do to keep herself from thinking. At
the back of her brain an idea, a course, was shaping
itself, and as yet she only knew that she wanted to
keep away from it. She would read. She went
over to the bookcase — Alan's — and took from it
Maeterlinck’s “Wisdom and Destiny” and seated
herself in a big leather sleepy-hollow chair.
She read for a while, frowned and fidgeted a
little, and then read again. The page before her was
a dry collection of words. Not that she did not un-
derstand the English words before her — their defi-
nition, that is. But that was all. They were a mere
collection of words. The idea, the spirit of which
they were but the symbol, she could not conjure up.
Perhaps she was just tired and stupid. But even
as she tried to think it she knew she was not. On
the contrary, her mind was keyed up to the fullest
possible pitch. She took up the book again and
carefully read a sentence. Of course she under-
stood it; and for a brief instant, like a lightning


54. IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
be the railway line with which he was connected.
“So I sha’n’t be home for dinner.”
“That’s too bad,” replied Elsie, with a mingled
feeling of relief and resentment.
There came the sense of a moment's considera-
tion at the other end of the line. Then. “Well, I
wanted you to know. Good-by.”
Elsie hung up the receiver and went into the
kitchen. It was beautifully light and clean, mod-
ern and up-to-date. She glanced round in quick,
covert admiration. On the table, dressed and ready
for the oven, in a pan of the latest glass cooking-
ware, was a duck. Annie turned inquiringly from
the range as Elsie entered.
“Mr. Leland won't be home for dinner, Annie.”
“Oh! You're going out, then?”
& 4 No.”
Annie seemed both surprised and disappointed.
“You need not get up a full dinner for me. What
have you got besides that?” nodding at the duck.
Annie meditated a moment. “Some veal cut-
lets. And then there's ice-cream and cake; and
potatoes in the oven.”
“That will do nicely. And you can put it on
as soon as you like, Annie. I'm hungry.”
Elsie felt as she turned away that Annie stood
looking after her, faintly puzzled. It was embar-
rassing, but would have to be lived through in the
case of each person coming into contact with her life.


58 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
exposure, the idea for which the words stood flashed
across her understanding — and then was gone,
leaving the words staring at her.
She closed the book and laid it on her knees.
It was useless to struggle with a state of affairs she
did not fully understand. Not fully: a glimmering
of the truth came to her.
The other woman had not been dull — far from
it; in a way she had been brilliant. Her intuitive
faculty — that link between the mind and the under-
standing back of it — was large, and its use had
been developed, though perhaps perverted. She
could scheme with amazing facility and skill; and
her grasp of affairs, her judgment of the probable
outcome of a course of action and its effect on the
actions of others, was far-reaching and accurate.
The quality of brain that the present incumbent tried
to use was not less, but different — and that merely
from the manner of its use. The things that this
woman wanted to love and think much upon, that
other woman had not cared for. Each habit of the
body is a habit of the mind, and each habit of the
mind must become a habit of the body.
And so, for the present, Elsie gave up and put the
book away. She was going to know and learn to
love these books, but not to-night. She could not
begin to-night. She laid her head back in the chair
and gave up to that brain that nowadays seemed
to be her master. The delight and interest of the


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 59
music had given her a short surcease; but as soon
as that was ended her thoughts flew back to her
problem.
She had told herself as she came home from the
city that afternoon that she would take things as
they were presented to her and await the outcome.
But it seemed she could not. Here she was, back
at her scheming and puzzling. And it almost seemed
to her as if, while her attention was diverted else-
where, her brain, that anxious and faithful schemer
and protector, had been unceasingly busy. For,
upon the return of her attention, she found a de-
cision almost formed. Not, to be sure, clothed in
much detail as yet, but still shaped or shaping.
She must find that other girl in the accident. Re-
duced to the simplest terms, the main factors of her
problem seemed to have reduced themselves to this.
If she was living in some other woman's body, who
was living in hers? When she thought of it like
this, that other girl rose up in her mind. She had
tried to find a clue leading to that shadowy mother,
and had been thrown back on herself. She must
find the girl. That she could surely do, though
not easily perhaps. The nurse who had told of
her was gone, and Elsie felt she would not have
cared to question her in any case. No doubt Alan
knew who she was; but she hesitated about broach-
ing the subject to him. Perhaps that Willett had
told the Lady-of-the-Telephone. Anyway, she


60 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
would find out. Instinct for her own safety told
her to leave well alone. But she could not. The
clue to the puzzle might be worse than the puzzle
itself; but still she had to find it if she could. Some-
how, in a manner hardly reasoned out, she felt she
would be wronging some other if she did not.


CHAPTER VII
LSIE was a long time getting to sleep that
night. Dread of the plans she herself had
formed kept her awake. But so weary was she
when at last she did fall asleep that she slept soundly
— so soundly that she was amazed on waking the
next morning to find it was full eight o'clock. She
jumped out of bed, bathed, and dressed at once.
On going downstairs she found that Alan had not
returned the night before.
As she passed through the dining-room after
breakfast, Elsie was greatly amused at the floral
decorations of the dining-table. The silver-and-
glass epergne of slender and lovely design was filled
with flowers — heads mostly. In each of the
branch-like receptacles a tight round posy was
wedged. Elsie took the epergne into the butler's
pantry between the dining-room and the kitchen,
and here she discovered the scissors with which
Annie had evidently but recently performed on the
luckless flowers. Armed with these, she went out
into the garden through the French window leading
from the morning-room. The garden was beautiful
and carefully tended — by some visiting gardener,
Elsie presumed, for none was in sight. She walked
round pleased and satisfied.
61


62 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
She had been in the garden but a few minutes and
was still gathering flowers and foliage to her lik-
ing when Annie came in search of her.
“’Phone,” she said, adding in a business-like way,
“Mrs. McKeene.”
Elsie hastened into the house, preceding Annie's
substantial, gingham-clad figure across the sward.
She thought rapidly as she went. It was doubtless
the same woman who had talked to her yesterday;
if so, she needed to know her given name.
“Yes?” she said, seating herself at the tele-
phone.
“Is this you, Elsie?” demanded the voice —
that of yesterday — a trifle dubiously.
“Yes.” Elsie drawled it affectedly. “Is this
you, Lily?” * -
“Lily' " indignantly. “No. It's me — Addie.”
Elsie laughed. “Oh-h! I should never have
guessed it,”— which was truthful enough. -
“Well, you’d better. Lily! What Lily, I'd
like to know?”
“Oh, almost any kind.” Elsie bubbled with real
amusement. It had come to be something of a
game — an intensely fascinating because dangerous
one. And then she quickly curbed her mirth and
told herself that she had better be careful and keep
her wits about her. Still, her ruse had worked.
Addie McKeene — Mrs. McKeene.
“Well,” observed the voice after a second,


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 63
“you're evidently feeling very funny this morning.
But anyway, I'm thankful you’re better-tempered
than you were yesterday. What are you going to
do to-day?”
“Be good,” parried Elsie.
“Too big an order,” returned the voice dryly.
“But no joking, now — what are your plans?”
“I have n’t made any.”
“Well, come over and have lunch. And then
we’ll decide what we want to do this afternoon.”
Elsie thought hastily. She did not see how she
could accept the invitation in any case, seeing she
did not know where it came from. “Can't be
done,” she declared laughingly then. “I’m doing
penance.”
This statement was received with a moment's
silent consideration. And then, “I’m coming
straight over. Look for me, Elsie.” And the re-
ceiver was abruptly hung up.
Elsie still sat by the telephone stand. Seeing that
inevitably she would have to do so soon, she was
glad she was going to see this woman at once. She
felt something like the player of a game, about to
enter into a great test of skill. That really was what
it was and somehow she felt very alert and able.
But this was a crucial encounter. She must not
forget that. It seemed almost incredible that she
could succeed in passing herself off on this woman
who had been an intimate friend of that other. And
z


64 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
yet, on the other hand, how could that woman look
at her and suspect anything different!
She rose and went into the living-room to watch
for the arrival of this new friend. As far as she
allowed herself to speculate, she was not going to
like her. To begin with, all and any friends of
Addie McKeene's ways of thinking were going to
be so many obstacles in the new path she had, per-
haps, to make — obstacles, though, that could not be
removed abruptly.
As she was thinking these things over and gazing
absently out upon the road she saw a handsome little
dark-blue electric glide silently up. In a second out
jumped a slight and exceedingly elegant figure,
which banged to the door behind it and ran lightly
up the cement walk. Elsie opened the house door
and the figure tripped in with a quick little swish
of skirts. Elsie had a fleeting vision of a bright,
dark face, and then an arm went round her shoul-
ders and a soft cheek rubbed kitten-like against
hers.
“Well, you dear, bad old girl! I's awful glad
to see it all right again — even if it is a cross old
thing.”
She was released and Addie tossed a rich wrap of
brocade and fur upon a near-by chair. Then she
turned back to Elsie, who was standing gazing at
her and realizing once for all that speculating on the
unseen is worse than waste of time. Elsie was not
*


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 65
aware that she had actually outlined her ideas of this
woman specifically, but she found she had. She had
covertly expected to see a large, languid-eyed, pos-
sibly overdressed and much-made-up woman — a
professional perverter of young married women, a
mistress of intrigue and a manager of risqué affairs.
Instead, here was this dainty, high-bred looking little
thing about as likely to lead any one as a butterfly.
With an air of gay satisfaction, Mrs. McKeene
placed herself in a chair, clasped her hands round her
knees, and laughed out loud. But neither the action
nor the laugh was the least bit vulgar. Addie was
one of those fortunate persons born once in a while
who can say and do almost anything without by any
chance appearing vulgar.
“Elsie, sit down,” she exclaimed. “For good-
ness' sake — what is this? A Mrs. Siddons act,
or a study for the statue of Repentance?” Elsie
laughed, and sat down. “That's better. Now
look pleasant while I give you the “once over.’”
It was a very frank inspection and Elsie bore it
better than might have been, owing to the fact that
she herself was busy returning it. She admired very
much and could not help liking on sight the face
before her. It was so palpably the index of a thor-
oughly amiable nature. The dark eyes were bright
and fun-loving, the small mouth a veritable rosebud
of good nature, the cheeks two smooth, dimpled
peaches. *


66 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“Well,” summed up Addie, after her mock solemn
examination, “you do look a wee bit different,
though I don't know whether it’s a tiny shadow 'way
down in your eyes or merely a chastened expression.
Yes — the effect is still distinctly visible. You did
get a good scolding, whatever you may say.”
“No, that is n’t Alan's way.” Elsie shook her
head with conviction. Already she knew that much.
“But — Oh, I felt horribly cheap! That’s all.”
Addie nodded, watching her friend with bright
eyes. “I suppose so. Well, I don't know how
some men look at those things. Of course, Terry's
so decent about it. He does just as he likes himself
and never dreams of objecting to my doing the same,
provided I don't make a fool of myself. Just look
what a terribly dull time he’d have if he did n't,
being away from home so much of the time! — and
me, too,” she added with a mirthful pucker of the
lips.
“Yes.” Elsie kept thoughtful eyes on the ground.
She felt the need of very guarded speech — else
previous concepts would be smashed at one meeting
and both be left wide-eyed over the ruins. “Only,
you see, when the man does n’t happen to want to —
to do as he likes —” She paused. Then looked up.
Addie McKeene's face was mirthful.
“Lordy, lordy! — as if such a man was ever
made!” Addie laughed softly and swayed to and
fro in her mirth. “They all do as they like, when


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 67
they like. Only some like oftener than others.
And some like openly and some prefer cover. And
some like to do one thing and some another. And
there you are.”
Elsie listened with a smile, but offered no amend-
ment to this sweeping classification. And Addie
went on, merry, quizzical eyes on her friend's face:
“But I came over with the full intention of allow-
ing you to moralize as much as ever you wanted to.
I knew it would make you feel better. I never knew
you to do it before. But then, one does n't get
shaken up in automobiles every day, either. Bound
to come out of the shuffle with a few derangements,
I suppose. Besides, of course, it was a very narrow
escape —” From Addie's unfinished tone Elsie did
not take the escape to be from physical injury alone.
“So now,”— Addie took the clasping hands from
her knees, and arranged herself neatly in the chair,
with the comical air of a curly little judge about to
take evidence —“we’ll start with your statement
that you’re going to be good. How are you going
to do it — whatever it may mean?”
Elsie opened her eyes. “Dear me!” she laughed.
“This is worse than writing the Declaration of In-
dependence on a dime, as some misguided person or
other did. How does any one be good?”
“That depends on any one’s idea of being good,”
responded Addie promptly. “What is yours?”
“Oh, I have n't got it formulated and ready for


68 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
publication yet,” answered Elsie, keeping up the
quizzical strain. In reality she had no intention of
being led into a serious discussion, supposing Addie
McKeene capable of it, which she doubted.
“Perhaps not. But you’ve thought it over and
arranged a few foolish little ideas in a row,” insisted
Addie. “I can tell you what being good means for
you just at present. It means doing just what Alan
wants you to and substituting his ideas for yours.”
“It does n't — is n't — at all,” contradicted Elsie
promptly. “Can't I have ideas of my own about
being good?”
“Yes — and they’re not Alan's,” responded
Addie cheerfully. And then the whole discussion
was evidently so amusing that she could hardly keep
that laughing little mouth of hers straight. “Are
you going to take the veil?”
“I had n’t thought of it, exactly.” -
“Or are you going to stay at home all day and sit
on a cushion and sew a fine seam? Or like the dear
good ladies of old, weave gorgeous tapestries for the
sitting-room walls? Only, as far as I remember,
those same ladies always kept an eye on the bend of
the road in expectation of the appearance of a knight
—in armor or otherwise.”
“The prospect does not appeal to me with any
great force,” responded Elsie gravely.
“Oh! Well, your brand of goodness is evidently
an entirely new one.” And then with a little sigh


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 69
and an air of banishing all jest from the proceed-
ings, “Now, dearest, tell your own Addie every-
thing. What is it you have on your mind?”
“Well,”— Elsie accepted the invitation at face
value—“you’ve heard of a coating of ice being
formed sometimes over a certain warm place,
have n't you? That’s the kind I’ve been skating on
lately, I fancy. And I feel I'd better stop while —”
“While the stopping's good,” finished Addie,
with a queer little grimace at her own slang. “Hm!
Well, I know in art it's horrid taste to begin with
details. But in real life details have a dreadful
knack of getting in the way. How about Willett?”
“Oh — Willett.” Elsie looked impatient. Al-
ready she disliked the mere name of the man — un-
principled fop that she knew he must be. And then
because she knew so little of the extent of his affair
with her, she concluded half-heartedly, “He will be
the least of my troubles.”
“Oh, will he?” said Addie, dryly. “You can't
persuade me that you know so little of him as all
that.”
“You mean that heretofore he has always done
the winding up of affairs himself?” ventured Elsie.
“No,” reflectively. “No, I don't believe Wil-
lett's a bad-hearted man at all. He's too big. But
—he won’t see any sense in the whole thing. And
neither do I. I’ve never known you to have such
a violent spasm. In fact, I have never known you


7o IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
to have any spasms at all. That is one thing I have
always loved about you. Life with you was just
one big, joyous bubble. And now —” She
laughed again, as if at the mere sight of the meta-
morphosed Elsie. “Of course, though —” she
checked herself then—“I don't know what kind of
ultimatum —”
Elsie thought a moment. Quite evidently she had
been in the habit of making a full confidante of this
woman. She did not want to seem to do less now.
“No ultimatum exactly,” she said then, slowly.
“He is going to let me hang myself, unless I get
into the papers. Then he will — finish the hanging.
That’s all,” she sighed as the position, outlined
afresh by the words she had spoken, occurred to
her again. But she had to adopt this character,
whether or no. The more thoroughly she could
enter into what it had been, the better she could
begin to shape what it was to be — if she were left
to do the shaping. “Only it made methink, Addie,”
she went on. “Really, sooner or later, women who
do — do things as I do, end up in just about one way.
Don't you think they do?”
“No, I don't,” responded Addie shortly and
promptly. “Idiots end up as idiots, and fools as
fools, of course. But so they do in every connec-
tion. And if you take long chances you're likely to
break your neck, whether it’s in the stock-market,
on the race-course, or — or in life. Moral: don't


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 71
take long chances. Women — and men, too — who
bungle their affairs, of whatever sort, are the ones,
of course, that you hear of. The others you don't
hear of. That's all.”
Elsie nodded and accepted this argument with a
thoughtful little smile. The logic of it appeared ir-
refutable; and would have been but for one thing.
It was based on an unsound premise. Elsie felt this
— knew it. Only at that time she could not think
it out. And she would not have expressed herself
if she could.
“Of course,” went on Addie, tapping the carpet
with her toe, and with the quaint air of really trying
to think the thing out with total impartiality, “if
you’ve thought it all over and really want to —”
She paused, and allowed that sentence to end itself
with decorum. “It’s amusing, though, when you
think about it — so childish and inconsistent — men,
I mean. They calmly appropriate a woman who
has been accustomed to living in a certain way.
They themselves, perhaps, have n't been accustomed
to living that way, or don't want to — comes to the
same thing. And they can't, or won't, let the woman
go on living in the only way she knows how to live.”
“Well, I suppose,” said Elsie, gently, “they ex-
pect the woman to think that all over before she
marries.” -
“Not at all!” disagreed Addie, with comically
cheerful and good-natured cynicism. “They be-


72 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
come infatuated with a woman and don't rest till
they get her. Then, when infatuation is over, they
expect her to remodel herself entirely to suit pres-
ent conditions, which generally means themselves.
Now, look at you. Look at the life you had with
your mother — one long, continual round of pleas-
ure. And after you married, a complete reversal.
Not supposed to need anything but home and hubby.
And you tried to live up to the program, too. You
kept it up much longer than I should ever have
thought you could — much longer than was good
for you, really; for you were only holding yourself
in, whether you knew it or not. And besides, what
on earth would you do with fifty dollars a month?’”
Elsie laughed outright, Addie's expression was so
comical.
“Of course you could manage to dress on it, I
suppose, and pay car fare and so forth. But what
sort of life would you have?” And Addie opened
her eyes as if in contemplation of its hideous bare-
ness. “No bridge, no opera boxes, no dansants, no
matinée luncheons, no — oh, well, simply nothing!
You’d have to join a thimble club, and have a nice
circle of ladies call on you, and have mild little teas
at one another's houses in turn. And you might
have a five-hundred afternoon once in a while by way
of a debauch.” Addie laughed in real and unaf-
fected amusement at the career she had conjured up.
‘Elsie laughed, too. But she made no verbal criti-


74 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
be home for lunch. And hurry. Madame George
is sending me out that white hat this afternoon, and
if the wing is n't on at exactly the tilt I told her, it
goes back. I don't want it to come while I'm
away.”
Annie was upstairs officiating with much dusting
and shaking in her master's room; and Elsie, on
her way to get a wrap, informed her of her contem-
plated absence.
“Mr. Leland 'll be home for dinner, won't he?”
inquired that personage by way of answer.
“I suppose so. I have n’t heard anything yet,”
replied Elsie.
“Well, got to cook that duck, anyway,” with an
air of announcing the inevitable.


CHAPTER VIII
LSIE took a wrap from her wardrobe and
then went down and entered the electric. It
was deeply and luxuriously lined in a soft French
gray, and Elsie seated herself with covert delight.
Addie McKeene drove the car with swift, light
precision that won Elsie's immediate admiration.
As near as Elsie could judge, she drove about six
blocks in all, and then turned the machine into a
narrow cement driveway and sent it without any
manoeuvering into the garage at the back of the lawn.
Elsie's new home, while in good taste, even ap-
proaching the luxurious, presented in comparison
with Mrs. McKeene's house an almost masculine
Solidity of appearance. Addie's home was a ram-
pant reflection of herself. The living-room, though
of good size, was more like a lady's boudoir than
anything. Apparently, too, all her life the little
lady had been the recipient of rich gifts — gifts
whose taste, although always good, was immensely
varied. Only in that way could the almost bazaar-
like collection of rugs, cushions, pottery, and statu-
ary be accounted for. At one end of the room,
forming a big alcove, was the music-room; Elsie
75


76 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
glanced with much respect at the polished floor and
the grand piano.
Shortly after the two women had settled them-
selves to argue the respective merits of a Paul Poiret
and a Lucille model of gown, a maid came into the
room, acknowledging Elsie's presence with a pleas-
ant smile. There was about the same difference be-
tween this girl and Annie as there was between the
two houses; and Elsie wondered in passing whether
she herself had discovered and hired Annie. Of
course Annie was a good worker. The state of the
house testified to that; and Elsie had not as yet
learned that she herself was supposed to do anything
in connection with keeping it up. And then she
was a good cook. Possibly Addie's maid was not
such a treasure in all these ways, but she was cer-
tainly of a more pleasant personality. Sallow and
dark, with dark expressive eyes, she appeared to
idolize her mistress, and listened with deferential yet
indulgent affection to her airily elaborated requests.
“Lottie, I want you to get us just the very darling-
est lunch. And Lottie, we don't need a truly, sit-up-
to-the-table lunch. Put it on our little table with all
the wings, and wheel it up to us.”
Lunch was well over. The hat had arrived and
the angle of the wing had been found to be mathe-
matically correct. Elsie, having resisted Addie's
coaxing to go down-town with her, was about to go
up to her room to chat while Addie dressed, when
f


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 77
the telephone bell rang. Addie went to it and rested
her arms nonchalantly on the stand.
“Yes?” And then, “Yes. All right.”
She rose and came back to Elsie, a half-comical
expression on her face. She gave a little backward
toss of her head, motioning Elsie to her late place at
the instrument. “It’s Willett. After you’ve done
talking, come on upstairs.” She ran lightly up the
staircase and out of hearing.
Elsie went reluctantly enough to the waiting
telephone. “Yes?”
“Well, sweetheart, how are you?”
Elsie had already made up her mind to dislike
the owner, but she could not help admiring imme-
diately the voice that traveled to her. It was so
deep and resonant. She disliked, however, the easy
affection displayed in the greeting; and her answer
was sarcastic, though leisurely.
“Oh, I believe I can be said to be out of imme-
diate danger.”
There was a second's pause. And then a slight
amused laugh. “I perceive that a certain little lady
is not in a very good humor this afternoon. What
is the matter, pet?”
The tone was very gentle, very tender, a whole
caress in itself; Elsie was amazed to find that seem-
ingly in spite of herself something within her stirred
to meet it. She was instantly disgusted with her-
self.


78 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“Nothing—nothing that can be expressed just
now, at all events,” with indifference.
“Oh, I see,” thoughtfully. “Well, I was very
careful about that matter, was n't I? I don't think
I neglected any precautionary detail. As far as I
can ascertain, except for the immediate bystanders,
no one was any the wiser. But, of course — I sup-
you had the deuce to pay at home.”
“Well — something like that,” not seeing any ad-
vantage in disturbing that impression.
“I suppose so,” regretfully. “But there seemed
nothing to do but take you home, did there? I was
awfully anxious about you and could n't get any-
thing out of Addie the next day, except that you
were pretty well yourself again. I'm so sorry,
darling. It was an unfortunate business altogether.
But — well, we were both rather upset, distracted,
were n’t we? And you know, Elsie,” he paused, and
then spoke in an even lower, softer voice, “if you
had let me have my way we should n't have been at
that spot just when —” He paused again. Elsie
was listening with all her understanding, and she
was impatient when the break came in what prom-
ised to be valuable information.
“Just when what?” she demanded.
“Oh, just when the other fellow decided to cut a
corner,” finished Renshaw somewhat lamely.
Elsie was quick to detect the lameness. However,
that might merely indicate that he was more to blame


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 79
for the accident than he had so far indicated. So
she asked, “Whom do you blame for the accident?”
“Both. He cut corners, and I was speeding, and
not paying the attention to my wheel that I should.”
This last was added with a half-laugh. Evidently
there was some reason for his inattention that Elsie
was supposed to understand. However, she did
not; and she could not wait just now to pursue that
particular vein of research. There was other and
more important information that she wanted.
“Who were they in the other car?” she asked.
“An oldish man and a girl,” with a short laugh.
“Well, but who?” insisted Elsie, wondering why
the laugh.
There was a moment's silence. And then, in a
casual tone, “Calthorpe and his secretary.”
Elsie could not be quite sure. Listening with at-
tention strained to catch any possible clue, every pos-
sible inflection, she knew she might easily imagine
this thing or that. Still, it almost seemed to her
that the tone was over casual.
“Were they much hurt?”
“Oh, no-o. Calthorpe was n't hurt at all. The
—the girl was thrown against the wheel and her
shoulder hurt — collar-bone fractured or something.
Nothing serious, I believe. Why, sweetheart?”
“I could n't — or did n't — ask Alan any particu-
lars, so I’m asking you,” replied Elsie with some
crispness.


8o IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“I see,” apologetically. “Well, don't bother
your little head about them — the other parties in
the accident. They’re all right and just as much
to blame as we. And there’s nothing particularly
out of the way in my running you home at the end
of an afternoon in the city.”
That all depended. But Elsie did not challenge
the statement. “What is the name of the girl —
the secretary 2” she asked.
“This is quite a cross-examination,” observed
Renshaw with a short laugh. “Has any one been
talking to you?”
“Of course not,” sharply, but rather surprised
nevertheless. “How could any one, when I did n't
even know who the people were until you told me?
But I can't understand why you won't answer a
straightforward question.”
“Oh, certainly. But you're not a girl to bother
with details as a rule,” stiffly. “Her name is
Hamby.” *-
“Oh! And what is her given name?”
Renshaw laughed — a slightly sarcastic laugh.
“I see plainly enough that you're running to earth
some rumor or theory. Her name is Una.”
It seemed to Elsie that her heart gave one great
leap and then sank back. Now she knew that his
reluctance to pursue the subject was real and not
imaginary. But what could he possibly know or


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 81
suspect? What —? But she must not forget.
She had to find that girl.
“Did — where is she?” she asked then, after a
pause of a second or so. “Did they take her home,
too?”
“No — to some hospital, I think. There’s a
chance, of course of some internal injury. But
don't worry about it, dear.”
“Which hospital?”
“Now, Elsie,”— Renshaw's voice was almost
sharp —“it’s foolish for us to work in the dark.
What do you want to know all this for? What are
you driving at?”
Elsie caught herself up sharply, and the quick in-
stinct for self-preservation flew uppermost warn-
ingly. On no account, whatever others might do or
think, must she indicate by her words or actions that
anything out of the ordinary was happening — or
thought of.
“Why, I think it’s you that is so strange,” she
said almost fretfully. “I can't see that I’ve asked
any but very ordinary questions. I just thought it
would be nice if she were at a hospital to call and
see her and perhaps take a few flowers. You see, I
was in the same accident and got off so lightly.”
“Oh, I would n't bother, if I were you,” promptly.
“I doubt very much whether she'd like it. Prob-
ably think you were condescending. She – if you


82 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
want to do something sweet, call up the hospital and
inquire. That would be all any one would expect
of you. Everything possible is being done for her
anyway.”
“Oh, well, perhaps so.” Elsie decided not to
argue the matter. She would not even ask the name
of the hospital. Now that she knew the name she
could easily find out for herself by calling those in-
stitutions up one by one. So many lightning-like
thoughts were darting hither and thither in her
brain that when Renshaw spoke again she forgot
to be as courteous as caution would have dictated.
“Are you coming to town this afternoon, Elsie?”
44 No.”
“Why?”
“Oh-h! Don't feel like it.” The tone was airy
and not in the least apologetic.
“Well, but — if I don't see you to-day, I can't
for a week or two,” went on the man. “Of course
I can't take my part now on account of this wretched
wrist, but I’m going down to the opening tourna-
ment just the same. I wish there were some way
of getting you down to it. But I suppose there
is n’t —”
“No, of course not,” decidedly. And then, sud-
denly recollecting that she had not even been decent
enough to inquire about his injury, in fact had for-
gotten that he had sustained one, “How is your
wrist?”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 83
“Oh — the swelling has gone down somewhat.
But it'll be a month or two before I can use it much.
A bad sprain is worse than a clean break, you know.”
And then, “Well, shall I see you to-day?”
Elsie laughed slightly to cover the harshness of
her attitude. “No, I think not.”
“Oh, well —” A moment's silence, in which
Elsie divined this man was doing much thinking.
She was upset, scolded, perhaps threatened — out
of sorts altogether. A week or so to herself would
perhaps be the best thing after all. Then, cheer-
fully, “Well, if you won't, you won't. I must wait
till I get back. But I’ll think of you every day,
sweetheart.”
“Thank you.”
Willett Renshaw laughed. “Such a sarcastic lit-
tle girl! This is the very newest thing in the way
of a mood, is n’t it? Never mind. Wait till I see
you — until I get within reach of you: I’ll settle
all the moods. Good-by for a little while, Lily
Girl.”
“Good-by.”
She hung up, and stood quietly by the instrument
for a moment or so. Somehow her heart was beat-
ing heavily. Then she went up the shallow winding
staircase and, guided by her ears, entered a delight-
ful bedroom having an oriel window. Before a
rosewood duchesse table Mrs. McKeene was criti- .
cally smoothing off her face the last trace of powder.


84. IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“Well? Are you going down with me?” she
inquired, without turning her head.
“No, dear,” replied Elsie gently.
Then Addie did turn her head — quickly. She
gazed at her friend with frankly curious eyes.
“You certainly are in the funniest mood — for you.
Well!” She turned back to the glass again. She
was full of curiosity, dying to have Elsie make full
confession of all that had transpired, that was now
actuating her. But she was too well-bred to ques-
tion even her closest chum past a certain mark. “I
must just run round with you and drop you at your
door, then.”
She did this. And Elsie entered her quiet home
with a sense of vast relief. Time to be alone and
to think.
But when she sat down and tried to think she could
not. A thousand issues, a thousand questions and
possibilities and fears rushed at her and assailed her
like a horde of furies. She got up quickly. She
was going to find that girl, and she would go at
once. That was the next and only thing to do. No
good thinking about it.
She went to the telephone prepared to call up all
the hospitals given in the classified section of the
directory. However, the second hospital called —
St. Stephen's — gave her what she wanted. “Miss
Hamby? Just a minute. Yes, Room two-thirty-
*__ 33
-
S1X


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 85
Elsie hung the receiver up quietly and then went
straight up to dress. No use hesitating. No use
fearing. This thing had to be done.


CHAPTER IX
AVING ridden down-town, Elsie ascertained
from a crossing-policeman the proper car to
take for St. Stephen's Hospital, also the way to the
nearest florist's. Here, at the cost of the better
part of what appeared to be her only capital — the
five-dollar bill — she armed herself with a cluster of
exquisite rosebuds. Then she set out for the hos-
pital.
If her heart sank as she walked in a businesslike
way up the steps of the institution, she did not pause
to realize it. With a sort of grim humor she felt
that she was like a person bound for the dentist's
chair, who dares not pause lest courage ooze en-
tirely away. She did not stop at the office, but
took the elevator straight for the second floor, where
doubtless Room 236 would be. Stepping out of
the elevator, she went up to a nurse who was sorting
linen out of a closet and asked for the direction of
236. The nurse indicated an open door at the end
of the corridor.
Elsie walked up and stood in the doorway. The
room was a large one, containing three beds, all oc-
cupied by women, with a visitor by each bed. A
nurse—a probationer, evidently, by her blue striped
86


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 87
gown — observing Elsie's hesitation, came toward
her with a pleasant, inquiring smile. Elsie spoke
almost under her breath: “Miss Hamby?”
“Yes.” The nurse turned toward the bed near-
est the window. By it sat an elderly woman, of
plain yet stylish appearance. It flashed across
Elsie's alert mind that this must be the mother and
she looked at her with startled, anxious eyes. She
could not tell why, but she was conscious of a sense
of vast relief, as she scanned the thin, somewhat
querulous face, to find that she felt not the slightest
thrill of awakening memory, not the faintest quiver
of emotion or interest. This mother, so strangely
lost to her, stirred no longing in her heart. Merci-
fully, memory had lost its hold upon what the heart
could not recover. Then Elsie's gaze passed to the
bed. She had schooled herself to meet the shock
of this moment but she could not suppress an in-
drawn breath of distress as she looked down at her
own face upon the pillow.
The girl in the bed lay with her eyes closed, her
dark, almost black hair drawn back smoothly from
the pale, clear skin above the level brows. Elsie
thought of that other moment when this face should
have looked back at her from Mrs. Leland's mirror
instead of the unknown features which had greeted
her. The woman before her had doubtless known a
similar agonizing moment. Now they were face to
face.


88 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
At the same moment Mrs. Hamby spoke to her
daughter.
“Una 1 ''
Una Hamby opened her eyes. They met the ap-
pealing gaze of the visitor. Elsie knew she was not
imagining the instant electrical stiffening of the girl's
whole body, the flame of resentment that shot into
the black-lashed gray eyes. She did not attempt to
smile, but her lips set in a hard line as she lay and
looked up at her caller. Almost fascinated by the
resentful stare, Elsie was still conscious of the
mother's open-eyed astonishment. After a moment
Elsie made an effort to break the spell. She smiled
down on the still unsmiling girl. *
“I thought I'd like to come and see how you were
getting along.” Then suddenly recollecting that she
had not let herself be announced, and uttering the
name with difficulty, “I’m Mrs. Leland ”
“Oh, yes, I know who you are,” said Una Hamby,
with a slight but almost insolent uplifting of the
brows.
“I — I —” Elsie felt she was almost losing
grasp of the situation. “Are you much hurt?”
& 4 No.”
The girl lay and looked her over line by line, as
if satisfying a long-felt curiosity. Her lips lay in
a faintly satirical, contemplative smile, and Elsie felt
she was hating each line as she looked at it.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 89
“I am so sorry you were hurt at all,” went on
Elsie. A sort of resentment, a sense of being put
on her mettle, was coming to her rescue. She was
only human and she would not allow herself to be
nonplussed by such absolute rudeness. Whatever .
had happened, she was not to blame; no reasonable
person could possibly think she was. She was con-
scious of that much in spite of her embarrassment.
“I got off so lightly myself —” she finished, laugh-
ing slightly.
Una Hamby smiled too, but it was not a pleasant
smile. “Yes, you always have gotten off lightly,
have n't you?”
“Why, I don't know.” This was true enough.
But Una's query plainly contained some unpleasant
thrust, and in order to ignore it, Elsie took the rose-
buds out of the hollow of her arm and looked about
for a place to lay them. The nurse was attracted
by the movement and came up to her. Elsie placed
the flowers in her hands.
“Oh, are n't they exquisite!” exclaimed the girl
in sincere admiration. “Shall I put them in water
for you, Miss Hamby?”
“If you like. I suppose the others will enjoy
them.”
With the intuition of her kind the nurse glanced
swiftly from patient to visitor and, perceiving some-
thing entirely out of her province, moved quickly


90 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
away in search of a vase. But before she went she
drew up a chair for the visitor, however unwelcome
she might be. -
Elsie seated herself, not because she felt she was
welcome to do so, but because for the moment she
felt positively weak. Her knees trembled and her
face burned painfully. Still she was not going to
admit defeat. She looked at the puzzled woman
sitting near her at the bedside.
“And this is Mrs. Hamby?”
Una did not trouble to reply; and though feeling
obliged to follow more or less her daughter's uncivil
lead, Mrs. Hamby was nevertheless constrained to
reply to what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary and
civil question: “Yes.”
Silence fell again. And it became apparent to
Elsie that there was simply nothing left to do but to
take as graceful a departure as possible. She could
not — dared not — show her hand in the face of
such determined animosity. Such senseless ani-
mosity, surely! She looked deprecatingly, almost
pleadingly, at the hard, resentful face of the girl.
“Well, I see we’re not going to be able to — to
talk —” she said lamely. “I think it’s a pity. I —
I'm sorry you feel this way toward me. I thought
perhaps we could —” she stopped. She must not
be too rash.
Una's gray eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to


92 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
with hostility in her tone; “I don't know why she
should be unfriendly to you, Mrs. Leland, if that's
what you mean.”
“Yes,” Elsie said, “I did not expect it and I
wondered if perhaps the accident had seemed to have
some queer effects in any way.” As Una's mother
shook her head Elsie pursued the advantage of the
moment. “I wondered if she recognized you, for
instance, and remembered everything perfectly.”
“Oh, yes indeed,” answered Mrs. Hamby, de-
fensively. “Her mind's perfectly normal. I guess
she remembers too much, maybe. She must have
good reasons for her actions and it’s none of my
business, anyway.”
Mrs. Hamby's voice was growing loud and Elsie
spoke quickly.
“I am very glad that the accident was no more
serious and I sincerely hope that her recovery will
be rapid. Thank you very much.”
She got home without knowing at all how she did
it; went straight up to her room, threw off her coat
and hat, and sat — almost collapsed — in the chintz
chair. She laid her head back and closed her eyes
and tried desperately to relax, to calm herself. But
her mind was a perfect maelstrom — nothing less.
Anger, fear, hopeless, puzzling dread of she knew
not what — she was milled round hither and thither,
until presently it seemed to Elsie that each thought
as it darted through her brain was a fiery pain.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 93
Suddenly she sat up. It was after five o'clock.
She was not dressed and Alan would be home. He
must not see her in this distraught condition. She
must, must, learn to control her mind. When a sub-
ject threatened to overwhelm her she must learn to
put it away at least for the time being. She must,
or else she would have no mind left to control.
So, as she dressed for dinner, and the girl in the
hospital bed rose up before her, she would resolutely
down the image and put it away. Once, as she
dressed her hair, and criticized with fresh delight the
soft waves that fell over forehead and ears, noting
the rich gleams thrown from its polished beauty, she
really did for the time being forget her trouble. She
had been repulsed by the rightful owner of this
beauty, to whom she had gone in honorable distress
as having innocently usurped another's place. Now
the memory of that repulse quieted her conscience.
Moreover, another comfort came to her, unguessed.
She put on the blue crêpe de chine, because above
the wonderful, deep color of it her skin seemed to
pulse with delicate tints. She was dressing for Alan
Leland — and did not know it. Not even when, on
going downstairs and perceiving that Annie was evi-
dently preparing to serve dinner before long, she
went to the window to watch for his arrival.
He came, driving a substantial, well-kept looking
car, which he turned with the unhesitating ease of
long practice into the garage runway. In a few


94 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
minutes he came into the house through the French
window and crossed the morning-room. Because it
seemed ridiculous to do anything else, Elsie Smiled
and said, “Good evening.”
He returned the salutation in an equally pleasant
way, his eyes, quiet and unmoved but keenly apprais-
ing, traveling over her in one instant glance. Then
he went on upstairs, leaving Elsie tense with some
hidden, inward stress that she could not define.
She was very nervous as she sat down at dinner
with this man who was everything and nothing to
her. He carved easily and waited on her pleasantly
and naturally; told her of several of the day's hap-
penings in the city. In his manner there was neither
anger nor resentment, nor the least appearance of
effort to be pleasant. Only the most complete indif-
ference, broken and slightly veiled by the necessary
courtesies of the occasion.
After dinner he smoked a cigar, standing at the
open French window; then got a book, pencil, and
note-book and sat down, apparently to study.
Elsie sat down, too, with a book on her knee, alter-
nating between states of defiance and dread. Then
she would watch Alan and speculate. As she did
this—perhaps because of this — her resentment
slowly died away. She wondered whether that girl
in the hospital loved this man whom now she could
not even approach. No doubt she still did. She
surely would in spite of the silly affair with Willett


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 95
º
Renshaw. Following this thought pity began to get
the better of anger. The fiercely resentful but still
desolate figure on the cot rose before her, and she
tried to understand what others thought. This
beautiful home, the handsome clothes, this man, all
were surely that girl's; but she, Elsie, had possession
of them. No wonder Una was resentful. It was
foolish, of course. Neither was to blame. But
Elsie wondered after all whether she, in the situa-
tion of that other, would have done any better, been
any more reasonable. If she, shot suddenly into
luxury and beauty, had felt desolate and forlorn,
what must that poor girl feel who was thrust into
what was surely for her utter desolation! No won-
der she was unreasonable. Probably she was half
out of her mind, though her mother could not guess
it.
Elsie lay awake all the first half of that night.
Hour" after hour she stared into the darkness. But
she was quieter and her brain was clearer. The
more she thought of it, the more she felt that she
ought to have made greater efforts to approach Una
Hamby, that she ought not to have given way to
resentment so soon. She had everything, where the
other girl had nothing. She must not forget that.
It was more especially her place to help, to act. She
would. She would go back, and despite rebuffs she
would somehow contrive to let Una know that she
was fair-minded, that she wanted to do anything she


96 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
could to right a wrong. Well, not a wrong, for
certainly neither was to blame. And as yet she could
not see — could not get even a dim idea after hour
upon hour of thought and puzzling — what could be
done, what either could do, in so strange and mad a
case. Could anything right so great a muddle, short
of the death of one or both?
Well, at least Una should have a chance to say
what she wanted. Elsie would meet her more than
half-way, would go just as far as she dared, to show
she was at least honest in mind. It would be hard
but she would go back to the hospital. To-morrow
she would go.


CHAPTER X
ISITING hours at the hospital were from two
to five; and a few minutes after two Elsie was
again walking up the steps of St. Stephen's. She
sighed as she did so. Would the day ever come
when, having made every utmost effort that could
be required of her, she would be acquitted and left
to live — whatever life was left her — in peace?
She was relieved on entering Room 236 to find
that Mrs. Hamby was not yet there. Neither was
the nurse in the room at the moment. These two
things helped to relieve her of at least a certain
amount of embarrassment. She walked quietly over
to Una Hamby's bed, drew a chair close to the head
of it, and sat quietly down. Una had seen her the
moment she entered the doorway and she watched
every movement in tight-lipped silence and with a
wide-eyed stare. Obviously she was amazed at this
speedy second visit; and seemingly, too, she sensed
Some determination, some special mission, on her
visitor's part.
Elsie leaned slightly toward her and spoke in al-
most an undertone:
“I know you don't want to see me again. But I
97


98 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
had to come. When I got home and thought things
over I was sorry I gave way to temper so soon. I
thought perhaps you, too, might have been thinking
things over and might have seen that you were —
were a little unreasonable.” She paused. But if
Una's feelings toward her visitor had undergone any
modification since the night before, the effect was
not apparent in the expression of the cold gray eyes,
the contemptuous curve of the lips. But Elsie has-
tened on. She was going to say what she felt, what
she meant, whatever came of it.
“I imagined myself situated as you are,” she
went on then. “And I saw that unless you did think
things carefully over, and so see how unreasonable
it is, you might easily feel — as you do, toward me.
Of course, I do seem to have everything. But what
is the use of blaming me? I could n’t help what —
what was thrust upon me.”
At the last words of this more or less faltering
appeal Una Hamby's eyes fairly blazed. She kept
them fixedly on the face of the woman before her.
The heartsick feeling began to creep back over Elsie ;
but she was determined. This time she was going
to do all she dared.
“Just think a minute,” she pleaded. “Forget
your anger toward me for a while. Just think how
much better it would be for us to talk things over.
Why, it’s the only way. And really, really, I want
to do right, to do all I can. I have thought and


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 99
thought, and I can't see — But tell me what you
think. If you will tell me —”
“No.” Una spoke the word in a low tone, but so
vibrant with intense feeling was it, that Elsie felt it
must have sounded all over the room. “I’ll tell you
nothing.” She laughed, a mirthless but exultant
laugh. “I thought as much. You're scared, badly
Scared. And you thought you’d come here, and by
acting the hypocrite get me to tell you of my inten-
tions so that you could head them off to your own
advantage.”
“I did n’t. That's not true.” Elsie made a
quick protesting movement. “I am frightened, just
as you must be, but just now I was only thinking of
helping you.”
Una's lips curled in disbelief. “Thanks very
much. When I am ready for your help I shall take
it. But it won't be at all in your way. It will be in
my own time and in my own way.” -
So strictly personal, so insulting almost, did this
girl's animosity seem, that Elsie felt her temper ris-
ing again. Probably it was a temper none too easy
to control at the best.
“You are foolish,” she said in a very low voice
and very curtly. “Evidently you have n't the power
to think round a question. You seem not to realize
the terrible danger of your position. What can you
gain by an attitude like this? You will have only
yourself to blame if, when the time comes, you have
70% 614 A


IOO IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
an unscrupulous woman to deal with, instead of one
who wants, who is trying, to think and do somewhere
near right. As near as we can come to it, anyway.
You should remember that at present I have the
upper hand. And though it is evident you have the
memories of —”
“Memories! Oh!” Una laughed — a little,
choking laugh. “Yes. I can remember — every-
thing. But memory will have nothing to do with it.
I shall have proof.”
“No proof that you can bring can take away
from me what—what I have if I choose to keep
it,” Elsie replied sharply.
“But I can ruin you so that the possession of it
will do you little good.”
“Maybe,” agreed Elsie, wearily. “But I don't
know. Somehow I feel there is a limit to the harm
one person is permitted to do another.”
“Does n’t seem so,” sarcastically.
Elsie sat silent for a moment or so. Evidently
she was to fail again — fail in every way, either to
impress this girl or to keep her temper. She sighed.
“Then you are determined that you won't —
won't meet me half-way and — talk things over?”
“I certainly am determined,” looking at her with
straight, scornful eyes. “So please take my word
for it and don't come here again. People are not
helpless, at the mercy of others, even if they are in
a hospital, and I won't be annoyed by you. I hate


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER IOI
maudlin stuff. I hated you before you came, but
now I despise you. I did think you had backbone
enough at least to stand up and play your part.”
Elsie got up. She looked down on the girl with a
quiet smile. “I have,” she said. “From now on
that is just what I shall do — attend to my part.
And I think, when the time comes, I shall be ac-
quitted of all blame where you are concerned.”
“No doubt — by yourself.”
“You’re so absolutely unreasonable,” flashed out
Elsie in sheer exasperation. It was useless; but this
girl's attitude toward her, dangerous as it must be,
was so utterly childish and senseless that she could
not restrain herself. “I can't see how in the world
you can blame me.”
“It is heartless of me,” agreed Una scoffingly,
“when of course the universe is made for your
taking.” -
“Oh!” Elsie gave a little gesture of hopeless
impatience and turned to go. “Well, good-by, Una
Hamby.”
She uttered the name more to hear it herself than
anything. Henceforth, as far as she was concerned,
that was what the girl should be.
“Adieu, Elsie Leland,” returned Una mockingly.
Elsie turned away. On her way toward the door
she was called by the woman in the bed nearest the
door. Quick, almost greedy to grasp at any sign
of friendliness, Elsie paused and smiled. The


IO2 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
woman, an elderly person with a mild face, motioned
to the little table at the side of her bed upon which
stood the rosebuds.
“She – your friend — does n’t care for flowers,
I suppose,” she said, “so Nurse gave them to me.
I wanted you to know how I am enjoying them.”
“I’m so glad.” Elsie's smile was whole-hearted
and sweet. “They have fulfilled their mission.”
“Yes — the wonderful, sweet things,” breathed
the woman, glancing adoringly at them. “I lie here
and just marvel and marvel at them.”
Elsie looked at her. The face was worn and pale
but placid. “Are you getting well fast?” she in-
quired. “Do you expect soon to be out of here?”
“I fell and fractured my hip,” answered the
woman with a nod and a smile. “No, I shall have
to be here quite a while yet.”
“Oh! Well, I hope you will be well as soon as
possible,” said Elsie. With a smile and the slightest
little friendly pat on the hand that lay on the bed,
Elsie passed on out into the corridor. It was a very
slight incident, but somehow it comforted her out of
proportion to its importance.
As she went home and as she dressed for dinner
Elsie was conscious of a sharp contradiction. On
the one hand she experienced a distinct sense of re-
lief. Una Hamby had relieved her of all responsi-
bility as far as any decision concerning her went.
On the other hand, the girl had increased Elsie's


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 103
sense of dread. The shadow of this inimical per-
sonality would be ever behind Elsie and the sword of
threatened vengeance suspended above her head.
And Una was doubly equipped; for she had memory,
the memories of both, which gave her full knowledge
of Elsie's past and enabled her to play Una's part
in life with perfect ease. Elsie could not even specu-
late as to how Una would begin to work. If she
told only the truth no one would believe her, and
Elsie doubted whether even Una would be foolish
enough for that. No, she could not guess how Una
would work; and in the uncertainty lay her greatest
dread.
As she thought and thought Elsie was alarmed
again at the lightning-like pains that from time to
time shot through her head. Her eye-sockets felt
like fiery caverns. It was time to call a halt. She
must reduce things to their simplest possible terms,
give herself a working formula, and stick to it. She
must; otherwise brain fever at the least, or perhaps
madness, lay not so far ahead of her.
Still, after dinner, as she and Alan sat reading —
presumably, on Elsie's part — she was at it again,
thinking, turning, twisting. She wondered —
Why could she not run away while yet she was safe?
What could she do to earn a living? Not a vestige
of stenography remained in her memory. The other
woman had that, along with recognition of her
mother and countless other things. She thought of


104 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
distant cities; of cloak-and-suit models; of sales-
ladies in department stores; of factories many and
various — turning ideas and images over in her mind
like so much rubbish in an attic. Something must
be found. The present situation was intolerable.
Then, suddenly — as if a child, turning hurriedly
and petulantly the leaves of a picture-book, had seen
the book quietly closed and removed — it was borne
in on her that she had not to do anything. How
soon she had forgotten the startling lesson that had
been given her! What had she had to do with com-
ing here? Nothing. And she could not believe she
had been placed in this set of circumstances just for
the purpose of scrambling out of them. No doubt
she could do that — wilfully get up and go. That
much freedom of action was hers. It would also be
hers to take the consequences of whatever she did.
No. All she had to do — all she dared to do — was
her very utmost best with each amazing day as it
came. The outcome was not hers to meddle with.
This thought, which amounted to a profound con-
viction, settled into Elsie's mind with a sense of
power and peace. It replaced with a feeling of
security and authority the previous impatience,
wounded pride, and uncertainty. She looked at
Alan. Even this man — she had not been brought
into his life for nothing; nor he into hers. She was
sure of it — sure of it! Perhaps, even, it would be
given to her to win his respect.


CHAPTER XI
LSIE came in out of the garden one morning
to find Alan at the desk in the living-room. It
was the third of the month, though she had not recol-
lected the fact. He called to her as she came in:
“Just a moment, Elsie.”
Elsie approached, noticing as she did so that he
had a series of accounts, or documents of that kind,
spread out before him.
“Annie is slowly but surely creeping up, month
by month,” he observed, with a smile of grim amuse-
ment. “I hope she has a limit and that we're pretty
near it. Of course she's a good cook and a first-
class servant, and all that. But — Perhaps you
can think of a way of suggesting to her that she
might be a little more artistic. Tell her proportion
is one of the first requirements of art.”
He handed over a bunch of accounts, mingled with
checks, which Elsie received without comment, as
she received everything and anything nowadays.
“Are you out of house cash?” he inquired.
Elsie nodded. With the exception of the five-
dollar bill, she had not been able to discover any
cash for whatever purpose among her predecessor's
effects.
Alan signed a blank check and handed it to her.
107


IO8 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
She took it with a slight formal word of thanks and
he glanced at her as he gathered the papers together
on the desk. She certainly rather surprised him.
She was not sulking; her face was quiet and purpose-
ful. There was something about her lately that he
could neither describe nor account for.
When Alan was gone Elsie sat down with the ac-
counts and began a thorough investigation. Her
face burned painfully. She – well, yes, it was she
now — was evidently not wife enough to prevent
this man being swindled by a servant.
She spread out the offending accounts — the
grocer, the butcher, the creamery, gas, electricity,
etc. Elsie did not know much about the cost of run-
ning a house of this size; but she felt sure, neverthe-
less, that the sums she looked at were out of all pro-
portion for three people. She looked at the cream-
ery bill and counted — and it was just for the
current month—twenty-three pounds of butter
alone. Her rage and disgust increased as she looked
things over. Evidently Annie was thoroughly dis-
honest and unscrupulous; and the fact that her prede-
cessor had evidently carelessly left everything to her
made matters to Elsie's way of thinking that much
worse. The checks that Alan had given her corre-
sponded with each amount called for; and one — for
fifty dollars — was made out to herself. She did
not doubt, from what Addie McKeene had said, that
this was her own personal allowance.


IIO IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
And I want you to keep each one. Have you a hook
for them P "
Slight surprise mingled with disdain as Annie in-
clined her head slightly toward the wall forming the
side of a cupboard upon which a bill clamp was fas-
tened. Elsie nodded slightly.
“Well, please keep each and every slip in it. I
shall look them over at the end of the month. And
Annie,” she added, a brilliant idea striking her as
she turned to go, “come to me each morning and tell
me what you want to order for the day.”
With that she went, leaving Annie to her feelings,
which were mostly indescribable. At first that irate
and astounded person was for taking her hands out
of the dish-pan, packing her things, and departing
instanter. But a moment's thought counseled pru-
dence. There was much to be said for the place.
She was uninterfered with in her work and allowed
to go and come pretty much as she pleased. The
work, too, was light; for the charwoman came one
day a week and cleaned from cellar to basement;
all washing went out, and the gardener kept the
Verandas, steps, and windows cleaned. And as for
this wave of righteousness — it would pass off.
Such waves always had. It was but an extended re-
sult of the accident, of whose significance Annie was
fully aware. Indeed, she had talked it over very
fully with the nurse at the time. And then again she
had often seen her mistress in tantrums. Not quite


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER III
*
so businesslike and disconcerting as this one, of
course. But it would pass. A month might be lost
before things returned to normal; and during that
time some awkward discrepancies might become ap-
parent. It was unfortunate; but Annie decided that
with the exercise of due care and diplomacy much
of the effects, and also the results, of her mistress's
newly acquired sense of duty could be headed off.
To be sure, as a disciplinary measure, Annie evi-
denced her displeasure at the turn in events by being
Sulky and somewhat noisy. But she met so straight
and uncompromising a glance from her mistress
that she decided to postpone all measures until that
lady's fit of temper should have worn off.
After leaving the kitchen Elsie pondered the
troublesome account question still further. Then
she went to the telephone and called up Addie Mc-
Keene. Very close intimacy had evidently existed
between her and that other Elsie and this could not
be allowed suddenly to lapse. Indeed, Elsie did not
know that she altogether wished it to. She liked
Addie. And here was a very safe subject to con-
verse upon.
“I want some housekeeping advice,” she told that
little lady, as she heard her voice respond to the
Call. -
“You want — what?” demanded Addie almost
sharply.
“Housekeeping advice.”


