JOE CALIf. LISBARY, LOS AMGELBS
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 CORRA HARRIS
 
 THE 
 EYES OF LOVE 
 
 BY 
 
 CORRA HARRIS 
 
 AUTHOR OF "MY SON," "HAPPILY MARRIED," 
 "A CIRCUIT RIDER'S WIFE," "THE 
 
 RECORDING ANGEL," ETC. 
 
 AND IN COLLABORATION WITH FAITH HARRIS 
 
 LEECH: "FROM SUNUP TO SUNDOWN" 
 
 NEW ^ISr YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, I922 t 
 BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 21.30572
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 PART ONE 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Millidge is an old Southern city, spread like a 
 wide, glistening web of loveliness upon the sur- 
 rounding hills. Long avenues pass through it like 
 spokes in a wheel, all converging toward the center; 
 everything white and green, very clean parks, 
 schools, churches, and yet more churches. An opu- 
 lent, comfortable-looking city which gives the im- 
 pression of having retired from business and of 
 now living on an income, not extravagant, but ele- 
 gantly sufficient for its genteel needs. There are 
 no shops nor stores in the residence sections. The 
 impieties of commercialism, the grossness of earn- 
 ing its daily bread and its excess taxes and its 
 surtaxes are confined to a segregated district known 
 as the business section which she holds in the hollow 
 of her hand far down in the middle of the town. 
 It is the strictly masculine section; ladies are rarely 
 seen there except as fair faces in fine cars that pass 
 swiftly and noiselessly through. At certain hours 
 
 7
 
 8 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 of the day girls, of the clerk and stenographer class, 
 pale and pretty as shadow-flowers, descend from 
 every doorway and wreathe into the crowd; but, 
 taking it all hours of the day, men, trolley-cars, 
 and trucks are in the excessive majority. A small, 
 congested, noisy area where the centrifugal forces 
 of trade whirl and have their way. The streets coil 
 like dusty bands around sharp corners, always 
 tightening and shortening as if nobody there had 
 time to go far before he reached the place where 
 he was going. 
 
 Union Street cuts directly through the center of 
 this district. It is the business Broadway of Mil- 
 lidge and extends the distance of six blocks, no 
 further, as if Millidge could only afford sky- 
 scrapers, banks with Corinthian pillars, and Parthe- 
 non fronts for this distance. You may say that 
 Union Street represents the fat, bald-headed row 
 of capitalism in the commercial drama of the town. 
 
 But there is always some little, lean scrap of a 
 man with his hair still on, seated in the bald-headed 
 row everywhere; a light, little fellow, hunched low 
 in his chair, indifferent to his prosperous neighbors, 
 watching the performance. Halfway down Union 
 Street there is just such a notch in its magnificence, 
 as if poverty or perversity had taken a seat there, 
 and had paid for it and would remain there, letting 
 in the sky above like a blue square of plain provi- 
 dence. This is, in fact, a low red-brick building
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 9 
 
 with a tall office-building on either side. It makes 
 no pretensions toward having a front, merely two 
 rows of worn brick that stick out from the smooth 
 surface above the second and last story windows 
 like wrinkles on an aged man's forehead. A door 
 from the street opens into a candy-shop and soda- 
 fount. A window on either side proclaims these 
 refreshments. 
 
 There is another door let into the wall at one 
 corner, narrow and low as if it did not care to be 
 noticed. This opens upon a dusty staircase, but it 
 is usually closed. There are two windows in the 
 second story overlooking Union Street. Printed in 
 ragged letters of gold upon the small panes of these 
 windows with due regard for the millions between, 
 as if some of the letters had to step over and skip 
 the space where they belonged, there is this legend 
 
 MARTIN PUCKLE 
 ATTORNEY AT LAW 
 
 When Adam named the beasts of the field and 
 all the other creatures, thereby displaying an as- 
 tounding originality and a gift for nomenclature, he 
 would undoubtedly have bestowed a higher-sound- 
 ing name upon himself if he could have known how 
 many distinguished sons there were to be among 
 his descendants. Now it is too late. In recent 
 centuries no man can choose a finer name for him- 
 self than some plain old Adam ancestor left him
 
 10 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 without a process of law which is expensive and 
 likely to bring suspicion or contempt upon him. If 
 you are born a Riggs, say, even though you take a 
 city, you must remain Riggs, the son of old man 
 Riggs, who worked in a boiler factory. Just so, 
 forty years ago there was the name of Puckle Con- 
 struction Company printed in plain white letters 
 across the front of this little runt of a building. 
 And even yet these letters are to be faintly seen 
 beneath a coat of red paint. Older citizens of 
 Millidge still recall this senior Puckle, never a 
 prideful man, but a busy one who built most of the 
 town that was built in his day. 
 
 But strangers, not acquainted with the Puckle 
 family history, frequently halt in Union Street, 
 squint at the name on the windows, read it aloud, 
 which they never do for a hundred other names on 
 signs there. They walk off with a grin that 
 broadens, repeating "Puckle!" They like the 
 sound of it as a hen likes her cluck. It tickles the 
 tongue. It appeals to that sense of humor often 
 excited by mere sounds. It recurs to them through- 
 out a day of engrossing affairs; it photographs a 
 certain image, of a long, thin nose bent like a snarl- 
 ing "Nay" above a grimacing mouth; a pointed 
 chin, affirmative, curved upward in a sort of per- 
 petual argument with this bickering nose; hawk 
 eyes, beetling brows an old man in a musty office 
 who looks at you with the talons of his mind and
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 11 
 
 wants to know what he can do for you. Something 
 like that the name "Puckle," the grim, low build- 
 ing, the narrow, deeply sunken, closed door sug- 
 gested, which only goes to show how much imagi- 
 nation can do with a mere suggestion. 
 
 One very warm afternoon in May a man swung 
 briskly around the corner of Madison Hotel into 
 Union Street. He mingled with the crowd and was 
 not of it. One block up he paused, considered his 
 convenience, stepped from the curb, and crossed 
 the street, walking with a certain deliberation. 
 Trucks halted; draymen sawed upon the bits of 
 their teams. The motorman of a passing trolley 
 clanged his bell irritably, but waited while the man 
 picked his way delicately across. It was a dare, 
 and traffic took it. He joined the crowd on the 
 other sidewalk and pursued his way with a fine dis- 
 regard as if he were the only person on this pave- 
 ment. Every eye caught him, and dropped him. 
 No eye could miss him, and not one could have 
 approved him. 
 
 He was that fraction below medium height which 
 suggests shortness of stature, stockily set up, broad 
 shoulders. He wore a putty-colored coat, with 
 plaits behind, belted in at the waist. The skirt 
 was short and full. It stuck out, giving him a 
 smartly ruffled effect around the hips. The thing 
 actually suggested hips. His trousers were of an- 
 other material, thinner, cream-colored. His exces-
 
 12 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 sively low, quartered shoes were of undressed buck- 
 skin, a rich golden brown. Six inches of fine white- 
 silk hose showed between them and his trousers, 
 which were correctly rolled at the bottom. His 
 linen was soft, snow-white; black tie, black band 
 around his stiff straw hat. 
 
 All this, and yet one had the impression that he 
 wore something green, pastel shade, a mere touch 
 somewhere. One looked for this accent, you may 
 say, as he approached. It was not there. This was 
 the point you missed it because it was not there. 
 He came that near a feminine trick of toilet. He 
 was a man whose clothes held your attention as if 
 he had been a woman, this in spite of the fact that 
 his manner of swinging along was distinctly mascu- 
 line. He stepped with a stride. He was conscious 
 of himself. He had an air, not of business, but 
 one of personal satisfaction and of a strictly he- 
 resolution. 
 
 He reached the small door in the red-brick wall, 
 thrust it open without so much as a glance at 
 "Puckle" printed on the windows above, and as- 
 cended the staircase. He entered a room where a 
 stenographer and a clerk were clattering furiously 
 on typewriters. The stenographer arose and made 
 a futile effort to detain him as he made for another 
 door marked "Private/' It was her duty to do so. 
 He knew that, but it was not his business to assist 
 her in the performance of this duty. He opened
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 13 
 
 this door as if he were entering a sick-room, and 
 closed it softly behind him. 
 
 The stenographer dropped into the chair before 
 her machine with an air of having been overcome. 
 
 "My goodness!" she exclaimed. "When did 
 Lady Duff-Gordon become a gentleman's tailor*?" 
 
 "I make a point of not seeing him when he comes 
 in here," the clerk growled. 
 
 "Well, you waste a point then," she returned, 
 "for he never sees that you don't see him, because 
 he never sees either one of us." 
 
 "Can't bear a man who dresses like that and 
 never sweats," he said, mopping his face. 
 
 "Perspires," she simpered. 
 
 "Sweat's the male word," he retorted. "That 
 fellow is always as cool as an ice-pitcher even on a 
 hot day like this." 
 
 "And fresh as a rose beautiful complexion," 
 she added. 
 
 "Never has done anything, and crazy about him- 
 self. Why?" 
 
 "Oh, he isn't. It's the women," she explained, 
 whisking up from behind her desk. 
 
 She fluffed the black-taffeta drapery about her 
 hips, crooked her elbows, inflated her flat, narrow, 
 little chest, bowed her back, made a double chin by 
 an excessive rigidity of her neck-muscles, and 
 stepped across the room in an exaggerated military 
 manner.
 
 14 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "And the ladies all cry," she croaked, bringing 
 her heel down with a thump. 
 
 "As I go by" thump ! 
 
 " 'Tis Charles Augustus Towne !" 
 
 She flung one slender leg out and brought it back 
 heel to heel with a manner that was anything but 
 military, a perfect titter of genuflection expressing 
 all the feminine emotions of hysterical admiration. 
 
 Most stenographers of the taffeta, rouge, and 
 chocolate type become clever and finished actresses 
 long before they can qualify as competent in their 
 chosen profession. The sleaziest sprig of a girl 
 among them can "take dictation" with diabolical 
 wit when it comes to mimicking the voice, manner, 
 and personal idiosyncrasies of her employer and his 
 associates. 
 
 The clerk snickered applause. 
 
 "Comes from inheriting what he gets from 
 mother. Old lady thinks he's a doll," the girl said, 
 resuming herself and walking soberly back to her 
 desk. 
 
 "Can't understand Puckle's interest in him," the 
 clerk complained. 
 
 "None. He's interested in golf. It is his only 
 human weakness. And Charles Augustus plays a 
 good game." 
 
 At the far end of the next room there was a desk 
 between the two windows, a large one, very hand- 
 some, with nothing on it except a wicker tray at
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 15 
 
 either end, a bronze inkstand in the middle, and a 
 blank sheet of paper, foolscap. Above this paper 
 an enormous hairy fist appeared, lifted at the wrist, 
 fingers bunched around the staff of a pen. You 
 noticed this heavy hand clenched and powerful even 
 before you did the man behind the desk. It was, 
 you may say, Puckle's way of introducing himself 
 to strangers and of keeping friends at a respectful 
 distance. 
 
 He was at this moment sitting, as usuai, on the 
 small of his back, his great body curved inward, 
 his knees spread wide apart, shoulders hunched 
 nearly to the ears of a terrific head, bristling black 
 hair, bristling black brows that would have met 
 above his nose but for two perpendicular wrinkles 
 there which divided them; round, implacable eyes, 
 of that eagle-gray which is almost colorless; lan- 
 tern jaws, a long chin, nose like a battering-ram, 
 high bridge, nostrils drawn back, making lines like 
 the folds in a curtain, from the corners of them to 
 the corners of his mouth. The lips of this mouth 
 were closed so tight that he seemed just to have 
 bitten something and to be still holding it between 
 his teeth. And over all this a dark, temper-red- 
 dened skin, smooth-shaven, that rolled into two 
 thick wrinkles across a high, square forehead. A 
 man astoundingly and forbiddingly ugly, not easily 
 loved, but compelling respect by some powerful 
 quality in this homeliness.
 
 16 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 You understood at once that he wore number 
 nine virtues and chose his own vices, which is what 
 few men have the courage and originality to do. 
 They are by that as women are about fashions. 
 They usually look at the other fellow's follies and 
 follow suit. 
 
 He was not young, probably past forty, and ob- 
 viously a bachelor. When a man marries there is 
 always a faint trace of the adjective feminine 
 about him, a sort of self-protecting circuitousness 
 in all the relations of life which indicates practice 
 in matrimonial diplomacy. You can not mistake 
 it, the felt footsteps of the married man, or the 
 grinding sound of his heel, determined according to 
 the kind of feminine adjective he has chosen to live 
 with. Another man may be noisy or perfectly silent 
 and still proclaim a sort of neighing celibacy. 
 Puckle belonged to this class. No shade of the 
 feminine softened the rugged realism of his per- 
 sonality. He might prevaricate, but he was him- 
 self a frightful truth. 
 
 In fact he was a sort of awkward obvious actor. 
 For example, he was diligent in business, but no 
 one ever entered his office and found him at work. 
 He was usually seated as now, hunched up behind 
 his desk, with a clean sheet of paper under his hand. 
 This was a pose, meant to convey the idea that 
 brains sat there, not a laborer. It was a way he 
 had of living down the elder Puckle who had laid
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE IT 
 
 brick in Millidge. This son of a Puckle would not 
 be seen working, but he was recognized as the abiest 
 lawyer in the city. He was an omnivorous lawyer, 
 craving new and different cases as a physician pre- 
 fers patients with odd diseases. 
 
 He was interested in crime. Law was the 
 remedy for it, severely surgical. Crime was a form 
 of human malignancy which must be removed from 
 the fair body of society. If this meant lopping off 
 somebody's head, that was simply a major opera- 
 tion which he strongly advocated. He was not yet 
 rich, merely successful, and still coldly, implacably 
 intent upon one thing, the chastity, dignity, and 
 rigorous application of the law. "In the begin- 
 ning," he had been heard to say, "there was Law, 
 and Law created the heavens and the earth, and 
 made man in its own image. Therefore neither 
 man, nor nature, nor any condition can exist with- 
 out obedience to the law of its kind." A creed that 
 won him no grace with the churches, although he 
 contributed liberally and impartially to their sup- 
 port. He was probably some kind of a sacrilegious 
 Christian. 
 
 This was as much as was known of Puckle in 
 Millidge, where he had always lived, except purely 
 incidental details, such as that he belonged to the 
 Golf and Country Club, was also a member of the 
 Old Hickory Club, and had never been known to
 
 18 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 make an after-dinner speech. He sometimes went 
 into society, much as another person might take a 
 trip abroad. He was foreign but not alien among 
 polite and frivolous people, having only a few man- 
 ners of the elemental kind commonly known as in- 
 stincts, and a capacity for silence which was at 
 times intolerable. These did not qualify him as a 
 dinner guest, nor for those lighter occasions where 
 men are supposed to be actively and incessantly 
 agreeable. He was an eminent authority on divorce 
 laws, and never courted women. He had been 
 heard to refer to women as "light misdemeanors" 
 against the peace of mankind. Therefore women 
 resented him and found him indignantly fascinat- 
 ing. They talked about him adversely, and always 
 agreed with whatever he said, provided he could 
 be induced to say anything. 
 
 He sat now regarding Towne with a glazed, 
 round-eyed inattention. That gentleman having 
 announced himself with "Hello, Puckle!" and re- 
 ceived a grunt in reply, removed the hat from his 
 well-kept head. He unbuttoned the belt and 
 slipped out of his coat. He dropped into the near- 
 est chair, which was an armchair, tilted himself back 
 sidewise in it, and flung one elegant leg over the 
 arm of it. He lifted a hand and smoothed his hair 
 delicately. Then he opened a silver case, chose a 
 cigaret, and spun the case across the desk.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 19 
 
 Puckle glanced at it and refused the contribu- 
 tion. 
 
 Like every person who makes a habit of himself, 
 his own thoughts and purposes, Towne failed to 
 notice this slight deflection from Puckle's way, 
 which was to take a cigaret, light it, exhale the 
 smoke, then remove the cigaret and sneer at it. 
 This was his comment upon Towne' s monogram 
 beneath the commercial seal. He was accustomed 
 to regard the ruffled skirt of his coat the same way. 
 Towne liked it. He liked to be the object of any 
 kind of attention, but he could not bear inattention. 
 
 He perceived presently that Puckle's stare was 
 erasing. Nothing had been said, but it was time to 
 change the subject. He did not care to be looked 
 out of countenance by a man who did not see him. 
 
 "Nearly four o'clock; ready to go 1 ?" he said. 
 
 "Not to-day, Gussie," Puckle announced. He 
 was in the habit of addressing Towne by the femi- 
 nine abbreviation of his name. 
 
 "Busy?' 
 
 "No," leaning heavily back in his chair. 
 
 "All in?" 
 
 "Practically." 
 
 "Out last night?" Much as a physician asks the 
 patient what he ate for dinner yesterday. 
 
 Puckle resented this diagnostician's manner for 
 some new and private reason. But he admitted 
 that he had been "out," and added defensively that
 
 20 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 so far as he could see everybody was "there" who 
 went anywhere. 
 
 "Too much dissipation. Too much work, no 
 play. Good game will set you up. It's a foursome, 
 you know," Towne insisted. 
 
 "Well, I'm in a lonesome, onesome state; no 
 mood for golf," Puckle answered gruffly, stumbling 
 up from behind his desk and offering his back to the 
 other man's inquisitive eyes. 
 
 "I'll call Plympton and explain," Towne said, 
 reaching for the phone. 
 
 "Don't explain!" Puckle growled. "You know 
 nothing to explain. Just say the game's off." 
 
 "All right," Towne agreed, laughing. He leaned 
 back, holding the receiver to his ear and working 
 the lever methodically on central while he con- 
 tinued to study Puckle. 
 
 "Explanations are iniquitous, cause more trouble 
 than lies. Every time you explain you give your- 
 self away!" Puckle went on. 
 
 "Oh, I never have to explain. My life is an open 
 book," Towne shot back. "No secrets Hello! 
 That Plympton? Oh, Plympton, this is Towne. 
 Beastly luck; Puckle can't get out this afternoon. 
 Game's off. Yes. Sorry. So long!" 
 
 "That settles it," he announced, replacing the 
 phone and settling back in his chair. 
 
 Puckle thrust both hands into his pockets 
 looked down at his long legs. His trousers were
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 21 
 
 hitched up. They were warped tightly around the 
 calves of his legs, and they stuck out behind over 
 the tops of his shoes like bells. He was that kind 
 of man. His clothes hated him and had the habit 
 of snarling on him. He kicked first one foot, then 
 the other. The trousers gave up and came down. 
 Then he walked to the window. The inference 
 could have been that he desired to be alone. But 
 Towne never inferred anything, however obvious, 
 which might be uncomplimentary to himself. He 
 was thrifty about that. He waited, hoping Puckle 
 would say something. He had a woman's ear for 
 confidences as he had a feminine taste for clothes. 
 He could see the black band of Puckle's cravat rid- 
 ing high on his collar behind. The whole man 
 seemed to have slumped and left it there, a token 
 of defeat. "Looks like the fallen hero of himself," 
 Towne reflected. 
 
 At this moment Puckle gave in. He had a cer- 
 tain contempt for Towne, but he had just dis- 
 covered a sort of declivity in himself which seemed 
 to reduce him somehow to Towne's level. It was 
 a thing that would pass, no doubt, but he longed to 
 discuss it as a hysterical woman will count her 
 pulse and talk about it. He turned and came slowly 
 back to his desk, sitting down with the dejected 
 air of a man who is about to be very sick. He 
 appeared to be suffering from a sort of personal 
 nausea of himself. He fumbled his pen from force
 
 22 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 of habit and dropped it. His countenance hung 
 like a pall. He flung himself back in the swivel- 
 chair, clasped his hands over his head, crossed his 
 legs by way of propping himself. 
 
 "Gussie, I'm a failure!" he announced with a 
 heavy sigh. 
 
 Towne regarded him attentively, his shrewd, 
 bright eyes filling and twinkling with secret intelli- 
 gence. His fat little Cupid's mind was very busy. 
 When you are a sort of Ph.D. of love you recognize 
 the first wild, despairing prescience of love before 
 even the victim does. 
 
 "Can't be as bad as that. What's the trouble?" 
 he asked lightly. 
 
 "You wouldn't understand, you can't under- 
 stand, Gussie," Puckle began. "You are a butter- 
 fly man." 
 
 "Thanks!" Towne interrupted cheerfully. 
 
 "You have never applied yourself, mind, soul, 
 and body, to one thing " 
 
 "That's all you know about a romantic career," 
 Towne put in. 
 
 "I am speaking seriously," Puckle went on with 
 a heavy frown. 
 
 This frown was addressed to the opposite wall, 
 eyes carefully averted. Same old story. Love 
 cowers before the human eye. A rogue may look 
 you squarely in the face with your purse in his
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 23 
 
 pocket, but Adam himself could not confess his 
 attachment to Eve with a bold front. He sneaked 
 it. His sons do likewise. They can boast of pas- 
 sion, but not of love. The thing gets them like a 
 sorrow in a secret place. 
 
 Towne observed Puckle's fleeing eyes that took 
 to the wall-paper, the ceiling, anything but the com- 
 radeship of his own investigating stare. His sus- 
 picions were confirmed. An inferior man may be 
 learned in certain knowledges which would not in- 
 terest a wise man. 
 
 "Well, go on speaking seriously," he urged, see- 
 ing that Puckle had ceased to speak at all. 
 
 "What I mean is this," Puckle began, glad of 
 this encouragement. "I have given myself, my 
 time, everything to the law. It has been my idol, 
 my one purpose in life. And do you know what 
 the law has done for me?" he demanded. 
 
 "Made you the most successful lawyer in the 
 State," Towne answered with cordial conviction. 
 
 "Yes, confound it, but that is all I am, just a 
 lawyer!" bitterly. 
 
 He brought his feet down, bent forward with his 
 elbows on the desk, and caught Towne with the 
 old eagle glance of scorn and authority. 
 
 "Do you know what the law is 1 ?" he exclaimed. 
 
 Towne wagged his head negatively by way of 
 encouragement. 
 
 "Well, it's a principle, a formula for discipline.
 
 24 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 It is the strait- jacket of the universe. And the 
 everlasting 'Thou shalt not' of mankind. It has 
 neither body nor, nor bowels!" he stumbled, as- 
 tonished at the excellence of his own use of this 
 word. "The law is not for you nor against you. 
 It's that implacable thing, justice. Well, you study 
 it, and practise it until you become like that. You 
 lose your human color, your natural personal par- 
 tialities mercies, you know. You learn to repress 
 your emotions and your sympathies. You become 
 a statute, a bundle of statutes, not a man. Every- 
 body knows it. You are left out of the human 
 family!" 
 
 He smacked his huge hands together as if he 
 dusted Puckle off of them. 
 
 "Would any one mention even the word love to 
 me?" he went on, sneering at this Puckle of the 
 law. "Certainly not. They consult me on divorce, 
 breach of promise. The legal terms which bind it 
 and sunder it. I get the criminal side of life.- I 
 have no abiding fellowship with virtue and order 
 among my kind. If I defend virtue I must convict 
 somebody to do it. You see what I mean?" he 
 concluded, looking sternly against himself at the 
 other man. 
 
 Towne did not see. He had not followed 
 Puckle's inverted sentimental argument. He was
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 25 
 
 engaged in making foot-notes on Puckle's symp- 
 toms as they appeared. 
 
 "I have missed the warmth and kindness of liv- 
 ing close to the living home, family, affection, 
 faith, confidence, all of them the plurals of love,'* 
 he exclaimed, speaking eloquently to the cast in 
 Towne's eye. 
 
 Towne adjusted himself, put down his leg, as- 
 sumed a dignified posture and an expression of 
 devilish gravity. 
 
 "Some lady has been trimming your hair, 
 Puckle," he announced, twanging the words through 
 his nose with an upward grin. 
 
 "Hey?" 
 
 "Samson went out and shook himself and wist 
 not that his strength had departed from him," 
 Towne repeated. "Quotation from the Scriptures," 
 he explained, "very appropriate to your case. 
 Strong man, Samson, until he started philandering. 
 Lost his hair, strength gone. Then he went out 
 and shook himself. That's what you've been do- 
 ing here. Now, who is the lady?" he demanded 
 with a broadening grin. 
 
 Puckle showed the darkening shade of indigna- 
 tion. He turned from Towne with a motion of 
 disgust. 
 
 "Oh, I'm not in love, if that is what you mean," 
 he answered surlily.
 
 26 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "No, of course not," Towne retorted with a de- 
 risive chuckle. 
 
 It is a singular fact, but well established, that 
 love, which is probably the most acute form of 
 anguish, suspense, and despair known to man, in- 
 variably excites mirth rather than sympathy in the 
 other fellow. The more one endeavors to preserve 
 the sanctity of his sorrow the more his friends re- 
 joice in his discomfort. He imagines no one sus- 
 pects his condition, only to discover that he is the 
 comic supplement of love which everybody is read- 
 ing with gales of laughter. It is a monstrous per- 
 version of delicacy. Puckle felt all this. It was 
 especially unjust in his case, since he was innocent. 
 
 "You misunderstand me entirely, Gussie," he 
 came back to defend himself. "It is simply that a 
 man realizes after a while what he is, what he 
 missed being and having. You go your way for 
 years besotted with your work, or whatever it is, 
 then suddenly you hear something, or er, you 
 meet a woman, merely a glimpse of her, you under- 
 stand. And it comes over you, the vision of the 
 home you might have had, the wife, those soft, kind 
 things." 
 
 "I suppose so," Towne agreed. 
 
 Puckle looked at him and mistook the gravity of 
 his expression. 
 
 "Now, I've had an experience like that," he 
 went on.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 27 
 
 "Recently?" 
 
 "Quite recently. I have seen the very eyes of 
 love, Gussie!" 
 
 Towne bowed appreciatively, implying that he 
 could understand that. 
 
 "Girl, you know, must have been born about the 
 time I married the law. Never saw her before. 
 Don't know her name. But she felt as near to me 
 as the rib in my side; not kin, but close," Puckle 
 halted. He expected a raise. You do when you 
 say a neat thing like that. He got it. 
 
 "Yes, I know," Towne answered briefly. 
 
 He repressed the desire to laugh. Sinners are 
 never really reverent, but they sometimes preserve 
 the appearance of seriousness before a well- 
 defended altar. 
 
 Puckle went on speaking with the animation a 
 prose man sometimes shows who has the sense but 
 not the lyrical language of poetry. 
 
 "The whole place was crowded; a lot of women 
 there whom I knew, lot of men. You know how it 
 is at one of those big affairs. Jam and jargon, 
 music and dancing, melting pot of society. She 
 was there, not talking, sitting alone, very primly 
 erect against the wall, as if she had been painted on 
 it a thousand years ago; dim and beautiful and still 
 like that. Meek little feet crossed, knees together. 
 Hands folded; little hands that looked empty and 
 wishful. You know about women's clothes. I
 
 28 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 don't. But I remember the color of that girl's 
 frock. It was blue, not bright, but hard and clear. 
 And every time the light streamed through the mov- 
 ing crowd on her the gold in it glistened. Ever 
 see a dress like that"?" 
 
 Towne had, many times, but he denied it. This 
 was no time to meddle with Puckle's exclusiveness 
 about feminine drapery. 
 
 "Every fold in it was stiff, made angles of light, 
 up to her shoulders. They were like a very young 
 girl's. White with delicate gray shadows in the 
 hollow beneath her throat. 
 
 "I had just entered the room and drifted into a 
 circle of people waiting for the dance to begin, 
 when I first caught sight of that frock and those 
 little wishful hands folded. But I could not see 
 her face. Then somebody moved and I saw her. 
 Gussie! " he exclaimed and paused. Language 
 is frequently a very awkward and feeble thing. 
 
 "Pretty?" Towne suggested, helpfully. 
 
 Puckle looked his scorn of this cheap, little, 
 freckled, pugnosed adjective. 
 
 "You may have seen something so delicately and 
 satisfyingly perfect that ineffable is the word I 
 want!" he exclaimed. "That girl's face surpassed 
 mere beauty so much as that. You wanted to say 
 Thank God !' at the sight of her !" 
 
 Towne suppressed a groan. 
 
 "Her hair was dark, had lights in it like the gold
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 29 
 
 in her dress. Straight, drawn back from her brow 
 as if she knew nothing to conceal. When you looked 
 at her you could not think of her face one feature 
 at the time. It was just pale, clear sweetness with 
 a seal on it; as fair as that, not the shadow of a 
 smile on her lips. You have seen the gravity of 
 perfect innocence. Well, it was like that: her look 
 which did not see you, but beyond you, for some- 
 thing she wished. That is what I am trying to tell 
 you. She had the eyes of faith and love. She was 
 like a fresh young pilgrim sitting before a wayside 
 shrine telling her beads for love in that crowded 
 ballroom!" he concluded. 
 
 "What happened*?" Towne asked. 
 
 "Nothing," Puckle answered. "I tried to get 
 around that circle of babbling fools nearer her. 
 Well, I could not do it. I discovered that every 
 other man was trying to do the same thing. We 
 were all talking to the other women and thinking 
 of that girl !" 
 
 "She bluffed you," Towne announced. 
 
 "Oh, she bluffed the whole bunch of us if you 
 want to put it that way," Puckle admitted. "It 
 was queer, I tell you, nobody asking or passing her 
 name around as they always do when a visiting 
 girl shows up. And there she sat, the secret image 
 in every man's mind. Couldn't stand it myself; 
 I came away, left her sitting there just as I had 
 seen her first; I was afraid she would move or smile
 
 30 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 at somebody, do some little feminine thing that 
 might destroy er the sense I had of her." 
 
 "You were jealous!" 
 
 "For her, yes; not of her. She was too far re- 
 moved for that. She was so innocent of what was 
 going forward about her, so unconsciously sacred to 
 herself. A little token of something every man 
 wishes, new, with the seal of her thoughts un- 
 broken. See what I mean?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I see," Towne answered, regarding him 
 with mirthful eyes. 
 
 He had gone late to this same ball. He had seen 
 the girl. He knew all about her, made it his pleas- 
 ure to find out. He supposed every man there did 
 except Puckle. But for good and sufficient reasons 
 he did not share this information with him. He 
 did not care to be bothered with Puckle in this 
 affair. He felt reasonably sure it would be an 
 affair. 
 
 "You asked me just now what happened," Puckle 
 began thoughtfully. "I can tell you exactly what 
 will happen. That girl is waiting for just one 
 thing, love not yours nor mine nor any man's, 
 but for that in her own heart. She will marry for 
 love, not for happiness nor fortune nor anything 
 else. And she will accomplish what loving can 
 accomplish for somebody, not herself." 
 
 "Dark future you are planning for her."
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 31 
 
 "Nothing will ever be dark for her. She is her- 
 self an effulgence," Puckle replied. 
 
 Towne suddenly discovered that he had been in- 
 tolerably bored for half an hour. He suffered from 
 this complaint. Almost anything palled on him. 
 Puckle was a fool. Still his dull, stumbling, rap- 
 turous interpretation of this girl excited his interest. 
 The comedy of love was his chief amusement. He 
 would call Sarah Crombie on the phone and make 
 an engagement. Pick up Tovey for Sarah. 
 
 He looked at the phone on Puckle' s desk. He 
 was tempted to call now. Be a good joke on 
 Puckle. Then he thought better of it. These crass 
 fellows could not take a joke. 
 
 He stood up, slipped on his coat, preened himself 
 unconscious of the other's sneering gaze. 
 
 "Well, so long, old man," he said, taking his hat 
 and making for the door. "Hope you pull through. 
 I've had it. Acute stage doesn't last. Take a 
 bracer and buck up." 
 
 "Darn him!" Puckle growled as the door closed 
 behind him. He had always despised Towne in a 
 kindly fashion. It was as near as he could come 
 to liking him. Now he experienced a sickening 
 revulsion, a sort of moral animus, not unmixed with 
 disgust for himself. He had confided in this in- 
 ferior person. Virtue had gone out of him. 
 
 You never know a man face to face with him. 
 His presence defends him. But let him remove
 
 32 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 that and your mind frequently pursues him as a 
 dog barks. You discover that you hate him, or that 
 you like him when you thought he was not agree- 
 able personally. This is the law of backbiting. 
 The worst of it is done in silence. And nothing 
 can stop it. Because the minute a man's back is 
 turned you know things about him that you could 
 not know so long as he was there to defend him- 
 self with his eyes upon you. The human eye, even 
 the meekest eye, is a sword ever on guard.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 If you want to see changeable weather, watch a 
 man in love who has not been in love long enough 
 nor often enough to endure his own sensations. 
 Puckle had passed through more emotional crises 
 since the night before than in his whole previous 
 life. He had had a vision of love, entrancing; he 
 had experienced the despair of a rigid self-examina- 
 tion. He had relaxed into confidences, a weak- 
 ness foreign to his nature. Finally he hated 
 Towne, who was not worthy to be hated. What 
 was the matter 1 ? He was irritable, very tired. He 
 bent his head and ran his hands through his hair. 
 Then suddenly he thought of something, as a man 
 remembers a valve to relieve pressure. He thrust 
 his hand under the edge of his desk and pressed a 
 button. He glared at the door. And pressed the 
 button again. 
 
 "Smalley," he exclaimed as the clerk entered, 
 "I've been waiting an hour for that brief. Is it 
 ready?' 
 
 "Almost, sir; I should have finished, but " 
 Smalley began defensively. 
 
 "I must have it before I leave the office," Puckle 
 
 interrupted. "Send Miss Smith in." 
 
 33
 
 34 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "She leaves at five o'clock," Smalley reminded 
 him. 
 
 Puckle frowned. That girl purposely evaded tak- 
 ing dictation in the afternoons whenever it was 
 possible to do so. Then he perceived that Smalley 
 was still standing with the troubled air of a man 
 who has an unpleasant duty to perform. 
 
 "There is a gentleman waiting to see you, sir," 
 he announced, catching Puckle' s eye. 
 
 "Did you tell him I never see any one after four 
 o'clock 1 ?" Puckle demanded fiercely. 
 
 "I did, but he said you would see him." 
 
 "I will.not !" Puckle exclaimed, raising his voice. 
 
 Smalley rolled his eyes toward the door, merely 
 intimating thus the carrying quality of Puckle's 
 jury- voice. 
 
 "Wait, Smalley," he said in lower tones as the 
 clerk was about to withdraw. 
 
 He raised his forefinger and aimed shakily at him. 
 
 "If any one, any one" he repeated with emphasis, 
 "asks for me after four o'clock, I am not here, I 
 am out. I never am in. Get that*?" 
 
 Smalley got it, giving in return the look of de- 
 pleted dignity a subordinate sometimes casts upon 
 his employer by way of rebuke. 
 
 "Wait," Puckle growled. "Who is he?" 
 
 "Mr. Windham Cutmore," Smalley answered 
 briefly.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 35 
 
 "Send him in," Puckle conceded mildly, which 
 the clerk took as a sort of apology to himself, the 
 kind Puckle frequently made. But it was not. 
 
 A swift and indefinable change passed over him 
 the instant Smalley withdrew. The acting people 
 do when they are alone, and often in the briefest 
 possible time, frequently surpasses the art of a play- 
 wright to produce in hours of hard work. He was 
 no longer Puckle of the fist and glittering eye, nor 
 the fallen hero of himself in a sadder mood. This 
 was Puckle, the son of old man Puckle, pleased to 
 meet you, girded up, best foot foremost, awkward 
 and flattered, watching the door with a certain 
 polite anticipation. 
 
 A man entered. It was as if elegance, sobriety, 
 and high honor had come in. 
 
 He was young, at the very sunrise of manhood, 
 say twenty-five. Tall, with the thin, lean grace of 
 youth. Much too fair, as sometimes happens with 
 human stock selectively bred until it loses the 
 deeper, richer coloring of coarser, stronger men. He 
 had a close-lipped mouth, drawn in and tightened 
 at the comers, finely turned, as if he had inherited 
 it from a family portrait. Large eyes, gray with 
 unexpected yellow lights in them; not bright, calm, 
 slow-moving beneath heavy lids. 
 
 But this fairness and slenderness was deceptive. 
 It was the girlish delicacy of his skin, the sober 
 fineness of his clothes that concealed his real quality.
 
 36 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 If he had been weathered and tanned you must have 
 recognized him. You would have known that he 
 was not delicate, but resilient. That he was still 
 unsettled, all these, but not assembled. Capable of 
 performing the highest deeds, but easily provoked 
 and dangerous, quietly and secretly bold. In short, 
 a gentle and agreeable madman, innocent of him- 
 self and singularly attractive. 
 
 "Hello, Cutmore; glad to see you!" Puckle 
 greeted him cordially, having risen and advanced to 
 grasp the hand of his visitor. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Mr. Puckle," Cutmore re- 
 turned. 
 
 No one could have distinguished whether the 
 prefixed title of "Mister" was designed as a barrier 
 or an acknowledgment of some superiority in Puckle. 
 Your thoroughbred has a dozen ways of making 
 you feel very similar to his hired man, respectable 
 but different, when you are more than respectable 
 and really superior to him in everything but breed- 
 ing, which was not his achievement, but his in- 
 heritance. 
 
 Puckle felt this without being aware of how 
 much he granted. He wanted Cutmore to be seated 
 in a tone of voice which implied that this act would 
 give him a very great deal of pleasure. He went 
 back to his own chair, erected himself in it carefully, 
 with no slouching in his pose which was habitual to 
 him. He offered Cutmore a cigar. Said the same
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 3T 
 
 things a man usually says about the quality of his 
 cigars not very good, regretfully. 
 
 They lighted these cigars, exhaled the smoke- 
 So far, so good. But the exchange of remarks, the 
 mere tentacles of conversation to which smoking is 
 the preface, did not transpire. They looked at each 
 other. Cutmore's measuring glance settled upon 
 Puckle with a sort of strange determination, as if 
 he were predicating something with this stare which 
 was brief, but long enough to be disturbing. Puckle 
 wondered what had brought this man to his office. 
 Their acquaintance was purely professional, not 
 personal. 
 
 "Mr. Puckle," Cutmore began as if in answer to 
 this unspoken question, "I have come to see you 
 on a matter of business." 
 
 Puckle nodded, not encouragingly, but as if he 
 bowed "Amen!" to the word business. Meaning 
 that if this were the case he was on his own ground, 
 not Cutmore's. Cutmore had never been associated 
 in his mind with the vulgar vicissitudes of business. 
 
 "The fact is, I want to make a change," he said. 
 
 Puckle thought that was highly probable, hard- 
 ening his eye. "Making changes" had been Cut- 
 more's method of rapid transit from one occupation 
 to another, some of them not even remotely con- 
 nected with business. 
 
 He had graduated at the head of his class in the
 
 38 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 State university. Then he had taken the course in 
 law at Harvard. This was in the days when 
 Colonel Cutmore, his father, was the capital letter 
 of the Millidge bar, merely by the prestige of his 
 presence, not that he was distinguished so much for 
 his success in this profession as he was for the prodi- 
 gality with which he spent the remnants of a con- 
 siderable inheritance. He was the one man in 
 Millidge who could be depended upon to "go on" 
 any other gentleman's note who asked the favor. 
 Also he could be depended upon later by the credi- 
 tor of the said gentelman to pay these notes when 
 they fell due like frost on the debtors. This made 
 him popular, won for him the title of being the 
 "very soul of honor," and reduced him to com- 
 parative poverty. 
 
 Young Windham Cutmore acquitted himself 
 genteelly in law at Harvard, altho a vague report 
 reached Millidge that he was "wild." No one knew 
 whether this came from the suspicion that he had 
 sowed a few wild oats out of the colonel's pockets 
 or from the later well-established fact that he had 
 become an amateur lightweight pugilist of note in 
 the sporting circles of the university. In any case 
 his friends, remembering his frail physique, did not 
 accept the latter report with serious conviction. 
 "Windy" had probably learned to spar a bit. 
 
 In the Summer after he returned from Harvard 
 and before he had actually gone into partnership
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 39 
 
 with his father, the old colonel had a stroke and 
 passed away. 
 
 Young Cutmore immediately changed his plans. 
 He cast the ready-made practise of his father to 
 the four winds and entered journalism. This was 
 the first intimation Millidge had that Windham 
 would not stay "put." He confirmed it during the 
 next five years. He made a brilliant but brief suc- 
 cess on the Millidge Ledger. Presently he was 
 made city editor of this paper. 
 
 But there was no real reason for applying him- 
 self ruthlessly night and day to this business. He 
 had proved to his own satisfaction that he could 
 be an editor and a good one. He resigned like 
 lightning from the Ledger. 
 
 He had already become interested in one of the 
 oldest fraternal orders. He devoted himself with a 
 sort of silent enthusiasm to studying and taking 
 degrees in this order. The history that faded into 
 tradition and the glamour of ancient days that 
 clung to the mystical rites and ceremonies fasci- 
 nated him. He retired to the mountain forty miles 
 above Millidge, lived alone in a hut for a year, let 
 his beard grow, and studied rites and mysteries. He 
 was determined to accomplish an occult relation to 
 the past. In fact, there was no past. Everything 
 was the present with God and the immortal soul of 
 a man. He cultivated immortality; that is to say,
 
 40 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 a mystical frame of mind. This is not a healthy 
 occupation when you are still in the flesh. Cutmore 
 dwindled into a weird-looking specter on his moun- 
 tain. 
 
 But about the time his friends in Millidge gave 
 him up as hopelessly queer, America entered the 
 Great War. Cutmore at once resigned from his 
 mountain, shaved, and volunteered as a private, 
 altho with the military training he had had at the 
 State university he might easily have negotiated a 
 commission. Then with the energy of an ambitious 
 youth in a spelling class who is determined to turn 
 down the other fellows until he reaches the top of 
 that class, Cutmore transferred from one branch of 
 the service to another, having started in an ambu- 
 lance company, until he reached the Signal Corps 
 of a regiment that went to France in July of 1917. 
 The "top" in those quickening days of the strife 
 was out of training-camps and to France at the 
 earliest possible moment. By great good fortune, 
 Cutmore' s regiment was attached to the British 
 forces then fighting in Belgium. Here he saw active 
 service and acquitted himself with distinction ac- 
 cording to reports from his comrades. But no one 
 in Millidge heard directly from him. He had been 
 disconnected. He neither wrote nor craved letters. 
 Finally his name, appeared among those "severely 
 wounded" in the casualty lists published daily in 
 this country.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 41 
 
 Three months later he appeared in Millidge walk- 
 ing with a slight limp. He had been invalided 
 home, still fit for civil life, but no longer fit for 
 military service. This was in June of 1918. 
 
 He was the only man sent from Millidge to fight 
 in France who could not be interviewed nor in- 
 duced to discuss his experience as a soldier there. 
 He gave the impression of being a casualty still, of 
 having some deeper wound than that of the flesh 
 which did not heal and which he covered with a 
 cool reticence. 
 
 Within one week after his return he opened an 
 office and began the practice of law. He practiced 
 it serenely and without interruption of clients, 
 merely reading it. But now and then when he had 
 a case in court he gained it. On these occasions he 
 showed unusual ability. The impression among 
 the elder lawyers of the Millidge bar was that he 
 had a future in the profession if he would apply 
 himself and stick to it. Martin Puckle shared this 
 opinion, but he did not believe Cutmore would 
 "stick to anything." 
 
 This young man's various performances were 
 passing now like the reel of a highly dramatic pic- 
 ture through Puckle' s memory. 
 
 "What kind of a change do you expect to make?" 
 he asked dryly after a perceptible pause. 
 
 "Well, I want really to begin the practice of 
 law," Cutmore told him.
 
 42 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "Ah!" Puckle said. 
 
 "I have read law, studied it, I know it, but I have, 
 well, practically no practice," Cutmore explained, 
 not apologetically, but as a simple statement of 
 facts. 
 
 "What I need is clients," he added briefly. 
 
 Puckle was thinking like a house afire; his mind 
 was running around Cutmore, trying to locate the 
 purpose of these confidences. What he said was, 
 "Oh, well, clients will come; requires time and 
 patience to build up a practice." 
 
 "But I must begin at once. It is imperative," 
 Cutmore explained. 
 
 Then with no warning, without even shifting his 
 gaze from Puckle's face, he said, "It has occurred 
 to me that I should go in with an older man who 
 has an established practice. Someone like your- 
 self." 
 
 Puckle repressed a snort. He began to hunch 
 up, his neck went down between his shoulders, his 
 hairy fist went out like the paw of a mastiff and 
 rested on the desk before him. He could see him- 
 self taking this this elegant young wildcat in as 
 a partner! 
 
 Cutmore took no notice of this change in Puckle's 
 manner. He went on with what he had to say, 
 which was a good deal, and in the manner and tone 
 of a man who starts out with the advantage in the
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 43 
 
 argument. At six o'clock he was still talking. He 
 covered the entire situation. He referred to his 
 own qualifications neatly, modestly, but with pro- 
 found assurance. He had not done much so far; 
 he admitted this without regret, much as a man 
 would refer to his savings. All of his energies had 
 been dammed up until this time. He supposed 
 Puckle knew how hard a man like that would work 
 when he made up his mind to apply himself. 
 
 Puckle knew no such thing. He did not believe 
 it; but Cutmore regarded him so fearlessly and 
 affirmatively that he was compelled to make some 
 sort of guttural sound, not designed for approval, 
 but Cutmore accepted it that way. 
 
 Well, he said, he had decided to do that; devote 
 himself absolutely to the law, make a success of it. 
 
 Puckle underwent violent changes of mind and 
 temper. At first the whole proposition appeared 
 to him preposterous. He was on the point of inter- 
 rupting Cutmore more than once merely to say that 
 he never had and would not entertain the idea of a 
 partner. He tried to formulate the terms, polite 
 and decisive, in which he would convey this infor- 
 mation. But he had to watch Cutmore, who seemed 
 to be closing in on him. Now and then he inad- 
 vertently paid compliments to this old bachelor bear 
 of the Millidge bar. To be associated with a law- 
 yer of his ability and distinction would be a tre- 
 mendous honor. But he thought he could measure
 
 44 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 up to it; in fact he had no doubt about that. This 
 was apparent to Puckle, the inadvertence of the 
 compliment; the flavor was enhanced for him. But, 
 good Lord, taking a young whelp, with a whelp's 
 record in with him, was unthinkable. Law was a 
 serious business, not to be dropped like a hot 
 potato ! 
 
 This was the dying gasp of Puckle's positive op- 
 position. He began to entertain the idea. He ad- 
 mitted to himself that he was tired, that he needed 
 rest, and that under present conditions any relaxa- 
 tion was practically impossible. No one in the 
 office to hold things down if he went away. He 
 had not had a vacation in years. Never had had 
 one since he began the practice of law. 
 
