FIRST LOVE 
 
 MARIE VAN VORST
 
 FIRST LOVE
 
 e 
 
 Milly
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 MARIE VAN VORST 
 
 Author of 
 
 IN AMBUSH, MISS DESMOND 
 THE GIRL FROM HIS TOWN 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 F. GRAHAM COOTES 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT 1910 
 THK BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 PRESS Of 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN, N. Y.
 
 TO THE DAUGHTER OF 
 THE AUTHOR OF DAVID HARUM- 
 
 VIOLET WESTCOTT 
 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 
 
 2138493 '
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE BOY I 
 
 II THE DECISION 18 
 
 III A WINDFALL 23 
 
 IV THE LADY 34 
 
 V THE HORSE SHOW 44 
 
 VI THE RACE 53 
 
 VII THE REASON 62 
 
 VIII THE BRUTE 76 
 
 IX A DINNER go 
 
 X AN INTERVIEW 113 
 
 XI THE MORNING WALK .... 132 
 
 XII THE PROPOSAL 146 
 
 XIII A CONFESSION 161 
 
 XIV MEDITATIONS 180 
 
 XV THE WOMAN-HATER 193 
 
 XVI THE PRESENTIMENT 203 
 
 XVII THE PRODIGAL 211 
 
 XVIII THE RECKONING 224 
 
 XIX THE SUSPICION 234 
 
 XX WITHOUT MERCY 248 
 
 XXI A NURSERY RHYME 273 
 
 XXII A SCENE 279 
 
 XXIII THE DOCTOR AND His BOY ... 291 
 
 XXIV A RARE THING 312 
 
 XXV THE SPELL BROKEN 318
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE BOY 
 
 HE had probably never vibrated to any 
 great extent heretofore; nor could have 
 recorded a stronger emotion than that which 
 thrilled him when he pulled a frog out of a 
 pool, or succeeded in climbing "the highest tree 
 round." Certain it is that on the fifteenth of 
 May, 1 8 , his heart throbbed right enough, 
 and he felt so deeply that the memory of his 
 emotion left a vivid mark down through his 
 whole life down through his whole life. 
 
 These feelings returned many times when 
 
 boy-hands were too small to hold such vastness ; 
 
 but they were cruel, too, and came back later, 
 
 when he had learned what that memory was. 
 
 i
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 And when the last sunsets flushed his sky, the 
 image of her shone over him like a star. 
 
 One May afternoon John Bennett stood in 
 the parlor of the James Street house in his 
 own parlor in his own house. He had been 
 motherless since his birth, and his father had 
 died last year; but this house was his home, 
 and every carpet and every crack, and every 
 spot and stain and mark John knew well. The 
 very odors were familiar and belonged to "his 
 house." This Easter vacation, though there 
 wasn't any family for him to come home to, he 
 had been brought back from school by a tele- 
 gram, for the house was to be sold at auction, 
 and the natives of Syracuse would be at hand to 
 pick up the remnants of furniture, bric-a-brac 
 and belongings, and when all the debts should 
 be paid, if any money was left over it would 
 be put aside for John. He supposed "the peo- 
 ple" would tell him what he was to do. One of 
 the "people" was Doctor Brainard, the family 
 
 2
 
 THE BOY 
 
 physician ; another was a real estate agent ; and 
 John Bennett wasn't clear who the rest of them 
 were, and it didn't make any great difference, 
 anyway. 
 
 The sale had been going on all day, and 
 John hid between the parlor curtains, looking 
 out at the little front yard where just below in 
 the soft, muddy street the one-horse car cut 
 its way and jingled slushingly along. John 
 knew the car well, he had driven it ; "the man 
 had let him," and it was the most delightful 
 fun in the world, better than ringing door-bells 
 and running away, better than any kind of 
 make-believe game, for he was then the real 
 driver of a real animal, and he felt a great 
 responsibility when he turned the little loose 
 brake of the tram and drove the lean steady 
 horse while the driver used to stand and chat 
 and laugh and read the Syracuse Times. 
 
 Up the stone walk from the street to the 
 house he had dashed thousands of times; on 
 his bicycle out through the gate, down the 
 3
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 broad walk to the town at the foot of the hill. 
 Countless times he had turned into the candy 
 shop or the soda-water fountain, where he 
 had "treated" as long as he had a cent to 
 spend. 
 
 Now the grass was grown high, and the 
 dandelions scattered golden heads softly 
 through the green. The air smelled of blossoms 
 and of May, the day looked bright and clean. 
 Rows of buggies, carriages, and wagons filled 
 James Street in front of the Bennett house, 
 and a red auction flag floated out at the gate. 
 
 Doctor Brainard had told John that there 
 were a few valuable books, a few ornaments, 
 and his mother's piano which he might be glad 
 to possess; but there was no money to buy 
 these things for the Bennett boy, and except 
 for a desolate sense that under his feet the 
 very world was being cut away by a blow of 
 the auctioneer's hammer, John didn't mind. 
 He didn't take possessions to heart, but there 
 was just one thing he wanted. The little boy, 
 4
 
 THE BOY 
 
 not sentimental about the furniture, had 
 yearned for this one thing for years. Now, 
 on the auctioneer's table, long and slender, 
 recalling his father as did nothing else, lay 
 the prize shot-gun awarded Mr. Bennett at 
 the Hill Club for clay pigeon shooting, and 
 John thought that if he saw that gun carried 
 out of the house under his eyes he would die ! 
 
 In his knickerbockers and his little plain 
 clothes, hands in his pockets, his brow puckered 
 and his feet planted firmly on the floor, the 
 child stood before the holocaust of his goods 
 and chattels and waited for the auctioneer's 
 voice to call out this article as the others had 
 been called, and the moment was the biggest 
 tragedy of John's life. 
 
 Mr. Bennett, improvident, charming, tal- 
 ented and clever, had lived like a prince on his 
 credit in the house in James Street. There 
 were fine brands of champagne in the cellar; 
 there were good cigars, already called off and 
 appreciated; there were pistols and fencing- 
 5
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 foils, masks and shields nothing but the 
 gentleman's personal clothes were wanting to 
 give a note to the sale. His silver toilet articles, 
 his canes with fantastic handles, his little col- 
 lection of old snuff-boxes all had been sold. 
 
 Near the little chap in the window Doctor 
 Brainard his own feelings much alive had 
 taken his place to watch the sale. 
 
 Doctor Brainard had been in love with Mrs. 
 Bennett, and his sentiment was deep for the 
 piano. John had not paid attention to the 
 old man's absorbed face, and didn't dare ask 
 him to buy the gun; he dared ask nothing. 
 He had been told that the debts "were dis- 
 graceful, they heaped up high as the house," 
 and he felt humiliated and burdened. 
 
 From where he had hidden the gun was 
 not visible, but he knew he would hear when 
 they should call it out, and he listened, his 
 whole heart in his ears. He had told the fel- 
 lows at school about that gun, and they had 
 envied him, and he had dreamed of carrying 
 6
 
 THE BOY 
 
 it, for he was a sportsman born and by inherit- 
 ance. He endured whacks and bruises and 
 hurts as all manly boys do, but he could not 
 bear this sacrifice. His father's own prize gun ! 
 "Gosh, dang!" he said, and was sincerely pro- 
 fane. 
 
 He drew his sleeve across his eyes, and as 
 he did so he saw through his tears that a new 
 vehicle had slushed through the muddy road 
 and stopped before the gate. From the big 
 dog-cart, driven by an English groom, a lady 
 descended and came quickly up the path. John 
 knew the rig to belong to the Bathursts, and 
 the lady to be none other than Mrs. Peter 
 Bathurst. She wasn't important to him, and 
 if with the crowd she had passed in earlier he 
 would not have noticed her; but now as she 
 sailed up the walk in her spring dress, a touch 
 of ruffled white at the front of her bodice and 
 the flash of flowers in her hat, she was most 
 lovely and the boy looked at her long. There 
 was a brightness, a gayness about her, she dif- 
 7
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 fered from the dried specimens of townsfolk 
 filling the room. 
 
 There was also about her a freedom from 
 the horrors of money. She didn't seem to 
 belong to auctions, and she came in like the 
 beams of sunlight. 
 
 The lady passed over to her friend, Doctor 
 Brainard, and the doctor rose and gave her 
 his place. John heard her rustle to her seat, 
 and something that smelled like violets floated 
 to where he stood. 
 
 "Doctor, your wire came to me up in the 
 Valley yesterday, and I am glad you sent it. 
 I wouldn't have missed this sale, you know, for 
 anything." 
 
 The gentle voice was the first agreeable 
 sound that had fallen on John's ears that day ; 
 it was a pleasant contrast to the auctioneer's 
 tones, and "Where's the boy?" he heard her 
 say again. 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure; he's around here 
 somewhere." 
 
 8
 
 THE BOY 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst opened her catalogue. "I'm 
 sorry those decanters are gone, and the coffee 
 service ; I adored the china." 
 
 "I have put aside the books for you," the 
 doctor replied, "and and the piano still re- 
 mains. I shall buy it myself." 
 
 "I shan't overbid you," Mrs. Bathurst said 
 sympathetically. "You may count on me." 
 
 John faced about and looked into the room, 
 which, transfigured by disorder and filled with 
 strangers, was dreadful to him. The home 
 aspect had for ever disappeared, it was as 
 impersonal and indifferent as a waiting-room 
 in a station, a place from which now he would 
 be glad to take some train that would carry 
 him far away. 
 
 John heard the books called off. They were 
 old friends. His father had taken delight and 
 pride in showing them to his son, but John 
 could let books go without a pang; he was an 
 outdoor boy, a sport. Then came his mother's 
 piano, so full of sentiment to others ; but it had 
 9
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 none for him, he had never seen her. The 
 doctor bought it, and the little boy had no place 
 in the feelings the purchase aroused. 
 
 Now it came, however the gun! 
 
 The auctioneer drew it out of the case : there 
 was a silver harp on the shining wood, en- 
 graved with his father's name, the name of the 
 club, and the date of the pigeon contest. The 
 little boy stepped from his place of hiding, 
 his nervous hands deep in his pockets, his face 
 scarlet above his black tie and his turnover col- 
 lar. His shock of disordered hair was thick 
 above his eyes and brow. "If I had a million 
 dollars," he thought, "I'd give them for father's 
 gun. They don't know," he said behind his 
 set teeth, "they don't knoiv!" 
 
 He looked hopefully around the room at the 
 possible purchasers. By the door stood the 
 minister who had baptized him. John passed 
 him over caustically a parson with a gun! 
 No, he wouldn't buy it. 
 
 There were both friends and enemies in the 
 10
 
 THE BOY 
 
 crowd. John owed seventy-five cents to Hick- 
 son, the candy store man. The other faces 
 grew vague and blurred. The auctioneer was 
 telling about the gun, its make and history. 
 The doctor pushed his chair back; the pur- 
 chase of the piano had been successful and he 
 had no further interest in the sale. And here 
 Mrs. Bathurst rose, and as she did so she saw 
 John's face peering out between the curtains, 
 his eyes fixed on the gun. He was twelve 
 years old then, strong and muscular, straight 
 and tall for his age ; he had a manliness about 
 him, a fire! 
 
 The bidding began. As the bids fell fast 
 and eager, John looked from face to face, over 
 at the doctor and then at Mrs. Bathurst. He 
 heard her speak, he heard her speak again and 
 again, and then the auctioneer said, in meas- 
 ured tones that seemed to put an end to all his 
 longings, "Sold to Mrs. Peter Bathurst," and 
 the boy's heart nearly stopped. 
 
 Bought by a woman ! By a woman ! . . . 
 ii
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Like a thief he slipped from the room and 
 crept up-stairs through the deserted house. 
 
 He crushed back his tears and his sudden 
 despair. A little bedroom had been set apart 
 for his occupancy, all his things had been put 
 in there; but as John rushed into this refuge 
 and slammed the door behind him, he saw that 
 other things, too, had been hastily thrown in 
 pell-mell his father's clothes. Topmost on 
 John's bed were the corduroy shooting-coat and 
 breeches. He flung himself down and buried 
 his face in the garments, which still seemed to 
 smell of the woods. A dread of being heard 
 kept him silent in his crying; he was no baby, 
 anyhow, but he couldn't help this outburst. 
 "Gosh !" he repeated, "it's too mean, too mean. 
 A woman with that bully gun !" 
 
 He heard voices and then steps on the stairs. 
 In another moment some one had dared to 
 open his door on him with the indiscretion 
 which grown-ups display toward childhood. 
 
 "Here he is!" proclaimed the "darn doctor 
 
 12
 
 THE BOY 
 
 fool," as the boy termed him. Then the doctor 
 stood aside and Mrs. Bathurst took his place. 
 
 "John! . . . John, may I come in a 
 minute?" 
 
 He grumbled he "guessed so," and she came 
 in and sat down on the bed near the corduroy 
 clothes. He thought her quite an old woman 
 she was then about twenty-five. 
 
 "I have been talking to the doctor about 
 things," she smiled, her eyes all crinkled up 
 into little curves that seemed to run over her 
 face. She wore a spick-and-span dress, and 
 one hand, lay on the bed, very white against 
 the brown of the corduroy hunting clothes. 
 
 "I have two boys, you know, at my house 
 my stepsons, little Peter and Jack. We are 
 at the Valley, and there is lots of riding and 
 sport there. I'd love to have you come home 
 with me for the rest of the holidays. Will 
 you? I am going back at once, and the boys 
 will be so glad to see you." 
 
 The "people" hadn't told him where he was 
 13
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 to stop, even for the night, and he cast a des- 
 perate glance at the uninviting bed and desolate 
 little room, where his own valise lay agape on 
 a chair. 
 
 But, absorbed as he was in his own affairs, 
 the grace of Mrs. Bathurst's welcome touched 
 the boy. She was so much prettier near to, 
 she was so softly bright, and her eyes were 
 leaf-brown. She was nodding and smiling, 
 and she didn't "grab" him and stroke his hair, 
 she only sat with one white hand on the hunt- 
 ing coat and one holding her handkerchief in 
 her lap, looking up at him with those lovely 
 eyes. In the language of his rough slang he 
 said to himself, "She's a corker! She's a 
 corker !" 
 
 Then his resentment arose. He'd forgot- 
 ten- 
 Continuing 1 to smile ravishingly, even flirt- 
 ing unconsciously with this very young man, 
 drawing him with her tenderness and with that 
 womanliness that speaks to the most youthful
 
 THE BOY 
 
 masculine heart, Mrs. Bathurst was making 
 him her victim. 
 
 "I was so glad I came in time to-day, John. 
 I bought your father's gun for you. I bought 
 the set of china, too, and the silver. I want 
 you to know it now so you will feel you have 
 some possessions. I bought the prize gun. I 
 have so often seen your father pass my house 
 with it on his shoulder. It's yours now." 
 
 The color left his face where the tears had 
 made stains over the freckles and tan. He 
 wanted to say, "I'll buy it back when I'm rich," 
 but it didn't seem exactly polite, and he had no 
 thanks at command. Indeed, he could not find 
 anything to say, a crop of frogs seemed to 
 jump in his throat. Rather than cry before a 
 woman he would have been flayed alive; he 
 stared at her desperately, rather angrily; his 
 blue eyes on her brown ones. But he could 
 tell through the blur that she was still smiling. 
 
 Virginia Bathurst was clever as well as mer- 
 ciful. "So if you'll just pack up those things, 
 15
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 John, in your bag, we will carry them down 
 to the dog-cart." 
 
 He had not escaped or refused her invita- 
 tion, but he had fallen madly in love. 
 
 After the twelve-mile drive and a regular 
 "party dinner," beginning with clams and end- 
 ing with ice-cream; after a rough-and-tumble 
 fight with the Bathurst boys in the hall of the 
 big old-fashioned house, John went at bedtime 
 to his own room, and there in the corner, in 
 its canvas bag, stood his father's gun. The 
 shock of the sight of it, suddenly become his 
 very own, taught him how to express gratitude. 
 He went directly out into the hall, intending 
 to go down-stairs and thank Mrs. Bathurst. 
 He got no farther than the head of the stair- 
 case. He had not seen his friend since early 
 that afternoon, for the boys had eaten their 
 supper alone. 
 
 She had come up the flight of stairs, and 
 now stood on the top step in a white dress, her 
 16
 
 THE BOY 
 
 neck and arms bare to his young eyes. Her 
 husband was following, smoking his cigar. 
 
 "Why, John!" she exclaimed in surprise, 
 "not in bed yet?" 
 
 He put one small rough hand out desperately. 
 "I was just going," he stammered, "when 
 when " 
 
 A boy would rather say anything else in the 
 world than "thank you." In his rough, simple 
 code, politeness is a sign of weakness and girl- 
 ishness. 
 
 "I wanted to say," he stammered hoarsely, 
 "about that gun. Well, it's all right . . ." 
 he ended determinedly, and Mrs. Bathurst 
 nodded back at him ; she understood. She was 
 as kind as she was beautiful. 
 
 "Why, of course it's all right !" she accepted 
 cordially. "Good night, John."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE DECISION 
 
 THE "people" managed to get sufficient 
 out of the sale to pay up the biggest of the 
 bugbear debts and when school opened after 
 the holidays John's return to Exeter was taken 
 for granted. The day before he went back, 
 Doctor Brainard, of the piano romance, was 
 surprised by a sudden and unannounced visit 
 from the boy. 
 
 "See here!" John Bennett blurted out. 
 "Who's sending me to school, anyway?" 
 
 "Why, John " the doctor began. 
 
 "Is she?" 
 
 Doctor Brainard had another "she" in his 
 mind, and was puzzled. 
 
 "Whom do you mean?" 
 
 "There's a ticket up in the cigar store 
 18
 
 THE DECISION 
 
 window. It says, 'Boy wanted.' I'd rather 
 go and apply." 
 
 The doctor pointed to a chair vacated by the 
 last patient. 
 
 "Sit down." 
 
 But John preferred standing, his blue and 
 yellow jockey cap, striped by the school colors, 
 crushed up in his hand. 
 
 "A man can't get very far these days with- 
 out an education," said the doctor. "It's too 
 soon to take you out of school. We talked it 
 over, and it seemed wisest for you to go back 
 to Exeter. As for working in a cigar 
 store . . ." 
 
 Mr. Bennett had been the "elegant" of 
 Syracuse, the most learned, delightful man 
 in town spendthrift, prodigal, kind and im- 
 provident he had spent as he liked, played, 
 hunted, and ridden, and when the hard corners 
 had at last threatened; to harm him too cruelly, 
 he had gone out of the world with no unkind 
 feelings to any one in it. 
 
 19
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "My boy," went on the doctor, "if your 
 father were living he would send you to school 
 at no matter what sacrifice. He was a Harvard 
 man, and I know that he would want you to go 
 to Cambridge." 
 
 John frowned, a way he had when he was 
 touched. He asked with effort : 
 
 "I didn't think there'd be enough money?" 
 
 Doctor Brainard hesitated just here to tell 
 the lie that, if he told it quickly enough, would 
 have reconciled the boy. John saw that he 
 was being sent by some one. He opened his 
 polo cap and smoothed it out. 
 
 "All right," he said obstinately, "I'm going 
 to ask Hickson to let me be an errand boy." 
 
 The doctor thought he saw an indolence in 
 this attitude, and that John would rather play 
 than work at his books. 
 
 "Nonsense! Rubbish! You'll disgrace your 
 mother's name disgrace your family!" he 
 added. 
 
 "Well, I'm not going to let her send me to 
 20
 
 THE DECISION 
 
 school!" John said sullenly, and the doctor 
 knew then whom he meant. 
 
 "Do you mean Mrs. Bathurst? Whatever 
 put that into your head ?" 
 
 John's call was between patients' visits, and 
 a nervous cough from the ante-chamber pene- 
 trated the doors. 
 
 "Come, come," said the doctor impatiently, 
 "Mrs. Bathurst knows nothing of it whatever. 
 She's never thought of sending you to school, 
 and there's no reason why she should." 
 
 "Who is?" John asked more temperately, 
 and with sudden shame and relief. 
 
 "Why, I happen to be doing so," said his 
 friend shortly, "and you can thank me by 
 studying well and getting along in your class. 
 That's all right, John." He was pushing the 
 small figure toward the door and ringing his 
 bell at the same time. 
 
 "I'd a great deal rather work' here in a 
 store," the boy urged hopelessly. 
 
 "Come, come," said his friend in dismissal, 
 
 21
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "you can't work in village stores, you know, 
 and you're to go back to-night, aren't you? 
 .Well, we'll talk things over at dinner," and 
 John was pushed out as the next invalid crept 
 in with his coughs, and fits, and abnormalities, 
 and valetudinarianisms, while the healthy little 
 boy, with nothing more than the shame of 
 poverty and a single burden of debt for which 
 he felt responsible, heard the consulting-room 
 door shut on him. 
 
 John went to Exeter that night from the 
 doctor's house, and didn't suggest store-keep- 
 ing again, but began from then on to take life 
 and education and what pleasures he could pick 
 up as a matter of course, and his vacations 
 were full of visits to the doctor's house, where 
 the smells of acids and medicines, as the door 
 opened to let him in on his brief holidays, be- 
 came connected with his returns to all he knew 
 now of home. 
 
 22
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A WINDFALL 
 
 HIS school-days went by, bland, irrespon- 
 sible, with the bluff rigors of winter and 
 its rude sports, with the warm effulgence of 
 summer and its outdoor things. In his vaca- 
 tions he visited his schoolmates, or more 
 usually he went up to Doctor Brainard's farm, 
 and lived like a country-man in the hayfields, 
 in the barns and lofts. He didn't injure him- 
 self studying, but learned without trouble, 
 stood well in his class, and was the best boxer 
 of his set and a prime shot. 
 
 The years turned him out a big, clear-eyed 
 fellow, with a thick crop of hair, which his 
 enemies called red, and a fine face, full of life 
 and light. 
 
 Before he passed his preliminaries for col- 
 lege a windfall blew something his way. Fate 
 23
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 shook a tree that grows in her garden, and 
 John Bennett, standing under the tree, came in 
 for the fall. A pile of securities, shares in an 
 Oklahoma mine, were gathered up out of the 
 safe-deposit box by Doctor Brainard and sold 
 one day. John Bennett learned a little later 
 that he needn't go through college, thanks to 
 anybody but his own father, for he had for 
 life a little competence, a little income that 
 could keep him like a gentleman. 
 
 He had been playing foot-ball one November 
 afternoon, and was coming across the fields 
 toward the buildings, his arms across the shoul- 
 ders of his two chums. All three fellows were 
 singing aloud. He had been sent for to see 
 Doctor Brainard, who had run out from Bos- 
 ton to take a look at his ward. John scorned 
 convenances, and had gone into the parlor as 
 he was, his baggy trousers green-stained at the 
 knees, his hair as ragged and disturbed as a 
 wheatfield in a breeze, his cheeks bright with 
 cold and exercise. There was nothing about 
 24
 
 A WINDFALL 
 
 him to suggest that he had been having the 
 blues ; as sincerely as a healthy boy can worry, 
 he had worried. He was in debt he owed a 
 jolly sum for a boy and it bothered him 
 beyond words. He owed at the florist's a little 
 bill of thirty dollars, and -at the tailor's some- 
 thing like a hundred, and in his life he had 
 never clinked together at one time the cash 
 of more than a ten-dollar bill. The year before 
 he had fallen in love with a girl in Boston. 
 A pair of blue eyes, a tilt of the head, a mixture 
 of prettiness and impertinence bowled John 
 over, and he had wooed his sweetheart well. 
 His very limited wardrobe, bought for the most 
 part by Doctor Brainard at department stores, 
 "made him sick," and he had ordered decent 
 clothes from the best tailor in Boston; and, 
 stimulated by the color of the girl's blue eyes, 
 he had sent her violets and other flowers, only 
 stopping when he realized that she did not 
 really care a pin about him. 
 