II2 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“Oh! certainly.” Addie gave a soft little chuckle
of pure amusement. “Come right over. I did at-
tend a Domestic Science class once in the dear dead
days. Probably a few shreds of knowledge still
cling.”
“I’ll come over immediately after luncheon,”
said Elsie.
“You’ll come over immediately now,” responded
Addie promptly. “Jim's got the electric outside,
washing it, and I'll tell him to run round and get
you.”
Five or ten minutes later the electric was at the
door, driven by a youth of about twenty. He gave
Elsie a pleasant, deferential greeting, as Lottie the
maid had done on that previous occasion.
Elsie tried to observe closely the direction in
which they went as they glided along. She did note
the general direction pretty well, and though unable
to keep count of the actual turns, felt that she could
find the house alone easily enough.
She found Addie, dainty and sweet and prettily
coiffured, but in negligée attire. Her breakfast was
still beside her.
“Dear ! Such laziness!” commented Elsie, smil-
ingly.
“Well, I was out so late,” explained Addie calmly.
“I was going to ring you up in a little while and tell
you all you missed.” -
Elsie handed her wrap to the smiling Lottie and


114 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
count. Those things Lottie goes and picks herself
from wherever they suit her best and has them sent
out.”
Elsie nodded with a sigh. “Lottie is a peach.”
“Indeed she is,” almost affectionately. “You
know, Elsie, I always did tell you you left things too
much to Annie. I knew it would have to end some
day.”
“It will,” said Elsie, portentously. “‘Now shalt
thou see what I will do to Pharaoh.’”
“Yes. But unfortunately we shall also see what
Pharaoh will do to thee,” rejoined Addie, quietly.
“And it will be plenty.”
She was curled comfortably in her chair, her head
propped between her hand and the upholstery. And
she watched her friend with eyes that, for all her
laziness, sought and puzzled and conjectured, though
she did not actually know she was puzzling, nor what
it was she was vainly striving to catch and detect.
Elsie's body and face were here; but that which she
had learned to know as Elsie, which she would prob-
ably call her character — the one who stood behind
that face and that body — was absent. It was all
unprecedented; and so Addie could not consciously
accept or consider such a state of affairs.
“Well,” she went on then, “what are you going
to do about it? How are you going to begin?”
Elsie woke up from a short reverie and detailed
the action already taken in the matter.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 115
a
“Dear me!” Addie chuckled. “Quite a begin-
ning! As a gentle and diplomatic hint that some-
thing is wrong it is simply a work of art. I can only
imagine one thing a shade more diplomatic, and that
would be throwing a brick through the window.”
Elsie laughed too. “I suppose I might have been
a little more gradual. But I don't know. She
might just as well understand at once that I'm tired
of such abuse of trust and that it has got to stop.
If only,” she went on frowningly, “I knew just
how things ought to be, myself. But I suppose I
can learn.”
“I suppose you can,” agreed Addie, though a trifle
dubious apparently. “I wish I could help you,
kidlets. Of course I can always get any informa-
tion you want, from Lottie. But in matters like
these I know less than you do, if anything. Lottie
manages everything. If she should marry or—or
anything, I positively don't know what I should do,”
tragically. “However, “Sufficient unto the day.”
I suppose I should learn in a hurry — Should have
to. I'm afraid,” she went on reflectively, “Annie's
going to lead you a terrible life while she is being
reformed.”
“Oh, I don't know.” Elsie's eyes narrowed
ominously. “She is a good cook and a good worker
but — There are others.”
“Yes. But from all I hear they are peculiarly
hard to find. Better go gently,” counseled Addie.


116 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 3.
“The very fact that she knows you are watching the
bills will help, I fancy. She won't feel she can be
quite as wholesale. See how that works before you
do anything rash. Meantime keep your eyes open.”
Elsie digested this sage advice and decided that it
was good. “I will,” she nodded. “Act on that
advice, I mean. And now,” she added in a tone that
clearly dismissed that matter for the time being, “tell
me all about the time you had.”
She listened while Addie leaned her cheek on her
hand and told of the matinée, of a drive out to the
automobile club-house, of the dinner on the veranda
overlooking the river, of the informal dance after-
ward. She listened, also, to laughing and perfectly
good-natured scraps of gossip about this and that
person who was to her but a name, and interjected
nods and laughs with care and precision. But it
seemed to her such a farce, so unreal, that over and
over again she found herself wondering that Addie
did not sense an impostor and bid her begone. Her
new home, her threatened tilt with Annie, Alan and
the rankle of his opinion of her, these things were
beginning to seem real. They were issues in which
she was already vitally interested. But Addie Mc-
Keene and the life she glimpsed were like side scenes
viewed from a distance. Personally she liked Addie
very much, would have liked to be able to enter into
the merry, care-free life she seemed to lead. But
that same life, the means she evidently had at her


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 117
command, her way of looking at things, made it im-
possible that Addie could ever enter very extensively
into the life that Elsie hoped to shape for herself, or
perhaps to work at while it was shaped for her. For
she felt what it was going to be — a constant over-
coming, a ceaseless round of difficulties to be faced,
a long, lonely fight, perhaps to victory and perhaps
not. Still, in the meantime, she really liked this
bright, sweet-natured woman enough to be anxious
not to slight her or hurt her feelings.
“Cora Starrett is giving an affair at the golf links
this afternoon,” Addie chattered along. “She ex-
pects me to be there. But I'm not going. Say,
Mrs. Leroy Yorke was telling me about the new
couple at the Athenian. Says they're much better
than Robert Dean and his partner. Says the man is
a dream of grace. And I suppose,” she laughed,
“all the men say she is. Let's drop in this after-
noon. I’ll have Jim rush you home directly after
lunch so that you can dress. And get out your run-
about. We might want to take others and run out
to the club.”
For a second Elsie was taken aback. But her
intuition was quick and facile. She had noticed
that their garage was double, though she had never
investigated it. Doubtless it contained a machine
that was supposed to be devoted to her own special
use. She felt cheap and disconcerted; but there
was only one thing to do — refuse. She shook her


II8 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
*
head at the surprised Addie, and for once felt per-
fectly safe in telling the simple truth.
“Addie, I can't drive that machine yet.”
Addie opened her eyes and stared comically at her
friend. “Why — why — Has that accident turned
you against machines, then?”
“Yes, for a time.” Then she went on lamely.
“Oh, Addie, I suppose you'll be awfully disgusted
with me! But — I don't want to go to the dansant,
either. I — Oh, I don't feel equal to it, yet.”
Addie leaned her cheek back on her arm reflec-
tively. “I believe, after all, that I am down on your
black-list.” -
“Oh, Addie, don't talk like that!” Elsie leaned
forward impulsively and stroked the hand that lay
on her friend's lap. Somehow she felt sure that,
as far as her conception of the word went, this
woman had been a good little friend for years. “I
— I don't know.” She passed her hand distressedly
across her face. “I’m so awfully restless.”
- “I see it,” Addie nodded believingly. “All the
while I have been talking I could see it. You lis-
tened — tried to — but your eyes were full of some-
thing else. What do you mean by “restless”?” she
queried, suddenly bethinking herself.
“Just that,” quietly. “When I’m away from
home I long to be back there; and when I'm there
I want to pace up and down like a caged tiger.”
Addie considered her companion long and ear-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 119
nestly. “Well, it’s either something Alan has done
or else you’re not well yet,” she decided.
“Oh!” Elsie laughed and stood up, stretching
her slim, lithe body with power and ease. “I’m
well enough. Could n't very well be any better.”
“Your body is well,” said Addie, tersely.
Elsie would not stay to luncheon and in view of
what she had said Addie would not press her.
Neither would she be driven home, but insisted on
walking.
On reaching home, before entering the house Elsie
went into the garage to look over her newly dis-
covered possession. It was a smart-looking dark
blue six-cylinder roadster, with fawn upholstery
and white wire wheels. Elsie stood a minute star-
ing at the handsome thing. Whatever would she
do with it? Then true to her resolution she walked
suddenly out of the garage. She had not to do any-
thing with it to-day. And time would show.
One other investigation Elsie still had to make
regarding her home and she decided that the after-
noon before her presented as good a chance as any.
She wanted to sort and read carefully through the
papers in the desk in her bedroom. They might con-
tain much valuable information.
Nothing happened to change this decision. And
so immediately after lunch she sat down before the
dainty and much overladen desk. She sorted and
read carefully through the contents. Most of the


I2O IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
letters and papers contained conveyed no especial
meaning to her, but she found two letters from an
address in Paris signed “Your Mother.” She con-
sidered them gravely for a few minutes and then
put them aside with a sigh and a certain feeling of
relief that France was as far off as it was.
Among other things Elsie found in one of the
desk drawers a bank-book with a balance of seven
dollars. The entry and withdrawal dates were quite
recent and the book was nearly filled. It gave Elsie
both a sudden idea and a slight shock. She went
downstairs and got a book in which she had seen
Elsie Leland's name inscribed. She studied the in-
scription — Eloise Van Duyn Leland — and then
got a sheet of paper to see if it had been written by
the owner herself and how near she could come to
it.
The result was mainly satisfactory. She had no
other idea of that name in writing but that one
which was before her. Her hand was evidently
trained to write it that way and did so. The signa-
ture looked a little stiff, but that was doubtless due
to the fact that she wrote slowly and consciously.
However, she decided to allow that seven dollars
to remain in the bank indefinitely. She would open
an entirely new account as soon as she had anything
much to bank.
Elsie had at least one pleasant hour that after-
noon. That was the hour, or more, that she spent


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 121
dressing — for dinner, as she termed it to herself.
With the deepest interest and care she dressed her
hair, studying the lines of her coiffure from every
angle. And then she put on a simply-made gown of
chiffon velvet of a rare golden-brown shade. With
her hair and eyes, it made a wonderful study in
color, which Elsie was artist enough to note. Then
she went down and watched for Alan to come; and
when he did come, woman-like, she was deep in the
pages of “Vogue.”
When he came down into the living-room a few
minutes before the gong sounded, Elsie took out of
the library table drawer, where she had placed it
that morning, the check for the fifty dollars made
out to herself. She held it out. “Is this — ?”
Leland glanced at it and then at her. “It’s your
check, of course. What about it?”
“Nothing.” She replaced it in the drawer. “I
just thought —” She did not exactly know what
to say. *
But Leland continued to look her straight in the
face. “Did n't you think I was going to give it to
you this month, then?”
“Oh, I have n’t done any thinking about it,” re-
plied Elsie shortly.
“Diplomatic relations are not severed yet,” said
Leland with a smile of faint amusement. “Until
they are, financial arrangements will remain un-
changed.”


CHAPTER XII
HEN Elsie had told Addie McKeene that
she was restless, she had spoken the truth
mildly. And instead of decreasing, this restlessness
grew upon her day by day. Not only did the uncer-
tainty and the faintly defined sense of dread under
which she lived tend to make and keep her restless,
but it seemed as if her body demanded something —
ached and longed for something. And so tremen-
dously full of vital power was it that it seemed to
Elsie sometimes as if the life that surged and flamed
and expanded within her must surely show through
her skin as a rosy light. Sometimes it was actually
true, as she had said, that she wanted to pace the
floor like a caged animal.
She did her utmost so to fill her life that the eager,
aching body could not drive her back and forth.
She went to the best teacher of piano and also to
the best vocal teacher that she could hear of ; and
on the work that both gave her to do she drilled
with obstinate, dogged energy. At first, at least
once a minute, she would have to bring back to the
page she was studying, or the tone she was making,
the impatient, restless mind; often it seemed that she
I22 w


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 123
was holding herself on the piano stool by sheer force,
as if her limbs would rise and walk off with her.
It made no difference whether the reward was worth
the awful minute-by-minute struggle. It had to be
done. -
She studied and watched, too, to familiarize her-
self with the details of her home life and the suc-
cessful running of the house. She learned the day
the charwoman came, and made it her business to
be at home that day, although here she surmised that
for her own sake Annie would see that the required
amount of work was done. She perceived that the
gardener came two days a week, that in addition to
his gardening he hosed the verandas off and swept
and hosed out the garage. She learned that the
Chinaman came at nine o'clock every Monday morn-
ing, that Annie collected the house linen and Alan's,
that she had merely to contribute her own. She at-
tended to the cut flowers on the dining-table and
elsewhere, and judged by Annie's half-amused
glances that this performance was receiving more
than the usual attention at her hands.
But while she was forcing this new diet, mental
and otherwise, on herself, allowing no compromise,
no relief along the hard road, she was a starved en-
tity. And seeing that the statement that man can-
not live by bread alone is an actual as well as ab-
stract fact, she suffered much as a starving person
does.


124 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“Yes. Have to do it to keep from wanting
things,” she explained to Addie one day, when that
lady came in upon her as she was playing almost
furiously velocity exercises, and stared unbeliev-
ingly from the heavily printed page to Elsie her-
self. “I keep on wanting, wanting. I’m just one
big bundle of wants.” She wheeled round on the
piano stool and clasped her hands, smiling whim-
sically. “What do you suppose is the matter with
me?” |
“I’ll tell you what is the matter with you,” re-
sponded Addie promptly, almost impatiently.
“You’ve got some foolish idea of reforming, turn-
ing over a new leaf, or whatever it is you call it,
and you’ve simply cut out of your life at one sweep
everything you’ve ever been accustomed to. And
you can't do it. It’s not humanly possible to upset
suddenly the habits it has taken a lifetime to form.
But you’ll go on, I suppose, until you break down,
have nervous prostration or something like that.
Then, when illness breaks down that horribly ob-
stinate spirit of yours, you’ll come to your senses.”
Elsie laughed, unoffended. “No, I sha’n’t —
have nervous prostration, I mean.”
“Well, you’ll see,” with ominous conviction.
“And that reminds me of what I came more par-
ticularly for. You don't feel impelled to waste
that perfectly good box at the opera, do you? Last
of the season, you know.”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 125
“Yes. Why, no — I sha'n't waste it,” ventured
Elsie. “You’re going, are n’t you?”
“Well, I should think sol One does n’t waste
Mary Garden seats. He gave it to both of us, you
know,” with a puzzled glance at the other.
“I know,” quickly. Then, to cover some evi-
dent mistake: “I was only thinking —”
“Just tell Alan you’re going with me,” arranged
Addie promptly. “And I'll call for you.”
“All right. That will be lovely,” with a nod that
was as much relief as acquiescence.
Addie stayed to luncheon, which an exceedingly
sulky Annie prepared. The girl was the uncon-
scious source of much amusement to Addie, who in-
sisted on hearing full details of the domestic cam-
paign, suspecting that the luckless Annie shared
with the music pages the task of diverting some of
her mistress's over-abundant energy. This, in a
way, was true. Elsie was determined to have some-
thing like justice done to her accounts; but she pur-
sued the matter with an unceasing vigilance that to
Annie must have seemed nothing short of vindictive.
Its thoroughness left nothing to be desired, though
of this Annie was not so well able to judge. For
what was really the result of a simple method had
the outward appearance of pure observation and an
uncomfortably exact memory. As a matter of fact,
not caring to go into the kitchen and constantly re-
fer to the slips, Elsie kept a private list of each


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 127
Though Elsie was more or less on the qui vive dur-
ing every minute of Alan's presence in the house,
and although every conversation that took place —
desultory as they were — constituted a battle of wits
for her, still she watched for his arrival each night
and was keenly disappointed when, as happened now
and again, work up the line detained him and he did
not come home for dinner. And not for a moment,
until to-day, had she considered anything that would
take her out for the evening. Indeed, Addie, from
sheer impatience, had ceased to propose anything;
and only the fact that she was an exceedingly good-
natured little body, and that she sensed that some-
thing entirely out of the ordinary was happening to
her friend, kept Mrs. McKeene from a state of
actual offense and estrangement.
At dinner that evening Elsie allowed several con-
venient gaps in the conversation to go by without
announcing her plans for the opera. Though as
he talked to her, Alan necessarily glanced at her
from time to time, still those glances dwelt no
length of time upon her face, and were not discon-
certing; she dreaded somewhat the occasions when
he really looked at her with intent to observe. Alan
Leland was deliberate both as to speech and glance;
in fact, his glance was slow almost to laziness. But
if the glance was slow, the mind behind it was not.
It seemed to Elsie that never had she met eyes that


I28 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
wº
knew and discerned so much. He was a man of
very few questions and Elsie had an uneasy feeling
that he rarely needed to ask any.
However, before dinner was over she managed to
say in a commendably casual way, “I’m going to
the opera with Addie to-night. It’s Mary Garden,
you know.”
“Yes?” He looked at her and there was no
reading the cool, indifferent eyes. “Have you the
tickets, then?”
“She has.”
He made no further comment. Somehow Elsie
wished he would. She wondered whether he cared
for music and whether he had ever been in the habit
of attending with her events like this one. There
was no way — no safe way — of finding these
things out, and so she let the thought go and went
up to her room and forgot her uneasiness in the de-
light of donning beautiful clothes.
So interested did she become and so quickly did
time fly in the elaborations of her toilet, that when
the pretty chime of Addie's electric sounded she
was still up in her room. Catching up her coat and
slipping her arms into it as she went, she hurried
down the staircase, reaching the foot of it just as
Annie admitted the radiantly pretty Mrs. McKeene.
To Elsie's surprise Addie stepped quickly up to her
and drew the coat together at the neck.
“Doesn't that hook up closer? These evenings
ar


130 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
surprise in Elsie's mind. “Yes. I — I had forgot-
ten,” she said apologetically.
“Well, if you’re getting so forgetful as all that,
you’d better put the things that — that have been
given you — one side.”
“Yes. I wonder,” speculated Elsie artfully, after
a moment's pause, “whether they would n't all go
into the case with this. Then I’d lock it up sep-
arately.” -
“Don’t see why not.” Addie was watching her
swift way down the well lighted street. “There
is n’t anything but the pearl marquise and the sun-
burst besides, is there?”
“That's all,” relieved. “Well, they're going
into seclusion,” grimly.
“Oh, no need to go to extremes,” said Addie in a
businesslike way. “Just be careful. That’s all.”
In the theater box, waiting for the curtain to go
up, Elsie turned to her companion with a half-tri-
umphant smile. “And so you don’t think Alan is
so easily fooled, after all?”
“Why, I never did think he was,” replied Addie,
in some surprise. “What I’ve always said was
that he ought to be sensible in what he expects of
you, knowing what kind of life you led before he
took you.”
Elsie wondered what that life could have been,
but necessarily refrained from any comment.
“He’s a man one could like awfully well,” went


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 131
on Addie thoughtfully, “if he were not such a
crank.”
“He’s quite nice with you,” said Elsie with a
smile.
“Oh, yes.” There was almost a trace of resent-
ment in Addie's tones. “But I know very well
that I’ve been added up and have gone down on
his list of values as a big zero.”
“Well, you’re not alone,” with a slight and per-
fectly involuntary smile.
Addie glanced at her. “Are you ambitious to
rise in the scale of valuation?”
“It would n’t do me any good to be ambitious,”
replied Elsie a trifle ambiguously.


CHAPTER XIII
O completely engrossed had Elsie been by the
problems already on hand at home she had al-
most forgotten for the time being Willett Renshaw
and the problem that he was sure eventually to pre-
sent. And so she gave a decided start when, on
answering the telephone bell shortly after luncheon
one afternoon, she heard the voice that already she
knew by reason of its unusual beauty and resonance.
“Is that you, Elsie?”
“Yes.”
There was the short, reflective pause that by this
time she was becoming accustomed to. And then,
“Well, dear?”
“Well,” she replied, with a slight, nervous laugh.
“When did you get back?”
“Last night. It seems so good to hear your voice
again,” went on the voice with its caress and ro-
mance. “I’ve had an awfully pleasant time, but
every now and again I’d hunger for you. Did
you for me?”
“Just simply starved,” responded Elsie with a
curl of the lips that under the circumstances was
harmless.
I32


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 133
Again that short listening — of the understand-
ing, as it were. Then, “What time will you be over
this afternoon?”
“I was n’t planning to come over this after-
noon.” -
“Oh. But you will plan now, won't you?”
“N-no – I don't think so.” She tried to make
the words sound as pleasant as possible.
“Oh!” The vibrant voice showed no signs of
temper. “I saw Addie last night. She was dining
at Cliquot's with the Pennocks. I commissioned her
to bring you over this afternoon and she promptly
returned the commission. I knew from the way
she spoke that something was still wrong. What
is it?” -
“Why — nothing. What should there be?”
“Are you vexed that I stayed down south so
long?” -
“Why, of course not. How silly!”
“I would have returned sooner if I had thought
that you wanted me,” went on the voice calmly.
“One of the reasons that I did n't hurry was that I
wanted to give you a chance to get over the moodi-
ness that you were showing before I went. What-
ever the trouble is, it still exists, I see. I think it
must be something more than mere moods. So
we'll thrash it out at once.”
“Will we?” without giving the matter any very
serious thought. She had made up her mind not


134 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
to meet this man except in a casual way. She
would meet him doubtless — that would be sure to
happen — but not by appointment.
“Yes. Will you come over?”
“Oh — not this afternoon.”
“Just as you please,” coolly. “I’ll be over in a
few minutes then. The machine is outside.”
Elsie fairly gasped. “It seems to me you are
carrying things with a very high hand,” she said
indignantly.
“Not at all, dear little lady. If things had not
been with us as — well, as they were up to the time
of that fool upset, I might perhaps accept such a
sudden change of front as a mere example of a
woman's whimsicality. But — Oh, well, it's ri-
diculous, of course. There has n’t been time for
you to experience a real change of feeling. You’re
adopting an attitude for some reason or other. I
have an idea what that reason is, and it’s a foolish
one. The present is all that ever matters. You
know what—is n’t it Byron?— says:
“The past is nothing —”
“Go on,” commanded Elsie, more to be saying
something than because she wanted to hear the re-
mainder of the quotation, whatever it might be.
“— and at last,
The present can but be the past!”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 135
Elsie sighed slightly. “Well, there's some com-
fort in that.”
“Of course. It's the key to most situations,”
coolly. “Wherefore, attend strictly to the pres-
ent—”
“Because out of it the future comes,” injected
Elsie quickly.
Renshaw laughed unaffectedly. “I see you've
been staying at home sharpening up your repartee.
I shall have to be careful where I tread or I shall
have my head in a noose in no time. I’ll collect my
wits carefully on the way out. Good-by for a few
minutes.” He seemed about to hang up.
“Wait a minute,” commanded Elsie, sharply.
She was horrified at the idea of his coming to the
house. She might not be able to get rid of him just
when she wanted. Evidently, for all his pleasant
speech, he was not a man to be easily handled.
“You know it won't be — well for you to come
here,” she said hurriedly. “And I don't want to
come down to the city this afternoon. What—?”
She hesitated. What had she been in the habit of
doing, she wondered.
“Well, go round to Addie's,” he said in a tone
that indicated that as a usual procedure.
“Supposing Addie is n't going to be in?” de-
murred Elsie.
“I’ll call her up and see,” calmly. “Hang up
and I’ll call you in a few minutes.”
>


136 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
Elsie obeyed and sat nervously biting her lips,
baffled, bewildered, a sense of greater difficulty than
ever before lowering over her. She was conscious,
too, of a feeling of rage and obstinacy. Why should
she be forced to be pleasant and considerate to this
man if she did not want to be? But then, after a
few minutes, common reasonableness thrust itself
upon her mood. It was quite plain upon what terms
of lover's intimacy this man and that other Elsie had
been. It was not to be expected that he would ac-
cept a complete and sudden reversal of affairs with-
out at least an explanation. She had been foolish
ever to suppose he would. And what explanation
could she make? She might tell him, of course —
as she would have to — that she wished and intended
to end things. But he would naturally demand to
know why, and, he had almost a right to that much
consideration. Because, in the building up of the
present state of affairs, her predecessor had un-
doubtedly been at least an equal party. It was not,
as he said, possible for any one to experience any
very decided change of heart in so short a space
of time; and if it were some vexation or offense —
what?
She wondered what that probable thing was that
he had in mind as a reason for her change of front.
From the fairly casual way in which he had spoken,
she did not think it could be anything to do with —
Oh, no. Una Hamby could not have approached


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 137
him yet, even if she ever did intend to risk anything
as open as that. But thinking of Una made Elsie's
nervous frown deepen. On her account alone she
could not deal with Willett as she would like. She
must not furnish corroboration of, or lend strength
to, any statement she might choose to make in fu-
ture. Elsie thought the thing over and over; and
then, in Willett's case as in every other, she finally
had to leave things to the lucky inspiration of the
moment. Except that the affair must end. That
was all she really knew as yet.
In a few minutes the bell near her rang. She
took down the receiver.
“It’s all right,” said the voice lightly. “Just
in time to catch her.” *
“To catch her,” echoed Elsie. “Why, did you
make her stay in?” -
“Why, of course,” with a laugh. “Don’t we
need her? That won't hurt her. She was n’t going
anywhere in particular, anyway. Now, put on your
wrap and go round, Lily Girl. I’m going straight
out.”
Elsie agreed quietly enough, hung up, and went
straight upstairs. She sat down in her favorite
chintz chair and folded her arms in a sort of quaint
attitude of resignation. Another ordeal! Well,
there was one thing: nowadays she did not tremble
so much inside as at first. One can get used to any-
thing, so they say; and the unknown and the un-


138 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
usual were becoming the usual with her. The con-
centration discipline, too, that she was giving her-
self had done much for her.
She glanced down at her dress. She was still in
the smoke-gray cloth, for which she had conceived
a great affection. Nothing else suited her for morn-
ing wear. But it would not do for an afternoon
occasion. She went to the wardrobe closet and con-
sidered; and though she did not know it, the eternal
woman in her was uppermost as she did so. She
did not know this man she was going to meet; she
was prepared not to like him and did not want him
to like her. But she had not the least idea in the
world of putting on anything unbecoming in which
to go forth to the meeting. She chose the gown of
golden-brown chiffon velvet.
Elsie was never too much perturbed to stand and
lovingly admire herself in each combination of color
and line as she put it on. She felt that she was not
admiring herself — not in the least. That was the
strange part of it. As she looked now at the effect
of her hair and eyes against the brown, she decided
that her predecessor had either had excellent taste
and color sense, or else her dressmaker had had them
for her. High shoes of a deep cream kid, a belted
coat of tan Bolivia, a brown sailor of beaver felt,
and she was ready to walk round to Addie's.
She did not hurry at all in her walk. In fact, she
almost dawdled. But it seemed to her that she was