 Another thing occurred to him. The Cutmore 
 prestige in Millidge was very strong. It represented 
 the older, reserved, best people, who protected their 
 wealth quietly behind the doors of law offices, not 
 in the open courts. He had never had that kind 
 of business. His clients were of another class. 
 After all, it might not be such a bad idea, taking 
 Cutmore in; still there were Cutmore's moods and 
 tangents to consider. Any contract between them 
 must cover that contingency. He would not stand 
 for his temperamental antics ! He would make that 
 clear to him at the start. 
 
 All this passed through his mind while Cutmore 
 was talking in his frank and leisurely manner, not
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 45 
 
 anxious, but determined. At the moment when he 
 allowed himself to visualize the sign above his win- 
 dows of Puckle & Cutmore, he realized suddenly 
 that Cutmore had ceased to talk. He had ascended 
 into a cool, calm silence. 
 
 Puckle glanced at him inquiringly. Cutmore ac- 
 tually showed signs of departure. He stood up, 
 returning Puckle' s gaze from that altitude. 
 
 "I shall connect myself at once with some firm 
 in the city," he said mildly, but with a look that 
 seemed to have found Puckle wanting. "I came 
 here first to discuss a partnership with you for the 
 reasons I have mentioned ; but I am not so sure after 
 all that it would prove the best arrangement. 
 You " 
 
 "Sit down, Cutmore, sit down!" Puckle inter- 
 rupted. "I've been listening, and I am interested. 
 You sprung this thing on me quite by surprise. 
 Never thought seriously of a partnership, but the 
 idea appeals to me. Sit down, man; we will talk 
 it over as a purely business proposition." 
 
 The idea had suddenly occurred to him if this 
 young man should actually settle down to law it 
 would be wiser to have him as a partner than the 
 other fellow's partner. 
 
 Cutmore resumed his seat, but not wholly, nearer 
 the edge of his chair, implying the probable brevity 
 of his presence in that place. 
 
 Puckle leaned far over his desk. He took up
 
 46 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 this partnership and handled it delicately as if, with 
 his eye on Cutmore, it might come apart before he 
 could weld it. He approached certain possible 
 difficulties with as light a tread. For instance, was 
 Cutmore sure that he had made up his mind to 
 cleave to the law and the law only so long as he 
 lived? 
 
 Oh, yes, he had made up his mind. 
 
 Was he sure his kind of mind would remain firm 
 to this purpose? 
 
 Oh, yes, with a cryptic smile which Puckle dis- 
 covered later meant that something outside of mind 
 had formed and sealed this resolution. 
 
 It was not until the terms of the contract were 
 under discussion that Cutmore took him up with 
 this. 
 
 "I must be assured of an income sufficient to 
 maintain a married man." 
 
 Puckle stared at him. 
 
 "Bless me, man, I did not know you were mar- 
 ried !" Puckle exclaimed. 
 
 "Not yet, but I expect to be soon." 
 
 This was the natural, sensible thing to do, Puckle 
 told him. His mistake had been in remaining a 
 bachelor. Impoverished er a man, not to have 
 a home and a wife, missed the great conservative 
 influence of love, that kind of thing. 
 
 He leaned back and repressed a sigh. He was 
 no more than a comma's pause from offering his
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 47 
 
 confidences for the second time that afternoon when 
 Cutmore interrupted. 
 
 "I ought to tell you that my marriage is a con- 
 tingency," he said. 
 
 "Contingency*?" Puckle repeated, blinking. 
 
 "I am not even engaged to be married yet," he 
 admitted. 
 
 Puckle considered this grave young man who 
 could plot matrimony on a cold collar. 
 
 "But I have seen her, the girl, I mean," Cutmore 
 added without the faintest embarrassment, merely 
 implying that his contemplated marriage was a 
 reasonably sure thing. 
 
 "You have seen her, only seen her?" Puckle 
 asked, his voice and manner expressing both doubt 
 and curiosity. 
 
 "On the level, that is as far as it has gone yet." 
 
 "Are you the only man who has seen her*?" 
 Puckle demanded. It was none of his business, but 
 he wanted to know. Especially he wanted to know 
 if this was another of Cutmore's vagaries. 
 
 No," Cutmore answered, "I think there were at 
 least a hundred men who saw her about the time I 
 did. Only girl there any of us really saw. Lot of 
 others, ball, you know. I saw her come in, stranger 
 there, sat down quietly just within the door; not 
 equal to that sort of thing, different. She was sit- 
 ting there becalmed, very prim and erect, removed,
 
 48 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 not, stupid, like the er gospel of love in every 
 man's heart. You understand, a man can't talk 
 about a thing like that" this to Puckle, who had 
 talked about something very similar to Towne 
 Towne of all people! 
 
 "I should not have mentioned this so prema- 
 turely," Cutmore told him, "but for the fact that 
 I am coming in here as your partner. You have 
 a right to know my plans in fact the real reason 
 why I decided to take this step. Nothing was fur- 
 ther from my thoughts this time yesterday." 
 
 Puckle had drawn back, stiffened. He stared at 
 Cutmore as if he were the asp crawling into his 
 bosom. 
 
 Cutmore' s gaze, which had wandered repeatedly 
 during the last few minutes, returned to Puckle. 
 He supposed this was one of Puckle's natural ex- 
 pressions. He had seen several. It occurred to him 
 that you could not judge a man by his appearance. 
 Puckle was certainly a forbiddingly ugly man. 
 
 He stood up, offered his hand, over which Puckle 
 merely mumbled without actually grasping it. Cut- 
 more expressed his satisfaction over the "arrange- 
 ment." He would see him at three o'clock to- 
 morrow. He was anxious to settle things and begin, 
 and so on and so forth. Puckle thought he would 
 never go. Then he went. And it was as if ele- 
 gance, sobriety, and high honor had gone out of 
 that room.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 49 
 
 Puckle's face reddened. It seemed to swell with 
 rage. He swore with his lips working and his teeth 
 showing as if he bit hot blasphemies and masticated 
 them. He had been a fool, yes, forty blanks of a 
 fool. He would never have dreamed of marrying 
 that girl himself. He was too old, not her kind. 
 All that, yes. But it would have been a refuge and 
 a privilege to think of her, reverently as the symbol 
 of love at least. Now he could not do that. And 
 he had actually engaged to help the man who pur- 
 posed to win her. He wondered how many other 
 men had the same purpose. It was to be a scramble, 
 then, for that fair thing. He felt sure of it. He 
 stood up, walked wearily to the rack where his hat 
 hung, too much depressed to kick his legs and shake 
 his trousers down. They belled above his heels 
 behind. He took his hat, considered it mournfully 
 without knowing that this was only a hat. 
 
 "Lord, it's just the devil either way!" he groaned, 
 put it on as if this were a poultice he applied. 
 
 Suddenly he remembered something. Where was 
 that brief Smalley promised to finish*? He had not 
 done it. He was in the mood to attend to Smalley ! 
 When you have suffered defeat, it is natural to re- 
 call some one else whom you can put to flight. He 
 made strides for the door, flung it open. "Smal- 
 ley!" he rumbled. 
 
 No answer. Then he saw that the front office 
 was empty, that the shades of evening were gather-
 
 50 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 ing there. A long white paper, neatly folded, lay 
 accusingly on top of Smalley's desk. 
 
 He reached for it as he passed out, and down 
 the staircase.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 There was still too much daylight for the street 
 lights to make much headway. It was that ugliest 
 hour at the end of the day when the poorer clerks, 
 the frayed people of the little trades filled the 
 streets with their pallor and dinginess. How many 
 times he had mingled in this crowd comfortably, as 
 a man mingles with his own people! Now they 
 were not his people. He had no people. And they 
 depressed him, these hungry, impecunious faces 
 lifted to him for an instant in the sallow light as 
 he shoved his huge body through the crowd with 
 long strides. Many of them knew him, bobbed 
 their heads to him in friendly recognition. He did 
 not return these salutations as was his custom. He 
 knew no man to-night. He was Ishmael on his way 
 to the desert. 
 
 Ishmael halted at the corner in front of the 
 Madison Hotel. He was waiting for the trolley 
 that would take him to this desert, which was two 
 rooms in an apartment-house one block from 
 Princess Avenue. Men and women also waiting 
 for this trolley thickened about him, jammed el- 
 bows with him. He did not see them. He was 
 thinking how much better it would have been if 
 
 51
 
 52 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 he had not yielded to his distemper, and had gone 
 to play golf with Towne. 
 
 "The time to make an effort is when you feel 
 least inclined to make an effort" and realized that 
 he had spoken this thought aloud when some one 
 behind him whispered, 
 
 "That's Puckle talking to himself. Know him*? 
 Yes, queer cus; good lawyer, tho!" 
 
 It was very painful. Everything was painful! 
 The car approached. He swung from the curb and 
 climbed aboard in the face of the protesting motor- 
 man before it stopped. He stumbled over half a 
 dozen passengers in the aisle struggling to get out 
 and grasped a strap in the very front with the roar- 
 ing, rattling, jiggling world behind him. 
 
 Far out on the green of Millidge where Princess 
 Avenue became the- even more fashionable suburban 
 road there is a fine old house with spreading wings 
 in a fine old garden; a white house which has been 
 painted so many times during the last hundred 
 years that it glistens like ivory in the sun. Green- 
 latticed blinds fold back from the deep casements, 
 showing the mullioned windows. The lights above 
 the front door spread like a fan. An old English 
 lantern of black metal and glass hangs from a hook 
 on either side of this door. And in the middle of 
 it there is an iron lion's-head knocker, with a worn, 
 bright place on the plate beneath where the ring
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 53 
 
 has fallen so many times for so many years, all 
 implying that large and important people lived 
 inside and had lived there before the days of brass 
 door-bells, that they were of the sedate and impera- 
 tive kind who would not concede the frail tin- 
 tinnabulation of a modern door-bell. 
 
 This, however, was purely an act of the imagina- 
 tion. The Crombies had always lived there since the 
 original Howard Crombie built the house and nailed 
 that knocker to the front door. But all kinds of 
 Crombies had lived in it since, many of them no 
 better than other people. The current Mr. William 
 Crombie had in fact saved it by the skin of his 
 teeth from being sold to pay the debts of his 
 profligate father. He had been heard to say, at 
 the time that there should never be another "How- 
 ard" Crombie in the family, two successive Howards 
 having been spendthrifts. He was himself a man 
 of superior quality, quite up to the indications of 
 the lion's-head knocker on his front door. He had 
 not only retrieved the Crombie fortune, but he was 
 president of the First National Bank and sole owner 
 of a paper- and cotton-bag factory which was one 
 of the larger business enterprises of Millidge 
 
 But when his first, and as happened, only child 
 was born she proved to be a girl, not subject, on 
 account of her inferior gender, to be called "Wil- 
 liam." He compromised by naming her "Sarah," 
 which he insisted was the feminine of "William."
 
 54 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 Mrs. Crombie demurred, not that she minded the 
 child being called Sarah, altho it was a common 
 name, easily corrupted into "Sally," but she told 
 Mr. Crombie that "Mary" was always the name 
 associated with William, and she thought it was 
 a prettier, sweeter name anyway. He was not 
 primarily considering prettiness and sweetness in 
 naming his daughter, he said, but in conferring one 
 upon her that meant something, strength, character. 
 "Mary," in his opinion, was too submissive a title 
 to give a girl who might develop into something 
 really worth while. 
 
 Mrs. Crombie yielded the point and lingered 
 merely as the plaintively protesting mother of Mr. 
 Crombie' s daughter, Sarah, long enough to see her 
 shoot up into a fiercely handsome, black-eyed, long- 
 legged, awkward girl ready for college. Then, 
 much against her wishes, Mr. Crombie entered her 
 at the Millidge University, which was just begin- 
 ning to be a co-educational institution. She warned 
 him that this was a mistake, that the poor child 
 would never marry. She would find out too much 
 about men to risk falling in love. That love with 
 a woman was based upon ignorance, total ignorance 
 of the opposite sex. And what was even worse, 
 every young man in Millidge who was eligible and 
 might care for Sarah would find out too much about 
 her. She supposed that he must have realized Sarah 
 had a disposition singularly like a man's anyhow.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 55 
 
 She lacked the delicacy and softness which attract 
 men. She should be sent to a girl's finishing-school, 
 where she might acquire some of the gentle accom- 
 plishments that fit a girl for polite society. 
 
 Mr. Crombie retorted that he did not want his 
 daughter fitted for polite society. It was rotten. 
 He wanted her prepared for life, cross-saddle 
 fashion, tightened up and riveted together mentally 
 and physically until she could "face the music" 
 without getting a headache or flinging a fit on ac- 
 count of the epileptic development of the emotional 
 nature which he had observed was frequently char- 
 acteristic of girls "finished by females in a female 
 finishing-school . ' ' 
 
 Therefore Sarah went to the university. And 
 Mrs. Crombie did not live long enough to say to 
 her husband, "I told you so!" having died before 
 Sarah finished her course. But now at the age of 
 thirty she was still unmarried. She was not subject 
 to headaches nor "fits" and she had never been in 
 love. This fact was no doubt more accountable for 
 her remarkable health and poise than the vigorous 
 training she had had in the university. Love is 
 a sort of malefactor of the nervous system, respon- 
 sible for more ills of the mind and body than war 
 or pestilence. 
 
 But neither had Miss Crombie taken life "cross- 
 saddle fashion." On the contrary, she had sim- 
 mered down into a singularly gracious and beautiful
 
 56 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 woman, richly and ripely handsome. She had es- 
 caped being intellectual by a kind of wise feminine 
 revulsion to this cold iridescence of the human 
 faculties. She was one of Solomon's daughters who 
 had got understanding along with her wisdom. She 
 was an alarmingly sensible young woman. And, 
 contrary to paternal expectations, she had become 
 a sort of perpetual hostess to the younger set in 
 Millidge social circles. 
 
 You may sometimes foretell what your son is 
 going to be, but you never can tell how a daughter 
 will develop. She will either work out that un- 
 known quantity, herself, which you did not know 
 was in her, or she will copy some other unknown 
 quantity, which certainly was not in her when you 
 became her father and her mother. 
 
 One afternoon early in September Sarah Crombie 
 and Margaret Miller were seated in Sarah's bed- 
 chamber, which was up-stairs on the west side of 
 the Crombie residence. Margaret was an old col- 
 lege mate who visited the Crombies every year at 
 this season. Sarah's lavender kimono of thinnest 
 silk was drawn closely about her slender figure, her 
 black, crinkly hair hung heavily about her shoul- 
 ders. Drops of water glistened on it in the flood 
 of sunlight from the western windows behind her. 
 Margaret was bunched up on a stool in a rose- 
 colored kimono, a smaller figure. Her bright hair 
 flowing. Drops of water also glistened on the
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 57 
 
 golden veil it made in the sun. They had the 
 exotic-flower look women always have when they 
 wear pretty kimonos. Ostensibly they were drying 
 their hair. Now and then Sarah lifted her hands, 
 thrust them in, and shook hers vigorously. 
 
 Likewise, now and then Margaret reached deli- 
 cately back and spread her shorter, brighter curls 
 as a bird preens its feathers. In fact, they were 
 exchanging confidences, gossiping not openly and 
 aboveboard in their normal and distinct voices, but 
 in the softer tones of gentle treachery that women 
 employ when the victim is near at hand and may 
 appear at any moment. 
 
 "Is Betty resting?" Margaret had asked to begin 
 with, referring to Betty Marshall, who was also a 
 guest in the house. 
 
 "You do not rest when you are in love. At best 
 you only lie down to think about it when you are 
 too tired to sit up and think about it. Betty is 
 writing a letter," Sarah answered, smiling. 
 
 "To Windy?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 "But he was here last night, and aren't they going 
 for a drive this afternoon?" 
 
 "Yes, but she had a letter from him this morning. 
 She is answering that one. Love has two languages, 
 you know, the spoken and the written. The latter 
 is the vers libre of love," she laughed.
 
 58 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 They heard the postman's whistle and imme- 
 diately after a scurry in the next room, a door 
 swiftly opened, the swish of skirts, the clatter of 
 heels upon the stair. 
 
 "She always mails them herself," Sarah com* 
 mented. 
 
 "Do you think he is really in love with her?'" 
 Margaret asked. 
 
 "She is certainly in love with him. As for 
 Windy, you know him. He could be in and out 
 of love in the twinkling of an eye." 
 
 "Do you remember his first affair?" Margaret 
 said, smiling. 
 
 "Nobody can be sure of what is or was a man's 
 first affair," Sarah answered. 
 
 "Oh, you know the one I mean, the little Clewes 
 girl. He was crazy about her. What happened? 
 I never heard the end of it." 
 
 "It ended all right. She jilted him. Married 
 that Jones man who took the founders' medal. 
 They were in the same class, you remember. Jones 
 is a clerk in one of the stores, here, I believe. They 
 live in a little bungalow somewhere on that street 
 that has been opened between Millidge and the 
 golf-links. She has two children, washed out. Does 
 her own work. 
 
 "There was a story going the rounds here a while 
 back about Windy and Mrs. Jones."
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 59 
 
 "Don't tell me so!" Margaret exclaimed in the 
 acquisitive tones of one who wants to know, and 
 already believes the worst. 
 
 "Oh, not that," Sarah hastened to defend; "quite 
 the contrary. It seems that Windy was driving up 
 this new street from the golf-links with a friend 
 when somebody's little tow-headed baby rolled 
 down the terrace on to the sidewalk and then into 
 the street. Windy stopped his car, picked up the 
 squalling kiddie, and went to restore it to the 
 frantic mother, who had rushed out with another 
 younger babe in her arms. 
 
 "Then they recognized each other; poor little 
 Mary Clewes, that was, faded, in her faded frock, 
 her lips parted, her nursing-mother eyes fixed on 
 his face as if she were the surprised ghost of happier 
 days. They stood for a moment. Then Mary 
 you know she was a spunky little thing said, Tin 
 I'm happy, Windy !' 
 
 " 'But I'm free !' " he answered, and turned on 
 his heels and went back to the car." 
 
 "Vindictive!" Margaret exclaimed. 
 
 "He settles his grudges; he does not forgive them, 
 if that is what you mean." 
 
 "I should hate to marry a man who never for- 
 gives," Margaret said, going back to the original 
 subject under discussion. 
 
 "As a rule they are the most unforgivable people 
 on earth," Sarah supplemented.
 
 60 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "And when you are married, that is the only 
 means of prolonging courtship, isn't it, having a 
 quarrel and holding out, and then forgiving 4 ?" Mar- 
 garet said, looking sentimental. 
 
 "We do not know," Sarah reminded her, laugh- 
 ing. "But I wish Betty would not marry Windy. 
 He is the soul of honor, but not dependable. He is 
 liable to do anything, or nothing." 
 
 She caught sight of the Millidge Ledger on the 
 floor. 
 
 "Look at that," she said, reaching for the paper 
 and poking a finger through an open space in one 
 of the columns where something had been neatly 
 clipped out. 
 
 "It was the announcement of the new law firm 
 of Puckle & Cutmore. Betty cut it out." 
 
 "Well, it is a great thing for him, isn't it?" Mar- 
 garet said. 
 
 "If it lasts. 
 
 "The trouble with Betty is that she thinks love 
 is the gospel and marriage is a solemn privilege, 
 when she should recognize it as an investment, an 
 opportunity to improve her position." 
 
 "Sarah!" 
 
 "Well, why should a dear thing like Betty, who 
 could marry anybody, stake herself, that's it, her- 
 self, not her worldly goods, but her life and hopes 
 of happiness, on a stroke of lightning like Windy 
 Cutmore? It is the wildest kind of adventure."
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 61 
 
 "The Marshalls are not very well off, then?" 
 Margaret asked. 
 
 "Only in elegant accessories. They have no 
 money, practically none, but Betty is gifted with 
 ancestors, not the ordinary aristocrats, like Windy's 
 but real people who have done things. 
 
 "Her great-uncle discovered something in medi- 
 cine ; ether, I believe it was. And one of her aunts 
 married a Methodist preacher and made a bishop 
 of him. Her grandfather was Chief Justice of the 
 Supreme Court of this State. Her father practices 
 law as if it were a vocation, not a profession. 
 Father, who has known him since they were boys 
 in college together, calls him an impractical great 
 man. Her mother is one of those quiet, durable 
 women who will do right in spite of everything, and 
 is always making ends meet with a fine cambric 
 needle. 
 
 "Imagine being brought up by parents like that, 
 according to the best standards, but not according 
 to facts ! 
 
 "The poor child should have gone to a real col- 
 lege like our university," Sarah went on, "but they 
 sent her to one of those romantic institutions where 
 you learn to be more of a woman than you really 
 ought to be, and where you graduate with a daisy- 
 chain coiled around you, singing of your alma 
 mater !"
 
 62 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 They began to laugh at this picture when Sarah 
 suddenly smothered her merriment, turned her head 
 sidewise, listened, and spat a glance of her black 
 eyes at the closed door. 
 
 "He is a splendid man," she announced, speaking 
 in tones two notes higher than either of them had 
 risked for the last half-hour. 
 
 Margaret stared at her, her own face a little pink 
 round O of astonishment. Then she caught on. 
 
 "Yes, every one thinks that," she gasped, also 
 lifting her voice. 
 
 The door opened and Betty Marshall entered. 
 
 "Who is the splendid man that every one thinks 
 is splendid 1 ?" she asked, ready to join in this praise. 
 
 "I was just telling Margaret what a fine thing it 
 is for Windy going in with Mr. Puckle, and how 
 much every one admires Mr. Puckle," Sarah ex- 
 plained. 
 
 "Oh," Betty said as if their idea of a splendid 
 man was a sort of anticlimax to her idea of a splen- 
 did man, and not the one she had in mind. 
 
 "But of course he is," she conceded, seating her- 
 self near the windows, where she commanded a view 
 of the road below. This she did at once, sending 
 her eyes in a long wishful flight toward the town. 
 Then she turned her pretty head and glanced at 
 the two young women, who were lazily tucking up 
 their hair. 
 
 "Not dressed yet !" she said.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 63 
 
 "We are enjoying the lassitude of being old 
 maids and not having to preen ourselves for a man," 
 Margaret told her with a smile that was a sort 
 of upcut, mischievous and accusative. 
 
 "It is a privilege I fear you will never have, 
 Betty dear," Sarah added, sighing affectedly. 
 
 The color of perfect happiness in a young girl's 
 face is a certain shade of adolescent pink, not too 
 deep. Betty showed them this cheek of rosy snow, 
 only one. She was not ready to turn the other 
 cheek yet. 
 
 She was dressed to the last tender thought, as if 
 presently she meant to make an offering of herself. 
 She wore a blue frock, not the color of her eyes, 
 because no other blue could be that color, but it was 
 blue enough, entrancingly so. Stiff, of some heavy 
 material, probably linen. The long sleeves widened 
 at the bottom and hung like bells over her white 
 wrists. The square neck was finished with a whip- 
 stitch and yellow knots below as if the pollen of 
 many flowers had fallen there. Bunches of homely 
 little blossoms, ragged robins, a few pinks, and tiny 
 yellow roses stuck up around the brim of her straw- 
 colored hat, held there by a very narrow blue-velvet 
 ribbon, the ends crossed behind, showing like the 
 slender tail-feathers of a bird. 
 
 But the loveliest thing she wore was a smile that 
 was not yet a smile, merely a declaration of happi- 
 ness.
 
 64 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 This girl certainly was not the same little wishful 
 figure Puckle had seen sitting primly against the 
 wall at the dance that night in May. This girl's 
 wish had been fulfilled. She had the "hath" look 
 and betrayed it by her sweet assurance. Her heart 
 soared lark-high. She was listening for one sound 
 while she pretended to be listening to something 
 else, what Sarah was saying to Margaret. 
 
 "Going back to Puckle," Sarah was saying, once 
 more implying that he had been the sole theme of 
 conversation between her and Margaret, "if I really 
 wished to marry, which I do not wish, I should con- 
 sider Martin Puckle the most eligible man in 
 Millidge." 
 
 "Sarah!" This from Margaret, expressing con- 
 sternation. 
 
 "Well, I should," Sarah insisted, looking at 
 Betty. 
 
 She hoped Betty would get what she was about 
 to say over the defenseless head of Puckle. 
 
 "You do not need to be anxious about how he 
 will turn out. He has already turned out success- 
 fully. He is steady. He has made his reputation, 
 and it is a good one. He is well set up so far as 
 fortune goes, and he made it himself." 
 
 "Hand-cobbled," Margaret put in. She had not 
 caught on. She supposed Puckle was one of those 
 stones Sarah kept in her mind under the delusion
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 65 
 
 that it was an ideal. She was opposed to regarding 
 Puckle as an ideal. 
 
 "Yes, cobbled. He shows it. I admit that he 
 does, but that's nothing. If God had made only 
 one man, that man would have been Adam, not a 
 pleasing type. Eve would never have married him 
 if there had been another man in the world at the 
 time. But the pattern has greatly improved since 
 then. Puckle has never made any one but himself. 
 No practice. But even if you do see the marks of 
 the hammer on him, it is a hammer, not a fluting- 
 machine." 
 
 "But, my dear, he is perfectly awful," Margaret 
 insisted. "He can not conduct himself 
 
 "Oh, he is not an orchestra, if that is what you 
 mean," Sarah flung in. 
 
 "He is fatally deficient in in the right feelings. 
 Did you see how he bent over me at dinner last 
 night, talked to me as if he were dining out of the 
 same plate with me*? I had to exert my will-power 
 to sit straight. I wanted to dodge, especially as 
 his manner of speaking well, it's carnivorous ! He 
 bites his words and shows his teeth." 
 
 She refused to join in the gale of laughter this 
 description provoked. 
 
 "And his gesture, he has only one. He makes 
 that with his right fist; swings it straight from the 
 shoulder. I felt the breath of that fist over my 
 head more than once, when he was discussing the
 
 66 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 unrest of labor. He is violently opposed to labor's 
 resting, to anybody's resting. And when he became 
 violent he swung his fist." 
 
 She looked from Sarah to Betty, wagging herself 
 on the stool and beginning to laugh hysterically. 
 "He was only trying to be agreeable," Sarah ex- 
 plained. 
 
 "Well, I wish he had tried to be silent," Mar- 
 garet retorted. 
 
 "He usually is," Sarah retorted, determined to 
 defend Puckle. 
 
 "And his cravat, did you notice his cravat*?" 
 Margaret went on shredding Puckle. 
 
 "That was not a cravat; it was a tie untied," 
 Sarah supplemented. 
 
 "The thing came untied during the violence of 
 his dinner performance! Imagine marrying and 
 having to live with a man until you are dead who 
 dresses like that and acts as if food enraged him!" 
 
 "Oh, they are mere deficiencies in manners and 
 lack of taste in the choice of clothes. Any wife 
 could correct such faults. Any wife could make a 
 very personable gentleman of Mr. Puckle, with a 
 little tact and training," Sarah answered. 
 
 The Lord made man, created He him in His own 
 image. But every woman believes she can make 
 over the one she marries and improve on the job. 
 If men knew this, if they dreamed that the gentle,
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 67 
 
 clinging, trustful creature whom they are about to 
 marry has already and invariably planned the re- 
 forms she will make in him at once, there would be 
 many weddings indefinitely postponed. 
 
 "The point I started out to make," Sarah said, 
 returning to the fray, "was that Puckle is a safe 
 man to marry, because he is a good one, not a bad 
 one. He is reliable, not changeable." 
 
 Betty moved like a small word that wished to 
 be uttered. Sarah heard the furtive sound, and 
 looked at her inquiringly. 
 
 "Mr. Puckle is a nice man," Betty began, damn- 
 ing him with this faint praise, "but you do not like 
 or love or marry a man for such a reason. You 
 love him for his quality, what he is himself, quite 
 aside from his virtues or vices, don't you*?" 
 
 This was the only contribution she made to that 
 argument. The two older girls stared at her, then 
 at each other, as much as to say, "What wisdom 
 is this?' 
 
 A car roared along the street below. In another 
 moment the iron ring in the lion's mouth fell twice 
 in quick strokes upon the door below. 
 
 "That is Windy," Betty exclaimed, making for 
 the door. 
 
 Here she paused and looked back at Sarah. 
 
 "We may come back later, in time for tea. Is 
 that all right?"
 
 68 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "Yes, my dear, anything you do is all right," 
 Sarah answered tenderly and faintly sad. 
 
 "I am late," Cutmore said, bestowing Betty into 
 the car, and flirting in himself under the wheel. 
 
 "Puckle detained me. We have a rather im- 
 portant case to-morrow," he said, sending the car 
 swiftly over the road. 
 
 "I am glad," Betty answered, referring to this 
 case. 
 
 "And Mr. Puckle is nice, isn't he?" meaning 
 that it was nice of Mr. Puckle to have an impor- 
 tant case so soon after he had taken Windy in. 
 
 "Oh, yes, he is all right," Cutmore answered. 
 
 "He likes you immensely; I can see that," she 
 offered. 
 
 "He should. I am doing the work, practically 
 all the work hi the office," he replied without 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 "That is splendid, like having a big practice of 
 your own," she said. 
 
 He did not see it that way, but he said he "sup- 
 posed so," and let it go at that. 
 
 He wanted to forget the office, the work. He 
 wanted to think of something utterly and entirely 
 agreeable to him, like Betty. The day had been 
 a hard one, not counting the labor of preparing 
 this case, but a little thing had happened. Puckle 
 had come into his office early that morning, before 
 he had disposed of his own personal mail. This
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 69 
 
 mail consisted of numerous bills. It always did at 
 the beginning of the month. Many of them repeti- 
 tions of the same bills. 
 
 He had seen Puckle staring at that sheaf of let- 
 ters. His stare was not accusative, merely thought- 
 ful, like a man who makes an adding machine of 
 his eyes. 
 
 Puckle had gone on to his own office without 
 offering any comment; of course not. What busi- 
 ness was it of Puckle's what he owed? Still he 
 was depressed by this incident. He could not ac- 
 count for that. He always got them, and he always 
 dropped them into the waste-basket, not that he 
 had the least intention of failing to pay them. But 
 he did not have the money. He never had had 
 enough to pay all his creditors. But no one until 
 this day except himself had ever seen this monthly 
 collection of duns. Puckle did not get them. He 
 knew this because he handled the mail. But that 
 was different. Puckle had money, plenty of it. 
 He did not have. However, the future was bright. 
 He would receive a good salary and a percentage 
 of the fees. He had Betty. She had promised to 
 marry him. In one short month he had won her; 
 that is, her own consent. He must still go through 
 the mill of seeing the old people. Betty dreaded 
 that. She told him so now every time they were 
 together. She seemed to be mortally afraid of her 
 people father, mother, aunts, uncles the whole
 
 70 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 bunch. He dreaded it, but he did not doubt that 
 he could pull it off all right asking for Betty. 
 
 They were now out on the country road, moving 
 swiftly, the engine purring softly. Betty had re- 
 moved her hat. A lock above her forehead was 
 flying in the wind. 
 
 "I don't think it belongs to me," she said, smil- 
 ing adorably as she tucked it back. 
 
 "Not now. It is mine; the dearest lock on your 
 dear head," he told her tenderly. 
 
 "And your heart is mine too," he said trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 "Yes, Windy. I am very happy," she said, and 
 did not look it. 
 
 "You are thinking about Aunt Theodosia," he 
 laughed, having heard much of this redoubtable old 
 lady who was now the widow of her bishop. 
 
 "You would dread her too, if you knew her," 
 Betty returned. 
 
 "We will forget her," he said. 
 
 So they did, a silence growing between them 
 which is sometimes the sweetest speech of love. 
 The sun hung low. Long shadows stretched across 
 the fields. Little June flowers standing among the 
 weeds with dusty faces looked up at them as they 
 passed, that look which all flowers have when lovers 
 go by. 
 
 Once she said, watching the pale loveliness of
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 71 
 
 the approaching night, "Windy, did you ever think 
 how love makes us kin to all this*?" 
 
 She said it with no diminishing word about "all 
 this," merely a timid gesture, as if these evening 
 prayers of the world must not be disturbed. 
 
 "Betty," he returned, "you see that man coming 
 with his wagon and team, and those pines behind 
 him where the road turns'?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, expecting Windy to do himself 
 proud with a finer figure of speech than she could 
 think. 
 
 "Well, when we have passed that man and 
 rounded those pines I shall kiss you," he informed 
 her. 
 
 There you have the difference between a man 
 and a maid in love. The maid beholds it like a 
 vision in all things about her. The man feels it 
 and believes in nothing so quickly as "direct action" 
 in love. 
 
 "Windy!" she exclaimed reproachfully. 
 
 He speeded up. They passed the team in a 
 cloud of dust, the driver's face showing through 
 it like a sallow disk upon which deep indignation 
 flared. 
 
 They approached the place where the road turned 
 around the pines. Cutmore shot a glance at Betty. 
 She was sitting primly erect, very small, very
 
 72 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 severe. But the fairy lock was out once more, wav- 
 ing like a bright signal in the dusk. She would be 
 sweeter to kiss, he thought and was immediately 
 obliged to give all his attention to the road. A 
 long green car shot around the curve, honked, and 
 barely missed the fender of Windy's roadster. 
 Gussie Towne, dolled up in fisherman's togs, sent 
 them a flying salute as he passed, while still an- 
 other car appeared behind. 
 
 Betty laughed. 
 
 "It is the fishing club coming home! The road 
 will be policed with them all the way to the river," 
 she said, implying the protection of providence. 
 
 "Sentence is only deferred," he announced 
 darkly. 
 
 They passed the next car and came into a clear 
 road. Windy was about to resume the one worth- 
 while subject of his love for Betty when she in- 
 terrupted. 
 
 "What do you think of Mr. Towne?" she asked 
 smoothly. 
 
 "I am not a woman!" he retorted. 
 
 He thought this reference to Towne under the 
 circumstances was offensively irrelevant. 
 
 "Only the ladies think of Towne at all. He is 
 the official flirt of Millidge. No other occupa- 
 tion," he added in full explanation. 
 
 "Oh!" she murmured discreetly. 
 
 "Why?" he demanded.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 73 
 
 "He has been making love to me. So naturally 
 I was interested to know about him," she said. 
 
 "I will kill him!" he growled. 
 
 She was not moved by this threat. She appeared 
 to have passed on to some thought not connected 
 with the life and death of Towne. 
 
 "And Mr. Tovey*?" she asked, merely making an 
 interrogation of that gentleman. 
 
 "Tovey*?" he repeated as if he could trust the 
 name of Tovey at least. "He is all right; nice fel- 
 low. What about him?" 
 
 "He has been doing it too," she said, as one gives 
 news, not important, but news. 
 
 Cutmore looked at her. She did not return this 
 look as is the custom between lovers. She was 
 gazing straight ahead, as if straight ahead was 
 unusual peace and happiness. 
 
 "And I think Mr. Crombie would like to marry 
 me." Period, more news, but not regarded by her 
 as sensational. 
 
 Cutmore breathed a word commonly used in im- 
 precations and angry prayers, but never to be found 
 in the softer vocabulary of lovers. 
 
 His color faded, his lip tightened. The pupils 
 of his eyes dilated. The yellow spots in them 
 widened and glowed. His mind passed like a flame 
 from these predatory men and fell upon Betty with 
 consuming rage. He hated her with the hatred of 
 a dangerous lover. He merely despised that rich
 
 74 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 old Crombie, but this name nevertheless had touched 
 his pride, enfeebled him, except for the strength 
 of his rage against Betty. 
 
 When violence sits beside you, you usually know 
 it, even if no sword is drawn to slay you. Betty 
 was either so brave or so simple that she remained 
 unconcerned. She sat with her chin lifted, her lips 
 parted like the thinly, delicately curled petals of 
 a rose, her eyes still covering the distances ahead. 
 
 Cutmore put on the brakes, jerked a lever, 
 whirled the steering-wheel viciously. The car ca- 
 reened and spun around. Betty rose and fell with 
 these seismic disturbances, then settled down in her 
 place as they started back for Millidge. 
 
 "Well, why don't you go ahead and marry him 1 ?" 
 he demanded gruffly. 
 
 "Marry whom*?" she asked vaguely as if she had 
 missed this part of the conversation. 
 
 "Crombie, of course," he answered. "Crombie 
 is rich, his age doesn't count, give you a splendid 
 establishment, a good time, everything women 
 really want." 
 
 "Windy!" she exclaimed, her voice keen and 
 sweet, her eyes covering him with reproaches. 
 "What is this you are saying 1 ? Don't you know I 
 shall be marrying you just for love"? Nothing 
 else." 
 
 His lips trembled, his eyes suffused with tears.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 75 
 
 The reaction from this devastating horror was too 
 much. 
 
 Betty regarded him laughing, confused, and a bit 
 pleased in the deeper feminine heart of her, as all 
 women are when they discover the harrowing 
 depths of passion in a man. 
 
 "Surely you do not think I am marrying you for 
 just things and a good time, Windy!" 
 
 "What for, then?" he asked huskily, humbled 
 for the first time during this brief but vigorous 
 courtship. 
 
 "Not," she began slowly as if she considered this 
 matter carefully, "not, I believe, because I love 
 you so much, dear, but because you need so much 
 to be loved; more than I do, more than any one I 
 know, you need to be loved," she repeated. 
 
 "You are a dear little brick, Betty," he whis- 
 pered as he let go the steering-wheel, clasped her, 
 and kissed her. 
 
 They went on for a time talking blissfully, deal- 
 ing in those futures which all lovers negotiate. 
 They came presently in sight of Millidge, an amu- 
 let of lights lying upon the breast of the hills. 
 They should be too late for tea with Sarah, they 
 agreed, and seemed happily resigned to the loss of 
 this tea. 
 
 "I think Sarah will marry Mr. Towne," she said 
 with no preamble at all to this astonishing news. 
 
 Windy laughed aloud. He poohpoohed the very
 
 76 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 idea. It was absurd. Towne was utterly negli- 
 gible. He was an ass. Sarah was a fine woman. 
 He did not like her ; she was not the kind of woman 
 he admired. But she had sense ; a lot of it. 
 
 "Still she will marry Towne," Betty insisted. 
 
 "Why do you think so 1 ?" he asked. 
 
 "Because she never talks about him, and every 
 one else does. Because he makes love to every other 
 woman, but never to Sarah." 
 
 This was psychology, feminine and astute, but 
 Windy was not convinced. He could not see how 
 such a conclusion could follow such a premise. 
 
 "He is saving Sarah for the last," Betty went 
 on. "Wearing her down, piquing her pride, and 
 teasing her patience. And she is waiting for him, 
 as some one waits to chasten a recreant. She will 
 marry him just to prove a theory." 
 
 "What theory?" 
 
 "Sarah has great ideas about reconstructing men 
 in the married relation. I have heard her talk 
 about it. She thinks even Mr. Puckle could be 
 improved !" 
 
 "Well, at least he never will be. Old Puckle is 
 not a marrying man. He's hard as nails," he told 
 her. 
 
 She did not think so. On the contrary, she be- 
 lieved he was very impressionable. But upon re- 
 flection she decided not to tell Windy what she 
 thought of Mr. Puckle.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 77 
 
 Then at the very last she reminded him that she 
 would go back home on the day after to-morrow, 
 and how she dreaded that because she had not 
 mentioned him, nor anything, in her letters home. 
 And he said this had all been happily arranged. 
 He would run down with her and have it out with 
 the family, so that would be over, and they could 
 be married soon. Very soon was his idea of soon.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A good deal can happen in one month. For ex- 
 ample, you may become adjusted to the inevitable. 
 Persons have been known to do it in a much shorter 
 period of time. 
 
 The evidences of a complete adjustment on the 
 part of Martin Puckle were positive and clearly 
 visible to the naked eye. 
 
 The second story of the Puckle Building on 
 Union Street had been remodeled and furbished up. 
 Windows cut in the side walls. The front office 
 had been foreshortened until Miss Smith and 
 Smalley found their desks jammed against the win- 
 dows overlooking the street. Back of this clerical 
 coop there was another office, occupied by Wind- 
 ham Cutmore, Puckle's new partner. He occupied 
 it assiduously, and worked fiercely, what time he 
 was not courting Betty Marshall. 
 
 On the morning of this day, the latter part of 
 which had been spent so rapturously by the two 
 lovers motoring on the Millidge road, Puckle was 
 seated as usual at his desk, not busy, but thinking. 
 A good deal of work was going on, but he was not 
 doing it. His expression was subdued, like a man 
 
 who has defeated himself in an argument. 
 
 78
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 79 
 
 What he wanted to know was why he could not 
 forget that girl. Why had he taken Cutmore into 
 partnership with him when of all men he did not 
 want him. Why he treated Cutmore with so much 
 respect, even deference. Why he actually felt a 
 sort of anguished interest in his prospects, to the 
 extent that he was worried about that pile of bills 
 he had just seen on Cutmore's desk. The man was 
 in debt, and contemplating marriage. Then he 
 went back to the girl; this dull pain in the region 
 of his heart, an organ hitherto unknown to him ex- 
 cept in the purely physical sense. 
 
 The goings on about him recently had not tended 
 to lessen this sensation. He had seen the girl again; 
 frequently, in fact. It was unavoidable. He had 
 been dragged into Cutmore's set. She was there, 
 of course. Her name was Betty Ann Marshall, 
 called "Betty." If, well, if he had to call her he 
 would always give her the full benefit of the Ann. 
 She looked Annish, old-fashioned, fine, and sweet. 
 She had adopted him in a way, as a hopeful maiden 
 adopts a harmless elderly gentleman. She looked 
 at him with a certain confidential kindness imply- 
 ing that she forgave him his homeliness, his blun- 
 dering awkwardness. She palpably praised him, 
 deferred to him, wanted to know in return if he 
 did not think Windy would make a wonderful law- 
 yer. He told her that he did think so. She blessed 
 him for this assurance with a look that was unen-
 
 80 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 durably sweet. Then he remembered another look 
 she had given him the night before, at the Crom- 
 bies' dinner party. It was when she caught sight 
 of his cravat. He saw her eyes rest upon it as if 
 the thing actually gave her pain. 
 
 He was wearing the same cravat now, like the 
 tails of two jay-birds crossed beneath his collar. 
 Something wrong with the old thing ! 
 
 He raised his hairy fist slowly, hooked a finger 
 in this cravat, yanked it from his neck, and flung 
 it across the room, a striped blue-and-white string 
 with black streaks in it. He had been born into 
 the collarless, rice-button class; he would stay in 
 it ! No more f olderols around his neck ! He would 
 stick to his string-ties. And no more foolishness 
 about that girl. Then he fell to thinking about a 
 wisp of hair that never would lie smoothly on her 
 sleek head, the delicate way she drew it back and 
 tucked it in. He wondered how many thousand 
 times she had done that. 
 
 At this moment Cutmore came in hurriedly to 
 consult him about something. He crossed the room 
 with quick, nervous strides, but Puckle saw his eye 
 stumble over that torn cravat. He reddened 
 guiltily. 
 
 The guilt of a secret lover is a queer thing. He 
 feels it most when he is innocent, and not at all 
 when he is triumphantly guilty.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 81 
 
 "Mr. Puckle," Cutmore began at once, "we shall 
 finish the Corcle case to-morrow, won't we 4 ?" 
 
 Puckle said he thought that was highly probable. 
 
 "Well, I should like to be out of the office for a 
 couple of days the latter part of the week. Betty, 
 Miss Marshall, returns home Thursday. It er is 
 rather important that I should go down about the 
 same time," he explained. And he would have said 
 more, but Puckle did not invite his confidence. 
 
 "Suits me," he answered briefly. 
 
 "Thanks," Cutmore returned, and went out. 
 
 On Saturday morning Cutmore was still absent 
 from the office. He was in Culloden with Betty. 
 He would not return before Monday, Puckle, there- 
 fore, was engaged with the mail which ordinarily 
 now went to Cutmore's desk. There were several 
 bills in it addressed to Cutmore. He frowned at 
 these and laid them aside. He finished reading the 
 remaining letters and was about to ring for Miss 
 Smith when that young person appeared, minus her 
 pad and pencil. 
 
 "Mr. Marshall to see you, Mr. Puckle," she an- 
 nounced with an air of self-defense which implied 
 it was not her fault that a man wanted to see Mr. 
 Puckle; rather it was her disagreeable duty to tell 
 him so, because Mr. Puckle always glared savagely 
 at her when she did it. 
 
 "He is from Culloden," she added significantly
 
 82 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 as if a possible sensation might be concealed in this 
 information. For by this time every one who knew 
 Windham Cutmore knew that he must be engaged 
 to Miss Crombie's pretty guest, Betty Marshall, of 
 Culloden. 
 
 'Til see him," Puckle growled. 
 
 This growl was a bluff, put up for the stenog- 
 rapher's benefit. He was more anxious than savage 
 at the idea of seeing this male Marshall. Cutmore 
 must have done some quick work at Culloden to 
 bring this back-kick of the family gun. But why 
 should he be dragged into this affair*? He had 
 often said that a man contemplating marriage 
 should be required to give bond to honor, love, and 
 support his wife, that mere vows were not enough. 
 It was a strictly business method of insuring a mar- 
 riage. He thought a man would think twice before 
 he jumped such a bond or got himself haled into a 
 divorce suit. But he was in no position to give even 
 his word for Cutmore, as a husband. He was in a 
 very painful position, fearing that something like 
 this was about to be demanded of him. 
 
 An elderly gentleman, short, rotund, with a very 
 florid countenance, waddled into the room. His 
 eyes were blue and blared as if hot fires burned be- 
 hind them. His gray mustaches bristled and spread 
 above a puissant mouth like the enlarged wings of 
 a yellow-jacket. His goatee beard of a golden 
 brown streaked with gray clung to his chin like the
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 83 
 
 magnified body of this particularly irrit?ble insect. 
 His black trousers were elegantly creased. He 
 wore a white vest, which must have been as wide 
 as a woman's petticoat, beneath a short black coat. 
 
 "Mr. ruckle*?" he asked, advancing with a short, 
 pacing step. 
 
 Puckle stood up behind his desk and admitted 
 his identity. 
 
 "Marshall's my name," the other said, swinging 
 himself with the rotary movement of a spherical 
 body on legs and extending his hand, which Puckle 
 received, and felt himself violently shaken in 
 return. 
 
 The impression he gave was one of energy now 
 intensified by some strong emotion, and of frank- 
 ness, also intensified by strong emotion. 
 
 Puckle said he was "glad to meet Mr. Marshall" 
 and invited him to be seated. 
 