 The Christmas holidays were near at hand, 
 25
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 and he had laid his plans for putting the case 
 to Doctor Brainard when he should go home. 
 There was nothing of the coward about the 
 big, mature boy, who, young as he was, looked 
 the man, and who, young as he was, had the 
 temperament and ardor that might turn him 
 so strongly for good or ill. 
 
 But there was in him nothing of the weak- 
 ness that had made his father a prodigal, 
 irresponsible spendthrift, and John had planned 
 a noble solution of his problems to present 
 to Doctor Brainard. 
 
 "I'll go to Cambridge, just the same," he 
 had intended saying to his guardian, "only I'll 
 work there in some way or other tutor, or 
 something, I don't know what they do until 
 I've paid up what I owe in Boston; that is, I 
 mean to say, if you'll advance me the little 
 money I shall need to enter Harvard; or, if 
 you'd rather, I'll work right here in Syracuse, 
 I'll do that." 
 
 He had thought it out in a dozen ways, but 
 26
 
 A WINDFALL 
 
 this seemed the best. Never havjng owed a 
 cent in his life or realized any kind of respon- 
 sibility, these first debts had to him a horror 
 and a shame. No unexpected stranger arrived 
 at the school during the last month, but John 
 thought he might be a collector from the 
 tailor's, or something more appalling than a 
 gardener from the florist's, and it kept him in a 
 flutter. 
 
 But he was sure there was some way out of 
 it, and when he learned that Doctor Brainard 
 was really within the school walls there was a 
 sense of relief that he should have it all out 
 with him now, before the holidays. Doctor 
 Brainard was the only person who stood to him 
 in the way of guide or friend. There was 
 no father to bullyrag about his indiscretions, 
 no mother to weep about them; and these 
 weren't, after all, gambling debts, they were 
 nothing but debts of folly because he had made 
 a fool of himself about a girl. 
 
 Violets and good clothes had not won Milly 
 27
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Haven, and John had come out of the expe- 
 rience damaged a little, for the young creature 
 had flirted dreadfully with him, she had given 
 him the mitten before the whole school. A 
 college man had come along, a fellow old 
 enough to be her . . . brother, and John 
 Bennett wasn't in it any more. But his debts 
 were with him. He owed a hundred and 
 thirty dollars, and his allowance at this time 
 was about forty cents a week ! 
 
 He had pondered over these things on his 
 unhappy pillow many times before healthy sleep 
 carried him off to the peaceful fields beyond all 
 care. 
 
 Bennett went in as he was to the library, 
 where Doctor Brainard stood ruminating 
 before a plaster cast of a boy's head and shoul- 
 ders on a pedestal by the window. The doctor 
 had been studying with interest this work of 
 art. It was idealized, but there was a curve 
 of the cheek, a turn of the temple, a touch of 
 the line of the ear that recalled to him the days 
 28
 
 A WINDFALL 
 
 whose memories had made him purchase Mrs. 
 Bennett's piano at the spring sale. 
 
 "Why, isn't this a bust of you, John?" he 
 asked, as the big foot-ball half-back came into 
 the room. 
 
 "Yes," returned the young man shortly; 
 "rot, isn't it, to have it here? I'll smash it up 
 some day, when I get the chance." 
 
 "It's an excellent likeness, an excellent like- 
 ness!" 
 
 He shook his ward by the hand with unusual 
 warmth. 
 
 "It looks like your mother." 
 
 John did not say that the art professor had 
 asked leave to cast this head as the most perfect 
 head of youth that he had ever seen. Doctor 
 Brainard said: 
 
 "You were having a game, weren't you?" 
 
 "Just coming in." John reflected : "He looks 
 too bright for me to tell him now; I guess I'll 
 wait till I get to Syracuse at Christmas." 
 
 The two sat down together in the window, 
 29
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 where, without, they could see the fellows 
 coming in from different parts of the ground, 
 over which a light fall of snow had left a fine 
 powder. Doctor Brainard glanced at the white, 
 lifeless representation of the boy's warm, live, 
 young face. 
 
 "I've come to tell you a little piece of news, 
 John." 
 
 A little bit of news like this, if it had been 
 brought to Doctor Brainard when he was a 
 boy at school; if he had possessed the income 
 he was about to announce to John, he might 
 have married the woman whose lineaments he 
 could now trace in her son. In which case 
 there wouldn't have been any John Bennett. 
 The doctor was getting muddled. 
 
 "Peter Bathurst has asked me to go up to 
 the Adirondacks with him for the Christmas 
 holidays. I think I'd rather like to go if you 
 think " John stopped. 
 
 "You mean, if I think you can afford it?" 
 
 "Yes, that's it," John nodded. 
 
 30
 
 A WINDFALL 
 
 The doctor sat back and looked at him 
 kindly. 
 
 "Your father took some shares in a mine in 
 1 8 . He was the only man in Syracuse that 
 did so. When he failed the stock couldn't be 
 sold for two dollars a share, and he bought it 
 somewhere around twenty-five." 
 
 John listened ; he had heard so many attacks 
 on that dear memory on his father's extrava- 
 gance and prodigality. He loved his recollec- 
 tions of the gallant gentleman, to whom money 
 was a commodity and not a thing of import- 
 ance, and which he could no more make or 
 hoard than he could have made or hoarded the 
 air. He frowned here with some expectation 
 of an attack. 
 
 "Yesterday," the doctor went on, "I sold 
 the stock out at two hundred. There are a few 
 old debts which you will want to pay, although 
 they are outlawed. This transaction makes 
 you worth about fifty thousand dollars." 
 
 John smiled. 
 
 31
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Gosh!" he said under his breath, and struck 
 his pockets to feel for the bills which, like 
 love-letters, had clung to him for months. 
 
 "I shall invest it for you in government 
 bonds and mortgages, and in the four years 
 before your majority I hope I shall have added 
 to your capital." 
 
 "Then," the boy spoke with what uncon- 
 cern he could, "might I have a little money 
 now?" 
 
 Doctor Brainard had been prepared for this 
 demand. 
 
 "I brought up a little for you, and you can 
 go with Peter Bathurst to the woods if you 
 like." 
 
 "Oh, it's all right about that" returned the 
 heir impatiently. "All I want is a little cash." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 "Oh, about two hundred dollars." 
 
 His friend started. "I've brought twenty- 
 five dollars with me," he said severely. "It's 
 more than you have ever had at one time, and 
 32
 
 A WINDFALL 
 
 you'll have to get along with that for true pres- 
 ent." 
 
 And Bennett, who had come into a little 
 fortune, and who had laid all manner of noble 
 plans about working out his college education, 
 accepted the roll of bills which the doctor put 
 into his hand without further protest. And 
 when the old gentleman had taken his leave, 
 Bennett found himself gloomily staring out 
 into the November night, very little richer than 
 he had been before, and with his debts still 
 hanging like Damocles' sword over his head. 
 
 33
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 THERE is no more lovely part of New 
 York state than a certain wide valley 
 with its sweeping fields, its gentle incline, its 
 harvesting meadows, and hunting country, and 
 as such it is appreciated to the utmost, and its 
 landscape is splashed with scarlet coats, its 
 echoes roused by the horn, its furrows, ditches, 
 and hedges shot over by horse and hound from 
 the first of the season to its close. There is the 
 worship and cult for the horse in Tallahoe 
 Valley, and in this age of locomotion by steam 
 and rail it is a pleasure to find oneself in a 
 region where horse-flesh is cultivated, and 
 where the motor may not pass under penalty 
 of the law. 
 
 There are fine old houses hereabouts, and 
 fine new houses, and the atmosphere is English 
 34
 
 THE LADY 
 
 in its pastoral and sporting character, and in 
 its entertainments. Among other properties 
 the Bathurst place is colonial, and stands 
 proudly on a little hill with something like six 
 hundred acres of farm and pasture land around 
 it. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst sat in her dressing-room 
 before the window which gives to the west. 
 The October morning promised rain. Above 
 the trees she could see the gray skies, across 
 whose threatening face drifted a few clouds, 
 their edges rimmed with gold. The house was 
 full of young people, her sons' college friends 
 and two or three strikingly pretty creatures 
 whom she had asked from Washington "to 
 form her stepsons' taste," as she had said, 
 writing to her Washington chum, when invit- 
 ing the debutante of the past season, Cynthia 
 Forsythe, to come to Tallahoe for the horse 
 show. 
 
 They had arrived the day before, and the 
 35
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 hostess had barely seen them, for from the time 
 of their arrival they had been either in the sad- 
 dle or driving, or tramping short ten-mile 
 jaunts, as is the fashion of the Valley. 
 
 In the loveliness of the Valley in October the 
 lady's enthusiasm for her native state returned. 
 She had unpacked her trunks and made the 
 tour of her house only three days before. She 
 had seen from every window the framed 
 pictures of lawn and forests, and, above all, 
 after a tour of her stables, her approval reached 
 its height, and a ride across country on her 
 favorite mare capped the climax. 
 
 She had been in Europe twelve years, and 
 had not realized how American she really was, 
 or how she loved her state, until now, with its 
 brisk air beating her cheeks, the spice and per- 
 fume of the autumn in the wind, and the vague 
 scent of the forest fires. 
 
 As she sat before her window her husband 
 entered in his riding clothes, his crop in his 
 hand, his white stock rumpled, his face red as 
 36
 
 THE LADY 
 
 a convolvulus. Peter Bathurst, Senior, had 
 the air of an upper groom ; his boots were not 
 over-clean, and he brought an odor of the 
 stables with him. 
 
 "It's a bang-up show," he told his wife, tak- 
 ing a paper out of his pocket. "In this fourth 
 class, for instance, where Ladybird is entered, 
 it's a toss-up who will get the ribbon ; and I've 
 never seen finer horses in my life, not even in 
 Ireland." 
 
 "Who's to ride Ladybird, after all?" asked 
 Mrs. Bathurst. 
 
 "That Bennett chap." 
 
 "But he hasn't come, I thought." 
 
 "Oh, he's been here since early morning," 
 said her husband curtly. "If you shut your- 
 self up here for hours, Virginia if you fetch 
 your continental custom of eating in bed and 
 dawdling about till noon in America why, 
 you'll miss half the show. And if you play 
 the off-stander like this the people here will 
 think you're giving yourself airs." 
 
 37
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Off-stander !" she echoed, remembering 
 how her heart had thrilled to every inch of 
 home. "I've been really tired out from my 
 long ride yesterday, Peter. It's a century, you 
 know, since I've been on a horse." 
 
 "You didn't look like a tenderfoot!" He 
 grudgingly remembered how she had regained 
 her seat in a trice, like the good horsewoman 
 she was. "You'll hold your own, all right, 
 even with these girls. I think if one of them 
 giggles again I'll curse ! Come on down-stairs, 
 won't you? We'll want something to drink 
 before we start." 
 
 His wife gave a lingering look at the land- 
 scape and left her lounge. 
 
 "I think I'll dress first, then I shan't need to 
 come up again." 
 
 "What's the matter with you as you are, for 
 Heaven's sake?" 
 
 "Will I do?" 
 
 He laughed harshly. 
 
 "Where do you think you are? At Long- 
 38
 
 THE LADY 
 
 champs or Ascot? Don't you remember the 
 Valley horse show?" 
 
 For answer she picked up a hat which, with 
 its veil, lay on a table at her side, and pinned 
 both on as she stood. She took as well a pair 
 of long chamois gloves, drawing them between 
 her hands. 
 
 "Come," she said quietly, "I am quite ready 
 to go down." And her husband went before 
 her, muttering something about woman's eter- 
 nal vanity and waste of time. 
 
 The giggle which had offended Bathurst 
 broke silver-like from the group at the end of 
 the big room into which, preceded by her hus- 
 band, the lady of the house entered. 
 
 There was much beauty in the little group. 
 Cynthia Forsythe had made a sensation in 
 Washington the year before, and her two 
 friends were charming seconds. 
 
 Peter and Jack Bathurst, in riding clothes, 
 lingered about the group, admiring the flowers 
 of these young faces, like gardeners waiting 
 
 39
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 to choose before culling the roses, already con- 
 noisseurs of the types they each preferred. 
 
 "Mrs. Bathurst!" one of the girls cried. 
 "I'm so glad your head is better and that you 
 are coming, and I hope Ladybird will win 
 everything !" 
 
 Cynthia Forsythe, the daughter of her dear- 
 est friend, had been in Mrs. Bathurst's mind 
 for her eldest stepson. The Washington debu- 
 tante turned adoring eyes on the older woman, 
 the eyes of frank youth willing to admire 
 without stint until a man comes along to 
 awaken jealousy. She put her arm about 
 Mrs. Bathurst's waist. 
 
 "How sweet you look!" she murmured. 
 "And what a darling dress!" 
 
 Mr. Bathurst grinned. "Yes, she was going 
 to change it if I hadn't put my foot down. I 
 believe she changes her dresses every hour. 
 She used to in Paris, at any rate." 
 
 Miss Forsythe looked at her host with dis- 
 approval, and said sharply : 
 40
 
 THE LADY 
 
 "Well, I'm sure each dress has been prettier 
 than the last." 
 
 "Where is Mr. John Bennett?" asked the 
 hostess of her stepsons. 
 
 "Down at the show. He's crazy about Lady- 
 bird, he says she has a walk-over." 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst smiled. "I hope he's right. 
 It's really too bad Peter can't ride the mare 
 himself." 
 
 "And why doesn't he?" asked Miss For- 
 sythe. 
 
 "Game leg or foot," answered Jack indif- 
 ferently. "And father could no more ride 
 straight in a show than he could ride crooked 
 out of it. Nervous." 
 
 "And is your friend nervous?" Mrs. Bath- 
 urst asked, and Jack roared. 
 
 "John! He's got iron nerves, and if any 
 one can pull the mare through, he can." 
 
 Bathurst, who had left the room, here put 
 his head in at the door. 
 
 "It's raining, and the traps are all here. If
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 nobody's going on to the show, I shall send 
 them back to the stables." 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst found herself in the buck- 
 board with Cynthia Forsythe. 
 
 "How do you like this happy-go-lucky sport- 
 ing country, Cynnie?" 
 
 "I love it!" 
 
 "So do I, every tree and blade and rod of 
 it!" 
 
 "You've been away so long!" 
 
 "Yes, but it's all the better to come back to 
 now." 
 
 Cynthia Forsythe was thinking to herself: 
 
 "How can she find anything nice either here 
 or in Europe with that brute of a husband?" 
 
 Her mother had warned her, but the big, 
 red-faced man, with his rude remarks before 
 company, and his covert attempts to kiss her 
 and take her hand, was worse than she had 
 feared. Cynthia, who had not turned nineteen, 
 thought to herself, "How beautiful Mrs. Bath- 
 urst must have been when she was young!" 
 42
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Young, poor dear! The girl couldn't measure 
 the power of ripe beauty by her side, in com- 
 parison with which her own frail charms were 
 like the unmellow promise of early fruit, and 
 sure to be sharp to the taste. 
 
 "Mr. Bennett told me that he had been here 
 once when he was a little boy," she said. "He 
 remembers every stick and stone. You haven't 
 seen him yet, have you?" 
 
 "No; he came after I had gone up-stairs." 
 
 "He's perfectly fascinating!" the girl said 
 enthusiastically. "Such a good-looking, charm- 
 ing fellow. I do hope he'll get the ribbon." 
 
 "I do hope," said Mrs. Bathurst, "that he 
 will keep Ladybird's head up at the hurdles, 
 for she has a lot of horrid tricks which one 
 would never suspect; and if John Bennett lets 
 her graze the wood, I pity him with my hus- 
 band ! 
 
 "Stop here!" she directed her coachman. 
 "It's as good a position as we'll be likely to 
 find, late as we are." 
 
 43
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE HORSE SHOW 
 
 MRS. BATHURST found the scene 
 around her agreeable, gay, and charm- 
 ing. There was a simplicity, an easy-going con- 
 tent in the Valley people, and in their enjoy- 
 ment of their annual show. Every one was in 
 the best of humor. Glancing from face to face, 
 remarking those people with whom she had 
 been bred and associated, and who had changed 
 so from those early days, knowing their scan- 
 dals and their tragedies, and the worldliness 
 of their lives, she saw their good spirits and 
 their animation and their composure and phil- 
 osophical acceptance of life in this conven- 
 tional front which they presented to the world. 
 The sun had decided to shine, and the turf, 
 enclosed by its rope fencing, was soft and 
 44
 
 THE HORSE SHOW 
 
 green. The villagers crowded down to it; line 
 after line of vehicles covered the fields, and 
 wheels and covered carriages, ponies and hacks, 
 buckboards, drags and rockaways crowded the 
 meadows. 
 
 The pride of the state was there in first-rate 
 specimens of horse-flesh, and in the shape of 
 good-looking men and women. The scene was 
 not foreign in the least, it was purely Amer- 
 ican, with just a touch of cosmopolitanism to 
 keep it from provincialism. Everything looked 
 delightful to Mrs. Bathurst. She felt a warm 
 liking for her own country-people; the air, 
 crisp and fragrant, as it came up from the sod 
 and from across the meadows, did her good 
 with its fresh vigor. j 
 
 She regarded with satisfaction her acquaint- 
 ances, nodding and waving to them; she sat 
 up straight and well on the seat of her little 
 carriage, her arm along the back ? and her head 
 on her hand. She couldn't say she felt young 
 again, for she had never felt old or indifferent. 
 45
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Indeed, she felt buoyant, and as nearly happy 
 as possible under the circumstances. She went 
 over, heart and soul, to the Valley, to old times 
 and old scenes, to the new ones, and twelve 
 years of foreign existence, their weary experi- 
 ences, their tides, their gaiety and balls, their 
 fetes that had pushed and pulled her along 
 filled in, filled up demanded much and 
 given little in exchange, faded and wore 
 away. The years she measured had claimed a 
 great deal of her soul all was shut away from 
 her now by the effect that home and her own 
 country had made on her, and her eyes, smiling 
 and cordial, were clear as the afternoon, which 
 finally shone on the scene. 
 
 Her husband, many of whose horses were 
 in the show, was down by the judges' stand. 
 But she did not linger in her observation of his 
 figure long. Her stepsons were both riding and 
 driving in the different entries, and were off 
 with the grooms at the far end of the field. 
 The class of four-year-old hunters had just 
 46
 
 THE HORSE SHOW 
 
 come on, and she consulted her catalogue to 
 see if every one had qualified. 
 
 She was not to be permitted to view the 
 scene alone for very long. People called to her 
 and beckoned from the other carriages, and, 
 coming toward her as quickly as he could make 
 his way through the crowd, she saw a man 
 whom she had known all her life, and who 
 she knew would not let her leave his side again 
 so long as she remained in the field. The gentle- 
 man had left his place on his coach, and even 
 from a distance Mrs. Bathurst could see the 
 pleasure on his face at sight of her. She sighed, 
 changed her position, and when he came up she 
 had lost something of her superabundant 
 gaiety. 
 
 "By Jove!" he said, greeting her, standing 
 by her wheel. "I came up from Albany yester- 
 day to the show, but I had no idea it would be 
 as good as this, you know." 
 
 "You think the average is fair ?" 
 "Confound the horses ! I think it's the most 
 47
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 wonderful sight to see you again; but it's 
 twelve years, my dear woman !" 
 
 "I believe it is." 
 
 "I know. I have counted," he said mean- 
 ingly. "And I've heard, too, of your goings-on 
 in foreign parts. You had something like a 
 jubilee." 
 
 She looked above him at the clear sky and 
 over the gay crowd. 
 
 "This is a jubilee," she said. "I assure you 
 it is the nicest thing I've done or seen in twelve 
 years." 
 
 Nicholas Pyrnne was in congress. He loved 
 his own country, and he exclaimed with real 
 pleasure : 
 
 "Honestly, do you mean that? Aren't you 
 expatriated yet ?" 
 
 "I feel as though I had never been farther 
 than Buffalo." 
 
 "Jolly ! But you were always gracious, Vir- 
 ginia. I guess you're laughing at us." 
 
 He leaned toward her, and, quite indifferent 
 48
 
 THE HORSE SHOW 
 
 as to how marked his interest might appear, 
 "You don't know how fine it sounds," he 
 whispered, "to hear you speak again. It's like 
 music! Something must call you up here in 
 the state, though?" His scrutiny was curious. 
 
 But she returned his look quietly with clear 
 eyes. 
 
 "The whole thing calls me." 
 
 "But how about Monte Carlo, and Paris, and 
 Homburg?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Tallahoe and the annual horse-show noth- 
 ing else." 
 
 "But just think of the Grand Prix or the 
 Derby." 
 
 "I don't want to," she replied. "I don't wish 
 to think of anything but the Valley." 
 
 "Bully!" he breathed in ecstasy. "Bully! 
 You look, Virginia " 
 
 But here she put her hand up preventingly. 
 
 "You'll spoil everything if you make it per- 
 sonal. Tell me," she pursued, leaning forward 
 49
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 and searching the crowd, "where is the man 
 who is to ride Peter's Ladybird?" 
 
 "I don't know," said the Honorable Nich- 
 olas. "I thought Peter was to ride his own 
 horse." 
 
 "He has both gout and nerves," said his 
 wife. "One of the boys' friends, John Ben- 
 nett, is to take Ladybird around." 
 
 "Bennett," Pyrnne asked, "the son of poor 
 Fred Bennett of Syracuse ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, if he has his father's ill-luck, poor 
 chap, he'll come a cropper, all right. It was 
 enough for Fred to look at a scheme to have it 
 go to bits the next day, I remember." 
 
 "When I saw him last," Mrs. Bathurst said, 
 "I mean the boy, he was in knickerbockers 
 he had red hair. He spent a Sunday over here 
 in the Valley." 
 
 "There's Peter! That's his horse!" Pyrnne 
 indicated. "If the other horses in this class 
 are as good as Bathurst's mare, it's a pretty 
 50
 
 Why, he's a man, a magnificent man!" Page 51
 
 THE HORSE SHOW 
 
 good show all around. There!" he went on, 
 "that must be your friend standing by Bathurst. 
 Knickerbockers and red hair, he hasn't 
 changed." 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst followed his indications and 
 saw the giant in his breeches and riding-boots. 
 
 "Heavens!" she exclaimed. "If they have 
 all grown like that, Nick, what have I changed 
 to ? Why, he's a man, a magnificent man !" 
 
 She put her lorgnon up, though she didn't 
 need it. 
 
 "Twelve years work all kinds of tricks," 
 Nicholas Pyrnne said comfortingly. "I've 
 grown fat and turned forty." 
 
 "Oh, hush," she said; "hush!" 
 
 "And you," he continued, lowering his voice, 
 "have grown " 
 
 But here Mrs. Bathurst called to the girl who 
 had come toward her carriage. 
 