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 139
there in no time. Addie herself opened the door.
“Oh, you walked,” she commented.
“Yes. One of the lost arts,” smiled Elsie.
She entered and a man arose from one of the
largest of Addie's many lounge chairs. His atti-
tude in the chair was so easy that Elsie was some-
how surprised to see a big man come toward her.
Forgetting how it might seem, she gazed almost
breathlessly at him. She saw an indisputably hand-
some man — a study in black and white, at first
glance; very dark hair and eyes, and brows with a
faint whimsical upcurve. His skin was sallow, but
with a healthy pallor. He had the air of a man
who all his life had had, and immediately, anything
and everything he wanted, including the deference
and obedience of others. But the air, far from be-
ing assumed, seemed to exist in spite of him, and
in spite of an easy, unobtrusive manner.
“Give me your coat,” exclaimed Addie, breaking
in on her fascinated gaze. “You two are going
to quarrel most frightfully. I can see it coming.
And I’m going to skip upstairs until the storm is
over.”
“No, we’re not,” cried Elsie, clutching at the re-
treating woman. “Don’t go, Addie.”
But Addie was already scampering with gleeful
chuckles up the staircase.
Elsie gave a little helpless sigh and stood without
making any move to enter the room. And Renshaw


136 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
Elsie obeyed and sat nervously biting her lips,
baffled, bewildered, a sense of greater difficulty than
ever before lowering over her. She was conscious,
too, of a feeling of rage and obstinacy. Why should
she be forced to be pleasant and considerate to this
man if she did not want to be? But then, after a .
few minutes, common reasonableness thrust itself
upon her mood. It was quite plain upon what terms
of lover's intimacy this man and that other Elsie had
been. It was not to be expected that he would ac-
cept a complete and sudden reversal of affairs with-
out at least an explanation. She had been foolish
ever to suppose he would. And what explanation
could she make? She might tell him, of course —
as she would have to — that she wished and intended
to end things. But he would naturally demand to
know why, and, he had almost a right to that much
consideration. Because, in the building up of the
present state of affairs, her predecessor had un-
doubtedly been at least an equal party. It was not,
as he said, possible for any one to experience any
very decided change of heart in so short a space
of time; and if it were some vexation or offense —
what?
She wondered what that probable thing was that
he had in mind as a reason for her change of front.
From the fairly casual way in which he had spoken,
she did not think it could be anything to do with —
Oh, no. Una Hamby could not have approached


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 137
him yet, even if she ever did intend to risk anything
as open as that. But thinking of Una made Elsie's
nervous frown deepen. On her account alone she
could not deal with Willett as she would like. She
must not furnish corroboration of, or lend strength
to, any statement she might choose to make in fu-
ture. Elsie thought the thing over and over; and
then, in Willett's case as in every other, she finally
had to leave things to the lucky inspiration of the
moment. Except that the affair must end. That
was all she really knew as yet.
In a few minutes the bell near her rang. She
took down the receiver.
“It’s all right,” said the voice lightly. “Just
in time to catch her.” -
“To catch her,” echoed Elsie. “Why, did you
make her stay in P”
“Why, of course,” with a laugh. “Don’t we
need her? That won't hurt her. She was n’t going
anywhere in particular, anyway. Now, put on your
wrap and go round, Lily Girl. I’m going straight
out.”
Elsie agreed quietly enough, hung up, and went
straight upstairs. She sat down in her favorite
chintz chair and folded her arms in a sort of quaint
attitude of resignation. Another ordeal! Well,
there was one thing: nowadays she did not tremble
so much inside as at first. One can get used to any-
thing, so they say; and the unknown and the un-


140 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
stood and looked down at her, his eyes, curious and
searching, traveling over every line of her face.
And though she never suspected it, Elsie's face
pleaded for her, showing forth an explanation of
anything strange she had done or said. For though,
to the man who knew her, not a line of the full oval
face had shrunk, not a tint of the delicate, glowing
skin had dimmed, yet in some purely spiritual way
she looked worn and fretted, and her eyes, dilating
with an almost extraordinary livingness, demanded
and questioned as they looked into his.
Renshaw looked thoughtfully, intently, at her,
puzzled by something he could not locate nor de-
fine. This woman was the same, and yet not the
same, that he had left on the afternoon of the col-
lision. That woman had been nearly won; this
woman was retreating from him. This woman was.
physically within his grasp but spiritually already
unapproachable. This latter Renshaw sensed rather
than understood. But he did understand that this
half-wistful, half-defiant being was more desirable
than she had even been before. He smiled, and put-
ting his hand gently under her chin, lifted her face.
Then he bent and kissed her.
“Sweetheart!” he said very softly. Whatever
prediction those who knew him might make as to
the possible outcome of this infatuation, there was
no doubting its present completeness.
He put his arm round her shoulder and led her


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 141
into the room. Elsie was too dazed to demur.
There seemed nothing to do at present but follow
his lead.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 143
“And now, sweetheart,” he drew her back to him
and laid his face against hers caressingly, “tell me
all about it. What is the matter?”
Elsie did not reply. She hardly knew what to
say and knew not at all how to say it. She knew
what she wanted to convey, but now that she saw
the man he himself was one of the biggest hin-
drances in the way of conveying it. He had al-
ready given her more sympathy, more real under-
standing, more tenderness, than she had known for
— oh, than she had ever known, as far as she could
remember! And whatever his motive, which she
did not altogether know, or whatever his reputation,
which again she did not specifically know, she could
not despise him as she had thought to, could not
even contemplate very seriously offending or hurt-
ing him. As in Addie's case, there was something
too big and pleasant about him to be despised.
Why should the personality of the sinner be al-
ways so much more pleasant than that of a saint?
She knew now, of course, what she had to do, but
she could not tell how to do it. So she was silent.
“I’m waiting, love,” he reminded her with a
slight movement of his cheek as it lay against hers.
“Be frank with me now. It’s just between you
and me. What has happened?”
“Why, nothing,” replied Elsie uneasily. “That
is, nothing tangible.”
“Well, what intangible?”


144 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“Oh,” impatiently. “It’ll all sound silly to
you.”
“Never mind,” calmly. “What is it?”
“Oh, only that —” still more impatiently —“that
I’ve seen suddenly where I was going — and know
that I must stop.”
“Oh, is that all?” From his tone Elsie knew
that he had expected something entirely different,
and, somehow she gathered, something more
weighty.
“All?” she echoed. “What did you expect,
then? What did you mean when you said you
thought you knew what — what I had in mind?”
“Oh, something of this kind.” He stroked her
hair soothingly. “But to return to your statement.
Where were you going when you came to this sud-
den stop?”
“Where all women go who do as I do, I sup-
pose.”
He laughed and brushed her cheek indulgently
with his lips. “I'm afraid I don't know the where-
abouts of that universal bourne.” Then with the
faintest touch of impatience, born of a man's love
of blunt logic, “Come now, dear. You were never
one to hedge like.this. How can one deal with an
enemy that is n't even outlined? What has hap-
pened to frighten you so? What has changed my
gay little lady-love into a distrait and worried.
woman? Tell me the whole truth.”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 145
“I want to,” said Elsie desperately; “but I could
never make you understand, entirely.”
“Well, try. I'm not usually so dense. Do the
best you can.”
“Well, for one thing, I'm afraid of the divorce
that is imminent unless I mend my ways. I'm
afraid of being thrown on the world. I'm afraid
of being thrown on the mercy of men,” doggedly.
Renshaw did not reply for a moment. Elsie felt
that she had confused impressions — said something
that the other woman could not have been expected
to say.
“You speak as if divorce meant just one thing
and that one thing ruin,” he observed then.
“Well, it does — does n’t it?”
“Not necessarily. It means as many things as
there are people who take that way out of a muddle,”
calmly. “Some divorcees end badly and so do some
of every class.”
“You talk like Addie,” commented Elsie, with a
dry little smile.
“Very likely. Addie has a good deal of com-
mon sense hidden behind that airy manner of hers.”
“It is possible to reason from any premise,” said
Elsie, half wearily; “and not at all necessary even
that the premise be correct.”
“And what is this premise?”
“That a wrong life can end well,” gently; “really
well.”


146 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“Oh, I don't think a wrong life can. But what
is a wrong life? That is a definition open to as
many variations as there are points of view.”
“That is quite true,” agreed Elsie. “But what
can any one, whatever his point of view, think of a
woman who shares a man's home and money and
name and then makes a mock of him?”
“Not much, to be candid,” agreed Willett in his
turn. “But why do it, then? Why share those
things?”
“Well, but that brings me to my dread — to the
divorce.”
“You never used to have such a dread of it. In
fact, you never gave it a thought at all, that I'm
aware of,” said Renshaw in a puzzled way. “Who
has been frightening you? Who has been
painting things so black? And even supposing for
the sake of argument that you did get a divorce.
Why, I can think of half a dozen women, divorced
and married again, and leading successful lives.”
“Hum.” Elsie was dubious. “When they were
plainly blameless in the case. Or else they were
wealthy women who could defy public opinion.”
“Not in every case. And if it’s the money ques-
tion that's bothering you —”
“It is n't.” Elsie drew away from him as far as
she could. “Don’t think that. Don't misunder-
stand me.” She smiled bitterly, realizing that she


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 147
could never convince him, because, in the first place,
he did not intend to be convinced. He was not lis-
tening to her in order to enter into her feelings, her
motives, in the case. Not at all. Only listening to
grasp her present point of view in order to be in a
position to argue it away. She sighed. “You
won't believe it. Of course not. But I really do
want to be a good woman as far as it's in me to be.
I'm afraid that is n’t very far, but —”
Renshaw laid his head back in the chair and gazed
at her long and steadily. “And does your idea of
being good constitute living with a man you don't
care for and who no longer cares for you?”
“Yes, broadly speaking. That same man gives
me an honorable standing.”
“And is he the only one who could?”
“He is the only one who would.”
“I see. You have n't a very high opinion of me,
have you?”
“Oh, don't let’s discuss it that way,” said Elsie,
deprecatingly. “There has never been any talk of
— of marriage, or — or anything like that,” she
ventured.
“Not in so many words, perhaps. But we had
come to know and realize that there was nothing
possible for us but to be together.”
“Oh, well, we may have thought that way for the
time being,” hazarded Elsie; “but we knew it


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 149
bravely, but with a little involuntary sigh, pathetic
in its weariness. “I know you're disappointed, dis-
gusted. I think you have a right to be, in a way. I
started out to be — something different. But it
can't be helped. The woman you know has gone.
Forget her. Please, please, believe me. I am not
she.”
“Well!” The whimsical upcurve of Renshaw's
brows straightened out. “Perhaps not. But
you’re still near enough like her to be dearer to me
than any other woman. I'll forget the other
woman, as you say. But that does n't release you.”
“Not when I tell you that I want you to — that
you must?”
“No.” The voice was heavy and almost harsh
with determination. “A thousand times no. How
can you tell me that you want me to, when a few
minutes ago your body lay yielding against mine .
and your lips returned my kiss!”
“I was tired,” said Elsie, falteringly.
“Perhaps so,” coolly. “But that did n't give me
the kiss.”
Elsie drew her hand wearily across her brows.
This was harder than anything she had yet had to
do, because, for one thing, she could not quite com-
prehend her difficulty. Desiring the love of one
man, she had deliberately given herself over to the
caresses of another. For Willett Renshaw's love, as
his love, she cared not at all; and yet the pressure of


150 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
his arms satisfied some longing, the touch of his lips,
his face against hers, ministered to some ache. And
the worst of it all was that she did not seem to have
been allowed to decide for herself. Her body had
literally stampeded her mind. And so what assur-
ance had she that it would not happen again? She
must get away by herself and try to think. She did
not want to offend this man seriously. Now that
she knew him, she could not dislike him. Besides,
she did not know what hold he might have on her,
which would appear if she defied him openly.
Alone, after a while she could think it all out. Just
now she could not. -
Meanwhile Renshaw watched her closely, in his
eyes a strange blending of expressions. For one
thing, he mentally cursed that fool accident, and his
own folly and carelessness that had at least con-
tributed to it. It was evidently going to take him a
long time to undo the effects upon this girl. And
that afternoon she had been more nearly his than
ever before; her spirit, reckless and vital, had flamed
up to meet his. If only he had not allowed her to
persuade him to turn back home! he was regretful;
but his momentary anger had already died out.
When he spoke again it was quite gently:
“And then, what about me, Elsie? Have I no
part in this love that you propose to cast aside as no
longer expedient?” -
Elsie took the shielding hand down from her eyes


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 151
and smiled — a very wise, tired little smile. “Yes,
a man's part — which, you know, is always trans-
ferable.” -
“Indeed?” Renshaw smiled too. “When did
you take to sarcasm 2 And besides, I haven't shown
any signs of transferring, have I?”
“No.” Elsie's smile deepened into real amuse-
ment. “Is n't that all that is really troubling you?
That has always been your prerogative, you know.”
“‘Always 'P' with a slight uplifting of the .
brows. “How many are required to constitute
that?”
“Oh, I don't know,” thoughtfully. From what
Alan had said she inferred a good many. “I’m
not up in history. But I suppose — a few.”
“Yes,” imperturbably. “Always will be in the
case of a man with a disposition to enjoy life, and
time and money at his disposal. It's merely an ex-
change of conveniences. The man barters his time
and money for companionship in those pleasures
which the women usually could not obtain for them-
selves. It's understood on both sides, and no wrong
done to either.”
“Yes. Of course. That's the understanding we
began with,” said Elsie, shyly.
“Yes, began. But in our case an unconsidered
factor entered.” Elsie looked questioning. “The
law of attraction.”
Elsie nodded. Then she sat quiet for a few min-


152 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
utes from sheer inability to decide what was the next
best thing to do or say. All that she said failed of
its point, it seemed. The striking of the bronze
clock furnished an inspiration. It struck four.
“Oh, I must be going,” she said, starting.
“Let’s call Addie.” -
He too had been thoughtful, his eyes resting on
her face. Apparently he saw no use in prolonging
the argument they had been pursuing. Having his
mind made up, further discussion was more likely
to be detrimental than useful. So he withdrew his
arm from about her and allowed her to rise.
“I’m going to run upstairs to Addie for a min-
ute or two. Will you wait?”
He nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”
She looked at the man still watching her and
smiled, trying hard to make her smile a casual one.
“Well, do we understand each other? Have I
made you understand?”
He rose, laid a hand lightly on her shoulder, and
placing two fingers of his other hand under her chin,
gently raised her face.
“Never mind what I understand. The question
is: Do you understand me?” -
Elsie looked at him with embarrassed eyes. “I
hope so. I hope you’re going to respect my wishes
and act the part of a man.”
“Oh!” He laughed. “That much I can prom-
ise you. I shall act the part of a man!”


CHAPTER XV
HE days following her afternoon with Ren-
shaw, Elsie was more miserable than at almost
any time since her changed life began. Resentful
and impatient as she had been at the errors and en-
tanglements that she had been forced to assume,
heretofore through it all she had been upheld by the
consciousness of actual righteousness and the in-
stinctive assurance that because of it she would be led
safely to a just and satisfactory outcome. So far
nothing had been of her own doing; she had a right
to demand that much. Now she had lost that con-
solation, that assurance, because of wrong-doing on
her own part, actually of her own volition. And not
only that. One lapse from the plain and appointed
path could be forgiven to any one, if it were re-
pented and the mind firmly set against a repetition.
But Elsie could not be at all sure of that. At pres-
ent she felt her only safety to be in hiding and seclu-
sion, an unbroken maintenance of neither of which
was practical or to be depended upon. And evi-
dently so far she could not depend upon herself.
She was a city divided against itself. In this par-
ticular connection she could not even make a res-
olution and keep it. When Renshaw called her up,
I53


154 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
as he did each day, and she heard the peculiarly rich
voice speaking so gently to her, she could not snub
and rebuff him as she had been able to do before
knowing him. What she supposed she should have
done by the actual rights of the case, was to forbid
him to use her telephone or to communicate with her
with such regularity. But that seemed physically
and morally impossible. For one thing, she was
afraid of him, realizing full well now that she came
to know him that he was not a man to take trifling
treatment complaisantly. Sometimes, as it was, she
felt that the unvarying refusals with which she met
his invitations were taken with ominous good nature.
However, she trusted to a gradual wearing out of his
patience. It was the best she could do with herself
— and him.
She worked almost furiously at her music, singing
and playing — not desultory performance of either,
but actual drill — for hours a day, and kept her
housekeeping tabulated down to an exceedingly fine
point. Still, she could not refuse, nor wear away,
that restless, longing energy, that eager yearning —
for something — that was almost a physical ache.
“Beginning to be about ready to give up?” in-
quired Addie one morning. She was on her favor-
ite divan, nestled up into a delightful little bundle
of silks and curls, and she looked across at her friend
with roguish, yet withal speculative, eyes.
“I don't know. What do you do when you want


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 155
to give up and there's nothing to give up to?” in-
quired Elsie. -
“Dear me!” Addie apparently wrestled with the
problem. “That's like the man who could n’t stand
up and could n't sit down. And history does n’t re-
cord what compromise he finally hit upon, which is a
pity. It might have helped us.” Addie chatted
blithely on; but her mind was by no means as va-
cant as her chatter. “I suppose before we can
squarely and scientifically discuss the question we
must ascertain what it is you want to give up.”
“Oh — What does any one mean when he says
he wants to give up? The whole problem of living,
I suppose.”
“That has a sort of suicidal sound,” said Addie,
speculatively. “Not contemplating suicide are
you?”
Elsie laughed — a laugh whose ill nature was all
for herself. “I don't know. Sometimes I think
I should like to take this discontented old carcass
down to the river and dump it in.”
Addie elevated her eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Well, now, I always thought that was a pretty nice
carcass of yours.”
“Humph!” said Elsie, by way of comment.
Addie kept her bright eyes, with their mingled
amusement and discernment, on the face before her.
She saw, as Renshaw had done, that singular, worn
look which was so certain and yet whose outline or


156 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
abiding place could not be traced; and which was in
such contradiction to the glowing vitality and super-
abundant health of the girl. But Addie was high-
bred. She would not even look very long at a
trouble that insisted on discovering itself without the
owner's consent.
“How is the world, meaning you, using the re-
doubtable Annie nowadays?” she asked presently.
Elsie's face relaxed into an almost roguish smile.
“Very badly, to judge by the expression of her
face.”
“You know, you must use a little judgment in
manipulating matters and not overcrowd,” advised
Addie. “Or else temper will get the better of
Annie's discretion and one of these fine mornings she
will take up her trunk and walk.”
“Well — she may,” declared Elsie, entirely unim-
pressed with the possible catastrophe.
“Have you any one else in view?” inquired
Addie.
“No. But I know that Annie is not the only maid
in the city. Of course she's a good cook — oh, and
a good worker, too. But there are compensations.
And besides, she’s odious to me now.”
Again Addie speculated somewhat. “Well, if
she should depart suddenly, call me up at once. I'll
get Lottie to run over and tide you over the worst.”
Then, before Elsie could make any attempts at ex-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 157
*
planations or thanks, “And now go and sing me that
gypsy song. I just love it.”
Elsie obeyed, tacitly accepting the ending for the
time being of troublesome subjects.
One little reward came to Elsie as a result of her
strenuous reformatory measures in the housekeeping
line. That was at the beginning of the month, when
the bills came in again. She took care to be present
every morning until they had all arrived and watched
Alan intently as he opened each one. In almost
every instance he was plainly surprised and finally
made frank comment on the improvement in the
totals shown.
“You certainly managed to make your hints to
Annie effective,” he observed. “Already there's a
marked difference between this month and last.”
“Yes.” Elsie smiled covertly as she reflected on
the nature and constancy of the hints.
“Was it much trouble?” he inquired, turning his
head and catching the fleeting smile.
“No more than I cared to take.” ~.
And Alan questioned no further. Elsie showed
signs of becoming that rare thing, a laconic woman.
It was not very much trouble—or, as she had
said, no more than she cared to take. It was ulti-
mately productive of more trouble; but even so,
again no more than Elsie was willing, even glad, to
take. For, being informed one morning that a


158 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
pound of butter on two successive days was not to be
henceforth any part of the Leland housekeeping plan,
Annie let her temper suddenly get the better of her
judgment, as predicted. She departed with much
haste and more disdain, amazed even to the last
at the inexplicable and horrible change that had
come over her one-time complacent and highly desir-
able mistress, who now, by the way, received the an-
nouncement of her instant departure with astonish-
ing equanimity, even to the extent of telephoning an
express company to call for the trunk.
When Annie, having expressed her sinister inten-
tions, had gathered up her aprons and such belong-
ings as were about the kitchen and had gone upstairs
to perform the supposedly ominous feat of packing
her trunk, Elsie remained in the kitchen and took
possession of this final and hitherto unattainable por-
tion of her kingdom. Far from being overwhelmed
with a sense of catastrophe or loss, of being afraid
of what was ahead of her, she was secretly delighted.
And when the door of the house closed finally on
Annie and her trunk, Elsie was conscious of a strong
feeling of relief. She rummaged and investigated in
every cupboard, corner, and drawer of the kitchen
and basement, familiarizing herself thoroughly with
all resources and equipment. So much did she en-
joy the new and total possession of her home that
she could not bring herself to go down to the city


\ IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 159
and seek another maid. She gave herself one whole
day of complete possession.
The feeling of insecurity and unreality, of tem-
porary residence only, that had been with Elsie dur-
ing the first few weeks of her new life, had faded to
an almost unbelievable extent. And now that Annie,
the tangible and sinister reminder of those unknown
former days and things, was gone, Elsie felt the love
that had been growing up in her for her beautiful
home — full of trial and anxiety as the terms of her
possession were — take on a new quality. Now, but
for that warning, haunting thought of Una Hamby
forever in the background of her consciousness, it
would really seem her home.
Far from calling up Addie in consternation, as she
was supposed to do, Elsie set about her plans for
dinner with almost girlish glee. There was the best
part of a roast of beef and mayonnaise in the safe,
and lettuce and asparagus were ordered. So Elsie
took down one of three cook-books that stood on the
kitchen shelf and cheerfully bestowed about an
hour's study upon the subject of salads and desserts.
She decided upon cup custards as being about the
simplest dessert for a novice to experiment upon.
She decided, too, to have baked potatoes with the
cold roast beef and reflected economically that one
oven would cook both potatoes and custard.
When the gas oven was lighted that afternoon and


I60 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
the potatoes—brushed clean, according to instruc-
tions in the book — were placed therein, and the
custards mixed and hopefully deposited on a lower
plane, with the gas turned down for their benefit, also
accoording to the book, Elsie discovered that time
was fleeting. She set her table and then ran upstairs
to dress. She put on the blue crêpe de chine as being
probably less susceptible to kitchen influences than
most of her other gowns. Going back into the
kitchen, she needed an apron, but had never seen any-
thing of the kind among her belongings. So, after
the fashion of all women when confronted with that
emergency, she selected the largest tea towel and
pinned it about her.


CHAPTER XVI
O young hostess, giving her first dinner of im-
portance, ever viewed her table with more
pride than did Elsie as she struck the gong for
dinner that night. Alan looked faintly surprised
on entering the room to see her already there and
moving the salad dishes into more imposing posi-
tions. But it was not until she rose to fetch the for-
gotten butter that he made any comment.
“Is Annie out, then?”
“Yes,” calmly, “for good.”
Alan looked up in surprise. “Oh.” And then,
“Very sudden, is n’t it?”
“Yes, and no.”
“Meaning?”
“Why, the actual departure was sudden — yes,”
explained Elsie. “But, like everything else, a train
led up to it.”
“I see. The economy business, I suppose.”
Alan looked amused. “I thought the effect was too
good for so short a time. I'm afraid you crowded
the reform operations a little, did n't you?”
“I did n't try to reform her. I merely decided
that certain abuses should cease, once for all,” said
Elsie, coolly. “I suspected from the first that she
would go, once she realized that —”
161


I62 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“That you meant business,” suggested Alan.
“Yes. And that I should n't relax vigilance. I
did n't show any signs of improvement. In fact, I
got worse. And so — I’m glad she's gone.”
“When did she go?”
“This morning.”
“Oh.” Alan glanced round the table with re-
newed interest. “And so you got this meal your-
self?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, I don't mind if I never have a worse,” he
commented. -
When Elsie rose to bring on the dessert, Alan got
up too and carried out the beef and some of the
dishes; and when the meal was over he helped busily
with the clearing of the table, apparently faintly
amused at the whole proceeding.
Then he went to his books, but Elsie stayed in the
kitchen. She washed the silver and piled the dinner
dishes. And then, deciding that as the early morn-
ings were still chilly she would get breakfast on the
range, she examined the contents of the wood lift.
Following the examination she went down into the
basement and loaded the lift with kindling and fine
wood, superimposed upon the heavier wood already
contained. She was still busy and greatly interested
in her new rôle, when Alan came down and found
her.
“What are you doing?”