 The old gentleman reached back, caught the arm 
 of the chair, and incased himself in it, letting him- 
 self down with the care of a fat man who makes 
 sure first that the thing he sits upon is strong 
 enough to bear his weight. 
 
 It was. He crossed his legs, leaned back, and 
 regarded Puckle like a suppressed oration. He 
 began at once, speaking in that tone of voice not 
 loud, but with feeling. 
 
 "Mr. Puckle," he said, "I am here to see you on 
 a matter of the gravest importance."
 
 84 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 Puckle bowed gravely. 
 
 "And I must return at once to Culloden, because 
 it must be settled at once," he announced, imply- 
 ing that this settlement would be made entirely 
 according to his wishes. 
 
 Again Puckle inclined his head still more gravely. 
 
 "In the first place, and to be as brief as possible, 
 who is Windham Cutmore *?" he demanded. 
 
 "As it happens, Mr. Cutmore is my partner at 
 law," Puckle answered. 
 
 "It seems to me that if he were of any conse- 
 quence in the profession I should have heard of 
 him. I am a lawyer myself." 
 
 "He is young," Puckle put in. 
 
 " And I never heard of him until he appeared 
 at my door in Culloden on Thursday afternoon," 
 he finished. 
 
 "He accompanied my daughter, Betty, who has 
 been here on an extended visit to the Crombies," 
 he announced, and fired a glance at Puckle. 
 
 Puckle replied that he had had the pleasure of 
 making Miss Marshall's acquaintance. His man- 
 ner implied that this was a privilege. 
 
 "Well, then, if you know my daughter you will 
 understand. You will comprehend my feelings," 
 he hesitated, as if he were about to embarrass him- 
 self by committing a breach of family confidence. 
 
 "I must be frank. I am compelled to be," he 
 began again. "The fact is, sir, that Betty has been
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 85 
 
 led to engage herself to this young man, a total 
 stranger to us, and without our knowledge or con- 
 sent!" 
 
 Puckle remained discreetly silent. 
 
 "Now we are opposed to this engagement. Of 
 course we are. Parents do not lightly dispose of 
 their daughters to a perfect stranger." 
 
 Puckle said that this was natural. It was very 
 difficult to wean parents from their offspring. 
 
 Marshall considered this enigmatical reply for 
 a moment, eyes fixed explosively on Puckle' s strictly 
 legal countenance. He could make nothing of it, 
 and went on. 
 
 "But this is not the worst of it," he exclaimed. 
 "She is determined to marry him. We have en- 
 deavored to dissuade her. It is in vain. She is 
 deaf to reason, even to our commands. She will 
 marry him ! She sticks to that. Now, this willful- 
 ness is not like her. She has always been a re- 
 markably obedient girl. She is completely under 
 the influence of this man, whom we neither like nor 
 trust!" 
 
 "Why*?" Puckle asked, finding in himself a 
 strange desire to defend and preserve Betty's lover 
 for her. 
 
 "The evidence is against him! Why does he 
 become engaged to her without first making him- 
 self known to us?"
 
 86 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 Puckle admitted that this was "hasty" but not 
 unusual. 
 
 "And his manner! I have never seen a man in 
 an equivocal position show such arrogance. He 
 asked me for Betty, having already stolen her! I 
 referred to his reprehensible conduct. I refused 
 my consent, of course. He replied coolly that he 
 should have been glad to have it for Betty's sake, 
 but so far as he was concerned it made practically 
 no difference, since they would be married in any 
 case. Then he took his hat, wished me a very good 
 morning, and left the house. Then I took my hat, 
 caught the first train, and came here to see you." 
 
 Puckle said that he would be glad to serve Mr. 
 Marshall in any possible way, but he implied that 
 ^'possible" was an exceedingly limiting term. 
 
 "Betty has told us that he is your law partner. 
 This is the only practical information we have been 
 able to obtain from her about him. Now you must 
 know all about him, which is what we must know." 
 
 Marshall leaned back, subsided, and waited. 
 Puckle evaded this interrogative stare. He fumbled 
 in the drawer of his desk, brought out a box of 
 cigars, and offered them to his guest. 
 
 The guest repelled them with a moral gesture, 
 a sort of anathema waved with his right hand. No, 
 thanks! He never smoked nor drank intoxicants 
 nor used strong language except when it was his
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 87 
 
 duty to do so. He meant that, having a character 
 burnished with these virtues, he was justified in 
 certain high requirements for a prospective, but un- 
 welcome, son-in-law. 
 
 Puckle chose a cigar, lighted it, and after a 
 thoughtful pause he began a singularly flat, dull, 
 and uninteresting history of Windham Cutmore. 
 It was sketchy and rested principally upon the facts 
 that the said Cutmore was of excellent lineage, none 
 better. He had graduated from the university and 
 later from the Harvard Law School. He considered 
 him unusually well equipped for the practice of 
 law. 
 
 "So far, so good," the old gentleman announced, 
 "but these qualifications do not get him very far 
 as the husband of my daughter. A married man 
 must possess domestic virtues. Has he these vir- 
 tues'? Is he moral, temperate*?" 
 
 Puckle knew nothing to the contrary. Judging 
 by what he had seen of Cutmore he thought he was 
 probably fastidiously moral. He never drank. He 
 was sure of that. As for being temperate, he 
 thought this was a matter of temperament. 
 
 "Ah!" Marshall exhaled as if this delicate dis- 
 tinction involved the very hairs of his Betty's head. 
 
 "Does he pay his debts?" 
 
 He wanted to know this with the look of an old 
 dog with his ears pricked and his nose to the ground.
 
 88 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 Puckle moved in his chair. It was a sort of 
 psychological retreat. 
 
 "I am sure Cutmore is the very soul of honor!" 
 he answered after a pause. 
 
 "Damme, sir, I do not ask about the soul of this 
 man's honor ! Many a man dies bankrupt with just 
 such a soul. What I want to know is whether he 
 has the ability and disposition to manage his own 
 affairs in a way that would provide properly and 
 comfortably for his family*?" 
 
 Cutmore had some means, Puckle told him, in- 
 cluding the Cutmore residence on Princess Avenue. 
 This, with his practice, should be a modest com- 
 petency, he thought. 
 
 "Is he religious'? Betty could not tell us what 
 church he attends." 
 
 Upon this point Puckle professed total and blind- 
 ing ignorance. Then he recalled the year Cutmore 
 had lived alone in his icabin on the mountains 
 above Millidge. He mentioned this. He under- 
 stood that Cutmore devoted himself to the study 
 of subjects relating to spiritual phenomena. 
 
 "Sounds queer," the father of Betty shot in. 
 
 Puckle agreed that it was, but he thought Cut- 
 more was a remarkable man in some ways. He had 
 a streak of genius or originality which would ac- 
 count for a thing like that. 
 
 "Originality in a husband is dangerous, Mr. 
 Puckle," the other replied. "A husband, of all crea-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 89 
 
 tures, must be an entirely familiar type, or his wife 
 will be always seeking him, even when he is pres- 
 ent with her. As for genius, sir, it is fatal to hap- 
 piness. I never knew any one to be mixed up with 
 a genius who enjoyed normal repose of mind or 
 body. It is eruptive and destructive " 
 
 Puckle began to smile. He said he did not think 
 Cutmore had enough genius to cause seismic disturb- 
 ances. He was simply a very bright young man. 
 
 "That sounds better. Bright is a lucid adjec- 
 tive, suitable to ambitious youth," the other an- 
 swered. 
 
 Puckle hastened to add that Cutmore was ex- 
 ceedingly ambitious. 
 
 Marshall consulted his watch and came to his 
 feet. He must catch the next train. 
 
 "I am obliged to you, Mr. Puckle," he said, ex- 
 tending his hand. "You have relieved my anxiety 
 to a degree, but not entirely. I can not explain, but 
 that young man seems to me dangerously potential. 
 I doubt if any one could tell what he might do in 
 an emergency." 
 
 Puckle said he hoped everything would turn out 
 all right, accompanying the anxious father to the 
 door. 
 
 He had done his best for Betty, but with a heavy 
 heart, with grave misgivings.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Windham Cutmore reached his office very early 
 on Monday morning. When Smalley and Miss 
 Smith came in at eight o'clock he was tearing 
 through the mail. When Puckle slouched in about 
 nine o'clock he had dictated replies to a consider- 
 able bunch of letters, and he was fussing among a 
 mass of papers, his lips snarled over a cigar. He 
 was applying himself with ferocious energy to the 
 practice of law this morning, much as a man takes 
 to strong drink when he has something disagreeable 
 to forget. 
 
 He glanced up as Puckle entered, but so briefly 
 as not to catch that gentleman's eye. 
 
 "Good morning!" said Puckle. 
 
 "Good morning!" he returned, merely admitting 
 that much about the morning, not that he cared 
 what kind of morning it was. 
 
 The idea conveyed was that he supposed Puckle 
 would pass on into his own office where he belonged, 
 and that he was not needed in this one. 
 
 But Puckle lingered. He asked some questions 
 about whether affidavits connected with a mining 
 case had come in. Cutmore answered briefly that 
 they had come in the morning's mail. Puckle 
 
 90
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 91 
 
 wanted to know if he had the statement of the 
 properties involved ready. Cutmore said that he 
 was now at work on that. His manner implied 
 that it was very difficult to copy and add figures 
 and subtract, divide and discount while being 
 obliged to carry on a conversation with another 
 person. Still Puckle did not go. He was not curi- 
 ous about what had happened at Culloden, but he 
 was in a human mood ; he would have liked a little 
 conversation bearing upon the "situation," not that 
 he would bid for it, but Cutmore might want to say 
 something. He said he hoped he, Cutmore, had 
 left Miss Marshall well. Yes, thanks, she was. 
 And that he had enjoyed his visit to Culloden. 
 This much was permissible, he thought. Appar- 
 ently Cutmore did not think so. Culloden, he re- 
 plied, was not a place to be enjoyed. Betty was 
 the only endurable feature of that little rag of a 
 town. Puckle said that he had understood that it 
 was quite a progressive place. Cutmore's silence 
 was prohibitive. 
 
 Puckle considered whether he should raise the 
 wind by mentioning the reciprocating visit Betty's 
 father had paid to Millidge during Cutmore's ab- 
 sence. He supposed Cutmore would infer the cause 
 of this visit. In that case he would give an encour- 
 aging report of his interview with Marshall. He 
 would say nothing to cloud the situation. Finally 
 after a silence during which Cutmore's pen scratched
 
 92 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 furiously, and after Puckle had pretended to read 
 the head-lines on the front page of the morning 
 paper, he decided that this was no time to raise any 
 more wind than appeared to be already blowing. 
 He laid the paper on the desk, made some remark 
 to the effect that he believed this would be another 
 sizzling day, and went on into his own office. All 
 of which was very unlike him. But he wanted to 
 hear something, any little thing about Betty, and 
 how the land lay before Betty's dear feet. 
 
 Cutmore continued to work furiously. He had 
 passed through a very disagreeable experience. 
 For the first time in his life he had been called in 
 question, not for some deed, but for being himself. 
 He had seen himself in the diminishing eyes of 
 Betty's relations. The image he beheld there was 
 far from being the one he cherished of himself. 
 For him it had been like walking in among strange 
 animals who resented him chiefly for that reason. 
 They had gored him with questions which went be- 
 yond their rights to know of his means and pros- 
 pects. He freely granted them this information. 
 But it was not enough. They wanted to heckle 
 him. They observed that he did not attend divine 
 worship on Sunday. Why*? This from Betty's 
 aunt Theodosia. His answer that the idea of go- 
 ing to church had not occurred to him excited her 
 worst fears and suspicions. He had to submit to 
 being cross-questioned by this villainous old woman
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 93 
 
 when she returned from the Sabbath service and 
 found him seated with Betty on the porch. She 
 was the feminine replica of her brother, Betty's 
 father. She was very fat, she wheezed, she wore 
 an atrocious bonnet. She spat at him with her 
 eyes, and she was determined to know if he was a 
 member of the church any church. 
 
 In spite of Betty's warning glance, of the finger 
 pressed to her lip, he had told this old woman that 
 some time or other in his extreme youth he had 
 been taken into the church "with a lot of other 
 little chaps." So far as he knew he was still in it. 
 
 "Our church. He's an Episcopalian, Auntie!" 
 Betty had added hastily and hopefully. 
 
 Evidently he neglected his religious duties ! This 
 was very bad, she said. She gave herself credit for 
 having shown him up on that point. 
 
 This was only a sample of the scenes he had 
 passed through for three days. He had gone home 
 with Betty feeling like a well-bred young man with 
 prospects and a happy love-affair to be consum- 
 mated soon in the holy bonds of matrimony. He 
 had gone away from Culloden the victim of his 
 own temper, outraged at having been made to ap- 
 pear at his potential worst before Betty. 
 
 He had received assurances of her undying love, 
 and that nothing they said would make the least 
 difference to her. She believed in him and she
 
 94 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 would marry him as he wished, very soon. He had 
 no doubts of her. But this picked-to-pieces version 
 of himself was very offensive. 
 
 It is as injurious to know too much about your- 
 self as it is to know too much about your neigh- 
 bors. For the first time in his life Cutmore was in 
 danger of this diminishing knowledge. So far he 
 had taken himself proudly for granted. But those 
 people had drawn a line across him somewhere, sub- 
 tracted about half of the sum total, divided that by 
 the limitations and faults they suspected he had 
 until he found himself in the debit column. The 
 glamour was gone and the high happiness of love. 
 Love was not the joyful, fearless thing he and 
 Betty had conceived it to be. It was a frightful 
 obligation to be financed by hard labor and a sys- 
 tem of petty bookkeeping. Those people, without 
 knowing of his debts, had contrived to remind him 
 of these debts like sins in the dark against Betty. 
 He had been made to feel that he was a dangerous 
 and doubtful investment the Marshall family were 
 about to be forced to make, due entirely to the fact 
 that he had taken an unwarranted advantage in 
 winning Betty's affections. What did the family 
 have to do with it 1 ? That was what he wanted to 
 know! He was not marrying the family. If ever 
 Betty was safely married to him he would show 
 her family a thing or two! This was a sort of
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 95 
 
 promissory note he made to them. And he was the 
 man to pay such notes in full. 
 
 He was still at work when Puckle left the office 
 that afternoon. Puckle was in the habit of going 
 out early now. He played golf earnestly for the 
 same reason that Cutmore worked fiercely. He had 
 something important to forget. 
 
 What you are is not always apparent. You are 
 controlled, restrained, even disguised by the con- 
 ditions about you. But some day a little thing 
 happens, so unimportant that no one else notices 
 it, but it touches the nerve of the man you really 
 are, and you step out of these conditions, you cast 
 aside this environment as if it were a mask you had 
 worn, and you show forth in your real character. 
 
 Something like this had happened to Cutmore 
 at Culloden. He had always lived like a gentle- 
 man on a plane far above his faults. These were 
 the leaves he shed from time to time like a healthy 
 growing plant, much as he dropped his unpaid bills 
 into the waste-basket. He had been at peace with 
 himself and in love. He was still in love, but he 
 was no longer at peace with himself. For the first 
 time he had been identified in that inquisition 
 through which he had passed at Culloden, with his 
 perversities. He had been stripped of some cher- 
 ished illusion of himself. This enraged him. His 
 animosities were stirred. He longed for an enemy. 
 He had changed natures. He had become vindic-
 
 96 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 tive. Still seated at his desk after the clerk and 
 stenographer were gone, he recalled scores he had 
 settled in the past. That Clewes girl. A fight he 
 had with a man in his class at Harvard. A diffi- 
 culty with a squatter which amounted to a feud 
 that year he spent in the cabin on the mountain. 
 He had got the squatter. He felt no particular 
 comfort in recalling the fact that the man had not 
 died of his wounds. This was the one red incident 
 in that silent year when he cooled the hot fires in 
 him reading mystical books, having near converse 
 with the unknown. Then he went back blowing 
 upon the embers of these former fires. He remem- 
 bered a certain thing that happened in France. His 
 face clinched with a sort of white rage. If he ever 
 saw Hayden, he would settle that score ! 
 
 We do not know it, but we are associated with 
 men like that every day. We touch elbows with 
 them on the streets. We receive them without fear 
 into the closest relations of life. Men who have 
 never committed a crime, but who carry murder in 
 their hearts as a fixed idea, a resort of the imagina- 
 tion. They are the flaming swords that we do 
 not see. They are gifted with a curious high ex- 
 cellence of the spirit by which they contemplate 
 the death of an enemy, or even of a friend's enemy 
 as knights of old performed similar deeds which 
 placed their names in epics. 
 
 Cutmore belonged to this class. He was a re-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 97 
 
 version to type. He had been born with an accent 
 over his head, dangerously gentle, not noisy, but 
 felt, and always noticed. His silence had the effect 
 of a sharp report. He had a puissant heart and 
 he had the mind of a dagger. His conscience was 
 merely his fine sentiments. 
 
 He frequently dined alone at the Old Hickory 
 Club. On the evening of this day he appeared 
 there as usual, had his usual table, a small one in 
 the corner near an open window, and he ordered 
 dinner as usual, but he did not dine. 
 
 Some distance away there was another larger 
 table, evidently laid for a party of five guests who 
 had not yet arrived. Cutmore noticed this table 
 particularly because the favors represented two 
 tiny army rifles crossed before each plate. Some- 
 body was entertaining a military man, he supposed. 
 
 Then Towne came in accompanied by Sarah 
 Crombie; Tovey and Margaret Miller followed. 
 They took their places at this table, one seat re- 
 maining vacant on Towne's left, who was evidently 
 the host of this party. He recalled Betty's pre- 
 diction about Sarah and Towne. She might be 
 right after all. 
 
 He was about to go over and speak to Sarah 
 when a man appeared in a doorway behind Towne's 
 table. A tall man with a military bearing, although
 
 98 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 he wore citizen's clothes. His eyes swept the room, 
 then he caught sight of Towne and advanced. 
 
 "We were just wondering, Hay den, what had 
 become of you !" that gentleman exclaimed. 
 
 Cutmore followed him with a stare. So Hayden 
 was back! 
 
 When you have definitely resolved upon a des- 
 perate deed the devil usually hastens to afford the 
 opportunity. 
 
 At this moment the waiter brought in a dish and 
 placed it before Cutmore. He added other dishes 
 and a salad. Cutmore remained seated stiffly erect, 
 napkin across his knees, one hand resting on the 
 tablecloth, the fingers of which constantly opened 
 and shut, a nervous motion, disquieting if you no- 
 ticed it. No one did at first in that room where 
 probably fifty people were dining. Then some one 
 saw it and nudged his neighbor. The tone of con- 
 versation dropped at once to a lower key between 
 these two. Glances passed and other guests be- 
 came sibilant. They cast curious glances at Cut- 
 more, who sat like the capital letter of a dark deed, 
 his eyes fixed in a cold, implacable stare on nothing 
 in particular, the long fingers of his hand opening 
 and closing and then remaining closed in a grip 
 disagreeably suggestive. 
 
 But the quake of his presence did not reach Hay- 
 den until later. Hayden had missed him in that 
 first glance he cast around the room when he en-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 99 
 
 tered. Sarah Crombie, who sat opposite him, par- 
 tially concealed Cutmore. He was very much 
 engaged in looking at Sarah. He was making him- 
 self agreeable to this young woman. He was pro- 
 foundly unconscious of any danger. He had left 
 that sort of thing behind him in France. He was 
 enjoying himself. 
 
 They had finished the soup, the fish, the meat 
 course, and had reached the salad when Sarah bent 
 her head to say something in an aside to Tovey. 
 Then Hayden caught sight of Cutmore. 
 
 That fellow's face was strangely familiar, he 
 thought. It was malignantly familiar, he decided. 
 Then he recalled a regrettable incident in France. 
 His mind stood still a moment, as if some coward 
 in him shuddered. Then he took courage. He had 
 outlived that affair. He had made good. Cut- 
 more could not afford to betray him. He was ready 
 to go half-way, more than half-way. He started at 
 once. He tried Cutmore with a bow. Cutmore let 
 him know that he knew it was intended for him by 
 refusing to return it. He thought possibly Cut- 
 more had failed to recognize him in citizen's clothes 
 and tried it again. This time there was no mistak- 
 ing the flare in Cutmore' s face. It passed like a 
 stroke of lightning and was deadly. 
 
 During the remainder of the hour Hayden did 
 did not measure up to his welcome-home party. A
 
 100 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 gravity settled on him. He realized with increas- 
 ing conviction that there was something personal 
 to him in the sizzling silence and rigidity of that 
 man in the corner. He tried to reassure himself 
 with the fact that he scarcely knew Cutmore, there- 
 fore no reason to feel as he felt. But his discom- 
 fort increased. He wanted to get out of this place. 
 The quicker the better. Cutmore was becoming 
 ominous, like a calamity. Hayden labored to make 
 himself the agreeable hero of the hour. He told a 
 story. He said, in reply to some question from 
 Margaret Miller, that, yes, a man had to be brave 
 in battle whether he was brave or not. Every word, 
 he felt, passed under the malignant censorship of 
 Cutmore, who was not taking his food, who was 
 apparently waiting for something. Well, what was 
 he waiting for"? 
 
 Finally the coffee was drunk, chairs pushed back 
 as people do when presently they will rise from 
 the table, but not yet. Hayden saw Cutmore 
 thrust his chair out, move his knees from under the 
 table at the moment this stir began. He glanced 
 behind him, and saw that the door was not distant. 
 He would excuse himself to Towne and pass 
 through this door when they should get up. For 
 he was not aware of the fact that others besides 
 himself were watching Cutmore, that the room was 
 vibrant with suspense of some kind. 
 
 Sarah Crombie stood up. The others followed.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 101 
 
 Hayden was about to make his excuses to Towne 
 when Cutmore shot out from his corner and ad- 
 vanced swiftly between the intervening tables, every 
 eye in the room on him and his gaze fixed upon 
 Hayden. 
 
 "Windy!" Sarah exclaimed as he passed her. 
 
 He did not hear; he had already reached Hay- 
 den. He bent forward and said something. Hay- 
 den demurred. 
 
 "Either here or down there," Cutmore mur- 
 mured so gently that no shadow of a threat sounded 
 in his tones. 
 
 "You will excuse Captain Hayden, Towne," he 
 said, turning to Gussie. "We have an engagement. 
 I have been waiting for him." 
 
 "Why, of course, but " Towne went no further 
 with what he was about to say, the two men having 
 passed through the door, Cutmore walking behind 
 Hayden, who appeared to be dazed by this sudden 
 engagement. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of that?" Margaret 
 exclaimed. 
 
 Towne said he never did know what to think of 
 Cutmore anyway. Sarah was silent, but Tovey re- 
 minded them that these two had been in the same 
 regiment. They probably had things to talk over. 
 
 Towne said it was strange to him that Hayden 
 had not mentioned such an engagement. He was 
 irritated. No man likes to be deprived of his hon-
 
 102 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 ored guest just at the moment when he plans to 
 parade him before his acquaintances. 
 
 The next morning Gussie Towne appeared in 
 Puckle's office, early, at an hour when he was 
 usually in bed. He was not exactly disheveled, 
 but he was not groomed. He did not take off his 
 coat nor sit down and fling his leg over the arm of 
 the chair as usual. He halted in the middle of the 
 room as if he might not have time in this emergency 
 to make the remaining distance. He wore his hat 
 on the back of his head; his expression was one of 
 explosive excitement. 
 
 "Morning, Gussie," Puckle said with a glance 
 that immediately returned to the morning paper. 
 
 "Puckle, have you seen Cutmore to-day?" Towne 
 demanded without taking the time to return this 
 salutation. 
 
 "Not yet," Puckle answered, still absorbed in 
 what he was reading. 
 
 "Where is he*?" Towne demanded importantly. 
 
 "In his office, I suppose. Want to see him?" 
 Puckle returned. 
 
 "I do not!" in tones so emphatic that they 
 brought charges against Cutmore. 
 
 Puckle laid the paper aside. 
 
 "Why this sudden uncordial interest in Cut- 
 more?" he asked mildly.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 103 
 
 "I'll bet my hat that he is not in his office!" 
 Towne retorted. 
 
 Puckle's reply was to press the button under the 
 ledge of his desk. 
 
 Miss Smith entered. 
 
 "Has Mr. Cutmore come in?" Puckle asked her. 
 
 Mr. Cutmore had been in his office since eight 
 o'clock, she informed him, and waited. Was there 
 anything else? Apparently not. Mr. Puckle said 
 he would see Mr. Cutmore later, not now. She 
 withdrew, without deigning to cast so much as a 
 look at Towne, and contrived to convey this oblit- 
 eration of his presence by her manner. 
 
 The moment the door closed after her Towne 
 flung himself into the chair. Evidently Puckle 
 knew nothing. It was his duty to inform him. 
 Something would be doing presently. Puckle ought 
 not to be taken by surprise. 
 
 He told Puckle what had happened. He was a 
 very indignant man. His own feelings as a host 
 had been outraged, but let that go! The sanctity 
 of the club had been violated, and a guest nearly 
 murdered. That was a serious matter. The base- 
 ment of that institution was not a prize-fighters' 
 ring not that Cutmore had observed the Queens- 
 bury rules so far as he could learn from the porter, 
 who was the only witness. He thought that porter 
 should be dismissed for not giving the alarm sooner. 
 He had not interfered, and he had allowed Cut-
 
 104 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 more to escape, leaving Hayden lying there uncon- 
 scious and bruised to a pulp. 
 
 These were the bald facts; as to the details they 
 would come later. Hayden was in no condition to 
 talk yet. He was in the hospital and in a critical 
 condition. Puckle listened, keeping his eyes 
 lowered. He asked only one question. He wanted 
 to know how Cutmore escaped. 
 
 "How*?" indignantly. "Well, he seems to have 
 taken his time about that. The porter says he ac- 
 tually made him brush the dust from his clothes. 
 Then he gave the fellow a quarter and walked 
 out." 
 
 The porter had immediately called somebody up- 
 stairs. Then the stir began, he said. Altogether it 
 was a disgraceful affair. 
 
 Puckle's manner was thoughtful, but non- 
 committal. He supposed Cutmore' s injuries could 
 not be serious, he said. 
 
 Towne replied that he knew nothing of that, and 
 cared less. 
 
 "But I'll tell you, Puckle," he added, about to 
 take his departure, "that man is a dangerous char- 
 acter. Not the kind of person to tie up with. He 
 is a sort of intermittent madman, if you want to 
 know what I think." 
 
 Some of the best judges of character in this world 
 are men who have no character of their own.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 105 
 
 Puckle sat frowning parentally. He was in the 
 position of an indignant father who has begotten 
 a son without having been able to choose the kind 
 of son he wanted. It is the case with many fathers. 
 They must keep kin to what they have begotten, a 
 relation which frequently entails frightful respon- 
 sibilities and no rewards. Left to his own judg- 
 ment he would never have selected Cutmore as his 
 partner in the practice of law. He would have 
 chosen a man of his own age, and of a different 
 type altogether. But now for some anguished rea- 
 son he was becoming attached to Cutmore; he ex- 
 perienced a sense of protection toward him. He 
 supposed it was on Betty's account. She would 
 need it. He was comforted at discovering this per- 
 missible and highly honorable relation to Betty. 
 Poor man! he was no astute psychologist himself; 
 few people are. Therefore he was still unaware 
 of his rapidly developing interest in Cutmore, a 
 strange fumbling admiration he had for that young 
 man's quality. He thought Towne's opinion of 
 Cutmore was only justified by the facts under pres- 
 ent conditions. Cutmore would not have been re- 
 garded as a madman in the eighteenth century, but 
 he would have been recognized as a gallant gentle- 
 man. He began to grin as a certain thought oc- 
 curred to him. He had a living antique in his 
 young law partner, endowed with modern brains, 
 but retaining the spirit, passions, and point of view
 
 106 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 of men long since relegated to the past. With his 
 annoyance overlaid by this whimsical humor he 
 went into the next office to see this young man. 
 
 Cutmore was absorbed in reading and correcting 
 some typewritten stuff, and did not immediately 
 look up. Puckle thought he had never seen him 
 sitting stiffer or more immaculately fit. He might 
 be a trifle pale, but his hand was steady. And not 
 so much as an abrasion on him, so far as he could see. 
 
 "Morning, Windy!" he said casually, and 
 flushed, never having called him by this intimate 
 name before. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Puckle," Cutmore returned, 
 coming to his feet. 
 
 "Sit down; I want to talk to you, young man," 
 Puckle said, letting himself down heavily into an- 
 other chair. 
 
 He eyed Cutmore with an eye designed to pro- 
 duce an involuntary expression of guilt, some color 
 or confusion of manner. 
 
 Cutmore returned this thrust of a gaze with a 
 level stare, politely interrogative. 
 
 Puckle lit a cigar. He perceived that this would 
 be a difficult case to win. 
 
 "You were at the club last night*?" he began 
 tentatively. 
 
 "I dined there." 
 
 "See Captain Hayden?' 
 
 "He was there, yes."
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 107 
 
 "Know him?' 
 
 "I never knew him at all here," Cutmore an- 
 swered, "but later in France; not personally then, 
 only his record. He was a captain in our regi- 
 ment." 
 
 "What have you against him?" 
 
 "Nothing now, sir." 
 
 "Do you know where he is*?" 
 
 "I do not." 
 
 "He is in the hospital. His condition is serious; 
 concussion of the brain and internal injuries. He 
 may die." 
 
 "He will recover, sir." 
 
 "And give you trouble. Are you prepared to 
 defend yourself in the courts'?" 
 
 "He will be the last one to do that, sir. He will 
 probably leave Millidge." 
 
 Puckle digested this information. He was re- 
 lieved, but he felt obliged to talk to Cutmore. He 
 talked. He reminded him that a man who repre- 
 sented the law was supposed to keep it, not break 
 it. It was undignified to make himself liable to 
 prosecution. 
 
 Cutmore showed no evidence of contrition or em- 
 barrassment. He was sitting sidewise to Puckle, 
 practicing a sort of polite but impervious silence. 
 
 "Now, to be frank, what possible grievance could 
 you have against Hayden to justify your perform-
 
 108 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 ance last night*?" Puckle demanded, determined to 
 know. 
 
 "To tell you would be harder on him than the 
 punishment he had from me." Cutmore answered, 
 and then went on after a pause. 
 
 "We were attached to a British regiment in 
 Flanders. It was in December of 1917; very cold. 
 Snow a foot deep on the ground. There had been 
 fighting for a week around one of those little towns. 
 It fell first to us, then to the Germans. That day 
 we lost it. That night Hayden he was a lieu- 
 tenant then sent me with a detail to locate a 
 certain point in the enemy's line. That was a mis- 
 take. He had no right to give this order. Our 
 troops were to fall back at once. I suppose he did 
 not know. But it was his business to know. The 
 Germans were already advancing. They sur- 
 rounded us out there in that pit of horrors. To this 
 day nothing has been heard of the seven men with 
 me. They were killed. I was left for dead in a 
 shell-hole. I was there three days before the Ger- 
 mans were driven back and some ambulance man 
 picked me up. I had a shattered leg and a shrap- 
 nel wound in the shoulder. And I had been gassed. 
 
 "But for this I should have been court-martialed," 
 he went on. "Hayden positively denied having 
 sent me on that detail. He swore that I had gone 
 without orders. He saved his skin. I lay in the
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 109 
 
 hospital three months. What with the gas and the 
 wound in my shoulder, I developed pneumonia. 
 But I recovered. I expected to go back to my com- 
 pany. I particularly wanted to get back there and 
 attend to Hayden. He must have known, for I 
 was sent home with the first convalescents who 
 reached this country. He managed that. I never 
 saw him again until to-night. I should have killed 
 him." 
 
 "You should have reported him to the proper 
 military authorities," Puckle retorted. 
 
 "The seven men who might have witnessed 
 against him had been killed. I was a non-com- 
 missioned officer. My word would not have been 
 taken against his word. Many a court-martial sat 
 in France to protect officers like Hayden. They 
 were the traitors in our own lines who sometimes 
 betrayed their men when it was necessary to save 
 their rank or reputation. 
 
 "Some private ought to write a history of the 
 American Expeditionary Forces in France. It 
 would revolutionize military discipline in this 
 country," he concluded. 
 
 "Yes, I have no doubt it would," Puckle agreed 
 thoughtfully. "But your private would never find 
 a publisher for his book." 
 
 "No, he would not. That is why I attended to 
 Hayden. You hear very little about it, but a 
 guilty officer frequently meets similar justice when
 
 110 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 he gets back here and is discharged from the army. 
 It will go on for years, private court-martials, con- 
 ducted by privates," he concluded grimly. 
 
 "Well, the War is over; time to forget it," 
 Puckle said. 
 
 "Only since last night for me," Cutmore an- 
 swered. 
 
 Puckle stood up. He laid one hand on the desk, 
 bent over, resting his huge bulk upon this arm, un- 
 buckled the fist of his right hand in a gesture which 
 enclosed Cutmore like a parenthesis. 
 
 "Windy," he said, "do you know what destroys 
 most men who fail to make good? It is not their 
 sins. A strong man can always digest his sins. It 
 is some weakness, inherent, against which they fail 
 to take precautions. Few men, for example, are 
 murderers by nature. It is a nervous affection,' mur- 
 der is. You want to pay more attention to your 
 nervous system. It was Hayden this time, but it 
 might be anybody, any little annoyance, that would 
 set you afire. You have what is called tempera- 
 ment. It is a disease of the nerves. Makes you 
 irresponsible and dangerous. Jury might clear you, 
 but it would cost you your liberty and bring sor- 
 row on others. You know what I mean." 
 
 Cutmore gave no sign of this knowledge. But 
 he stood up as Puckle turned to go. This was a 
 sort of tribute he sometimes made to Puckle when
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 111 
 
 that great old ruffian delivered himself of a fine 
 sentiment. Otherwise he remained seated on a 
 level with his senior partner, and frequently made 
 Puckle feel that he was by some strange keen 
 quality of the spirit slightly above his level.
 
 PART TWO 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 For several days Captain Hayden remained in 
 a state of painful silence at the Millidge Hospital, 
 with Mr. Charles Augustus Towne in constant at- 
 tendance. He and Hayden were old friends. Be- 
 sides he wanted to know more about this regret- 
 table affair between him and Cutmore. He sup- 
 posed that presently Hayden would have recovered 
 sufficiently to give his version of it. He attrib- 
 uted Hayden's reticence to the best motives and 
 to shock. Meanwhile he vended this scandal. He 
 told every man of his acquaintance what he 
 thought of Cutmore, and what he suspected the 
 worst. He had an air of importance. He was full 
 of this thing. He would make it his business to 
 see Hayden through it, and so forth and so on. 
 He was so impressed with his own views and 
 blinded by his sympathies that he failed to notice 
 the silence with which men at the club listened to 
 what he had to say. 
 
 But it was irritating the way old Turner, one 
 of the governors of the club, changed the subject 
 when he suggested that some sort of action should 
 be taken in regard to Cutmore. For his part he 
 
 113
 
 114 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 objected to ruffians as members of "Old Hickory." 
 Turner said that Martin Puckle had already dis- 
 cussed the matter with him. But he did not so 
 much as hint what Puckle had said. It was a week 
 later before Towne realized that Puckle had spiked 
 his wheel. He had simply said in his briefest man- 
 ner at a meeting of the governors of the club that 
 while it was regrettable that Hayden got his punish- 
 ment there, he had deserved it, and he hoped the 
 matter would be dropped along with Hay den's 
 name. 
 
 One day Puckle met Towne on the links. 
 Usually it was the other way, Towne met Puckle, 
 but on this day Towne held aloof. He was not 
 playing golf. He was seated on the terrace before 
 the club-house at a table having something. Puckle 
 strolled up. He had the glitter of a smile in his 
 eye, and a warped grin on one side of his mouth. 
 "Hello, Gussie! How's your friend Hayden *?" he 
 asked cheerfully. 
 
 Towne replied that he did not know how Hay- 
 den was. He did not even know where he was. He 
 had left the hospital. Besides, he added coolly, he 
 hoped Puckle and everybody else knew that he, 
 Towne, was not Hay den's keeper. 
 
 "On the contrary, we rather thought you set up 
 to be something of that kind," Puckle retorted. 
 
 Towne said he didn't see why. He was queru- 
 lous about this injustice.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 115 
 
 Puckle, standing with his feet far apart, laid 
 himself back on his haunches, placed one hand on 
 each hip, and poked his head out at Towne much 
 as a turtle does. 
 
 "Gussie," he said, still grinning, "you missed 
 your cue." 
 
 "Meaning*?" Towne snapped. 
 
 "Well, when a fellow lets another man beat him 
 up as Cutmore beat Hayden, and shows no fight, 
 you may know there's a reason," Puckle told him. 
 
 "And when he skips out before the doctors take 
 the sticking-plaster off him, it indicates that the 
 reason is not complimentary," Puckle continued. 
 "I was expecting him to fly by night," he added. 
 
 "You knew he was gone*?" 
 
 "Before you did, Gussie. I made it my business 
 to keep up with Hayden." 
 
 "Where is he*?" Towne asked bitterly. 
 
 "In strict retirement for the present. But don't 
 worry ; he will show up somewhere after his wounds 
 heal and this affair blows over. Hayden is one of 
 those fellows who seek the spotlights as bugs do 
 electric globes on a dark night. You will hear of 
 him leading a parade somewhere before long but 
 not here !" he snickered, moving off. 
 
 Towne pushed back his chair and accompanied 
 him. Under these circumstances it was better to be 
 seen with Puckle. He was smart about that. Once
 
 116 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 he discovered the right side of the fence, he climbed 
 over and showed off on that side. Once he knew 
 which man was on top in a situation, he clove to 
 that man. Puckle was a very influential neutral 
 in this situation, he suddenly realized, so he saun- 
 tered toward the links with him. 
 
 "By the way, Gussie," Puckle said after they had 
 gone some distance in silence, "if I were in your 
 place," his tone intimating that Gussie's place had 
 recently become perilous, "I should not discuss 
 Windham Cutmore, not critically. Cutmore is a 
 gentle, peaceable man, but " 
 
 Towne cut across what Puckle was saying with 
 a look expressing emphatic denial of Cutmore's 
 peaceable qualities. 
 
 "Well, he is," Puckle insisted, answering this 
 glance, "but, as I was going to say, he is inflam- 
 mable, remarkably so. You may kick a dud and 
 survive, but it is often fatal to even play with a 
 real live, peaceable bomb. Now you have been 
 scratching matches on Cutmore's back. It is not 
 safe!" 
 
 Towne professed to be indignantly ungrateful 
 for this advice. He could attend to him, in case 
 Cutmore needed attending to, or words to that ef- 
 fect. But from that day he became scrupulously 
 innocent of Cutmore. He even surrendered the 
 plan he had of running down to Culloden to see
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 117 
 
 Betty Marshall. A flirtation with Betty was 
 scarcely worth the risk involved. 
 
 Millidge settled and simmered in the torrid heat 
 of July. The people who usually went away to 
 escape it, went. Puckle took a vacation, his first 
 one. He was in need of a change. He left Cut- 
 more in charge of the firm's business. 
 
 It was now decided that he and Betty would be 
 married late in September, sundry Marshalls to the 
 contrary notwithstanding. 
 
 Betty wrote to her "Dear Windy" every day, giv- 
 ing him the news of love, which was the only news 
 of interest to them. They exchanged volumes 
 about love as if nothing had ever been written on 
 this subject before. Windy' s letters were shorter, 
 but it can be said of him that he stuck closer to 
 the text. Betty was sometimes a trifle vague, as 
 if she grasped timidly and fearfully at this strange 
 new happiness, which she said was a miracle be- 
 cause she and Windy had created it for themselves, 
 merely by recognizing each other, although they 
 had been strangers until then. 
 
 You must know a thing or two in order to infer 
 what kind of a wife a girl will make judging by 
 the letters she writes before you marry her. The 
 more lovers she has had the more practice she has 
 had in translating love into the eloquent written 
 word. The least faithful of them may have a gift
 
 118 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 for interpreting the finest scriptures of love. Or 
 she may be a woman whose emotions and passions 
 are mental rather than real, and you marry her only 
 to discover that you have joined yourself to a par- 
 ticularly cold and unendurable woman. The most 
 faithful and vital women write of love with no wis- 
 dom of words at all. And sometimes one richly 
 endowed and profoundly intelligent may show a 
 primer mind when it comes to confessing her heart 
 in a love-letter. Betty surely was one of these. 
 She told her lover every day how dearly, dearly she 
 loved him, which was all she could say positively, so 
 she repeated it. She said also that she was count- 
 ing the days until he came again, which meant the 
 same thing. And would he be down to see her this 
 week-end 1 ? In which case she could begin to count 
 the hours until he came, which also meant the same 
 thing, that she loved him dearly and so forth. 
 
 Sometimes she would announce mysteriously that 
 she had something very important to tell him that 
 could not be written. When he hurried to Cullo- 
 den spurred by curiosity and anxiety to know what 
 this was she had to tell so important, Betty would 
 make of herself an adorable little figure, flushed, 
 dewy-eyed, embarrassed, very diffident, until he 
 must plead with her to know what this confidence 
 was. Then she would yield. It was nothing very 
 much, only writing it seemed so inadequate. 
 There were times when she felt that she must tell
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 119 
 
 him how much she loved him. It was not just love, 
 she said; it was something else, very difficult to say 
 in words. But it was this, that she understood him, 
 she had found him ! She did not think Windy knew 
 much about her dearer Windy, but she meant to 
 show him that man. Now, did he understand 1 ? He 
 did not, but he kissed her and was peacefully at 
 rest in this happiness she made of herself for him. 
 
 Now and then in an aside, so to speak, she gave 
 him news of the family, those people whom he re- 
 sented because they were still a part of her life and 
 not cordial to him. She said that Aunt Theodosia 
 was implacable. But she no longer cared what 
 Aunt Theodosia thought. Some people, she sup- 
 posed, "were born proof-readers of other people's 
 characters. They read it to find the mistakes, the 
 deeds left out, the bad grammar of just living." 
 
 Cutmore's eye glinted at this sentence. His Betty 
 was no fool, mark you that! She could think 
 and say a thing so it fitted the thought like a fine 
 glove when she chose to take the trouble. 
 
 In another letter she referred tenderly to her 
 mother. She wrote that her mother was patheti- 
 cally gentle and tender with her these days, "as if 
 presently I should be going to die!" She wondered 
 if they all felt that way when their daughters were 
 about to be married. "Mothers," she thought, "be- 
 longed to the Rock-of-Ages type. They were al- 
 ways there whatever happened."
 
 120 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 After Puckle was gone on his golfing vacation 
 she wrote that "father" was becoming reconciled, 
 especially since Mr. Puckle had entrusted Windy 
 with so much important business. He, father, had 
 said that it was a "good sign." 
 
 Cutmore resented the idea of Puckle' s becoming 
 the zodiac sign of his worth, but he kept that to 
 himself. However, when Betty wrote how sorry 
 she was for his having so much work to do, and how 
 she supposed he must "miss dear Mr. Puckle," he 
 wrote in reply that he was doing no more than 
 usual, and so far from missing Puckle, his absence 
 was a relief. He admired the man, he said, but 
 when Puckle was in his office he, Windy, had the 
 uncomfortable feeling of being in a stall next to an 
 animal that pawed, kicked the door, snorted, fre- 
 quently got out and erupted violently among the 
 clerks in the front office. Probably Betty did not 
 know that her dear Mr. Puckle trumpeted when he 
 blew his nose, loud enough to be heard in the street 
 below. And that he seemed to keep this nose just 
 to blow it. Moreover, he had a hectoring temper 
 at times, when he raised his voice like a menace, 
 not to him, of course. Still it was disagreeable to 
 hear him doing it. He hoped she would under- 
 stand that he admired Puckle' s real worth as much 
 as any one, but she might as well know that he was 
 a "hobnail hurricane" in the office at times, and not 
 agreeable to a man with polite nerves.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 121 
 
 There was no need of Betty's idealizing a man 
 like Puckle, he said to himself, because when she 
 knew him better it would only result in disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 One thing impressed Cutmore as remarkable: no 
 matter how exhausted he was from a hard day's 
 work he felt his strength and energy return the 
 moment he started a letter to Betty. He was no 
 longer tired; he was refreshed. Early in August he 
 began suddenly to reason from this premise. Love 
 was an inspiration. It revived his faculties and his 
 spirit the moment he applied himself to even think- 
 ing in the terms of Betty. On the other hand he 
 found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on his 
 work. Well, then, the sooner he had Betty by his 
 side forever the better it would be for him. Also 
 for Betty. She had written him how busy she was, 
 getting ready, making things for his bride. A pretty 
 way to say it, but he was concerned chiefly for the 
 bride, not these "things." She was working her 
 dear self to a frazzle. It was foolish, all this fuss 
 and preparation. Why were not people allowed to 
 act naturally 4 ? When they loved and needed each 
 other why not just marry and have done with it? 
 
 Having reached this conclusion, he took the train 
 for Culloden, although it was Wednesday, the mid- 
 dle of the week. 
 
 Betty was astonished and delighted to see him. 
 How had he managed to get away from the office 1 ?
 
 122 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 He told her, and why he had come. She was 
 aghast. She said that they could not possibly be 
 married now. 
 
 "Why?" he wanted to know. 
 
 There was a number of reasons. 
 
 'Tor one thing, our engagement has not been 
 announced," she said. 
 
 "No sensible reason for taking the whole world 
 into our confidence at such a time," he replied. 
 
 She referred to her wedding-gown. It had not 
 been made. 
 
 Any frock would become a wedding-dress if she 
 should be married in it, he answered. 
 
 Then there was the family; they would never 
 consent. This was her last ditch. He would ex- 
 plain matters to them, he told her. He could cer- 
 tainly make them understand. 
 
 He explained. They did understand, but they 
 were obdurate. Mrs. Marshall said it was unthink- 
 able and undignified, a hasty marriage. Mr. Mar- 
 shall told him that in weddings women must have 
 their way. Marriage was a feminine institution to 
 start with. He thought Windy had better go back 
 to his office and attend strictly to business until 
 Puckle returned. 
 
 Windy said that was what he ought to do and 
 wanted to do, but that he would remain in Cullo- 
 den until he could take Betty with him. He had 
 very comfortable quarters at the hotel.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 123 
 
 During the month of July, Martin Puckle was 
 making the round of those Summer resorts in the 
 "Skyland" country of North Carolina where the 
 best golfing was to be had. He was enjoying him- 
 self. He felt fit for the first time since, well, since 
 that night in May when he saw Betty Marshall. 
 This change had put him back on his feet as a 
 cheerful celibate man. He heard from Cutmore 
 occasionally. Things were going smoothly in the 
 office. Cutmore was an efficient young fellow. 
 After all it had not been a blunder to take him on. 
 However, he would have one more week of golf and 
 then get back to Millidge. There were cases to 
 prepare before the September term of court. 
 