 "Cynthia, get in here, will you? This is 
 Mr. Nicholas Pyrnne Miss Forsythe of 
 Washington. I think you knew her mother 
 Si
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Cynthia Fielding. I want you all to rally 
 around me while Ladybird runs for the Valley 
 Cup."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE RACE 
 
 BENNETT knew that he had more or less 
 of a thankless task to perform in riding 
 Ladybird for her choleric owner. If she won 
 anything at all it would be thanks to the horse ; 
 and if she didn't get a mention it would as nat- 
 urally be his fault. Bathurst had been charm- 
 ing to the young man when he arrived that 
 morning, late by twenty-four hours, on ac- 
 count of a railway wreck at Buffalo; and noth- 
 ing of the host's sharp manner to his sons, 
 rudeness to the servants, were reflected in his 
 attitude toward the young college man, al- 
 though these things bore out Bathurst's repu- 
 tation for being a vulgar tartar. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst he had not seen at all. The 
 woman who had charmed his boy eyes, who 
 53
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 had given him such pretty proof of heart and 
 understanding, had become a dream to John. 
 She was a memory he shrank from, because it 
 meant that he must recall with poignant ache 
 the auction day and the accompanying horrors 
 which even the fact of his brief holiday at 
 Bathurst House, his father's rifle, and her kind- 
 ness could not make him forget. 
 
 He had had his own affairs, and they had 
 followed one on another with amazing rapid- 
 ity. Since little Milly, there had been other 
 blue eyes, other beauties, and John discovered 
 himself to be a fickle lover, restless in his 
 courtships and too volatile and easily turned to 
 a new beauty. But during the past two years 
 he had been fancy free, calling himself already 
 a cynic, aping the older men, developing a diffi- 
 cult taste, and thinking himself a misogynist. 
 Of course, it only made him perfectly fasci- 
 nating, as Cynthia Forsythe had said, and John 
 was in danger of being well spoiled, if it had 
 not been for his sports his riding, shooting, 
 54
 
 THE RACE 
 
 the outdoor life in which he reveled. The 
 fresh air, the breeze, the exercise and the skill 
 were the making of him mentally and physic- 
 ally, and for just the right period of his youth 
 turned his thoughts away from woman and 
 toward nature for a time ; the gentler sex was 
 out of his thoughts. Here at Bathurst House 
 the beautiful mare, Ladybird, interested him 
 more than Cynthia Forsythe with her laugh, 
 which Bathurst called a silly giggle; and John 
 had not even looked toward the other girls in 
 the party. 
 
 Back of the line of fine old elms that bor- 
 dered the village street in Tallahoe, the Big 
 Tree Inn nestled white, with its green blinds, 
 small window-panes, and hospitable doors. 
 John had put up there, for the Bathursts' house 
 was full, and he had been rather glad of the 
 fact, because he had greater independence ; and 
 really, as he said to himself, he didn't want to 
 bother with the girls. Back here in the Valley, 
 after twelve years, everything came to him like 
 55
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 an old experience. The drive over from the 
 station to the house had been shorter than he 
 recalled, for then they had seemed to drive for 
 ever through the spring night in the tall cart. 
 The forest, the lanes, and the big snowy front- 
 age of the pillared house were all smaller, for 
 it had seemed to John then like a castle set in 
 an enchanted wood. And Mrs. Bathurst well, 
 he couldn't remember quite how she looked. 
 
 As John stood down by Ladybird on the 
 show grounds Mr. Bathurst, Peter, and Jack 
 rowing and going on Peter, with his blue rib- 
 bon won for roadsters on his lapel, John Ben- 
 nett felt that in riding Ladybird he was going 
 to do a stroke for the family. Neither of the 
 sons of the house had been allowed to ride 
 Bathurst's favorite mare, and the sole and only 
 reason that John came in for this distinction 
 was because the year before Bathurst had seen 
 him ride at Syracuse in the state fair. John had 
 made a peerless record with his own colt, and 
 56
 
 THE RACE 
 
 had won himself some distinction as a rider 
 and owner. 
 
 He felt a great responsibility and pride about 
 the whole thing, he had never had a family 
 that he could remember himself; now Peter 
 and Jack and the old man, as they called their 
 father, and some indistinct idea of a lady, made 
 a little household for him, and he was repre- 
 senting it. He got into his saddle, felt the fine 
 supple body of the mare between his knees, led 
 her gently off the tender grass, and the pride 
 of his next few minutes and what he thought 
 would be his sure success sent his young blood 
 sparkling through his veins like wine. 
 
 "That's our trap over there," Peter Bathurst 
 told him, "there by the yellow coach." And 
 John glanced to see that it had the effect of 
 being full of flowers; but he only recognized 
 Cynthia Forsythe, and not the taller figure by 
 her side. 
 
 When he took Ladybird around the course 
 she came her five hurdles like the bird she was, 
 
 57
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 lightly, and, following a gelding, she seemed 
 especially featherweight and made out of the 
 air. It was a foregone conclusion, John felt it. 
 So did the others who watched him the spec- 
 tators, and the judges, and Peter Bathurst, as, 
 legs well apart, hands in his pockets, an unlit 
 cigar between his teeth, he stood smiling with 
 nervous assurance, and thinking how much he 
 would like that big blond jockey for his son. 
 
 John, "riding for his family" as a whim 
 made him call them, passed Ladybird's owner 
 like thistledown, passed the judges as well, who 
 were absorbed in their anxiety to be perfectly 
 unprejudiced before the sight of such splendid 
 style and strain, and such an exhibition of 
 horse-flesh, and such an exhibition of riding. 
 John, riding for his family, as he passed them 
 all, swallowed the golden draft of success, with 
 flushed cheeks and kindling eyes, and the last 
 time round he glanced in the direction the 
 Bathurst boys had indicated, and saw Mrs. 
 Peter Bathurst standing up in the trap. He 
 58
 
 THE RACE 
 
 saw her in that brief second between the hur- 
 dles, she was looking at him. He remembered 
 then how she used to look. The memory was 
 strong. Never having admitted the thought of 
 her, in his naive innocence, how was he to 
 know, as he should draw the latch, the great 
 emotion would rush on him and bear him 
 down ? 
 
 With that one quick sight of the lady, 
 caught between hurdles, with the wave of her 
 hand at him and her "brava !" he knew that he 
 was riding for her, for the lady herself. The 
 blood rushed from his heart to his cheeks, his 
 breast gave a big throb, he reached the hurdle 
 unprepared for it, because, sportsman that he 
 was, he had never gone into any field with a 
 tormenting thought of a woman in his mind, 
 and the sudden commotion communicated it- 
 self to the sensitive Ladybird. Bennett thought 
 she was going to refuse the hurdle, and he 
 sickened, but no ! she rose for it, then retrieved, 
 if one may so say, seemed to strike it with all 
 59
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 fours, foundered, got tangled up, lost her per- 
 fect method, lost herself and fell; and John 
 fell with her, and the hurdle, and the horse and 
 the earth all struck him and poured themselves 
 over him. But even before he lost his senses, 
 shame poured over him blackest and deadliest 
 of all. 
 
 When John finally opened his eyes he was 
 lying under a tree, and the first thing he saw 
 was the west red with a brilliant sunset. The 
 dizzy faintness that was leaving him for a bit 
 was more deathlike than sharp pain would have 
 been. His forehead was cold, for there was a 
 wet linen on it, and one of his hands felt full of 
 sawdust. He squeezed it, and the sensation told 
 him that he pressed a human hand, soft as the 
 breast of a bird. He turned his eyes to the di- 
 rection and saw something which, after a great 
 many years, brought back to him the memory 
 of things he loved, of things that used to make 
 him cry when he was a youngster, and make 
 him awfully happy as well. He was far too in- 
 fo
 
 . - * 
 
 It was only the face of a woman above him. Page 61
 
 THE RACE 
 
 jured and bruised and broken to know what it 
 was that he saw, to know that it was only the 
 face of a woman bending above him, and that 
 after twelve years he was looking at Virginia 
 Bathurst again. 
 
 61
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE REASON 
 
 THE first thought he was conscious of 
 forming, as he lay in the little room in 
 the Big Tree Inn, where he had been carried, 
 was the thought of his father. There are cer- 
 tain natures which avoid by instinct those mem- 
 ories which bring pain. No matter how salu- 
 tary and dear those memories are, if they are 
 likely to bring tears, they are put gently and 
 firmly away from the mind. 
 
 John young, gay, and keen for happiness 
 loved the things that brought him joy, and 
 hated even to cast his eyes toward melancholy. 
 During these twelve years the image of Mrs. 
 Bathurst had not come often to him. He 
 would never let himself think of her, any more 
 than he would ever let himself think of his 
 62
 
 THE REASON 
 
 dead. But on this afternoon he was not master 
 of the first conscious image that came across 
 his reawakening brain. He found his bed in 
 front of a window from which the shade had 
 been raised, and through which the outside 
 world shone bright with sunlight. He could 
 see people passing along the village streets 
 under the great oaks ; he could even see across 
 the road the roof of the post-office building 
 behind the trees. 
 
 He was out of danger. He was bandaged to 
 his eyes where Ladybird's hoofs had cut a 
 circular sway ; he was bandaged about the legs 
 and ribs. He had been conscious off and on 
 without forming any consecutive thought until 
 now. 
 
 There was no one in the room. 
 
 "Father was always unlucky," he reflected. 
 "He seemed to have the worst kind of luck 
 all through. I wonder if I'm going on in the 
 same way, for this thing here has been the 
 deuce of a muddle. Damn that horse I" Al- 
 63
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 though he was extremely weak the blood 
 rushed into his cheek. "Damn my own foolish- 
 ness!" 
 
 He thought of the points of the little mare. 
 What a bird she was! How well she had 
 promised, and how well she would have per- 
 formed if it had not been for him! His father 
 had been a rider, a judge of horses; he had 
 made his sensations in Syracuse won his rib- 
 bons long before John's advent on the scene. 
 His father would have been ashamed of him 
 on this day. He had funked, ridden like a fool 
 he had ruined another man's horse. 
 
 "She must be crippled if she's alive," he 
 thought. What would the Bathurst fellows 
 think? What would Mr. Bathurst say? He 
 winced. So far as the value of the horse was 
 concerned, if he would attempt to make good 
 it would cost him considerably over his year's 
 income. 
 
 He couldn't remember whether any one had 
 been in to see him as he lay here, and as 
 64
 
 THE REASON 
 
 he continued to set his thoughts in order, his 
 blue eyes peering between the white bandages, 
 the reason came of a sudden to him why he 
 had missed his hurdle, and he felt an insane re- 
 sentment against the reason. 
 
 He looked like a thunder-cloud. And just 
 then Peter Bathurst, Junior, came in for his 
 first visit. 
 
 "By George, Johnny," he cried cordially, 
 "you're sensible!" 
 
 "Sensible enough to be mad as a hornet," 
 answered the young man. "And I guess the 
 lot of you are mad at me as well." 
 
 "Rot!" cried his chum comprehensively. 
 "What do you take us for ? And how do you 
 feel, anyway?" 
 
 "Bully!" nodded Bennett feebly. "That is, 
 I don't feel crazy; and I suppose that's an ad- 
 vance, isn't it?" 
 
 "You'll be all right in a day or two. The 
 doctor says he never saw ribs and bones knit 
 up like yours." 
 
 65
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Were they all busted?" the invalid asked. 
 And Peter laughed. 
 
 "There wasn't one whole rib left in you. 
 They couldn't have found one to make another 
 Eve." 
 
 And here the other swore lightly. "If there 
 had been, I can tell you I wouldn't have let 
 them make a woman out of it." 
 
 "Come," his friend said feelingly, "you'll 
 have to let up a bit, Johnny, on your woman 
 hating. Cynthia Forsythe's been staying on 
 and on at the house for no earthly reason but 
 to see you when you are visible." 
 
 John grunted, and Peter, who was hanging 
 over the bed repeated: 
 
 "Do you really feel pretty good, old 
 chap?" Then, seeing that there was a look of 
 fatigue in his friend's eyes, he said, "I'll have 
 to be getting on now ; they told me only to stay 
 five minutes. Nobody's allowed in here, you 
 know guarded like a diamond mine." 
 
 John had not dared to ask about the miser- 
 66
 
 THE REASON 
 
 able event on the field, and when his chum had 
 gone he closed his eyes and dozed and dreamed 
 of dashing over hurdles in a chariot made out 
 of the night, and with stars above his head, 
 which, as he looked closer, changed into the 
 eyes of a woman. And dozing and dreaming 
 and waking, finding himself stiff and lame and 
 full of pains, he at length came again definitely 
 into consciousness, and saw in the chair at the 
 window a woman sitting, and as he turned she 
 nodded, smiling. 
 
 "You're a great deal better, Mr, Bennett, 
 and we're all so glad!" 
 
 It was not a nurse. She had no hat on, her 
 hair was dark and velvet-like, a white apron 
 came up stiffly and yet softly over her bosom, 
 and a lot of white stuff lay in her lap she had 
 been sewing. She folded the work and put 
 it away, and Bennett watched her. When 
 she rose he saw how tall she was, how slim 
 she was. The form of her, the breast over 
 which the fine apron folded its snow, her 
 67
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 limbs over which the long dark blue dress fell, 
 were charming for the eyes of a young man to 
 rest on. 
 
 Still smiling, she came to the bed, and he 
 remembered now that this was not the first 
 time he had watched those crinkling lines 
 around her eyes and mouth. The little hall 
 bedroom recovered to his remembrance 
 was piled full of his father's clothes, and in 
 the seclusion he had cried at the disposal of his 
 household gods. The shame of the auction, 
 which he had hated to think about, gave him 
 a twinge. The lady sat down at his bedside. 
 She laid one of her hands on the coverlid, 
 and John remembered that it had rested on his 
 father's corduroy hunting coat like a snow- 
 flake on a bit of brown earth. 
 
 But Mrs. Bathurst did he remember her? 
 Had he indeed ever seen her before? If he had 
 never seen her before how could he have for- 
 gotten her? There was a little droop at the 
 curve of her mouth corners; her cheeks were 
 68
 
 THE REASON 
 
 softly red. Her eyes were like velvet, with 
 pretty little lines at the corners. Her dark 
 hair grew closely around her brow, and in a 
 pointed peak cutting into the white forehead. 
 
 She repeated, "You're a great deal better, 
 and the doctor says we can move you this 
 week. The other nurse has gone out for a 
 while I'm only one of them. And how do 
 you feel, anyway?" 
 
 "Have you been taking care of me?" 
 
 "Now and then." 
 
 "Well, you're most awfully kind." 
 
 He didn't know what to say. He was em- 
 barrassed embarrassed that she should see 
 him lying his length in bed. The fact that 
 most of his face was covered up, that he could 
 only move one arm, that he was swathed and 
 bandaged round, did indeed take away suffi- 
 cient of the ordinary circumstances to make 
 him feel that the occasion need not cause him 
 the hot flush which rose all through him at her 
 presence there. 
 
 69
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "You mustn't talk," she said authoritatively. 
 "I was sorry not to welcome you the day you 
 came to Bathurst House. I wonder if you 
 remember that I saw you when you were a 
 little boy?" 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 "How long have I been knocked up here?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "A fortnight," she said. 
 
 "Mr. Bathurst must hate me I don't care 
 to think how." 
 
 She smiled soothingly. "Oh, don't bother 
 about such a thing. He's not in Tallahoe, he's 
 in New York." 
 
 A relief came with her words. Although he 
 didn't believe her, he was glad to know that 
 his host didn't breathe the same air with the 
 miserable, unsuccessful jockey. 
 
 "I feel as if I oughtn't to be so spoiled," 
 he said a little roughly, "after the ass I made 
 of myself." 
 
 "Don't talk," his nurse commanded again, 
 70
 
 THE REASON 
 
 "don't talk or I shall have to pull down the 
 shade and give you something to make you 
 sleep." 
 
 He stirred in his bandages and tried to 
 move in his jacket of plaster. With the life 
 that was coming back to him the keenest thing 
 was the sense of his disgrace before them 
 all. 
 
 "Please, Mrs. Bathurst, let me ask a little. 
 These things trouble me when I get to sleep, 
 they come like nightmares. What does Mr. 
 Bathurst say?" 
 
 The smile on the face before him faded. 
 
 "Oh, why do you bother?" she said rather 
 impatiently. "A fall like that might have 
 happened to any man, and there is always some 
 sort of an accident at the show. The only 
 thing about it is that you are safe, that you are 
 not killed; that is the only question to be con- 
 sidered. And one can't be too grateful for 
 that, can one? And then, too, as long as it 
 happened afterward." 
 71
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Afterward!" he repeated vaguely. "After 
 what?" 
 
 "Why, I mean to say, after the show- 
 after your entry after the judging. Of 
 course you know you got the Ribbon. When 
 you're better," she went on, "you'll tell me, 
 for I shall want to ask you, why you kept on 
 taking the hurdles." 
 
 He closed his eyes, he was getting muddled. 
 Of course, he had gone back into that infernal 
 nonsense-land, that was it! It was like Alice 
 in Wonderland, things were pursuing him, 
 and certainly this was a cruel vision. 
 
 But as he lay with closed eyes he could hear 
 distinctly the voices of people on the piazza 
 outside his window, and the rattle of kitchen 
 dishes, and the calls of a little party on the 
 croquet lawn "Now, that's my wicket !"- 
 so he couldn't be quite crazy. 
 
 He lifted his heavy lids again. 
 
 "Do you mind," he begged, "just explain- 
 ing what you mean? I guess I'm dotty still. 
 72
 
 THE REASON 
 
 I wonder if I can understand what you mean 
 about the Ribbon." 
 
 "Why, you remember," she leaned over him, 
 speaking softly, "that you rode Ladybird at 
 the show ?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember that!" 
 
 "And you remember that you shoved her 
 off superbly that she easily took the Ribbon 
 from the whole class? Why, then, just as 
 you were supposedly riding off, instead of do- 
 ing so you went for two more hurdles, although 
 my husband and the jury called out to you; 
 and at the last the poor beast refused and 
 that's where the tragedy occurred." 
 
 "I had won the Ribbon?" he echoed, hear- 
 ing nothing else. 
 
 "Why, yes! Yes! Everything would have 
 been all right if you had only stopped. Didn't 
 you know it? Why did you go on? We all 
 have wondered." 
 
 The young fellow stared rather piteously at 
 her. His face what she could see of it 
 73
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 pale with unusual pain, had matured, and his 
 boyishness for the moment was gone. He 
 looked like an old soldier after a campaign, and 
 from behind the snowy bandages his eyes 
 shone like deep blue stars. 
 
 "Do you remember now, Mr. Bennett?" 
 To herself she thought, "I'm going to make 
 him understand it, it's just as well that he 
 should." And she repeated gently, "Do you 
 remember can you tell me why you kept 
 on at the hurdles?" 
 
 A delicate color stole into his cheek. He 
 said weakly, "I seem to remember now that 
 we passed the goal all right and in good shape, 
 then I couldn't stop, I went straight on with 
 the poor little mare. Is she dead? Don't 
 mind, I can stand it. Is Ladybird dead? I'm 
 sorry," he said simply, "she was a corker! 
 Mr. Bathurst will hate me all right I should 
 think he would! She must have been worth 
 a pile of money. She was the best little beast 
 I ever rode." 
 
 74
 
 THE REASON 
 
 His eyelids fell, he could have cried like 
 a girl, there seemed to him something so un- 
 necessary, so wanton, so mean in what he had 
 done. 
 
 And while the lady was quite unprepared 
 for his look he opened his eyes on her as she 
 stood there, the apron folds across her breast, 
 her hands still lying on the coverlid. He 
 regarded her with a gravity that amazed her. 
 
 "The reason that I went on riding like that 
 was that I looked up suddenly over to where 
 the fellows said the trap was and I saw 
 her." 
 
 75
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 FROM the roof, over which the leaves of 
 the oaks, after turning to brittle brown, 
 were beginning to fall, to the piazza at whose 
 steps the horses were brought to be mounted, 
 and from where one looked off to the curves 
 and folds the cups and dips of the Valley 
 Bathurst House, the whole of it, was a 
 dwelling of enchantment to John Bennett. 
 
 He had been a guest there now for three 
 weeks. After his removal from the Big Tree 
 Inn they took him there, fixed him up in a fine 
 big room with a fine big view, and with every 
 goodness and kindness around him, and the 
 morning and the evening of it were the first 
 day. The whole of Bathurst House had one 
 significance and was full of magic to the cor- 
 ners and roof line. 
 
 76
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 Bathurst House was the shell that held its 
 mistress. At any time John might see her pass 
 through the rooms in some one of her frocks, 
 whose grace and goodly sweep and perfume 
 became for the young man like cerements, 
 with which, as it were, he found himself all 
 wrapped round, and in which he hid his face 
 and pressed to his lips in his dreams at night. 
 
 He might, in handing her an object, no 
 more important than a tea-cup or a book or 
 her entirely marvelous handkerchief, come 
 nearer to the perfume be more shocked by it. 
 He might, in giving her a trifling thing, touch 
 her, and for this the foot-ball half-back, the 
 sport, the young man who loved riding and 
 hunting and outdoor, lived hour by hour, with 
 all his young senses stirring like birds come to 
 maturity, and longing for the one supernal 
 flight. In one of the rooms, whose chairs, fire- 
 place, decorations, pictures, books, and even 
 clocks seemed charmed articles, and whose 
 like he thought he never would see again in 
 77
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 any house in one of these rooms he might 
 speak with her if she were sufficiently disen- 
 gaged to notice him. From his group of the 
 young people he might watch her at work at 
 her tapestry, for she embroidered. He might 
 spring up to get her a stool for her feet, an 
 extra little table to rest her frame on, he might 
 hand her a book if she were reading, and then 
 he might watch her read. 
 
 In one of the rooms whose doors gave into 
 the big hall he might meet her dressed for her 
 ride; exult to see her so dressed in her close- 
 fitting habit, severe and perfectly chaste, and 
 yet more provoking than any other costume. 
 He might hold her crop as she put on her 
 thick gloves, and she seemed to draw the 
 chamois over John's heart as he watched her 
 fingers and the palms of her hands disappear. 
 Although not yet strong enough to help her 
 mount, he might follow to her horse and curse 
 some other man who held her foot in his hand 
 or gave her his shoulder, and stand raging at 
 78
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 the sight in his hot young heart. She would 
 then ride away into the yellow haze of Indian 
 summer light, and a suffocation would come 
 into John's throat, and his heart would ache, 
 and he only lived thenceafter until from some 
 sheltering window he would see her ride 
 home. 
 
 In the drawing-room much later in the even- 
 ing he would see her again in her unclad 
 beauty, in the freedom the dress of a woman 
 after six o'clock permits, and Bennett dreaded 
 and longed for these visions at once. 
 
 And this was the way in which the young 
 man fell first in love. This was the way the 
 sportsman and athlete saw his heart open to a 
 woman nearly old enough to be his mother, 
 and beautiful enough to have charmed him 
 down to the last of his dim old days. Like 
 this the first woman came to him, and it was 
 nothing but the old story over again, interest- 
 ing because it was first love because it was 
 real. His heart was entirely virgin and en- 
 79
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 tirely clean, and Virginia Bathurst wrote her 
 name there. 
 