164 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“What did you get up so early for?” inquired
Alan. “I should have had the fire lighted in time.”
“I wanted to have the fun of doing it myself,”
explained she. “Do you know how this thing
works? It’s beyond me at present.”
Alan smiled, took the percolator, and made the
coffee, while Elsie put the toaster on the stove and
got out the egg-poacher.
“Let’s have breakfast in the kitchen,” said Alan,
with a glance at the wall table near the window.
“Oh, yes!” Elsie hailed the idea with enthusi-
asm. “That’ll be nice.”
She brought in eggs, cut slices of bread for the
toast, and then discovered the folding supports of
the wall table, got it into position, and set it with
china and silver. - -
The two ate a very comfortable breakfast together,
and Elsie noted with strictly secret satisfaction that
Alan did not hurry over it. Then he went to town,
with a faint suspicion of amusement still in his eyes
and lurking about the corners of his lips.
Like Annie, he attributed the great change in Elsie
mostly to the accident. He divined that her some-
what perilous position had been shown her as in a
flash. Time would dim the effect of the revelation
and bring things back to something like the previous
level, he supposed. Still, he had never dreamed that
Elsie had it in her to show, even for a time, such


166 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
*
work, while perhaps answering the purpose for
which it was executed, was extremely inartistic, from
ill-matched buttons to coarse stitching and cobbled
socks.
To her chagrin, on cutting out of a sock one of
Annie's cobbly darns, Elsie found that her own, in
spite of her best endeavors, was not such a very
great improvement. However, she could soon learn
to make a nice flat darn; she knew that. And in the
meantime she labored and prepared to the best of her
ability two pairs; the rest she took to his room for
further efforts.
Elsie spent the best part of the day at this new
work and did not realize how much she really en-
joyed it, did not stop to note that this was the first
day her mind had been busy in a contented way.
She did admit to herself, though, that she liked to be
in Alan's room; that to her it seemed to be full of the
cool, magnetic personality of the man. She knew
she liked touching the different articles because they
were his and had come in close personal contact with
him. Once she found herself laying her cheek
against the wonderful glowing fabric of the Indian
bathrobe. She smiled, half in pity for herself. She
relined the drawers of the room and closet and took
the hair-brushes out and washed them. And all this
she did with the quiet satisfaction and inward tender-
ness of a woman ministering to the one she loves.
As the days went by, one thing became clear to


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 169
position of importance, of course — with a secretary.
She could soon discover from the directory. She
looked up the L. S. & E., and saw that a private
exchange connected all departments. She called the
number and asked the operator a question.
“Is there a Calthorpe on the staff of the L. S.
and EP ‘’
“Do you mean President Calthorpe?” crisply.
“Oh, yes. Thank you.” Elsie hung up, then
sat thinking and wondering again for a few minutes.
Had anything been left out that could have made the
discomfort and muddle more complete? It must
have been additionally galling for Alan to have the
president of his own company discover his wife in
the company of another man. Of course, on the
face of it, if Calthorpe knew or had heard of noth-
ing previously, the mere fact that she was being
driven home by a friend, even if a man, was not in
itself remarkable. Well, anyway, there was no use
in turning all that over and over again. She could
only wonder and guess, and guessing got her no-
where. What she wished to know now was whether
or not Una Hamby was back at her post. Her post
— such a central, keynote position!
She called up the L. S. & E. again and asked for
the president's office. It was given her, and a pleas-
ant but businesslike woman's voice answered her.
“Is this President Calthorpe's secretary?” asked
Elsie,


17o IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“Yes.”
“Miss Hamby?”
“Oh, no,” said the voice quickly. “Miss Hamby
won't be back for a few weeks yet, possibly a
month.”
“Oh. Her shoulder — is it —?”
“Knitting very nicely. But fractions are slower
to heal than breaks,” detailed the voice after the
pleasant but impartial manner of one trained to give
information and information only. “If you wish to
call up her home, her number is West six-o-three.”
“Thank you.” Elsie hung up with a grim smile.
She had not the least desire to call up the home in
question. Still, when she thought of Una, although
it was with dread, it was not with any thought of
hatred or even spite. Una was too desolate, too de-
prived. When Elsie thought of all the other girl
faced, over and above what she herself had faced, her
soul stood still with pity.
Three weeks—perhaps a month. Well, that
much could be counted as safe time. Una would
hardly begin any course of action while she was still
at home.
As conversation became more extended between
Elsie and Alan — always extremely cautious on
Elsie's part — she came to know his favorite dishes,
and tried and experimented with them until she could
cook them almost as well as Annie had done.
Whereupon they continued to appear on the table,


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 171
and Alan little guessed the time and trouble that
sometimes had been expended upon them. He did
observe for himself, however, that she had more to
do with the household management than formerly.
He noticed on Sundays, for one thing, that she al-
most invariably went into the kitchen before each
meal. Moreover, he came home early one after-
noon and, finding no one about, went into the kitchen
and discovered her enveloped in an enormous apron,
making mayonnaise. She turned and stared at him
as he stood in the doorway.
“I’ve come to see if I can beg a cup of tea,” he
explained. “I’ve had a beastly headache all day.”
“Oh! I'm sorry,” she said quickly. “Go and
lie down, won't you? And I'll make you some.”
Ada offered to make the tea, but Elsie had no idea
of foregoing that pleasure. She made the pot of tea
herself and carried it into the living-room, where
Alan had taken her advice and was stretched upon
the lounge. He looked very tired, almost hollow-
eyed. Elsie poured out a cup of strong tea and gave
it to him.
“What part of your head aches?” she asked him.
“Over my eyes, and the temples.”
“Hot cloths placed over the eyes give a lot of re-
lief sometimes,” she ventured.
“Yes?” He turned and looked quizzically at
her. “How do you know, Elsie? I did n’t know
you had ever had a headache in your life.”


172 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
Elsie ignored this. “Will you try the cloth if I
bring one?” she inquired gravely.
“Yes, I'd be glad to.”
She hastened willingly away and in a moment or
two came back to the lounge with a steaming cloth
clasped closely in her hands to keep in the heat.
This she placed over the man's eyes and as it cooled
off into mere warmth, Alan was surprised to find
it quietly lifted and another take its place. The fifth
cloth she allowed to remain over his eyes, wisely re-
flecting that the moisture itself would probably
soothe and relax tired nerves. As it did, for Alan
fell asleep. -
It was after the usual dinner hour when he awoke.
The pain in his head had ceased; so sweet was the
relief and the sense of repose that he lay quiet for a
few minutes, neither moving nor speaking. Elsie
was sitting by the window. She had been reading,
but the book now lay on her knees, her hands clasped
lightly over it. The expression of her face was so
greatly at variance with the woman he knew that
Alan studied it in mingled surprise and curiosity.
It was grave, and the lips, whose curves were natu-
rally so sweet and alluring, held a faint little smile —
an understanding, satiric smile, as of an old, disillu-
sioned woman. -
Alan wondered afresh at Elsie. Never had he
known her to have a repentant spell which lasted for
even a quarter the time of this one, nor which


174 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
from the letters in the desk upstairs; and something
of her she also knew, for both Alan and Addie had
mentioned her now and again. From Addie espe-
cially, by dint of carefully conducted conversations,
Elsie had ascertained with much relief that Mrs. Van
Duyn, since her daughter's marriage, had become
devoted to Parisian life; and that about three letters
yearly were all she found time to write. Elsie also
opined from what she could gather that Mrs. Van
Duyn was an ultra stylish and very worldly woman,
who had been both disappointed and disgusted with
her only daughter's marriage. In connection with
all this, Elsie had often congratulated herself that,
seeing she had to be picked up and set down suddenly
in the midst of strange scenes, she had been put in the
place of one evidently having but a small personal
following.
Barring this much-occupied and distant mother,
there did not appear to be any very near relatives:
and of close personal friends there seemed to be none
at all with the exception of Addie. Of acquaint-
ances, when abroad with Addie, Elsie found she had
a goodly number. Still, none ever came to call at
her home, even of those living in the neighborhood.
And for this Elsie was convinced in her own mind
that she was able to assign a reason.
At first she was inclined to be puzzled at the num-
ber of callers at Addie's home in contrast to the en-
tire absence of callers at her own, seeing that Addie


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 175
lived, and as far as she could gather, always had
lived, essentially in very similar manner to herself —
or the one that had been herself. But in the eyes of
the world the great difference between the two
women was this — that Terry McKeene, when at
home, was plainly in accord with his wife's life, at-
tending anything and everything with her, and hav-
ing just as gay a time on his own account as she had
on hers; while Alan had not been seen in his wife's
company for, as far as Elsie could judge, at least a
year or more.
Of course Addie McKeene had money — a con-
siderable amount, Elsie judged — and of her own;
this might make some difference. But not all.
Elsie had been able to sum up the situation pretty cor-
rectly. It was the sanction and countenance of the
husband that decided matters. It was idiotic; in
keeping with most of the judgments that the world
made; and Elsie smiled to herself when she thought
it over. But it did not trouble her at all. The
absence of friends or callers was a distinct advantage
in her eyes. So much less to cope with; that was all.
And incidentally, this was one of the things Elsie
admired in Addie McKeene — one of the things that
helped to form the real affection she was beginning
to feel for that blithesome little lady. The esteem —
or rather, lack of it — in which Elsie was evidently
held made not a particle of difference to her friend-
ship, which Elsie gathered was of lifelong duration.


176 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
From references made time and again by Addie Elsie
could see that the two had been little children to-
gether, at school together, abroad together.
Elsie thought of Addie now, as she sat with the
two letters on her lap. Presently she would go over
and read her mother's letter to her. Probably from
Addie's comments she would be able to glean much
that would be useful in answering the letter. The
dressmaker's note received more consideration.
Elsie was very much disgusted and perturbed.
She reflected disconsolately that, for all she knew,
there might be outstanding accounts in other quar-
ters. She sat and thought, idly scanning the item-
ized statement. Then a way presented itself.
There were the garnet necklace, the diamond sun-
burst, and the beautiful diamond-and-pearl marquise
which in fear and disgust she had locked away.
They would solve the problem — of taking both
themselves and the obnoxious account out of her
existence. To-morrow she would take, say, the
sunburst down to one of the big jewelers and sell it.
She decided not to take all three pieces to any one
jeweler. It might cause comment, even inquiry.
As she sat and thought of it, Elsie felt she in-
tensely disliked this way of eliminating the unfortu-
nate jewels. There was something mercenary and
underbred about it. But still, what was she ever
going to do with them? They had been accepted
some time ago, doubtless, under circumstances and


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 177
conditions of which she knew nothing. To offer to
return them now would be absurd — moreover,
dangerous. And she doubted that the time would
ever come when it would be safe to open up the past
to that extent. And she did want them out of the
house. She did not see how else she could pay this
dreadful account, either. She wondered how that
other woman had expected to do it. She thought
very likely, however, by the way he kept the bank
account so strictly in his own hands, that Alan had
been confronted, perhaps periodically, with just such
accumulations of debt as this.
Elsie sighed. Never, never in this world could
she bring herself to confront him with such a list of
extravagances as this statement presented. No, she
would take the other way out of it. That was dis-
agreeable, also, but the less disagreeable of the two.
That settled satisfactorily in her mind, she put on
her hat and walked round to Addie's. If she should
call her up, Addie would offer to send the electric
for her. Never once had she mentioned the road-
ster since Elsie's refusal to use it. But Elsie had
noticed that whenever Addie knew beforehand of her
arrival, it would chance that Willett Renshaw would
drive up in the midst of her visit. Elsie knew that a
hint to Addie would doubtless end this series of co-
incidences; but on reflection she refrained. It was
quite the safest way of meeting him, and to meet her
somewhere every so often he was at present plainly


178 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
determined. She had attended various functions
and performances with Addie, and at each he had
joined them. But then, so had others. And as the
box, or best position, or whatever it was that was
necessary to the best enjoyment of the affair, had in
each instance been provided by him, as Addie, too,
had availed herself of these things, Elsie had de-
cided that it would not be very noticeable, and that
she had better make the best of it.


CHAPTER XVIII
DDIE was playing and singing with much
gusto when Elsie entered. She had a voice of
no power and only very medium training; but she
had a blithe, impish way of delivering the gay,
swinging songs she always chose that was immensely
taking. And according to that law of attraction of
opposites, by which each admires and envies what
he has not, Elsie longed to catch the inborn knack
which Addie had of lilting out catchy and more-or-
less popular songs. But her own big, vibrant voice,
laden with the revelations which a restrained, pas-
sionate nature insisted on making, made that class of
songs sound something like the gambols of an ele-
phantine kitten, and robbed them of all charm.
And fortunately Elsie was wise enough to recognize
this, and stick, discontented or not, to the songs she
could sing.
The two women chatted over their music, over
new songs, and tried scraps of this and that. Then,
when they tired and left the piano, Elsie produced the
letter from her mother.
“Countess Rospigne.” Addie reflected a mo-
ment. “Oh, yes — to be sure. That was that fat
I79


I80 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
Mrs. Erdman. You remember her.” Elsie shook
her head. “Oh, you do! why, of course you do!
Big, fat blonde — widow of that wholesale clothing
man. Used to do up her hair in such fearful and
wonderful style. I knew she was getting ready to
be a countess, or something like that.” Addie gave
one of her wicked little chuckles. “Maybe you
don't just remember her marriage, although she
bought up almost the whole of the society pages in
the Sunday papers that week. But you know her —
would if you saw her. Mrs. Van Duyn does n’t say
anything about the gentleman with the double-bar-
reled name this time, does she? — What was his
name? — who figured so much in the last letter.”
“Can't remember,” said Elsie, truthfully enough.
“Humph! Lot of good it does writing to you,”
commented Addie. “Do you suppose you can —
go over and visit her?” referring to Mrs. Van
Duyn's request to that effect.
“No, I don't want to,” replied Elsie candidly.
“You don't!” Addie was plainly surprised.
“Why, not so long ago you were crazy to. Aren't
you going anywhere this summer?” Without wait-
ing for Elsie's reply, she clasped her hands. “Oh,
that reminds me. Terry will be in next week. Had
a letter this morning. Then I can go —”
The ringing of the telephone bell cut short this
speech, and Addie swished across the room in her
light, dainty way. Evidently the communicant at


182 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“Why?” inquired Elsie curiously.”
“Why, because he was away so much, of course,
and we could do pretty much as we liked. I knew
when he came back, and you had to begin that home-
life business that Alan is so long on, that there
would be trouble. You know,” poutingly, “I’d
planned to do so many delightful things after Terry
has gone back. And I’m sure the Pennocks, and
Clarence — and Willett, too — are just waiting till
Terry’s been in. They knew I would n't go out of
town until he had. Then we’d all plan together.
And now you'll go and spoil it all, you horrid little
pig!”
Elsie laughed, and Addie smiled, too, despite her
real disgust.
“Terry can only stay in a few days, or, at most
a week, he says,” went on Addie. “The water's
so low they can work almost night and day. And he
tells me to rest up, because he 's certainly going to
make things hum while he's here. So,” concluded
she, with an air of desperate determination, “I’m
going to stay in every day this week.”
“And this is only Friday. Good gracious !”
commented Elsie. -
Addie laughed; but her busy mind flitted instantly
to other things. “You don't know any more about
the franchise over Seventeenth Street, do you?”
Not knowing in the least what she was referring
to, Elsie had but one answer to make. “No.”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 183
“I don't either. Don't see anything in the papers
about it lately. But Terry will soon know all about
it when he gets here. He's always on the inside of
everything. I was going to say, I wish they'd hurry
up and get it; then perhaps — Oh, but I don't sup-
pose it would. Too close in.”
“Well, I suppose you know what you’re talking
about,” observed Elsie resignedly.
Addie laughed. “I was thinking that perhaps
when they get the franchise it'll keep Alan busy
again.”
“But he is n't interfering with me,” declared
Elsie. “Honestly. He never says a word as to
where I have or have not been.”
“I believe it. That's easy,” returned Addie.
“You’ve never been anywhere nowadays.”
Elsie's lips opened to reply, but she closed them
again. It was true that she went out very little, but
it was also true that this was of her own choice. It
would, however, do no good to assert that. It would
not be credited for a minute. So she did not say
anything.
Shortly after this Willett drove up and Addie her-
self admitted him. He came in, big and smiling.
“Hello, Addie.” But his eyes traveled past her in
search of Elsie.
He tossed his motor cap and gloves on a chair near
the door and then walked over and kissed Elsie on
the lips. When Addie poutingly held up her face,


184 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
he kissed her lightly on the forehead. “That's
enough for little girls,” he said teasingly.
He drew up a chair close to the two women and
seated himself with an air of distinct satisfaction.
“Am I in on this?” he inquired, indicating by a
wave of the hand the evident close conclave of the
tWO.
“I don't believe any one’s in. It seems to me
we’re all out,” said Addie discontentedly. “Here
am I ready to make all kinds of outing plans, only
to find that Elsie is going to stay strictly “ter hum.’”
Elsie smiled mischievously, like a naughty child
who is publicly denounced and does n't care.
“Oh, well.” Willett looked smilingly undis-
turbed also. “There’s no telling what may happen
before then.” -
Addie looked slightly puzzled, having counted on
Willett as a strong ally in the furtherance of her
summer plans.
Lottie came in with luncheon, which the three ate
very informally and gaily, with what Addie called
the lunch counter between them. They chatted as
they lunched, or rather Addie and Renshaw did,
while Elsie mostly looked on and laughed and lis-
tened. And long after Lottie had taken away the
counter they still sat, contentedly talking, familiar
and at ease.
Then the lively. Addie was seized with a new no-
tion. She commanded Elsie to play while she and


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 185
Renshaw practised a difficult step in one of the new
dances. Elsie willingly obeyed, stumbling laugh-
ingly over the unfamiliar music, but managing to
keep the required swing and rhythm even if at the
expense of the melody. After both were tired they
sat down again, but Elsie kept on playing for a
while. Then she was brushed gaily off the piano
bench by Addie, in order that the latter might play
the very latest and most impudent rag-time song for
Renshaw's edification.
Renshaw drew Elsie down upon the seat beside
him and put his arm round her. Enraged at the
beating of her heart, Elsie fidgeted in his clasp. But
the arm that seemingly so lightly encircled her and
clasped the hand on her lap, was not to be displaced
by so much as an inch. The more she fidgeted the
closer he drew her, and so finally she sat still.
Questioned by Renshaw as to this song and that,
Addie sang about half a dozen before realizing that
she was being manipulated. Then she jumped up.
“Well, if you think I'm going to keep on playing
while you two—” She left one of her artistically
unfinished sentences. “Now make Elsie sing.”
“Oo, no. My stuff sounds horrid and dull after
yours,” protested Elsie. “Besides, I ate too much.”
“No, you did n’t. I watched you,” returned
Addie peremptorily. “Besides, what about me?”
“Well, you’ve danced yours all down,” com-
plained Elsie, as Willett led her gravely up to the
z


186 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
piano, seated her, and placed her hands in position
on the keys. “Well, what is it to be?”
“Sing me the seaweed song,” commanded Willett.
Elsie considered this indefinite description a mo-
ment. Then she sang that exquisite morsel, Bran-
der's “A Sea Drift.”
As the seaweed swims the sea,
In the ruin after storm.
Both of her listeners sat very quiet and watched
her intently as she sang. Apparently she had for-
gotten their presence. For at least a full moment
after she had stopped singing, the throb and beat of
the music was in their ears. Addie moved uneasily
and cast off the spell.
“Latache is certainly doing wonders for your
voice,” she said calmly. And then to Renshaw,
“I’ve got to make a quick pilgrimage to town and
back. Will you run me over?”
“I will,” with mock condescension.
“Thought you were going to stay at home all
this week,” interposed Elsie. -
“Well, so I am. You don't call that going out,
do you?” demanded Addie. “I can't tell till I see
it applied whether I’m going to like that spangled
petticoat for the blue or not.”
She ran upstairs to get ready. Renshaw crossed
at once to Elsie and seated himself by her on the
piano bench. He lifted her hands and kissed the


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 187
palms teasingly. Then, putting his arm round her
shoulder, he drew her face to his, and with his lips
against her cheek, called her all the sweet and endear-
ing names that a man can think of for the woman he
loves. And again Elsie was disgusted and amazed
at herself, at her weakness. It was Alan's love she
craved, Alan's only. She had divined and sensed
the depth and power of his nature, she could imagine
nothing sweeter than the companionship, as a loved
equal, of that quiet, contained man. She would give
anything and everything just once to see those cool,
contemplative eyes rest on her face with the passion
that lived in Willett's eyes as he looked at her now.
Yet it seemed in some way that, just because she
craved Alan's love so much, this other love soothed
and comforted her. The touch of his flesh against
hers, the firm pressure of his arms, quieted the ache
that was in her. Yet afterward that ache came back
intensified, on the principle of greater realization.
Terry McKeene came home. The day after he
arrived he called up Elsie — who heard with much
apprehension the voice of a strange man greeting her
so familiarly — and demanded that she forthwith
come over and visit him. Her guarded replies in-
censed him somewhat.
“Oh, come off the perch!” he exclaimed finally.
“What the dickens do you think you’re doing?
Don't you know who this is?”
“I don't,” confessed Elsie helplessly. For the


190 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
fortable upholstered chair that Lottie pulled forward
for her.
Addie chatted inconsequentially until Lottie had
finished waiting on them and had withdrawn; and
then began, between interesting slices of toast, to ap-
proach the subject she had in mind when calling
Elsie over.
“You know, Terry does n’t think it's the least
bit of good telling you. He did n't want me to.
Tried to make me promise not to. But I would n't
promise. I wanted to tell. He's very disgusted
about it — worked himself all up over it. You
know,” with a thoughtful little smile, as if conveying
some curious fact in natural history, “men are funny
things. Though Terry does n’t think as Alan does
at all, still he admires him awfully. Says a man of
Alan's makeup could n’t think any other way —
about what women should be allowed to do, and all
that, you know. He says Alan's awfully clever,
though — lots cleverer than he is. Says that tunnel
is one of the finest pieces of work of that kind done
in a long while.”
Addie paused a moment, busy with her thoughts,
while Elsie sat gazing at her, wondering whatever all
this preamble might lead to.
“And he,” selecting another piece of toast and
presumably still referring to Terry, “thinks it's a
horrid shame that Alan should n’t be allowed to finish


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 191
- w
the thing entirely and get the credit — having done
all the hard work, you know. Of course, knowing
so many of the boys connected with his line of work,
Terry always gets on the inside of everything and —
But I should n't like it known where you got the in-
formation; it might do Terry some harm somewhere
or other.”
She looked up at Elsie and that despairing person
shook her head hopelessly.
“Seeing you have n't told me anything and that I
have n’t the faintest idea in the world what you are
driving at, I’m not very likely to disclose it.”
Ignoring this reflection on her lucidity, Addie nib-
bled her toast for a moment in thoughtful silence.
Then she stated in as matter-of-fact a tone as she
could manage, “Terry heard that Alan is likely to
lose his position with the L. S. and E.”
Elsie's eyes opened wide. What new difficulties
did that mean?
“Why?” she asked then, almost in a whisper.
“Well, you see, the L. S. and E. is going to use
the South Bank people's terminals.”
Elsie nodded, though she could not see what that
had to do with Alan's position.
“And you know the L. S. and E. is coming in
down Seventeenth Street, and has to electrify
through the city,” went on Addie. “And the South
Bank people are going to have a man of their own


192 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
choice finish bringing the line in to the terminals.
Or something like that. Probably won't sound any-
thing like that, when they —”
“Well, but —” began Elsie, her brows wrinkling
in her endeavor to grasp the situation. “I don't
see — I should think a road could keep its own —
what do you call it? — constructing engineer, even if
it did use some other company's terminals. They
pay for the use of the terminals, don't they? They
must. Don't they often do that — I mean one line
use another's entry into a town, and their yards, and
all that?”
“Oh, of course, often,” replied Addie. “They
often arrange to run over one another's lines alto-
gether.”
“And do they always combine forces and have
just one man to — to —” Elsie did not exactly
know what.
“Oh, I don't think so,” scornfully. “I think they
keep their own men throughout. Oh, if you were to
put this thing into so many plain words, it would
look — well, what it is. But it'll never be put into
so many words. It'll just be done.”
“But —” Elsie was still entirely unenlightened.
She saw there was something behind this matter and
that Addie understood it and expected her to. But
she did not. “I suppose I’m awfully dense, but I
don't see the point at all. Has some one — has Alan
— an enemy on the road, then? — or what?”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 193
“Well, I don't know about an enemy exactly,”
Addie laughed, and glanced, quizzically at her com-
panion. “But there is some one who has, I suppose,
decided that it would be more convenient to have him
out of town nine or ten months of the year.”
Elsie's eyes were still wide. “Would that drive
him out of town 2''
“Why, of course it would !” Addie looked almost
incredulous at so much stupidity. “Positions like
Alan's don't grow on the hedges. He'd probably
have to go far afield to find another — of any im-
portance, you know. Look at Terry. Has he ever
been able to stay — to live — at home?”
Elsie's wide, puzzled eyes never left Addie's face.
“Well, but — who —?” she began.
“Well, who — who?” mimicked Addie. “You
little ow!! Who is it that owns so many South
Bank shares, and who, if he were offended, could pull
strings on half the councilmen and prevent the L. S.
and E. from getting its franchise down Seventeenth
Street?”
The fact that she was confidently expected to know
gave Elsie the needed clue. “You mean — Wil-
lett P” she asked.
“You are a great guesser!” Addie commended.


CHAPTER XIX
LSIE sat still a moment, a slow, red flush of
anger creeping over face and neck. Her heart
sweiled with pity for the man in danger of so much
humiliation and wrong. “Well,” she said then, and
her words sounded hard and short. “I should n’t
have thought Willett would stoop to anything like
that.” -
“Stoop? He won't have to stoop. He won't
appear in the matter at all,” returned Addie. “I
suppose he 's just dropped a hint to Reynolds, or
some other of his henchmen; and it'll all be done so
quietly that few will know it's done at all. No one
will know why. Oh!” Addie gave a little cynical
laugh, “that's nothing. Those things are done
every day in politics and corporations, and so forth,
especially if you get in the way of the Higher-Ups.”
“Well,” Elsie spoke slowly; “if so, if it's done,
I hope I'll never have to speak to Willett again.”
“And what reason would you give for such a line
of conduct as that?” inquired Addie, almost coldly
it seemed.
“I would n’t give any.” And then she added
quickly. “Oh, I would n't betray the fact that I
had any inside information, either.”
IQ4


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 195
Addie placed her chocolate-cup on her plate, and
laid both on a near-by table. Then she leaned a little
forward and rested her elbows on her knees.
“Apart from that,” she said, referring to the assur-
ance just given, “have you ever stopped to consider
how entirely and beautifully unreasonable you are?”
She smiled engagingly as she spoke and the smile
robbed the words of asperity. Still from behind
that smile peeped out that sane and steadying grasp
of the fundamentals of a case which Willett Ren-
shaw had once referred to as her good common
sense. “Of course I don't exactly know what you
and Willett have understood as regards each other,
or — but I infer that you have n't precisely led him
to suppose that your marital relations were one long
dream of bliss.” She looked at Elsie with gay,
quizzical eyes.
Elsie Smiled — slightly amused, too; only her
amusement was of very different caliber from
Addie's. “No, I suppose not.”
“He knows,” went on Addie, “you've told him,
as you've told me, that you’re just living with Alan
on sufferance, as it were. You can hardly expect
Willett to suppose that, in managing to deprive you
of Alan's company, he is depriving you of anything
you value; or that in depriving Alan of the oppor-
tunity to live in constant enjoyment of your presence,
he is depriving him of anything very valuable in his
scheme of things, either.”