 His mail from Millidge did not reach Linnville, 
 where he was now stopping, until late in the after- 
 noon. One Sunday, the third of August, he came 
 in from the links at six o'clock. The clerk handed 
 him his key, one letter, and a bulkily rolled paper 
 which he recognized as the Sunday edition of the 
 Millidge Ledger. Somebody had been thoughtful 
 enough to send it. Then he noticed that it had 
 been addressed in Gussie Towne's scraggly hand- 
 writing. Towne always wrote as if half his letters 
 were hilariously drunk. The letter was from Cut- 
 more, the usual week-end account of business, he 
 supposed, as he thrust it into his pocket and climbed 
 the stairs to his room. 
 
 He made himself comfortable there, which meant
 
 124 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 taking off his coat and, especially, his collar. Never 
 for one moment in his life had he been really com- 
 fortable with a collar buttoned around his neck. 
 Then he ripped the wrapper from the Ledger and 
 dropped it on the floor beside a big chair, much as 
 one tosses a pitchfork of roughage in the rack of a 
 stall. Most men take their news that way. Then 
 he slumped into the chair and laid his legs across 
 the bottom of another chair. He would have a 
 smoke and a look at the Ledger before he dressed 
 for dinner. The long, black cigar exactly matched 
 his black, bristling hair and brows, his ruddy jowls, 
 his thick, pursed-up lips, and his snarling nose. 
 
 He went through the Ledger, section by section, 
 like an old horse "stemming" his fodder, choosing 
 the news he wanted, tossing the remains on the other 
 side of his chair, where they lay scattered in dis- 
 reputable confusion. 
 
 When he picked up the "Comic Sunday Supple- 
 ment" there still remained one section upon the 
 floor on the right-hand side of his chair, folded 
 neatly, with only its advertisements showing. 
 
 Like most American men, Puckle had a youth- 
 ful, grotesque sense of humor to which the colored 
 crank-sided wit of a "funny page" appealed strong- 
 ly. The corners of his eyes crinkled ; a grin worked 
 shrewdly at his lips, showing the cigar bitten firmly 
 between his teeth, as he read these cynical legends 
 of American life. He finished to the last curled
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 125 
 
 'possum-tailed joke, cast the thing from him, and 
 reached lazily for that other section. He unfolded 
 it and stared. He lifted his legs from the chair 
 slowly as if these legs had suddenly become old 
 and painful to him. He took the cigar from his 
 mouth, laid the paper across his knees, bent over, 
 and continued to stare at two pictures on the front 
 page devoted to wedding announcements and so- 
 ciety news in general. He merely glanced at the 
 clean, clear-cut profile of Windham Cutmore. The 
 eyes of the girl seemed to return his gaze, unmoved, 
 grave and sweet, as if she knew him well and trusted 
 him implicitly no matter what sort of chances she 
 took with Fate, 
 
 Beneath these pictures, surrounded with senti- 
 mental heart-lines, there was this brief exposition of 
 the facts which linked them there: "Mr. and Mrs. 
 Windham Cutmore, nee Miss Betty Marshall of 
 Culloden, news of whose marriage came to-day as 
 a surprise to their many friends in Millidge." 
 
 There was more of it, telling of the bride's popu- 
 larity as a visiting belle, giving Windham Cutmore 
 all his distinctions, including the one of being a 
 rising young lawyer of the firm of Puckle & Cut- 
 more. The young couple would be at home to their 
 friends at such and such a number on Princess Ave- 
 nue, which was the number of the old Cutmore 
 residence.
 
 126 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 But Puckle did not read all this. He felt sud- 
 denly old and tired. He did not dress nor go down 
 to dinner. He continued to sit there after the 
 paper had fallen from his knees, after the stir and 
 confusion of the hotel had dwindled to silence and 
 the lights had gone out and the stars gazed tran- 
 quilly through his window. 
 
 We die many times in the course of this life, and 
 no one suspects how many lives each of us has buried 
 in this secret place, covered with the thickening 
 dust of dearer hopes that failed, passionate desires 
 that died with us, because the next morning we show 
 forth as usual, barbered and shaved, clean shirt, 
 stiff collar, or dressed in a becoming frock, with a 
 trifle more powder than usual on our noses. 
 
 Puckle passed through one of these secret trage- 
 dies that night. He admitted to himself for the 
 first time that he loved Betty with a passion that 
 had shaken him and changed his whole nature. He 
 attended the obsequies of this Puckle. He mourned 
 not for him, the confounded old fool ! but for Betty, 
 so young, fair, and sweet. What had she done to 
 herself? He realized now that all this time he had 
 hoped she would not marry Cutmore, that some- 
 thing would happen to prevent this marriage. 
 
 What strange courage women had! he thought 
 with a sigh. They dared without fear to link their 
 lives to the lives of men whom every other man 
 feared. Good women especially, he believed, were
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 127 
 
 all born cheerfully blind to fate even when fearful 
 destinies threatened them. 
 
 He remembered saying something at the Crom- 
 bies' one evening about that. He had been talking 
 to Sarah Crombie; a banal thing about the blind- 
 ness of love. Betty came in just then, heard him 
 telling Sarah this. She stood back from them, 
 waiting for this blasphemy to be finished. Then, 
 
 "It is you who are blind. The eyes of love are 
 the only eyes that do see," she said. 
 
 He recalled the smile on her lips, as if wisdom 
 had become a rose; the singing light in her blue 
 eyes, the deepening color, the sweet valor of love 
 in a girl's face. 
 
 He groaned at the recollection of this vision. 
 
 He arose and prepared for bed without turning 
 on the light. When a man undresses in the dark 
 it is a sign that he is either drunk or very sad 
 about himself. 
 
 He did not sleep. Somewhere between dawn and 
 daylight he became a trifle less miserable. He de- 
 cided that he could still stand by Betty. Some 
 one must. Cutmore would die for her, he had no 
 doubt of it, but what else Cutmore might do no 
 oracle of the gods could reveal. This flashup with 
 Betty at the marriage altar when no such thing was 
 contemplated when he left Millidge was character- 
 istic of Cutmore. He could not keep an even gait. 
 He had to skip the intervening space every time.
 
 128 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 He aimed and took a shot at what he pleased or 
 wanted. This time he had got Betty. Puckle ad- 
 mitted that he himself had been brought down early 
 in May when Cutmore produced and promoted 
 himself as his law partner. Strange to say, he 
 felt no resentment toward him. You do not hold 
 elements responsible for the weather they produce. 
 You simply endure the weather. Cutmore was 
 more of an element than he was a responsible human 
 being. This was what Puckle thought about him. 
 Then he went back and thought of "poor little 
 Betty." 
 
 Why so many people think in terms of solemn 
 regret and prophetic sorrow of a nice, gentle girl 
 when she marries, to please herself, no one knows; 
 but they do. 
 
 Puckle had expected to return to Millidge pres- 
 ently, but now he decided to lengthen his vacation 
 long enough to pull himself together again. It 
 seemed to him that he had done nothing else for 
 the past three months. Every time he adjusted 
 himself to a situation Cutmore changed the sit- 
 uation. 
 
 When the average woman resolves to become and 
 be a good wife, she usually resolves upon a state of 
 tender servitude which eventually leads to a state 
 of dutiful but listless slavery. She is at last neither 
 interesting nor effective, simply as a wife. If a
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 129 
 
 husband is disposed to unfaithfulness, which has 
 sometimes been remarked as a characteristic of the 
 male temperament, he is more likely to be unfaith- 
 ful to this kind of wife who has slipped off the 
 matrimonial pedestal into the serving class. The 
 chief difference between these women and other 
 servants is that they do not receive wages and can't 
 "quit." Also when one of them dies of it, as many 
 of them do, the bereaved husband is almost certain 
 to marry sooner than would otherwise be the case, 
 because while at a pinch a man can get on without 
 a wife, no man can bear to be without dependable 
 service devoted exclusively to him and his comfort 
 once he has become accustomed to it. The fact that 
 he sometimes finds the tables turned and himself 
 the footman of his second wife is accidental retribu- 
 tion and not what he was expecting from past ex- 
 perience. 
 
 Betty, by one of those strange flips of the coin 
 of feminine fate, was not to be this kind of wife, 
 although every indication of her character pointed 
 that way. She was not to be an orthodox wife at 
 all, if you know what I mean, which you may be 
 pardoned for not knowing. It is no evidence of a 
 lack of intelligence on your part, but rather of 
 originality and imagination concerning a time-worn 
 and somewhat dismantled relationship, such as 
 marriage has become in the thought of many people. 
 Betty in fact had thought very little about being a
 
 130 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 wife at all. She regarded Windy as an enormous 
 and practically priceless investment which she had 
 made in happiness, not her happiness, you under- 
 stand, but just happiness in which she and Windy 
 could bask blithely to their hearts' content. Not 
 that she had got it down to this rude formula of 
 words, certainly not; it was simply a feeling she 
 had which is the nature of the strongest purposes 
 women ever entertain. 
 
 There is a man in this country who has written 
 a story for children, called "The Big End," which 
 is a feat of such confounding imagination that no 
 adult publisher has been found willing to handle 
 it. The title indicates the premises on which the 
 story is based, namely, that this planet is really 
 shaped like a dumbbell, with the globe on one end 
 larger than the globe on the other end. That the 
 part now inhabited is relatively small. That what 
 we think is the north pole will prove to be a long 
 narrow neck of land entirely surrounded by air 
 which leads to "The Big End" of this dumbbell 
 planet, where the scenes of his story are laid. 
 
 What I am coming to is this when Betty Mar- 
 shall married Windham Cutmore she was like the 
 heroine in this story when she crossed the neck and 
 came up and out in The Big End. She had it all 
 before her. She was out and up on a great adven- 
 ture. Windy was a sort of grant she had received 
 from a singularly beneficent Providence. She was
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 131 
 
 herself a pioneer determined to develop this grant 
 at any cost. Decidedly a remarkable idea of a 
 wife's responsibilities when you consider how many 
 women have married and accepted the cut-and-dried 
 conditions of it, without ever crossing the neck and 
 discovering the wider country of love in wedlock. 
 Usually when they start for strange lands of love 
 they begin by breaking the lock attached to "wed." 
 
 Now, the life of a pioneer, however adventurous 
 and thrilling, is bound to be arduous. You are out 
 under the open heavens with nothing to protect 
 you but your own soul. Everything is to be done, 
 and you are to do it. 
 
 Betty discovered all this at once and "went to 
 it," as the saying goes. She was happy, of course, 
 with that sense of completeness which comes to 
 two people who have married just for love, and 
 which grows a bit tiresome as the years pass be- 
 cause it is neither natural nor progressive to get 
 yourself completed in this life, especially in your 
 early youth, and because it is very difficult in the 
 married relation to create a diversion without creat- 
 ing a disturbance. But now the sensible and eco- 
 nomical thing to do was to lay the scenes properly 
 for this new and complete happiness, for if you are 
 thrifty you economize in happiness and make it last 
 as long as possible. Betty was thrifty, with the 
 joyful energy of a young bird building her first nest.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The Cutmore residence was a very fine old house. 
 There was a wide hall with a magnificent staircase. 
 The rooms were large, the ceilings lofty. The case- 
 ments long and deep. There was a dullness every- 
 where. The furniture was handsome, but it needed 
 to be furbished up. The rugs were beautiful and 
 needed cleaning. There was a great chest of silver 
 which had lost heart and decided to become oxi- 
 dized. There was a quantity of the finest linen, 
 much of which must be mended. Betty had never 
 seen such lovely china, and it was scattered from 
 the pantry to the bookcases in the library. It was 
 up-stairs and down-stairs and in my lady's chamber. 
 
 When men live alone in a house, they do some- 
 thing to it. Brightness and order depart from it. 
 It becomes chaotic like the civilizations they pro- 
 duce which must be cleaned out and rebuilt from 
 time to time for the same reason, because there is 
 no dust-pan-and-broom department in the mascu- 
 line intelligence. Therefore no civilization will 
 last which is not conceived and kept with the 
 additional aid and termagant house-cleaning and 
 -keeping energy of women. This reference to the 
 perishableness of bachelor civilizations, which are 
 
 132
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 133 
 
 the only kind we have had so far, is put in as an 
 aside merely to indicate why there is so much an- 
 tagonism to the idea of woman citizenship. It is 
 bad enough to endure your wife when she is in a 
 house-cleaning frenzy, but you can become absent 
 from home on that day and escape the scandal of 
 dust she raises. You can not, however, remove 
 yourself far, say a quarter of a century, from this 
 civilization while she, and likewise other shes, un- 
 dertake the arduous task of cleaning it up, because 
 when you should return home that night you would 
 be too old and too perverse to appreciate improved 
 conditions. Besides she would need your strong 
 arm in this business to sweep the scum out of the 
 dark corners which you have so carelessly collected, 
 especially from foreign parts. 
 
 Betty found her home in this sordid masculine 
 condition of dinginess and disarray. The Cutmores, 
 father and son, had lived in it for years with their 
 lazily well-satisfied servants, no doubt subcon- 
 sciously uncomfortable, but with no mind to worry 
 about this unimportant detail of dust and china 
 that hoboed its way into the parlor and remained 
 there. 
 
 She had the time and the will to change all this. 
 Her friends were still out of town. There would 
 be no visitors until September, and Windy was at 
 the office. She and Marie and Jerry worked in- 
 defatigably. The old house began to glisten inside.
 
 134 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 The floors were polished; the rugs, old and beauti- 
 fully faded, lay upon them like drifts of Autumn 
 leaves in the sun. The silver was rubbed, and some 
 of it used to brighten the immense sideboard in the 
 dining-room. The china had its face washed and 
 was restored to the china community. The tall, 
 brass andirons in the library shone like yellow 
 torches in the cavernous fireplace. Betty was 
 working off the first joyful energies of love. Once 
 when Cutmore came home unexpectedly in the 
 middle of the afternoon she was fluttering on the 
 staircase like a small bluebird that has just flown 
 through a particularly dusty spider-web. Shreds 
 of many webs clung to her, and she was poking 
 fiercely with a long-handled duster at still other 
 webs in the groins and cornices above her head. 
 
 "Betty!" he exclaimed, horrified, because he had 
 never seen her like this. He supposed Marie and 
 Jerry were doing the work. She had led him to 
 think so. She was frequently seated primly in a 
 pretty place when he came home in the late after- 
 noon mending something that looked fine and deli- 
 cate and becoming to her. 
 
 "Betty!" he had to repeat before she heard him. 
 
 Then she looked down, brushed the fairy lock 
 from her brow, gave him a gay little smile which 
 was besmirched, and waved the duster at him. 
 
 "You are killing yourself!" he cried, climbing 
 the stairs as she came down to him.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 135 
 
 "I am enjoying myself," she retorted, and would 
 not be enfolded in his arms because she would cer- 
 tainly muss him if she did. 
 
 He preferred to be mussed. 
 
 "This is terrible, Betty," he said, holding her 
 close. "I should have taken you on a wedding- tour 
 instead of bringing you to this musty old barn of a 
 house!" 
 
 "Please don't refer to my beautiful home in such 
 terms, Windy," she returned resentfully. "This is 
 so much more interesting than a bridal trip could 
 possibly be. I think it is dreadful to go traveling 
 about simply because you have just married. It is 
 much nicer and proper to settle down and begin 
 being at home." 
 
 Didn't he think so, she wanted to know, seeing 
 that he remained silent. 
 
 Well, yes, in a way, it probably was, but really 
 he should have taken her away from 
 
 "Windy," she interrupted, "after a while, when 
 we are a little tired of this quiet house, and maybe 
 for the moment of each other, we will take that 
 wedding-journey. You will go East and I shall 
 fly West, just to find out how blessed such a home 
 is, and how dearly we love each other!" 
 
 This was a preposterous idea. He had never 
 heard of a divided and divorced wedding-trip. He 
 would never agree to such a thing. But, warningly,
 
 136 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 if she did not leave this house-cleaning to the 
 servants at once she might as well pack and prepare 
 to go bridal touring with him, and so forth and so 
 on, these latter sentiments being translated upon 
 Betty's lips. 
 
 She said very well, she would regard his wishes 
 in this matter especially as now everything was 
 done. She hoped he didn't think she was going to 
 become one of those tiresome, obedient wives, sim- 
 ply because she regarded his wishes. 
 
 No, he did not think that, he assured her, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 "Because, Windy," she went on belligerently, 
 "I am not. That word 'obey' in the marriage cere- 
 mony is like the Ten Commandments in the Bible. 
 It is there, and they are in the Scriptures, but no 
 one accepts them literally. If they did I don't know 
 what would happen!" 
 
 "Especially the Ten Commandments!" he agreed, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Especially that word obey in the marriage cere- 
 mony," she answered. "Men were not made to be 
 obeyed, but to obey. That is an eminently prac- 
 tical scripture." 
 
 Simple stuff, banal, but all young couples indulge 
 in it. They prefer it to any of the firmer forms of 
 thought. They are as little children in the King- 
 dom of Love.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 137 
 
 One evening after dinner, she announced casu- 
 ally, "Some one called to-day." 
 
 "Who?" he wanted to know. 
 
 "Our rector." 
 
 He said nothing. 
 
 "He is a nice man." 
 
 "A rector should be," he said, coolly, and there- 
 after remained bitterly silent. Betty remained 
 gently so. She contrived to convey this idea of 
 gentleness by regarding him with a soft, purring 
 gaze. 
 
 He was suspicious of it. He had been a choir-boy 
 hi the tenor period of his extreme youth. That was 
 enough for him. He did fervently hope Betty had 
 no Sabbath designs on his one day of rest ! He did 
 hope she was not one of those women who develop 
 into a church celebrity of piety and good works. 
 When a man married a woman she was supposed 
 to forsake all others and cleave only to him. In 
 his opinion this also excluded that separate devotion 
 some of them gave to the church. Betty had been 
 remarkably reticent about her family since their 
 marriage. She seemed to be weaned. This rector 
 need not think he could scoop up his, Cutmore's, 
 wife and make a missionary galley-slave of her for 
 the good of the heathens. He was some heathen 
 himself! 
 
 "I hope you did not commit yourself in any way, 
 Betty," he said at last.
 
 138 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "To the rector, how do you mean*?" she asked. 
 
 "You did not promise to attend services every 
 Sunday, nor nor join anything, did you*?" he 
 stammered. 
 
 "No, dear, I did not," she laughed. 
 
 He was immensely relieved. 
 
 "You see," she went on, "I was brought up in 
 the church, very much in it. Nothing was omitted. 
 But now I'm up, I'm grown, and married." She 
 hesitated, looking at him doubtfully. 
 
 "Go on," he said. 
 
 "I was just thinking that it would be nice to 
 rest a while on the Sabbath day not to be 
 obliged to sit up and listen to the sermon, which is 
 so often the very Jonathan of the one you heard the 
 Sunday before not very interesting." 
 
 She leaned closer, inviting his arm around her 
 waist, and looked up at him as if she hoped he 
 would not be shocked at these views. And he fell 
 for it. He did not conceive that this adorable crea- 
 ture with the candid eyes could be driving him to 
 Cork by pretending that they were going to Dublin. 
 Your wife does you that way constantly, frequently 
 in the presence of others who know exactly what 
 she is doing. But you never suspect her. 
 
 "But, Windy," Betty went on in a smaller, softer 
 voice, "now that I have forsaken my father and my
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 139 
 
 mother and am no longer in the church I feel more 
 the need of Providence than ever before!" 
 
 Providence! Not until this moment did he 
 realize that he had arrogated to himself the proud 
 privilege of being Betty's Providence. 
 
 "You know what I mean," she said, making this 
 bid for sympathetic understanding. 
 
 He did not take it. He remained silent. 
 
 "It is a a naked feeling," she explained, "as if 
 my very soul was now exposed to the inclemency 
 of strange weather, as if my foundation of old, 
 familiar things was swept away. As if I had noth- 
 ing but just you." 
 
 "But you have me; I literally do belong to you, 
 Betty," he returned quickly. 
 
 "Yes, but you will be my husband for only a 
 comparatively short time " 
 
 He made a sound indicating horror and indigna- 
 tion. He was about to speak, but she went on. 
 
 " 'Till death us do part,' it says," she continued 
 in that small, sad voice. "You are everything in 
 the world to me. But you are not God, Windy, to 
 whom our relations are much more permanent, es- 
 pecially after death has parted us." 
 
 He was hurt. And he could not locate this 
 wound. A man can be jealous of anything. And 
 many a one is justified in resenting the alien activity 
 of his wife in her spiritual life. "To be included in 
 her prayers and excluded from her thoughts, to be-
 
 140 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 come her cross instead of her husband is a form of 
 infidelity which some of the best women practice 
 with no scruples at all. Cutmore hoped his Betty 
 was not going to develop fever of the soul. 
 
 He decided to reason with her, nip this thing in 
 the bud. He did not want her to lay the scenes of 
 her part of their common life in the hereafter. He 
 wished her to remain in the here and now, strictly 
 by his side in deed and in love. 
 
 He was so unfortunate as to mention this term, 
 "reason," in the next thing he said to her upon this 
 subject. He said in effect that they would have it 
 out together right now. He wanted her to know 
 his views. He was willing to reason with her but 
 not to compromise, because an understanding and 
 agreement was vital to their happiness. 
 
 Hearing these words, she sat up, disengaged her 
 waist from his encircling arm as if this arm had been 
 a heresy. Also, she withdrew the hands that had 
 been clasping his hand, and she folded both of them 
 close together, as if these were children she had 
 called home from a neighbor's house where the as- 
 sociation might not be entirely good for them. And 
 she fixed her gaze upon him, not anywise reproach- 
 fully, but much as if the very Adam of him was 
 undergoing inspection. 
 
 "Windy," she said, speaking with that feminine 
 firmness of tone which the gentlest women know
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 141 
 
 how and when to use, "I can not follow you, my 
 faculties are not trained that way, but I am willing 
 to leg it after you while you reason about anything 
 else except spiritual things. I will not do that !" 
 
 "Why? 5 he asked, astonished. 
 
 "Because reason is a finite faculty. It is to our 
 minds what flesh and blood is to our bodies. It 
 limits mind to the contemplation of things seen 
 and heard and to be found in this present world. It 
 never goes beyond this present world, any more 
 than our bodies can. Bodies, time, and reason are 
 the conditions under which we exist here. They 
 are our limitations which can not be passed. I will 
 reason about you, dear ; I do that. I spend thought- 
 ful hours at it every day, but I will not reason about 
 my Heavenly Father, nor the ties that bind me to 
 His mercies!" 
 
 He was feeling very poor, but he was determined 
 to get at the bottom of this thing. If she abjured 
 reason and intelligence he wanted to know how she 
 arrived at the idea of a personal Providence. 
 
 "By faith, of course," she said. 
 
 He permitted the corners of the world's retort 
 to show ironically on his lips. 
 
 "Yes, I know what you are thinking!" she 
 answered. "But you are only thinking, which 
 doesn't count in a matter like this." 
 
 She leaned back and stared across time and sense, 
 omitting her husband.
 
 142 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "You are funny, Windy," she said, smiling at 
 this, not at him. "You like to read old books, very 
 old ones where the sentences wear armor and stalk 
 across the pages exalted like knights. You like 
 both the eloquence and the splendor of old poetry, 
 and you do not know why." 
 
 "Well, why?" he asked, because this was the 
 truth. He would have said if you asked him that it 
 was because he had some measure of classical taste. 
 
 "Because these old Greeks and mystics and poets 
 and orators did not know so much as men know now, 
 and they believed infinitely more. You call it 
 classical literature. And you do not know that the 
 Good God is the original classic, and that all others 
 spring from some sort of divine inspiration." 
 
 "What about the heathens and the pagans, who 
 are the authors and progenitors of some of the 
 greatest of these*?" he demanded teasingly with that 
 superior air men have when women dare to think 
 and speak beyond themselves in their exalted pres- 
 ence. 
 
 "There never was a heathen in this world, 
 Windy," she said, speaking with her own authority 
 on this subject. 
 
 "Bless my soul, Betty," he exclaimed, beginning 
 to be very much amused. 
 
 "All men from the beginning have believed the 
 best they could in Providence, personal too. And 
 they have gone on improving the character and
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 143 
 
 attributes of this Providence as their own quality 
 and powers of faith developed." 
 
 The smart little rationalist, he thought, spread- 
 ing the wings of her imagination impudently and 
 daringly in this realm of spiritual mysteries. 
 
 A year of contemplation on his mountain had 
 not given him such cunning powers of navigation 
 there. He had never mentioned this hermit period 
 in his life to Betty. 
 
 "As for pagans," this Betty went on, "they are 
 only simplified rationalists, trying to believe in im- 
 mortality and Providence, with their human clothes 
 still on, and their human desires still inside. But 
 they do believe." 
 
 Windy let out a spurt of laughter. 
 
 Betty felt that she must make herself clearer on 
 this point. 
 
 "You remember the time Mohammed ordered the 
 mountain to come to him*?" 
 
 Windy replied that he had heard of this circum- 
 stance in the career of Mohammed. 
 
 "Well, it didn't come, that mountain. So he got 
 down and went to it. This was a brave thing to do. 
 It taught something. So his followers still followed 
 a man who had the courage to admit the mistake. 
 He had got the wrong mountain by the horns. But 
 it is written in our own Scriptures that if one has 
 faith to the amount of a grain of mustard-seed he 
 can remove mountains !" she went on.
 
 144 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "But can he?' he challenged. 
 
 "I believe it," she answered and expounded this 
 faith. "You see where we get the drop on Moham- 
 med. Our Scriptures do not refer to a real mountain 
 that you can see with the naked eye, so by faith we 
 can remove it, without any one saying that we did 
 not, because, as I said, the whole thing is invisible." 
 
 "Shrewd!" was his comment. 
 
 "Of course, one must be very shrewd in faith. 
 But it is like this, the mountain we remove. Sup- 
 pose you have some dreadful fault." 
 
 Cutmore moved uncomfortably, as you do when 
 some one is about to become unpleasantly personal 
 at your expense. 
 
 " Not that you have," she went on, smiling, 
 having caught his uneasiness, "but suppose you had. 
 I would not accuse you of it, I should not reproach 
 you with it, but I should get out my grain of 
 mustard-seed measure of faith and and, well, re- 
 move it." 
 
 Cutmore stiffened. He became ominously grave. 
 His lip tightened, a bad-weather sign with him. 
 All to no purpose, because Betty was not observing 
 him. She was apparently contemplating that pos- 
 sible contingency of having to get up and remove a 
 mountain. He was therefore obliged to speak. 
 
 "No man likes to be made the victim of his wife's 
 prayers, if that is what you mean," he said shortly. 
 
 She glanced at him, then she turned her pretty
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 145 
 
 head and stared at him. She comprehended. Then 
 she began to laugh. She patted his arm and laughed 
 more. He remained, you may say, unalterable. 
 Then she flung herself upon him with a dear em- 
 brace. 
 
 "What a goose you are, Windy!" she cried. "I 
 should just believe in you so much, love you so 
 much that the fault would dwindle and disappear, 
 even as mine will if you love me enough !" 
 
 Oh, well, that was better. He could permit him- 
 self to be gently and softly translated by Betty's 
 love and faith in him. She might remove his very 
 elbows by this process if she chose. 
 
 In this connection it may as well be said now 
 that he was never conscious of either his faults or 
 shortcomings under the reign of Betty's dear Provi- 
 dence. If all his sins had been catalogued for her 
 she would not have believed he had one. Windy 
 might need developing along some lines, and cen- 
 soring along others. That was as much as she 
 would have conceded. The eyes of love are like 
 this. They never diminish you. 
 
 Cutmore was not so much relieved by this revela- 
 tion of his wife's religious nature that he ceased 
 altogether to guard the boundaries of their happi- 
 ness in that direction. Her capacity for the most 
 flattering and endearing hopes encouraged him. 
 Her faith in him was a total faith without reserva-
 
 146 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 tions or any shadow of doubt. He conceived the 
 terrifying idea that Betty was practicing in her love 
 that piety which is usually expended in Christian 
 endeavor, and that she had no religious name for it. 
 But it kept him strung up to her standards. He 
 thought it would be easier not to be obliged to be 
 Betty's ideal. He undertook to demean himself to 
 this end. She would not endure such opinions of 
 her husband! 
 
 "You believe too much, Betty. You believe 
 everything as if it were true !" he exclaimed on this 
 occasion. 
 
 "Some, as much as I can. The more you believe 
 the less you despair!" she answejed, regarding him 
 pathetically. 
 
 He was touched. How had she arrived at that 
 desperate faith in him*? He was probably never 
 to know. There is an Ananias or some other villain 
 concealed in every husband. And within thirty 
 days after marriage he is known to the wife who 
 spends the next thirty years keeping him out of 
 sight, so that she may love and honor this husband. 
 
 Nature makes some women to be loved. They 
 are rarely gifted, not often very good. They are 
 usually the mere appearance of what men desire. 
 They carry charms as a highwayman carries arms. 
 They practice prettiness as witches practice incanta- 
 tions, and they do not really exist at all, not for 
 you, only for themselves. They are a superstition
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 147 
 
 of loveliness from which men recover in a cold sweat 
 of reason after marriage, and with whom they go on 
 living at great expense as one pays eternal margins 
 on an unprofitable investment which can not be sold 
 nor liquidated. 
 
 . On the other hand now and then a woman is 
 born just to love, not to be loved. They are the 
 secret miracles of their sex, not to be distinguished 
 from others until afterward, when you and all out- 
 ward things conspire to apply the test. There was 
 nothing at this time to indicate any marked differ- 
 ence between Betty and other young brides passing 
 through that first beatific stage of domesticity and 
 love, except in details so insignificant that only 
 experienced married people would have noticed 
 them and wondered. For example she never asked 
 Cutmore if he "still loved her." On the contrary, 
 she frequently told him that she "still loved him" 
 in a tone which implied that he would surely be 
 gratified by this assurance. At first he laughed at 
 the very idea of his needing to be told what he knew 
 already. But when she less frequently remembered 
 to say so, he missed it, came to heel, and asked her 
 if she "still loved him." 
 
 She served him hand and foot, but she drew ar- 
 bitrary lines in this service. She would have noth- 
 ing to do with matters pertaining to his feet. She 
 would lay out his clothes, even his razor and brush, 
 but she ignored socks and shoes. He noticed this,
 
 148 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 not that it mattered, he told her, but just for curi- 
 osity he would like to know why she snubbed his 
 feet. She said it was because her aunt Clarinda, 
 who was now dead, poor soul, used to bring the foot- 
 bath for her husband when he came home in the 
 evenings. 
 
 "You see, it was before the day of bathtubs, and 
 it was the custom for men to refresh themselves 
 that way. Well, it about ruined my aunt Clarinda's 
 married life." 
 
 "But why?" Cutmore wanted to know. 
 
 "Why?" Betty repeated scornfully. "Because 
 she associated herself with her husband's feet. He 
 based his estimate of her on that. . Any man would." 
 
 This conversation took place early in the morn- 
 ing. Cutmore was standing before the mirror in his 
 dressing-room shaving himself. Betty sat on the 
 edge of the bed in her room, wrapped in a blue 
 kimono, lazily dressing her own feet in a pair of 
 charming slippers. Cutmore, tied up in a bath- 
 robe, came to the open door of the dressing-room 
 with the lather on his face, razor in one hand and 
 shaving-brush in the other. 
 
 "Do you mean that she actually bathed her hus- 
 band's feet?" he asked in the tone of one who fum- 
 bles for the adequate explanation of a very queer 
 thing. 
 
 "Probably she did; we don't know," Betty 
 answered darkly.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "But her husband came to exalt himself accord- 
 ingly, and to show a contempt for his poor wife. 
 He never asked her to do things. He told her to 
 do them. Mother says she has actually seen Aunt 
 Clarinda standing behind his chair when he was 
 taking his food. It was perfectly awful !" 
 
 Cutmore withdrew with the embarrassed air of 
 one who has heard a strange accusation made against 
 his sex. And one that might easily have applied to 
 him but for Betty's strong character. Because if, 
 and in case Betty had presented him with a foot- 
 bath, which was preposterous, of course, he would 
 have accepted the same in good faith without feel- 
 ing that she had lowered herself, rather, he felt that 
 she would have thus endeared herself to him in a 
 quaint, old-fashioned way. 
 
 Why, he asked himself, as he seized the shirt laid 
 out for him, did that Clarinda woman want to bathe 
 her husband's feet if she had no more sense of her- 
 self than to become a martyr to the said feet of her 
 husband. The fault lay, he thought, in the Cla- 
 rinda quality. 
 
 Betty, still seated upon the edge of the bed, was 
 tucking up her hair, which was particularly unruly 
 early in the morning, when Cutmore reappeared in 
 the dressing-room door. He was holding the shirt 
 by the thumb and forefinger of each hand and star- 
 ing at the bosom of it, as if he saw something there
 
 150 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 which reflected on some one, but not him. He was 
 the victim. He looked like a victim. He wore a 
 deeply wronged expression. 
 
 "I suppose your aunt Clarinda was scrupulous 
 about sewing on her lord's buttons," he remarked 
 casually. 
 
 "Oh, yes, she was, everything like that," Betty 
 answered, head bowed and hands very busy pinning 
 up her hair. 
 
 Then she looked up and caught sight of her hus- 
 band's eye leveled at her over the shirt. It was not 
 menacing, but it certainly was accusative. 
 
 "Windy," she exclaimed despairingly, "don't tell 
 me there is another button gone !" 
 
 "No," coolly, "it is the same one that was off 
 last week. I thought I mentioned the omission of 
 this button, but " 
 
 "You did! Oh, dear!" she admitted, falling 
 back across the bed very much cast down, with her 
 arms over her head. 
 
 She could not think how it was, she said, that 
 buttons either on or off made so little impression 
 on her mind. She supposed it was because she had 
 never faced the button problem before. She herself 
 used pins and snaps. 
 
 "Your father must have them," he suggested. 
 
 No doubt he did, but her mother must have 
 counted father's buttons and guarded them, because
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 she had never heard the subject mentioned in the 
 home. 
 
 "Sometimes a button is crucial, Betty. You can't 
 get on without it, especially in front." 
 
 "And they are all in front!" she moaned as if 
 this tragic circumstance added to her despair, but 
 still showing a total lack of confidence in herself 
 rather than a resolution to mend her way. 
 
 Then she flirted up from the bed radiant with a 
 solution of this problem. 
 
 "At least I can find a button-full shirt for you, 
 dear. Surely they have not all molted their but- 
 tons!" she said, whisking past him to the chiffonier 
 where his linen was bestowed.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Few women are ever related by marriage to the 
 minds of their husbands. These minds are foreign 
 countries where they discover themselves to be 
 aliens, speaking another smaller language and prac- 
 tically incapable of mastering the manners and cus- 
 toms of that place. This is sometimes the man's 
 fault, because his mind is not a fit place for a nice 
 person like his wife to dwell, but more frequently 
 it is the wife's fault, who is not willing to associate 
 intimately with the hardships that inhabit the mind 
 of a busy man, who has no time to ornament that 
 area with ideas pertaining to the finer things. So it 
 happens that both of them prefer this divorce, the 
 man because the woman gets in the way with her 
 scruples and emotions when he is about to do busi- 
 ness without reference to either ; the woman because 
 it is easier to keep on the domestic periphery of her 
 husband, where she thinks she knows him and is 
 married to him because she knows what foods he 
 likes, and the people he prefers to have asked to dine 
 when she entertains, the chair that fits him, the large 
 pillow or the small one he wants for his tired old 
 head at night, the place where the light must be 
 
 when he reads in the evening, rather than talk to 
 
 152
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 153 
 
 her, because there is nothing to talk about, since she 
 is only the wife of his bosom and not of his head. 
 
 This, my masters, is the real explanation of the 
 contention that has been going on for the last 
 twenty-five years between men and women, which 
 is known as the "woman problem." It is, but the 
 problem consists in the fact that while they wish 
 to share equally with men those obligations such 
 as economic independence, citizenship, and the rest, 
 they really do not want to share them. They could 
 be very well contented with equal rights without 
 being obliged to exercise them. 
 
 But this is neither here nor there so far as this 
 story is concerned, and very likely is a flat con- 
 tradiction of something else this author has written 
 somewhere on the same subject, which in turn is of 
 no consequence either, since authors are notoriously 
 irresponsible, holding any view that suits that end 
 of the tale. The real point is that Betty was for- 
 tunate in the choice of a husband, although of course 
 she had not chosen him, but had been chosen by him, 
 because he had a polite and elegant mind where 
 any perfect lady might find herself secure and well 
 entertained. This is not to say that Betty would 
 not have invaded it and remained there in any case 
 furbishing it up and setting it in order as she had 
 done the Cutmore house, because she had a mind 
 of her own, which denotes, more particularly in 
 women, a will of her own.
 
 154 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 They were both indigenous to literature. Not 
 merely fond of it, you understand, which is fre- 
 quently an artificial taste acquired by fools. They 
 read old books, the novels of Dickens and Thackeray 
 and Walter Scott, not for the stories, but because 
 they liked the characters in these stories. Cutmore 
 was accustomed to ascend an imaginary pinnacle 
 when they discussed these people, in no language 
 suitable to the characters of real persons, by which 
 I mean that it was richer and finer talk than we 
 usually indulge in when we gossip about friends. 
 He would lean back, cross his legs, keep his head 
 up, smoke a good cigar, and discuss Colonel New- 
 come with Betty as if that gentleinan had been there 
 to tea the day before. He admired the Colonel. 
 He told Betty that the best people had never lived 
 at all except in fiction, and Newcome was one of 
 these. She was equally devoted to Major Penden- 
 nis. She thought in many ways he surpassed Col- 
 onel Newcome, but she agreed with her husband 
 in the assertion that the only immortal people we 
 have in this world are in books. 
 
 "You have only to open 'Nicholas Nickleby' at 
 the five hundred and fifty-third page," she would 
 say, "to find the Cheeryble Brothers going about 
 doing good as if that was a joke they perpetrated 
 on Tim Linkinwater, and Tim Linkinwater's old 
 sister up-stairs distracted lest the cap she is to wear 
 down to dinner does not come from the shop in
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 155 
 
 time, while Charles Dickens, who created them, is 
 dead and only remembered because he had created 
 them!" 
 
 Whereupon Cutmore would nod his head in por- 
 tentous approval, as if he were an old man whose 
 nod expressed authority. And Betty regarded him 
 admiringly. It was not every woman who had such 
 a husband no, not one in ten thousand ! She was 
 as far as most wives are from suspecting some of 
 her husband's qualities at this time. 
 
 They had a certain conversation along this line 
 one Summer night, which is set down here to show 
 how a woman can stalk her husband for an hour 
 when he supposes she is following the bright gleam 
 of his presence, and corner him at last and convict 
 him of an outrageous transgression against the love 
 and peace of his wife. 
 
 They had been reading one of these old tales, 
 which was absurd and out of keeping with their 
 times because they should have been at a motion- 
 picture show. Cutmore held the book and read. 
 Betty listened. She also appeared to be studying 
 her husband. This was not unusual, because she 
 was always doing that when he was unconscious of 
 inspection. Presently she shot out a hand and laid 
 it detainingly on his arm. 
 
 "Wait, Windy, I have an idea!" she said.
 
 156 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 He closed the book over his finger and waited. 
 This frequently happened because Betty never 
 knew when she would have an idea, and when she 
 did she presented it instantly for his inspection. 
 She always sat delicately erect at such times, pos- 
 sibly by way of adding dignity to what she was 
 about to say. 
 
 "Suppose," she began with a happy smile, "just 
 suppose we could give a dinner, and that we could 
 invite our guests from the men and women whom 
 we admire most in fiction, which ones would you 
 choose?" 
 
 He returned the smile and waited, being sure that 
 Betty had already canvassed for -these guests. 
 
 "We should be obliged to stick to fiction," she 
 warned, "because most of the people we know in 
 history would not be very companionable. History 
 does something to them. They are too closely as- 
 sociated with great deeds and withdrawn from their 
 human natures. I couldn't bear a historical char- 
 acter seated at my right hand at the table. 
 
 "Of course not," he agreed, "and they probably 
 would not accept your invitation. People like 
 that." 
 
 "I should have Mr. and Mrs. David Copperfield," 
 she said musingly. 
 
 'Well, then, you must ask Traddles," he put in. 
 
 "But not that Rosa Dartle person. I can't bear 
 her," she said quickly.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 157 
 
 "No, Rosa would be a short circuit, poor thing," 
 he agreed. 
 
 "You should ask Colonel Newcome and Major 
 Pendennis, and the Major would take me in to 
 dinner!" she said, delighted. 
 
 Cutmore said he thought they had better stick 
 to one author, that no one could be sure whether 
 Thackeray's people would get on well with Dick- 
 ens' s people. He thought there was a marked social 
 distinction between them, the former being to the 
 manner born even when they were in the direst 
 poverty. 
 
 They began to discuss the menu for this dinner. 
 Betty allowed her husband to suggest the dishes. 
 This he did without suspicion from the Dickens's 
 literary larder, which, as every one knows, was gen- 
 erously stored with the richest foods. But every 
 time he mentioned one of these items Betty re- 
 minded him that he did not like that, and he could 
 not bear even the odor of that. Finally he re- 
 minded her that she was not giving the dinner to 
 him. 
 
 "Yes, dear," she replied, "but I could not endure 
 the sight of you seated at the head of your own table 
 starving while those hearty people (and they were 
 notoriously hearty!) fed ravenously." 
 
 She held up one hand, spread the fingers of it, 
 and began to check off on those fingers the things 
 he would not eat. There were not enough fingers
 
 158 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 on it, so she changed hands and began with those 
 of the left hand. She mentioned everything in- 
 cluding vegetables rare and common. He disliked 
 all vegetables except lettuce. But she could not 
 make a rabbit of her husband feeding him with 
 lettuce when every one else was taking real food ! 
 
 This whimsical and delightful idea of dining a 
 lot of Dickens's dearer characters was taking a queer 
 turn. He suddenly became aware of something 
 accusative in the situation. He felt like a man in 
 the objective case. Betty sat now like a grim little 
 transitive verb, looking the other way. 
 
 "Betty, dear," he exclaimed, leaning forward and 
 drawing her to him, "what is the matter?" 
 
 She permitted herself to be drawn, but limply 
 and sadly as if she had suffered a grievous defeat 
 in love. 
 
 "It is just this, Windy. You do not eat! I can 
 not find anything that appeals to your appetite, 
 except pie and coffee, a little cheese, and lettuce," 
 she said. 
 
 He was astonished. He said that one of the 
 things he admired about her housekeeping was the 
 dainty and delicious meals she served. 
 
 "Yes, but you don't eat them. Marie and I had 
 to consume unaided the last lamb roast we had. 
 You did not touch it." 
 
 She hoped he understood that she was not com- 
 plaining, she said, her eyes filled with tears, but
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 would he mind telling her what he liked in the way 
 of foods. 
 
 He was distressed; he was in the position of an 
 innocent man who had been proved guilty. He 
 searched himself, trying to remember what he did 
 like. 
 
 "You will eat bread. You are Scriptural in that 
 particular at least," she said, breaking in on this 
 silence, "but it is written in the same place that a 
 man can not live by bread alone. 
 
 "You are either ill, Windy, or I am a poor man- 
 ager," she went on. "And if you are ill, it is 
 dreadful; and if I am a bad provider, it is even 
 more dreadful." 
 
 He begged her to be consoled. He had never 
 thought much on the subject of foods, but he would 
 give his attention to this matter. He would eat 
 what she placed before him in the future. He 
 would make a point of doing so! 
 
 Betty, you observe, was up against the first and 
 one of the most difficult problems for woman in the 
 married life, the feeding of her man. 
 
 This subject has not received the attention it 
 deserves. Some one should write a text-book for 
 wives on how to train husbands at the table. Be- 
 cause the male animal, whether human or of any 
 other species, is either gluttonous or pernickety 
 about food. Ask any stock-raiser and he will tell
 
 160 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 you it is much simpler to provide suitable nourish- 
 ment for female stock than for males. 
 
 The best way to cure a man of being finicky about 
 food is to starve him, put as little on the table as 
 possible. But he is sure to resent that, because 
 almost without exception they have the plentiful 
 eye and resent penury in dishes even when they re- 
 fuse to take what is set before them. Likewise the 
 rations of the gluttonous husband should be ruth- 
 lessly cut, because the more you give him the more 
 he wants. But he becomes savage when he is not 
 gratified, or he flings himself out of the house to a 
 restaurant where gorging is encouraged for strictly 
 business reasons. 
 
 There is another side to this. Many a woman has 
 ruined her digestion eating the things she despised 
 because they, were the foods her husband preferred, 
 and served exclusively for that reason. 
 
 In short you may marry a man who is of a differ- 
 ent religious creed, or with no creed at all, and still 
 be reasonably happy with him, because religious 
 differences are usually confined to the seventh day 
 of the week, but if his taste in food is radically 
 different from your taste, it is a three-times-a-day- 
 every-day difference, and much more serious. 
 Therefore when you contemplate marrying a man 
 because you love him, and because he has every 
 virtue, ask him what he does not eat! Nine times 
 out of ten you will see him covered with the confu-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 161 
 
 sion of strong guilt. You will discover that he is a 
 pie fiend, or that he has an abnormal antipathy to 
 certain staple foods. In this case, if you value your 
 peace and happiness as the mistress of his house, 
 defer the wedding; do not marry him until he can 
 certify and prove a regulated appetite for sensible 
 dishes. 
 
 In this first heart-to-heart talk with Windy 
 about his indifference to nourishment, Betty said 
 she thought it was because he smoked so much. He 
 agreed that this probably had something to do 
 with it. 
 
 "Well, then, Windy, why smoke at all?" she 
 asked. 
 
 It was a reasonable question, but he regarded her 
 with a sort of helpless horror as if she had suggested 
 that he stop breathing. 
 
 "Smoking is bad for you," she said. 
 
 It was, but how was a man who smoked to do 
 without smoking"? It was a habit, he explained 
 to her. 
 
 That made no difference. Habits had been 
 broken and could be broken. Therefore he must 
 not smoke. It made her very unhappy. Couldn't 
 he give it up for her sake? 
 