 He had been still another three weeks in his 
 room, caged up, visited by his chums, visited 
 by Miss Cynthia Forsythe, finally, just before 
 he came down-stairs. One day Mrs. Bathurst 
 and she came in to sit with him for tea. And 
 John had quietly looked out at the yellow 
 shadow of the tree before his window while 
 Miss Forsythe read aloud and Mrs. Bathurst 
 embroidered. The heads of both women were 
 against the sunset, and the light found Cyn- 
 thia's blonde hair no obstacle, and filtered 
 through its gold, whereas Mrs. Bathurst's hair 
 was a shade in which the sunlight lost itself, 
 held back, disturbed, and stopped short. Her 
 head thus stood out dark, clearly defined 
 against the background of clear gold. She 
 had stopped Cynthia's reading to say to John, 
 "The light dazzles you!" and put her hand 
 up to the shade. 
 
 "No, no !" he had stammered ; "please leave 
 80
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 it, I like to watch you sitting in the light, it 
 makes a nice picture." 
 
 Cynthia Forsythe looked up gratefully with 
 a blush, and it had been her eyes that John met. 
 
 From then on the girl's voice trembled to 
 the end of the page. 
 
 After the two women had left the invalid, 
 he lay for a long time in his chair, shutting 
 his eyes to hold the vision of Virginia. He 
 would have drawn the picture on his brain 
 could he have done so. He could understand 
 the sailors who tattoo images on their very 
 flesh, he wanted to keep always the picture 
 of her dark head against the glory of the golden 
 sunset. 
 
 It was his last day up-stairs. The next he 
 was down, still an invalid, but intact, not- 
 withstanding it was another man from the one 
 they had carried up from the Big Tree Inn. 
 He had gone into his room with broken ribs 
 and broken bones ; he came down a solid victim 
 of a more serious complication, and for the 
 81
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 malady with which he suffered now there was 
 no cure without sin. 
 
 "Virginia, I didn't know you were a match- 
 maker!" 
 
 Nicholas Pyrnne and her husband sat by 
 Mrs. Bathurst's side, and Mr. Bathurst, in 
 evening dress, his red face above his white 
 collar shining like an inebriate moon in the 
 full, answered sarcastically : 
 
 "Virginia's so happy in her married life, 
 Pyrnne, that she wants to fetch everybody 
 into the ring-a-round-a-rosy !" 
 
 Peter never addressed his wife without a 
 covert insult or a sneer, or some broad admira- 
 tion which she felt harder to bear than any 
 other form of torture. After flinging in her 
 face his infidelities for years, he had discovered 
 that his wife was the handsomest and most 
 attractive woman he knew ; he had returned to 
 her and found her cold, indifferent, and with 
 nothing for him but indomitable dislike. 
 
 "You say you forgive me, Virginia," he 
 82
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 often flung at her. "I wonder if any woman 
 can forgive a man from an iceberg, and then 
 freeze his soul as you can." 
 
 She told herself that she had done all she 
 could. She thought sincerely that she had 
 done her very best. She tolerated her husband 
 under the same roof and in her presence; as 
 well as she could she covered her dislike and 
 disgust Divorce she dismissed; she was a 
 Roman Catholic, moreover, and in Paris dur- 
 ing the years when Bathurst's open scandals 
 would have excited her to the point of separa- 
 tion she lived her own life freely, without 
 hesitation, refreshed and stimulated by the 
 flattery her beauty commanded. But no one 
 had touched her sentiments even vaguely un- 
 til these last days: she had believed herself 
 immune. Years before she had loved her 
 husband, and he had insulted her. 
 
 Nicholas Pyrnne loved her long before her 
 marriage, and his failure to win her had spoiled 
 his life. "After you threw me down, Vir- 
 83
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ginia," he had been used to tell her, "well, I 
 could never get up again." And he accepted 
 his career in a half-hearted way, only counting 
 for important those times when he should see 
 her, and because she forbade him, Pyrnne did 
 not follow her wherever she went. 
 
 "I like to see your interest in marriage," 
 Pyrnne said to her now. "I like to see a 
 woman helping the good cause along. But 
 you don't find Miss Forsythe as pliable as 
 Miss Cornwallis, do you, Virginia?" 
 
 "Cynthia's a silly little fool!" returned 
 Bathurst politely, "and Jack's far too good for 
 her. I'll tell him so to-night after dinner." 
 
 "I don't think I'd tell him anything of the 
 sort," Pyrnne said. "He'll put you in your 
 place if you do. Did you ever let your father 
 give you advice about your girls? I fancy 
 not" 
 
 "I wish to God I had let him!" muttered 
 Bathurst. 
 
 "Jack isn't in love with Miss Forsythe," 
 84
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 Prynne went on smoothly, and Mrs. Bathurst 
 interrupted : 
 
 "Oh, don't you think so?" 
 
 "Not a bit in love," Nicholas repeated 
 decidedly. "Any man in love himself can 
 see it." He made no secret of his own tender- 
 ness for Virginia, and Peter Bathurst, oddly 
 enough, had no jealousy regarding his wife's 
 old friend, to whom he knew Virginia to be 
 indifferent. He took a sort of delight in his 
 companionship, and they had been friends for 
 years. 
 
 "I don't care whether Jack likes Cynthia or 
 not," said Bathurst rudely; "she'll give him 
 the go-by if he asks her to marry him. She's 
 head-over-heels in love with that bounder, 
 John Bennett, and she doesn't care who knows 
 it, either." 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst had long since learned to hold 
 
 her tongue. It was part of her cruel strength 
 
 that her husband never tortured her to a sharp 
 
 reply or to a reproach. Pyrnne said further: 
 
 85
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "If what you tell me is true, old man, I'm 
 going to watch the game." 
 
 "These girls are as rusee as a woman of 
 thirty, my dear man," said Bathurst. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst rose and left them here. 
 
 There was a group out in the hall around the 
 piano; at it Donald Dashwood, an inveterate 
 hunter and a gay good liver, was sitting play- 
 ing and singing a hunting song. 
 
 As Mrs. Bathurst went out Peter said : 
 
 "They're a silly, giggling lot, and as green 
 as grass, all of them." 
 
 "Well," said Pyrnne good-humoredly, "I 
 must say I think Miss Forsythe's rather more 
 like a bouquet ; she's the prettiest young woman 
 of the season." 
 
 "She hasn't the sense to make up to my son," 
 grunted Peter, Senior; "she prefers that red- 
 headed foot-ball player, who would be better 
 with a foot-ball between his legs than a horse. 
 It makes me sick whenever I think of that 
 mare, Pyrnne." 
 
 86
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 "I don't wonder," responded the other man. 
 "But you can't say that it didn't make him 
 sick, too." 
 
 "I wish she had kicked a little harder, that's 
 all," said Bathurst. 
 
 The two men passed out toward the hallway. 
 
 "I've been decent to him" Bathurst low- 
 ered his voice "because he's in my house, 
 but I loved Ladybird, and there are times when 
 I could tell him my mind." 
 
 Nicholas nodded absently. "Dashwood's 
 got a good voice, hasn't he?" 
 
 "You're right," the host cried. "He's 
 going to have a ripping good time now, you 
 can believe; for they say his divorce will be 
 granted before the week is out. Do you want 
 to lose a little money, Nick?" his host con- 
 tinued, holding back Pyrnne by the arm. 
 
 "Well, I'd just as soon make fifty dollars 
 off you," said Pyrnne, "if that's what you want 
 me to say." 
 
 "I bet you fifty dollars," said Bathurst, "that 
 87
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 I kiss that girl before to-morrow morning, and 
 that she lets me." 
 
 Pyrnne laughed. "You're a bit stronger 
 than she is. I don't think anything but main 
 force would do it." 
 
 "I know the breed," said the other slowly. 
 "These young twentieth-century girls are all 
 alike. You can kiss any one of them fast 
 enough." 
 
 "Don't be a brute, Bathurst," said Nicholas 
 tartly. 
 
 "Will you bet?" 
 
 "No," said Nicholas slowly, "I will not ; and 
 you'd better not let that red-headed foot-ball 
 player see you try," 
 
 Bathurst laughed delightedly. "That's all 
 right," he said, "that dare of yours is as good 
 as a bet. I don't know but I like it better. 
 You spur me on, old man." 
 
 "All right," said Nicholas impatiently, try- 
 ing to get away from him; and when he was 
 alone he said, "Common beast! Poor Vir- 
 88
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 ginia ! I couldn't have turned out worse than 
 that. She'd better have taken me twenty years 
 ago." 
 
 89
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A DINNER 
 
 CYNTHIA FORSYTHE, so far from be- 
 ing, as Bathurst said, rusee and fast, 
 didn't know evil when she saw its face. Pure- 
 spirited, of good faith, she looked on the world 
 as a happy festival, to which, dressed in all her 
 youth and beauty, she was invited to partake. 
 Mrs. Bathurst had judged her thus when for a 
 few days she had seen her in Washington, 
 and she had selected her for her oldest step- 
 son. But Miss Forsythe baffled any match- 
 making; she was a cool little flirt, and if she 
 had much heart behind her graceful exterior, 
 she didn't tell for whom it beat. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst of late had been absorbed in 
 
 other things than Cynthia's love-affairs. She 
 
 had been nursing John Bennett back to life. 
 
 The other young members of the house-party, 
 
 90
 
 A DINNER 
 
 Miss Cornwallis, without any one's aid or any 
 one to interest themselves in her affairs, had 
 carried Peter Bathurst, Junior, by storm. The 
 two were engaged, and Cynthia was stopping 
 on with her friend, and no longer clung to 
 Mrs. Bathurst. She kept to herself, and as 
 soon as John Bennett came down-stairs she 
 had stopped flirting with Jack ; she was ready 
 to be made love to, and the right man didn't 
 take the hint. She sat on this night at dinner 
 next her host, of whom she was a little afraid. 
 
 When she had come to think of Virginia 
 Bathurst at all, she pitied her. Mr. Pyrnne, 
 Cynthia thought, pitied her as well. How he 
 looks at her; he understands everything, of 
 course! What a shame she didn't marry him 
 instead of her horrid husband! 
 
 Virginia wore a dark dress, a little band of 
 diamonds in her hair, a little line of them 
 round her throat, a cluster at her breast, and 
 her arms and hands lay along the dead white 
 dinner-cloth like carved ivory, but of a warmer
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 texture, and under the fine flesh the life ran 
 warm. 
 
 John Bennett and Mr. Pyrnne sat either side 
 of her. Pyrnne talked to her without interrup- 
 tion, she answering him wittily, with the famil- 
 iarity of old acquaintance, and the young col- 
 legian watched and listened, not venturing to 
 take too active a part. All down the table 
 center spread the flowers, their fresh and fra- 
 grant beauty, the scent of lilies and violets, 
 the odor of mignonette and heliotrope hung 
 light on the air. Several of the men were in 
 pink coats, Mr. Dashwood, as well as the host 
 and Peter Bathurst never looked better than 
 in his hunting clothes, something like an Eng- 
 lish squire, and on this occasion his face was 
 less red, and his position of host became him. 
 
 "Dashwood," he said, "when are you going 
 to get your divorce?" 
 
 "Got it in my pocket," replied that gentle- 
 man gaily. "You can drink to its health if you 
 like." 
 
 92
 
 A DINNER 
 
 "My wife will congratulate you," said her 
 husband, looking down the table at her. 
 "You're a lucky dog, old man." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know about that," Dashwood 
 said gallantly. "I'm inclined to think Mrs. 
 Dashwood is the lucky one. I'm no good, any- 
 how." 
 
 Cynthia For sy the looked down the table 
 past her best friend and her lover, past Jack, 
 who was indifferently eating salted almonds, 
 past Pyrnne to the hostess, and then at Mrs. 
 Bathurst's left. The young man, the youngest 
 at the table, sat with his sleek head a little bent, 
 looking at nothing in especial. He was listen- 
 ing to what his hostess said with a smile on 
 his clear young face. 
 
 "Mrs. Bathurst, you saw Nell to-day, didn't 
 you, over at the Country Club, with the kids ?" 
 Nell was Mrs. Dashwood. 
 
 Yes, Mrs. Bathurst had seen her. 
 
 "Pining away ?" asked the divorced husband, 
 drinking as he waited to be answered. 
 93
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "No," returned the hostess slowly, "not 
 yet." 
 
 "Ripping little kiddies!" said the father. 
 "If I am to blame for them! They're not 
 pining either, Virginia?" 
 
 "No," she laughed, "they looked very well 
 indeed." 
 
 "Splendid!" exclaimed the father, putting 
 his glass down. "I suppose if I marry again, 
 and if Nell marries again, why, the other kids 
 will be kind of first cousins all round, won't 
 they? Nice mess, isn't it?" He grinned. 
 
 His face was brilliant, with sun and air, 
 like the cheeks of the inveterate hunter. His 
 hand beneath his cuff was red and tanned, 
 the cloth was scarcely brighter. 
 
 "You'd better be glad you're a Catholic," 
 he said to his host. "When I marry again it's 
 going to be the Pope's daughter!" 
 
 Peter laughed. "Well, she'd be sure to get 
 a dispensation. You'd better try somebody 
 more obscure." 
 
 94
 
 A DINNER 
 
 The Dashwood affair was a household word 
 through the country. Husband and wife were 
 equally popular, and each had his own friends 
 and champions. 
 
 "Come," said Bathurst, "don't be discour- 
 aging. You and I are the only old married 
 men here, you know, and we don't want these 
 young people to think the world's made up of 
 divorce courts and quarrelsome husbands and 
 wives." 
 
 And here Pyrnne broke in: 
 
 "How many of you are going to the meet 
 to-morrow ?" 
 
 John Bennett, lifting up his head, said: 
 
 "I am, for one," and stopped like a sensi- 
 tive horse, for fear of the blow his host might 
 deal him. But Bathurst was otherwise en- 
 gaged, and did not hear Pyrnne's question. 
 
 "Are you really going? Do you feel up to 
 it yet?" 
 
 "Dashwood has loaned me his horse," said 
 Bennett, "and I hope I won't break his legs." 
 
 95
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "I don't think you will," said Mrs. Bathurst 
 quietly, "for I don't believe you'll ride to hunt. 
 Are you quite crazy, John?" 
 
 A sudden exultation that she had forbidden 
 him, that she had cared to forbid him, was fol- 
 lowed by anger because she spoke to him as 
 though he were a boy. A spirit of contradic- 
 tion that often rises in the early stages of 
 love, and a desire that her pleading should be 
 further pushed, made John say: 
 
 "But I've got to make a move sometime, 
 I guess. I'm all right, and Dashwood's horse 
 is over from the farm for me." 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst, looking at him as she might 
 at Jack or Peter, said : 
 
 "Oh, you mustn't even think of it, you're 
 certainly not up to it." 
 
 John felt Pyrnne's eyes on him in a fatherly 
 fashion, and he raged. He hated Nicholas 
 Pyrnne with his cool assurance, his infernal 
 cheek, as the young man called it. 
 
 "Are you riding?" he asked shortly. 
 96
 
 A DINNER 
 
 "I should say I was!" returned the con- 
 gressman. "I didn't come up here in the 
 Valley to miss a hunt." 
 
 "Are you?" John's blue eyes, which avoided 
 Mrs. Bathurst as a rule, met the sparkle of 
 those dark ones now, met the look of amuse- 
 ment and kindness. 
 
 "Why, of course," she said; "I have been 
 longing for the hunt. I think every one is 
 riding but you." 
 
 A stupid, silly fury sprang up in him, and if 
 a fiery horse with death in his nostrils had 
 appeared, he would have thrown himself on the 
 beast gladly, and ridden to perdition just to 
 prove his obstinacy. He would show how 
 strong he was. 
 
 "Dashwood," he cried excitedly across the 
 table, "it's all right, isn't it, about that horse of 
 yours?" 
 
 "Certainly. He's waiting for you to break 
 his legs, my dear chap. He'll be cooling down 
 his heels at the proper time to-morrow. Just 
 97
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 telephone down to-night to the stables and 
 speak to the head groom." 
 
 "All right," said Bennett easily, "thanks 
 a thousand times, old man." 
 
 The lady glanced at him, surprised, then 
 answered Nicholas Pyrnne's remark, whatever 
 it may have been, and turned her face from 
 her obstreperous invalid. She paled slightly, 
 and Bennett had the satisfaction of knowing 
 that he had been rude and a boor, ungrateful, 
 impossible, and that he had displeased her. His 
 folly made his heart sore, but as he pushed his 
 chair little back from the table he felt more 
 like a man. 
 
 Bathurst had got up and gone out of the 
 room to the telephone, and had not heard the 
 conversation, so he had no chance to throw a 
 barbed dart at poor Bennett regarding his 
 ride. 
 
 "I say, Cynthia!" he called back into the 
 room. "Come here a second, will you? Some- 
 body's got you on the telephone. Washing- 
 98
 
 A DINNER 
 
 ton wants you." And Cynthia left precipi- 
 tately, her first thought being incontinently, 
 "Oh, I hope mother isn't going to tell me to 
 come home!" 
 
 Miss Forsythe was so little rusee and so 
 perfectly sweet and of good faith that she 
 ran out of the dining-room in answer to her 
 Washington call, and into the telephone booth, 
 whose door Peter Bathurst, Senior, held open 
 for her, with but one thought in her mind, 
 "Oh, dear, I hope they are not sending for 
 me to go home!" And when a few minutes 
 later she returned to the dining-room she 
 was very much disturbed, breathing rather 
 fast, and it would have been plain for any one 
 to see, who looked twice at her, that she had 
 had some kind of shock. 
 
 Two of the guests looked twice at her 
 Pyrnne and Jack Bathurst. No one else. 
 
 "Bad news?" Jack asked. "What's up?" 
 
 "No," Cynthia stammered, "nothing very 
 bad." 
 
 99
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 And Grace Cornwallis, who lived in one long 
 dream of bliss, came out of her Arcadia long 
 enough to remark to her friend : 
 
 "Why, Cynthia, is your mother ill?" 
 
 And here Miss Forsythe recovered her com- 
 posure and laughed, pulling her wits together. 
 
 "Why, nobody's ill. It's nothing but a 
 stupid telephone mistake. It was Buffalo 
 wanting to talk to the Washingtons over the 
 hill." 
 
 But Cynthia joined Miss Cornwallis, and 
 Peter, Junior, and the girls went out together, 
 arm-in-arm, from the dining-room. Pyrnne 
 looked for Bathurst, who did not appear, and 
 then looked at the girl in an amused and rather 
 conscience-stricken fashion. Cynthia, in a big 
 chair in the corner of the room, saw John 
 Bennett cross over to her. The occurrence was 
 rare and she waited with delight, the discom- 
 fort of the telephone experience for the 
 moment overshadowed. 
 
 John was very tall, he carried his inches 
 100
 
 A DINNER 
 
 well, his shoulders were like a young Titan's ;- 
 his bones had knit well, his flesh had returned 
 to him, his simple life and habits, his good 
 spirits, and good temper had pulled him back 
 rapidly. 
 
 Cynthia didn't know that he was annoyed 
 and miserable, and calling himself a rude ass. 
 He came and sat down by her side. 
 
 "I can't tell Grace," she thought, "she's 
 too much in love with Peter, and it would make 
 her fearfully angry. I can't tell Mrs. Bathurst, 
 least of all. I can't tell Pyrnne, he'd laugh at 
 me most likely, and then he's Mr. Bathurst's 
 friend. I can't go home yet, I don't want to 
 go home. I don't want to go!" 
 
 "How about getting up at five o'clock to- 
 morrow morning, Miss Forsythe?" Bennett 
 asked her. 
 
 "Oh, I'm quite up to it," she replied. "But 
 really and truly, Mr. Bennett, you oughtn't 
 to ride yet, you know." 
 
 "Oh, bosh!" said John. "Don't you join 
 101
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 in and make me out a mollycoddle. I thought 
 you were a sport." 
 
 "I'm not," she said definitely, "I'm not a 
 bit of a sport. I begin to think I must be a 
 coward and a silly little fool." 
 
 John bent his blue eyes on her in surprise. 
 The type of the girl he had made love to all 
 his youth was before him in Cynthia Forsythe. 
 If Milly Haven had gone on being and existing 
 in his environment she would have been like 
 this, slender, well-groomed, charming, fine. 
 
 Cynthia's eyes were softer than Milly 
 Haven's, and kinder. She looked like a bou- 
 quet of jasmine all in white and very sweet, 
 and there was something in her which seemed 
 to question the young man as she looked up 
 at him from the depths of her chair. He 
 hadn't observed her much before. He knew 
 that she was rich, pretty, and that Jack would 
 please his family if he married her. He knew 
 that Jack teased him and said that Cynthia 
 was "mad about John Bennett." Girls had 
 102
 
 A DINNER 
 
 been crazy about him ever since he had shone 
 out at a party in Boston, his red head above 
 his first stiff shirt, and his first black coat ; and 
 he had licked a fellow that night, at his first 
 ball. Because Cynthia Forsythe's eyes were 
 something like Milly Haven's John recalled 
 that escapade. 
 
 "Do you know," he said abruptly with a 
 little laugh, "I have just thought of something 
 rather funny." He had been too long out of 
 the sentimental game, he said to himself. Too 
 long out of the way of making pretty speeches. 
 He thought he would take a turn now, and he 
 leaned over Cynthia. 
 
 "Do you know," he repeated, "that I lambed 
 a -fellow half to bits for a girl who had eyes 
 like yours?" 
 
 But he had spoken far better and more to the 
 point than he could have imagined now. 
 
 "Did you really ?" Miss Forsythe exclaimed. 
 She sat up from her languid position. "Did 
 you?" 
 
 103
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 John nodded and laughed. He was thinking 
 of the fight, and how the boy had met his 
 blows. 
 
 "I don't know why I should remember it 
 especially," he said; "one fight's about like 
 another, only, you see, your eyes made me 
 think of it, I suppose." 
 
 "What did the boy do?" Miss Forsythe 
 asked. 
 
 "He didn't do it," John said. He put his 
 hands in his pockets and leaned back in his 
 chair. "That was the point." 
 
 "What did he try to do?" 
 
 "He tried to kiss the girl who gave the party, 
 of course," said John, "behind the door, and 
 she got out and I got in. That's all. Very 
 easy to do. It wasn't what you'd call party 
 manners by a good deal, and the girl's mother 
 sent us both home in a cab!" 
 
 "I hope," said Miss Forsythe with animos- 
 ity, "that you pounded him well." 
 
 "I licked him the best I could," said John 
 104
 
 A DINNER 
 
 with satisfaction. "And he was my chum as 
 well, which went against the grain." 
 
 "I wish," said Cynthia abruptly, "that you'd 
 do a little licking for me." 
 
 John raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "Really?" he said. "Who?" 
 
 The words once out of Miss Forsythe's 
 mouth, she regretted them. She grew cold; 
 she had gone on as girls do when in the atmos- 
 phere of the man they like. She looked pinched 
 and rather frightened, and as John looked at 
 her the bright attraction she had for the 
 moment possessed faded. 
 
 "Not Jack ?" he asked. "Not another chum, 
 eh?" 
 
 He looked around the room. 
 
 Peter and his fiancee were already in some 
 friendly deserted room across the hall. Mrs. 
 Bathurst was playing solitaire on a little table 
 before the fire. Her profile was toward them. 
 One by one she laid the cards before her in 
 their sequence. Nicholas Pyrnne, Dashwood, 
 105
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 and the host smoked before the fire. John's 
 eyes caught the flash of her hand as <she> 
 shuffled her cards. 
 
 "Whom shall I lick?" he repeated absent- 
 mindedly. 
 