196 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
2:
“Only the honor of name and family,” ventured
Elsie.
“Both of which have always been in your hands
alone,” returned Addie; “never in either Alan's or
Willett's.”
Not replying for the moment, yet not feeling the
least resentment, Elsie looked curiously at Addie.
Short as had really been her acquaintanceship with
this woman, she had formed a sufficiently clear men-
tal estimate of her to be astonished now at the cool,
mature mind that rested behind the frivolous, pleas-
ure-loving daily life. As a matter of fact, departing
from her usual happy-go-lucky policy, Addie had
set herself to present to her friend what she con-
ceived to be the truth shorn of all sentiment concern-
ing the new stand she was taking.
To whatever class an individual may belong, good
or bad, grave or gay, there is in the accepted condi-
tions and conduct of that class a certain code of
honor, a straight line which, conformed to or not, is
certainly existent, and by which each member of that
class is judged. According to the voice of Addie's
instincts now, Elsie was guilty of a sort of breach of
faith, or of etiquette. At first, setting down the
radical change in her friend to either the shock of the
accident, or possibly Alan Leland's ultimatum con-
cerning it, Addie had condoned Elsie's strange con-
duct with some sympathy and more amusement.
But now that it bid fair to become a permanent state,


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 197
Addie considered it seriously according to her par-
ticular ways of judging. She felt that Elsie was act-
ing very selfishly, to say the least of it, coolly upset-
ting, without the courtesy of explanation, reason or
logic, and entirely without regard to the feelings of
others, a state of affairs which she herself had been
mainly instrumental in building up. She considered
Alan's probable fate as purely and simply a result of
Elsie's erratic conduct; and for this reason she had
overruled her husband's greater discretion, and had
insisted on telling Elsie of the matter. Moreover,
faithful as Addie was in the main to her long friend-
ship, disinterested and uninfluenced by the opinions
of others, she was yet woman enough to decide that
Elsie should not mentally take her martyr's stand in
unalloyed comfort and sanctity.
Seeing that she knew only a part of what Addie
judged as a whole, Elsie was not able to guess at the
other's line of reasoning. That something had been
reasoned out, and not altogether creditably to herself,
she plainly perceived. But she was not even faintly
resentful. Not knowing the truth of the case, her
friend could not be expected to render a just judg-
ment. When she spoke it was quite gently.
“Yes, I know I’m the one that's mostly to
blame.”
“Oh, well, I don't know about that,” said
Addie, hastening to be strictly just in the face of such
unexpected meekness. “You’re the cause of it all,


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 199
a
as you do. You could n't very well think anything
else, only knowing as much as you do. Some
day —” she smiled sadly. “You’ve been such a
good friend — I know you have. You've stuck to
me through thick and thin, through good repute and
bad. And some day — it may be a long way off,
but some day I'm going to tell you everything. I
— can't now.”
Addie gazed at her, quite evidently taken com-
pletely beyond any calculation she might have made
as to the probable turn of events. “Well,” she said
then; “I’ve thought all along that there was some-
thing —” She leaned back on the divan again, with
an air of ceasing to consider any further a hopeless
proposition. “Anyway, I'm glad you know.” She
concluded, almost to herself, “I should n’t have
been content if you had n't. Forewarned is fore-
armed.”
Elsie smiled, a faint, grave little smile. And then
she sat, chin buried in hand, and tried to think a way
out of this new tangle. Of the probable financial
loss and discomfort entailed by Alan's dismissal from
his post, she did not think for a minute; only of the
man himself — of the injustice, the hurt. And yet
she was glad to realize that there was that in him
which lifted him above the power of men to hu-
miliate. They could do him an injustice, could per-
haps ruin him; but Alan was of those men who can
not be humiliated,


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 201
“No, his father did that,” agreed Addie. “But
Willett's no man's fool, though. He's a strong
man on his own account. Don't you think so? He
has a good time and lives every minute of his life,
but he does n’t forget to keep a firm hold on men and
affairs, nevertheless. And he has a way all his own
of managing things, as you know. That’s why in
this case — between you two,” she laughed, “I’ve
been confidently expecting something to develop sud-
denly somewhere. I knew he was taking it all too
quietly.” .
Elsie nodded. And if she had known the man
better, she, too, would have been able to judge that
the calm was more threatening than any storm. All
her refusals, and they had been many, to meet him
alone anywhere or on any pretext had been taken
good-naturedly, generally with a laugh and a kiss.
In return for what she fondly thought to be con-
sideration for her changed ideas, she had met him
at Addie's, or at gatherings that she could attend with
Addie, and where it was known he would be present.
In this way she had thought to reduce by gentle and
artistic degrees an obnoxious state of affairs to
something like the normal and right. Yet after all
her imagined cleverness, all she had really succeeded
in doing was to deepen instead of lessen an already
existing wrong.
“It’s funny,” she observed after a few minutes'
silence. “They say right will prevail, but —”
*


2O2 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“Yes,” Addie laughed. “They also say that
might is right.”
“But that is often quoted the other way about,
making ‘right is might,’” said Elsie.
“Humph! Well?” Addie's short laugh was a
whole volume of comment.
“It is, in the end; must be, surely,” insisted El-
sie; “else by this time there would be no worlds
left.”
Addie looked unusually amused. “Dear me! I
don't imagine the actions of us midgets, good or
bad, very seriously interfere with the march of the
spheres.”
Elsie did not press the matter further. Her
ideas were getting clearer day by day — that is, she
could grasp and hold them longer — but she did not
as yet court an argument with any mind at all keen
that was set in an estate of its own making. In-
stead, she reverted once more to the main discus-
sion. - ---
“How soon do you suppose Alan will know of
— of this?” she queried.
“Oh, I suppose — pretty soon.” Addie frowned.
“Terry thought they’d probably offer him a month's
salary instead of notice. They would n't want him
to have a chance to talk it over much at the office.
Terry thought there might be a slight chance; but
they'll arrange all that. Terry did n't think Cal-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 203
thorpe, the president, would like it at all if he under-
stood — you know, much about it. But those who
work with him will know him, and they’ll see that
he does n’t get the straight of it.”
In Elsie's mind rose the image of the employer
who had stayed late at the office and was driving
his secretary home on that fateful evening which
began the mystery. The memory of Mr. Calthorpe's
face was vivid enough, but when she sought to go
further than that, to bring back some memory of
the personality associated with that face, she failed
utterly, as she had failed to restore any of the de-
tails of the office and the Hamby home. Striving
to supply the lack, Elsie felt herself drifting out
again upon that shadowy ocean from which she
kept herself only by concentrating upon the daily
facts of Elsie Leland's life.
She looked a little wistfully at her friend, Mrs.
McKeene.
“Is Mr. Calthorpe a nice man?” she queried.
“Well, you've seen him,” said Addie; “must
have, many a time.”
“Oh, well — seeing!” a trifle impatiently.
“What is he like in his life? I wonder. That's
what counts. I thought perhaps Terry might have
said.”
“He said he was rather a peculiar man, but very
straight,” recollected Addie.


CHAPTER xx
T seemed to Elsie, as she sat at dinner that night,
that Alan was particularly pleasant to her. Or
it might be that the reproachful spirit in her made
her unusually sensitive. He had never shown the
least disposition to sulk or to snub her; but of late
their conversations had grown more lengthy and —
to Elsie, at least — more and more interesting and
enjoyable. Two reasons contributed to this re-
sult — Elsie's gradually increasing confidence and
power to express herself, and Alan's observance and
appreciation of the stand she was making in the way
of improving conditions in the home. Of her at-
tempts at improvements along other lines he could
not judge, although the fact that she was almost
invariably at home for dinner and in the evenings
gave indications. Of home changes, however, he
had plain proofs, if only in the greatly reduced ex-
pense sheet. He saw that in Ada she had less effi-
cient help and that she cheerfully made up with her
own labors what Ada fell short of accomplishing.
“She does n’t do as well as Annie, does she?” he
inquired one day.
“She does n’t do as much, of course,” replied
206


208 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
him also with reflective eyes. “Lee’s a very good
gardener —” she observed.
“Yes. But what is the reservation?” inquired
Alan, quick to catch the trailing, unfinished sound of
the sentence.
“Nothing, as regards that statement,” Smiling.
“But I'm a trifle disappointed in him for one
reason.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. He refused to contribute to an ideal of
mine. I asked him if he loved flowers, and he said
he liked to see them come up good and strong—
yes. I told him he ought to love them, because it
was his faith in them, when he put the seeds in
the ground, that made them come up. And he said
that was queer. Because very often they did n't
come up, and then again very often they were not
what he expected at all.”
Alan laughed. “Very inconsiderate of him, I'm
sure.” -
“Is n’t it? And he's harsh and sinister in his
handling of things, somehow. At least he gives that
impression. I wonder how it is,” reflectively, “that
cripples are so often bitter. Is it because the spirit
can't express through the faulty, half-conditioned
body, or — You know, some believe the spirit shapes
the body. I mean that the body is a sort of ma-
terialized shadow of the real individual. But there
could n’t be crooked spirits, could there?”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 209
| Alan shook his head smilingly. “I'm afraid I'm
not enough of a metaphysician — But — no, I
should n’t think there'd be either crooked or straight
with spirit. One can't associate the idea of line or
measurement, or anything to do with dimension,
with spirit. I have n't thought the matter over
much, though I have often looked at cripples and
wondered. I believe I’ve always had a sort of
idea that a spirit imprisoned in an ill-conditioned
body has some penance to perform or lesson to work
out. But "– he glanced at her in mingled curiosity
and amusement —“when did you dive into meta-
physics?”
“Oh, I have n't,” disavowed Elsie. “If I did I’d
never come up again. But these things present
themselves and one has to wonder.”
After they had risen from the table Alan went
into the morning-room and stood in the French
window to smoke his after-dinner cigar, as was his
habit. Elsie stayed in the dining-room and gave
her flowers fresh water; and as she did so the brood-
ing, troubled thought came back into her face.
Alan's magnetism was strong upon her, and so sooth-
ing and satisfying was it to her that in his pres-
ence she forgot her troubles. Now they came troop-
ing back. This pleasant camaraderie that was grow-
ing up between them would soon be stopped. She
wondered if Alan would ever discover the agency
working against him. It seemed to Elsie as she


210 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
moved restlessly about that she simply must do some-
thing. She could not see upon reflection what good
Addie thought to accomplish by telling her, if she
were not to be allowed to use the information; or,
at all events, not in the most important quarters. If
she could not go to Willett, whom could she go to,
unless it might be the president? Elsie did not see
how she could very well go to him. Yet it would be
a very great satisfaction to know that the men for
whom, and with whom, Alan had worked under-
stood the cause of his elimination from the service.
That alone would rob the thing of nearly all its
sting.
So fretted and tired did Elsie become from the
fretting and yeasting of her mind that, forgetting
for once Alan's presence somewhere in the domain,
she sat down at the piano. She played a fairly
easy but soothing, winding Bach prelude; and then
sang the plaintive “Waters of Minnetonka.” As
she finished the last, grateful for the peace that the
music brought her, Alan came into the room and
seated himself comfortably in the window-seat, near
the archway at the far end of the room.
“Go on,” he commanded, leaning his head back,
and looking across at her curiously. “Your voice
is broadening out considerably lately. You've been
doing a lot of practising, have n't you?”
Elsie nodded absently. “Yes.”
“I notice a change in the music on your piano,”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 211
went on Alan. “You’re not singing so much of
that light, trashy stuff as you used to.”
“Oh! one always has to be able to sing that,”
said Elsie non-committally. “It’s what you are
always asked for and what always takes. But I
never liked it for myself. This is what I always
play by choice.”
Alan looked incredulous. “Well, you certainly
never divulged your real tastes before, then.”
“Divulged,” Elsie smiled, playing in a lazy way
portions of the accompaniment before her. “That
sounds so funny. I don't know that you ever tried
to discover my tastes in this or any other direction,
did you?”
This was a silly thing to say — especially to the
man before her, who saw most things — and Elsie
knew it. But she was in the mood to say biting
things, even if at the same time they had to be
silly.
Alan smiled in reminiscent amusement. “I don't
suppose I did do any Sherlock Holmes business in
that line. When two people live together their in-
dividual tastes become apparent to each other, I
should suppose.”
“Yes?” Elsie's tone was politely unimpressed.
“Yes. Don't you think so?”
“ No.” -
“No?” Alan laughed. “Why, you know my
tastes in most things, don't you?”


214 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
She shuffled the music irritably along the piano.
There passed the beautiful Elijah aria, which Latache
was preparing her to sing in the big choir of which
he was the director. She did not sing it now, but
played it in a wistful, preoccupied way.
“And He shall give thee thine heart's desire.”
The heart's desire — high and noble desires,
surely — not foolish little human desires. The hun-
ger of a woman for the love and dear companion-
ship of one man — would he also grant that?
Strange thing, this soul of woman. Here was she
herself, led through such experiences as she could not
have come through alone, catching visions of such
vastness of life around and before as should have
lifted her to rapt, transcendent states. And in-
stead, she turned coolly away and her heart made
its demand with age-long assurance: “Give me this
man to love.”


CHAPTER XXI
LSIE awoke the next morning with a sense of
burden. She went down to breakfast with a
grave, preoccupied face. After Alan had gone she
dusted the dining- and living-rooms, with the same
feeling — that of dallying with an issue. She knew
she had to take this impending, intangible and per-
haps altogether fictitious trouble and sit down with
it, and talk it over with herself, and decide once for
all whether she ought to try to do anything with it.
She did not see what she could do; it seemed in a
way preposterous to think of trying to meddle in
the matter. At the same time she could not let it
alone. She went out into the garden and crossed
verbal swords with the prosaic Lee, and thither, also,
went the patient issue. Elsie reflected, almost petu-
lantly, that life was a horribly uncompromising
thing. It would not brook the least neglect of any of
the tests it presented. In fact, there was no such
thing as neglecting them. They merely waited.
And it occurred to Elsie that most failures consisted
of this — a putting aside, from disinclination or
fear, of things to be faced, until the total was too
great to be met.
When the telephone bell rang she went back into
215


2I6 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
the house, rejoicing at the prospect of a possible
break in her mood. It would be either Addie or
Willett, she knew. It was Willett.
“Top o' the morning!” he greeted her cheerily.
“Thank you. But I feel at the bottom of it,”
she responded.
“Yes? How is that?” -
“Oh, on the precipitation principle, I suppose.”
“Heavy-hearted?” he queried. -
“N-no. Jes’ a wonderin’ what it’s all about, any-
how.”
“Don’t wonder,” advised Willett, “let things
slide.”
“Humph! They mostly do, whether I let them
or not,” declared Elsie almost resentfully.
“Well, go with them with a whoop and hurrah,”
instructed Willett. “That used to be you, all over.
And you got along all right, did n’t you?”
“Yes, so far,” Elsie laughed. “But you know
there's always an end to even the longest slide and
sometimes, there’s a horrible bump at the bottom.”
“Bumps are good for one,” said Willett, laugh-
ingly. “All slide and no bump would n't be any
sport at all.”
“Humph!” observed Elsie dubiously. “Is this
advice given from personal experience?”
“No, it is n't,” confessed Willett with prompt
good humor. “But the principle remains. A few
bumps would be good for me.”


\ IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 217
“Sometimes,” said Elsie, in a voice of ominous
prophecy, “the bumps come all in a bunch at the
end of the performance.”
“Let 'em,” scoffed Willett. “I shall be ready
for them.”
Elsie reflected, as she sat and listened to his words,
how much less than useless it would be to approach
him on the subject of Addie's disclosure, even if
she were free to do so — which she was not. He
would guess at once from what source her informa-
tion came; and he was too powerful a man, too much
in touch with councilmen and senators and politi-
cians, men controlling valuable positions such as
Terry McKeene's, for Addie to wish even to seem
to be in league against him. In any case it would
do no good. If he had really made up his mind to
any such move as Terry's information credited him
with, he would simply laugh the whole thing off
the board to her, and go calmly on with it.
After their light, bantering conversation, which
apparently meant so little but which Elsie felt cov-
ered so much, was over and he had bidden her a
knightly and affectionate adieu, Elsie still sat at the
telephone stand, nursing her face in her cupped
hands.
The bright morning light came in waves of soft
green through the vine-covered glass of the sun-
room; the fountain bubbled and trickled in soft,
soothing monotony. It was a dear and pleasant


218 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
home. If Alan had to go afield for another posi-
tion, she would probably have to leave it. But in
view of the greater gain she would not mind that.
She would go with him gladly.
No, it was not the possible loss of his position
that hurt her as regarded Alan. What did hurt her
— hurt her tenderness for the man she loved, her
quick pride in him — was the fact that he would
seem to be so easily dispensed with as a man of no es-
pecial value or worth. If only men, the big men
of the company, could understand why he went, and
by whose agency, she felt that she could be fairly
content. And that brought her back to the idea of
going to the president, Calthorpe, an idea which
had come into her mind even as Addie had been
speaking of the matter. And several times since.
Well, why not go to him? Whatever he did or did
not do, he would know and understand. That was
the main thing. It was an unusual, almost a risky,
thing to think of doing. He would probably not
wish to listen to her on the subject. But if she
could get enough into even the first few words —
say, before he divined her intention — so that he
would know, that was all she would care about —
just so that he knew.
While she still sat the door-bell rang, and Ada
came and admitted some one. Elsie rose and went
into the living-room, finding, to her surprise, Addie


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 219
coming across the floor to meet her. She was fully
dressed for the street.
“Going or coming?” inquired Elsie, quizzically.
“Coming,” almost hurriedly. “Had a letter
from Terry this morning. The latest thing in foot-
wear for his business is silk inside wool, and so he
wanted a supply of silk socks sent at once — within .
five minutes after the receipt of the letter. No,”
shaking her head as Elsie pulled a chair up for her,
“can't stay a minute. I'm late as it is. And the
Ulmeisters are coming for luncheon.”
Elsie looked at her keenly. She must surely be
imagining it, but she could almost think that Addie
looked flustered.
“And so I went down at once and sent off the
socks,” went on Addie. “And — Now, Elsie, for
goodness' sake don't ever let Alan know that I was
busy enough to rush right home to tell you this. It
is n’t that. But — I just know it’s to do with you.
And you must know where you're going, as far as
possible. If it were a case of coming to tell a
woman that I had seen her husband talking to an-
other woman —” Addie tossed her head in refuta-
tion of the possibility of such a thing.
Elsie stood and gazed at her, waiting. She knew
enough by this time of Addie's way of getting to a
subject not to question or even try to guess.
“I took the street car to town,” went on Addie.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 221
“Let the deluge come. It's better than waiting
for it. The stage is all set for the last scene in the
mellow-drama.” She stretched out her arm with a
mock melodramatic gesture. “The tornado com-
ing down the valley, the vilyun creeping up the wind-
ing path toward the lonely cabin where the helpless
maiden is — Is n't it funny, Addie?”
She laughed again. But Addie was rather
shocked. She had been about to say more, but at
Elsie's outburst her attitude changed.
“Now, kidlets, dear!” she expostulated. “Don’t
get excited.”
“Oh, I won't,” declared Elsie. “Don’t you know
that too much is a sedative?”


CHAPTER XXII
HEN Addie left her and hurried home, Elsie
found only one clear thought left in her
mind. The idea of going to see President Cal-
thorpe had strengthened somehow into a determina-
tion. She wished to do it, and do it at once. She
wished to set her house straight while yet it stood up
about her. And that was the only thing she could
see to do. She would do it. And after that —
Though she did not realize it, she was in a state
of suppressed excitement that keyed her up to above
normal. But she went about the fulfilment of her
plans in a careful, orderly way. First of all it oc-
curred to her that Miss Hamby must be back at her
post. If so — she did not know — what could Una
do to her, anyway, more than she, herself, had done,
and would do?
Elsie ate a very light lunch — hardly did more
than drink the cup of chocolate that Ada brought
her — and then went upstairs and dressed with much
care and consideration for the city.
The doing of the nearest duty carries with it a
very soothing effect. Or else youth and health are
incurably optimistic. Or perhaps both. At all
222


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 223
events, as she rode down to the city, Elsie even began
to hope again. Perhaps Alan would not believe
Una's tale. How could he? Who would And
if only he would leave town and take her with him,
all might yet be well. She would show him by her
life and service that, whatever he thought of her
past, she was now a woman worthy of respect. All
her hopes came to be hinged on that — Alan's leav-
ing town and taking her with him.
Very busily, but not at all fearfully, Elsie re-
hearsed to herself the exact words in which she
would state her errand to the president, should she
succeed in seeing him. Her main anxiety was to
make her statement as brief as possible, compatible
with covering all the information necessary. For
two reasons — on account of a business man's sup-
posed contempt for even one superfluous word and
because she wished all possible facts uttered before
any interruption could occur.
So intent was Elsie on her errand and the right
and successful conduct of it, that it never occurred
to her, as she stepped out of the elevator of the sec-
ond floor of the Blain Building, and entered the L.
S. & E. offices, that any one besides Miss Hamby
would be at all likely to know her even by sight. So
she was oblivious to the quick stare with which the
office boy who took her card favored her. When
the boy came back and informed her that the presi-
dent would see her, she followed him through a long
*


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 225
*.
was a daily fascination to him. Almost any one,
with half an excuse for doing so, could come into
his presence, and leaving, generally left behind him
more than he dreamed. And so, because of the
value he placed on the human unit, more than and
apart from the fact that she was the wife of one of
his favorite employees, Calthorpe looked with keen,
quiet interest at the woman before him, and looking,
felt his interest grow. So alive! She was as
clear and unobstructed a vehicle or channel for the
life force as the electric filament above him was for
the illuminating current. It almost seemed to shine
through the fineness of her, and the sensitive, recep-
tive spirit of the man warmed at the life glow.
He had seen her before, but very casually. He
remembered that she had been a participant in the
accident; but as Renshaw had hurried her home, and
as he had been so occupied at the time with his own
share of the affair, and as Alan had calmly assured
him the following morning that she had come out
of it absolutely unharmed, he had thought little
more of it. Since his wife's death, Calthorpe had
lived almost exclusively in a world of men — men
of affairs, too busy to be interested in gossip. And
so, having heard nothing previously, Calthorpe at-
tached very little importance or significance to the
fact that Alan's wife was with Renshaw at the time
of the accident.
So eager was Elsie to take the measure of the


226 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
man she was to speak to, that she was perfectly un-
conscious of the steady, grave stare exchanged be-
tween them. Calthorpe was the first to return to
formalities. He bowed smilingly, and coming round
his desk drew a chair forward for her.
“How do you do, Mrs. Leland? Won't you sit
down?”
Elsie smiled and sat down. But her gaze re-
turned immediately to the man who took a seat
near her, and she prepared to begin her errand at
once, without giving her intent any chance to weaken.
“I have n’t taken precedent or convention very
much into consideration in coming here, Mr. Cal-
thorpe, and so I won't stop to consider them now,”
she began, speaking rapidly but clearly. “It’s just
something I want to do to ease my mind. If the in-
formation I have is correct, the fact that you’ll
know what I shall have told you will be sufficient.
If it is not correct, will you please forget that I
came?”
Calthorpe made no reply. She did not seem to
expect it. He kept curious eyes on her face; but
she, as soon as she began to speak, looked over and
beyond, as if addressing an audience.
“I am told that my husband, your constructing
engineer, is about to be discharged — no, dispensed
with is better. That does n’t matter very much, as
long as you understand why. So please let me ex-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 227
*
plain. I was an only girl, brought up to think fine
clothes and pleasure the two main things in life. I
married a man who could n’t give me, perhaps, quite
all I had been accustomed to in those lines. He
gave me what was of far greater value, of course;
but I had n’t sense enough to see that. I was de-
termined to get all I wanted; and so I cultivated
friends who had the things I craved. Among these
was Willett Renshaw. He had everything that
money could get. A few months ago I — something
happened to show me just where I stood. I turned
over another leaf — tried to. Among my friends
the belief is firm and unalterable that fear of Alan,
and some threat of his, has produced the change in
me. It has not. To save me from myself as far
as possible, he gave me the protection of his home
and name after he knew I had ceased to be worthy
of it. To remove this unwelcome, restraining influ-
ence, Alan is to be forced to seek work at a dis-
tance. At least, so I am told.”
She rose. “That’s all I wanted to do — to let
you know why he goes, if he does go, because you
would hardly learn it otherwise. That's only fair
to him, to the quality of work he has done, and to
the love he has put into it. All I want,” she re-
peated, “all I want — to ask of you is, that when he
goes you will somehow let him know that you know.
Not how you know — Oh, you will know how to do


228 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
it, impossible as it may seem to do! Just so it
won't look as if he were of no particular value, to be
easily spared any minute.”
She smiled at the still silent and curious presi-
dent — a quaint half-roguish smile. “And now
I'm glad I’ve done it. When I go home and think
it over, it will look childish and absurd and awful.
That’s why it’s often a good plan to do a thing
first and think it over after. Else it’ll begin to look
unnatural — like a word when we look at it.”
She turned to the door and Calthorpe rose. He
was too good a business man to commit himself in
any way in a matter like this. And this was plainly
an emotional woman, even if a brave one. But be-
cause he understood a very great deal, and also be-
cause he was after all a man, he smiled down into the
wide eyes that spoke to him so eagerly. “I am very
glad you came to see me.” -
He opened the door for her, Elsie smiled up at
him and then passed quickly out. So full was her
mind of what she had just done, that even Una
Hamby was not in her thoughts and she walked
down the long room seeing nothing. Thus she did
not notice Alan at the far end of it, busily turning
over papers in a desk. But he lifted his head and
gazed in amazement at the woman who came out of
the president's room and walked quickly and thought-
fully down the office and out.
So 'completely had Elsie been possessed by the


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 229
idea of what she meant to do and by the necessity
of doing it at once, that the possibility of running
into Alan at the office had never even occurred to
her, and did not now. In fact, she always thought
of him as somewhere on the line. So she went out
to the elevator, was carried down to the main floor,
and stepped out, still totally engrossed with her af-
fairs. There a hand was slipped firmly but caress-
ingly under her elbow, and startled suddenly out of
her dreaming into recognition of her surroundings,
she looked up into the smiling, amused eyes of Wil-
let Renshaw.
“Such a preoccupied little lady!” he observed,
still keeping the light, guiding hand on her arm, and
turning to walk by her side down the big lobby of
the building. “I was passing and saw you enter
the building, so I jumped out of the car and waited.
Why did n’t you tell me you were coming down this
afternoon, you little wretch? And where are you
going now?”
Already Elsie was turning over in her mind how
best to escape. “Oh, I’ve just a little shopping to
do, Willett —” -
“Well, I'll take you and set you down wherever
you want to begin the giddy round,” decided Ren-
shaw easily.
They had reached the big revolving doors and
Renshaw put out his hand to arrest their movement.
A man who had stepped out of one of the elevators
xx


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 231
But Renshaw answered her almost roughly.
“No. You're in no condition to take yourself
home. Jump in. I'll take you home myself.”
He had the door of the car open and his hand
was on her arm to help her in. To resist would be
to cause a scene perhaps. So she got in and sank
wearily into the deep buff cushions. And so she re-
mained as he drove along, hands folded limply on her
lap and eyes staring hopelessly before her, hardly
noticing, and hardly caring to notice, that he did
really drive her straight home.
Arrived at Schuyler Street, he helped her out, and
then in silence entered the house with her. But
when the somewhat curious Ada had returned to the
kitchen, he turned almost harshly on her.
“Sit here,” drawing a big leather chair toward
her. “You don't look as if you could stand much
longer. . For the Lord's sake, what does all this
tragedy business mean?” -
Elsie did not even look up. She laid her head
back on the leather in a tired, hopeless way. “It
means that you’re trying to ruin my life. And I
suppose you’ll succeed.”
“Ruin your life!” He laughed contemptuously,
exasperated out of his usual gentleness. “What
nonsense you talk! For stopping to talk to you in
the lobby of a public building? Is that the kind of
tyrant you have to live with ?”
She smiled faintly. It was so useless to talk.