 This was inevitable. It is one of the sterner 
 evidences of passionate devotion for her husband 
 that makes the young wife undertake to break him
 
 162 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 from the obnoxious, poisonous, and debilitating 
 weed known as tobacco. 
 
 Cutmore agreed to quit smoking, for her sake, 
 he told her, not that he thought he could do it, but 
 he thought it would be the quickest way to convince 
 her that he could not. 
 
 She was very happy. She was so until noon of 
 the next day when Cutmore came home to lunch, a 
 changed man. He was like one who holds himself 
 together by a desperate effort of the will, but who 
 is now capable of the most ferocious deeds. He 
 could not speak to his dear Betty without snapping. 
 
 She embraced him tenderly and wanted to know 
 what on earth was the matter. 
 
 He told her roughly that nothing, NOTHING, was 
 the matter. He almost shouted this lie in his ner- 
 vous anguish. 
 
 They had no conversation that evening. Cut- 
 more sat in a brooding mood. No, he did not want 
 to read! 
 
 She was gratified, however, to see that he had 
 partaken heartily, not to say voraciously, of the 
 roast and everything else at dinner. He seemed 
 to be eating in an effort to find something that 
 would satisfy a peculiar, gnawing hunger. 
 
 She called his attention to this splendid appetite 
 and said it proved conclusively her contention that 
 he only needed to stop smoking. 
 
 He wolfed up and snarled a wordless reply.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 16& 
 
 That night Betty lay awake, the prey to strange 
 alarms. Windy was jumping and jerking in his 
 sleep like oh, God! like an epileptic! 
 
 She made a resolution. If Windy lived through 
 the night and was sane the next morning he should 
 have his cigar. Yes, she would not endanger his 
 life even if he starved to death from smoking. 
 
 She arose early, while it was yet dark, like the 
 woman in the Scriptures whose husband praised her 
 within the gates. She crept, a ghostly little white 
 figure, into the parlor where she had concealed 
 Windy's last box of cigarets. She found them, 
 came back, turned on the light, took one look at her 
 husband's drawn and stricken face, which was cov- 
 ered with the dew that follows the sudden sacrifice 
 of tobacco. 
 
 "Windy!" she murmured, laying her hand upon 
 his shoulder and shaking him gently. 
 
 He made a hideous, guttural sound, such as a 
 man sometimes growls in a bad dream. He sat up, 
 eyes blazing, hair erect, the very incarnation of 
 ferocity, ready to defend himself. And he saw 
 Betty standing at arms length from the bed as if 
 she dared not approach nearer. With a shaking 
 hand she was offering him matches and cigarets. 
 
 "Here, Windy, please smoke one for my sake," 
 she quavered. 
 
 Few women would have had the sense to make 
 such a quick surrender. But it is far better if your
 
 164 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 husband has a reasonable, respectable sin to let him 
 have it and exercise it in peace even if it kills him, 
 because he must have at least one. No man com- 
 posed entirely of virtues is endurable.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 You may make due allowance for Providence in 
 your affairs, even for the devil. You may count 
 with reasonable certainty upon what your friends 
 will do, and you can keep tab on your enemies, but 
 you never can tell what your relatives will do. 
 When you least expect it they step in and take a 
 hand. They will neglect their own business, deny 
 themselves the usual comforts, and take a journey 
 in order to review you and give you advice, espe- 
 cially if you are a young and untried relative. 
 
 Betty had counted happily upon this first month 
 of her married life as being sacred to her and Windy 
 in their home, since her friends were still out of 
 town and would be until late in September. But 
 she reckoned without her aunt Theodosia. 
 
 One day when Cutmore came home for lunch he 
 found Betty in reduced circumstances, spiritually 
 speaking. She was grave with the air of one who 
 bears an unwelcome responsibility. 
 
 "What is it*?" he demanded at once. 
 
 "Aunt Theodosia arrives on the four o'clock ex- 
 press!" she announced with her head turned the 
 
 other way. 
 
 165
 
 166 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "Good Lord, Betty, what are we to do!" he ex- 
 claimed, horrified. 
 
 "Do?" she returned, facing about. "We must 
 make her welcome of course." 
 
 "How long will she remain with us 4 ?" he asked. 
 
 "She doesn't say; that depends upon circum- 
 stances, I suppose," she said, intimating that the 
 word circumstance in this connection depended upon 
 her aunt Theodosia's state of mind. 
 
 He made a mental note of that. He decided 
 that if he had anything to do with her state of mind 
 she would make a very brief visit. 
 
 Betty said she would meet her; she would spare 
 him as long as she could. Then she went up to 
 him, laid her hand upon his breast, which was a 
 pretty beseeching habit she had, and looked up at 
 him like a blue-eyed prayer. 
 
 "Windy, could you bring yourself to address her 
 as Aunt Theodosia*?" she entreated. 
 
 He would not! She was not his aunt; she was 
 only Betty's aunt because Betty could not help 
 herself. 
 
 "But I'll compromise by not calling her any- 
 thing. That is the best possible Anglo-Saxon man- 
 ner in social intercourse," he told her. 
 
 When he returned in the late afternoon Mrs. 
 Carvel had arrived. She was enthroned in the 
 parlor, skirts spread, fan waving. 
 
 Cutmore executed his most formal bow as he ad-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 167 
 
 vanced to meet her. His teeth chattered in the 
 effort to say he was glad to see her, but he said it 
 because Betty's eye was on him. 
 
 "How do you do, Windham*?" she said, delib- 
 erately pulling him down by the hand she held and 
 pecking him on the cheek. 
 
 He told her he was very well. 
 
 "You look well, much better than I ever saw you. 
 but my niece does not look well," she added, imply- 
 ing that somebody was to blame for this. 
 
 Betty hastened to say that she had never felt 
 better. She supposed the intense heat made one a 
 little pale. 
 
 They went in to dinner. It was a dreary affair. 
 Betty talked feverishly. Mrs. Carvel was hearty 
 enough, but monosyllabic. Cutmore was practi- 
 cally speechless, and became more so after the old 
 lady intercepted a glance he tried to slip Betty. It 
 seemed that she resented this glance as if it were a 
 secret communication not complimentary to her, 
 when it was really an imploring look for forgive- 
 ness. Afterward when Betty reproached him for 
 not making an effort to be agreeable he told her that 
 he had never made a more strenuous effort in his 
 life, but that nothing came of it. 
 
 Immediately after dinner he excused himself. 
 He had an engagement, he said and took his leave. 
 
 Mrs. Carvel fanned herself in silence for a min-
 
 168 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 ute. The atmosphere of this house was too tense 
 to have been created by happiness, she thought. It 
 was as she had predicted, Betty's marriage was a 
 mistake, and Betty was a miserable woman. 
 
 "Does your husband stay out at night *?" she asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 "Oh, no!" Betty answered, startled. 
 
 "But he is out." 
 
 "You see, Mr. Puckle is away," Betty answered, 
 anxious to defend her husband, "and Windy has 
 a great deal to do. So sometimes he goes back to 
 the office in the evenings." 
 
 "Leaving you here alone." Her tone was accu- 
 sative. 
 
 "No, I go with him. He likes to have me." 
 
 "What do you do up there *?" suspecting her of 
 clerical drudgery. 
 
 Betty began to laugh. 
 
 "The funniest thing. You'd never guess!" she 
 said. 
 
 Mrs. Carvel refused to speculate. 
 
 "I read tauts," Betty explained. 
 
 "Tauts! What are tauts ?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "They why, I suppose you would call them the 
 parables of the law," Betty answered. 
 
 It sounded blasphemous. 
 
 "I like those of Chief Justice Marshall best. 
 Windy says I would make a good lawyer. He says 
 I have the legal mind," Betty went on.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 169 
 
 The following day she had another struggle with 
 Cutmore on the duties of hospitality. 
 
 "We ought to show Aunt Theodosia some atten- 
 tion," she said. 
 
 "You are devoting yourself to her," he replied. 
 
 "But you are not, Windy," reproachfully, "and 
 I do so want you to be your dear self to her. She 
 likes attention." 
 
 "What would you suggest 4 ?" he asked coolly. 
 "There are the races at the Fair ground this week." 
 
 "Oh, never anything like that!" she warned him. 
 "I was thinking you might take her for a drive," she 
 offered timidly. 
 
 "In the roadster !" he exclaimed. 
 
 This was a very smart, swift, little car, built for 
 two, who were supposed to be of medium size. 
 
 "Why not? Aunt Theodosia is quite large, but 
 you are not. I am sure she would enjoy it. You 
 are such a splendid driver, dear !" 
 
 "Very well," he agreed grimly, implying that let 
 it be upon her own head. 
 
 So it was arranged, Betty having told her that 
 Windy was "dying" to show her the wonderful 
 scenery around Millidge. She doubted this ardor. 
 She considered that young man a very cool propo- 
 sition. But she wanted to "talk to him," and this 
 would afford an excellent opportunity. 
 
 Betty had her misgivings when at five o'clock, 
 with Aunt Theodosia wedged into the car, Windy
 
 170 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 let go his cut-out and whirled at a terrific speed 
 from the curb. He was a smooth and noiseless 
 driver, but he handled the car as if it had been a 
 truck with deafening roars and snortings. She saw 
 the old lady's elbows spread at the first jolt, saw 
 her rear back and brace her feet, saw Windy 's face 
 grimly set above the wheel. 
 
 An hour later Mrs. Carvel staggered through the 
 door of the Cutmore residence into her niece's arms. 
 She permitted herself to be guided to the sofa in the 
 parlor. She was determined to faint and could not 
 make it. 
 
 "That man! Betty, you have married a mad- 
 man!" she gasped, as Betty flew back and forth and 
 hovered over her with the smelling-salts. 
 
 "I should have warned you that Windy is a very 
 swift driver," she said. 
 
 "He is worse than swift, he is reckless! Time 
 and again we took curves in the road on two 
 wheels!" 
 
 Next time Betty said she would warn Windy to 
 drive at a more moderate rate of speed. 
 
 "There will be no next time!" Mrs. Carvel 
 groaned. 
 
 She only hoped she would recover sufficiently 
 from this shock to be able to return to Culloden to- 
 morrow ! To this end she went to bed at once and 
 did not rise for breakfast the next morning. 
 
 She told Mrs. Marshall all about it and every-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 171 
 
 thing else when she arrived in Culloden the next 
 day, "more dead than alive," as she expressed it. 
 She had felt from the moment she entered Betty's 
 door that there was a bomb in the house. She had 
 felt that an explosion was imminent any moment. 
 No doubt her presence there suppressed for the time 
 that man's tendency to explode. "That" was a title 
 which she conferred upon Cutmore. She always 
 preceded his name with this whacking term. She 
 was sure Betty was more than unhappy; she was 
 frightened, and well she might be! "That" man 
 was a madman, and Betty probably knew it by this 
 time. She gave a thrilling account of her Paul Re- 
 vere ride with Cutmore. She said if he did nothing 
 worse he would kill Betty in that car. The only 
 reason why she was not tossed out of it like a feather 
 was because she was not a feather, thank goodness ! 
 and by her sheer weight alone had kept the car from 
 turning over, and so on and so forth. 
 
 An elderly relative, gender usually feminine, 
 with the upsetting eye and the dismal mind, can 
 come nearer spilling the matrimonial beans for a 
 young couple than a self-seeking corespondent of 
 either gender. Love must have become steady upon 
 its wedlock foundations before it is safe to risk one 
 in the house. They are sure to detect inequalities 
 in this marriage. And nothing will convince them 
 that love is not and never will be based upon mere 
 justice, but upon love alone, which has a thousand
 
 172 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 secret means of compensation for these apparent 
 inequalities. > 
 
 "Puckle's.back," Cutmore announced one evening 
 next to the very end of August. 
 
 "I know you are glad," Betty said. 
 
 He admitted being reasonably glad. Puckle had 
 been away two months, although the understanding 
 when he left was that he would return in a month. 
 
 "That shows how much confidence he has in you, 
 Windy." 
 
 She had never tired of taking this view, which 
 praised her husband. She went on talking about 
 it now. She knew, and of course Mr. Puckle knew, 
 how competent Windy was, but the way he trusted 
 him with so much important business everybody 
 must see and understand, which was very good for 
 Windy' s reputation. 
 
 Cutmore was not listening. He was thinking of 
 something else. Presently he interrupted her to say, 
 
 "Puckle is a much older man than I thought. He 
 must be past fifty." 
 
 "You don't think he is failing, do you?" she 
 asked, anxiously, because she did not want Mr. 
 Puckle to fail until Windy was well established. 
 
 "Well, not that exactly. But he isn't keen like 
 a younger man would be. This morning when we 
 were going over new cases that have developed 
 during his absence, I thought he showed consider-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 173 
 
 able indifference. He said I was to handle them 
 entirely. And he offered a new division of fees 
 that was very liberal. It means a decided increase 
 in our income!" 
 
 "We must have him out to dinner at once !" Betty 
 exclaimed. 
 
 Cutmore agreed that this was the thing to do. 
 
 "And it might touch him up to come out here. 
 He looks like a man that needed a reaction; old, as 
 if the dust was settling on him. Too much golf, 
 probably." 
 
 "What does he like to eat 9" Betty asked, ready 
 to begin in the right way because every woman 
 knows you "touch up" a man from within, and that 
 the table is the place to do it. 
 
 "The only time I ever dined with him he ordered 
 spinach, Hamburger steak, and ice-cream," he an- 
 swered ruefully. 
 
 "Well, we will have that and lettuce," she 
 added maliciously. 
 
 The following evening Puckle came to dine with 
 the Cutmores. He came like a man who dreads 
 to take the dearest pleasure that could be offered 
 because this pleasure* would cost him the keenest 
 pain. 
 
 Betty received him cordially, with the high, sweet 
 patronage of a young mistress and hostess in her 
 own house. 
 
 She was so glad to see him. Yes, and he was look-
 
 174 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 ing splendidly. His vacation must have done him 
 a lot of good. 
 
 With this little lie she brushed the "dust" off, to 
 which Windy had referred, because one glance at 
 him confirmed Windy's report that he was looking 
 old and tired. 
 
 Puckle received these attentions lumpishly. As 
 usual his clothes seemed to be climbing upon him; 
 his coat could have fitted, but refused to fit. His 
 trousers had well-defined knees in them. He had 
 yielded the struggle as a woman does when she gives 
 up cultivating her waist-line at forty. Henceforth 
 he would play the part Providence assigned to him, 
 which in this house seemed to be that of honorary 
 father to Betty, and purveyor of praises for Betty's 
 husband. 
 
 He held her hand a trifle longer than was neces- 
 sary, then dropped it because he saw that Betty did 
 not care how long he held it. He looked down into 
 her eyes just once, then dropped his because there 
 was nothing about him to read there, and he knew 
 it. Still that hurt. He permitted her to choose 
 the largest best chair in the parlor for him. He 
 told her how glad he was to get back and find her 
 and Windy married and settled and ready to be 
 happy ever afterward. Then he became silent, be- 
 cause it was an effort to say anything at all. He 
 watched Betty whisk in and out of the room.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 175 
 
 He must be thirsty, it was so warm ! She brought 
 him a glass of water with her own hands. He stood 
 up like a man to drink it and watched her tuck back 
 the fairy lock of hair while she waited for the glass. 
 Then she came back and turned the shade on a light 
 so that it would not shine in his eyes, as if his eyes 
 must be weak at his time of life. She talked inces- 
 santly. She asked him a dozen endearing questions 
 about himself. She was so gay, as if she begged a 
 smile of him, and she got it. Whereupon she 
 thought of something. She seized a pillow from 
 the sofa and approached him. Oh, God, she ap- 
 proached with a pillow! She wanted him to stuff 
 it behind his back. That chair never fitted any 
 normal person. She believed it was designed for 
 one with curvature of the spine ! 
 
 He surrendered. He collapsed, a mussed-up old 
 man in his years. He was miserable under these 
 ministrations, knowing what they meant, which was 
 so different from the way he had felt toward Betty 
 and must feel no more. He said that to himself 
 many times daily. 
 
 Cutmore came down-stairs at last and they went 
 in to dinner. 
 
 It was a very gay dinner. Betty furnished the 
 gayety. Cutmore may be said to have "rooted" for 
 his wife. He applauded her with shining eyes of 
 appreciation. He sometimes referred to Betty's 
 "subliminal uprush" when she was in one of these
 
 176 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 moods of frantic happiness. Pucklc was a third 
 party. He was conscious that they labored with 
 him, but he hung fire. He was, however, making a 
 very hearty meal. The steak was especially to his 
 liking. Once when Puckle lowered his head with 
 concentrated attention to the food on his plate, 
 Betty telegraphed her triumph to Windy, by a 
 greedy gesture with her fork. She had been wise 
 to have that Hamburger, although an onion was re- 
 garded as an unholy thing in that house because of 
 its pungent plebeian odor. 
 
 They went back in the parlor for coffee. Then 
 Cutmore strolled out on the veranda for a breath of 
 air to cleanse his nose of the onion scent. He asked 
 Puckle to join him for a smoke, but Puckle preferred 
 to remain inside the cool, fragrant room with Betty. 
 He was beginning to respond to his food like the 
 gracious, contented animal a man is when his dinner 
 agrees with him. He told Betty a few well-chosen 
 things about her husband. He expressed his confi- 
 dence and high regard for that young man. Betty 
 purred with satisfaction. She said, of course, Mr. 
 Puckle must know by this time what a dear Windy 
 was. He nodded gravely, although "dear" was not 
 the adjective he would have chosen as a decoration 
 for Cutmore. Then he allowed her to fill his cup 
 with coffee again, not that he wanted it, but she 
 insisted and he could refuse her nothing. He 
 watched Betty perched delicately upon the edge of
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 177 
 
 her chair holding the fragile cup and saucer, sipping 
 her coffee. 
 
 He thought it was very pretty, the whole thing, 
 this cavernous room with its lofty ceiling, half 
 lighted yet glistening with a thousand angles of 
 reflected light from the polished surface of every- 
 thing. The cool, blue-satin curtains that were 
 drawn back from the windows. The vase of opu- 
 lent red roses that sweetened it with a fine perfume, 
 and this girl seated so daintily in one of the tall- 
 backed spindle-legged chairs holding that golden- 
 rimmed coffee-cup like a flower in her hand. She 
 was sparing her eyes only because Cutmore was not 
 there. He began to make a holy brief in his mind 
 about these eyes. He was not listening to what she 
 was saying about Windy. They were of that im- 
 mortal shade of blue, seen only in the eyes of wo- 
 men; men could not have it, because it was a gift 
 which belonged to women alone, and never fades. 
 A tender, beseeching blue like the color of prayers 
 before secret altars. One must remember eyes like 
 that forever, he thought, and sighed heavily. 
 
 This was the first Betty knew of his discomfort. 
 She regarded him with startled attention, as if he 
 were a dear sick old man who had moaned in his 
 sleep and must be turned over at once. She came 
 hastily to her feet and conducted him forth to the 
 veranda.
 
 178 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "This room is stifling," she said as they went 
 out, "and you must have your smoke." 
 
 She confided to him before they reached Cutmore 
 at the far end that Windy could not possibly do 
 without his smoke. She said in a whisper that not 
 to smoke made him jump and grind his teeth. At 
 which astonishing bit of information Puckle made 
 a singularly musing sound through his nose, non- 
 committal but confidential. 
 
 After this time Puckle came every Wednesday 
 evening to dine with the Cutmores. He could not 
 deny himself this pleasure. And in any case Betty 
 would not have permitted him to do so. She 
 thought a little home life would be good for Mr. 
 Puckle. 
 
 One evening early in October when he came as 
 usual he discovered almost at once that a slight frost 
 had fallen in this house. Betty was amiable but not 
 gay. And she was amiable with a note of sadness 
 in her dear blue eyes as if it were her duty to be 
 amiable. 
 
 The dinner went off as usual. They discussed 
 their friends, the anti-labor unions, the President, 
 the Peace Treaty, then they went back to their 
 friends. Everybody had returned to town. And 
 all these everybodies had called on Betty. She was 
 in the midst of a round of entertainments which 
 were being given in her honor. Cutmore said she 
 was even more popular as a bride than she had been
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 179 
 
 as a belle. She said it was all very nice and she 
 had enjoyed it, with an air of reserve, as if she were 
 no longer in full possession of her faculties for en- 
 joying things. Then she changed the subject and 
 remarked upon how well Sarah Crombie was look- 
 ing. This reminded Cutmore that he had seen 
 Sarah playing golf with Gussie Towne, whereupon 
 Puckle said "Humph!" in a contemptuous tone of 
 the nose, adding that he supposed this was the rea- 
 son why Towne played such rotten golf with him 
 that afternoon. Ruined a man's game to play golf 
 with a woman. 
 
 "Yes, but it sometimes settles him," Cutmore 
 put in. 
 
 "How?" Puckle wanted to know. 
 
 "Matrimonially. Betty has always said Sarah 
 would end by marrying Towne," Cutmore ex- 
 plained, and looked to her for confirmation of this 
 prophecy. 
 
 She did not catch this look ; she allowed it simply 
 to fall on her. And she was not disposed to impute 
 matrimony to any one. Her interest in this subject 
 was very low, it seemed. 
 
 Puckle, taking his food with heavy, rhythmic 
 strokes of the fork, kept his thoughts on Betty and 
 talked to conceal his concentration. She said "yes," 
 or "no," gently, when she was required to say any- 
 thing. If this was a family quarrel Betty was con- 
 ducting it privately and alone, he decided. Cut-
 
 180 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 more was the transgressor, but he was not in his 
 wife's confidence. Puckle doubted if he even sus- 
 pected her. Husbands are like that. They are so 
 sure of their wives sometimes that they are blind 
 to the change of weather in love. Puckle wondered 
 if Betty had somehow discovered one or the other 
 of her husband's dangerous qualities. He thought 
 she had and was probably now in the sad process 
 of digesting it. 
 
 All this time he was telling Cutmore about How- 
 ard Crombie's new car. He had seen it. The thing 
 was a beauty. He had about decided to get a car 
 himself. Followed the usual animadversions on the 
 different automobiles a man could cheat himself 
 into buying. 
 
 They came out from dinner. Cutmore excused 
 himself. He must adjust a wire on his car. The 
 ignition was bad. 
 
 There was enough chill in the air to warrant a 
 fire if you really loved a fire, and Betty did. Puckle 
 sat down in the armchair before the blazing hearth 
 in the parlor. 
 
 "This is fine," he said cheerfully. 
 
 She said yes, it was. A fire was so companion- 
 able. Then she descended into silence, not wil- 
 lingly, but as if she did not have the heart to keep 
 out and up where words are plentiful and waiting 
 to be spoken. She seemed to withdraw into the
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 181 
 
 depths of her chair. She stared at the fire. He 
 could not tell if it was the light that made them 
 glisten as if there were tears in her eyes. 
 
 Well, if there were tears in Betty's eyes, some- 
 thing must be done about it! He fumbled this 
 matter. Never having been a student of the femi- 
 nine he was short on methods and medicines. After 
 several attempts to engage her in conversation he 
 led skilfully up to the subject of happiness, which 
 ought to be a fruitful one. But it was not. It 
 seemed that she did not care for happiness this eve- 
 ning. Instead she asked him if he thought it was 
 cold enough for frost that night. 
 
 He said he never could keep up with the weather. 
 Then he went back awkwardly and obviously to this 
 business of happiness. He made a little two-minute 
 talk on this theme, wrapping it around Betty with 
 cunning care. 
 
 Betty turned her head presently and lifted her 
 eyes. Puckle instantly averted his. It was a way 
 he had of disappearing in case he had missed his 
 cue. But when she said nothing for so long a time, 
 he was obliged to stick his head up, so to speak, in 
 order to find out what was going on. She was re- 
 garding him with a grave little smile much too old 
 and sadly sweet. 
 
 "You do not know much about happiness, do you, 
 Mr. Puckle'?" she asked. 
 
 "No, not very much," he answered thoughtfully.
 
 182 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "I do," she said, speaking with absurd authority. 
 
 "Of course you do," he returned cheerfully. 
 
 "So I have discovered something about it," she 
 went on. 
 
 "About happiness?" he asked, smiling. 
 
 "Yes. It can not possibly last. It is a thing you 
 must use up at once or it spoils. Because when you 
 try to keep it, it ceases to be the surprise that is the 
 very nature of happiness." 
 
 She was sitting like a little portrait in her tall- 
 backed chair, her eyes once more fixed upon the fire. 
 
 "So," she went on, glancing at him with a sort 
 of cunning wisdom, "that is why the fathers wrote 
 it in so clearly in the Constitution of this country, 
 every man entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit 
 of happiness ! They knew ! You never get it, you 
 pursue it." 
 
 "Bless my soul, Betty," he exclaimed, having by 
 this time come to call her by that nearer name, "how 
 can you possibly know such old stuff?" 
 
 She moved, sat stiffly erect, folded her hands, 
 parted her lips in a sigh that could not be heard, but 
 he saw it. She reminded him of the first vision he 
 had of her, that night at the ball. The little, wish- 
 ful hands, the long gaze straight ahead. 
 
 "Some knowledge we seek in vain all our lives," 
 she began, speaking very softly, "but this that be-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 183 
 
 longs to living, it comes to us. We get it when 
 we should should do much better without it." 
 
 Before he could think of what to say in rebuttal, 
 feeling that he must deny this truth which she had 
 discovered too soon, she changed, she smiled and 
 glistened. She lifted her hands and made sure her 
 fairy lock was not escaping, looking up at him 
 prettily as she did this. 
 
 "But of course you know that I am perfectly 
 happy," she said in shameless contradiction. 
 
 "Yes, Betty, no one would doubt that," he re- 
 turned, quickly helping her with this deceit. 
 
 It was pathetic now to watch the art with which 
 she counterfeited gayety. She was determined to 
 convince Mr. Puckle how happy she was. She was 
 ready to gossip, anything to change the subject. 
 What kind of husband did he think Sarah Crombie 
 would make of Mr. Towne*? Oh, yes, in reply to 
 something he said, women always made their hus- 
 bands. The law only bequeathed a man to them, 
 and then they produced a husband from this raw 
 material according to their skill in that business! 
 She did not doubt that Sarah would be very skilful. 
 She wondered, however, if Sarah could ever make 
 anything but a husband of Mr. Towne. He was 
 not very energetic, was he 1 ? Puckle admitted that 
 he was not. He said Gussie belonged to the super- 
 fluous class.
 
 184 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "And a mere husband is a poor thing," Betty 
 added soberly. 
 
 Puckle laughed at this shrewd definition of a 
 parasite man. 
 
 They had wandered far afield from this local 
 love-affair when Cutmore came in half an hour later. 
 
 Puckle was standing with his back to the fire, 
 grinning. 
 
 "Betty has just said a smart thing," he said, ad- 
 dressing Cutmore. 
 
 "She is forward about that," Cutmore answered 
 with affected severity. "She frequently says the 
 things that I could easily have said myself if I could 
 only think fast enough to do it." 
 
 "She thinks the Bolsheviki and red radicals gen- 
 erally are the arch-profiteers. She calls them the 
 Calaban financiers and says they want all the profits 
 and business to go on by natural processes, not by 
 labor." 
 
 Cutmore chose a cigaret and lighted it. 
 
 "And she thinks everybody is a profiteer, a sort 
 of subconscious Bolsheviki, who does not save and 
 pay his debts " 
 
 "Oh, I didn't say that," she interrupted quickly. 
 
 "Not exactly that," Puckle admitted. 
 
 "Betty is becoming a household propagandist. 
 She talks in circles around and about thrift and 
 economy," Cutmore said, faintly displeased.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 185 
 
 "Tightening her little capitalistic fist," Puckle 
 put in, decidedly pleased. 
 
 "It is just that I believe in squaring accounts. 
 Not using nor keeping what does not really belong 
 to us," she answered defensively. 
 
 Cutmore glanced inquisitively at his wife, who 
 continued to stare into the fire. 
 
 No woman can look so innocent as one who has 
 just been guilty of a blow beneath the belt. 
 
 The grin faded from Puckle' s rubicund counte- 
 nance. He felt the chill of steel, saw the flash of 
 Betty's keen blade. He understood now what was 
 the matter. But he was sure Cutmore did not know. 
 When a man has lived with his dearest fault a long 
 time with no one to inspect it or call it by the 
 right name, he ceases to be conscious of it although 
 it may have become the very nose of his character, 
 as prominent a part of him as that. 
 
 Puckle was certain that Betty had been delicately 
 tweaking this nose, and that presently Cutmore 
 would feel the twinge. He decided it was time to 
 go home. He was very much relieved about Betty. 
 Cutmore accompanied him to the door. 
 
 When he returned to the parlor Betty was cross- 
 ing the floor to meet him. Her eyes were fixed upon 
 his face as if this man was no longer entirely fa- 
 miliar to her. Women sometimes look at their hus- 
 bands with this "I-never-knew-you" expression even
 
 186 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 after they have been married to them for twenty 
 years. It is the worst kind of accusation. 
 
 Cutmore halted and stiffened with instinctive 
 masculine resentment and stared coldly at Betty, 
 meaning that he had always expected her to pull off 
 some such hysterical stunt. Whereupon she made 
 a rush and flung herself upon his breast. 
 
 Cutmore was astonished. You must live with a 
 woman a long time, say a hundred years, before 
 you are prepared for the quick change in her weather. 
 
 He was the more disturbed because she was 
 sobbing violently and because he could not pluck 
 her off, nor turn her face up for inspection, because 
 she pressed it convulsively against his shoulder. 
 
 "What on earth is the matter 1 ?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Nothing!" she sobbed. 
 
 "But there must be!" he insisted. 
 
 "Windy, I want to go home to mother," she 
 moaned. 
 
 This was serious. His wife wished to leave him ! 
 He dropped the arm that clasped her. He became 
 the stiff, cold statue of outraged honor, affection, 
 and dignity. She remained firmly attached. Her 
 sobs increased in volume. He made a determined 
 effort to reach the chair which Puckle had left be- 
 side the fire. She clung to him as a drowning man 
 clings to a spar. She arrived with him and de- 
 scended with him into this large chair. And she 
 continued to weep.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 187 
 
 He was horrified. The thing had happened that 
 always happened between two married people. 
 Something had come between him and Betty. They 
 could never be the same to each other after this. 
 
 This was the truth. They never are after that 
 first pallor falls upon the face of their mutual 
 love. After that come the long patient life to- 
 gether and all the kind fruits of patience, but no 
 more perfect happiness. Never again that first, 
 perfect confidence they had, not in each other, but 
 in Almighty Love to protect this happiness. Love, 
 you understand, can endure all things, but there are 
 some things it can not do. 
 
 "Windy, I want to see my mother," Betty re- 
 peated in a wail. 
 
 "Are you ill?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" she answered dolefully. 
 
 "Have I have I ?" 
 
 He was about to ask if he had offended her, but 
 the very idea was so preposterous that he stumbled 
 for the right words. 
 
 "You have not" Betty answered quickly. 
 
 Then she sat up, her eyes like violets heavy with 
 dew, her face tragically pink like a rose in a high 
 wind, and her lips trembled with tenderness. 
 
 One such glance she gave him and again flung 
 herself upon his breast. 
 
 "You are my own, my very own Windy, for
 
 188 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 better or for worse!" she said as if she repeated 
 a sad vow. 
 
 "Yes, but what is the worse 1 ? What is all this 
 about?" he demanded indignantly. 
 
 "I want to be with mother," she repeated. 
 
 "But why?' 
 
 "I can't explain. It is a feeling, and very 
 strong," she answered. 
 
 Well, of course if she was unhappy and wanted 
 her own people she should go! 
 
 She was not unhappy, and she did not want her 
 own people. He was her people, but she had to be 
 with her mother if only for a few hours. 
 
 There was "something back of all this," though 
 she denied it to the last, even after it was agreed 
 that she run down to Culloden the next day. She 
 was very affectionate, almost as if he were a cripple 
 or a sick person. She should be away for only one 
 day and night. He could not possibly miss her 
 very much in so short a time. 
 
 You never can tell what kind of Providence a 
 Providence is until later. What appears to be an 
 incident or an accident apparently of no particular 
 significance may change the whole course of a man's 
 life. He has not planned it, no one has planned it, 
 but the thing happens, and there he is involved in 
 a sequence of events from which neither God nor 
 man can rescue him.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Cutmore went to the station early Thursday 
 morning and saw Betty off on the train for Cullo- 
 den. As he passed back through the station to his 
 car in the street on the other side he saw a soldier 
 hunched up on one of the benches there, a mere 
 bundle of a man in khaki, apparently asleep. He 
 noticed him only because there were now very few 
 soldiers returning to Millidge, most of them having 
 been discharged. 
 
 He drove to his office and began the usual routine 
 of business. Late in the morning Puckle came in 
 and they went out to lunch at the club. When 
 Puckle heard of Betty's visit to Culloden he mar- 
 veled a little to himself, since nothing had been said 
 of this visit the night before. He thought Cutmore 
 looked a trifle dreary and he proposed that they go 
 out for a game of golf instead of returning to the 
 office. They could do nothing further in the case 
 in hand until certain important papers came in from 
 another city. These could hardly reach them before 
 the late afternoon mail. 
 
 At five o'clock they returned from the links to 
 Millidge. Cutmore dropped Puckle at the club and 
 went on to the office to look over the mail. 
 
 189
 
 190 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 He saw a pile of letters on Smalley's desk as he 
 entered, then he saw Smalley standing before the 
 door of his own office; probably he had just been 
 in there for something. He did not really notice 
 Smalley at all. He was shuffling the letters, found 
 the one he expected, thrust it into his pocket, and 
 started back toward the stairs. 
 
 "Just leave them on my desk before you go out, 
 Smalley," he said. Then he halted and stared at 
 the little spider-legged clerk in astonishment as he 
 careened across the floor with his heels lifted, arms 
 spread, balancing himself on his toes. 
 
 "Wait, sir," he mumbled, making a beckoning 
 gesture. 
 
 "I've had the jumps for ten minutes," he whis- 
 pered, letting himself down beside Cutmore. 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 "There's a man in your office waiting to see you," 
 he explained. 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 "Wouldn't give his name; said you would know 
 him. But he's not right," Smalley answered. 
 
 "You say he knows me?" 
 
 "He said he knew you." 
 
 Cutmore started for the door of his office. Smal- 
 ley laid a detaining hand on his arm. 
 
 "Don't go in there alone, sir," he warned. "He's 
 a soldier, and queer, I tell you. Something's hap-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 191 
 
 pened to him. I was about to call an officer when 
 you came in." 
 
 The thought of Hayden flashed through Cut- 
 more's mind. He seized the knob, thrust open the 
 door, and entered. 
 
 The shades of an early October evening had dark- 
 ened this room. But in the dim light from the 
 window he made out a huge and amorphous shape 
 hunched up in one of the chairs. 
 
 This was not Hayden, he decided, fumbling for 
 the switch. He found it and turned on the light. 
 
 The thing in the chair was not a man. It was 
 what had been a man. The back was hideously 
 bowed, the chest sunken, the neck warped in the 
 effort to hold an awful head erect. The face was 
 a monstrous mask, seamed with scars. One side 
 of it twitched, a grimacing mouth. The pupils of 
 the dark eyes were dilated, feverishly bright and 
 fixed in a sort of anguished recognition upon Cut- 
 more. 
 
 Cutmore, still standing just inside the door, felt 
 the sweat pop out upon his face. It was not the 
 sight that horrified him so much as it was a sense 
 of familiarity, as if in some former existence he had 
 been intimate with this horror. Then he realized 
 that the man was addressing him, that this hoarse, 
 metallic sound was the ghostly whisper of what had 
 been a human voice. He was saying something in- 
 distinct about a shell-hole in Flanders.
 
 192 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "My God ! Not Harpeth !" Cutmore exclaimed. 
 
 The man wagged his horrible head. 
 
 Cutmore came slowly toward him, bent forward, 
 staring with unbelieving astonishment. 
 
 Then he suddenly seized him by both hands, his 
 eyes wide and filled with tears. He drew a chair 
 forward and flung himself into it and sat regarding 
 this wreck. 
 
 "I thought we all died that night," Harpeth 
 wheezed. 
 
 "After three days they found me in that shell- 
 hole," Cutmore said. 
 
 "That was the last I remember, dragging you into 
 it after they got you," Harpeth said. 
 
 "The next thing I knew I was in a German hos- 
 pital. Three months there. Gassed, shrapnel shell 
 through my back. Then in a German prison till 
 the armistice freed us. 
 
 "Reported dead, couldn't prove I wasn't. Took 
 a long time," he finished this and rested, still with 
 his feverish eyes fixed in a question on Cutmore' s 
 face. 
 
 Cutmore bowed his*head. He could not bear this 
 wild interrogative stare which bore no relation to 
 what the man was saying. He began to tell what 
 had happened to him, and realized that the other 
 was not listening. 
 
 "Where is Hayden?" Harpeth interrupted. "I 
 know about that court-martial."
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 193 
 
 Then Cutmore understood the mad demand in 
 the wild eyes. 
 
 "I do not know," he answered. 
 
 "He came back here. I know that." 
 
 "He has gone," Cutmore returned. 
 
 Then he got up, went to the door, opened it, and 
 looked into the outer office. Smalley was gone. He 
 came back to Harpeth. 
 
 "Come on," he said. 
 
 They went out and down the steps together. 
 
 On Saturday morning Betty, who had returned 
 from Culloden the day before, found a bit of red 
 braid on the rug before the hearth in the parlor. 
 When Cutmore came home in the evening she 
 showed it to him. 
 
 "Looks like a wound-stripe," she said. 
 
 He stared at it, and made no comment. Then he 
 put it in his pocket and said it must have come off 
 his uniform. She said no; she had gone up as soon 
 as she found it to see if his stripe was there on the 
 sleeve, and it was. She was obliged to drop the 
 mystery of this bit of braid because he would not 
 discuss it further. 
 
 But she remembered it. When women go away 
 from home and return they always look for "evi- 
 dence." And they frequently find it. Maybe a 
 profane, antiprohibition bottle, maybe nothing 
 more than the print of a muddy heel on the parlor
 
 194 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 sofa. But you can not keep them from suspecting 
 things, even if they find no evidence at all, because 
 it is rooted and grounded in every wife's mind that 
 her husband will surely go astray if she is not ever 
 present like a sub-providence to guide his naturally 
 erring footsteps. 
 
 Meanwhile Betty was making an involuntary col- 
 lection of evidence pertaining to her husband's char- 
 acter and previous condition. She had been doing 
 that since the first day of October, when eighteen 
 bills came with the morning's mail. There were 
 ten more in the afternoon mail. 
 
 She was anxious until she read them. Then she 
 was horrified. Some of them were of comparatively 
 recent date; others, you may say, were old enough 
 to walk. And the total sum for which the whole 
 collection called amounted to more than two thou- 
 sand dollars. 
 
 Creditors are remarkably intelligent beings. 
 They must be, because so many debtors are singu- 
 larly unintelligent. Pressure must be brought to 
 bear on them in every possible way before harsher 
 measures are taken. 
 
 After his marriage Cutmore's creditors shrewdly 
 guessed that bills sent to his residence would receive 
 a new and possibly a more profitable attention than 
 they had when sent to his office. 
 
 Betty suffered vicariously, and in a way not de--
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 195 
 
 signed by Cutmore's creditors. For it was not that 
 he owed so much money that distressed her most, 
 even though she was appalled by that, but it was 
 the discovery of a trait in Windy which she was 
 far from suspecting. He was no longer a whole 
 and perfect man. He owed of his substance and 
 his honor to these tradespeople. The very clothes 
 on his back had not been paid for, neither those on 
 his last year's back. She could not believe that 
 Windy intended to pay these accounts this month, 
 because evidently he was not in the habit of paying 
 them. His habit consisted in making them. 
 
 She wept in secret and kept her own counsel. 
 She probed her innocent husband on his ideas of 
 economy and financial honor. She discovered that 
 he had no ideas, but the highest ideals along this 
 line. He was a cheerful romanticist when it came 
 to buying what he wanted. He was so indifferent 
 that he had not even noticed that these bills had 
 been deflected into another channel of communica- 
 tion, and were no longer coming to his office. She 
 knew that because the motto of these ravenous 
 creditors seemed to be, "Dun and repeat." Every 
 day the door-bell rang, and she was called down to 
 discipline some young and insistent collector. She 
 knew so little about the arguments usually em- 
 ployed in this business that she was remarkably ef- 
 fective. She invariably dismissed the collector 
 without arguing the account at all. She treated
 
 196 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 them as if they were book-agents, if you know what 
 I mean. But after each encounter she flew up-stairs, 
 flung herself across the bed, and wept. 
 
 Oh, her Father in Heaven, what should she do 
 about this dreadful thing that was darkening her 
 happiness and changing her love to pain, and which 
 in the end would ruin Windy if she could not save 
 him! 
 
 Now when you really pray that earnestly to your 
 Heavenly Father you are usually led to do some- 
 thing remedial, even if Providence does not set a 
 pillar of fire and cloud before you to guide you. 
 
 Thus it happened that Betty was most fearfully 
 and tremblingly led to take Windy's creditors by 
 the horns. 
 
 During the second week in October she made a 
 number of trips down into the very dingy heart of 
 Millidge. Also, strange, dingy men were received 
 at the Cutmore residence. They were forthwith 
 conducted up and up and out of sight of Marie, who 
 stood in the hall below wondering what could be 
 going on. 
 
 It seemed that Betty had gone to Culloden, much 
 as one visits the scenes of one's youth before taking 
 a plunge into the terrible and unknown. For there 
 is no doubt that she returned from this brief visit, 
 during which, by all acounts, she had wearied her 
 family by a recital of Windy's virtues only, a 
 sterner and braver woman.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 197 
 
 She kissed Windy at the door as usual. Still he 
 looked at her after this kiss, because somehow he 
 had the feeling that it was a casual preoccupied kiss, 
 such as you give a younger person when you have 
 weightier matters in mind. 
 
 At nine o'clock Betty sent Marie to the market 
 to buy the usual Sunday dinner. Also she was 
 given errands that would undoubtedly detain her 
 until noon. 
 
 Promptly at a quarter past nine a huge van drew 
 up at the back door of the Cutmore residence. For 
 the next two hours the thunder of events in that 
 house attracted the attention of persons passing in 
 the street below. One man halted, stared, listened, 
 and considered whether he should go in and see 
 what was the trouble. It sounded violent, loud 
 voices of men mingled with terrific thumps. Then 
 he reconsidered. He had heard that a bride lived 
 there now. Brides were frequently awesome per- 
 sons. Let her take what was coming to her. 
 
 When Marie returned at half past eleven o'clock 
 there was no sign of this strange activity, except the 
 tracks of heavy wheels in the back yard, such as the 
 ice-truck always left there. Mrs. Cutmore was 
 seated at her desk prayerfully going over bills and 
 accounts. 
 
 There is usually a lull after some one near you 
 has done his best or his worst, especially if it is not 
 you but your wife who has performed the deed.
 
 198 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 She reacts before your very eyes, and frequently you 
 are unable to account for the mildness of her symp- 
 toms because you are not nearly so much in her 
 confidence as you think you are. You are simply 
 the idol of her heart, which is a different proposition 
 altogether. 
 
 During the whole of the next three days Cutmore 
 had a vague feeling of unnatural calm in the pres- 
 ence of his Betty. She was gentle, considerate, but 
 not so impulsive. He did his best and could not 
 surprise her in any sort of gay appreciation of some- 
 thing wise or brilliant he said, which before this 
 time had been exceedingly easy to do. She had 
 been the most sympathetic audience to him for 
 nearly three months. He could not tell whether he 
 was diminished or if Betty had quietly risen above 
 par in her own estimation. He experienced the 
 queer sensation of having been audited privately by 
 his wife and found in arrears somewhere. But as he 
 was a man with a profound sense of his own virtues 
 he could not imagine where she had made the mis- 
 take in her calculations. It occurred in the subtrac- 
 tion, of course, but what had she subtracted? All 
 this was not clearly defined in his mind. 
 
 You may say that he was merely in a state of 
 premonition toward Betty, while her own attitude 
 toward him was one of cool, calm certainty. He 
 missed the tender margins which her quick imagina-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 19S 
 
 tion had afforded him. He was far from suspecting 
 that she was girding herself up for a scene and a 
 battle with him, and that she was pale with an- 
 guished courage. 
 
 He had arranged to go duck-shooting with Puckle 
 on Wednesday afternoon. They would return in 
 time for late dinner. Meanwhile he must clean his 
 gun. Did Betty know what she had done with it 
 when she overhauled the house in August? 
 
 "It is in the attic; I know exactly where it is," 
 she said, starting for the stairs. 
 
 He caught her by the arm as she passed him, 
 swung her around. 
 
 "You are pale at the very idea of carrying even 
 a dead gun, Betty!" he laughed. "I'll go for it 
 myself." 
 
 She watched him ascend the stairs; she heard 
 him cross the landing above and start up the attic 
 staircase. She stood with bowed head, one hand 
 on either side of her face. Then she fell on her 
 knees before the parlor fire. She had time for a 
 brief prayer before it happened. "Oh, her Heav- 
 enly Father, guide and protect her from Windy's 
 wrath." It was an open-eyed prayer, because she 
 must keep her gaze fixed on the door through which 
 a terrible husband might come at any moment. 
 
 She remained thus upon her knees, listening, 
 rigid; minutes passed like hours in this suspense. 
 Not a sound came from above. Then she heard his
 
 200 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 heels striking on the attic floor, his feet racing down 
 the stairs. She stood up, as one must to receive his 
 sentence, however terrible. 
 
 The next moment he shot into the room. 
 
 "Betty, we have been robbed!" he exclaimed. 
 
 She regarded him in silence. 
 
 "The attic is practically empty!" he cried. 
 
 She laid one hand on her breast in reply. 
 
 "My great-grandmother's furniture, all of it! 
 that tester-bed! is gone!" 
 
 She pressed the other hand to her breast. 
 
 "The old secretary with the mullioned glass 
 doors!" 
 
 Her lips parted. The pupils of her eyes dilated. 
 
 "The Chippendale table and my great-grand- 
 mother's melodeon. They were priceless!" 
 
 She closed her eyes and swayed gently backward. 
 
 "Betty !" he cried, springing to her side and clasp- 
 ing her in his arms. 
 
 He bore her to the sofa, rushed into the hall, and 
 yelled for Marie. Her mistress had fainted. Bring 
 something quick! 
 
 Marie screeched as she ran for the camphor, ice- 
 water, and a towel. 
 