 "Not Jack," the girl whispered timorously, 
 "and not Peter, of course, and not Mr. 
 Pyrnne " 
 
 "By George!" said John sympathetically, 
 coming back to her. "What, he! that old 
 soak, the old bully?" He stared at her. "Do 
 you mean to say " 
 
 Cynthia, in that moment, as his warm young 
 voice took her part, went over to John Bennett 
 with all the rest of her that had not gone 
 before. What a big, splendid champion he 
 would be! What a man he seemed! Carried 
 away by his sympathy she murmured : 
 
 "Oh, ever since I came he's been too horrid. 
 
 I knew he was that kind. Mother warned 
 
 me, and I have kept away. I haven't told 
 
 Grace or any one, but to-night when he called 
 
 1 06
 
 A DINNER 
 
 me out to the telephone, of course there wasn't 
 any message." 
 
 "I see," said John encouragingly. "I see, 
 the old brute ! He tried to kiss you ?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "and I slapped his 
 face so that my hand stung." 
 
 "Good !" said John. "I'm glad of that." 
 
 Oh, yes, he knew what a brute Bathurst 
 was. But the host, for some reason or other 
 best explained by his peculiar temperament, 
 had not vented his spleen on John, even 
 though the boy had spoiled his horse. On 
 the contrary, he had been fairly decent to 
 him, and with the exception of one or two 
 cutting remarks he had let John alone. But as 
 he sat beside the young girl who had confided 
 in him, his sympathy was pouring forth, not to 
 her, but to the other woman before her cards. 
 One by one Airs. Bathurst laid the little bits of 
 pasteboard down. Her rings sparkled; the 
 gems on her dress sparkled; the line of dia- 
 monds in her hair sparkled as well. She was a 
 107
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 brilliant figure in the firelight that drew its red 
 kerchief along her bare arm. The blood which 
 at any long looking on her stung John's veins 
 rose now. 
 
 "I'd like to break his neck," he said brutally, 
 and he clenched his hands. 
 
 But Miss Forsythe had experienced the re- 
 lief which her confidence brought, and she was 
 less exaggerated in her belligerent demands for 
 redress. 
 
 "Isn't it too disgusting?" she said, "too dis- 
 gusting; but of course one can't do much about 
 it." 
 
 "You see," said Bennett, "after all, we are 
 his guests. I am particularly. I've been looked 
 after like one of the family. I'm heavily in 
 his debt." 
 
 "Oh, I don't want you to whip him behind 
 his own door, Mr. Bennett. I only wanted to 
 tell some one, and I told you." 
 
 "I'm glad you did," he said simply. "Bath- 
 urst must have been drunk, of course. But 
 1 08
 
 A DINNER 
 
 he's a beastly cad. If he bothers you any more 
 let me know." 
 
 John couldn't tell why he offered this sud- 
 den championship, which he would certainly 
 find it difficult to live up to in a man's own 
 house, that is, unless he was to leave that 
 house for ever. 
 
 Miss Forsythe said rather foolishly, "Oh, 
 of course, if he gets too bad I can go!" 
 
 "Yes," said John, with too cruel indiffer- 
 ence. "Of course." For just then Mrs. Bath- 
 urst finished her Patience and looked up tri- 
 umphantly. 
 
 "I made it, Nick!" she called. "Twice 
 running." 
 
 "First-rate! Shall we gamble on it? Five 
 dollars for the first two made." 
 
 "If you like! Only I forget where I put 
 the other Patience cards. Oh, I remember, 
 the drawer in my dressing-table!" 
 
 Bennett sprang up, and without a word to 
 the girl whose side he left, "Let me get them !" 
 109
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 he offered, and went two steps at a time up 
 the stairs on her errand at the first sound of 
 her voice. 
 
 Once or twice with Jack or Peter, Junior, 
 John had passed the threshold of the room 
 toward which he made his way. He had seen 
 the interior the day before, when, with her 
 husband, he had gone into the boudoir for a 
 cup of tea. But he wanted to go to that room 
 alone, and he went toward it now with an 
 eagerness that was almost a thirst. The door 
 was open, but there was no light. On the 
 couch her dressing-gown was thrown, her 
 slippers were beside it on the floor. There 
 was a book with a paper-cutter between the 
 leaves, and on the left the piece of furniture 
 in whose drawer the cards had been placed. 
 
 Bennett stood a second just over the door- 
 sill, and drew a long breath. The same 
 fragrance he connected with her hung on the 
 air of the room. A little fire burned in the 
 grate, and this was the only light ; he saw the 
 no
 
 A DINNER 
 
 objects in its flickering radiance. No one 
 had come up-stairs, the servants were at din- 
 ner, and the bedrooms deserted, yet voices 
 made a confusion in his ears like the sea. 
 
 Through the open door he looked into the 
 bedroom. It was very white and great and 
 vast, it seemed like a world ; the bed was open. 
 The aspect of the place, the home it was for 
 her, the fact that it sheltered her for many 
 hours and for the most intimate hours the 
 place it was overcame the boy as if it had 
 been filled with a sudden light that smote his 
 eyes. Leaning against the door frame he 
 held the soft, silken curtains that hung between 
 in his hands. The room, white and sweet, 
 unfolded to him like a lily; it enveloped him, 
 he felt his heart swell and his limbs grow weak. 
 Something like a cry came from his lips, and 
 the sweat rose on his brow. He brushed his 
 hand across his forehead and eyes. Shivering 
 with emotion, then shaking like a man who 
 has seen a ghost, he went from the room and 
 in
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 down-stairs. Half-way down he remembered 
 the cards. "What an ass I am!" 
 
 He started back again. 
 
 But Mrs. Bathurst's voice called him from 
 the hall, "What's the matter? Can't you find 
 them? Why, you look as though you'd seen 
 a ghost !" 
 
 Bennett put a good face on it ; the sight of 
 her brought him to reason. He tried to laugh. 
 
 "And you talk of riding to-morrow!" she 
 said reproachfully. 
 
 They stood facing on the landing, she in 
 her dark glistening dress and her proud beauty. 
 
 "She thinks of me as though I were her 
 son," he thought, seeing her interest and her 
 solicitude. 
 
 "I'll make you a cocktail," she said, and 
 took his arm and led him down the stairs, "and 
 afterward you must go to bed. You've only 
 been about for a week, and you talk of hunt- 
 ing to-morrow. Why, you're clearly crazy!" 
 
 "Yes," said Bennett, "I guess I am." 
 112
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 AN INTERVIEW 
 
 BENNETT found himself in the big fine 
 room where he had convalesced and 
 where Mrs. Peter Bathurst had tended him. 
 He threw himself on his bed in his shirt 
 sleeves, and drew his reading lamp down to 
 his side. 
 
 He had come up sturdily and simply, and 
 he was a strong, live, natural human being, 
 scarcely out of his boyhood and yet already a 
 man. He knew what his pulsations and his 
 heart-beats meant, what his desires meant. He 
 knew that in his short history he had never 
 lived until now ; he knew that he was a traitor 
 under his host's roof, and that the pain he 
 felt was far and away greater than any happi- 
 ness it gave him to be in the presence of Peter 
 Bathurst's wife.
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 What would she say if she knew? He had 
 asked his naive heart this question scores of 
 times. She would more than likely laugh at 
 him, for her humor was very keen. She would 
 probably berate him kindly, for she didn't hesi- 
 tate to speak her mind about his merits, and to- 
 night she had sent him off to bed like a boy. 
 To her he was a boy, nothing more. A little 
 bigger than the youngster to whom she had 
 given the gun, the friend of her stepsons, a 
 fellow just out of college, just facing life 
 callow, inexperienced, and scarcely to be taken 
 into account. John acknowledged that he was 
 all this, and he was glad he had a whole bunch 
 of things to learn. What man of twenty- 
 four hasn't ? Couldn't he learn as well as the 
 next man? Couldn't he cut out his life as 
 well as that round-faced congressman? A 
 dozen careers were open to a man who had a 
 little money to start in with. She had hinted 
 ^ that a political life, a diplomatic life was a 
 good thing to consider. John wondered if she 
 114
 
 AN INTERVIEW 
 
 had thought of him and his future when she 
 made the few remarks he remembered about 
 a diplomatic career. She didn't like doctors, 
 and as soon as he found this out all idea of 
 taking up medicine as a profession was put 
 out of his mind, thus breaking to bits a fa- 
 vorite scheme of Doctor Brainard's. Well, 
 would she follow his career and his life, what- 
 ever it might be, with interest ? Perhaps, after 
 she had done thinking about Peter and Jack, 
 she would think sometimes of how John Ben- 
 nett was getting along, the third of the college 
 boys, that was the only position he could hope 
 to take. 
 
 "Damn!" he muttered, and with the word 
 cast his beautiful youth down. What did one 
 want with youth, anyhow? It only served as 
 stepping-stones to riper age ; it was a footstool 
 under his feet which he would be glad to kick 
 at and be forty in a twinkling. But this phase 
 passed, the very buoyancy, the elasticity of his 
 youth sprang back to place and lifted him with
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 its green, vigorous swing. It was bully, after 
 all, to be young! He could now cut out his 
 whole life in a way she would approve. Sup- 
 pose he had already planned some beastly line 
 of life in a walk she disapproved. Suppose 
 he had started his fortunes, or was irrevocably 
 about to do so, in some part of the country 
 where he could never see her again ? 
 
 He determined in a flash to look up what- 
 ever business ventures Syracuse had to offer, 
 to set himself to work there, and to make his 
 way under her very eyes. He would become 
 rich and important, every one in town would 
 talk of him, and if he were always near he 
 could watch over her and protect her. John 
 liked the word, and repeated it, thinking of 
 the brute her husband was. 
 
 "Poor girl !" he said timidly, scarcely daring 
 to form the words in his mind, but, daring as 
 they were, his first approach to leveling be- 
 tween them the distance of years, all the 
 distance there was, brought him a bit nearer 
 116
 
 AN INTERVIEW 
 
 to her. He said again, "Poor girl !" and in an 
 instant leaped to the forty years he had longed 
 to possess. At any rate, his thoughts of her 
 to-night could not exactly be called protec- 
 tion. 
 
 Here John found it more salutary to remem- 
 ber how good she had been to him while he 
 was ill. He didn't know what a mother's care 
 was, he had never known it, but he couldn't 
 believe it was like this. So far as sisters were 
 concerned, they made the mischief in a man's 
 room, his friends had told him so. Every 
 corner of the room where he was had a mem- 
 ory for him of her nursing and her presence. 
 She had read by his window, she had stood by 
 his bed, she had taken her place as soon as the 
 professional nurse left and oh, heavens! the 
 change! It was like waiting for a cool spell 
 after heat, it was like waiting for friendly 
 warmth after bitter cold, it was like food after 
 hunger, and drink after thirst. 
 
 The comings into his room of Mrs. Bathurst, 
 117
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 every single one of them, had been a romance. 
 John could see her across his threshold with a 
 plate of fruit in her hands. He had just waked 
 up one day to see her waiting, and she had so 
 stood a second, smiling, until his eyes were 
 fully opened. No, certainly it was not as 
 though she were part of a family that she had 
 cared for him. He didn't feel it so, at any rate, 
 but no doubt it was all his torn-fool sentimen- 
 tality, and had nothing to do with her. What 
 would she think if she knew? It made him 
 rage to think that she would ridicule his feel- 
 ings. 
 
 There was no insult just to love a woman, 
 was there? Mr. Pyrnne made no bones about 
 it, and she tolerated his devotion and his 
 asinine leers (poor Nicholas was the very pink 
 of courteous dignity). Men had loved her 
 everywhere. Peter and Jack had told him 
 something about their stepmother's life abroad. 
 She was used to it. A man of twenty-four isn't 
 a baby, it's only that the older men have more 
 118
 
 AN INTERVIEW 
 
 nerve, more side, they have worn off their 
 sensibility. Every word of school-boy flirtation 
 seemed ridiculous to him, and the girls he had 
 courted, like paper dolls. His sharp thought 
 cut into them like scissors. He repeated to him- 
 self as he had done when a little boy, in his 
 habitual slang. "She's a corker! She beats the 
 record ! There's no one like her, and darned if 
 she wouldn't make a stone feel !" 
 
 Here John rose and began to walk slowly 
 to and fro in his room. If he should venture 
 to make the least sentimental advance to her 
 and he hadn't, as he thought of it, the least 
 idea how he should do so she would send 
 him about his business. The only thing to do 
 was to have the folly over as soon as possible, 
 and to put it out of his mind. Here in her 
 very house, seeing her every day, was no place 
 to cure such a disease. He had planned to go 
 on Monday, at any rate, and this was Thurs- 
 day. He would go in and see Brainard, and 
 make his plans to start out West. There was 
 119
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 an opening for him, a good one, and Brainard 
 approved. He'd break new ground. 
 
 Poor Bennett realized as he pondered how 
 passive the thought of her had been, how per- 
 sistent, and that it crowded everything else 
 out of his mind. The idea of the West before 
 he came to the Valley had seemed a bully one, 
 and full of the charm of the new, the untried, 
 the promising of great success. Now the fact 
 that it would take him thousands of miles from 
 her, and that it was to be a definite break in 
 his feelings, made the idea of it sink on his 
 heart like lead. He needed her to lift up and 
 light up every plan. It wouldn't be easy to go 
 on at first. 
 
 The boy stopped before his window and 
 looked into the stillness of the moonlight. It 
 was frosty and cold, something like a vague 
 mist blew across the moon and over the lawn. 
 The night was growing obscure, it would be 
 settling down to a true misty hunting morning. 
 The last thing he had done was to give her his 
 1 20
 
 AN INTERVIEW 
 
 promise not to think of hunting the next day. 
 When she shut the door on him she had 
 shut him up like a good boy. The memory of 
 it helped him a little here. Did he want to 
 dangle about a beautiful woman like a booby? 
 Did he want to stammer out his profession and 
 be laughed at ? Suppose she didn't laugh ? Sup- 
 pose she should attach him as she did Nicholas 
 Pyrnne? He nodded his bright head emphati- 
 cally. "Not for me !" he said. 
 
 He would put an end to the darned fool 
 business the very next day. He would ask the 
 Forsythe girl to marry him. "She's a nice lit- 
 tle thing," John reflected patronizingly, "and 
 Jack told me to go ahead, that'll fix up the 
 business." The fact that he was so determined 
 to end his passion here only proved how little 
 he knew of its real strength. He knit his brows, 
 decided to cut his sentimentality short, ap- 
 proved himself thoroughly, and felt a great 
 satisfaction in his decision, and a sort of tri- 
 umphant spleen, too. "I wonder what Mrs. 
 121
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Bathurst will say? How'll she like it? She 
 picked the girl out for Jack." 
 
 But Bennett's plan couldn't last long, there 
 was too little air in. its inflation, it sank sud- 
 denly. Cynthia Forsythe had no personality to 
 him, she was nothing but a paper doll, and in 
 her place was raised forcibly the picture of the 
 living woman with her glorious form which 
 his young arms longed for, with her lips for 
 which his young lips ached. He breathed a few 
 words aloud, stretched out his arms toward 
 the moonlight as though he would embrace the 
 night, and his words might have been a curse 
 on his folly, a protest against his youth, or they 
 might have been something like a prayer. 
 
 He decided that he couldn't go to sleep in 
 the state he was, and he put his smoking-jacket 
 on and went into the hall quietly. It was only 
 midnight, and the house was still lighted. Ben- 
 nett walked softly and aimlessly toward the 
 library, where he thought he would get a book, 
 and read and smoke until something like sleep 
 
 122
 
 AN INTERVIEW 
 
 came to him. There was no one in the library, 
 and, standing before the big shelves, he 
 searched for something to attract his fancy. 
 
 He heard just without the door, after a few 
 seconds, his host's voice saying : 
 
 "That's all right, Cynthia, that's all right, 
 little sweetheart. Give me a kiss?" 
 
 Bennett veered round, struck to attention, 
 and recalled that he had promised to champion 
 the girl, and, moreover, that he was going to 
 ask her to marry him the next day. 
 
 He started forward, determined to take the 
 consequences, whatever they might be. If 
 Bathurst should put him out of the house that 
 would settle things at any rate. 
 
 He heard her make a little exclamation of 
 protest, and then he came without a sound into 
 the hall. 
 
 Bathurst set the girl free in a moment, and 
 without a word to either man she flew down 
 the hall toward the stairway that led to her 
 rooms. 
 
 123
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Eavesdropping?" Bathurst sneered, his 
 ruddy color faded. 
 
 "No," said Bennett simply, "not much, and 
 you don't think it." 
 
 Bathurst laughed disagreeably. "Are you as 
 good at listening at key-holes as you are at 
 breaking horses' legs ?" 
 
 "I'm trying to remember that I'm in your 
 house," the young man said with an effort, and 
 as he looked at the red, bloated face, and real- 
 ized how much drink had gone before his host's 
 exhibition of sentimentality, his feelings 
 changed to plain disgust. Mr. Bathurst was 
 half drunk. 
 
 "You mean that if you weren't in my 
 house you'd kick me down-stairs do up the 
 master as you did the horse." 
 
 And John said to himself, "I've been under 
 his roof six weeks, and he owes me a grudge 
 already." 
 
 Mr. Bathurst didn't want his wife to know. 
 In spite of his freebooting, in spite of his in- 
 124
 
 AN INTERVIEW 
 
 fidelities, he did not want Virginia to know. 
 She made him angry, she piqued him, she de- 
 'nied him everything, but he had still some hope 
 of winning her regard. He said more tem- 
 perately : 
 
 "Look here, Bennett, is it after all any of 
 your business? I shall certainly kiss whom I 
 like in my own house. Why do you stand 
 there like a chump and stare at me? Didn't 
 you ever kiss a girl? You'd better begin if you 
 haven't." He fumbled in his pockets for a 
 cigar. "Come on in the study and let's have a 
 smoke, and I'll ring for some booze." 
 
 He looked about in the library for the 
 matches, and, striking one, continued to speak, 
 with his cigar in his mouth. 
 
 "She's a damned pretty girl, and she liked 
 it, I swear. What time is it, anyway? Half- 
 past twelve?" 
 
 Bathurst took a chair and pointed to the one 
 opposite, nodding to John. "Sit down; you 
 make me nervous. I don't want to go to bed. 
 125
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 It'll be morning before you know it, and the 
 hunt is on for five." 
 
 After a second of thought the young man 
 sat down, facing his host. 
 
 "Light up," Bathurst invited, "and break up 
 that gloomy face of yours. You look like a 
 prayer meeting. Why don't you marry that 
 giggling little girl, then you could kick me with 
 some reason? Confound it, what business is it 
 of yours, anyway? If I heard a man kissing 
 a girl in the hall I'd have the good sense to 
 stay where I was. Hunting to-morrow ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Won't any one trust you with a mount ?" 
 
 "Dashwood has given me one," said John 
 rather tartly. 
 
 "Well," said his host, "to show you that I 
 haven't any hard feeling you can have your 
 pick at my stables." 
 
 The young man remembered at his compan- 
 ion's words how he had promised not to hunt. 
 And at this second the idea that she cared, and 
 126
 
 AN INTERVIEW 
 
 made a point of it, gave him a flash of such 
 great happiness that it softened his face as he 
 looked at the older man; it did the work of 
 breaking up his gloomy "prayer-meeting" ex- 
 pression better than Bathurst could have asked. 
 
 "Guess I'm not up to riding to-morrow. Lit- 
 tle rocky still." 
 
 Bathurst smiled fatuously, his red, bloated 
 hands on the arms of the chair, his glass of 
 whisky-and-soda by his side. He poured in 
 more rye, fizzed it up, and took a long drink. 
 He ran his trembling hands in his collar, and 
 loosened his cravat. 
 
 "It's all right about Ladybird," he nodded 
 gracefully. "I don't lay it up against you, Ben- 
 nett." 
 
 "You've been awfully kind about it, Mr. 
 Bathurst," the young man said. They had 
 never mentioned the subject between them be- 
 fore. "I was an infernal ass, and I feel like a 
 murderer. I haven't said a word about it be- 
 cause the fellows told me that you had asked 
 127
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 especially that I would shut up on the subject, 
 so I've done so ; but I'm hoping some time, in 
 some way or other, to " 
 
 "Bosh !" said his host, "nonsense !" He fin- 
 ished his drink. It was just the last swallow 
 of the strong liquor needed to complete his 
 state. He could hardly control his smile, it 
 seemed to flutter about his lips ; but he had the 
 idea that he was very affable and generous. 
 
 "You can say anything you like about that 
 kissing business, I expect you'll make fun of 
 me. I don't care, Bennett," he leaned solemnly 
 over toward the young man, "I don't care 'bout 
 any girls, I only care 'bout one woman. She's 
 the only woman in the world for me." 
 
 His guest stiffened, his face grew white un- 
 der his ruddy hair. A sickening dislike of the 
 man before him came on him. 
 
 "She's very cold," the husband said; "she 
 doesn't care for me now, but she will." He 
 nodded stupidly. "You just watch, she'll come 
 round again." 
 
 128
 
 AN INTERVIEW 
 
 He took his handkerchief from his pocket 
 and wiped his eyes, to which the inebriate tears 
 were stealing. 
 
 "Fill up your glass, Bennett," he said, "don't 
 be a milksop. You don' like whisky? Wha' 
 d'youlike?" 
 
 John rose. "Let's get to bed," he said. 
 "Let's get a little sleep before the meet's on." 
 
 Bathurst shut his eyes and shook his head. 
 "Coin' t' sleep here, won't go home till morn- 
 in' !" 
 
 John got his arm under the man's shoulders, 
 and with much persuasion Mr. Bathurst man- 
 aged to leave the library, leaning heavily and 
 affectionately on John, finally dragging and 
 staggering as far as his own door. There he 
 held the young man back. 
 
 "Stop," he said, "ain't goin' any farther. 
 Coin' to wait right here till Cynthia comes 
 back!" 
 
 "Oh, come on !" said John impatiently, "she's 
 gone to her room. You'll see her at the meet." 
 129
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Don' tell Mrs. Bathurst," Bathurst whis- 
 pered. "Don' tell her." 
 
 Bathurst's valet, hearing the approach, came 
 out from his master's room, and between the 
 two men, for Bathurst needed all the support 
 available, the host crossed his threshold. 
 
 "Goo' night, Benny," he said, shaking John's 
 hand violently, "you're real sport. See you 
 t'morrow." 
 
 The man told John that he could manage 
 without him, and gathered his master together, 
 and led him within the merciful shelter of his 
 own door. 
 
 John's rooms and the other men's rooms 
 were in the bachelor quarters, between the 
 salon and library, and the staircase up which 
 Cynthia Forsythe had disappeared led to the 
 apartments of Mrs. Bathurst and her women 
 guests. 
 
 It seemed to the young man who, set free by 
 the locking of the host's door, went to his own 
 rooms again, that he could not bear the atmos- 
 130
 
 AN INTERVIEW 
 
 phere of the house another day. To be sure, 
 his host in his sickening stupor was separated 
 from his wife by two halls and a staircase, but 
 the very idea that there was between the man 
 and the woman a bond which would permit this 
 brute to go to her if he wished was beyond the 
 endurance of Bennett's clean, vigorous love.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE MORNING WALK 
 
 WHEN John came down the following 
 morning the foggy mist that had flown 
 all night like wet sartis across the country had 
 blown off toward the north, and the crisp 
 morning air was clear of rain. 
 