232 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“There's got to be an end to this wordless non-
sense between us,” Renshaw went on, both anger
and determination in his voice. “So now, tell me
what the trouble is. Then we can both face it and
see what is best to be done. What does all this
mean?”
Elsie laughed — a bitter, reckless, twisted sort of
laugh. “I don’t know. I wish I did. I suppose
it’s all very amusing to — to some one.”
Her bitterness was so quiet, so intense, that Ren-
shaw was startled out of his anger. He was a big
man, and not bad-hearted. He looked at the slender
figure with the set, white face, and decided that now
was no time to make her talk. Besides, talking was
useless, after all. He would attend to things on his
own initiative, and in his own way.
He seated himself on the arm of her chair, stroked
the hair from her forehead, and kissed the smooth
white temple. -
“Well, I won't bother you now, poor little mis-
erable girl. But I’ll settle with that brute.”
“He is n't!” said Elsie, trying to put spirit into
her voice. “I’m the one that has done wrong.
He has n’t done anything to me.”
“No, does n't look like it,” sarcastically. “You
look so happy. It’s a positive shame to even want
to interfere with such happiness.” He rose and
bent over her. “Go upstairs, and lie down now, pet.
You need rest and sleep. Besides, you don't want


234 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
all hope. She knew Alan well enough for that.
It did not seem to her that it would be humanly
possible to face him at dinner that night. But no
other course was to be thought of. To absent her-
self was to admit not only guilt but the realization
of guilt. So, about five o'clock she rose, and bathed
her pale face in first hot, then cold water to force up
a color, dressed her hair with greater than usual
care, and put on the blue-silk gown. And then she
paced and fidgeted from place to place till Alan
Ca111C.
He greeted her pleasantly, just as she knew he
would. And at the table he was neither sulky nor
silent. He discussed the cave-in at the excavation
for a big city building; mentioned the opinion of a
confrere of an opera company then in the city; made
some observations upon an automobile contest then
being held by the two evening papers. But his words
could just as easily have been addressed to the per-
son sitting next to him in a street car for all the fa-
miliarity or comradeship they expressed. He was
evidently not going even to refer to either Una
Hamby's interview with himself or his meeting with
Elsie and Renshaw. He was going to ignore both,
as being outside his life as he intended to make it.
And Elsie accepted the verdict in silence. She
closed the door of the roseate temple of hope behind
her, and stood without, friendless, hopeless, alone.
After dinner she roamed in the garden until dark


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 235
fell, and then came into the living-room, where Alan
had already switched on the lights and was reading.
She sat quietly down, herself, and placed a book on
her knee for effect, though she made no attempt to
read. She was suffering a revulsion of feeling from
the stunned and enfeebled calm of the afternoon.
She was raging, rebelling within herself at every-
thing and every one. She felt she could fly at Alan
and take him by the shoulders and shake him with
every atom of strength she possessed, and make
him scold, catechize, bully her, beat her — anything,
anything, but this calm ignoring of her and her life
as a thing so weak and disloyal as to be beneath a
man's anger! She raged and seethed at the thought
of Willett and his smiling insistence; at fate that
had set her down in the midst of a set of circum-
stances with which she could not cope. But creep-
ing through her rage, and in spite of it, came the
unwelcome recognition, the realization which coolly
forced itself upon her, that this, her greatest un-
doing, had been of her own making. Where Ren-
shaw had been concerned, she had been weak, shilly-
shallying; she should have disregarded all apparent
risks and cut him out of her life. It was plain
enough. She had been safely led through every-
thing. Out of all the seemingly impossible situa-
tions, the almost insurmountable difficulties that had
confronted her, she had come safely and well. Only
her own perversity had done her any lasting harm.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 237
“I suppose not. But you could draw your own
inferences,” asserted Elsie. “I noticed my daily
calls ceased simultaneously.”
Addie laughed. “Yes. Rather marked, is n’t it?
Well, come along over. You can walk round the
room at the rate of five miles an hour if you want
to. I can't for the life of me see why you let it af-
fect you so. It's so much better there should be a
change. Things could n't go on as they were. I'm
going to send the electric round.”
So Elsie went over and spent the morning being
alternately scolded and comforted. But on her way
home to luncheon there recurred to her the memory
of Una Hamby's vindictive gaze at the threshold
of Mr. Calthorpe's office. What did it matter now,
thought Elsie bitterly, whether Una struck at her
through Alan or still delayed the blow 2 The harm
was already done and she herself had done it. Yet
she knew, as she let herself in at the front door, that
even now she was unwilling to face the test that Una
might impose.
Smiting upon her brain at that very instant, as
she closed the door behind her, came the voice of
Una Hamby, impassioned, sobbing, from the morn-
ing-room.
“I had to tell you the whole secret — everything
— or you could not possibly understand why I came
or what I am talking about. Won't you please try
to see the situation as I do?”
a


238 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
Elsie took a step in the direction of her enemy's
voice. A calm courage had succeeded the first shock
of realization that the dreaded hour had struck.
It seemed just as well now that the whole miser-
able business should be gone into, the three of them
together.
Starting across the living-room, Elsie paused
a second to place her gloves and a roll of music
upon the table. She had taken her courage — poor,
palpitating thing that it was — in both hands, and
meant to face bravely whatever was coming; but
back to her swept the old, unreasoning fear, the sick
feeling of apprehension that, like an opiate applied
to the nerves, robbed her limbs of strength and stif-
fened her lips. Still, she turned resolutely away
from the table, and toward the morning-room — and
then paused again.
Alan was speaking: somehow she had to hear
what he would say, to know how he had taken
Una's disclosures. His voice retained its pleasant
quality, but was firm and businesslike, and Elsie
recognized with a faint feeling of relief and pleasure
that it was hardly sympathetic.
“No, I'm sorry I can't see things as you do,” he
said. “Your vision is distorted just now. You're
nervous and overwrought. I know that if you were
your own calm, sane self you would never have come
here to begin with.”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 241
can't allow this interview to go any further, for your
sake as well as for mine. I am truly sorry for your
unhappiness. But I'm afraid you have given way
to your emotions lately until they are undermining
your judgment. That is a state of affairs that can
easily come about and is a state very much to be
dreaded. Make up your mind to await the out-
come of things with dignity. That's really all you
can do, and so you may as well do it in a way to
preserve your own and every one else's respect.”
He waited a second, but the girl's furious sobbing
was the only reply.
“I’ll get out the car and run you home,” he said
then. “And you can have a good rest. We'll
forget all this. It’s fortunate that there happens to
be no one in the house just now. We —”
Elsie, standing transfixed by the table, was sud-
denly galvanized into life by these words. No one
in the house! That was it. If she disclosed her
presence now she would but open up an issue that
Alan had summarily closed. Una had shot her ar-
row and it had missed its mark. She had told
her story and it had not been believed. Elsie took
up her gloves, turned silently and swiftly, and slipped
up the staircase.
Very softly she closed the door of her room, stole
across the floor, and literally sank into the wide, sym-
pathetic embrace of the cretonne chair. Sitting in


242 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
motionless silence, she heard the car come down the
runway from the garage, heard the hall door shut,
heard the car drive away.
After all was silent, she still sat quiet, her hat still
on her head, her hands still clasping the gloves she
had so hurriedly snatched from the table. For a
while she was too startled and shaken to think con-
nectedly. Her wits seemed scattered. Her thoughts
danced from one possibility to another. But back
of her nervousness and trepidation, and soon engulf-
ing and dispelling them, was a big, warm thought, a
sense of comfort. She was still Alan Leland's wife.
He had not repudiated her to this woman who was
her enemy. While he had not actually said in so
many words that he considered Una's statements ir-
rational and the product of a disordered mind, he
had plainly intimated as much. If he had not be-
lieved her story when twice told, he never would.
There was now no harm that Una could do to her!
So great was her relief that at first Elsie could
hardly realize the depth of it. But for the first
time she sensed the promise of happiness ahead.
Her future was surely now in her own hands. She
still had much to live down, apparently, and that
seemed unjust. But there must be some reason
for it. And she could do it. The very fact that
she was willing — glad — to go with Alan wherever
and into whatever fortune he went would surely be
proof enough of her sincerity.


CHAPTER XXIV
ATHER early the next morning Addie called
her. Addie was much impressed with the
heavy portent of events now transpiring in her
friend's life and was loath to be uninformed for
even so much as a day.
“Hello, kidlets,” she breathed in her funny little,
mysterious voice. “Alone?” -
“No.” -
“Oh.” Addie apparently reflected a moment.
Then, “Anything new 2 ” *
“Yes.” -
“Oh.” A pause. Then, “Can you come over?”
“Yes. I’ll run over after luncheon,” answered
Elsie. “Had you planned to be at home?”
Addie answered in the affirmative and both hung
up. -
Addie did not fail to notice at once the change,
slight and indefinable as it might be, in Elsie's de-
meanor. Addie McKeene's mind was intuitive.
Like a sunlit lake it caught every passing change of
shade or radiance. And so, after a glance at her
friend's face, she smiled in eager anticipation of
good news. Or at all events, better news.
244


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 245
Elsie tossed aside her hat and without any prompt-
ing or questioning sat down and told her compan-
ion, in detail, of the happening of the previous aft-
ernoon. She was curious to see the effect of her
narrative' upon Addie, though she felt she could
pretty well guess beforehand with what motive
Addie would invest Una's visit.
The eagerness died out of Addie's eyes and they
grew almost comically wide as she listened to what
Elsie had to say. Apparently her amazement at
Una's act was equaled only by her surprise at the
cheerful way in which Elsie accepted it.
“Well!” she said then, after Elsie, having in her
narrative safely arrived in her room and closed the
door, had stopped speaking. “She certainly has
nerve! In the morning-room, too.”
“I imagine Alan took her in there,” surmised
Elsie, “because if Ada came into the dining-room
for anything she could hear what was going on in
the living-room. And Miss Hamby sounded a little
hysterical.”
“Hm.” Addie continued to gaze in a sort of
meditative surprise at her friend. “There's sim-
ply no telling what a jealous woman will do, is
there?”
“Jealous?” Elsie was at a loss.
“Well, she evidently still is.” Addie withdrew
her eyes from Elsie's face and looked, with a
thoughtful little smile, out across the lawn before


246 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
them. “Is n’t it funny how contrary things are?
Here is this girl longing for something that is sim-
ply thrust upon you, and that you've decided you
don't even want.” She gave Elsie a fleeting, half-
roguish, half-wistful smile. “You prefer a mar-
tyr's life.”
It was Elsie's turn to sit and gaze fixedly at her
friend. It was all she could do. She was abso-
lutely and hopelessly bewildered.
“I suppose,” went on Addie, still thinking things
out, and all unconscious of the state of her friend's
mind, “being in Calthorpe's office she knows all
about the plan to get Alan out of the way, and —
and all it might mean — and she's getting desper-
ate.”
She looked for some signs of corroboration from
Elsie, but got only that wide, questioning stare.
“She looked almost haggard when I saw her
the other day,” Addie continued reminiscently. “It
just occurred to me — You know, when she gave
up the position of secretary to Willett and went to
Calthorpe, we thought her affair with Willett was
about over. But perhaps it was n't. She might
have left Willett's office because she could n’t bear
— you know — to see things just die out —” The
sentence trailed off. “Of course,”— Addie wrink-
led up her nose in a funny little movement of dis-
taste —“she's acting in a horribly catty, underbred
way now. But — I suppose it really was pretty hard


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 247
on her—just when things looked hopeful. I im-
agine it's hard work supporting herself and her
mother nowadays.”
For the first time Elsie found her voice. But she
spoke in a very lifeless way.
“Well, but what can I do, more than I am
doing?”
“Why, honey girl, nothing.” Addie's attention
flew back to her friend with quick loyalty. “I’m
not blaming you. How could I? You never ran
after Willett. Heavens' you never had to ! No —
only — I meant, if we thought of these things, per-
haps we should n't hate her quite so much.”
Addie paused, troubled. The old fretted, haunted
look had come back to Elsie's eyes, and Addie was
stricken with compunction. In her well-meaning
effort to take a somewhat charitable view of a
jealous woman's vagaries she had in some manner
once more pulled the mantle of trouble over her
friend.
“Don’t look so worried, kidlets,” she implored.
“There never was a snarl so snarly that it did n't
eventually uncurl and come out all right.”
Elsie smiled faintly, suspecting that Addie's ad-
vice was strictly theoretical, as it was highly im-
probable that gay little lady had ever faced a snarl,
either of events or of anything else.
Elsie walked home slowly and sadly. In her
extreme disappointment she was very bitter. So


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 249
over, as Elsie was standing at the head of the
French-window steps, Alan came and leaned on the
lintel opposite her. He was smoking his after-din-
ner cigar and he took it from between his lips and
gazed at the curling smoke thoughtfully. Elsie
knew some announcement was coming and her heart
beat heavily.
“President Calthorpe has been good enough to
exert himself for me,” he said presently. “By per-
sonal influence he has obtained for me what prom-
ises to be a good position with the Rio Grande and
Eastern. They are beginning a big cut-off in the
mountains. I start by the middle of the week. So
we'd better discuss business arrangements. Of
course, you can do as you like. But I was thinking
that perhaps you would n't care to keep up so big
an establishment as this. A flat, or an apartment,
would be safer for a woman living alone, would n't
it?”
“How are you going to live — where you're
going?” asked Elsie, quickly.
“Me? Oh, I shall live at the railroad boarding-
house, I expect,” indifferently. “Or very often, at
the head of big jobs like this, shacks are put up for
the engineers and foremen and their families – if
they have any. If so, I shall bach. I've done that
before. It's better than the boarding-house.”
“Well.” Elsie spoke with a tremendous effort.
But she had to say it. It was her last chance.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 251
It seemed to Elsie that her heart stood quite still
for a moment. Then she flushed Scarlet. Wave
after wave of color surged and beat under the fine
skin; and the man across the doorway from her
watched the effect with appreciative eyes. It was
decidedly handsome. Some few moments passed
before the choking sensation left her throat, and she
could trust herself to speak. When she did the
warm quality of her voice was gone. It was cold
and hard.
“I should think you had better rent the house fur-
nished, then,” she observed. “Unless you want to
sell it.”
“I think it would be a good idea to rent it, too,”
agreed Alan. “But not furnished. You'll need
the furniture.”
“No,” calmly. “I shall want nothing of yours.
I think I shall be able to pack up almost as soon as
you will. So you'd better hunt up some responsible
agent and put the place in his hands. I fancy you'd
better have the plate, linen, and most of the best
china stored. I don't believe those things go with
furnished houses. I’ll see that they're packed and
stored and the storage, receipts can be sent to you.
I suppose you will either store or sell the cars, as you
think best.”
“And what,” inquired Alan quizzically, “are you
going to do?”
“Earn my own living. If you don't need a house-


252 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
keeper, that 's an end of the matter. I’m no par-
asite.”
“Where are you going to earn it?” He was very
much amused with this heroic fit of temper.
“Oh — have n’t had time to think it over yet,”
coldly. “But I suppose I shall repair to that Mecca
of all those ready to descend upon a waiting world
— New York.”
“Have you money?”
“Yes.”
When she had sold the offending jewelry to pay
the dressmaker, she had still been several hundred
dollars to the good after paying the account. Of
this she had spent very little. .
“Well, there 's between four and five hundred
in the checking account,” observed Alan. “You
can take that. And I’ll deposit money regularly
for you with the bank here.” /
He was quite certain that she and Renshaw had
plans to perfect, but he did not intend her to be
really indebted to another man except of her own
choice, or until it was fully her own choice.
Elsie looked at him, and her gaze was fully as
unflinching as his own. There was no danger of
her breaking down now.
“You don't seem to understand me,” she said.
“You can deposit what you like, where you like, but
I shall not touch it. I don't call taking money from
you earning my own living.”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 253
“What,” inquired Alan, still plainly amused, “do
you think of doing?”
“Oh,” she shrugged her shoulders indifferently,
“I’ve got a very strong voice. I shall try to make
use of that — hotels, cafés, or anywhere.”
Alan looked almost startled. “Well, I don't
imagine you'll like that at all.”
“No, perhaps not,” unimpressed, “but I don’t
suppose I shall care one way or another. It'll be all
the same.”
And so it would, all the same. Despair and hu-
miliation seemed to rise in her throat again and choke
her. She turned to go. And as she turned and
faced Alan, she reflected that this man — Stern, un-
compromising, beloved — held all her hopes of hap-
piness, and that it was he who sent her into the
outer darkness of things unloved and uncared for.
N “I hope,” she said, and her voice was deep and
quiet, “oh, I do hope — that some day life will fall
all about you like a house of cards; that you’ll be so
lonely that the bigness of things will frighten you.
And that you’ll hunger for love and encouragement
and companionship — and not get it. Oh, what ter-
rible things good people are! I'm glad I'm a sin-
ner, because I'm human and can understand. I
know now why Christ consorted with publicans and
sinners. He knew they were human and could
learn. He knew that the Light that he promised
should light every man would be of no use to the


CHAPTER XXV
HE next three days were very busy ones.
Elsie worked hard getting things to rights,
having everything washable gathered and sent on
rush special orders to the laundry, packing and sort-
ing and discriminating. Through it all she kept as
much as possible out of Alan's way; when forced
into a discussion, business or otherwise, she was as
cool and uncompromising as he. Perhaps more so.
For the rest, she went about her work as a woman
in a dream. All feeling seemed to be crushed into
a dead calm.
On the Wednesday forenoon Alan was ready to
start, and Elsie stood facing him in the living-room,
waiting to say good-by. It seemed as if the blood
in her veins was running very slowly, as if all life
within and around her, had slowed down into a sort
of stagnant silence. All that was strong and liv-
ing and worth while was centered in Alan, and he
was going.
“You won't forget, will you?” he was saying.
“When you leave the house, if you do really decide
to leave it, hand the keys over to Hammond and
James. I've arranged with them. Ask for Mr.
Watrous.”
- 255


256 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
Elsie nodded. “I shall remember. Shall I give
them the storage receipts, too? The linen is n't
back yet; but it'll be packed by to-morrow night.
And the piano had better go, too. People don't —”
“Oh, well, the piano was your mother's present.
You would n't want to rent that,” observed Alan.
“Oh!” Elsie gazed at it absently.
“I’ll send you my address as soon as I know
definitely what it is to be,” went on Alan. “And,
as I told you, I'll deposit money monthly for you.”
“Yes?” Elsie's smile was cool almost to insolence.
“Yes. And — oh, yes — I’ve left the ready
money cheque in the desk for you.”
“Thank you,” still smiling.
“Well,” thoughtfully, “I don't think I have for-
gotten anything. And if I have I can write it. So
— for a time, at all events — good-by.” He held
out his hand with a pleasant smile. -
“Good-by.” She put her hand into the strong
brown one for the first time.
Then Alan took up his suit-case, gave one last
contemplative glance round him, which took in the
room and the woman before him, and went.
For many minutes Elsie stood where he had left
her, hands folded before her, head slightly bent.
Then she went up to her room, closed the door
quietly behind her, sank down on the bed and de-
livered herself up to a perfect desolation of grief.
She let furies of rage and grief possess her and


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 237
made not the slightest effort to control them. She
did not even care to, but tossed and sobbed in a de-
lirium of abandon. When the light grew painful
to tear-inflamed eyes, she rose and drew the shades;
and then went back to the hopeless, steady weeping.
And when Ada came up to know whether she
would have some lunch brought up to her, she called
the girl into the darkened room and gave very ex-
plicit commands. If Mrs. McKeene called up she
was to say that Mrs. Leland had a bad headache and
would call her later. If any one else called she was
to say that Mrs. Leland was indisposed. No one
was to be allowed to see her — no one. Neither
was she on any consideration to bring up any one's
card or a request for admission. This was a pre-
caution against Renshaw, and was well taken. For
he called up the next day, and learning that Elsie
was indisposed, drove out at once and wished to
see her. But Ada, though very much embarrassed,
stood firm. Renshaw had to content himself with
leaving a cryptic message.
By the second day after Alan's departure, Elsie
had fretted and sobbed herself into a high fever.
She was almost delirious with grief; but her light-
headed, weak condition did not alarm her in the
least. She was glad. She would be glad to die.
But she did not die, nor come anywhere near it.
Perhaps if outside complications had been allowed
to enter she might have managed a serious illness.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 259
tended departure. She did not want Addie to be
obliged to keep a secret, and she was determined
not to see Renshaw again. As the time drew near
for her to cut adrift from all she knew, to launch
herself into a new life in a strange city, she felt hor-
ribly alone and hopeless. Not afraid, for she no
longer had anything to lose. Willett Renshaw could
be very gentle and tender when he wished to, and
he generally did wish to with her. He would offer
any arrangement she liked to name or think of —
he had — in order to get back the woman who was
slipping from him. This was partly the reason for
his persistence and patience in her case. Elsie felt,
too, that she was not deceiving herself when she be-
lieved that he was really fond of her. It was this —
this fondness — that she dared not face.
Addie McKeene noted her friend's expression as
she entered, and then welcomed her with greater af-
fection than usual.
“Bad girl! Where's oo been?” she fussed play-
fully. “All dolled up, too. On your way to
town P”
“No, not yet,” answered Elsie, smiling, and pull-
ing off the small hat she had chosen to travel in.
“But after I’ve spent an hour or two with you,
I'll let you get out the electric and take me to the
train, if you will.” \
“Train!” echoed Addie. “Are you going to
follow Allan so soon, then?”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 261
it — always, to do her justice, with the secret con-
viction that it was all ultimately for Elsie's hap-
piness; or perhaps it would be better to say a way
out of unhappiness. From her point of view, Addie
considered that Renshaw's treatment of Elsie had
always been generous and fair.
Elsie noticed the displeased tightening of the lips
of the small, amiable mouth. She drew her fav-
orite stool forward and sat near Addie's knees.
“Don’t judge, Addie,” she said gently. “Don’t
even try to. You could n't unless you knew all. I
can't tell you now. You would n't believe if I did.
You'd only think — But some day I shall tell you.
I want to, because you’ve been one of the best lit-
tle friends a woman could have. You've stuck to
me through good and ill repute.”
“Well, why should n't I?” Addie adopted an air
of bravado to cover a threatened serious loss of com-
posure. “Did n't I always know that the ill repute
was only repute? Mother Grundy’s a very cross-
eyed old lady most of the time. She generally sees
only half the game — and that half never the
woman’s.”
“I know. But lots of women will drop a friend
if – if she gets talked about. It’s all right until
then,” said Elsie softly.
“Not if they’re really friends, they won't,” main-
tained Addie, stoutly. “Especially if they know
it's only talk.”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 263
could think of. But it was hard work. For what
they might not talk of lay between them, a veiled
something that could not be forgotten. And al-
though Addie's bright, dark eyes, filled with tears
as she put her friend on the east-bound train and
said good-by — still, in a way, it was a relief to
both when it was all over.
Elsie lay wide awake in her berth through the
droning, purring night, and thought. No, she did
not trouble to think. Things just came and pre-
sented themselves to her. She had reached the
place where all must eventually come who would see
far or straight, to where she was completely de-
tached from things and times and places. As if
from some vantage-point she looked and saw how
conditions and circumstances form like sand shapes
round an individual, and dissolve and reform and
dissolve again, and only the individual remains. She
glanced back at the scenes through which she had
come. All gone — but still she was. Now the only
real things seemed to be herself and the aching need
at her heart. She did not know yet that this need
had to be or she could not persist.
Elsie had always wished to see New York; now
as she drove out into it she did not even trouble to
look at it. It was just another scene. Having con-
sulted the conductor on the train, she went straight
to a good second-class hotel.
Those who have nothing to lose have also noth-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 265
“No, but you have the best information of this
kind. And I did n't know how else to get it,”
elucidated Elsie, simply.
The manager snatched an envelop to him, and
scribbled on the back of it. Since she had already
wasted his time he might as well give her the in-
formation she wanted.
He handed her the envelop. “Go to him,” he
commanded. “He’ll fix you up if there's any-
thing in you. And when he has you can tell him
to send you to me first. You've got nerve and
looks. That's something.”
Elsie went to the address indicated. But she
never went back to the circuit manager. The coach
in question had received a frantic appeal from the
Sicilienne Quartette, whose second soprano had just
been lost by sudden marriage. So he tried Elsie's
voice, inquired very particularly about her wardrobe,
took a big fee, and popped her into the place of the
lost one. He gave her four or five pieces of music.
“These are what they’ll sing to-night,” he said.
“Go home, and do the best you can with them.
Then be at the orchestra dressing-room of the Hotel
de Lys at six o'clock sharp. Never mind if you
can't sing much to-night. Dress your swellest and
do your best. Being a good-looker’s half the bat-
tle.”
He smiled — a crisp, acid sort of smile which


CHAPTER XXVI
O it came to pass that early the following year
Eugene Calthorpe, president of the L. S. & E.
Railroad, sat at dinner in the grill-room of one of
the biggest hotels in Denver. He had arrived a
few hours before and, having eaten a good dinner,
sat sipping his liqueur with thoughtful appreciation
and comfort. He heard, because he could not help
it and not because he paid any particular attention,
the remarks of two young men at a table near him.
“They're swell dressers and swell lookers, all
right,” observed one, presumably anent the musical
performers. “The blonde on the end takes my
eye.”
“Little too washed out,” objected the other.
“Like a little more color in mine. Wonder if it’s
possible to —”
“No, it is n’t,” interjected the first speaker, with
a slight laugh. “Management won't stand for it.
Tried it, so I know.”
The singers finished a concerted number and re-
ceived what for a grill was generous applause. Cal-
thorpe was no musician, and as far as he was con-
cerned the music was easily all right. He glanced
267


268 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
casually across at the palm-fringed orchestral plat-
form, then straightened up and looked again. Then
he beckoned the waiter to him and spoke in a low
voice.
“One of the quartet ladies is a friend of mine.
Is it possible to get a card to her?”
The waiter knew him and was deferential and
embarrassed. “I'm afraid not, sir. The ladies
don’t like it. The management —” z
Calthorpe took out one of his cards. “Take
that to the manager,” he commanded. “And then,
if he'll permit it, take it to the lady in the brown
fur and cream silk. I'll attend to you later.”
Somewhat troubled, the waiter glanced round at
his tables and then hurried away. A few minutes
later a page offered the card to Elsie as she sat in
the little orchestra dressing-room. She took it with
a slight, involuntary frown, which, however, van-
ished as she read the name.
“I’ll be in the ladies' room at the side of the
lobby after the last performance,” she said.
Much relieved, on receipt of this information, the
waiter hurried with it to Calthorpe, adding the item
that the last performance for the quartet was at ten
o'clock. For his trouble he was told, on presenting
the dinner check, to keep the change from a ten-
dollar bill. In the meantime Calthorpe waited in
his seat at the table for another appearance of the
quartet.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 269
The order of the musical program was ensemble
vocal, orchestral selection, and then vocal solo; and
it happened this evening that Elsie took the first
solo. Calthorpe frowned slightly as she came on
in her close-clinging gown of silk, the lights shin-
ing on the wonderfully clear skin — so clear that
it seemed as if the flowing blood and life shone
through in faint glow and bloom.
Elsie had taken well to heart the agent's early
advice. If all aspiring young singers would take
seasoned advice as she had, there would be fewer
heartbreaks in the profession. She never attempted
songs calling for delicate shading and work, either
enunciatory or vocal. Such were lost amid the
noises of a dining-room. She trusted to sensuous
beauty of melody and never sang anything not re-
plete with that; and as her powerful voice carried
easily, she was assured at all times of a fair meas-
ure of success. She sang “La Paloma” to-night,
and was called back to repeat it. She did not notice
the man watching her from the table a little in front
of her, for, contrary to the habit of many grill sing-
ers, Elsie made it a rule never to inspect her au-
diences. She sang with faintly smiling lips, and
eyes that looked beyond and away. And there was
a freedom of movement, an indifference, in the easy
poise, that almost disarmed criticism. She was
above criticism and she looked it.
Calthorpe heard with inward discomfort and dis-
*


27o IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
approval the appraising, even if complimentary, re-
marks of the men about him, especially those unac-
companied by women. When Elsie had finished her
singing he left the grill-room.
Her evening gown covered with a big, quiet-toned
cloak, Elsie appeared a few minutes after ten. She
had with her the three other members of the quar-
tet. She held out her hand to Calthorpe with a
smile of real friendliness and pleasure.
“I’m so glad to see you!” she said simply and
unaffectedly. “I do think it was nice of you to
remember me.”
“Why you're not the kind that one forgets eas-
ily,” explained Calthorpe, prompt and smilingly.
Elsie turned to the three women a little in the
background. “I want you to meet my three pro-
fessional sisters, Mr. Calthorpe,” she said. “We
have a cast-iron rule that we all go home together,
and I’m asking a special dispensation for to-night.”
Calthorpe smiled and looked with real cordiality at
these women, who were conducting their lives so
competently and well. “It’s a case of the old home.
town,” he explained with reference to Elsie's clos-
ing statement. “We’ll go up on the balcony and
talk solidly for an hour or so. And then I’ll bring
her safely home.”
The Sicilienne sisters professed perfect sympathy
with the situation, chatted a few minutes, then went
on their way. Calthorpe turned back to Elsie.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 271
“I never even went through the formality of ask-
ing whether you cared to spend an hour or so chat-
ting with me,” he said. When he liked any one, or
was interested — which came to the same thing —
he had a very gentle, intimate, understanding way
about him. Elsie was conscious of a pleasant,
warming glow of friendliness. She rather won-
dered what he wanted to talk about, and could not
help thinking of Una Hamby in connection with him.
Even so, she was no longer afraid. There was noth-
ing for Una to take from her now. All she had at
present she had created herself; she did not think
it could be taken from her.
“Of course I want to talk,” she declared quickly.
“Well, shall we go up and sit on the balcony?”
queried Calthorpe. “It’s open and yet quiet.”
Elsie nodded willingly and they went toward the
broad marble steps at the far end of the lobby. The
balcony ran along one end and a side of the lobby.
It was wide, and palm-lined and deeply carpeted, and
filled with cozy chairs. In spite of its openness, on
account of the hum from the lobby down below, a
conversation could be carried on with complete
privacy.
When they were seated in the far corner of the
balcony, and Elsie had loosened her cloak and was
otherwise comfortably ensconced for the chat, Cal-
thorpe leaned slightly forward and smiled engag-
ingly.