 Cutmore applied these restoratives. He had for- 
 gotten the loss of the attic heirlooms when Betty's 
 eyelids quivered and two tears marked them like 
 pearls in the pale firelight. He kissed these tears; 
 the lids lifted, and for one brief moment he saw
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 201 
 
 the blue anguish of her gaze. Then she closed them 
 again. 
 
 "Windy," she said faintly. "You did not men- 
 tion the silver candelabra. They are gone too!" 
 
 "Betty, darling, forget it. I was a brute to startle 
 you so. What are a few sticks of old furniture*? 
 Junk!" 
 
 " And they brought only fifty dollars," she 
 whispered. 
 
 "Never mind that old thing," he entreated, not 
 really understanding what she said. 
 
 "I didn't notice whether it was up there or not," 
 he went on soothingly. "But you would never have 
 used it anyway." 
 
 "That was what I thought when I sold it and 
 the other things," she answered, speaking distinctly 
 now, with her eyes fixed upon his. 
 
 "I had no idea they were priceless," she quav- 
 ered. 
 
 He thought for a moment she must be delirious. 
 Then he perceived that she was perfectly sensible. 
 
 "You sold them!" he gasped. 
 
 "Yes," she murmured with trembling lips. 
 
 "What for?' 
 
 "To pay your debts," she answered. 
 
 "My debts!" he exclaimed, as if who dared to 
 meddle with his dear debts. 
 
 "Yes," she said, completely restored. 
 
 "There were twenty-eight bills sent here the first
 
 202 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 of this month, and during the next two weeks 
 twenty-six collectors called here for money due 
 them," she went on, sitting up and tucking back her 
 forelock, but without looking at her husband. 
 
 "What on earth possessed you, Betty*? Why 
 didn't you turn the darn things over to me*?" he ex- 
 claimed indignantly. 
 
 "Some of them were three years old. The col- 
 lectors said they had been sent to you regularly." 
 
 "Well, what if they had 1 ?" he wanted to know. 
 
 "They should have been paid. So I have paid 
 them," she announced. 
 
 "How 4 ?" he demanded. He was very angry, but 
 she was still very weak, though she looked stern and 
 strong enough now, sitting primly remote from him 
 on the sofa. 
 
 "With the furniture the melodeon, the tester- 
 bed, the secretary and many other things that I 
 found up there !" she answered. 
 
 After this nothing was said for a time that seemed 
 like eternity to these two fallen creatures. Then 
 Betty began again, speaking calmly as one does 
 when all is lost save honor. 
 
 She said the things were already on their way to 
 the Eastern markets. The understanding was that 
 they were not to be sold in Millidge. She did not 
 know even if the sales she had made were legal, but 
 one thing she did know, she was his legal wife, and 
 in the marriage ceremony he had distinctly endowed
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 203 
 
 her with all his worldly goods.. So she had dis- 
 posed of enough of these goods to pay his debts. 
 She thought she was well within her rights. If 
 there were any more debts, there were other things 
 they would spare a lot of old silver, never used. 
 
 Having said all this, she turned her head and 
 looked at Windy. He was staring moodily at his 
 own feet, as low as that. This air of dejection 
 moved her to contrition. 
 
 She slid along the sofa until she touched him. 
 She laid her hand upon his arm. 
 
 "Windy, dear," mending her voice with all the 
 tones of tenderness, "you are the very soul of honor. 
 You have the instinct of every virtue. You are 
 gifted with goodness. You are so dear to love that 
 my heart sings to you perpetually. But a man 
 may be a gifted artist and never learn how to paint 
 a picture. He may be a great musician and never 
 learn to play. You have to practice it, I think, 
 honor, as well as any other gift." 
 
 "But Betty, this is awful," he groaned. "I can 
 not bear it, what you mean by what you have done." 
 
 "It means that I believe in you, dear," she said. 
 
 "Exactly the opposite!" he answered bitterly. 
 
 They discussed this point. Betty made some 
 headway by making much love to him. 
 
 "You see, Windy," she said, beginning to laugh, 
 "at home we have always practiced economy. We
 
 204 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 must have been doing that a thousand years! And 
 you, your people, they practiced grandeurs, didn't 
 they? Well, it is very expensive. You have told 
 me how magnificently your father paid his friends' 
 debts when they failed, after he had indorsed their 
 notes. That was very fine, but it left his own son 
 a poor man, and not properly trained to the virtues 
 of poverty. 
 
 "I was thinking it might be a good thing if you 
 would appoint me your receiver for a year, Windy," 
 she suggested. 
 
 "My receiver*? What do you mean 4 ?" he wanted 
 to know. 
 
 "A receiver is one who takes charge of a busi- 
 ness, isn't he 1 ? stocks, funds, everything and ad- 
 ministers it according to law and common sense! 
 Well, you are my business, dear, the only occupa- 
 tion I shall have so long as we both do live. Just 
 suppose then that you turn over your funds to me, 
 except your daily incidental expenses, and I should 
 administer it and save the rest." 
 
 Well, he did not know about that. Did she 
 comprehend that he handled large sums of money 
 constantly, that he settled and administered es- 
 tates'? That he already had considerable reputa- 
 tion in closing up bankrupt businesses 1 ? 
 
 She was sure of all that. But this was differ- 
 ent, and it was all the more reason why he should 
 have someone who could give her whole time to
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 205 
 
 his estate, which would naturally be neglected 
 under these circumstances. 
 
 Marie came to announce dinner at this moment, 
 and it was a very gay dinner. Cutmore realized 
 that he did feel a sense of relief from those darned 
 bills. He supposed that subconsciously they had 
 long been a burden to him. After all, Betty was 
 a game little sport. Let her manage the family 
 finances for a while. He was sure she would soon 
 weary of the job. He cared nothing for money; if 
 she did, let her have it. 
 
 He went duck-shooting with Puckle the next 
 afternoon. When they returned for dinner with 
 a string of ducks, Betty had prepared to celebrate 
 something. The table was laid with grandeur. 
 The oldest, thinnest silver glistened there. The 
 finest china, and in the center of the table an old 
 decanter with a thrifty measure of wine in it. Cut- 
 more whooped and called Puckle to witness this 
 prospect of conviviality. For the mildest intoxi- 
 cants were now above price in Millidge and even 
 more temptingly without the sanction of the law. 
 
 When Betty whisked in from the kitchen to see 
 what was going on she found Windy holding this 
 decanter between him and the light, and both men 
 were speculating as to the number of glasses which 
 might be filled and refilled from it. 
 
 She shooed them out, spreading her skirts gaily 
 and driving them through the door. They must
 
 206 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 go up-stairs and at least brush up and pick the 
 Spanish needles from their clothes. The ducks 
 were still to be roasted, and by the cook-book that 
 required forty-five minutes. Therefore it would 
 be forty-five minutes before they could taste that 
 wine. 
 
 They were standing before the fire in the parlor, 
 this much later, like two long-legged birds, still in 
 their hunting-clothes, because Puckle could not 
 change his. Cutmore was distinctly up in his mind. 
 He was giving his ideas on personal integrity, of 
 all subjects. They were sterner than Puckle had 
 good reasons to suppose they were. 
 
 Marie sailed into the dining-room with a smok- 
 ing tureen of soup. Betty flew out and up the hall 
 to announce dinner. 
 
 Just before she reached the parlor door she 
 halted, and listened. 
 
 Every wife has the right to eavesdrop her hus- 
 band. It is one of her unwritten laws that she can 
 and will do that. 
 
 "He may not be aware of it," Windy was saying, 
 "but debts cower a man. Thank Heavens, I don't 
 owe a dollar in the world!" her husband added in 
 the proud tones of one who always had paid his 
 debts. 
 
 Your husband will do that every time, appro- 
 priate your virtues and vaunt them for his own. 
 He really believes that they are his, when they are
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 207 
 
 only his by marriage. This was what the famous 
 and probably insufferable husband in the last chap- 
 ter of Proverbs was doing when he praised his wife's 
 virtues "within the gates." He was taking credit 
 there before his cronies for having made her such 
 an industrious and frugal woman. And no one has 
 ever yet heard of a good wife who exposes this 
 natural thievishness common to husbands. 
 
 Betty was happy to hear these noble sentiments 
 from her Windy. It showed that the yeast of honor 
 was working in him. 
 
 She did not notice the look of speechless amaze- 
 ment with which Puckle was regarding him when 
 she appeared in the doorway to announce dinner. 
 
 What he thought was that if Cutmore had ever 
 voluntarily paid his bills there was moral magic 
 behind the performance. And Betty was gifted 
 with every kind of the best brands of magic ! 
 
 Six months had passed since Cutmore had be- 
 come a partner in the law firm of Puckle & Cut- 
 more. And nothing violent had happened, since 
 his marriage. 
 
 Puckle began to experience a comfortable assur- 
 ance in this young man's future. He was doing 
 exceedingly well at the law. He had settled down. 
 Puckle gave Betty all the credit for this develop- 
 ment of steadiness in her husband. She had en-
 
 208 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 compassed him about with her radiant faith and 
 saved him. 
 
 He wished some woman like Betty could also 
 have saved him with the salvation of her love. He 
 put it that way, although he knew there was only 
 one woman like Betty in the world. And he felt 
 the need of being saved, as every man does who is 
 not married and finds himself drifting down the 
 years to his bachelor dust. Still, he was no longer 
 positively unhappy. He saw Betty frequently, 
 under the happiest conditions. 
 
 During this month of October a post of the 
 American Legion was organized in Millidge. He 
 was gratified to learn that Cutmore had joined this 
 organization. He inferred that Betty had ma- 
 neuvered Cutmore into taking this step, because he 
 had told Puckle that he was done with anything 
 remotely connected with military life. 
 
 This was exactly what had happened. There 
 was to be a mass-meeting in Millidge one night, 
 called for the purpose of forming this Legion. 
 
 When Cutmore came home that afternoon he 
 found his army uniform pressed and laid out in 
 his dressing-room. 
 
 "What does this mean, Betty?" he called. 
 
 "The veterans are expected to wear their uni- 
 forms to-night!" she said, coming to the door of 
 her room. 
 
 "But I am not going to that meeting, and I cer-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 209 
 
 tainly shall not join the Legion!" he told her, not 
 pleased to have this issue sprung on him. Of course 
 he must be in the Legion, she said. 
 
 Betty knew of his record as a soldier. She was 
 proud of the wound-stripes on the sleeve of his 
 blouse. But she did not know the tragedy of his 
 experience. She had never heard of Hayden. 
 Well, this was why he wished to avoid member- 
 ship in this Legion. He was sure Hayden was the 
 kind of man who would infest such an organiza- 
 tion. He had already seen an account of Hayden's 
 activities along this line in another part of the 
 State. Soon or late they should be bound to meet 
 if he went into the thing. And he could not trust 
 himself that far. He had Betty to consider now. 
 His thoughts went back to Harpeth. He wondered 
 what had become of this wretched victim of Hay- 
 den's cowardice. He had heard nothing from him 
 since they were together when Betty was in 
 Culloden. 
 
 She was standing now with her hands behind her 
 and her back to the wall just inside the dressing- 
 room door. She broke off in the midst of what she 
 was saying to say something else. 
 
 "Windy!" she exclaimed. "You are not listen- 
 ing! You must join the Legion," she went on; 
 "think of your children, dear, what it would mean
 
 210 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 to them if you do not. They will want to know 
 the reason why as I do now." 
 
 Children! He had never thought definitely on 
 this subject. 
 
 He regarded Betty as if she had been a phenome- 
 non. 
 
 "Well, we will have children, some time, won't 
 we 4 ?" she retorted. 
 
 "Betty!" he exclaimed. 
 
 She came to him and laid her head on his breast. 
 He enfolded her in his arms. It was not a mo- 
 ment to be interpreted. But the collective way she 
 spoke of their family was very wonderful, he 
 thought. 
 
 She was that kind of wife, unscrupulous in tak- 
 ing any mortgage she could get on his love and 
 obedience. Most women are. It is one of the ways 
 they have of controlling the situation. 
 
 After more talk, he put on the uniform. He 
 was still in the bridegroom state when making con- 
 cessions to a young and devoted wife is compara- 
 tively easy. 
 
 He admitted to himself that "children" made a 
 difference. If a man should become the father of 
 inquisitors he must look to his record. Therefore 
 he would join the Legion, and Hayden be damned! 
 
 He informed Puckle the next morning of what 
 he had done. Puckle was gratified. He said that 
 in the course of a very few years any veteran of the
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 211 
 
 Great War who did not belong to some post in this 
 Legion would find himself in an embarrassing situ- 
 ation. It would automatically convey a reflection 
 on his war record. The American Legion in five 
 years would control the political destinies of this 
 country. It would be a tremendous leaven, he 
 thought, against the radical class, and so on. Noth- 
 ing about children, however, and the views they 
 might take of delinquent parents. But he did no- 
 tice that Cutmore seemed strangely augmented. He 
 supposed this was due to a revival of the swollen 
 military sense peculiar to all soldiers who had 
 paraded, or were about to, before a civilian popu- 
 lation. Poor man ! He knew nothing of the mul- 
 tiple effect the idea of children may produce on a 
 young and potential father. 
 
 Toward the end of November Cutmore was out 
 of the office for ten days. He had an attack of 
 what was called "influenza" in 1918, and what had 
 now been demoted to the former term of plain, old- 
 fashioned grippe. He came back to his desk too 
 soon. Puckle told him so, having noticed that 
 Cutmore showed a disposition to flare up on the 
 slightest provocation. He was anxious, doubly so, 
 in view of Cutmore's past performances. This 
 might be the after-effects of his illness. But it 
 might be a revival of the natural Satan in Cut- 
 more. Some men can keep to the order of things 
 just so long. Then something, anything, happens
 
 212 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 and they fly the track. He hoped for Betty's sake 
 Cutmore would not blow up. He was always hop- 
 ing something for Betty's sake. 
 
 There is no logic in life, not while you are living 
 it. The thing only appears to be logical in your 
 biography, if you are of sufficient importance to 
 earn a biography, because the writer of it omits 
 those trivial incidents which changed your course 
 a hundred times and caused you to meet issues and 
 accomplish deeds that you had no idea of meeting 
 or accomplishing when you started. He leaves this 
 little handle of destiny out that cranked you up 
 and merely tells the tale. 
 
 If Cutmore had not joined the American Legion, 
 if he had had grippe in January of 1920, say, in- 
 stead of in November of 1919, if William Crom- 
 bie's new limousine had not been stolen in Decem- 
 ber following of this same year, this story would 
 have had a different ending.
 
 PART THREE 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Women are by nature lyrical. They may become 
 elegiac, plaintive, under oppression, but they never 
 attain the great emotional stride that makes an 
 epic. And not one of them ever wins from experi- 
 ence, however terrible, the mournful, rolling, drum- 
 beating rhythm of tragedy. Some man must al- 
 ways furnish the lines spoken by a tragedienne from 
 Lady Macbeth down. They can endure desola- 
 tion, but they can not speak the Promethean tongue. 
 They have a blissfully diminishing quality of the 
 mind which corresponds to the tintinnabulating 
 treble of the feminine voice, so that in their very 
 thoughts they reduce their sorrows with smaller 
 terms, miss the awful dignity and the sonorous 
 tones of despair. If the average man could endure 
 the vicissitudes of the average woman's life we 
 should have ten thousand volumes a year of Prome- 
 thean poetry, and Sisyphus would become a national 
 hero. To survive the tragedy of living one must 
 not have a too lofty imagination. This is how 
 women get away with it. Their very existence is 
 
 tragic, but by the grace of God their nature is 
 
 213
 
 214 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 lyrical, not informed with the deeper sense of 
 tragedy, never able to hold the note long enough, 
 always breaking into hysterics before they reach the 
 grand, dirgeful pitch. 
 
 Thus it happens that every woman is born with 
 a gift for being a bride. She has a pretty talent 
 for the light histrionics of love. And she could 
 play that role until her hair turned gray and her 
 face withered like a dead and dried rose but for 
 the fact that no man can long bear the tender per- 
 fections of being a bridegroom to just one and the 
 same woman. And no woman living can be a bride 
 to a mere husband. 
 
 Windham Cutmore was drifting into this normal 
 prose state of a man who finds himself cast for the 
 perpetual role of husband, a condition no bride- 
 groom realizes until he has played out as a bride- 
 groom. He was now capable of thrusting his chair 
 back from the table without tasting his food. He 
 no longer concealed his perversities as an eating 
 animal. He frequently complained that the house 
 was too hot, that it was too cold. 
 
 One evening when Betty lifted her hand as usual 
 to pin back her vagrant forelock he watched her 
 frowning. The repetition of this pretty perform- 
 ance had got on his nerves. 
 
 "Why don't you cut that cow-licked lock off and 
 have done with it*?" he exclaimed. 
 
 She was shocked. She considered several things
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 215 
 
 that she might say in reply to this brutal sugges- 
 tion. Then she decided to make no reply. She 
 had a hunch that it was wiser not to cross swords 
 with a husband like Windy. Besides, if you never 
 quarrel with your husband you prove your su- 
 periority. 
 
 But from this day he never saw that lock of hair 
 which had been the golden semaphore of Betty's 
 countenance since he had first known her. He 
 missed it, and a certain waywardness in Betty her- 
 self which seemed to have gone with it. 
 
 When a man becomes a mere husband you know 
 it by the fact that he begins at once to shrive his 
 bride of those manners and trifles which first en- 
 deared her to him. He demands the prose of her, 
 but he never ceases to miss the poetry of her which 
 he has suppressed, and which he sometimes seeks 
 in another woman. 
 
 Betty did not understand the wringing process 
 through which their happiness was passing. She 
 attributed Cutmore's sharpened temper to his re- 
 cent illness. He was not quite himself, she thought. 
 As a matter of fact he was just now becoming him- 
 self again. He was reacting as usual from the 
 novelty of having a dear, young, and devoted wife. 
 He was returning to his own consciousness, sepa- 
 rate and distinct. Most men do that. It is the 
 time when their brides begin to weep without being 
 able to tell why they are so sad. Betty escaped this
 
 216 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 tearful period only because she was a financier in 
 love. 
 
 Other circumstances at this time distracted her 
 attention and kept her balanced. Colonel and Mrs. 
 Marshall came up from Culloden on a visit. It 
 was a season of quiet but rapturous happiness for 
 Betty, because Windy had been at his eighteenth- 
 century best. His display of decorous and formal 
 affection for her parents filled her with prideful 
 assurance. Let Aunt Theodosia rage now and 
 imagine vain things. Her dear people would know 
 the quality of man Windy was! 
 
 Mrs. Marshall was a placid, dark little woman 
 whose dignity was softened and scriptural. She 
 enhanced Betty hi the eyes of certain Millidge 
 ladies who met her at the informal tea-party which 
 Betty gave in her honor. Such dim, sweet elegance ! 
 White niching in the neck and sleeves of her frock; 
 hair crimped ! "Little Mrs. Cutmore has been wiser 
 in the choice of her mother than in the husband she 
 has chosen!" one woman said to another as they 
 came out from this party. 
 
 If Mrs. Marshall had any misgivings about her 
 son-in-law, she concealed them with that astute- 
 ness which is frequently the unsuspected charac- 
 teristic of apparently simple folk. But on the first 
 night after they returned to Culloden she remained 
 so long on her knees in prayer beside their mutual
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 217 
 
 bed that the Colonel immediately asked her when 
 she finished what she thought of Betty's husband. 
 He had observed during their married life that 
 Mrs. Marshall's prayers were normally brief at 
 night unless her maternal anxiety was excited for 
 some reason. 
 
 "He is very fond of Betty," she answered eva- 
 sively as she slipped in between the sheets and drew 
 the covers up. 
 
 "Yes, of course," the Colonel replied, taking the 
 last whiff from his cigar standing on the rug be- 
 fore the fire, "but what do you think of him?" 
 
 Mrs. Marshall stared at the ceiling. Her face, 
 framed in the dark hair with locks of gray on the 
 temples, looked strangely like an older image of 
 Betty's face, paler, sweetened with faint lines and 
 wrinkles, but the same blue eyes. 
 
 "I think," she said after a silence that made the 
 Colonel shift uneasily, "that he is capable of any- 
 thing." 
 
 "My dear!" he protested. 
 
 "Anything, good or evil," she repeated. 
 
 "That may be said of every man," he said. 
 
 "Potentially, yes," she answered slowly, "but 
 Windham will go the limit. Most men don't, 
 either way. He is not so much the husband Betty 
 has taken as the risk she has taken."
 
 218 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "Puckle likes him," the Colonel insisted. "He 
 thinks Windham has a brilliant future." 
 
 "Mr. Puckle likes Betty. He only likes Wind- 
 ham because she requires that of him. And he will 
 think any kind of future for him to oblige Betty!" 
 his wife returned. 
 
 There is something queer about the mother-in- 
 law. The whole world knows it and frequently re- 
 fers to her in terms of defeat. She may be an ordi- 
 nary woman with no marked gift for detecting you, 
 but the moment her daughter marries you her na- 
 ture changes. She becomes psychic. And it is not 
 her nature to love a son-in-law, but to know him. 
 
 Meanwhile Colonel Marshall had completely 
 changed in his attitude toward Cutmore. He con- 
 ceived a voluntary father's patronage for this 
 promising young man. He made a point of com- 
 ing to Millidge to see him and to be seen with him. 
 He imagined that his implied approval would be 
 of benefit to Cutmore. 
 
 What with this happy welding of family ties and 
 her other social duties Betty had no time to lan- 
 guish over her own condition or grieve over changes 
 so subtle in her husband that they appeared only 
 momentarily. In the main he was dear Windy still, 
 only sterner at times. 
 
 The Cutmores had just given their first formal 
 dinner-party. It was all over and the guests gone 
 at eleven o'clock. The parlor had a disheveled look
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 as if much merriment had just passed out of itj 
 ing the chairs still drawn together in groups, 
 ing cranksided, shoved together, looking a little 
 tipsy as chairs always do look after people who 
 laugh and are friendly have been sitting in them. 
 Sheets of music lay scattered on the piano. Some- 
 body had left a fan, spread where it had fallen on 
 the floor, like feathers from a bird's wing. The 
 fire in the hearth was now a heap of red coals with 
 a frost of fine white ashes on them. Cutmore sat 
 in a deep chair before it, Betty on a low stool beside 
 him, one arm on his knee, her head resting upon it. 
 
 "Every one seemed to enjoy it, didn't they, 
 Windy*?" she said with a happy sigh. 
 
 "Of course they did," he assured her. 
 
 "The Turners are nice people," sleepily. 
 
 "Very substantial, yes," he agreed. 
 
 "Do you think Mr. Tovey has proposed to Mar- 
 garet yet 1 ?" 
 
 "Not if he knows a lime-twig as well as I think 
 he does," he answered. "Margaret Miller is too 
 obvious. No sport to winning a girl like that." 
 
 "Sarah and I are so anxious to make that match." 
 
 "Well, you show it! Tovey looks like a rabbit 
 about to be mesmerized." 
 
 "He looks that way anyhow," she replied, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "Sarah ought to be ashamed of the way she kicks 
 that fellow Towne around before people."
 
 220 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "She can't forgive him," Betty explained. 
 
 "Forgive him what? Everybody says she will 
 marry him!" 
 
 "That," she murmured darkly, "she resents hav- 
 ing to marry him." 
 
 "But she doesn't have to," he said. 
 
 "Oh, yes, she does, in a way. He is the only 
 man who ever proposed to Sarah. Think of marry- 
 ing the only man you could possibly marry. It is 
 awful. She will never forgive him!" 
 
 Cutmore let out a peal of laughter that aroused 
 Betty. She sat up and regarded him soberly. 
 
 "Well, suppose I had been the only girl you 
 could have married, don't you see there would have 
 been no no free will in the matter at all. You 
 would just have had to do it. And you would 
 well, you would have resented me. Love is eclectic, 
 or, not love." 
 
 "I suppose I should feel complimented then be- 
 cause you had other lovers," he said. 
 
 "Of course, because you know by the same token 
 that you were chosen, not a dire necessity as poor 
 Charlie Towne is to Sarah." 
 
 They went on in this strain for some time, then 
 Betty remarked that Mr. Crombie was quite crazy 
 about his new car. 
 
 "He should be. It cost a small fortune," Cut- 
 more answered.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 221 
 
 "Windy," Betty began after another silence, 
 "what is the matter with Mrs. Patten?" 
 
 "Nothing that I know of; why?" 
 
 "Sarah was here when I was making the list for 
 this dinner-party. I was about to include the Pat- 
 tens ; she said no, it was best not to ask them. You 
 know they have been very nice to us." 
 
 "You ask Mrs. Patten, Betty, only when you 
 ask everybody," he said. 
 
 "But why*?" she wanted to know. 
 
 "No particular reason. She is one of those good 
 women whom nobody trusts. She looms large only 
 when there is a drive on for some charitable pur- 
 pose. And she is the most uncharitable woman in 
 Millidge. She keeps the book of transgressions. 
 She knows everybody's faults, and tells them. The 
 awful thing is that she speaks the truth." 
 
 "Windy, do you know a Captain Hay den?" 
 Betty asked suddenly. 
 
 "No; why?" he answered after a pause so brief 
 it was scarcely perceptible. 
 
 "Mrs. Patten said something dreadful happened 
 to him at the club. She said you knew about it. 
 What happened?" 
 
 He knew absolutely nothing about Hayden, he 
 answered shortly. Besides, it was late and time 
 honest folk were in bed. 
 
 The most fearlessly truthful man in his relations
 
 222 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 to other men will be untruthful to his wife. This 
 is a form of instinctive cowardice in the elder sex 
 which has not received the attention it deserves. 
 His own explanation is fallacious, but creditable to 
 his kinder nature, that his wife must not be 
 frightened or disturbed by the gross and frequently 
 dangerous incidents of his strictly masculine exist- 
 ence. And he will insure her peace of mind with 
 this mendacity when he has ceased to insure her 
 happiness or even her physical comfort in any other 
 way. The truth is that the eyes of his good and 
 faithful wife are more disconcerting and diminish- 
 ing when she beholds him in the light of his secret 
 deeds than the remote omniscience of Almighty 
 God, whose judgments are silent and indefinitely 
 deferred. 
 
 So Cutmore lied to Betty about that affair with 
 Hayden, because it was none of Betty's business, 
 but, strictly speaking, a man's business, and because 
 Betty must not be alarmed by the knowledge that 
 her husband had earned and sustained a reputation 
 for being an exceedingly dangerous man. If he 
 had been addicted to strong drink, or if he had been 
 a gambler, he would have denied that too, with the 
 fervid language of truth. They all do it. Every 
 husband, for some Adam reason, feels honor-bound 
 to keep a part of his character secret from his wife. 
 And not one of them ever succeeds. From this
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 223 
 
 hour the name of Hayden was fixed in Betty's mind 
 by a strange involuntary connection with her hus- 
 band. She thought she would ask Mr. Puckle about 
 that man Hayden, not that she doubted Windy's 
 word, of course not, but she just wanted to know 
 what the word "dreadful" used by Mrs. Patten 
 concealed. She did, when Puckle came next time 
 to dine with them. 
 
 They were seated before the fire in the parlor 
 waiting for Cutmore to come down-stairs; Puckle 
 was very comfortable. His face glowed redly from 
 the heat of the fire. And he was watching Betty, 
 trying honestly to think of her in general terms, such 
 as what a charming hostess she was, what a good 
 housekeeper she was, how considerate of her to 
 always make him so welcome, and how softly 
 pretty she was perched, as usual, delicately and 
 primly on the edge of her chair leaning forward, 
 hands clasped over one knee, her blue eyes match- 
 ing the flame that shot up in violet rays between 
 the burning logs, and silent. Few women, he 
 thought, had the beneficent repose of silence. 
 
 Puckle was only a man, not even a husband. He 
 did not know, therefore, that a woman's silence is 
 always dangerously potential, that she invariably 
 makes up for it with a punch the next time she 
 speaks, and that you, if you are present, are sure to 
 become the victim of this cumulative silence. She
 
 224 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 is only taking the more careful aim before she lets 
 go at you. 
 
 "Mr. Puckle, who is Captain Hayden?' Betty 
 asked, breaking this beneficent silence. 
 
 Puckle received the shock of this question lean- 
 ing far back in his chair. When it passed he sat 
 up slowly, perceiving that Betty's eyes were upon 
 him. He uncrossed his legs, turned his head side- 
 wise, bowed it with the air of a man who searches 
 his memory for a trifling thing. 
 
 "Hayden, Hayden," he repeated in a musing 
 voice. "The name is familiar. Yes, I recall him 
 now, never knew him myself, but he enlisted from 
 Millidge, I believe. Probably one of the officers 
 trained here." 
 
 He caught her eye. It was still an interrogative, 
 unsatisfied eye. 
 
 "Windy doesn't know Captain Hayden, either," 
 she said. 
 
 This was news. Puckle felt like a man holding 
 one foot up in the dark, not sure where to set it 
 down for the next step. 
 
 "Well, what do you want to know about him*?" 
 he asked, smiling at her. 
 
 She refused to return this smile. 
 
 "Did anything dreadful ever happen to Captain 
 Hayden at the Old Hickory Club?" she wanted to 
 know. 
 
 "Bless me, Betty ! What can you imagine dread-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 225 
 
 ful that could happen to anybody at the Old 
 Hickory? It's as solemn and respectable as a 
 church," he exclaimed with a faintly injured air. 
 He added that he was one of the governors and he 
 surely would know if anything out of the way 
 happened. 
 
 "That is what I thought, but it does seem 
 strange," she answered. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked. 
 
 "Mrs. Patten told me. That is, she didn't tell 
 me, only that something dreadful had happened to 
 Captain Hayden at the club. She said Windy must 
 have told me. I said no, he had not. Then she 
 looked very queer and said in that case she was 
 very sorry she mentioned it." 
 
 "That woman!" Puckle snorted. 
 
 "I asked Windy, but he said he knew nothing 
 about it." 
 
 "Well, then, of course there is nothing to know," 
 he assured her. 
 
 "There is something," she insisted. "And Mrs. 
 Patten seemed to connect whatever it was with. 
 Windy and this Captain Hayden. That is why I 
 wanted to know about it." 
 
 "Betty!" 
 
 She glanced at him and was shocked at the ma- 
 lignancy of this good man's countenance. His brows 
 bristled, his lips snarled, his nose spread and flat- 
 tened.
 
 226 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "The less you have to do with Mrs. Patten the 
 better, the less you listen to her the wiser you will 
 be. She's got adder-blood in her. She's venomous. 
 She's been the poisoned yeast of every scandal in 
 this town for ten years. She " 
 
 "But is this a scandal?" Betty interrupted, still 
 keen on the scent. 
 
 "What?' 
 
 "This something dreadful that happened at the 
 club," she answered, harping on that. 
 
 "Gossip! Nothing that could possibly concern 
 you!" 
 
 "But she connected Windy- 
 
 At this moment Cutmore came into the room, 
 furbished up for dinner, and for some reason Betty 
 did not finish what she was about to say. 
 
 Puckle was flustered. He talked so much more 
 than usual that Betty kept her eye on him. She 
 thought Mr. Puckle made a noise like sounding 
 brass and tinkling cymbals. She was perfectly cer- 
 tain that he was trying to create a diversion, and 
 she was very suspicious. Puckle was secretly indig- 
 nant. Why in thunderation had Cutmore not men- 
 tioned to his wife the licking he had given Hay- 
 den? In his opinion this was a mistake, making a 
 mountain of a mole-hill. He might know she would 
 hear of the whole affair. But he understood Cut- 
 more's silence. He was unwilling to reveal the
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 227 
 
 tragedy of his experiences in France. He had the 
 reserve of a decent fighting man about that. No 
 one except himself knew the reason for Cutmore's 
 assault upon Hayden. He hoped that fellow would 
 keep out of Millidge. Cutmore was a man who 
 had an instinct for settling personal accounts of 
 this kind.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 What may have been a sort of natural providence 
 in the beginning can become a destructive element 
 in life. Some scientists, with that peculiar and 
 unbridled imagination which is a characteristic of 
 all notable scientists, hold that man might have 
 remained indefinitely in his original brute sim- 
 plicity if he had not accidentally discovered the de- 
 lectable flavor of fermented juices, if he had not 
 taken his maize in the form of a sour mass. The 
 effect of this intoxicating nourishment was to ex- 
 cite the nervous system, which in time changed the 
 whole physical organism of man, multiplied the 
 brain-cells, thereby causing a functioning of the 
 same beyond mere instinctive animal action. It 
 also produced an inebriate self-consciousness which 
 exalted man emotionally, causing him to contin- 
 ually stand on his hind legs and to use his fore legs 
 for the purpose of gesturing. What followed was 
 a matter of development. From the lowest forms- 
 of nightmare superstitions he has progressed to the 
 present stage of arts, ideals, civilizations, and as- 
 sured immortality. 
 
 But whatever may be said of the inspirational 
 effects of intoxicants upon the development of man 
 
 228
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 229 
 
 it has now been moved and seconded in our own 
 most enlightened nation that a dearth of intoxi- 
 cants will be much better for him. Wherefore we 
 have recently acquired national prohibition in this 
 country, not as a fact but as a law, because you can 
 not wean a nation from the habit of twice ten thou- 
 sand years by legislating against the habit. 
 
 The present effect of prohibition has been to close 
 the saloons and to spray the whole country with 
 the forbidden beverage. 
 
 Millidge had long been known as a town of 
 sober intoxication. The decanter was still a house- 
 hold institution among the best families. Wine was 
 a liquid preparation for conversation taken at every 
 table in Millidge. Housewives of the grander sort 
 believed in the noble flavoring, and used it. It 
 was like depriving a fine old community of its finer 
 sentiments to banish its liquors. Not that those 
 citizens accustomed to their toddies did without 
 them. It was that honest men with impeccable rep- 
 utations were reduced to expedients dark and de- 
 vious to get the stuff, and such stuff! A set of 
 criminals known as "bootleggers" prospered exceed- 
 ingly there. Mud-bespattered "flivvers" shot in 
 and out of Millidge at all hours. Old and formerly 
 honorable cars went into the business when they 
 were purchased from second-hand dealers. Never 
 had so many well-intentioned and highly connected 
 cars been stolen and spirited away also to be used
 
 230 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 in this traffic. The Millidge Ledger carried half a 
 column of advertisements for stolen cars offering re- 
 wards for "evidence to convict." 
 
 But until the third day of December none of the 
 prominent cars in Millidge had been taken. Crom- 
 bie's contention was that a six-thousand-dollar auto- 
 mobile was too expensive and heavy to be used 
 advantageously in the moonshine trade and that 
 Millidge had no professional thieves of the other 
 class. 
 
 On this day he started out in his precious car for 
 his annual hunt. He was accompanied by Colonel 
 Turner, who occupied the seat beside him; Towne 
 and Tovey, who sat behind; two bird-dogs, and a 
 substantial roll of sandwiches bestowed in the 
 hammock-rack of the car above the noses of the 
 dogs. They had everything but the best thing. It 
 developed at the last moment that no one could 
 produce the essential flask. Five miles beyond Mil- 
 lidge they sighted a covered wagon coming slowly 
 toward them. 
 
 "That looks promising!" Turner said, who was 
 now at the toddy age. 
 
 Towne stood up, bent forward, and squinted over 
 their shoulders through the wind-shield at this 
 wagon. 
 
 "Depends upon whether there is a gray mule tied 
 behind," he -announced judiciously.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 231 
 
 This wagon was well known on the country 
 roads around Millidge, although it was never seen 
 in the town. It was drawn by two raw-boned sorrel 
 mules. But the driver changed identity frequently. 
 Sometimes he was a leather-faced mountaineer with 
 chin-whiskers, sometimes he was a youth with only 
 a colorless down on his lip. Frequently it was a 
 fat elderly woman with a snuff-stick in her mouth. 
 But the sheet of the wagon was always rolled up 
 behind, where a crate showed. This crate carried 
 anything from pigs to turkeys. Provender for the 
 team was piled on top of it. There was a roll of 
 bedding in front of it, and the dingy mess of a 
 camping outfit, including provisions and enough 
 apples to smell. If the wagon was proceeding in 
 the direction of Millidge there was always an old 
 gray mule tied behind and apparently following 
 unwillingly. A sign to the initiated that a full 
 line was inside. But if it should be going in the 
 opposite direction this mule was hitched in front to 
 the end of the wagon-tongue as leader for the team, 
 which conveyed the information to possible cus- 
 tomers that "there was nothing doing." And if 
 you should be curious enough to pull up the wagon- 
 sheet behind, which was now drawn, you would 
 probably see the same pigs or the same turkeys in 
 the crate going home again. 
 
 "The mule's tied behind, all right!" Tovey sang 
 out cheerfully, having got a side view.
 
 232 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "Praise the hills!" Turner exclaimed fervidly. 
 
 Crombie was already in the road waiting for the 
 wagon, now near at hand. 
 
 "I don't know the driver; never saw him before," 
 he said uneasily. 
 
 This man, seated high above his team, wore a 
 black slouch hat flared from his face, and brown 
 corduroy clothes. He was young. His skin was 
 pink, his eyes black and piercing. He had a fight- 
 ing man's nose, arched, thin nostrils, that lifted into! 
 a snarl at the corners. His glance was bold, and 
 he was regarding Crombie with the shadow of a 
 grin, not challenging, but provocative. 
 
 "I don't like his looks; can't afford to make a 
 mistake, you know," Crombie muttered. 
 
 "Oh, what does it matter how he looks'?" Turner 
 growled impatiently, seeing that the man meant to 
 drive on. 
 
 "The mule's there! You go by the mule, not 
 the driver!" Towne urged from within. 
 
 Crombie waved a signal, crossed the road to the 
 wagon. 
 
 An undertaker and a moonshiner have the ad- 
 vantage of their customers. And they usually take 
 it, for you are either too dead to dicker with the 
 former about the cost of your funeral, or you are 
 too hurried to dispute with the latter about the 
 price of his commodity. This was an open road, a 
 very public place. Crombie was a prominent citi-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 233 
 
 zen, about as well known as this wagon with its 
 mule trailer. 
 
 The transaction was made with celerity. He 
 stepped hastily back across the road, swung himself 
 to the car, and made off at a lively speed. 
 
 "Fifteen dollars a quart! It's awful," he com- 
 plained. 
 
 "That's the only prohibition we've got so far, 
 the price these rascals charge for the stuff," Turner 
 said. 
 
 Still they were cheerful. The car was now 
 faintly fragrant. The day's pleasure was assured 
 whatever luck they had with the guns. They left 
 the highway and turned into an old farm road. 
 Presently they came to a long stretch of meadows 
 and stubble land below wooded hills. 
 
 "This is the place," Crombie said. "I thought we 
 might get further in, but the road is ditched; can't 
 make it!" 
 
 Turner wanted to know if it was safe to leave 
 the car there. He was assured tfyat it would be 
 perfectly safe. In fact, Crombie doubted if he 
 could get it out when they started home. They 
 shouldered their guns, the dogs spread out in the 
 stubble. Presently hunters and dogs disappeared 
 over the rise of the hill into the meadow beyond. 
 
 It was three o'clock in the afternoon before Tovey 
 and Towne reappeared over the top of this hill, the
 
 234 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 elder men far in the rear. Suddenly Towne halted 
 and stared. 
 
 "The devil !" he exclaimed. Tovey followed his 
 gaze and also stared. 
 
 At the bottom of the hill two raw-boned sorrel 
 mules hitched to a covered wagon grazed by the 
 roadside. A gray mule hitched to the end of the 
 tongue stood with his ears laid back, too tightly 
 reined up to get his head to the ground. 
 
 "Same outfit we met this morning!" Tovey ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "Where's the car"? That's what I want to 
 know !" Towne returned. 
 
 "Must be behind the wagon," Tovey said, as they 
 started walking fast. 
 
 The car was not behind the wagon. The earth 
 had been skinned for fifty feet where the wheels 
 skidded across the road into the field and then back 
 to the road. They went back to the wagon. No 
 driver. Nothing inside but the roll of bedding and 
 the crate with three small pigs in it. 
 
 "Can you beat it?" Towne exclaimed with a look 
 of dismay. 
 
 They heard a yell and saw Crombie and Turner 
 standing on the hill above them. 
 
 "What's the matter 1 ?" Crombie shouted as he 
 came plunging down. 
 
 "Somebody's stolen your car !" Towne answered. 
 
 Crombie' s consternation was too deep for proper
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 235 
 
 language, and language strong enough had not 
 come to him. Turner was plaintive. He was a 
 fat man ; 'he was also a tired fat man. 
 
 "Well, we've got to get back to town as soon as 
 possible to notify the police," Tovey announced. 
 
 "We can get back, but not soon," Towne an- 
 swered ruefully. 
 
 The four men stood with a single thought con- 
 templating the wagon. Crombie's face was swell- 
 ing with suppressed rage. He began to nimble 
 profanely. 
 
 Towne climbed into the driver's seat and took 
 the reins. Tovey seized the gray mule's bridle. 
 They undertook to turn the team and wagon. They 
 were inexperienced in this business. There was a 
 terrific commotion; the wheels cut in beneath the 
 bed, and at one moment disaster seemed imminent 
 as this cumbersome body careened like a prostrated 
 balloon. At last, however, they were back in the 
 road. 
 
 "Crawl in, gentlemen!" Tovey shouted. "I may 
 have to ride the gray mule, but we'll try driving 
 him at long distance first. Never do to hitch him 
 behind!" 
 
 He scaled the front wheel to the seat beside 
 Towne, while Crombie and Turner went in labori- 
 ously over the crate of pigs. 
 
 "Tovey," said Towne while this scuffling ascen- 
 sion in the rear was going on, "if this is a straight
 
 236 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 road we can make it, but I'll never get this darn 
 thing around a sharp curve without an accident!" 
 
 They started for Millidge in this fashion. Turner 
 slept, not peacefully, but soundly, reclining against 
 the crate, legs stretched in a medley of guns and 
 dogs, with bunches of partridges dangling from the 
 frame of the wagon above. But Crombie, seated 
 hunched up on the end of the straw tick, erupted 
 from time to time when the road was smooth enough 
 for his voice to be heard above the rumble of the 
 wagon. He reminded the two men in front that he 
 suspected that fellow from the first. He had not 
 wanted to deal with him when they stopped to get 
 the stuff that morning. He suspected then that he 
 was not what he pretended to be. Never had seen 
 a bootlegger or moonshiner gotten up like that. 
 The whole thing had been planned, to steal his six- 
 thousand-dollar car and leave this contaminated 
 wagon in exchange. It was not only the boldest 
 kind of robbery, it was an insult, especially that 
 gray mule. Why didn't Towne make the con- 
 demned beast move on faster? At this rate they 
 would not reach Millidge before midnight! And 
 it was imperative to start the police on that rascal's 
 trail while it was fresh! Whereupon the drivers 
 united in the effort to urge the tired team. 
 
 Millidge was agog next day with news of this 
 affair. Other cars had been stolen there, but never
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 237 
 
 one from among the elect before this time. A re- 
 porter hastened to interview Crombie, and was 
 coldly received, but he gathered sufficient details 
 of the disaster from the other three hunters to write 
 a faintly humorous story for the Ledger, not omit- 
 ting a veiled reference to the hunting party's first 
 meeting with the suspected thief. Deputies and 
 detectives bestirred themselves. They wired the 
 particulars and a description of the car to every 
 town and city in the State. Meanwhile they fol- 
 lowed the clue furnished by Crombie and his com- 
 panions and sought the man whom they had seen 
 in the wagon. It was like chasing a red fox across 
 the mountains. Few people would admit ever hav- 
 ing seen these mules and this wagon, which was 
 now on exhibition at the police station, and nobody 
 remembered ever having seen such a man, least of 
 all in the remote fastnesses of the hills from which 
 he was supposed to have come. 
 
 One day Cutmore had gone to the police station 
 to see a client. When he came out he saw the mules 
 standing hitched in the sun beside the wagon. Later 
 a police sergeant reported what happened to the 
 chief. He said Mr. Cutmore acted as if he recog- 
 nized that outfit, which was not remarkable, since 
 a lot of people must know it. But the singular 
 thing to him was that these mules seemed to know 
 Mr. Cutmore. He had distinctly heard him ad- 
 dress the gray one as "Pete," and he had been aston-
 
 238 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 ished to see the said mule prick his ears and whinny 
 as Mr. Cutmore approached him. Now the chief 
 knew that no man in the department dared trust 
 himself within reach of that blasted mule, but he 
 had seen Mr. Cutmore rub his nose and actually 
 stroke his hind legs. He would have said that 
 there was every evidence of a former agreeable ac- 
 quaintance between Mr. Cutmore and that mule. 
 What did the chief think? The chief thought it 
 was a coincidence. "Pete" was a common name 
 among mules. Some men were unaccountably at- 
 tractive to animals. That was his explanation. 
 
 The next day Crombie called Puckle on the 
 phone. The man who stole his car had been taken. 
 He had been brought in the night before from the 
 mountains above Millidge. No, they had not got 
 the car. The remains of it would no doubt be 
 found somewhere up there. Yes, of course he pro- 
 tested his innocence; they all did until they were 
 proved guilty. There was no doubt, however, that 
 this fellow was the thief. Crombie had gone at 
 once to the jail and identified him. Turner, Tovey, 
 and Towne, who went with him, had also recog- 
 nized him as the man they had seen in the wagon. 
 They had passed him in the road on the morning 
 of the hunt. This was the wagon that had been 
 left in exchange for his car.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 239 
 
 Then he told Puckle that he wanted him to take 
 the case. 
 
 "I am asking you to take it because I want a 
 vigorous prosecution," he explained. 
 
 Puckle said he would do his best. Crombie did 
 not think the man could give bail. He was a stran- 
 ger. Nobody in Millidge would go bond for him. 
 But if the matter came up he hoped Puckle would 
 see that the bond was adequate. Puckle was glad 
 to have this case, not that it was important, but 
 Crombie had never employed him as counsel be- 
 fore. He hoped this would lead to other business. 
 He supposed he was indebted to Cutmore's rela- 
 tion to the Crombies for this, which reminded him 
 that he would go in and see Cutmore about it. 
 
 Cutmore was not in his office. He went back 
 and rang for Smalley. 
 
 "Has Mr. Cutmore been in this morning'?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "He was here, but he went out about an hour 
 ago," Smalley answered. 
 
 "Do you know where he went*?" 
 
 "He had a call very early this morning from 
 the police station. Miss Smith answered it. Some 
 one there wanted to see him at once. Miss Smith 
 gave him the message first thing when he came in. 
 He went out then and has not been back." 
 