 Bennett was the first of the household to 
 come down-stairs; as was the fashion in the 
 Bathurst establishment, where the mistress was 
 half continental in her habits, he had taken his 
 coffee and eggs and bacon in his own room. 
 
 He had not been standing more than five 
 minutes on the porch facing the drive and 
 the cold dawn when some one came out be- 
 hind him. It was the lady of the house herself. 
 Mrs. Bathurst wore her pink coat, her white 
 stock with its diamond horseshoe, her black 
 132
 
 THE MORNING WALK 
 
 three-cornered hat, and in her hand she held 
 her riding-crop and gloves. 
 
 "I suppose you couldn't resist the charm of 
 early rising," she said with amusement. "I 
 didn't know that anything could get a young 
 man up at five in the morning unless he were 
 pulled out of bed; especially since you're not 
 going to ride. I don't believe you've had a bit 
 of breakfast!" 
 
 John, who had scarcely slept, and whose 
 later doze had been disturbed by the fear that 
 he might be too late, met her keen look, for the 
 lady wondered what made him so pale. The 
 way in which he had replied to her kindliness 
 the night before had told her that she must be 
 more tactful in her handling of him, and she 
 did not question him now. 
 
 Over the roads and the lawns, as they stood 
 side by side on the porch, something like dew 
 rose on the stubborn grass and covered the 
 brown, dry forests, and something like dew 
 lay between the sun and the earth. 
 
 133
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Doesn't it smell good?" she said, drawing 
 her breath. "Gives one the feeling of wanting 
 to swim out into it, of going off somewhere. 
 It's so fresh and marvelously unspoiled." 
 
 "It only makes me want to ride like the 
 deuce," Bennett responded. "It's a miserable 
 shame that I'm not well enough to go." 
 
 "Well, since you can't, since you've given in 
 so gracefully," said Mrs. Bathurst, "let's walk 
 over to the Big Tree Inn. It's only a ten min- 
 utes' walk, and I don't believe it will be too 
 much for you." 
 
 She could have suggested nothing that he 
 wanted more ; nothing would be better than to 
 leave behind them the house with its master, 
 Nicholas Pyrnne, and the rest, and go away 
 alone with the lady. 
 
 He refused blankly to take either hat or 
 overcoat, and thinking perhaps that if they de- 
 layed the others would come down and spoil 
 their adventure, Mrs. Bathurst did not urge 
 him, and he walked along beside her, his slim 
 134
 
 THE MORNING WALK 
 
 young figure tall and slender as a small tree, 
 his bright head high with the pride of his good 
 fortune. 
 
 Virginia Bathurst thought this friend of her 
 stepsons charming. He had touched her sym- 
 pathies as a little boy. Standing between the 
 curtains of the dingy, dismantled house, the 
 victim of the auctioneer's hammer, dispossessed 
 and penniless, this little habitant about whom 
 the ruins were fallen, had spoken to her sym- 
 pathies twelve years before. She had known 
 his delightful father, and it was in affectionate 
 regard for Mr. Bennett that she had gone to the 
 auction sale, and there the purchase of a few 
 objects of art, books, and China, had become 
 of secondary interest beside the anxious face 
 of the boy who watched the sale. She had 
 never forgotten the incident or his visit of a 
 few days at Bathurst House. 
 
 She had aroused his frank, boy admiration, 
 she had seen it in his intent blue eyes. Brusk, 
 slangy, moody as he was, he had even then pos- 
 135
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 sessed that rare quality which made him "fasci- 
 nating" to the girls, and which had touched the 
 woman in her then. An older man might have 
 displayed the devotion which, although he did 
 not know it, red-headed, freckled, little John 
 Bennett had shown this selfsame lady twelve 
 years before. 
 
 It was with some such remembrance of him 
 that she had rushed over to the field after his 
 accident, and lifted his poor bruised head on 
 her knee. It was with some such memory in 
 her mind that with a sudden leap of her heart 
 she had seen the splendid fellow ride his race, 
 had seen him lifted something like a vision on 
 beautiful Ladybird. John stood out among the 
 commonplace men around him, and when she 
 had seen him fall, for a moment she had cov- 
 ered her face with her hands and been sur- 
 prised at her excess of personal terror, alarm, 
 and solicitude. 
 
 With the perfection of womanliness she had 
 nursed the big chap. If not too much to say, 
 136
 
 THE MORNING WALK 
 
 he wouldn't have pulled through as he had 
 without that lovely care. She thought with 
 something of pride that her care had not been 
 altogether in vain, as he walked beside her now 
 in the morning sunlight, with his vigorous 
 swing, his long steps, close to her, toward the 
 town. 
 
 Women who are ardent by nature or pos- 
 sessed of imagination are always sure to be 
 dupes of themselves, as well as a prey to senti- 
 ment, and particularly fit to suffer. Mrs. Bath- 
 urst was unconscious of any but a friendly 
 interest in her stepsons' friend. Their conver- 
 sations had been few, but Bennett proved an 
 unusual listener, drinking in what she said, 
 storing her opinions deeply away. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst took things easily, otherwise 
 she would not have been able to endure her 
 life with her husband. But she didn't realize 
 how often she had thought about John; and 
 just in the bright morning light, struck by his 
 pale face and the marks of sleeplessness, she 
 137
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 was wondering about his plans for the future, 
 and hesitated to ask. 
 
 "Have you been thinking at all what you are 
 going to do when you leave here next week ?" 
 The question fell with the decision John had 
 made the night before. 
 
 "I'm going West." He remembered with a 
 pang as he replied that this venture on his part 
 was the very one thing she had advised him not 
 to do when they had talked together ! 
 
 His response was curt, and his intention evi- 
 dently fixed. She looked at him in surprise and 
 said, "Oh, really? I suppose money is the 
 thing; and if you do go in for it you must 
 make a big fortune." 
 
 By this time they had ascended the incline to 
 the village street, and the town clock was strik- 
 ing six. The street was already alive with coun- 
 try people and townsfolk, coming to watch the 
 meet. Buggies and light wagons, covered ve- 
 hicles and smart traps, toiled through the rich 
 sand road. Red coats shone out here and there. 
 138
 
 THE MORNING WALK 
 
 The Big Tree Inn blinked with its green vines 
 behind the trees; and about the horse-block the 
 hunters, sleek and slender, thin-flanked and 
 long-legged, gathered shining bays, grays, 
 and roans and to the left the master of the 
 hounds, Donald Dashwood, with his grooms, 
 held the black-and-white hounds in leash. 
 
 But Virginia Bathurst's figure was the one 
 that John Bennett looked at supple, slender as 
 a girl's, there was a sweep about her, a bloom, 
 a fire that made her different to them all. John 
 felt that she might be a queen at a royal meet. 
 
 "She has a proud face," he said to himself; 
 "I wonder who would dare to offend her." 
 
 He could almost think he saw a picture of 
 her on some regal hunting preserve, and read 
 out, "The Queen rides to the hounds to-day." 
 
 Nicholas Pyrnne and the others had come 
 up. Her horse stood at the block, and Vir- 
 ginia's husband lifted her into the saddle. 
 
 Bathurst nodded curtly to John with a look 
 of suspicion. As soon as he heard that the two 
 139
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 had walked over to the inn Bathurst had said 
 to himself, "I'll bet four to one that he's been 
 savin' something to Virginia." 
 
 As attractive as was the scene about the inn, 
 John saw little but the figure of the woman on 
 her roan horse, her body like a poppy in the 
 pink cloth of her coat, her dark little head set 
 well on her neck. She gathered up the reins 
 between her hands and moved away. 
 
 John jumped up on the big white horse- 
 block under the trees and stood there, the one 
 unsporting figure in his blue serge clothes. He 
 was out of it, a miserable bystander in the face 
 of such ripping sport. 
 
 Jack and Peter, Junior, had come up with 
 Miss Cornwallis. After the calls and shouts 
 and sallies and hubbub, the panting of the dogs, 
 Bennett called over to Dashwood : 
 
 "Say think I'll drive over and meet you at 
 the cross-roads." 
 
 But there was no response to this. He said it 
 again more loudly, hoping she might hear him. 
 140
 
 THE MORNING WALK 
 
 Pyrnne was at Mrs. Bathurst's stirrup, shorten- 
 ing it ; she was bending down to him, laughing, 
 unconscious of the young man on the horse- 
 block who spoke for her alone. 
 
 John thrust his hands in his pockets and 
 glowered at the gay, cheerful scene. 
 
 "Go home, Johnny," Jack called to him, "and 
 keep Miss Forsythe company; she didn't 
 come." 
 
 And Miss Cornwallis added, "Oh, do look 
 after Cynthia, won't you, Mr. Bennett? She 
 was too tired to get up this morning. I hated 
 to leave her." 
 
 Bennett muttered an ungracious word under 
 his breath. The house seemed like a prison to 
 which he couldn't bring himself to return. 
 
 The hounds were freed. At a long blast 
 from the horn they dashed away with a cry 
 like mad creatures, flashing through the vil- 
 lage street, pounded after by the hunters. 
 Whether or not the words that John had given 
 out that he would ride to the cross-roads had 
 141
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 reached her, Mrs. Bathurst didn't look toward 
 him until they started away. Then she gave a 
 glance back, and saw him as he stood six feet 
 of blue serge, of anger and spleen glowering 
 out into the sun-filled space before him, the 
 light on his bare head. She waved her crop 
 gaily, and his passionate, angry eyes followed 
 her pink coat until a curve in the road hid her 
 from sight. Then the buggies and wagons filled 
 up the road again, a butcher's cart slunk out 
 and rattled down the street; the loiterers and 
 hangers-on about the village post-office and the 
 taverns straggled up the steps to the porch of 
 the Big Tree Inn. The odor of coffee and 
 bacon floated out to assure the world that the 
 ordinary course of events would pursue the 
 tenor of its way, in spite of the hunt. 
 
 Pleasure had died for the young man who, 
 like Adam with his Eve in the morning of the 
 world, had walked in the dew of the early 
 hours from Bathurst House. The common- 
 placeness of the objects before him gave him a 
 142
 
 THE MORNING WALK 
 
 physical disgust. For the first time in twenty- 
 four years he was a victim of ennui ; until the 
 hunt returned he shouldn't know how to live! 
 
 He went up the steps of the inn, and through 
 to the bar. He had drunk for pleasure, for 
 good fellowship plenty of times in his life, but 
 never before for misery. He ordered his drink, 
 and when it stood before him on the counter, 
 turned his glass between his hands, a frown on 
 his face. The bartender, who had gone into the 
 office, now came back, his napkin thrown over 
 his arm. 
 
 "Somebody wants John Bennett on the tele- 
 phone." 
 
 As though Mrs. Bathurst could have tele- 
 phoned him from her saddle, at some hedge or 
 ditch, John rushed off. 
 
 Bathurst House had called him up. 
 
 "Oh ! Mr. Bennett, did you see Mrs. Bath- 
 urst? . . . Did she tell you that we are to 
 take the dog-cart and follow over to Moreland 
 Farms and see the meet pass ? . . . Oh, I'm
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 all right, thanks! . . . Want to go awfully, 
 don't you? . . . You'll be right over?" 
 
 John dashed from the booth, and without 
 stopping, rushed from the inn. 
 
 "Hi !" the bartender called after him, "that 
 there cocktail !" 
 
 "Drink it yourself!" John flung him a dol- 
 lar and was out of the inn, down the steps and 
 into the road before the man could follow. 
 
 "Here, you, take me over to Bathurst House, 
 will you?" 
 
 He held up the butcher's cart and climbed 
 into the seat by the man's side. His face lit 
 up, he jollied the butcher boy, drank in the 
 fresh odors of the country, and his cheeks 
 began to warm. 
 
 In a couple of hours, if only for a second, 
 he should see her again as she shot across a 
 meadow, and he might watch that dash of pink 
 that made his heart leap every time he thought 
 about it. 
 
 The bartender, as the butcher's cart rattled 
 144
 
 THE MORNING WALK 
 
 down the road toward the hill, turned the cock- 
 tail back into a bottle, and put the dollar in his 
 pocket. He was not a drinking man. 
 
 "Wonder what made that fellow leave his 
 drink ? Girl on the wire, I guess. When girls 
 don't drive a man to drink they make him sour 
 on his food," he said, as though he regarded 
 his cocktails in the light of repasts.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 AN hour later, driving across the country 
 with Miss Forsythe, John calmed to 
 something like reason and common sense. For 
 a good part of the night he pondered over his 
 state of nerves and his folly, and he was able to 
 see that he was very much of an idiot, that he 
 needed sound, strong measures to cure his 
 imbecility. Cynthia Forsythe had welcomed 
 him back, the only other guest at Bathurst had 
 insisted that he take some kind of refreshment 
 that went by the name of early luncheon before 
 they started, and a pretty girl is at her best 
 when she urges a man to be comfortable. Cyn- 
 thia had served him herself, and sat later by 
 his side in the buggy, not in the least like a 
 girl who has passed a horrid night, who has 
 been bothered to death by her host, and who is 
 146
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 gently, though truly, unhappy about her own 
 unfortunate love affair. 
 
 The young people rode out from Bathurst 
 to follow the meet in a classic buggy, a long- 
 stepping horse between the thills, and the pretty 
 Washington girl by Bennett's side, after feed- 
 ing him and giving him to drink, did her best 
 now to amuse the absorbed young man. Self- 
 ishly suffering and sentimental as he was, no 
 topic would have interested him greatly but to 
 talk of himself or of Mrs. Bathurst. Cynthia 
 did not lead to the subject of the lady ! 
 
 She referred to the "licking" he had given 
 his school- fellow at the party, and from here 
 John went on to tell her something about his 
 boyhood. 
 
 "There at Jones' Mills," he pointed with his 
 whip across country, "there's the steeple of the 
 church they told us to look out for. We'll 
 make it all right by this road to the left, and 
 I guess they'll cross us there." 
 
 They were vithin three miles of the point
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 where they were to wait for the meet, and the 
 young man hurried his horse wantonly up the 
 hill. On either side, between their low fences, 
 spread the meadows of the Valley country- 
 stubble and dry furrow, ditched and harvested 
 fields, all first-class hunting land, with its deeps 
 and curves and little knolls of forests like 
 shadows over the hills, here and there. 
 
 "Of course, there's just a chance that they 
 may not pass," Cynthia said. She could have 
 borne it very well. But her companion was 
 more sure. 
 
 "Oh, I guess they'll come by all right!" He 
 couldn't imagine that he would be disappointed 
 in that flying sight of her. 
 
 "Speaking of shooting," John said with 
 inadvertency, "Mrs. Bathurst gave me my first 
 gun. I was a little shaver it was twelve years 
 ago." 
 
 They rolled down one big hill and climbed 
 slowly up the other, the horse breathing, the 
 rustle of the wheels, the creak of the leather, 
 148
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 and the song of the thills in their thongs an 
 undertone to all they said. John told Cynthia 
 the story of the auction at his old home in 
 James Street. It was nothing but a boyish, 
 quick, crude tale, without any embellishment, 
 but under his words his romance lay, and 
 its golden thread ran through the tale. It was 
 unmistakable, even to this girl. The reins 
 lay loose on the horse's back, the whip hung 
 loose over the dashboard. John's head was 
 bent, his eyes, smiling and intent, were fixed 
 on some scene not in the Tallahoe meadows. 
 
 He talked out his secret, kept until now so 
 jealously; he brought it before the girl's eyes 
 until it was plain as day, and though told by a 
 college boy in the simplest of terms, without 
 diction or rhetoric, the story made a picture. 
 Cynthia could see him with his little heart 
 bursting as they auctioned off his father's gun ; 
 Cynthia could hear his sob as he shut himself 
 up in his s nail bedroom; and Cynthia could 
 see Mrs. Bathurst sitting on John's bed, in 
 149
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 her spick-and-span dress, her hand lying white 
 on the velvet brown of the corduroy hunting 
 clothes. 
 
 "Wasn't it bully of her?" 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Forsythe gravely. 
 
 "I guess no woman ever gave a boy anything 
 he wanted more. I can never forget how that 
 gun in the corner of my room made me feel." 
 He laughed softly to himself. "I don't doubt 
 I made a fool of myself over it, I'm sure 
 I hugged it. I can remember now how the 
 wood shone on the handle. I've never really 
 wanted anything since, you know," he said 
 with young arrogance, "but it has been sure to 
 come along sooner or later." 
 
 "You're a very lucky fellow." 
 
 The laugh went a little out of his voice as he 
 thought of the much-wanted something which 
 had never come. "I don't know about that. I 
 suppose a man's luck has to change sometime." 
 
 John's story, which had brough'- him over- 
 whelmingly to the one subject in which he was 
 150
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 interested, and to the point of their drive, 
 left him meditative. But it had the opposite 
 effect on Miss Forsythe. As though she didn't 
 want to give herself time to think of anything 
 whatsoever, she now led the conversation to 
 herself, and John, half listening, was pleasantly 
 entertained. He rather liked her giggle, as 
 Bathurst called it, and he liked her thoroughly, 
 and as far as he could see anything else in the 
 great white light of his infatuation, he saw this 
 little candle throw its gentle beams. 
 
 "We'll stand here, I think." He drew the 
 horse up on the hilltop. "They ought to come 
 along out of that patch of woods about now." 
 
 A clear horn blast cut the air. The dogs 
 flew out first, Peter Bathurst, Junior, followed, 
 and half a dozen others seemed to shake out of 
 the little woods and scatter over the fields. 
 
 Miss Forsythe, standing up in the buggy, 
 cried, "There's Grace Cornwallis! Doesn't 
 she ride like a breeze! She's the first of the 
 women. I do hope she'll get in at the death."
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Peter Bathurst, Senior, came last ; his horse 
 had never hunted before, and he was in a fury 
 with her. 
 
 "Here !" he cried, riding to the buggy, "help 
 me fix this cursed curb, will you, Bennett? I 
 didn't expect to get in at the death with this 
 infernal cow I'm riding; but neither did I 
 expect to have to stop and milk her in the 
 middle of the fields. She can't go at all." 
 
 "Where," asked Cynthia eagerly, "are the 
 others?" 
 
 "Nick's horse went lame, caved in at More- 
 land Farms, and my wife couldn't think of 
 anything better to do than to drop out and stop 
 over with him there. I guess they'll get lunch 
 of some kind. They've telephoned for a trap to 
 come for them, and they'll go right home. 
 You'll come on over to luncheon at the Lew- 
 isons', you two, won't you?" 
 
 John set free the bit he was holding. 
 
 "I guess that's all right," and Bathurst 
 started away as the last riders pelted from the 
 152
 
 "Doesn't she ride like a breeze!" Page 151
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 woods and rode over toward -the opposite 
 fields. 
 
 For a moment the buggy with the two young 
 people rested on the knoll, then John turned his 
 horse about and, without asking the girl where 
 she wanted to go, started home. 
 
 Cynthia wanted to go nowhere but where 
 John should choose, and she sat back quietly, 
 waiting for him to speak. It must have been 
 a wait of over a mile. 
 
 The bitterness at his heart was cruel. The 
 horse he drove, the reins he held between his 
 knees, the lovely midday country on either 
 side, the calls of the late birds, the peace and 
 charm of the land as they drove through, the 
 dear, kind little creature at his side, whatever 
 joy and goodness there might have been in 
 it all blotted itself out, and he suffered with 
 jealousy at the thought of another man's wife 
 in the company of yet another man. He 
 couldn't help it ; he didn't call up a lot of moral 
 strength to fight against it ; he was flying before 
 153
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 it, and for some time he let himself chafe and 
 suffer. No doubt he didn't understand her at 
 all, this older, beautiful woman, who awakened 
 as well his admiration and his chivalry. She 
 knew life a great deal better than he did; she 
 understood it ; she knew what she wanted, and 
 as far as he was concerned, of course, he wasn't 
 in her consideration at all. No, there was no 
 doubt about that. Why should he be? A 
 bitter smile curved his young lips as he thought, 
 and the brightness died out, leaving him pale 
 and gray, the lines set and hardened. 
 
 He couldn't bear it, he wouldn't bear it. 
 She loved hunting, she had said she did, she 
 had talked about this meet for weeks, she was 
 the best rider on the field, she had a bully 
 horse, there was no reason why she shouldn't 
 have got the brush, and she must have wanted 
 the trial. Why should she knock off with that 
 man and spend her hunting morning in a farm- 
 house with him? If her husband took it easily 
 well, that was Bathurst's business; as far 
 154
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 as John Bennett was concerned he had no right 
 to her, anyway; to her he was nothing but a 
 foolish boy. It was none of his business, and 
 he wasn't going to let it make him suffer like 
 this; he was going to kill it right now. He 
 wouldn't take it home and sleep with it another 
 night, this unsatisfied, dreadful love. He was 
 going to set himself free. 
 
 The idea of leaving Bathurst House in the 
 morning with nothing to fill his mind, with 
 nothing to help him in his sacrifice, was impos- 
 sible. 
 
 "See !" Miss Forsythe broke in, "there ahead 
 of us in the road is a squirrel. Isn't he pretty ?" 
 
 Cynthia's hands were clasped in her lap, 
 her charming face was as sweet as a brier rose. 
 With a tremendous impulse, which he pushed 
 on by all his force of character and by his great 
 need of help and comfort and support, John 
 said: 
 
 "I can't tell you how horribly I felt about 
 last night, Miss Forsythe." 
 155
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 The girl's face dyed a vivid scarlet. 
 
 "Please don't speak of it," she said. 
 
 "I will," John replied. "When I came out 
 on Bathurst I felt like wringing his neck, and 
 I didn't do anything but go back into the 
 library and watch him drink, and then help him 
 to his room; you see, I couldn't, that's the 
 truth. He's been very decent to me, and the 
 only thing I wanted to do is to get out of his 
 house." 
 
 "Oh, really!" she exclaimed. "Do you feel 
 so strongly as that ?" 
 
 "Yes," said John. "I feel just that way, and 
 I'm going to-morrow and no later." 
 
 She made no answer to this. 
 
 "Next week," Bennett went on, "I'm start- 
 ing out West. As I told you before, I don't 
 know whether you take any interest in it or 
 not I'd like to think you do I'm going to 
 start right in there to make some money. I've 
 got a little opening, and I guess I can pull 
 through." 
 
 156
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 "Of course," Cynthia said, and he could hear 
 that she was breathing fast. "Of course you'll 
 pull through, you're that kind. You know you 
 said that everything came your way you 
 wanted." 
 
 Bennett started to speak, but just then, not 
 very far distant, came the silver note of the 
 hunting-horn. He gathered up his reins, spoke 
 to the horse, touched him with the whip, and 
 they flew along the road, scattering the squir- 
 rels to flight, turned a curve which brought 
 them out to an open view, and there, a little be- 
 low them, down over the valley from their little 
 eminence, they saw the dots of scarlet, and the 
 flying hunters pushing toward a single point. 
 
 "Poor fox!" Miss Forsythe said, "I think 
 they've run him down." 
 
 "Do you know," Bennett said excitedly, "I 
 believe we are at the kill. See, the whole lot 
 of them are stopping there. Hear the dogs!" 
 
 She leaned a little forward, and stood up 
 by his side, holding on to the buggy seat. As 
 
 157
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 she stood so John Bennett turned about and 
 looked up at her. It was very hard to find 
 just the words. He might have said, "Look 
 here, I want you to help me to pull my life 
 straight." If he had done so Cynthia Forsythe 
 would have understood. 
 