272 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“You know, Mrs. Leland, unless you put a quietus
on me, I shall ask an unconscionable lot of ques-
tions.
“All right,” smiled Elsie.
“In a way you can blame yourself for it,” he
went on. And then in answer to Elsie's look of
inquiry, “When you came to see me that afternoon
— may I refer to it?” Elsie nodded instantly.
“Well, you interested me very much. I saw you
were putting up a brave fight. And then — I've
always thought a great deal of Alan. I’ve often
thought of both of you since — I’ve been able to
follow Alan's doings more or less completely through
his work; but I lost you. Therefore I’m just old
lady enough to have been delighted when I saw you
this evening. And now,” he smiled warningly —
“may I begin the cross-examination?”
“Yes.” Elsie laughed interestedly. “I’ll en-
deavor to keep my wits about me.”
“Well, then, what is the meaning of all this?”
“You mean — my working for my living?” in-
quired Elsie.
“Yes.”
“Oh, well!” She was slightly taken aback for
an answer. “Why, it was the only thing — the only
self-respecting thing — to do.”
“Are you and Alan separated, then?” Calthorpe
made no apology for so personal a question, but
studied attentively the face before him.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 273
“Oh, no,” quickly. “That is — we are by dis-
tance, of course. But — If you mean — Not
legally.”
“Oh! Why did n't you go west with him?”
“He did n't want me to,” simply.
“Did you want to?”
“More than I had ever wanted anything in my
life.” Having once confided in him, Elsie seemed to
feel quite at home with this man. Besides, nothing
could come of disguising matters, anyway. “But
it's not his fault that I'm doing this,” she hastened
to add. “He is perfectly willing to support me.
And for the rest, you can’t blame him. It was
inevitable that his trust in me should be broken. I
could not expect him to have any confidence in my
motives.”
She spoke so openly and had such a serene, almost
noble, way with her that Calthorpe was puzzled.
“You know,” he said, with a slight shake of the
head, “in spite of what you yourself told me, I can
hardly believe that you ever really did anything so —
so terrible after all.”
“Well, that’s it, you see — I don't actually
know.” She sighed a little. “I — Oh, I just don't
know, that's all.” She looked down into the lobby,
and in her eyes was a sort of accustomed patience
that somehow warred with the look of impetuous
livingness that was characteristic of her.
Calthorpe looked hard at her. Apart from the


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 275
“Well,” flushing slightly, “I did n't want his
money if he did n't — did n't want me.”
“Well, but that's — let's see — eight months ago
now, about, is n’t it?” She nodded. “How do
you know he does n't want you now?”
“Oh, I know,” with a queer little smile.
“Well —” Calthorpe looked as if he did not un-
reservedly accept this. But he let it drop for the
time being.
“Mrs. Leland,” he said then, “have you a friend
— a tried and trusted friend — in whom you can
confide and whose judgment you trust?”
Elsie shook her head decidedly. “No. Oh, I
have a friend — but — Not as to the good judg-
ment part.”
“Haven't you ever talked this — your affairs
over with any one? — any one at all?”
“No one at all since I left home. Only partially
— I mean, just what they knew of — before I went
away.” -
“I thought so,” confidently. “There's a look
in your eyes that tells me you have n’t unburdened to
any one. And you need to. Yes, positively need
to.” He looked intently at her and his smile was
very kindly. “We all have to, sooner or later. It's
a human necessity. More — a psychological neces-
sity. I see you have won out in the fight you made.
But still — I can see everything is far from right
yet. A third party is needed here. I believe I could


276 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
help you. I know I want to. Could n’t you trust
me?” -
“Oh, I do trust you!” declared Elsie quickly and
truthfully. She did. Once you approached near
enough to him, there was no mistaking the clean,
understanding heart of this man.
“Well, then,” with his pleasant smile, “suppose
we talk things over. You tell me your view of the
case. Begin at the beginning of the trouble, what-
ever it is. And don't ever think that I shall presume
to sit in judgment. I only want to help.”
Elsie's lip quivered very slightly. She had never
confided in any one, of course. It was the last thing
she had ever dreamed of doing. But, when he spoke
of it, she knew what a relief it would really be to be
able to talk to some one of that which was slowly
freezing her heart up. But she shook her head.
“I’m afraid,” she said, smiling wistfully.
“Afraid?” he echoed. She nodded.
“But —” He was astonished. “What of P”
“Oh-h—” She hesitated. But he was look-
ing straight at her. “Of – of having people think
I’m the victim of —”
“Well?” he urged. j
“Of hallucinations,” she finished with a jerk.
“My dear little girl!” Calthorpe was hopelessly
puzzled. And amazed. “Yes, you certainly need
help. But — tell me what you mean.” Then as she
still sat silently gazing at him, he added, almost im-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 277
patiently, “Surely you can't think I'd want to harm
you!”
“No. Oh, no — you would n't want to harm me
— only —”
“Well — only what?”
“Only you might think it was for my good to —
to —” She gave an uneasy little laugh. “Oh, I've
always felt that, as long as no one knew, I was safe.”
Calthorpe gazed at her with mingled feelings.
But he was more than ever determined not to let
this woman go until she was at least on the road to
healing.
“Suppose,” he said gently, “I give you my solemn
word that after you've told me — whatever it is you
have to tell me — that I'll neither take the least step
in any direction, nor breathe of it to a soul in the
world, without your permission. How would that
Be?”
Elsie looked at him, an eagerness growing in her
heart. “It would take some time to tell,” she de-
murred.
“Our time is our own at present,” he said quietly.
Then repeated with a smile, “Begin at the begin-
ning.”
“I could only begin at the morning after the acci-
dent,” she said hesitatingly, still afraid, when all was
said and done, to dig out her secret.
“Well, begin wherever you can best. Come,” he
encouraged. “You’ve been so courageous all


278 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
through. Begin as if you were telling the story of
another.” -
“And I have your promise to — to forget it all
— entirely — if I want you to?”
“You have, absolutely,” gravely. “Now, don't
leave anything out. Just pretend I'm the lawyer —
or the doctor — in the case.”


CHAPTER XXVII
T first Elsie hesitated as she began her story.
She had to be prompted with judicious ques-
tioning here and there. After she was inevitably
committed to her disclosures, and as she began to
live again in her own mind the events as she recalled
them, she talked simply and quietly. Her eyes
looked at the teeming lobby, but they were the eyes
of a woman whose mind was far elsewhere.
Calthorpe glanced at her from time to time. For
the most part he listened with his eyes on the floor.
He was following her very intently, and an intent
gaze might distract her thought and memory. As it
was, she was telling a very connected story, neither
exaggerating nor glossing anything as it had seemed
to her. She told of her first meeting with Alan; of
her visits to Una in the hospital; of her meetings
with Renshaw; even of her housekeeping difficulties.
After she had brought her story up to the time of
Alan's departure for the West, she paused and looked
at Calthorpe for the first time.
“Go on,” he smiled. “You are not up to the
present yet.”
So she told of her journey to New York, and of
the incidents — most unimportant — leading up
279


282 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
fact, doubtless — some one near you discussed Una
in connection with the accident. When you awoke,
having no memory of your own personality to com-
bat it, the subjective mind supplied this one which
had been suggested to it.”
“Could that really —?”
“Not only could, but would have to be,” decidedly.
“Not only is this case in strict keeping with the laws
governing cases of this kind, but, given those laws
and those circumstances, nothing else could result.”
“And you think —” Elsie's wide eyes stared
with eagerness into his —“you are sure I am Elsie
and always shall be?”
“Most certainly.”
“Oh!” It was a veritable sob of joy and relief.
“I feel like a human being again!” -
Almost overcome with intense feeling, she covered
her face with her hands. Calthorpe glanced hastily
round. There were many people on the balcony,
but none very close to them, and none, apparently,
paying any attention to them.
In a moment or so Elsie looked up. She made a
visible effort to calm and collect herself. Her face
was pale, but her eyes shone with a new light — a
new hope. -
“I almost feel as if I could bear anything now,”
she said. “You are sure I can depend —”
“Why, of course,” with a reassuring laugh.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 283
Then, almost pityingly, “You poor child ! What a
nightmare you have lived through, when just a little
understanding would have put you right.”
Elsie sighed reminiscently. “But,” she said, al-
most nervously, after a moment or so — she was
going, hastily, excitedly, over those troublous times
behind her—“When I went to the hospital to see
Una, why should I expect her to have dark hair and
gray eyes — just as she had: " -
Calthorpe smiled. “Don’t crowd my scientific
resources too fast. But I should think probably
that might result from the fact that Una's face was
the last you saw before the crash.”
“Well, and then why would she — You know, I
told you how she acted toward me,” went on Elsie,
eagerly pressing for still further light. “Why
should she hate me? She could n’t know me any
more than I knew her. Why should she feel so
ugly P" -
“Now you have got me in a corner,” confessed
Calthorpe. “I don't see at all why she should feel
so antagonistic. But no doubt there 's some per-
fectly ordinary reason. And of course she'd know
you — by sight, anyway. Why not? Her memory
was unimpaired.”
“Oh — h!” It was a long sigh of understand-
ing. “Oh! of course!”
So great was the sudden revelation that rushed in
y


284 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
upon Elsie that she could not voice it. She sat and
stared at the man before her. And he smiled, kindly
and amused. *
“Yes? Is a great light breaking in?” he asked.
“Oh, of course! I forgot — well, I did n't think
for the minute — about her being able to remember.
Of course she'd hate the sight of me.” Elsie gazed
questioningly at Calthorpe as if he could read her
thoughts. “Do you suppose she —”
“Well, I can hardly tell,” smiled Calthorpe.
“ Unless you enlighten me a little further.”
“You know Miss Hamby was Mr. Renshaw's
secretary before she came to you.”
“Yes.” Calthorpe nodded reflectively.
“Well, I was told that she was — Oh, I don't
know whether she was actually engaged to Mr. Ren-
shaw or not, but — but I think she expected to be.”
Elsie faltered a little in this discussion of another
girl's love-affair. *
“Oh,” commented Calthorpe gravely. He recol-
lected that when engaging Una Hamby it had oc-
curred to him to wonder slightly why, having such
unqualified testimonials from Renshaw, she had left
his employ. He could not recollect that he had ques-
tioned her at all on the subject. If he had, she had
doubtless answered him in a satisfactory manner.
But now a great many things explained themselves
to him with almost the suddenness of revelation,
even as they did to Elsie.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 285
“And do you think that, when I was talking to her
at the hospital about having taken her place, she
supposed all the while I was referring to — to Mr.
Renshaw?” queried Elsie, staring in amazement at
the idea.
“No doubt at all,” said Calthorpe thoughtfully.
“You talked at entirely cross-purposes. You had
one thing in mind, she another. Neither would be
explicit. You were afraid to be; she was too angry
and proud.” He considered the matter for a mo-
ment or so, and then looked suddenly up. “Well,
for that matter, Alan can enlighten us on this par-
ticular point. She talked to him, you say. He 'll
know what she had in mind.”
“Oh!” With a distinct shadow falling across
her face, there came back to Elsie the thought of
Alan and his share in all the matters discussed. In
the joy of her deliverance she had forgotten him for
the moment.
“Yes,” nodded Calthorpe, quick to follow her
thought. “Now we come to Alan. Are you going
to tell him how things have cleared themselves up?
Or shall I?”
Elsie clasped her hands nervously on her knees.
“Do you think he'll believe it?”
“Why, of course he'll believe it!” promptly.
“Why should n't he? There's nothing whatever to
tax any one's credulity. Besides, the thing explains
itself.”


286 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER -
She sat and looked at him, hope and fear and
longing struggling in her eyes.
“Come, now,” encouraged Calthorpe gently.
“Go to him and tell him what you have just told
me.”
But Elsie shrank visibly from the idea. “Oh, I
could n't!” she cried. “I asked him right straight
out in so many words to take me with him and he
refused just as straightly. How could I go to him
after that P*
“Elsie,” he said — and did not notice that he had
called her that — neither did she —“you must re-
member that Alan has been quite in the dark all this
time. He could only judge of your actions as a
mere outsider might. Alan is a little bit stern in his
way of looking at things. That’s one of the faults
of very straight people. They have n’t quite so
much understanding as — others. But Alan is not
an unreasonable man. I can't imagine why you
did n't go to him at once for help, when you woke
and found yourself in such a terrible predicament.”
“Oh, I could n't!” exclaimed Elsie. “How
could I? He was a stranger to me. And I seemed
to have stepped into such — such dreadful things.”
“Have you ever been able to discover just what
it was that had so estranged Alan?” inquired Cal-
thorpe thoughtfully.
“Why, no particular act. At least I’ve never
heard anything of any specific act. I think it was


288 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
brave so far. Are you willing to leave this last stone
unturned?”
Elsie's reply was little better than a whisper:
“No.”
But there was very little hope or animation in her
face as she sat gazing before her. Evidently this
new task facing her was a very trying one.
“Might n’t I write?” she hazarded then.
“No,” decidedly. “The personal appeal is
better.”
Calthorpe was doing some rapid thinking, himself.
He was immensely interested in this case. Not for
years had anything appealed to him so strongly. He
was loath to abandon it unfinished, and still subject
to disaster.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” he went on then.
“I have a notion to come with you myself. I
have n't thought the matter over, but I’d like some-
how to have a talk with Alan first of all, with you
Somewhere in the background. Would you trust
things entirely to my discretion?”
“Oh, yes, indeed!” eagerly.
Calthorpe nodded. “Well, I must think it over.
But I could n't go this week — not until the end of
next at the earliest, I'm afraid. I've got to get
back to the office, and —”
“Oh, and I could n't leave the girls without get-
ting a suitable substitute, either,” said Elsie, quickly.
“No, of course not,” approvingly. “Well,


292 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
f
Calthorpe pointed to a distinct cleft in the amphi-
theater of hills surrounding the place. “The
camp's up there,” he said, as he piloted Elsie over to
the hotel. “There's an auto-train business that
runs up over the track. It'll be going up after noon,
and we’ll go up in it. We’ll have lunch at the
hotel first. That will really be the best possible kind
of an arrangement all the way round. They tell me
the cutting is about two miles above the camp now,
and Alan will almost certainly be up there by the
time we reach camp. Then I can leave you in camp
and go up and have a talk with Alan, myself, first.
See P’’
She nodded obediently. She had made up her
mind to leave everything to him, to do just as he
directed. She had told him she would. She real-
ized, where he did not, the more than ordinary value
of his time and effort. If she had not, it is doubt-
ful whether she would ever have actually reached
Berkhold's. She was a proud woman at heart, and
many times on the way down, despite the size of the
stake ahead, her courage had failed her woefully.
As they waited for the lunch hour to approach,
Elsie was a study in restlessness and fidgets. She
sat on the porch a while; she wandered round the
garden; she visited the chicken yard and watched
the chickens. Not so Calthorpe. He was already
interested in the life of the little place. The widow
Berkhold, who kept the hotel, had explained how


294 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
platform built before a row of portable buildings,
which constituted the commissary, the mess house
and the cook-house. Calthorpe helped Elsie down
with the quiet, abstracted air of a man who now
begins the real business of the day.
“Now,” he said to her, in a quiet aside, “we’ll
find out which is Alan's room, or tent, or shack, or
whatever he has. Then you can go and wait there
while I go up to the cutting. If things go all right
— and I’m quite sure they will — I'll bring him
back down with me. If – if I think things are not
really ready just yet, I’ll come back alone, and he
need not know you’ve been here — at least, not till
we’re gone.”
Elsie nodded mutely. From the look in her eyes
Calthorpe told himself that one of the very hardest
things he would ever have to do in his life would be
to come back down that track alone. However, he
turned briskly to the commissary man who stood in
his doorway, amiably curious and waiting to be in-
terviewed.
“Which is Mr. Leland's place?”
“Oh, Mr. Leland's up at the cutting,” returned
the man promptly.
“I know that,” mildly; “but which is his room?”
The man pointed up the hill behind them to a small
edition of the portable buildings. A distinct path led
to it from the platform where they stood.
... “Well, you go up there, and wait,” instructed Cal-


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 295
thorpe, turning to the waiting Elsie, “while I go up
to the cutting.”
“The lady can sit in the office here,” suggested
the commissary man. “There’s a stove.”
“Oh, thanks. But I sha'n't be long,” said Cal-
thorpe pleasantly. “She’ll be all right.”
A few feet away from the commissary, but not
on the platform, stood another portable, whose taste-
fully draped windows bespoke a woman's presence.
Indeed, within it a young woman could be seen, gaz-
ing curiously in their direction.
“I expect my wife would be glad to have her sit
with her,” hazarded the commissary man further.
Calthorpe smiled, amused at this troublesome ex-
hibition of thoughtfulness. Elsie had already
started up the path.
“I expect she'd rather go up to Mr. Leland's
room. If he does n’t keep it tidy,” he added smil-
ingly, “it serves him right to have his wife see it.”
“Oh!” The man looked after Elsie in very evi-
dent surprise. Plainly the existence of a wife for
Alan had never been suspected.
Calthorpe waited till Elsie reached the shack, tried
the door, and found it open. She turned and nodded
to him, and then stepped inside.
Then Calthorpe began his work on the driver of
the auto-bus, who was at first scandalized at the
proposition that he should drive the visitor up to the
cutting.


296 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
“I might meet the work train coming down.
Then where'd I be?” he demanded.
“Don’t know.” Calthorpe's eyes twinkled.
“Depends on where you met it.”
However, the commissary man volunteered the
information that there was no earthly reason for the
work train to come down until it brought the men
down at night. Therefore, in consideration of the
fact that Calthorpe was a great friend of Mr. Le-
land's, which fact was considerably augmented in
weight by the addition of a five-dollar bill, he con-
sented to risk the journey.
Alan turned in surprise as the auto-bus, with many
and loud blasts of a particularly raucous horn, ap-
proached the cutting, and came to a stop behind the
work train. It was doubtless some of the line offi-
cials, although he was not expecting any one. When .
Calthorpe climbed carefully out and down onto the
ties, he was indeed amazed.
“President Calthorpe' " he exclaimed, hastening
forward, and meeting the outstretched hand with a
hearty clasp. “How good it seems to see you! —
like a breath of home and old times.”
Calthorpe patted him on the shoulder. “Good
lad, to feel like that,” he said gently. Then, “Yes.
I'm on my way down south, and so I stopped off to
see you.”
“Well, that's mighty nice of you,” said Alan,
sincerely, realizing all that meant to a busy man.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 297
“Not at all. I wanted to.” He turned partly
round, and looked critically up and down the cutting.
“I’m hearing fine accounts of your work,” he said
cordially. “I suppose the line will have it in for me
pretty badly, but I expect to take you from them
shortly. Oh, not till you have finished this particu-
lar piece of work, of course. That would n't be fair.
But I'm working on a splendid job for you. A big
chance to make a name for yourself — and that's
just what I want to see you do. Headquarters in
San Francisco. How would that be?”
“Fine!” Alan looked frankly at the man beside
him. “And Mr. Calthorpe, you don't know what it
means to me to know that you'll do all this for me —-
that you have n't forgotten me.”
“Forgotten! Of course not! I don't forget men
who, you might almost say, start their careers with
me. I always thought a lot of you, Alan. You
know that. I still feel that you’re one of my fam-
ily. And now let’s have a chat. Can you spare a
half-hour?”
“Yes, indeed.” Alan laughed. It would be odd
if he could not do so, in view of Calthorpe's lavish
expenditure of time upon him.
“All right,” nodding contentedly. “Let’s go
and sit on that log. Tell the auto magnate to wait.”


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 299
Calthorpe nodded. “Yes. She came and told
me of the rumor of your pending discharge. She
also informed me fully of the causes and motives
leading up to it, and of the – the main power direct-
ing it.” He paused reflectively. “She did this,
not to save your position — I think she was glad to
have you lose that if in consequence she, with you,
could go to fresh fields, and so leave the sphere of
influence she was finding it so hard to loosen — but
because she wanted justice done to you and the faith-
ful work you had done. That is what she, a woman,
came to tell me, a man and a stranger. It was
bizarre, but it was brave.”
“Oh!” Alan was recalling. “Yes. I saw her
come out of your office that afternoon.”
“You did?” smiling. “Strange how things ar-
range themselves! Did she know that you saw
her?”
“I think not.”
“Oh! Hm-m. I see.” Calthorpe was piecing
things together, too. “And you followed her down.
That is how it was you saw Renshaw meet her in
the lobby.”
“Yes. Did she tell you that, too?”
Calthorpe nodded in a matter-of-fact way. “Yes.
Yes, I saw her in Denver about three weeks ago,
and we had a long talk.”
“In Denver?” Alan wondered whether Elsie
had set up an establishment there.


306 IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER
f
would have been well if – if the child had —”
“Oh! there was a child.” Calthorpe was plainly
surprised. “Did it die?”
“Yes. Well, that is—not exactly.” Frowning.
“There was a premature explosion up the line, and
some fool telephoned in that we were all killed. One
or two fellows were knocked out, but no one was
killed.”
“And was — That made her ill?”
“Yes. She was very ill. And the child was
lost.”
“Ah.” Calthorpe looked much as a miner might
who has quite suddenly struck a pay streak. “And
did you notice any change in her after that illness?”
“No.” Alan looked questioningly at him.
“After the loss of the child there was no necessity
for retirement, whole or partial, of course. She
gradually began to return to her old life of pleasure
and excitement-seeking. And —”
“Of course it was gradual. She would n’t be
likely to change overnight,” said Calthorpe, amused.
“Did n't you know that that kind of illness consti-
tutes a great shock to the nervous system of a
woman? And did n’t it ever occur to you that the
shock and illness had anything to do with this crav-
ing for pleasure and excitement?”
“No,” thoughtfully. “She seemed quite well.
Just how do you mean? You'll have to be more ex-
plicit. I'm no physician,” smiling ruefully.


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 309
could n't bring out what was n’t there — on the prin-
ciple that you can't get out of a thing what is n't in
it.”
“No,” Alan agreed. “It must have been in her,
of course.” He clasped his hands round his knees
and looked thoughtfully before him. “ Knowing
what you have just told me, I can look back and see
that she really was wonderful.” He turned to Cal-
thorpe with a candid smile. “Many times I found
myself marveling at her even then, and yet of course
I attributed the change to just the warning — the
shock. I wish I had only known,” regretfully.
Then he frowned suddenly. “That fellow Renshaw
needs a good thrashing and I’d like to give it to
him.”
“Oh, I don't know,” said Calthorpe. “He
wanted Elsie. You made it very plain that you
did n't. He seems to have been straight enough
about it. He wanted her to divorce you and marry
him. Sometimes that's the best way out of a hope-
less muddle. How could you expect him to know
that in this case it was n’t? Better forget him.
You yourself were the one most nearly instrumental
in handing her over to him.”
Alan turned to him with one of his rarely pleasant
smiles. “All right,” he said. “I’ll take all the
blame. Don't imagine for a moment that I'm let-
ting myself off scot-free. I’m not. I know I was
a short-sighted, self-opinionated idiot, and deserved


CHAPTER XXX
“VOU say Elsie is in Denver?” asked Alan then,
after a few moments' deep thought.
“She was at that time. Not now.”
“Well, do you know where she is?”
“I have an idea. Why?”
“Why? Why, because I'm going to her,”
calmly. -
“She has n't forgotten,” observed Calthorpe
pointedly, “your outright refusal to allow her to ac-
company you when you started for this place. I
talked to her quite a while trying to eradicate that
bitter feeling. You see, she happened to know that
her motive was right and good, and that you had no
proper reason for refusing to have her with you.
What shall you say?”
The keen, clear eyes of the man were gentle and
reminiscent. “I will confess my blundering stu-
pidity. She will forgive me,” he said.
Then he thought over Calthorpe's words.
Though here to his face Calthorpe might be some-
what condemnatory and reproachful, away from him
he had evidently pleaded his cause with Elsie. Alan
had always felt for Calthorpe the strong liking and
admiration that one square man feels for another;
but now, as he thought of all this man — busy man
3II f


IN THE HOUSE OF ANOTHER 313
“She is very quiet and grave now,” said Cal-
thorpe.
“I know. That is one of the things — one of
the changes — that surprised me most. She grew
so quiet and — oh, weighty in manner. Even her
looks changed,” thoughtfully. “Changed without
changing, if you can understand what I mean?”
“I think I can,” smiling. “Of course, you can
never expect a return of that thoughtless girlhood.
She has been through too much. Her happiness will
always hold a greater understanding. It can be
happiness, none the less. And how about you?” he
inquired suddenly and quizzically.
“Me? You mean, my happiness? Oh,” he
smiled almost boyishly, “if you had just gone on
living — just gone on is the right word — with a
great loss, a want, tucked away deep and trampled
on and ignored, and some one had suddenly handed
you — well, all you wanted — don't you think you'd
feel reasonably secure about your happiness?
That's the way I'm feeling.”
Calthorpe nodded, with a sort of oddly contented
smile. Then he looked at his watch, and rose.
“I’ve got to catch the night train south. No
question about that. Come on down to camp with
me, Alan.”
“Yes, I'm coming.” Alan got up at once.
“Can you wait a moment while I speak to the fore-
man?”


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