 "Well, if he comes back while I am at lunch, tell
 
 240 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 him to wait here for me," Puckle said, putting on 
 his top-coat and hat. 
 
 When he returned at two o'clock Cutmore was 
 in his office. 
 
 "We have a new case, not much of a case, but 
 an important client," Puckle announced, dropping 
 into the chair, leaning back and regarding Cutmore 
 agreeably. 
 
 "The more the better; who is he*?" Cutmore 
 asked. 
 
 "Crombie." 
 
 "What sort of case is it*?" he asked. 
 
 "It seems that they arrested the fellow who stole 
 Crombie' s car. I have just had lunch with Crom- 
 bie, the whole bunch of victims, in fact," he 
 laughed. 
 
 "They will make star witnesses,*' he went on. 
 "Crombie is madder about being obliged to come 
 back to town in that bootlegger's wagon than about 
 the loss of his car. Old Turner must be coached. 
 They say he slept all the way home, but he dreams 
 vividly. He believes some one passed them after 
 dark in Crombie's car. He thinks he saw this 
 through a split in the cover of the wagon. But his 
 description of the driver does not correspond with 
 the one they all give of this man who has been 
 arrested." 
 
 "Did the others see this car?" Cutmore inter- 
 rupted.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 241 
 
 "Oh, they say a dozen cars passed them, but 
 Crombie was in strict retirement inside the wagon. 
 And Towne says he and Tovey were too much oc- 
 cupied with that three-mule team to pay attention 
 to anything else, but they are certain that they 
 would have known Crombie' s big car." 
 
 "I am glad you told me this," Cutmore said. 
 
 Puckle glanced at him, and only remembered 
 afterward the grim expression of his face. 
 
 "Crombie wants a vigorous prosecution. I told 
 him we could not promise a conviction, but we 
 would do our best. The trial ought to come off 
 this week. You might go down there now and 
 arrange, if you can, that the fellow is not released 
 on bond. Can't trust those mountain wild-cats," 
 Puckle said, about to rise from his chair. 
 
 "He is innocent," Cutmore announced. 
 
 "Hey!" 
 
 "Thomas did not steal Crombie's car," Cutmore 
 repeated. 
 
 Puckle leaned back and stared at him. 
 
 "How do you know?" he demanded. 
 
 "I have seen him." 
 
 "Since his arrest 1 ?" 
 
 "Yes; he sent for me this morning. I have known 
 him a long time. We have eaten and slept together. 
 And I am the only man he knows here. That is 
 why he sent for me."
 
 242 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "Where did you know him?" Puckle asked. 
 Some sort of revelation was always flashing out of 
 Cutmore's past. 
 
 "The year I lived up there in the mountains. 
 These Thomases were my only neighbors. There is 
 a dozen of them. I have ridden that gray mule 
 across Crow's Mountain and back again many 
 times." 
 
 "Then you know he is a moonshiner," Puckle 
 said. 
 
 "He may be. Crombie knows more about that 
 than I do," he answered significantly. 
 
 "I am sorry you took the case against him," he 
 added. 
 
 "Well, we have taken it, and your young friend 
 will have the devil of a time proving his inno- 
 cence." 
 
 "Because," Cutmore went on, "I shall have noth- 
 ing to do with the prosecution of this man. The 
 fact is, I have promised to defend him!" 
 
 "Without consulting me?" Puckle asked, red- 
 dening. 
 
 "As you agreed to prosecute for Crombie." 
 
 "That's different." 
 
 "I admit it," Cutmore said. "I should have con- 
 sulted you. I apologize. But in any case I shall 
 defend Thomas. He is out now on bond. I ar- 
 ranged that this morning." 
 
 Puckle came to his feet. He was furious. He
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 243 
 
 made no reply to something Cutmore said about 
 relieving him of "all embarrassment" as he left the 
 room. That young whelp had shot his bolt again! 
 Now they were in this mess. How could he ex- 
 plain this situation to Crombie? Of course it was 
 embarrassing, he fumed. 
 
 Cutmore went home alone at the end of this day, 
 although it was Wednesday." 
 
 "Where is Mr. Puckle?" Betty exclaimed when 
 she met him at the door. 
 
 "I don't know," he answered briefly, as he flung 
 off his topcoat, hung up his hat, and hurried in to 
 the fire. 
 
 "But isn't he coming to dinner*?" she asked. 
 
 "No," still more briefly. 
 
 "I am so sorry. I had such a nice dinner, the 
 things he likes," she said, showing her disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 "Well, then, you've probably got the things I 
 don't like." 
 
 "Windy, you forgot to kiss me," she then re- 
 minded him. 
 
 He did this perfunctorily. 
 
 She thought Windy must be taking a cold. He 
 did not look well. But he was frequently edged 
 up as he was now. Maybe he was working too 
 hard. It was just as well, she decided, that Mr. 
 Puckle didn't come, especially if Windy had to 
 work.
 
 244 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 They had a silent meal. Betty had learned that 
 when Windy was in a certain mood he resented 
 conversation. 
 
 "I wish you did not have to go back to the office. 
 You are so tired," she said when they had finished 
 dinner and Cutmore was smoking his cigar before 
 the fire in the parlor. 
 
 "I am not tired," he retorted irritably. "And I 
 shall work in here," he said, drawing a package of 
 papers from his pocket. 
 
 Betty regarded him thoughtfully. She put the 
 keen little nose of her wifely mind to the ground 
 and she scented trouble. 
 
 "Windy! Something has happened!" she said 
 suddenly. 
 
 "Yes," he admitted, laying aside the papers he 
 had been reading, implying that they might as well 
 have it out now as later. 
 
 "What is it?" she demanded. 
 
 "I have severed my relations with Puckle," he 
 said, looking across at her. 
 
 She had bent a little forward in her chair, her 
 eyes wide, her lips parted, one hand pressed to her 
 breast. 
 
 "You quarreled with him?" 
 
 "Well, not exactly." 
 
 "Oh, my dear, my dear !" she cried softly. 
 
 "Well, it is not as bad as all that !" he exclaimed. 
 
 "But what will you do?"
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 245 
 
 "Practice law, of course. I am not dependent on 
 Puckle. I've got a case now. That, by the way, 
 was the cause of the break between us." 
 
 He told her what had happened, the whole story 
 of Thomas, and of their association. 
 
 "I did not know you had ever lived in the moun- 
 tains," she said. 
 
 "There are a lot of things you don't know about 
 me," he said, smiling, and went on, telling her of 
 Thomas's arrest for the theft of Crombie's car, of 
 how he had promised to defend him without know- 
 ing that Crombie had retained Puckle to prosecute 
 him. 
 
 "If the man is innocent, it is very simple," she 
 put in. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "You could just leave him to come clear, and 
 make it up with Mr. Puckle. The law does clear 
 the innocent, doesn't it 1 ?" 
 
 He regarded her confidence in the law almost 
 pityingly. 
 
 "Not if Puckle gets before the jury!" he an- 
 swered. "You don't know him. You see him when 
 he is not a lawyer. When he is, he is terrible. 
 Thomas was locked up; no one to handle his case, 
 no money, no friends. I shall have to work like 
 everything to locate the only witness who can prove 
 his innocence."
 
 246 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 Now that he had' told Betty, he felt better. He 
 reassured her. The future was bright, he said, and 
 now he would not have to share that future with 
 Puckle. 
 
 Presently she went up-stairs and left him to pre- 
 pare this case. She flung herself across the bed and 
 stared into the darkness. When a woman does that 
 she is thinking the thoughts of defeat ; with courage 
 and fortitude, it may be, but in any case she is 
 bucking Fate on her back. Only God sees her eyes 
 then. They are always wide and tragic. 
 
 Betty was seeing through her glass darkly, but 
 she saw clearly enough to wonder if all men were 
 hard to get on with. She decided that this must 
 be the case. Therefore Windy was not to blame 
 if he was cursed with the common nature of man. 
 She should be thankful he did not drink nor gamble. 
 She cast a sop of pity to those women whose hus- 
 bands developed these attributes in addition to their 
 natural perversities and awful virtues. 
 
 The compensations women discover by which to 
 make the ends of their love and trust meet are 
 pathetic; when the worst happens for which the 
 marriage ceremony provides so rigidly, they can 
 always face about and be thankful at some other 
 woman's expense whose husband has graver faults. 
 
 There was nothing to distinguish the trial of 
 Babe Thomas for the theft of Mr. William Crom- 
 bie's car from the usual run of cases in the city
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 247 
 
 court. The riff-raff audience lolling in the back of 
 the court-room was not of a sort to recognize the 
 sensation behind the fact that Martin Puckle was 
 prosecuting and Windham Cutmore defending the 
 prisoner. Few of them knew that these two had 
 been partners in the same firm. Puckle had not 
 revealed the breach between him and Cutmore to 
 Crombie until the last moment. 
 
 There was an occasional suppressed snicker as 
 one after another witness for the prosecution gave 
 his testimony. The story of Crombie' s return to 
 town in the moonshiner's wagon was all the more 
 diverting because of his obvious indignation. He 
 could not forbear a gesture now and then toward 
 Babe, who sat, hunched up in his corduroys, his 
 dark face still pink and clean-shaven, his eyes im- 
 movably fixed on vacancy, his black slouch hat in 
 plain view beside him, on the bench. 
 
 Cutmore waived his privilege of cross-questioning 
 these witnesses until Turner had finished his ac- 
 count of what happened on the day of the hunt, 
 which was a repetition of previous testimony given 
 by the other members of Crombie' s party. 
 
 "One moment, Mr. Turner," Cutmore said, de- 
 taining him. 
 
 "When you were in the wagon returning to Mil- 
 lidge that night, did you not see a car passing on 
 the road which you took for Mr. Crombie's car 1 ?" 
 
 Turner glanced at Cutmore and hesitated. He
 
 248 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 had been convinced that this was a dream. A 
 witness-stand, he was warned, was no place to tell 
 nightmares. Still he was an honest man, under 
 oath. 
 
 "Yes, for a moment, I did think it was Crom- 
 bie's car," he admitted. 
 
 "You saw the driver?" 
 
 "For the briefest instant through a slit in the 
 wagon-cover. The car was going very fast," he 
 answered. 
 
 "Did he wear an overcoat*?" 
 
 "My impression is that he did." 
 
 "You are sure he wore a black slouch hat 4 ?" 
 
 "No, a cap." Turner admitted slowly. 
 
 "Was he clean-shaven 1 ?" 
 
 "I can't say!" he answered after a longer pause. 
 
 "What is your impression'?" 
 
 Puckle interrupted. He wished to remind Mr. 
 Cutmore that the witness was supposed to give his 
 testimony, not his impressions. The judge so 
 ruled. Turner was allowed to leave the stand. But 
 Cutmore had gained his point. Every man on the 
 jury inferred that the man he had seen did not 
 resemble Thomas. 
 
 The first witness for the defense was now called. 
 Puckle supposed this would be a mountaineer, ex- 
 pected to give testimony by which Cutmore would 
 seek to prove an alibi for his client. But when the 
 deputy returned from the witness-room there was
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 249 
 
 no mistaking the man who accompanied him. 
 Puckle knew him and stared. Crombie knew him 
 and snorted his indignant astonishment. The judge 
 knew him and grinned merely the veiled shadow 
 of a grin. Even the prisoner flashed a smile at 
 him. His name was Timothy Sykes, and he was 
 well known in Millidge, especially in this court, 
 where he had frequently appeared as a witness, 
 but never before in the defense of the prisoner at 
 the bar. He was one of several revenue officers 
 stationed there for the apprehension and prosecu- 
 tion of dealers in illicit liquor. 
 
 He was trained in the art of giving testimony 
 and was allowed to tell his own story. He said 
 that he and another officer had been sent out about 
 noon on the third day of December to arrest the 
 man, woman, or boy who drove a covered wagon 
 with a gray mule hitched behind and who was re- 
 ported to be selling whisky on the Millidge road. 
 They had overtaken this team and recognized it, 
 although the gray mule was hitched in front. The 
 man had just left the main highway and had taken 
 the road which led to what is known as the River 
 Meadow farms. They had stopped their car on 
 the highway and started on foot to overtake the 
 wagon. But before they reached it, this man, jerk- 
 ing his head in the direction of the prisoner, had 
 caught sight of them, leaped from his wagon, and 
 ran down the road. They had gone after him. But
 
 250 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 when he came to the open meadows he had immedi- 
 ately left the road and kept to the woods. 
 
 "One moment, Mr. Sykes," Cutmore said, inter- 
 rupting him. "You were then in plain view of that 
 part of this road which runs through the meadows?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Did you see a large touring-car standing in it 
 only a short distance away, say fifty yards'?" 
 
 "I did not." 
 
 "You could have seen it if it had been there 1 ?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly, sir; we would not only have seen 
 it, we should have searched it. We have instruc- 
 tions to investigate automobiles found in lonely, 
 out-of-the-way places." 
 
 "What time was this?" 
 
 "Well, I can't be sure, but it could not have been 
 later than one o'clock in the afternoon." 
 
 Cutmore bowed gravely. 
 
 "Proceed, Mr. Sykes. What happened next?" 
 he asked, at the same time casting a slow glance at 
 Puckle and Crombie. 
 
 Puckle was very red, but Crombie sat like the 
 pale image of outraged virtue. 
 
 Sykes said they had continued the chase and that 
 it was not so much a matter of speed, but that the 
 ground was broken, and covered with undergrowth. 
 They had finally lost sight of him and gone back 
 to search the wagon. They had found the team 
 grazing beside the road at the entrance to the
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 251 
 
 meadows. There was nothing contraband in the 
 wagon, although the odor of it was distinctly illicit. 
 They had remained concealed in the edge of the 
 woods, believing that the man might come back for 
 his wagon when he decided that they had abandoned 
 the chase. This was exactly what happened. They 
 had been there perhaps an hour when he appeared 
 on the hill behind them. Unfortunately he was 
 descending directly toward them. This was how 
 they missed him the second time. He had caught 
 sight of them, wheeled, and made back. There 
 was less undergrowth here, and they had been able 
 to keep him in sight until they came to the river, 
 perhaps two miles away from where they started. 
 He thought the man must have forded this stream. 
 He was nowhere in sight. They had then given 
 up the chase and returned to their car. This was 
 all. 
 
 "What time did you reach your car*?" Cutmore 
 asked. 
 
 "Three o'clock, sir." 
 
 "How do you know*?" 
 
 "I looked at my watch." 
 
 "Why did you abandon the wagon *?" 
 
 "The law does not include the scent of whisky 
 as contraband. We had no right to confiscate the 
 wagon." 
 
 Puckle declined to question this witness. 
 
 "Your Honor," Cutmore said, rising and ad-
 
 252 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 dressing the judge. "I am not prepared to explain 
 why my client took to his heels at the sight of Mr. 
 Timothy Sykes, although Mr. Sykes admits he 
 found nothing contraband in his possession, and 
 unless some witness is produced who can testify that 
 of his own knowledge Thomas had liquor and dealt 
 in this abominable traffic on that day I fail to see 
 how he can be charged even with this offense." 
 
 Cutmore paused and stared at Crombie His 
 expression was politely malicious and offensively 
 interrogative. 
 
 "But it is quite a different matter to be charged 
 with stealing a six-thousand-dollar car," he went 
 on. "Now, if, according to Mr. Sykes's testimony, 
 Mr. Crombie's car had already disappeared from 
 the place where he left it at one o'clock on this 
 day, and if, according to his account, the defendant 
 was three miles distant and still going in the oppo- 
 site direction at the very time when Mr. Tovey and 
 Mr. Towne discovered the loss of the car, it was a 
 physical impossibility for my client to have com- 
 mitted this crime. I therefore move, your Honor, 
 that a verdict be directed for the defendant." 
 
 Puckle had risen to his feet and was about to 
 address the court when a policeman entered and 
 handed a telegram to Cutmore which had been 
 opened.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 253 
 
 Cutmore glanced at it. 
 
 "With your Honor's permission," he said, "I 
 wish to submit one more evidence of the defend- 
 ant's innocence." 
 
 The judge bowed; Puckle resumed his seat. 
 
 "This is a telegram addressed to the chief of po- 
 lice, Millidge, Georgia, and comes from the chief 
 of police, Savannah, Georgia. It reads, 'Large tour- 
 ing-car located here. Description answers to one 
 stolen near Millidge on December 3rd; number of 
 motor, 626,791; dark-blue body; monogram on 
 door in gilt letters, "W. C." Description of man 
 taken with car does not tally with one sent. Fair, 
 blue eyes, short, age 29, wears gray suit, dark-blue 
 overcoat, black-fur cap, claims New York as his 
 home, speaks with Northern accent. Wire instruc- 
 tions,' " he concluded, offering the yellow slip to 
 the judge. 
 
 "Verdict directed for the defendant," the judge 
 announced. 
 
 Cutmore glanced at Puckle, who was talking to 
 Crombie. He did not wait, but went through the 
 rear door with Babe Thomas and Timothy Sykes. 
 He thought Puckle meant to come across and speak 
 to him. He had not seen him since the day of the 
 breach when he had withdrawn from the partner- 
 ship. But he could not afford to give Puckle the 
 opportunity not to speak to him. He crossed the
 
 254 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 open space before the court-house and went down 
 Union Street. He was not enjoying his triumph. 
 It was a small one. He thought if Puckle had not 
 been so flattered by Crombie's patronage, he would 
 have discovered the weakness in Crombie's suspi- 
 cion from the first. That was his frailty: he could 
 always be flattered by a certain class, thus admit- 
 ting his sense of inferiority. Still, Puckle was a 
 big man. He glanced up and saw the sign, Puckle 
 & Cutmore. It had not been changed yet. He 
 supposed it would be now, at once. This gave him 
 a sense of depression, of having been demoted. He 
 wondered how much money Betty had saved. They 
 were up against it now. It was like starting at the 
 bottom again. He must look out for an office 
 somewhere. The one he had before going in with 
 Puckle had been rented long ago. He would go 
 home and have lunch with Betty. She would be 
 glad to hear the outcome of this case. Betty was 
 a brick. But he did wish she could make herself 
 less anxious until he could get going again, not that 
 she said so, but he saw it in her eyes, he felt it in 
 her deeper tenderness toward him. A woman's love 
 could become a burden, he decided. 
 
 Betty professed to be rejoiced at the news of his 
 success with the defense of Thomas. But she 
 showed no signs of elation. She was simply duti- 
 fully proud of her husband. She was in fact pre- 
 occupied with her own thoughts. She was in that
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 255 
 
 poignant state of mind and body which calls for 
 action or hysterics, when a woman usually yields 
 to the latter if her husband is a strong and placid 
 person who does not catch the infection.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 If a woman loves her husband with courage and 
 no slavish, diminishing devotion, her criticisms of 
 him are frequently higher testimonials of admira- 
 tion than his best virtues could earn. Having 
 crowned Windy with all the excellencies of his 
 fault, she made up her eminently practical mind 
 to retrieve his future for him, which was certainly 
 not safe in his hands. She could never make her 
 Aunt Clarinda's mistake of serving him too humbly, 
 but she would serve him more effectively. 
 
 William Crombie was gratified at the recovery 
 of his car. He would leave for Savannah Wednes- 
 day morning to identify it. The sheriff would go 
 with him to bring the man back who had stolen it. 
 But he still suffered an unreasonable chagrin at the 
 turn the trial of Babe Thomas had taken. It was 
 not that he wanted an innocent man punished, but 
 the whole thing had been such a preposterous mis- 
 take. And he had been exposed to the vulgar mirth 
 of the crowd in the court-room, a most undignified 
 position for him. 
 
 Puckle had prepared him for the position Cut- 
 more had elected himself, as counsel for the defend- 
 ant. This was the first he had known of the breach 
 
 256
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 257 
 
 between them. But he had not been prepared for 
 the insufferable manner in which Cutmore behaved. 
 The boldness with which he had cast that insinua- 
 tion at him, Crombie, about buying stuff from this 
 bootlegger! He had never liked Cutmore; his man- 
 ner was too confoundedly superior, with nothing to 
 justify it. 
 
 Sarah came into the library, where he was smok- 
 ing his cigar and thinking it over. 
 
 He told her the news of Cutmore's having with- 
 drawn from his partnership with Puckle! 
 
 "How dreadful !" she exclaimed. She wanted to 
 know all about it. 
 
 He told her of his disagreement over this case, 
 with Puckle, whom he, Crombie, had employed to 
 prosecute. 
 
 "Same old story," he added. "Too conscious of 
 himself, his honor, his views, his notion of justice. 
 Never can sit steady in the boat; got to get up 
 and rock it; no more settled than the wind." 
 
 "I am sorry for Betty. It's awful for her," Sarah 
 said. 
 
 "Nice girl. Threw herself away on a fool ; could 
 have done better, much better," he answered 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 The knocker fell on the door in the hall. The 
 maid came to tell Sarah Mr. Towne was calling. 
 "Well, what do you think? Most preposterous
 
 258 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 thing you ever heard of. Cutmore has thrown the 
 fat in the fire again," he announced. 
 
 "Yes, I know. Father has just been telling me 
 about it," she answered sadly. 
 
 "I dropped in on Puckle this afternoon. He 
 won't talk about it. Showed his teeth when I tried 
 to guy him. I warned him against taking Cutmore 
 in with him," Towne went on. 
 
 "I am thinking of poor Betty," she said. 
 
 "Bad for her. Never could see why she took 
 Cutmore when she could have married Puckle like 
 a flash," he said. 
 
 "Absurd!" 
 
 "He was crazy about her; is yet, I suspect," 
 Towne told her. 
 
 "How did you get such a ridiculous idea, 
 Charlie*? He is twice Betty's age." 
 
 "Makes no difference. Puckle told me himself; 
 that is, he practically admitted as much to me be- 
 fore she married Cutmore. That is why I never 
 could understand why he took Cutmore in with 
 him," he went on. 
 
 "He must really love her," Sarah said, begin- 
 ning to comprehend what had always mystified her, 
 Puckle's interest in Cutmore. She remembered with 
 what surprise every one received the announcement 
 that he had made Cutmore his partner. 
 
 "Well, he is out of it now. And you will see 
 what happens. Presently the Cutmores will be liv-
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 259 
 
 ing in one of those little sun-baked bungalows out 
 there in the Boulevard, neighbors to Jones, who 
 married the Clewes girl," he predicted. 
 
 On Wednesday morning Martin Puckle was 
 seated hunched up, as usual, behind his desk. He 
 had the bristling air of a man who has been look- 
 ing for faults and incompetency where he paid for 
 speed and efficiency. His hair was rumpled, he 
 had not shaved, his face was red, he was chewing 
 the end of a cigar, and he was blowing the smoke 
 through his nose as if he fanned the flames of 
 wrath. He had had a row with Smalley that morn- 
 ing about some statements that should have been 
 made out and mailed a week ago. Smalley ex- 
 plained that Mr. Cutmore had told him to wait for 
 further instructions and that Mr. Cutmore had left 
 without giving these instructions. This reference 
 to his former partner was not a happy one. He had 
 told Smalley a thing or two. He had also "jacked 
 up" Miss Smith for errors made in typing letters 
 which he had dictated. He was tempted to get rid 
 of that girl! He supposed she was in tears. 
 Damn tears! They were an extravagance women 
 indulged in, at the expense of men. He supposed 
 they were both out there talking about him. That 
 was all employees did these days, abuse their em- 
 ployers. 
 
 No man ever becomes so eminent, so well estab- 
 lished in his own good opinion that he is indifferent
 
 260 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 to the opinion of those who serve him. Puckle was 
 a remarkably strong character in this particular. 
 But on this day he was a very lonely man, sensitive 
 to the unfriendliness of those about him. He was 
 done with Cutmore; that was settled. But he 
 missed Cutmore, not only his efficient work, by 
 which he had been relieved of so much drudgery of 
 the law, but he missed the man himself. The place 
 had been stripped of a fine presence. There was 
 an air of elegance about him very pleasing to a 
 man like Puckle, who belonged to that class of 
 people who build palaces, spread priceless rugs on 
 their floors, and collect "objects of art" because 
 they themselves are so plain, so lacking in the quali- 
 ties these mere things possess. 
 
 There was another, deeper cause for his depres- 
 sion. What would happen to Betty now*? Cut- 
 more could never succeed at the law if he practiced 
 alone. He was designed by nature for a brilliantly 
 unsuccessful career. He would be down and out 
 presently. Betty could stand it. She had the cour- 
 age. But what a service for such courage ! He re- 
 alized that his one pleasure for months past had 
 been his sense of guardianship over Betty's fate. 
 His happiness had become more or less dependent 
 upon these thoughts for her. The unconscious ap- 
 peal she made to him in her home had shriven him 
 of every desire save the one to serve her and protect 
 her. Now all that was at an end. For a reason
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 261 
 
 so slight it was foolish, Cutmore had flared and 
 left the firm. 
 
 There was a murky little ash-can of a grate be- 
 tween the two windows behind him. He liked the 
 open fire. He turned now in his chair and stared 
 through the windows. He sighed heavily. Men do 
 sigh frequently when they are alone. It is a secret 
 confession they make of defeat. 
 
 The door opened behind him; he swung his chair 
 around as Miss Smith entered, advanced, and laid a 
 card on his desk. He held it up and read the name. 
 
 He was a changed man. His mind flew around 
 cleaning up after his temper. He forgave Smalley 
 his negligence. He stood up and evoluted before 
 the cold eyes of his stenographer. Would Miss Smith 
 kindly draw a chair closer to the fire? No, not that 
 one, the armchair. Yes, that would do, thanks! 
 Now would she ask Mrs. Cutmore to come in? 
 
 Betty whisked through the door into Puckle's 
 office. There was a frost of snow on the fur around 
 her neck ; it clung to her coat. The top of her muff 
 was covered with it. Sleet pebbles and flakes of 
 it showed in the folds of velvet on her smart little 
 hat that fitted her head like the crest of a bird. 
 The sting of it had reddened her cheeks, fired the 
 end of her pretty nose. 
 
 She was very pretty and very, very grave. Her 
 lips were primped up and disciplined to a severely
 
 262 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 sweet red line implying that she had not brought 
 her smile with her this morning, and it depended 
 entirely on Mr. Puckle whether she ever used it 
 again for his benefit. Her manner, although she 
 had not advanced two steps, expressed a sort of 
 slim, keen firmness of purpose. If she had been 
 armed to the teeth she could not have given more 
 strongly the impression of being armed. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Puckle," she said. 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad to see you, Betty!" he re- 
 turned, smiling and holding out his hand. 
 
 She drew one from her muff and gave it to him 
 in return. 
 
 It was icy cold. He held it, hurrying her to the 
 fire. 
 
 "You must be freezing," he said. 
 
 Then he began to make a fuss over her. She must 
 take off that coat at once. 
 
 She yielded the coat and fur. He shook both 
 vigorously, and spread them 'over the chair. But 
 her hat, it was covered with snow which would be 
 melting presently. He took out his handkerchief 
 and flicked it delicately, as a humble artist re- 
 touches a masterpiece. Now then! he said, draw- 
 ing the chair nearer, she must put her feet to the 
 fire. It was very dangerous going out in weather 
 like this and getting a chill. 
 
 She submitted to these ministrations in silence. 
 She sat down and placed her feet obediently on the
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 263 
 
 ash-stained fender, where the soles of her boots 
 steamed before the blaze. She was not cold, but 
 she wanted to shiver, only she was determined not 
 to shiver. 
 
 Puckle watched her. Her face was grave, not so 
 pink now, although the room was warm. It seemed 
 to him even as he watched her it whitened. Then 
 all at once he saw that her eyes were full of tears, 
 that she was staring at him as if she were a long 
 way off through these tears. 
 
 There is a great difference in the effect of tears, 
 my masters! Not an hour since Puckle had been 
 in a rage at the very thought of the Smith girl weep- 
 ing in his front office because he had rebuked her. 
 Now he was stirred to the deepest sympathy at the 
 sight of tears in Betty's eyes, even though at the 
 moment they welled over and hung glistening upon 
 her lashes her expression became actually truculent. 
 
 "Betty, what is it*?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "I came to see you about something," she said, 
 controlling her voice perfectly. "It involves 
 Windy's fortune and happiness," she said. 
 
 He suppressed a grunt. He considered what he 
 could say that would conceal what he was thinking. 
 Before he could choose the lie, she went on. 
 
 "You know Windy. He is a great man." 
 
 She made this announcement as if who would 
 dare challenge it.
 
 264 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 No one in that room would do such a dastardly 
 thing with Betty's eyes fixed upon him. 
 
 "Yes, he is. I have often thought that myself," 
 he agreed. 
 
 "He would not for his life do anything wrong," 
 she said. "But sometimes his idea of what is right 
 may not be practical." 
 
 He was actually afraid to agree with this mild 
 arraignment of Cutmore, and well he did not. 
 
 "But he is always right !" she concluded. 
 
 Puckle slid off of that. Unless it was absolutely 
 necessary to Betty's peace and happiness he would 
 not perjure himself to the extent of agreeing that 
 Cutmore was infallible. What he did say was that 
 he was a splendid man, one of the finest characters 
 he had ever known, brilliant too, and unlike many 
 men of parts, he had energy. Yes, one of the best 
 lawyers right now in the State. He searched his 
 mind rapidly for more and braver words with which 
 to praise this whelp, noticing that Betty seemed to 
 be relaxing. 
 
 "There is no reason why he should not become 
 an eminently successful man," he concluded. 
 
 "Yes, there is, one," she answered slowly. "It's 
 his temperament. Great men suffer from that. So 
 many of them never prove their quality because of 
 that one thing. If somebody does not take care of 
 them they must fail," she said. 
 
 He said that was probably true.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 265 
 
 "So it is the duty of people like us, you and 
 me " she stumbled here, having seen a beam in 
 Puckle's eyes, and then steadied herself to finish, 
 "like you, who are able, kind, and wise, and not 
 mad; like me, who am not gifted, but can love 
 enough, it is our duty to see that Windy gets his 
 chance !" 
 
 He was about to consider this proposition when 
 he discovered that there would be no time to con- 
 sider it. He saw that Betty was trembling; he saw 
 her lift one hand prayerfully to her breast for the 
 briefest instant, then drop it, hiding this prayer. 
 He realized suddenly what this visit had cost her 
 in anguish and courage. He felt his eyes smart. 
 
 "You are right, Betty," he exclaimed hastily, 
 "and I am glad you came up here to tell me. But 
 now what do you want me to do^" 
 
 "I want you to take Windy back," she said. 
 
 "I will, my dear. I've missed him. I'll be glad 
 to have him back, mighty glad," he assured her. 
 
 The stars came out in Betty's face. 
 
 "And keep him here for better or for worse," she 
 cried with a sobbing laugh. 
 
 She was laughing, God bless her! He laughed 
 too. He threw his head back and roared immod- 
 erately. He could have cracked his heels together 
 at the sight of her relief, knowing that he had given 
 it to her.
 
 266 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "All right," he said, "you send Windy up here 
 and we'll fix things." 
 
 "Oh, no!" she cried in alarm, "I couldn't do that. 
 He must never know that I have been to see you. 
 Promise me." 
 
 He promised. 
 
 "I understand," he replied, "but how then will 
 it be arranged?" 
 
 "You must send for him," she said. 
 
 "Ah, I see!" he said, seeing more than she knew 
 she meant, that she was determined to spare her 
 husband at his expense. "Now where shall I find 
 him 1 ?" he wanted to know. 
 
 She was not sure, but she thought he might be in 
 Mr. Tovey's office. 
 
 Well, he would locate him. She was to dismiss 
 the whole matter, go home, and be happy. 
 
 She gave him her hand, which was warm now. 
 Then she stopped suddenly at the door as if she had 
 just thought of something very important. "This 
 is Wednesday," she said, looking up at him with 
 all her stars shining. 
 
 He admitted that it was Wednesday; so it was, 
 but what about it? 
 
 "You are coming as usual to dine with us," she 
 informed him, the faintest shadow of anxiety in her 
 eyes. 
 
 Of course he was coming, he assured her, though 
 he was far from being certain about keeping this
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 267 
 
 engagement. He had not seen Cutmore yet. He 
 did not know what would be the outcome of this 
 business. 
 
 Wednesday afternoon Sarah Crombie sat at her 
 desk, where she had been writing some letters, the 
 kind that burn the bridges behind you. She was 
 unhappy, intelligently so she had a reason. She 
 had at last promised to marry Charlie Towne. She 
 did not love him, but she was tired of being single. 
 She wanted to change her scenes. Many another 
 woman has married for the same reason. She was 
 sure that Towne was not in love with her, at least 
 no more than he had been with a dozen other wo- 
 men. She understood him perfectly, she believed; 
 had suspected for years that he meant to marry her. 
 He had carried on a sort of inverted spite courtship 
 during all this time. She heard his step, stalking 
 her often when he was apparently deeply engaged 
 in another affair. The only compliment involved 
 was one characteristic of him. He considered her 
 the most suitable woman in Millidge for him to 
 marry. He wanted that kind of wife, good-looking, 
 good brains, a manner, position, and money. Well, 
 these were her attributes. So, he had chosen her. 
 Why, she wondered, had not some real man fallen 
 in love with her. This is a question splendid 
 spinsters frequently ask themselves, and one that 
 no man of whatever quality asks himself.
 
 268 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 Sarah sighed, laid her letters idly one above an- 
 other. Then she went to the window and stared at 
 the snow, which covered everything, lined the limbs 
 of every tree, capped every object in sight with 
 white. The old town looked like a Christmas card, 
 with those gray bunting clouds stretched low across 
 the horizon, the glow of a clear cold Winter sunset 
 edging them with green and saffron brightness. 
 
 She could just see the steep, red gables of the Cut- 
 more residence through the naked branches of the 
 trees. This reminded her of Betty. The poor child 
 was in trouble. She must go over there. 
 
 Half an hour later she started out, wrapped and 
 muffled, bending her slender figure against the wind 
 as she whipped along through the snow. She 
 dreaded this visit. She expected to find Betty de- 
 pressed. But it was only decent she should go, let 
 her know that she loved her and still hoped for the 
 best. She supposed they would leave Millidge go 
 to Culloden probably. That would be the wise 
 thing to do. Betty would at least be with her own 
 people. Windy could practice law with Colonel 
 Marshall. She did hope they would leave Millidge. 
 If Windy was going to drag Betty according to his 
 moods she wished he would do it somewhere else. 
 
 When they think you are about to topple down 
 the rungs of the ladder, your friends frequently feel 
 that way. It is the cowardice of a real affection 
 they have for you.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 269 
 
 Marie answered the bell. Yes, Mrs. Cutmore 
 was at home, she said. 
 
 "Oh, Sarah, is that you?' Betty called out from 
 the parlor. 
 
 Sarah said it was. 
 
 "Come in here; I can't move !" Betty called again. 
 
 Sarah was about to enter when she caught sight 
 of what was going on, and stood for a moment in 
 the doorway. 
 
 Betty was seated before the blazing hearth, sur- 
 rounded by green boughs of holly, a half-finished 
 wreath of it on her knees. She wore a little white 
 crepe frock, square neck, long sleeves, very plain, 
 like a child's dress. But her hair was piled skittishly 
 on top of her head like a woman's. Fire-roses 
 burned in her cheeks, red berries glistened among 
 the green leaves in her lap. 
 
 She laid aside the wreath, caught up the front of 
 her skirt, holding the masses of sprays, and showing 
 the pretty stems of her being as she tried to step over 
 the boughs of holly on the rug to greet her guest. 
 She embraced her with one arm; she kissed her on 
 the cheek with smiling lips. 
 
 "It is so good of you to come'this cold day. You 
 must sit close to the fire," she said, pushing a chair 
 nearer. Then she frisked back to the door, still 
 holding the holly, her skirt drawn tightly above her 
 petticoat. 
 
 "Marie!" she called, "bring some tea!"
 
 270 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 She came back, balancing herself prettily as she 
 stepped over the holly to the stool upon which she 
 had been sitting. 
 
 "How are you, my dear?" Sarah asked, having 
 recovered sufficiently to say something. 
 
 "Oh, well, of course, and I am having such a good 
 time!" she exclaimed, beginning again on the 
 wreath. 
 
 Sarah was relieved not to find her in tears, but 
 she certainly did not understand this merry mood. 
 The facts failed to justify it. She wondered if 
 Betty was still in ignorance of what had happened 
 between Puckle and Cutmore, in that case this 
 joyful Betty was tragic. 
 
 "I am so glad Mr. Crombie has found his car," 
 she said, presently. 
 
 "Yes, he left this morning for Savannah. He 
 wants to make sure it is his car before having it 
 shipped," Sarah answered. 
 
 "And they really have caught the man who stole 
 it this time," Betty went on. 
 
 "The sheriff thinks so. He went with father to 
 bring him back," Sarah answered. 
 
 "Windy insisted from the first that that poor boy 
 from the mountains, 'Babe,' he called him, was inno- 
 cent," Betty said as if there was nothing tragic for 
 her connected with his innocence. 
 
 "Yes," Sarah replied, "and we are all so sorry
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 271 
 
 that led to a breach between Mr. Puckle and 
 Windy." 
 
 Betty stared at her. Pride and love are the very 
 graces of deceit in a devoted woman. 
 
 "But Sarah," she exclaimed, "there is no breach 
 between Windy and Mr. Puckle !" 
 
 "But I understood he had resigned as Mr. Puc- 
 kle's partner," Sarah insisted. 
 
 "Well, that can't be so, because Mr. Puckle is 
 coming here to dine as usual to-night. Windy tele- 
 phoned a while before you came," Betty announced. 
 
 "That is why I am hurrying to finish these 
 wreaths. I shall hang them on the dining-room 
 walls to-night. They are prettier there than hung 
 before the windows," she explained. 
 
 Sarah was mystified. And she was thankful that 
 things had been mended somehow between Cutmore 
 and Puckle. She was thinking about this, not really 
 listening to Betty, who had gone on talking about 
 Puckle. 
 
 "He likes these little homey touches," she was 
 saying, referring to the wreaths. "He notices every- 
 thing like that, even more than Windy does. Comes 
 from never having a real home of his own, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 "He is such a dear man, Sarah, I wish you would 
 marry him !" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Betty !" Sarah cried, coming to attention at the 
 expression of this wild wish.
 
 272 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "I once heard you say he is the most eligible man 
 in Millidge," Betty reminded her. "And somebody 
 ought to marry him!" 
 
 "Well, I can't oblige you, or risk Mr. Puckle's 
 happiness in such an adventure now," Sarah began 
 after a little silence. 
 
 Betty looked up, caught her eyes with that 
 curious prescience which women have of other 
 women's knells and bells. 
 
 "I am engaged," she said. 
 
 "To Mr. Towne!" Betty returned. It was not 
 a question, but an affirmative. 
 
 "How could you have known, when it is only 
 since last night!" Sarah exclaimed. 
 
 "We have been expecting it for a long time. I 
 told Windy before our marriage that some day it 
 would be Mr. Towne for you." 
 
 She had risen from her stool, allowing the holly 
 to fall as she stepped across the rug, laid her palms 
 upon Sarah's cheeks, lifted her face and kissed her. 
 
 "My dear, I am so glad; if you are as happy as 
 I am it will be wonderful !" she said tenderly. 
 
 Sarah's lips trembled; she put out a hand and 
 drew Betty to her. 
 
 "But," she quavered, "can one be happy with 
 Charlie Towne?" 
 
 "Off and on, yes," the young wife answered ju- 
 diciously. "Now to-day I am very happy, but yes- 
 terday well, yesterday I was not. It runs that way
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 273 
 
 when you are married, which is better, because no 
 one could endure happiness all the time. You only 
 love all the time." 
 
 "But surely, Betty, one need not care so much. 
 One could be married with less love than that," 
 Sarah objected, regarding her with a half smile. 
 
 "It is done, but I should not risk it," Betty an- 
 swered seriously. 
 
 "It seems to me love should be given in propor- 
 tion to the happiness you receive," Sarah argued. 
 
 "No, that is discounting love. You can love your 
 husband according to his best qualities easily and 
 without much strength of devotion, because you be- 
 come accustomed to it like the sense of security. But 
 you must love him according to his needs, his faults, 
 and weaknesses. That is an active, diligent devo- 
 tion which keeps love alive, the only kind that does, 
 I believe." 
 
 "Well, in that case I should be obliged to care 
 more than than he deserves for Charlie," she coun- 
 tered in the tone of one who does not like this 
 bargain. 
 
 "We all do if you look at it that way," Betty 
 answered gravely. "Men are queer, Sarah," she 
 began again. "They must be watched and tended. 
 I suppose that is why God created the first woman, 
 not because Adam was lonesome, with all he had to 
 do, but the Lord perceived that he needed somebody
 
 274 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 to look after him, give him a push out and up in the 
 world, so He gave him a wife." 
 
 "Oh, Betty, you areisuch a dear!" Sarah cried, 
 looking up at her and letting out a peal of keen 
 feminine laughter. 
 
 "So, we have been that gift of God to men ever 
 since," conceding only the gravity of a smile to 
 Sarah's mirth. 
 
 "We have the care of them. If they do not make 
 good, it is, I believe, always some woman's fault." 
 
 "You make us responsible for the whole world!" 
 Sarah cried. 
 
 "No, they are responsible for that, the big things 
 achieved, civilization, but we are responsible for 
 them. It is our business to love and cherish them, 
 and never to forsake them from the day they are 
 born until death us do part." 
 
 "You make the date of marriage very early!" 
 
 "One must be married to be the mother of one 
 of them," Betty retorted. "That is why I believe 
 in real citizenship for women. So, we shall be mar- 
 ried to them and close enough to look after them all 
 the way through," she concluded. 
 
 "What does Windy think of your views'?" Sarah 
 asked lightly. 
 
 "He doesn't know them. He only knows that I 
 love him, but not how much," she answered, looking 
 down at the green boughs spread like a wreath about 
 her feet. "I didn't know at first myself. I thought
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 275 
 
 it would be just happiness you see. You learn 
 it. Love teaches you love!" she said. 
 
 "And Windy?" Sarah ventured. 
 
 "Oh, he doesn't know it, but he is learning very 
 fast," she answered, smiling, changing into the witty 
 feminine at her. man's expense. 
 
 Some woman with Betty's wisdom should write 
 a book on this subject and call it "Our Children." 
 If she did, we should know more about men than 
 we do. They may be the sons of God, but they are 
 the children of women forever.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 This Winter of 1919 was not altogether a hard 
 season in Millidge, except for the poor who suffered 
 for fuel on account of the coal strike, and for the 
 industrial workers who were thrown out of employ- 
 ment in the factories and mills half the time, due 
 again to lack of fuel to conduct these businesses. 
 The city authorities had their hands full. The 
 charity workers did a great deal of profitless busi- 
 ness, feeding these poisoned poor, and clothing these 
 wilfully needy, who surled at any job, and starved 
 from perverted principle. They sickened and died 
 on the town and had to be buried at the city's ex- 
 pense, victims to the last of their agitators and lead- 
 ers. But over and above this reeking mass of mad- 
 ness, poverty, and hunger, there remained sanity. 
 The real people kept up, went about their affairs 
 and pleasures. The strike ended. There was finally 
 coal for the furnaces and factories. The workers 
 returned to their work. The first shock of this wave 
 of unrest had passed, when men trembled for their 
 businesses, and good people with catastrophic imagi- 
 nations feared the worst. After all, you know, the 
 worst never happens, because whatever is bad can 
 
 be so much worse. 
 
 276
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 277 
 
 Society life in Millidge was not so gay as usual, 
 due to the long shadows of sorrows still stretching 
 across the world, to the sobering thought of income 
 taxes, surtaxes that had to be paid, and later col- 
 lected from the less and less patient patrons of mar- 
 kets and trades. 
 
 Sarah Crombie was now confessedly engaged to 
 Charlie Towne. She was having her last fling as the 
 brilliant spinster of her set. She entertained a great 
 deal and went everywhere, always with Towne in 
 tow. And to the amusement of those who knew her 
 best, she was making it a real fling. She had become 
 the radiant woman, coquettish; she flirted indis- 
 criminately and with considerable success. 
 
 Charlie Towne looked on with amazement and 
 some misgivings at Sarah's performances. Having 
 engaged herself to him, she dismissed him and 
 effaced him on all those occasions when he might 
 have shone as the affianced husband of this regal 
 beauty. He was more than peeved; he was dimin- 
 ished. His office as the official lover in Millidge 
 social circles had been declared vacant. Every 
 woman now regarded him with that sort of indiffer- 
 ence. He had become negligible when he had ex- 
 pected to be of a distinction and added importance. 
 
 "What has come over Sarah Crombie?" Cutmore 
 asked his wife one evening after they had returned 
 from a ball at the Golf and Country Club.
 
 278 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "She was perfectly lovely to-night," Betty an- 
 swered, not catching the drift of his question. 
 
 "And she flirted openly with half a dozen men," 
 he added. 
 
 "Yes, she's attending to Charlie Towne, paying 
 him off for the affairs he affronted her with for years 
 before he asked her to marry him," she answered. 
 
 "He's confoundedly resigned!" with a laugh as 
 short as a sneer. 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder if Sarah kept it up indefi- 
 nitely. She is very angry with him. She has been 
 for years," she added. 
 
 "What is she marrying him for then*?" he wanted 
 to know. 
 
 "It is a way she has of putting her indignant foot 
 on his neck. Some women are like that," she ex- 
 plained. 
 
 He said, drawing her closer, that he was certainly 
 glad she was not like that. 
 
 "No, it wouldn't work in your case," she an- 
 swered in a tone which implied that she had con- 
 sidered this plan and rejected it as not practical. 
 
 Betty was passing through a period of peace and 
 enchantment at this time. She was contented about 
 her husband. Windy's soul of honor seemed to be 
 resting quietly in the order of things. He was ab- 
 sorbed in his practice. He had ceased to be critical 
 of Puckle. It seemed that he had at last resigned
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 279 
 
 himself to accept Puckle as a partner. There was 
 no doubt about this being his point of view. In his 
 own mind he always occupied the vantage-ground 
 of being in the position to accept or refuse what was 
 offered, or to get what was not offered but was es- 
 sential to his happiness. He had never been affected 
 or disciplined by his experience. He had a spirit 
 that could not be bent, and that would not regret. 
 He never reviewed his own past. His way of get- 
 ting rid of it was to vault out of it and remember 
 it against himself no more forever. 
 