 John said, "Will you marry me?" 
 
 It was sudden and entirely unexpected. The 
 words in all the world that Cynthia Forsythe 
 wanted to hear were said by the right man. 
 She stood firmly in the buggy, tightened her 
 lips, and, incapable of making them say what 
 she wanted, she only shook her pretty head. 
 
 Overwhelmed with surprise, John said, "Do 
 you mean to say that you turn me down?" 
 
 The girl sank back on the seat from which 
 she had just risen. 
 
 "Please don't ask me," she whispered. 
 "Please I must say no." 
 
 Nothing could have surprised him more. 
 His first sensation was one of foolish anger, 
 dreadful anger against her; then he remem- 
 158
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 bered that she was a flirt. He had thought she 
 loved him, that his suit with her was as good 
 as won, that he had only to ask to make her 
 marry him. 
 
 He started his horse, not once turning his 
 eyes to the field or to the gathered hunters 
 at the kill. They drove along for some time 
 in perfect silence. The girl's heart beat so 
 hard that John might have heard it. He heard 
 nothing, however, but his own foolish resent- 
 ment and wounded pride. Everything was 
 against him, nobody wanted to have anything 
 to do with him. For the first time a sense of 
 unhappy discouragement came over his young 
 heart. Tallahoe was a cursed place to him; 
 he had made one dreadful blunder; he had 
 fallen into a deplorable snare, and now he had 
 made an ass of himself again. 
 
 These were his first feelings, and before he 
 
 could follow them logically out and turn again 
 
 and properly press his suit, as he should have 
 
 done, they both heard behind them a call 
 
 159
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Across Miss Forsythe's refusal came the 
 charming voice of Mrs. Bathurst. 
 
 "Hello!" she cried gaily. "Hello, you two!" 
 And the next moment she had ridden beside the 
 buggy. In her scarlet coat and small hat she 
 reined her horse directly by Bennett's side. 
 
 "I'll ride home with you, if you don't mind. 
 Have you seen the meet ? Wasn't it mean that 
 I had to drop out ? I thought I'd catch up, but 
 it's too late now. Wasn't it a pretty sight ?" 
 
 Bennett looked up at her, and her face, bril- 
 liant, sparkling, and her voice, made him with 
 one great throb of his heart thank Heaven 
 that the little girl at his side had "turned him 
 down." 
 
 160
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
 THERE was a hunt dinner that night at 
 Bathurst house, and a ball, and young 
 Bennett was the only man in a black coat 
 he wouldn't wear the pink because he had 
 flunked the meet. As well, not dancing, he 
 felt himself to be a rank outsider, but for 
 nothing in the world would he have sneaked 
 up-stairs and missed what sight he could get 
 of his hostess. 
 
 He was grateful to Miss Forsythe for not 
 coming down to the ball. He had learned from 
 Peter, Junior, that she was "seedy" again and 
 not to appear; otherwise, he had decided that 
 the only decent thing for him to do would 
 be to leave Tallahoe and go on to Buffalo. 
 This, as he expressed it, would have made him 
 wild ; he wanted to see his hostess, and she was 
 161
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 well worth looking at this night. The violet 
 color of her gown became her well, its sheath 
 of rich tone brought her firm white flesh into 
 the fairest contrast. She wore pearls pear- 
 shaped drops of them in her ears, a collar of 
 them with bands of diamonds, and there was 
 a velvet sumptuousness, a regal look about her 
 that every one of her guests admired. The 
 Buffalo papers next day spoke of her as 
 "queenly," and mentioned that Worth had 
 made Mrs. Bathurst's dress for the hunt ball. 
 
 Nicholas Pyrnne, whom she had left to eat 
 humble pie alone in the farm-house, when she 
 had ridden off to join the young people in their 
 buggy, said to her when they had finished 
 dancing : 
 
 "I'm going back to Albany to-morrow, Vir- 
 ginia, and I'm not going to see you any more." 
 
 "You're rather a coward, my poor Nicho- 
 las." 
 
 He smiled* not seeming to have heard her 
 call him so. 
 
 162
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
 "At any rate, unless you send for me, I 
 shan't be around again." 
 
 Pyrnne waited with her near the musicians, 
 between the dances. 
 
 "Don't boast," Mrs. Bathurst said; "you 
 must never say to the fountain, 'I won't drink 
 of your waters.' ' 
 
 "I shall not, however," Pyrnne repeated, 
 "see you any more unless you need me, and 
 then you know, Virginia, you have but to send 
 the word." 
 
 "Tell me," she asked abruptly, "do you think 
 that Peter has been flirting with Cynthia 
 Forsythe?" 
 
 Nicholas shrugged without answering. 
 
 "She's been in a state of nerves, and al- 
 though I've tried tactfully, I couldn't find out 
 what was the matter with her!" 
 
 Her friend smiled. "Why, I told you the 
 other night that she was in love with Bennett !" 
 
 "I'm responsible for her to her mother," she 
 replied. 
 
 163
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Nonsense, my dear lady! You can't turn 
 a pretty girl of twenty loose and make a hand- 
 some woman of " 
 
 "Don't mind me!" laughed Mrs. Bathurst. 
 "I was afraid my husband had annoyed her." 
 
 And Nicholas said coolly: "I think it's 
 more than likely that he has." 
 
 She flushed. "How horrid of him, how dis- 
 gusting!" 
 
 Here the partner who was to dance with her 
 crossed the floor. It was her husband, well- 
 groomed, well-dressed, with the important 
 swagger of the man who runs the show. He 
 might well be proud of the leading lady, and 
 he was proud of her, she was superb. He had 
 been temperate at dinner in order to dance 
 with her, and he was steady now. 
 
 As Pyrnne left them together, Bathurst said 
 to his wife: "You wore that war-paint in the 
 queen's drawing-room, didn't you?" 
 
 "I believe so ;" her voice had several qualities 
 in it, and the one she used for her husband 
 164
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
 Peter could flatter himself was all his own. 
 She slipped her hand in his arm and crossed 
 the room with him. 
 
 "Have you bothered Cynthia since she's 
 been here, Peter?" 
 
 It was an unwelcome question, beautiful as 
 she was, charming him as she did. 
 
 "Curse that blabbing fool !" he said brutally. 
 "I'll kick him out of my house yet." 
 
 "Whom do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean that Bennett boy; he told you." 
 
 "He told me nothing nothing. But it 
 seems there is something to tell." 
 
 "Oh, don't get tragic!" he returned, shrug- 
 ging. "I did kiss her, that's all, and Bennett 
 saw me. Where's the crime?" 
 
 Controlling her disgust, his wife repeated : 
 "If John saw you, he was too discreet to speak 
 about it. It hasn't any importance, as you say. 
 Cynthia couldn't hide the fact from me that 
 something unpleasant had happened." 
 
 "Well," repeated Bathurst, twisting his 
 165
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 mustache, "it ain't a crime, is it ? You oughtn't 
 to fill your house with pretty girls." 
 
 "It's not even worth a discussion," said his 
 wife, "excepting that she's under my care." 
 
 "Well, she's nothing to me!" said the host 
 brutally. "She's nothing but dough; they all 
 are but you, and you don't think I'm fit to 
 throw a bone to." 
 
 The waltz had begun. "Shall we dance?" 
 he asked almost politely. And with anger 
 against her beauty and her hauteur, and know- 
 ing that there was more than one man in Tal- 
 lahoe who envied him, he put his arm around 
 his wife and led her out on to the floor. 
 
 The dinner had been an early one and the 
 dancing was short. As the household had had 
 a strenuous day, the guests went early. 
 
 Bennett had sulked through the evening, 
 giving himself up to his moods, watching the 
 passing of the beautiful figure of his hostess, 
 feeling miserable and disheartened. Early in 
 the evening he went up-stairs to his room after 
 166
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
 bidding her good-by and thanking her, for 
 he had determined to go away on the first 
 train the following day. There was a cynicism 
 in his voice, and a look of weariness on his 
 face that at his age would have struck her as 
 being almost droll if she had not thoroughly 
 understood his state of mind. 
 
 He had barely closed his door for the night, 
 going into the room where she had nursed him 
 and where he had passed so many hours of real 
 unhappiness, when a knock fell, and he threw 
 the door open so wide and swiftly that it 
 showed how well he knew the sound and how 
 he welcomed it. Mrs. Bathurst was standing 
 there. 
 
 "Let me come in a minute, won't you? I'm 
 going to sit down and talk to you a bit." 
 
 Looking as though he would forbid her, the 
 face of the blond young man flushed and his 
 half -sullen expression did- not change. Her 
 frankness, her kind nod to him, her coming as 
 she did when all the house was rustling by in 
 167
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 the corridors to rest, her clear, sweet voice as 
 she called him John showed how maternally 
 she thought of him like this she would have 
 gone in to see Jack and Junior at the end of 
 the day. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst took her place in his big 
 leather chair, over by his bureau, close to his 
 outlay of simple toilet articles. As she talked 
 to him her fingers touched the toilet -cover ; 
 one by one she lightly touched the little articles, 
 the ebony button-hook, the shoe-horn. They 
 were sacred to him from that night. 
 
 The dark folds of her lustrous dress fell 
 about her on the floor. Against the chair her 
 head melted into the shadow. There was a 
 little light behind her and out of it her face and 
 her white neck and arms gleamed. 
 
 "You haven't been quite frank with me." 
 
 Bennett stood rigidly before her. She was 
 quite right there! Frank with her? "Jove!" 
 he thought, "I wonder what she'd say if I 
 should be frank!" 
 
 168
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
 "You don't mind my coming in, do you, 
 like this, as I would go to Jack or Junior?" 
 
 He was able to assure her that he did not 
 mind. 
 
 "You see, we've talked quite a lot about 
 things together, while you were convalescing, 
 and you took me into your confidence a little, 
 didn't you? So you won't think I'm prying 
 or curious only friendly, if I want to know a 
 little about your plans before you go? Sit 
 down ; let's talk for a quarter of an hour." 
 
 He took his place in the chair next hers 
 and tried to listen to what she said, and to 
 think of what she was saying. They had 
 begun this day together; when she had come 
 down-stairs she had found him in the mists of 
 the morning. It seemed that they were going 
 to close the day side by side. There was some- 
 thing awfully sweet about it. 
 
 "You've been too kind for anything," he 
 managed to tell her, "and you know how I feel 
 about it, every bit." 
 
 169
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Oh, taking care of you was more fun than 
 anything I've known for a long time," she 
 answered affectionately, looking at him with- 
 out the shadow of any feeling but pure kind- 
 ness. "I played trained nurse pretty well, 
 didn't I ? I loved it ! But I don't think you've 
 been quite fair! I mean to say, you let me 
 be an awful bore with my advice when you 
 were ill and all the time you were laughing 
 
 % 
 
 in your sleeve !" 
 
 "Oh," the young fellow exclaimed, shocked, 
 "I never did such a thing! I wanted to hear 
 everything you thought. If I've had any plans 
 they haven't been worth mentioning." 
 
 He was not the kind to make a dash for 
 sympathy; his friend knew it. Sitting there 
 before her, big and strong, his beautiful head 
 well placed on young shoulders whose strength 
 had never been tried, she thought of him as 
 a boy disappointed in first love, too proud to 
 show his hurt. 
 
 "You're really going West, directly?" 
 170
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
 "I shall see Doctor Brainard, first, and 
 talk with him." He gave a half -embarrassed 
 laugh. "None of my plans is cast iron !" 
 
 "I wish you'd talk with Nicholas Pyrnne," 
 Mrs. Bathurst suggested cordially; "he's an 
 awfully good adviser." 
 
 "I wouldn't bother anybody; that western 
 job's a sure thing for a fellow with a little 
 capital. But it's perfectly bully of you to 
 care," he added gratefully. 
 
 The door was open, and in the hallway he 
 heard Jack and Junior go by, and the latter 
 stuck his head in. 
 
 "Giving John a curtain lecture? You'd 
 better listen to her, Bennett; she's a corker; 
 and if she tells you not to, you'd better not! 
 She knows!" 
 
 Junior withdrew his head and the curtain 
 dropped its folds. His were the last steps to 
 pass the door. 
 
 The lady asked a few practical questions 
 about John's plans, questions which, with 
 171
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 averted eyes, the young chap answered as well 
 as he might. His mind was too overwhelmed 
 by the consciousness of her to be lucid on any 
 other subject. He was saying to himself: 
 "In just about a minute she'll get up and go 
 she'll be gone." 
 
 And in a few minutes she rose. As he got 
 up heavily out of his chair he raised his eyes 
 to her, and she saw in them a dumbness of 
 misery which she took to be his disappointed 
 love for Cynthia Forsythe. She had not been 
 able yet to bring herself to speak of the subject. 
 John was too silent, he was too shy. Once or 
 twice she had thought, "The poor boy hasn't 
 known how to make love, that's the trouble." 
 
 There was a divine kindness in her face as 
 she stood there, and he felt that he was a bore 
 to be so silent before her, so unresponsive. 
 She didn't dream the fiery struggle that was 
 going on in him and that he was blind with 
 the rush of his senses deafened by the cry 
 within him, and weakened with the effort to 
 172
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
 keep back from her ears the call of his young 
 being. But he must speak or she would think 
 him a fool. 
 
 "You've always been ripping to me, Mrs. 
 Bathurst, ever since I was a little kid." He 
 pointed over to the corner. "Ever since the 
 night when father's gun stood there, behind 
 the door." 
 
 She laughed. "Oh, dear," she exclaimed, 
 "you've no idea how amusing you were, how 
 funny. Why, you couldn't even thank me, 
 you were as red as fire." 
 
 "As red as my hair, I guess," Bennett said, 
 a little bitterly. "Well, I can't thank you now, 
 either. You've been a perfect brick." 
 
 These were far from being the words which 
 his heart suggested. These hurt him they 
 were wrung out of him; he had other things 
 to say things that came imperiously words 
 he didn't know before were in the vocabulary 
 and that he had never used. He was being 
 taught by passion. But he held and forced the 
 173
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 endearments back, and put lame, clumsy 
 phrases in their place. Always smiling, with 
 the delightful little crinkles around her mouth 
 and eyes and the cleft in her chin which John 
 adored, Virginia Bathurst said: "You've 
 nothing whatsoever to thank me for, John 
 Bennett; I'm naturally glad you're well and 
 able to go. But I'd like to feel that you went 
 away happy. Of course, I know you'll be 
 successful. I shall miss you." 
 
 He said "Oh," under his breath. The cur- 
 tain fell before the open door, and though no 
 sound whatsoever could be heard from his 
 room in the hall, she had dropped her voice. 
 
 She came near him put that beautiful hand 
 of hers on the sleeve of his coat. 
 
 "My dear boy," she said very sweetly, "don't 
 think I'm an awful meddler; and you haven't 
 said a word to me, but I know you'll forgive 
 my asking " 
 
 He had never been so near her ; things began 
 to come true. The stuff which his daring
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
 imagination had cut into, the woof of his day- 
 dreams and night dreams was beginning to 
 be real. . . . Her dress held her lightly, it 
 almost touched him; her lips, her arms, her 
 bare, beautiful neck; the lines of her throat, 
 her chin, the cleft in it, the rare bloom of her 
 coloring, the perfume of her, the fragrance of 
 her, the woman she was. "She smiled at me 
 like that," memory said, "when I was a boy." 
 
 "I don't like to think you're having a hard 
 time," she was going on, "but I don't want to 
 intrude on your confidence, John." 
 
 He murmured: "I don't know what you 
 mean." 
 
 No, he wouldn't look at her any more. Trie 
 sense of her hand on his sleeve went to his 
 very flesh. 
 
 "You see, Cynthia's here in my care and 
 she's told me." 
 
 He broke the spell violently. "She did 
 did she? Well, that's all right." 
 
 His friend looked startled. "Wfiy, you 
 175
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 bear it splendidly. Of course you would. She's 
 a dear, she's a darling ; you know I wanted her 
 for Jack, but of course we've given that up 
 long ago. She's very young; don't give up 
 hope, don't take this as definite." 
 
 The young man she was consoling said 
 rapidly : 
 
 "Oh, but I do, I do take it definitely ! She 
 can't go back on her word now !" 
 
 His tone, his manner was so unexpected 
 that her hand dropped from the arm of the 
 inconsolable lover. 
 
 "Oh, you mustn't let it make you bitter, 
 John. Why, just think how men have waited 
 and" 
 
 He thrust his hands behind his back and 
 clenched them there. 
 
 "It doesn't seem to be any secret," he said, 
 "since Miss Forsythe has told you. I did ask 
 her to marry me and she refused, and I've 
 never been so glad of anything in my life." 
 
 Virginia looked at him in despair; she Had 
 176
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
 come warm from the confidence of the pretty 
 girl who had cried in her arms. 
 
 "Why, you don't care for her !" 
 
 "Not a rap." 
 
 "Really!" She looked at him astonished. 
 
 "I was an ass," John said heartily ; "I don't 
 know why I made such a fool of myself! Of 
 course, if she had accepted me I would have 
 stood by, but I don't care a thing for any girl 
 alive." 
 
 She laughed softly in spite of herself, the 
 adorable laugh of a woman who knows life 
 and understands, and who is amused by a fresh 
 experience. 
 
 "Really, John, you're perfectly shocking. 
 Why, you're a cruel flirt! You mustn't do 
 such things; above all not with a girl like 
 Cynthia." 
 
 And he agreed with feeling. 
 
 "You can bet I won't; the next girl might 
 take me." 
 
 "I'm almost angry with you," she went on 
 177
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 seriously, and then she stopped, for she didn't 
 want him to think for a moment that .Cynthia 
 was unhappy. She put out her fiand .indul- 
 gently. 
 
 "Good night, you bad boy. I came to con- 
 sole you, I thought you were in the blues. I 
 wonder if you are quite frank with me?" Then 
 she added, "But I don't think you need me." 
 
 "I do need you." 
 
 He didn't know the voice that spoke, nor did 
 Virginia, and she didn't know, as these words 
 passed his lips, the man who stood in the place 
 of John Bennett. 
 
 "I don't need anything else or want anything 
 else." 
 
 She paled and looked at him startled; then, 
 mistress of the situation, tried to smile. She 
 put her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Foolish boy," she murmured, "foolish boy." 
 
 But the boy had gone, and the man, swayed 
 by the passionate tide of life, the vast ocean 
 rising in his heart, was not to be withstood. 
 178
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
 Without another word of protest he put his 
 arms around her and poured on her face and 
 eyes the kisses he had dreamed of, with all the 
 ardor of his first love. He rained his kisses 
 on her face, on her lips, her eyelids, and her 
 lips again, and sighed as into a bed of flowers. 
 Afterward and here he lingered on the 
 memory he could not dream otherwise than 
 that she bore his passion gently gently! but 
 as he feasted and murmured the words that 
 called her dear, she made herself free, pushed 
 him from her, and fled from hin\ leaving him 
 dazed, bewildered, triumphant. 
 
 179
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 MEDITATIONS 
 
 MRS. BATHURST gained her own room 
 and, sitting down on her divan, cov- 
 ered her face with her hands. Although there 
 was no one to see her, and only the familiar 
 objects of her own room were around her, 
 she had the sensation of being acutely ob- 
 served, and she blushed, and her eyes grew 
 young again, like a girl's. 
 
 "I've never been so surprised in my life, 
 never!" She laughed a little, and her laugh 
 was tremulous, and she gave a long sigh. 
 
 "John Bennett, that little boy, that boy! 
 How dare he? Why, he's mad! How per- 
 fectly ridiculous!" 
 
 So she spoke of it to herself, but her light 
 words and this attitude of mind regarding 
 her sudden whirlwind of experience were not 
 1 80
 
 MEDITATIONS 
 
 the real emotions the young man's daring had 
 roused. If it had been madness that had made 
 him do what he had done, it was the sweetest 
 lunacy, there was no doubt about it As 
 though she still felt the caresses that had rained 
 on her, she passed her hand over her brow and 
 cheek, over her neck, and flushed again. Her 
 words to Nicholas Pyrnne on the horse-show 
 grounds came back to her: "A red-headed 
 boy! Why, he's a man, my dear Nicholas, a 
 beautiful man!" And this was what John 
 Bennett had grown to be; he had matured 
 terribly, marvelously, and in the knowledge 
 that he had showered on her the first love of 
 his heart there was something so beautiful 
 that her own heart thrilled. How wild of him ! 
 How bold of him! How dare he? 
 
 She would not see him again he would go 
 to-morrow at two o'clock. 
 
 "Of course, he'll write me a long letter. I 
 foresee what it will be like, full of apologies, 
 of prayers for pardon; he will think he has 
 181
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 insulted me in my own house, he'll be dread- 
 fully ashamed. Poor John !" 
 
 She had gone in to talk to him in the friend- 
 liest manner, to encourage him about Cynthia. 
 She wanted to give him hope, and her con- 
 solation had not been needed. What a shock- 
 ing flirt he was! Why, he didn't care at all 
 for Cynthia. And now where she had said 
 "Poor John!" she said "Poor Cynnie!" with 
 greater enjoyment of the adjective. 
 
 The girl's image faded out, and nothing but 
 John remained in the foreground, and stayed. 
 She saw him as he sat before her in his room, 
 with glowing eyes that eluded hers. They 
 were a boy's eyes still. She had seen tears on 
 those lashes years ago ; she had watched them 
 when Bennett was delirious at the Big Tree 
 Inn, and she had then, in taking care of him, 
 learned every line of the young face, every 
 turn and molding of that beautiful head with 
 its strong, close-growing hair, reddish at the 
 ends, and the determined chin and the fresh 
 182
 
 MEDITATIONS 
 
 lips. The face was a boy's face still. Of what 
 had he been thinking as she had talked to him 
 to-night ? His reserve and his silence she had 
 found disconcerting, and now, as she realized 
 that all that time he had been thinking of her 
 in such a manner, she glowed through and 
 through. 
 
 She had done very wrong to go in on him 
 like this; she had been wrong throughout in 
 taking nothing but his youth into account, and 
 he was evidently ages older than Jack and 
 Peter, Junior. During their times together in 
 his sick-room it had been a pleasure to talk to 
 him. Simple as his mind was, poor conversa- 
 tionalist as he was, his tastes were so clean and 
 vigorous, and she had planned for him and 
 thought for him more than she knew. 
 
 He stood up before her now as she mused, 
 like a youthful Adam, and there was a light 
 about him, a radiance. She had thought he 
 didn't know how to win Cynthia Forsythe, or 
 how to make love. He wasn't the novice she 
 183
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 had fancied. He had learned very perfectly 
 and very suddenly. He had been like primeval 
 man in his daring, and she was too real a 
 woman not to be touched by his passion. 
 
 As she mentally approached a danger-point, 
 John's altered voice seemed again to say to 
 her, "I do need you! You're the only one I 
 need." And the blood began to dye her throat 
 and cheek. For half a second her heart rocked 
 as though it were in a cradle, swung by the 
 biggest forces of the world. She said aloud 
 in her silent room, "No, John Bennett, you 
 don't need me, and I'm the one thing in the 
 world that you mustn't want that you mustn't 
 want." 
 
 She rose, as if she hoped by walking up 
 and down the room very fast to dispel the 
 dangerous emotions that were gaining way, 
 She unfastened the jewels from her hair and 
 neck and ears, and, denuded of her ornaments, 
 looked defiantly in her dressing-glass. 
 