 He left his deeds behind him, good and bad, as 
 nature sheds the profits and losses of her seasons. 
 This was a highly spiritual performance, but not 
 moral. By this means he was invariably free to 
 commit his next aggression against the future. He 
 had the qualities of a great nature, you may say, 
 which is by no means to be confounded with a great 
 character. His conscience had never really awak- 
 ened, that thing in a man which fears and retreats 
 and frequently saves him from errors and even 
 crimes. He had only one ideal of honor, which 
 never takes the place of conscience. The conditions 
 of this secular world have crossed too many wires 
 between every man and his ideal. Down here in the 
 dust of the road, it is not so much your ideal as it is 
 a question of the other fellow's rights. Cutmore 
 recognized only his right to act according to his own 
 honor; if that preserved the other fellow, so much
 
 280 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 the better; if it did not, his obligation ceased. In 
 olden days you became a knight without fear and 
 without reproach, or a bandit, still without fear and 
 without reproach. But in more recent times men 
 have died in prison or on the gallows for one ad- 
 venture too many along this line. 
 
 Betty had a way of trailing her husband through 
 these high mountain-passes where he kept his per- 
 sonal views of life. She followed him across per- 
 ilous heights when she shuddered at the abyss below 
 of which he was never aware. She suspected him 
 of being an outlaw on these spiritual altitudes. But 
 she kept up with him, leaving her wing-tracks in the 
 very air he breathed, determined to be his salvation 
 any moment he needed salvation, wishing and pray- 
 ing morning and evening that God would take a 
 hand in this business, fearing that the child she bore 
 might be a son, doubting the wisdom of Windy's 
 becoming the father of a son under these circum- 
 stances. 
 
 During the early Spring months Martin Puckle 
 continued to come in and out of this house. His 
 manner was that of a man in a place where divine 
 services are going on, subdued, delicately reverent, 
 easily confused. 
 
 Betty was not talking much these days. She 
 would sit folded in a blue-and-gold scarf listening 
 while Windy and Puckle talked. They were more 
 companionable now. And while Windy frequently
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 281 
 
 forgot her presence in the heat of an argument, as 
 a man may forget his own heart, being sure it beats 
 true to him, Puckle was always conscious of her. 
 From time to time he consulted her with a glance, 
 as if to say, "Are we going to fast for you*?" 
 
 And she would give him a smile, meaning, "No, 
 you are not up with me yet." 
 
 Sometimes in these debates that raked the world 
 Puckle would get Cutmore on the defensive. Then 
 Betty leaned forward in her chair with a look of 
 confidence, a challenge, which, if Puckle caught the 
 glint of it in her eye, confused him and made him 
 stumble over the point which would undoubtedly 
 have defeated his antagonist in this tournament of 
 wit. But Puckle sometimes, because the younger 
 man with his swifter wit brought him to bay, would 
 stand up on the hind legs of his mind like a par- 
 ticularly ugly, massive old bear and paw the air 
 in deliberately helpless confusion. 
 
 This always brought the response he sought from 
 Betty a laugh sweet and high. She would lean 
 back in her chair, smack her hands together, and 
 fill that room with the triumphant trills of her mer- 
 riment. Whereupon Cutmore would glance over 
 his shoulder at her for the briefest instant and then 
 return to the attack, hammer and tongs, always sure 
 that Betty's bells would ring only to celebrate his 
 victory, not Puckle's.
 
 282 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 One evening they had started such a debate during 
 dinner, on some obscure principle of the law, in that 
 deep and secret place where it touches the mere in- 
 stincts of life which have never been legalized, al- 
 though most laws are made to keep them within 
 bounds. 
 
 They continued this discussion after they returned 
 to the parlor. Puckle always took his coffee sitting, 
 Cutmore took his standing. Betty invariably forti- 
 fied herself behind the tray on a small table which 
 had been placed before her. They were so arranged 
 on this evening. Cutmore stood like the graceful 
 sword of himself facing Puckle, his back turned to 
 Betty. He was holding his cup and saucer in one 
 hand, the other raised for a gesture, eyes bent on 
 Puckle waiting for a chance to sweep all this wisdom 
 of words aside with the simple statement of a man. 
 
 Puckle glanced at Betty. She was not smiling, 
 and she would not return his glance. Her head was 
 bent. Something in her manner, a sort of lowliness 
 of love that fears made him go on talking. He kept 
 it up in the face of Cutmore' s impatience to speak, 
 as some statesmen stop the settlement of dangerous 
 issues in Congress with a wind of words that blows 
 until the close of that session. He delivered himself 
 and continued to do so. It was a dull harangue on 
 what the law had done in the way of disciplining 
 these elemental instincts of men. He illustrated. 
 He made citations.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 283 
 
 Cutmore canceled his arraignments for that ges- 
 ture, leaned with his elbow on the mantel, grimly 
 determined to make his point, but willing to remain 
 polite about it if Puckle did not push him too far. 
 
 "It is the subjugating of these instincts that makes 
 society possible," the latter was saying. "You can 
 not preserve any relation in life upon your own 
 emotions, resentments, or desires. You must recog- 
 nize principles that do not recognize you, but the 
 order of things which they preserve and protect. 
 There can not be any such thing as government or 
 civilization without law, which merely counts you 
 as a digit of the whole, not as an individual. You 
 are compelled to submit your rights even to arbitra- 
 tion. We yield the privilege of settling our own 
 differences, even in matters involving the most 
 sacred honor, because if every man exercised it, the 
 order would be disrupted. We should have groups 
 and packs, but not unity of society, no common pur- 
 pose, no wide security. The destinies " 
 
 "Do you know what the 'unwritten law' is?" Cut- 
 more interrupted. 
 
 "There should not be such a term recognized 
 among enlightened peoples," Puckle answered 
 shortly. 
 
 "It will exist, though, as long as men do, because 
 it is the one law that is written in us, not in any 
 statute. It has outlasted all legislation, every form
 
 284 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 of government, because it is the strongest !" Cutmore 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "It is the weakest place in us and in our order," 
 Puckle retorted, glancing again at Betty, who 
 seemed to have retreated and who was regarding 
 him with a faint appeal. 
 
 "I grant you that we need a constitution and by- 
 laws for the organizations in which we live and for 
 the institutions we create, but there may come mo- 
 ments when a man's personal rights have been 
 violated and even if the courts avenged him, he is 
 not quite a man if he waits for the law. Then it is 
 a sort of divine inspiration to avenge his own wrong. 
 Would I call a sheriff to protect Betty 4 ?" 
 
 "Oh, that is conceded," Puckle said impatiently. 
 
 "Suppose I am not called upon to defend my own 
 life; suppose under circumstances which have arisen 
 many times, especially during this War, as you 
 know, an officer betrays some man under him, prac- 
 tically ruins that man's life, shall he sneak sniveling 
 to a military court 1 ?" 
 
 Puckle made a sound. He was about to inter- 
 rupt, but Cutmore would not be interrupted. He 
 had forgotten every consideration save his own out- 
 raged honor. 
 
 "He would be a fool and a craven to do so. The 
 War is over. We are man to man once more. If he 
 
 crosses my sight now, such a man " his glance 
 
 flamed. He was about to betray himself before
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 285 
 
 Betty. He had forgotten her. He had changed 
 natures. 
 
 Betty was bending forward, lips parted, eyes wide 
 with terror, fixed upon this Windy whom she had 
 never seen before. 
 
 Then she had seen Puckle check him with some 
 rumbled word of command. 
 
 Cutmore did not finish the sentence. He came to 
 himself under Puckle's merciless stare. He turned, 
 looked down at Betty. She perceived that this was 
 not the man who had just flared into a rage. 
 
 "Hello, Betty," as if she were a pleasant surprise. 
 
 "Hello Windy !" smiling faintly. 
 
 "All this prancing bother you, Betty*?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 "It was just prancing," Puckle assured her. 
 
 "Yes," she said in a tone which implied that she 
 had strength to speak only the shortest word, and 
 preferred "yes." 
 
 After that evening Puckle "irised out." He did 
 not come as usual to dine with the Cutmores. But 
 Mrs. Marshall was constantly there. Cutmore him- 
 self was side-tracked in his own house. Betty be- 
 came the becalmed center of many delicate activi- 
 ties. She was "not going out" now. She was 
 sunning herself most of the day in the warm June 
 sunshine, by no means so conscious of herself as 
 every one else was conscious of her. If she had a
 
 286 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 cross she bore it like a rose in her hair. She could be 
 very gay when Sarah came in. Sarah was about to 
 be married now. And she needed cheerful compan- 
 ionship. 
 
 It was about this time one evening that Windy 
 came in with the grin of news on his face. 
 
 "I saw Tovey to-day," he announced. "He came 
 into my office, stayed an hour. Wants moral sup- 
 port. In a perfect funk," he laughed. 
 
 "What is the matter with Mr. Tovey?" Betty 
 asked, but not if you observed it, in the tone of 
 curiosity. 
 
 "He's engaged to Margaret at last. When he 
 told me, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped 
 the perspiration off his face. Then he dried his 
 fingers. He said he had been expecting it for a long 
 time, but that it had happened quite suddenly." 
 
 "Margaret was in this afternoon; she told me," 
 Betty answered, looking amused. "It happened last 
 night at the rehearsal they had for Sarah's wedding. 
 Margaret says she was oppressed by the heat and 
 went out on the veranda, alone. Presently Mr. 
 Tovey came, looking for her. 
 
 "They sat down out there. He explained that 
 Sarah had sent him. Margaret says she said that 
 if Sarah had not sent him some one else would have 
 noticed that they were not together and driven him 
 forth to find her, and wasn't it awful! He agreed 
 that it was. Then Mr. Tovey began to grumble.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 287 
 
 He said that they might really have liked each 
 other, but that they had never had the chance to 
 choose. She agreed that they had not been free 
 agents. Not for one moment! he said, bitterly. 
 Then they sat there and talked about us, Sarah and 
 me, and the rest, the times we had made them get 
 together, the various occasions when they would 
 have liked to show their independence and act nat- 
 urally. Margaret said it had been much harder on 
 her, since she was the girl, and no doubt everybody 
 thought she was trying to catch him, when many 
 times she had tried to avoid him. Mr. Tovey said 
 yes, and he had tried to help her avoid him, but it 
 was no use. They were the victims of a conspiracy." 
 
 "And what did you say to that, Betty*?" Cutmore 
 interrupted, accusingly. 
 
 "Wait, I am coming to the climax," she ex- 
 claimed. "Margaret says that after they had 
 roundly abused us all Tovey said complainingly, 
 'If we had only been left alone, we should no doubt 
 have fallen in love, and now we don't know whether 
 we are or not. And you don't know whether you 
 want to marry me or not, do you, Margaret*?' She 
 says she admitted to him that she had been forced to 
 think about this, and that it had been very em- 
 barrassing because he was the one person who never 
 mentioned it to her. She says he seemed to be hor- 
 ribly cut up and that he had immediately taken both 
 her hands in his and gone on. They were her very
 
 288 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 words. She left the rest to be inferred," Betty 
 ended, laughing. 
 
 "You see, she really meant to get him!" Cutmore 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, yes, she has always been in love with him. 
 And I think Mr. Tovey was attracted to her. But 
 he is timid. We had to give him a shove," she ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 "Not one, but many. The idea of Tovey' s being 
 timid!" he snorted. 
 
 "Well, somebody had to marry Margaret!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because she wanted to love and be loved. Every 
 woman does !" 
 
 "Even you?" teasingly. 
 
 "I am," she answered prettily. 
 
 By some unconscious association of ideas this re- 
 minded her to ask him about Puckle. 
 
 "Oh, Puckle is all right," he assured her. "But 
 he's letting down. He is slumping. He is growing 
 so fat he wheezes when he walks. He never plays 
 golf now. Sometimes he works furiously. Some- 
 times he is so gentle he almost reminds you of a 
 beatitude, then just as we begin to believe in his 
 piety, he raises an infernal rumpus. He quarrels all 
 day long at Smalley and Miss Smith, and I have to 
 see any client that comes because he'd take a piece 
 out of him if we let him in there. I doubt if he is 
 in good health.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 289 
 
 "I do hope he won't die yet, Windy ! He is such 
 a dear man. And you are not quite on your feet for 
 a big job like that yet !" she exclaimed anxiously. 
 
 Love is the most unscrupulous and acquisitive 
 thing for love in this world. We do not know how 
 many grasping millionaires get the habit first of 
 grasping to feed and comfort and exalt some one 
 beloved. 
 
 Late in June the Millidge Ledger announced the 
 birth of a daughter to Mr. and Mrs. Windham Cut- 
 more. 
 
 But the brief statement conveyed little idea of 
 the commotion this event occasioned. 
 
 Cutmore was confounded. He had been taken 
 completely by surprise, not by the advent of the 
 baby, he had been expecting that, but by his own 
 sensations. He told Puckle that Betty had a girl 
 baby. Then he stood before him, running his hands 
 through his hair as if this hair was giving him great 
 pain. And he was so bemused that Puckle repeated 
 his solicitous inquiry about Betty. 
 
 "Oh, Betty*? She is all right." 
 
 His manner implied that Betty had not changed 
 nor batted an eye since he saw her last. He was 
 absorbed in something else, not even the baby, but 
 in the astounding change in his own relations. 
 
 He went to Tovey's office and told him that he 
 had "become a father." In reply to Tovey's con-
 
 290 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 granulations, he said that he was "all shot to pieces." 
 He said that no doubt it came natural for Betty to 
 be a mother. Women were like that. They were 
 born mothers. But he doubted if there had ever 
 been a born father. It came as a shock to him. The 
 more so because this infant regarded him as a total 
 stranger, although it showed a marked preference for 
 its mother. 
 
 This reminded him to warn Tovey if he ever be- 
 came the father of a female infant not to refer to it 
 as "it" in the presence of "its" mother. Betty had 
 showed the first signs of animation when he had gone 
 in there and asked to see "it." She had looked up 
 reproachfully and reminded him that the baby was 
 as much entitled to her gender as if she had been a 
 boy, and she had noticed that no one ever called a 
 male infant "it." 
 
 "Now what do you think, Tovey, is she right 
 about that 1 ?" he asked this senseless question. 
 
 Tovey was vague, but he had the impression that 
 a boy came into his he-pronoun at once. 
 
 "Yes, but why do we call the others 'it' ? We do, 
 instinctively. Is it delicacy, a desire to er con- 
 ceal this sacred gender or what*?" 
 
 Tovey was not prepared to commit himself. The 
 thing that astounded him was that Cutmore had 
 gone off on this irrelevant tangent. He concluded 
 that Cutmore was a bit off nervous condition. He
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 291 
 
 reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out 
 a flask. 
 
 "Here, you need a bracer," he said. 
 
 Cutmore stared at it. He never drank and he 
 despised whisky, but that made no difference. He 
 helped himself generously. 
 
 "Just leave it there. I may take some more pres- 
 ently," he said when Tovey made a motion to re- 
 trieve what remained of the precious stuff. 
 
 He became calm at once, talked rationally about 
 matters in general, making only fleeting references 
 to his own affairs until after the third drink, when 
 he became deadly calm. Then he told Tovey that 
 he had an affair of honor to settle. He had had 
 the chance before his marriage. He regretted that 
 a foolish indiscretion had kept him from taking ad- 
 vantage of the opportunity. Now with a wife and 
 child on his hands it made this harder to do. He 
 dreaded the risks for them. But his purpose was 
 fixed. He thought if he ever got this matter settled 
 to his satisfaction he would himself be different. 
 There were times when he doubted his sanity he 
 had thought so constantly of this one thing. Al- 
 though he had never mentioned it. He would not 
 do so now, but in case anything happened to him 
 he wanted Tovey to look after Betty and the baby. 
 Puckle was all right, but he didn't care to leave them 
 in his charge. Couldn't say why; no reason, just a
 
 292 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 feeling. And so on and so forth, speaking with 
 studied distinctness. 
 
 Then he stood up and walked with studied steadi- 
 ness from Tovey's astounded presence. 
 
 That day Mrs. Marshall told her husband that 
 she hoped poor Betty would not find out the con- 
 dition her husband was in. It would be bad for her. 
 
 "What condition is he in?" the Colonel asked 
 mildly. 
 
 "He is perfectly drunk, lying on the sofa in the 
 parlor!" 
 
 "Bless my soul !" the Colonel exclaimed. "Maybe 
 it is because the baby is a girl." 
 
 "No, he said he was glad she is a girl. It is be- 
 cause he is what he is! There is no telling what 
 Betty has suffered with a drunkard for a husband !" 
 she moaned. 
 
 The charm of this baby grew on Cutmore, espe- 
 cially after Betty was up and around and could, you 
 may say, demonstrate the infant. Puckle came at 
 last to see it, and saw it a long time in silence. He 
 had been coached in the use of acceptable pronouns 
 by Cutmore. 
 
 "She is pretty, very pretty, and like her father," 
 he said gravely. 
 
 Betty screamed with delight. He had conceded 
 her sex, which was a dear and beautiful sex. And 
 he had seen how much like Windy she was. 
 
 "You are the first one to mention the resemblance,
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 293 
 
 Mr. Puckle !" she cried in tones of high praise. "I 
 noticed it the moment I laid eyes upon her." 
 
 He wagged his head sententiously as if this was 
 to be expected. He had in fact seen no likeness 
 between this offspring and its father, but if ever a 
 sycophant lived for the crumbs of woman's favor, 
 that sycophant was Puckle. His rule was to figure 
 out what Betty wanted him to say, and to say it, 
 regardless of any little toad of truth that might 
 squat in the way of his mendacity. 
 
 Betty made a visit to her parents in Culloden 
 during August. When she came home a week later 
 Sarah and Charlie Towne had returned from their 
 wedding- journey. And they were preparing to get 
 away again for the remainder of the Summer, after 
 the military tournament. The various posts of the 
 American Legion were to meet in Millidge during 
 the last week in August, for the purpose of solidify- 
 ing this organization and to advertise its numerical 
 strength, which would in turn indicate the influence 
 the Legion could exert on conditions in the State, 
 whether industrial, political or moral. 
 
 Millidge was vastly upheaved and animated pre- 
 paring for this occasion. The business section was 
 veiled in bunting of red, white and blue. Cables 
 stretched across the streets were hung with banners. 
 There was a rooster comb of flags on top of the
 
 294 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 buildings. The avenues in the residence section 
 were gay with patriotic emblems. 
 
 One evening Towne came home with a suppressed 
 air of news. He waited until he was alone with 
 Sarah after dinner to tell it. 
 
 "Hayden was in town to-day," he announced. 
 
 "What is he doing here?" 
 
 "Arranging for the entertainment of his men. 
 He is one of the officers of the Legion at the post 
 in Columbus; I had lunch with him." 
 
 "Not at the club!" 
 
 "No we went to the Dingly Dell Tearoom!" 
 
 "Prudent!" 
 
 Towne squared himself before his wife. He re- 
 garded her with a hectoring, manly stare. 
 
 "See here, Sarah, Hayden is all right!" he said. 
 
 "He has recovered from his injuries then. But 
 not from the fright Windy gave him." Coolly. 
 
 "You don't understand !" he protested. 
 
 "No, that is why you must never bring him here. 
 I will not receive him." 
 
 Towne came and seated himself argumentatively 
 by her side. 
 
 "I brought that affair up with Hayden to-day," 
 he began in spite of the gathering scorn in Sarah's 
 eyes. 
 
 "He was perfectly frank about it. He said he 
 was never more surprised than when Cutmore as- 
 saulted him. He could have thrashed him with
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 295 
 
 one hand tied behind him, he said. And I don't 
 doubt it. He is a very strong man. But he realized 
 at once that Cutmore was insane, that he was not 
 responsible. There had never been a difficulty be- 
 tween them. He scarcely knew Cutmore by sight. 
 Does not remember ever having spoken to him. He 
 had no idea of what was in Cutmore' s crazed brain 
 when he followed him out of the club that night, 
 But when he saw that the man was irresponsible, 
 mad as a hatter, he could not afford to beat him up." 
 
 Sarah listened imperviously. 
 
 "I think it is to his credit, and his silence after- 
 ward. He could have ruined Cutmore, but he held 
 his peace." 
 
 "And left town!" Sarah added. 
 
 "Yes, he says that he expected every day to hear 
 that Cutmore had done something else that proved 
 his condition. He is certain that he is a dangerous 
 lunatic, as I have thought for more than a year. 
 I told Puckle so." 
 
 "What does Mr. Puckle think?" 
 
 "Nobody ever knows that. But he is hopelessly 
 in love with Betty. That's why he keeps Cutmore 
 as a partner. The way he has of holding things 
 together for Betty. But it will come yet. You 
 mark my prediction! Tovey says he was crazy 
 drunk the day after Betty's baby came." 
 
 "Absurd! Windy doesn't drink; he never did," 
 indignantly.
 
 296 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "No, he never did. But now he does. He is 
 going to pieces, I tell you. First thing you know 
 he will blow up like a rocket." 
 
 "Well, I wish Hay den would stay away from 
 here! There is Betty and the baby to think of 
 now," she said anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, he is coming with his post next week. Com- 
 pelled to be on hand. But I imagine he will take 
 some precaution to protect himself, and, of course, 
 he will avoid Cutmore."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 On Monday the young veterans of the Great 
 War began to pour into Millidge. They came on 
 all trains, and special trains. They arrived on 
 trucks, massed and whooping as they had crossed 
 France to the front line trenches, and they marched 
 in columns from the nearer towns. 
 
 Betty was out on the veranda with the baby in 
 her carriage watching the splendid sight of thou- 
 sands of soldiers in uniform swinging along the 
 avenue. 
 
 She had been grievously disappointed because 
 Windy would not wear his uniform, with its 
 wound-stripes and its gold stripes, nor join the cele- 
 bration on this splendid occasion. She thought that 
 probably it was because little Betty was a girl, and 
 he felt that it was no use to "carry on" just for a 
 girl. He had gone to the office as usual, giving the 
 excuse that he was compelled to prepare for an im- 
 portant railway damage suit which would come up 
 at the September term of the court. However, as 
 the hours passed and the air throbbed with the 
 boom of cannon, and shivered with the shouts of 
 soldiers, her spirits rose. She hoped Windy would 
 meet some of his old comrades, and that he would 
 
 297
 
 298 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 bring them home with him for dinner. She spent 
 the afternoon preparing for this emergency. She 
 expected him to call over the phone and tell her 
 how many and who were coming with him. He 
 usually did, but as the hours passed and he did not 
 call her, she decided to call the office. 
 
 Mr. Cutmore had not been in that day, Smalley 
 informed her. Windy had changed his mind. 
 After all he was out having a good time. She was 
 glad. 
 
 When dinner was ready to serve he had not come 
 in. She did not expect her husband to keep hours 
 on a day like this. He was ysually punctual. Let 
 him be unpunctual if he was enjoying himself. She 
 went up and put the baby to bed. She was already 
 dressed for the evening, but she went back to her 
 mirror and enhanced herself with a touch here and 
 there. Then she came down-stairs and waited. 
 The noise of the day was dying down. It was dark 
 now, and nearly nine o'clock. 
 
 JShe was seated at the piano playing a military 
 air she had heard from a band passing that morning, 
 when the telephone bell tinkled. She flew to an- 
 swer. Windy, at last! 
 
 It was not Windy. Sarah was calling. She said 
 she just wanted to know how Betty had enjoyed 
 the day. Yes, it has been splendid. Was the baby 
 well'? That was all right. Asleep*? Good. Had 
 Windy come in yet? No. Well, all the men were
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 299 
 
 out with the boys to-night. If Betty was lonesome 
 she would come over. Charlie was out too. 
 Good-by. 
 
 Betty went to the kitchen door and told Marie 
 that she might as well go home. There was no 
 telling when Mr. Cutmore would get in. They 
 would just change the dinner into a cold supper 
 when he did come. Then the phone rang again. 
 Surely it was Windy this time. But it was Mr. 
 Puckle. 
 
 "Hello! That you, Betty?" his voice sounded 
 gay. "Has Windy come in yet*?" No, she was 
 expecting him every minute. Was he coming out*? 
 She would be glad to have him. 
 
 "No; may come later. Tell Windy to call me 
 when he comes in. I'll be at the office!" 
 
 Well, she would, she said, and hung up the re- 
 ceiver, wondering as she did so why Mr. Puckle 
 was staying in the office so late. She was coming 
 up the hall from the phone when the door-bell rang. 
 She flew to the door. Windy must have forgotten 
 his latch-key! 
 
 "How are you, Betty; all right*?" Crombie's 
 voice came in, and then Mr. Crombie himself 
 stepped across the doorsill, stood looking down at 
 Betty like a white-face liar, smiling but not pom- 
 pous as he usually was. 
 
 "Yes, I am all right. Why?" she asked, feeling 
 a strange, sinking sensation about her heart.
 
 300 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "Oh, I was just passing; thought I'd drop by. 
 Windy in yet?" 
 
 "No, I'm expecting him every minute," she an- 
 swered in a voice that shook the least bit. 
 
 "Well, half the fellows are out that should be in. 
 Town's in an uproar. Great time. I'll send Sarah 
 over to keep you company until Windy gets in. 
 Baby might get sick or something!" he said. 
 
 "Oh, no, you needn't do that. The baby is per- 
 fectly well, and I'm expecting Windy any minute 
 now," she answered. 
 
 She went back into the parlor and sat where the 
 light made shadows. She was strangely faint. Her 
 hands trembled as she laid them upon her breast. 
 What was the matter with her"? Why did her 
 hands tremble, and why was she holding them to 
 her breast 4 ? Windy would be here any minute now. 
 And of course she was weak. It was past nine 
 o'clock and she had not had her dinner ! That was 
 not fair to the baby. She would go and have some- 
 thing at once. 
 
 But she did not go. She remained seated like the 
 pale ghost of herself, listening, listening with her 
 very heart for Windy's step. The baby began to 
 cry. She could hear the fretful wail up-stairs. She 
 must go up and nurse the baby. But she did not go. 
 She did not have time, she was listening so intently 
 for Windy. She forgot the baby; presently she 
 remembered and realized that it had stopped crying.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 301 
 
 She glanced at the clock and saw that it was five 
 minutes past eleven. 
 
 Some one came hurriedly upon the veranda. She 
 was at the door. She flung it open. This was 
 Tovey standing in the dark outside. 
 
 "Mr. Tovey!" she cried. "Where is Windy? 
 What has happened*? So many people have been 
 here, calling on the phone, asking for him. And I 
 don't know where he is !" she wailed. 
 
 "Hush, Betty; don't talk so loud. The street is 
 full of people," he whispered. 
 
 "I'll find Windy. You go in and keep quiet; 
 don't answer the phone any more to-night, and don't 
 come to the door if the bell rings, unless I call you," 
 he said hurriedly as he ran down the steps. 
 
 Betty closed the door. She stood trembling, a 
 prey to every fear. She turned her head, looking 
 for something on the wall. She reached out a hand 
 and touched the black button on the electric switch. 
 The light paled and died in the globes above her 
 head. She began to move about like a burglar in 
 her house, pressing these buttons. She had the 
 feeling suddenly that these lights might attract 
 curious eyes. She needed this darkness to protect 
 her. Then she came back and sat on the lowest step 
 of the stairs. If the baby cried again she would go 
 up. If not, she would wait here until Windy came. 
 
 The night was warm, but she shivered. Her
 
 302 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 teeth chattered. She had no idea what time it was 
 now. Some one was whistling far down the street. 
 She stiffened to attention. Some one was coming 
 up from the pavement to the house still whistling 
 that familiar tune. She tried to rise when she heard 
 the rattle of a key in the door. She saw him enter 
 by the light in the street outside, and close the door. 
 She heard him fumble for the switch on the wall. 
 
 The next instant the hall was flooded with light, 
 and she saw Windy standing before her. 
 
 That was the last of him. He faded into a swift 
 darkness. She knew nothing until she returned to 
 consciousness on the sofa in the parlor with Windy* s 
 arms about her. 
 
 "You poor darling," he exclaimed, smiling as he 
 kissed her. "Why didn't you go to bed?" 
 
 She did not return this smile. She was still 
 staring at him, searching him with agonized eyes. 
 
 "I should have called you. I did try; couldn't 
 get you. All the telephone girls out on a lark, or 
 at the windows watching the crowds, I suspect. 
 But I expected to get back long before night." 
 
 She glanced at his shoes, caked with mud and 
 dust, like the shoes of one who has made a hard 
 journey. 
 
 "Where have you been, Windy*?" she whispered 
 through dry lips. 
 
 He was about to laugh, but her look forbade it. 
 
 "Out of town, all day," he answered.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 303 
 
 "Why?' 
 
 "Didn't want to be here; that's why. Expected 
 to come in late, lost my way, wandered around for 
 hours. Thought I'd never get back! Awful sorry 
 you've been stirred up; couldn't help it." 
 
 "You walked?" 
 
 "Back, yes. Didn't take the car down this morn- 
 ing. Such a crowd; no place to park it. Had a 
 chance to go, and I went." 
 
 "Windy, something has happened to you. What 
 is it?" she asked, beginning to shiver. 
 
 "Nothing has happened to me," he protested, and 
 was about to go on speaking when the look in 
 Betty's eyes stopped him. 
 
 "You didn't come," she began slowly. "I ex- 
 pected you every minute, but you didn't come. 
 Then Sarah called up to ask if you had come, and 
 if the baby was asleep, and if I was all right. Be- 
 fore I could think how strange it was that she should 
 be asking such questions, Mr. Puckle called and 
 asked if you were here. That was after nine 
 o'clock. Somebody rang the door-bell. I thought 
 it was you. It was Mr. Crombie. He wanted to 
 know if you had come in. And Tie asked if I was 
 all right. He said he would send Sarah to keep 
 me company. I told him no; I was expecting you 
 any minute. Oh, I told them all that! Hours 
 passed and the bell rang again. This time it was 
 Tovey. He was frightened. His face was white
 
 304 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 as a sheet. He caught my hands and held them 
 tight, and I felt his trembling. He asked for you 
 too. Then he said he would go and find you. He 
 told me not to answer the telephone any more to- 
 night, and not to come to the door. So I turned out 
 the lights and sat down there on the stairs to wait 
 for you. What does it mean, all those people 
 trying to find you, and Tovey telling me not to 
 answer the bells'?" she concluded with a dry sob. 
 
 "I haven't the least idea," he answered vaguely, 
 "unless they had something on for the evening," 
 he added. 
 
 "No, Tovey was frightened, and they all lied to 
 me. I could feel their lies like chills creeping over 
 me!" 
 
 At this moment the phone rang. He started up. 
 
 "No, I'll answer it," she said. 
 
 He followed. 
 
 "Yes, this is Betty, Sarah," she said. "Of course 
 I'm all right " her voice lifted to lightness. 
 "Windy? Yes, he is here He's been out of town 
 all day; just in. No, indeed, I have not been 
 frightened. Thank you. Good night." 
 
 She moved to give place to him at the phone. 
 
 "Mr. Puckle left a message for you to call him 
 when you came in. He said he would be in the 
 office," she informed him. 
 
 "Well, he's probably in bed, where you should
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 305 
 
 have been hours ago. It is after twelve," he said, 
 "and I am hungry as a bear." 
 
 She was not convinced, but she was reassured by 
 this nonchalance. With a little cry she flung her- 
 self upon his breast; she clung to him. 
 
 "Oh, Windy," she sobbed, "I love you so! I 
 love you !" 
 
 "Of course you do," he laughed. 
 
 They crossed the hall to the dining-room. They 
 sat down to the table. But before Cutmore could 
 help Betty's place, a hoarse, monotonous cry sound- 
 ed far down the avenue. 
 
 Betty looked at her husband. "What js it 4 ? 
 What are they calling 1 ?" she breathed, all the horror 
 of the night returning to oppress her. 
 
 He did not answer. He was listening. Betty 
 saw him whiten. The blood leave his lips, his eyes 
 widen and darken, not with fear, but what was it? 
 This look that she had never seen before on his 
 face*? Triumph! Horrible triumph! 
 
 "Windy!" she screamed. 
 
 "Wait, Betty," he cried, thrusting back his chair. 
 "I will be back in a minute." And passed swiftly 
 into the hall. 
 
 She heard him working impatiently at the front 
 door, too eager to remember the latch. And she 
 could hear distinctly now what the news-hawks 
 were crying as they drew nearer. 
 
 Extra ! Extra ! All about the Hayden murder !
 
 306 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 "All about the Hayden murder! Extra!" 
 She came slowly into the hall. She climbed the 
 stairs, as if these stairs had been a steep mountain. 
 She remembered the name. How many times these 
 months past she had repeated Hay den's name to 
 herself, wondering what this man had to do with 
 her husband. What it was between them that no 
 one would mention. Something dreadful, Mrs. 
 Patten had said. And now Hayden was dead, mur- 
 dered. And Windy had been away all day. No 
 one knew where. And oh ! she wanted her precious, 
 innocent baby! 
 
 "A man has been murdered," Cutmore announced 
 grimly when he came up-stairs, to find Betty with 
 her baby asleep in her arms. 
 
 Then he saw it in her eyes that till this moment 
 had always meant love, a speechless terror of him. 
 He came and stood before her. 
 
 "What are you thinking, Betty*?" he demanded. 
 
 She was silent. She dropped her eyes as if this 
 sight of him was another murder in her heart. 
 
 "That I killed him?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Listen, Betty, it was for you, because you love 
 me the way you do, that I didn't kill him. That is 
 why I left town to-day. Lest I should see him and 
 do it. You must believe me !" 
 
 "I want to believe, Windy!" she moaned.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 307 
 
 He seized a chair, thrust it roughly in front of 
 her, and sat down. Still she did not lift her eyes. 
 It was as if she could not. 
 
 "I will tell you all about it; I've meant to for a 
 long time, as soon as you were strong enough to bear 
 it," he began with a sob. 
 
 For the next hour Betty listened to the story of 
 Cutmore's tragedy. He began with what had hap- 
 pened in France. He told everything, his intoler- 
 able sufferings, his humiliation, finally his uncon- 
 trollable fury at the sight of Hayden that evening 
 at the club. 
 
 "I would have killed him then, but he begged 
 for his life when I had my hands on his throat. He 
 promised to leave and never to show his face in this 
 town again. Last week, Saturday it was, I heard 
 that he had been here, that he would come with his 
 post to the Legion celebration this week. 
 
 "This morning I started to the office," he went 
 on speaking. "I had a horror of this, of this day, 
 of what it might bring forth. Down here at the 
 next corner I saw that old covered wagon creeping 
 into town. Babe was driving. He had ten gallons 
 of liquor hidden in his fodder and bedclothes. I 
 knew what would happen to him if he undertook to 
 sell it. And I was afraid of what would happen 
 to to you, Betty, if I stayed in town, knowing that 
 Hayden had defied me. So, I got into the wagon
 
 308 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 with Babe and made him turn his team back toward 
 the country." 
 
 Betty's eyes had risen upon him again. But his 
 own were lowered now. His face worked. He 
 made an effort to speak and sobbed instead. At last 
 he went on speaking gently as of some case he had. 
 
 "It was a pleasant day, like no day I have had 
 in years, not since I lived on Crow's Mountain. I 
 began to feel the old gay peace I have not known 
 even in your love, Betty, not since those weeks of 
 horror in France. We talked of the plainest things, 
 no thinking, just the things you know and feel 
 without thinking. But for you and the baby, I 
 should have gone on with Babe to the mountain. 
 The best law practice in this town could not have 
 held me." 
 
 "Don't say another word, Windy!" Betty cried. 
 "I understand and I believe. I understand every- 
 thing now, the whole of you, dear!" 
 
 She laid the baby in its crib and took this elder 
 child to her breast. He went on talking about this 
 day, the release he had felt from the fury of think- 
 ing about Hayden. He had left Babe early in the 
 afternoon. The trails through the woods confused 
 him and he had lost the way. It was after eleven 
 o'clock before he came in sight of the lights of the 
 town. 
 
 But he did not tell her that the house was being 
 watched at this moment. He had seen these men
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 309 
 
 in the shadows on the opposite side of the street 
 when he came in. Later when he went out to buy 
 the "Extra" they were still there, he remembered 
 now and understood. 
 
 The next morning Cutmore was himself to Betty's 
 eyes. She embraced him tenderly at the door when 
 he started for the office. She ventured to wave to 
 him after he had stepped into his car. She smiled 
 when he answered with a quick flirt of his hand. 
 Another car came up behind and obstructed her 
 view. She went back in the house, though she had 
 meant to watch Windy out of sight. 
 
 Cutmore went immediately to Puckle's office. 
 
 Puckle was sitting there as usual behind his desk. 
 He stared when Cutmore entered as if he saw a 
 ghost. 
 
 "Good morning!" 
 
 "Good morning, Windy!" 
 
 "I have seen the papers; got in last night just 
 before the extra came out," he began at once. 
 
 "Where were you before that 4 ?" Puckle asked, 
 regarding him steadily. 
 
 Cutmore told him the story of his day in Babe 
 Thompson's wagon, of why he had gone. 
 
 "Be difficult to prove an alibi on that fellow's 
 testimony; meet anybody, speak to anybody on the 
 road?' 
 
 "Not a soul, except Thompson."
 
 310 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 Puckle was silent. Cutmore perceived that he 
 did not believe this story. 
 
 "How's Betty T he asked gruffly. 
 
 "She is all right." 
 
 The door opened and an officer appeared, with 
 Miss Smith and Smalley showing for a moment like 
 terrified specters behind him. He had a warrant 
 for the arrest of Windham Cutmore, he said. Was 
 this Mr. Cutmore *? approaching him. It was. He 
 held out the ugly paper. 
 
 "That's all right, Officer. You go ahead. We 
 will come down presently and fix this up !" Puckle 
 said coolly. 
 
 The officer hesitated. Then, "Very well, Mr. 
 Puckle, I'll just drift around outside," he said with 
 another look, curious, half admiring, at Cutmore as 
 he went out. 
 
 "We may as well go now and see this through," 
 Puckle rumbled, rising and putting on his hat. 
 
 They went out together. They walked together 
 through the crowded street with a hundred curious 
 eyes fixed upon them; not a word was exchanged 
 between them. Cutmore wondered vaguely why he 
 was doing this, going with Puckle, allowing Puckle' s 
 name and influence to weigh for him in this crisis 
 when he was sure Puckle believed in his guilt. But 
 not for a moment since he had entered his house last 
 night and saw Betty lying like a broken lily on the 
 bottom step of the stairs, had that vision been out
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 311 
 
 of his mind. He supposed this was why he was 
 accompanying Puckle. For the first time in his life 
 he did not think of himself at all, neither his honor 
 nor his life. He was thinking of Betty. 
 
 When he came home that evening he did not tell 
 her of the preliminary trial before the Coroner, nor 
 that he was out on bond, charged with the murder 
 of Randolph Hayden, nor that Puckle believed he 
 was guilty, although, through his, Puckle' s influ- 
 ence, an immediate hearing had been secured and 
 also an order admitting him to bail, awaiting the 
 action of the Grand Jury. Puckle had said he 
 would keep it out of the papers. Therefore she 
 need not know yet. He told her simply that he 
 was very tired. She could understand that. She 
 ministered to him, and did not talk nor tell him that 
 her father had been there during the day. Only one 
 question she asked him. 
 
 "Windy, haven't you any idea who did it?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 She went up-stairs to the baby. After a while he 
 followed. It was an effort, he noticed, climbing the 
 stairs. He felt like a man whose fever had left him. 
 
 His weakness was so great the next day that he 
 only managed to conceal it until he reached the 
 office, where he sat all day not working. No one 
 came in, neither Puckle nor the clerks. He under- 
 stood.
 
 312 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 That evening Betty asked him the name of the 
 other man who had survived that terrible night in 
 France. 
 
 "Harpeth, John Harpeth," he answered after a 
 pause. 
 
 "Do you know where he is?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Have you seen him since?" 
 
 "Once." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 There was a perceptible pause this time before he 
 answered. 
 
 "In my office, last October, while you were in 
 Culloden. I told you last night what a wreck he 
 was, half crazed. I have no idea what became 
 of him." 
 
 "Did he know about Hay den? The wrong order 
 he had given that sent you to to so many deaths?" 
 
 "Yes, he knew. He talked about Hayden. He 
 was very bitter, of course." 
 
 The next morning Puckle received a letter, 
 among many others. He read it. Then he read it 
 a second time. Then he stared at it and murmured, 
 "Poor child, poor little Betty!" 
 
 Puckle was out of his office the whole of that 
 morning. When he came back after lunch he went 
 in to see Cutmore. He found him stretched on an 
 old leather couch with his arms over his head, star- 
 ing at the ceiling.
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 313 
 
 "Don't get up," he said quickly, when Cutmore 
 made an effort to rise. 
 
 "I think you told me you were the only man who 
 survived that night Hayden sent the seven of you 
 out when you were caught in the German advance," 
 he began. 
 
 "Yes, that is what I said," Cutmore answered. 
 
 "But you were not!" Puckle announced. 
 
 "I thought so then." 
 
 "What about Harpeth?" he demanded. 
 
 "I don't know. Probably dead, was nearly, the 
 last time I saw him." 
 
 "He was here with the Legion last week. Name's 
 on the roster. Saw it myself to-day. Registered 
 queer. Don't see how they let it pass. 'John 
 Harpeth, for Captain Hayden.' " he repeated. 
 
 "Poor devil!" Cutmore murmured. 
 
 Puckle got up from his chair, came and bent over 
 Cutmore, who regarded him with a gray smile on 
 his dry lips. 
 
 "Young man, you go home, and don't come back 
 here until I send for you!" he commanded roughly. 
 
 Cutmore did not move. He continued to smile 
 that emaciated grin into Puckle' s face. 
 
 "Can you get up*?" Puckle demanded suspi- 
 ciously. 
 
 "No, I don't think I can," Cutmore answered 
 indifferently.
 
 314 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 Puckle went out and saw Smalley. Smalley 
 seized his hat and disappeared. Puckle came back 
 and looked at Cutmore, whose eyes were closed. 
 This would never do! He rumbled it without 
 saying it. 
 
 Cutmore lifted his lids heavily and regarded the 
 red face above him still with that weary smile. 
 
 "So now you believe I am innocent!" he said. 
 
 "Of course you are. Plain as a nose on a dog's 
 face ! You are always innocent, darn it !" 
 
 Cutmore lay in a strange peace, with Betty be- 
 side his bed. He had dismissed the baby. He dis- 
 missed the doctor every day; over and over he told 
 the nurse to go out; he wished to be alone with 
 Betty. And when he was alone with her he ex- 
 plained to her that he must get back to Crow's 
 Mountain, where they could love each other in 
 peace. There was a house on the ridge above the 
 falls. It was a good one. He had lived in it for 
 a year. They would go back to this house, yes. 
 And Betty would be happy, perfectly, because there 
 was no world in this place and their nearest neigh- 
 bor would be the blue sky. There was a little old 
 gray church in the cove below. He used to attend 
 services there every Lord's Day. Did she know 
 that*? They would go there together. The old 
 codger couldn't preach a lick, which was so much 
 the better, he smiled enigmatically at her. Never 
 once had he asked about the tragedy that had laid
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 315 
 
 him low. And no one had dared to bring it to mind 
 by telling him that Puckle had discovered John 
 Harpeth confined in the ward of a Base Hospital, 
 from which he had escaped twice already, only to 
 be found and brought back. He was insane. He 
 readily admitted having followed Hayden to his 
 room in the Madison Hotel at eight o'clock on the 
 evening of August the 25th, where he had shot him. 
 It was at the same hour, he said, that Hayden sent 
 the seven men to their death two years before in 
 No Man's Land. 
 
 Puckle came out one evening. Betty met him 
 down-stairs in the parlor. She was very pale and 
 prayerfully sweet. 
 
 "The doctor tells me that Windy is better," he 
 said cheerfully. 
 
 "Yes, we hope so." 
 
 "But it's been a tight squeeze. He thinks this 
 collapse is due to a long strain, not a recent condi- 
 tion at all." 
 
 "Mr. Puckle, will he ever be well again*?" she 
 asked, as if this was a petition she desired of him. 
 
 "He will. I promise you that," he answered in 
 his firmest tones. 
 
 Had he ever denied Betty anything 1 ? Not so 
 long as he could do or give or lie to comfort her. 
 He was not telling her now therefore what the doc- 
 tor had really said, that Cutmore might live six 
 months or a year, but that he was bound to go,
 
 316 THE EYES OF LOVE 
 
 burned out, nothing but the wick of a remarkable 
 vitality left. 
 
 Presently they went up-stairs together. 
 
 The sight of Puckle seemed to remind Cutmore 
 of something. He wished to be alone with Puckle. 
 Betty and the nurse went out. 
 
 He began to grin his gray grin. 
 
 "I made it, Sir!" he said, using the title he con- 
 ferred on Puckle only when he was in the mood of 
 the highest respect toward his senior partner. 
 
 "Yes, you have made it," Puckle agreed. 
 
 "I'll not resign again," he went on with a yellow 
 twinkle in his eye, "but I'm asking for leave of 
 absence." 
 
 "Granted; best thing you could take," Puckle 
 assured him. 
 
 "We, Betty and I, are going up to my house on 
 the mountain pretty soon. The doctor agrees," he 
 went on. 
 
 "He told me to-day you might start in a week, 
 camp out, take it easy. He thinks he'll go along 
 with you," Puckle answered. 
 
 "Yes, I understand You and the doctor." 
 
 "Oh, we'll get you there!" 
 
 "And I shall go out up there." 
 
 "Hey 4 ?" 
 
 "Betty knows, but she doesn't know that she 
 knows. She can stand it. She will be glad to see 
 me through. She's that kind."
 
 THE EYES OF LOVE 317 
 
 Puckle nodded. "Oh, she will have you up and 
 around in no time," he said. 
 
 "But afterward," Cutmore went on as if Puckle 
 had not said anything, "afterward it will go hard 
 with her. You will look after her. We understand 
 one another, you and I." 
 
 "No, we don't," Puckle retorted, blowing his 
 nose violently. "I doubt if we do at all. You are 
 a sick man. You've lost your kick. You'll come 
 up presently, prancing. But whatever happens, I'll 
 look after Betty. And you too," he put in as an 
 afterthought. 
 
 "So long as she lives'?" 
 
 "So long as either of you live!" answered the 
 honest gentleman, playing the game to the last card, 
 keeping up his front, betraying not a tremor of his 
 heartache to this man who read it like an open book 
 with the prescience of those who pass soon. 
 
 The knights are not all dead. These two meas- 
 ured one another, according to his valor, each after 
 the manner of his kind, and were satisfied. Then 
 Chevalier Puckle went down-stairs and told Betty 
 that her husband was on the high road to health, 
 that she was to dismiss her anxieties and begin 
 preparations at once for that journey to Windy's 
 mountain. 
 
 THE END