 "Heavens!" she confessed, "it won't be long 
 184
 
 MEDITATIONS 
 
 before I'm an old woman. How ridiculous! 
 Have 1 lost my last remnant of common sense ? 
 I ought to be ashamed of myself." 
 
 But, her jewels put aside, the bodice of her 
 violet dress lying like a mass of flowers on 
 the chair, the heavy skirt trailing across the 
 sofa, half dressed, she fell once again to 
 dreaming. She did not see her own beauty, re- 
 flected in the glass before her, for looking over 
 her bare shoulder the young face of John Ben- 
 nett was imaged. This was what his silence had 
 meant, then ! This was why he was always at 
 her side. She remembered that he had threat- 
 ened to ride for the sole reason that it might 
 arouse her interest, and continued to remember 
 with amused tenderness the manifold indica- 
 tions of his growing sentiment. 
 
 Only last year she had told herself that she 
 was sick of sentiment, that there wasn't a man 
 in the world who could rouse any feeling in 
 her but disgust. Her life with her husband, 
 the series of flirtations in Europe, the courting
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 of men of the world, the stale eternal phrases, 
 they had palled on her; they all had said the 
 same thing more or less well. She was a 
 woman made to win men's admiration and to 
 arouse desire, and now, on her return, Nicholas, 
 with his old fidelity, had renewed his old suit 
 She had felt like a cliff against which the waves 
 had beaten for a long time, and their touch and 
 their song were cold to her, and now suddenly 
 all the landscape promised to burst into the 
 bloom of May, the cliff's sides to adorn them- 
 selves with bloom, and the sea, like a summer 
 sea, smiling, beautiful, promised to mirror 
 the flowers. 
 
 "He must not love me," she said. "If he 
 really loves me, he must cease to do so." And 
 she tried to think of it as only the natural out- 
 come of his long propinquity to her, as a pass- 
 ing fancy that would soon die away. 
 
 "He will go to-morrow; I won't answer 
 his letter. There'll be the question in his mind 
 that he has offended me, then he will forget." 
 186
 
 MEDITATIONS 
 
 But the persistence of her remembrance 
 of those last few moments in his room forced 
 her, frightened her into knowing that John 
 Bennett did more than fancy her, and that not 
 only passion ran through those furtive, seek- 
 ing, wonderful caresses, but love. Here again 
 she put one hand above her eyes. "Oh, dear !" 
 she murmured like a girl, "why, it's quite 
 terrible, isn't it? If he really is going to begin 
 like this, where will he end, poor dear? He 
 knows so wonderfully how to care." 
 
 What had she been thinking of? How blind 
 she had been! Why, she had been culpable 
 toward him, culpable. Of course, she wouldn't 
 make a tragedy out of it. Her husband kissed 
 girls under her roof, John had kissed many a 
 girl before; and, singularly enough, it didn't 
 amuse her to think about it, although she knew 
 perfectly well he had never given himself like 
 this. Still, she wouldn't even make a point of 
 it. He would go, and she would laugh at 
 him, figuratively, and it would all be over. 
 187
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Of course he would conquer and win new 
 fields, and marry marry soon 
 
 A bitter smile came to her lips, and here her 
 reverie brought her up to the one thing she 
 wanted to avoid, her own part of it. If she 
 could only forget herself now, leave, dismiss 
 the thought of John Bennett and his young 
 ecstasy, really laugh at it, be indulgent, pardon 
 if such a word were in the case and for- 
 get. . . . 
 
 Virginia sighed, and, rising from her toilet 
 table, completed her preparations for the night. 
 
 But before she could decide to put out her 
 light, the musing woman found that she was 
 absolutely called on to reckon with this horrid 
 self that, unless it is forgotten, keeps the 
 human being from peace. She confessed now 
 that she had been thinking about John Bennett 
 for weeks; she had been selfish with him and 
 she had mentally and sentimentally kept him to 
 herself. Here was a lovely girl under her roof 
 with whom he would undoubtedly have fallen 
 1 88
 
 MEDITATIONS 
 
 in love if he had not been brought into con- 
 templation of the older woman's more subtle 
 charms. 
 
 But this, her own condemnation of her con- 
 duct, of her thoughtlessness, possibly, was not 
 what she dreaded she was a big-hearted, 
 large-minded woman, and could pardon others 
 and pardon herself. That wasn't the question. 
 Nothing in her life had been so dear as the 
 nursing of John Bennett. No presence under 
 her roof had been so bright and so dear to her 
 as his. She had never had a child, and he 
 didn't seem like a son, but the charm of his 
 youth, of his good looks and his dearness had 
 made her forget all about the son she used to 
 long for; he made her happy. That was the 
 truth of it ; it had made her happy to have him 
 there, and, although there wasn't a moment 
 when she had acknowledged it, nothing had 
 made her happy at all for years and years and 
 years. 
 
 She sat on her bed in her white dressing- 
 189
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 gown, her arms folded across her lovely breast, 
 the stillness of the night around her, and there 
 wasn't a line of her, a bit of her, not beautiful 
 and not made for love. 
 
 "He will go to-morrow very early. I shall 
 be very angry with him and I shall never see 
 him again; I shall try not to see him again. 
 Why, I'm almost old enough to be his mother 
 and what am I going to do when he is 
 finally gone!" 
 
 Now she had brought herself up face to 
 face with something she wanted to say before 
 she tried to sleep. "What is he thinking now? 
 What is he doing now?" But she couldn't 
 linger with those thoughts. "I let him kiss 
 me, I didn't resist, I submitted to him. What 
 in Heaven's name does he think of me?" 
 
 She put out her hand and touched the light's 
 button and the welcome darkness came between 
 her and John Bennett's thoughts, whatever 
 they might be. 
 
 As the kind cloak fell across the room and 
 190
 
 MEDITATIONS 
 
 on her white figure and on her white bed 
 where John had gazed with such emotion a 
 few nights before, all was blotted out in the 
 darkness. Still she huddled musing there: 
 "That boy, that boy!" 
 
 Being never a woman of aimless medita- 
 tions, being a strong woman and a very real 
 one, unwilling to meet the problem which her 
 senses put before her, unwilling to let herself 
 relive again those moments in John's arms, that 
 now in the darkness and the night promised 
 to be a time of temptation sweet as it was 
 dangerous, Virginia Bathurst, with a mighty 
 will, thrust the memories back, back, bravely, 
 finely, and well. And she refused to answer 
 the great big question that pounded at her 
 heart. She couldn't cope with that question 
 to-night, neither could she admit the figure of 
 the man from whom she had run away. She 
 could not let John Bennett, big, beautiful 
 John Bennett, in ; neither could she do without 
 him. 
 
 191
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 She smiled in the darkness and her smile 
 was bewitching. If she could have seen how 
 the crinkles came around her lips and her 
 eyes! 
 
 "Foolish, foolish boy," and the word was a 
 wand by which she made to reappear the little 
 red-headed boy who stood between the cur- 
 tains in James Street house, who looked at 
 her with his eager eyes. So she saw him again, 
 and she had then known his heart and what 
 he yearned for, and she had decided to give it 
 to him, if it took a gold mine! Little John 
 Bennett came and sat beside her, grown fairy- 
 like, adorably small and safe, and she could 
 turn her lovely face toward him without fear. 
 Between them lay the corduroy hunting clothes, 
 and her hand rested on them and Virginia 
 Bathurst cried out to the vision : 
 
 "John Bennett, John Bennett, why did you 
 grow up? Why didn't you stay a little boy? 
 Now that you have grown up I don't know 
 what is going to happen to us both !" 
 192
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE WOMAN-HATER 
 
 THE soil of the state in which John 
 Bennett found himself and where he was 
 to strike his roots deep, if he expected to have 
 any kind of a harvest, was strange ground to 
 him. But he was an American and therefore 
 a citizen of the world, and he took his place 
 quickly. He bought a half interest in a lemon 
 ranch in the valley near Santa Barbara, and 
 cast his luck with a man from Boston, Bob 
 Furniss. 
 
 Any one to have seen Bennett standing be- 
 tween the doorway of the bungalow and the 
 lemon groves, in his riding breeches, his loose 
 white shirt, his sombrero under his arm and 
 his shining head bare any one to have seen 
 him standing so in a clear bright light, whist- 
 193
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ling as he viewed his orchard, would never 
 have thought him a victim of hopeless love. 
 
 His chum found him good company: an 
 all-round sport, sympathetic in every point of 
 view but one. He was not sympathetic on the 
 topic of women. Furniss couldn't interest his 
 partner in this subject. The other man claimed 
 to be a woman-hater. 
 
 The new partner of Chiluvista was five 
 years younger than Furniss, who had his own 
 affairs of the heart to occupy him and who 
 learned to keep his confidence to himself, for 
 Bennett was a very poor audience. 
 
 One night as the two men sat out in the 
 lucent dusk, the Bostonian, who prided him- 
 self on his tenor voice, sang bravely out into 
 the stillness of the evening: 
 
 "Believe me, if all those endearing young 
 charms." 
 
 In spite of the singer's enthusiasm and his 
 194
 
 THE WOMAN-HATER 
 
 theatrical phrasing of the old song, at the end 
 Furniss said : 
 
 "Bosh! Go out into the grove there and 
 curse, Johnny. You're a heathen. Jove, but 
 some woman must have turned you down 
 hard!" 
 
 His companion replied vaingloriously : "Let 
 me tell you that no woman ever said no to me 
 in her life!" 
 
 "It would have done you a rattling lot of 
 good if she had, I dare say," retorted Furniss. 
 And John stalked off, his figure soon lost 
 among the silver-leaved, pale-fruited trees. 
 
 The pungent air of the groves had sickened 
 him at first with its sweetness, and everything 
 had been bitter and hateful when he came out 
 to Chiluvista. He felt himself an outsider, and 
 a man doomed to be unhappy from his youth. 
 
 Before a month had gone by that very youth 
 
 had rebelled and Bennett regained his balance 
 
 with rather a discomforting ease! He hated 
 
 to acknowledge that he took real pleasure in 
 
 195
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 life, or in his riding and his work, and in 
 making a success of his venture, but surely 
 and kindly the air into which he breathed love 
 sighs began to make him new again. 
 
 Nevertheless, the woman-hater, in spite of 
 his undamaged health and spirits, was a lover 
 such as Bob Furniss would never be in all his 
 practical life. 
 
 The boy had gone mad on one subject, and 
 he would rather have cut down the luscious 
 groves with their mellow balls before their 
 time and have starved on a pile of the rotting 
 fruit than have let Furniss guess his malady. 
 
 The journey west, the long train travel in 
 which he had been carried like an inanimate 
 parcel, his arrival at Santa Barbara, his meet- 
 ing with Furniss, his rapid bargain, his settling 
 at the ranch, all had been performed by a man 
 enveloped in a mist of excitement, hardly con- 
 scious of the material world. 
 
 A fortnight or so went by before he really 
 woke up, and very early one morning, tired of 
 196
 
 THE WOMAN-HATER 
 
 lying staring at the gaining light, he threw on 
 his clothes and went outside and looked around. 
 
 Like a forest of elfin trees silver trees 
 where the pale fruit looked argent and the 
 leaves folded them around mistily, the lemon 
 groves stretched in regular squares and ob- 
 longs. There was a fortune in this vegetable 
 checker-board. Bennett and Furniss would be 
 rich if they waited long enough and had pa- 
 tience enough. When, he was a rich lemon 
 grower, would she care? 
 
 Their Mexican boy was rubbing down a new 
 horse in front of the stable shack, in the open. 
 Bennett put his hand on the warm, soft nose. 
 
 "Is that the mare Mr. Furniss bought yes- 
 terday? Got any name? Call her Ladybird." 
 
 In this way he re-created the horse he had 
 wantonly killed on that day, and himself came 
 to life with the new Ladybird. A little later 
 he sent this mare to Mr. Bathurst, and made 
 the gift so graciously that the gentleman actu- 
 ally accepted it without protest and was pleased. 
 197
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 But he never wrote to his lady, who waited 
 for the boyish apology in vain, for he didn't 
 ask to be forgiven. He had gone away in all 
 his triumph ; and if she remembered him at all 
 she was obliged to remember him as an ardent 
 delinquent 
 
 He didn't deny himself the pleasure of think- 
 ing of her in his exile, and he took her with 
 him everywhere. In the clear atmosphere of 
 Chiluvista she moved between the lines of lemon 
 groves, rode with him over the country on a 
 horse by his side ; she was like a girl with him, 
 the difference in their ages entirely vanished; 
 sometimes, drawing near in his fancy to this 
 visionary woman, the young man saw that she 
 had become so much of a girl that she almost 
 lost the resemblance to Virginia. 
 
 It was long before he forgot how he had 
 held her in his arms, and it broke his heart at 
 the end of two years to find that he couldn't 
 quite recall the perfume of her gown and that 
 the memory of the subtle scent had become 
 198
 
 THE WOMAN-HATER 
 
 as faint as flowers on a distant height whose 
 breath is only brought by some captious 
 breeze. 
 
 The young men's post was brought by the 
 Mexican boy at supper time. There was one 
 woman servant; but Furniss was vain of cer- 
 tain dishes that he cooked well, and he had 
 prepared a savory stew and hung affectionately 
 over the steaming dish waiting for John to 
 come to supper. 
 
 When he appeared and finally threw down 
 the letters, Bob put his hand authoritatively 
 over the 'pile. 
 
 "Now you're not going to look into those 
 until we are through with grub. It will be 
 the end if you begin on these." 
 
 But his partner had torn a newspaper open 
 and Furniss saw the color leave his tan, then 
 rush back again until the young man's temples 
 beat ; the sheet shook in his hand. He crumpled 
 it up and thrust it in his pocket. 
 
 Then he sat down to feed. 
 199
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 In the night the Bostonian was wakened 
 out of a sweet slumber by his companion call- 
 ing to him : 
 
 "Say, old man, I want to put something 
 straight I said to you to-day." 
 
 "What the deuce," growled the other, "are 
 you waking me up for?" 
 
 And his friend returned imperturbably, "I 
 told you no girl ever turned me down, didn't 
 I?" 
 
 Furniss rolled over. 
 
 "Well, it was a lie; I'd forgotten when I 
 said that. The only girl I ever asked to marry 
 me turned me down." 
 
 Furniss was breathing happily ; he had fallen 
 asleep again, but Bennett went tranquilly on : 
 "I wanted to set it straight, old man, I had to 
 set it straight." 
 
 He lay on his narrow bed, his arms above 
 
 his head, smiling into the dark. He wasn't 
 
 thinking of Cynthia Forsythe and his proposal 
 
 in the buggy; he was seeing with a painful 
 
 200
 
 THE WOMAN-HATER 
 
 vividness the older woman, the beautiful Mrs. 
 Peter Bathtirst. He saw her pearls in her hair 
 and around her throat, and the violet dress ; he 
 found now that he could perfectly recall its 
 touch and its perfume, as he could recall the 
 sweetness of the woman and the sense of her. 
 He held out his arms with a low cry in the 
 dark. 
 
 The next day, without any hesitation, John's 
 partner found and opened the newspaper which 
 the young man had left in his room. One 
 whole page of the supplement was devoted to 
 the picture of the celebrated Mrs. Peter Bath- 
 urst at Newport, whose husband had just been 
 elected to congress. Indifferent as such por- 
 traits usually are, this one was successful: the 
 pose was queenly, the face was alluring, and 
 Bob Furniss saw and felt the charm which had 
 made men Virginia's slaves all through her 
 life. 
 
 "Woke me up at three A. M. to gas to me/' 
 he grinned. "Talked about the other girl. 
 20 1
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Mrs. Peter Bathurst, of Syracuse. Why, that's 
 Bennett's own town. Poor Johnny," he 
 laughed, "poor old Johnny. He calls himself 
 a woman-hater!" 
 
 202
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE PRESENTIMENT 
 
 MRS. BATHURST, after passing the day 
 on the yacht where her husband offered 
 lobster, terrapin and champagne to a foreign 
 prince, came back to Newport alone by the 
 tender, for she had promised to ride before 
 dinner with a friend. 
 
 All the way in, all the way up to the Belfries, 
 as the Bathurst place was called, all during the 
 time when she was dressing for her ride, and 
 later, as she rode beside the Englishman, she 
 had a singular feeling of elation, a presenti- 
 ment of some awfully good luck. She told the 
 Marquis of Penhaven about it, and took the 
 augur to be all for herself. 
 
 "If you're in such good spirits," said the 
 marquis, "why don't you give me a little hap- 
 piness?" 
 
 203
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "I'm riding with you," Virginia replied. 
 
 "Unless it ends the way Browning's poem 
 does" 
 
 And she interrupted him: "For Heaven's 
 sake, don't ask me to end anything of Brown- 
 ing's!" 
 
 They had finished their ride and were on 
 their way back to the Belfries, and in a few 
 moments would come in full cry of their kind. 
 The marquis leaned over to his companion and 
 put his hand on the pommel of her saddle. 
 "Won't you give me one bit of hope? Give 
 me," the Englishman persisted, "the right to 
 go away happy." 
 
 Virginia listened almost eagerly, because she 
 hoped to hear in what he was saying some 
 sound which would tell her that the delight 
 which the day seemed to promise her was about 
 to declare itself, then she suddenly pushed his 
 hand away* There was nothing in what he 
 said out of the commonplace. She shook her 
 head and spoke to her horse, and the English- 
 204
 
 THE PRESENTIMENT 
 
 man, as he set the animal free, said savagely: 
 "I hope that Bathurst will drink himself to 
 death." 
 
 "If he did," Bathurst's wife responded 
 tartly, "it wouldn't make the least bit of dif- 
 ference between us. Please don't speak to me 
 of this again." 
 
 In the ride home there was nothing; there 
 was nothing in the brisk pace of their horses 
 that fetched them to the door of the Belfries, 
 to justify Virginia's exuberance. The fact 
 that she was making a man unhappy did not 
 cloud her sense of something good to come; 
 "the song of a secret bird" sang deliciously 
 deep down in her heart. 
 
 They crossed the big hall of the Belfries, 
 where several groups of her guests and visitors 
 sat around the tea tray, and the Marquis of 
 Penhaven left her side. Without going up- 
 stairs to bathe and dress, she went through the 
 wide-open door of the porch, which framed 
 a picture of the sea, and below the gray rocks 
 205
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 the waters spread away, a white yacht here 
 and there, like a midsummer butterfly on a 
 shining field. 
 
 There was a fresh breeze, and Virginia, with 
 her face turned toward the water, drank in the 
 salt perfume. The air touched her gently on the 
 brow and cheeks; she breathed in with delight 
 the peerless evening, warm with late summer 
 yet with autumn vigor on the wings of the 
 wind. 
 
 Down the far end of the porch, as she raised 
 her eyes, she saw a man standing, looking, as 
 she looked, out on the water. His back was to 
 her; he was bareheaded, his feet were set well 
 apart, his head thrown back. There were sev- 
 eral tall men in Newport, with shoulders like 
 Atlas. Virginia wondered which one of the 
 young fellows this was, then realized that there 
 was but one head like that in the world ! 
 
 She went quickly down the porch to the 
 visitor, and when there was not more than 
 two feet between them she had had time 
 206
 
 THE PRESENTIMENT 
 
 to undergo her sequence of emotions. She heard 
 him speak to her and she gave him her hand. 
 
 "Hello, John Bennett !" She tried to laugh, 
 and found that she couldn't quite make it as 
 natural as she wished to. "How d'you do; 
 where did you come from ? Do the boys know 
 you're here? Whom have you seen?" 
 
 "Nobody. I came out here to wait." 
 
 "Till some one discovered you?" 
 
 "Yes, till you did." 
 
 She could laugh now and had her voice in 
 hand. This was the happiness ! This was the 
 prophecy ! This was what had come with her 
 all the way in from the yacht ! 
 
 "How long have you been here?" 
 
 "About ten minutes." 
 
 "I've been riding," she nodded. "Do you 
 still ride?" 
 
 "I've almost lived on a horse for two years." 
 
 "How brown you are, how thin! How old 
 you've grown ! How you've changed !" 
 
 She was aware that he had not let her hand 
 207
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 free. She drew it away and began to settle her 
 stiff cravat and her hair. She took off her hat 
 and swung it on her arm. She bared her head 
 without coquetry, knowing that around the 
 brows there were little touches of gray. 
 
 "Do you know I haven't heard a word from 
 you in two years?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "but I've brought all 
 that mail with me. I'll read it to you some 
 day!" 
 
 "Tell me now. ... I believe you've got 
 some secret to tell." 
 
 She was taking him in as she smiled at him, 
 as though he had been a sailor boy just home 
 after a long cruise ; she looked at him as though 
 she wanted in one glance to read in his sun- 
 burned face and in his eyes the romances of 
 every port. 
 
 His eyes were blue as the sea, and a perusal 
 
 of the clear bright face was so devoid of result, 
 
 the curve of his beautiful lips, the lines of his 
 
 face told her so little, that she exclaimed 
 
 208
 
 THE PRESENTIMENT 
 
 humorously : "I believe you've been in prison, 
 or else that you're married." 
 
 Bennett replied: "I've been in prison all 
 right, although it was a big open-air one. As 
 the boys must have told you, if you cared to 
 ask, I've been West on my lemon ranch all this 
 time. You ought to know my partner; he's a 
 winner, Bob Furniss, from Boston. I want to 
 tell you all about it," he said eagerly, "from 
 start to finish. It's such a bully riding coun- 
 try " John came close to her. "It's been a 
 prison, but, though I could, I didn't dare come 
 out of it. I never rode but I wanted you to ride 
 there with me; I never took a breath of that 
 splendid air but I wanted you to breathe it 
 too." 
 
 He had taken both her hands in his big 
 tanned hand, with the rough callouses of the 
 reins across it. Her hand seemed to sink in his 
 like snow and to melt there. . . . 
 
 "I ran away like a coward and a thief. I 
 didn't want you to forgive me, so I didn't 
 209
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 write ; but all these months I've been living for 
 -for" 
 
 He didn't know how to press his advantage, 
 he was too new in love; her rising color, her 
 frown cut his words short. 
 
 "You'd better go back to your prison, John 
 Bennett, and to your ranch as soon as you 
 can." 
 
 But as he set her hands free he laughed gaily, 
 triumphantly, and the note of joy made her 
 tingle; for this sound had every element of 
 that happiness for which she had been waiting 
 all day. 
 
 210
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 DOCTOR BRAINARD was taking a short 
 vacation at his farm some sixty miles 
 up-country. There had been much typhoid 
 in Syracuse, and he felt the long siege and the 
 close battles with life and death, and he was 
 glad to get away. 
 
 He loved to put on a flannel shirt and a 
 straw hat and make hay with his men. It was 
 a second crop, and he reveled in the sunny 
 August atmosphere and in the peace of his 
 short vacation. Cut off from the town by 
 telephone, five miles from the post, Doctor 
 Brainard used to say that he ran up here like 
 a coward to get away from people who really 
 needed him. 
 
 He had been living this primitive existence 
 for several days, smoking a pipe or a good 
 211
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 cigar on the front porch of the rude farm- 
 house, and going to bed with the birds. He 
 took no medical books up to Home Farm, but 
 vegetated and dreamed at his ease in his arm- 
 chair in his little parlor. He had put the piano 
 in the best place in the house. He liked it 
 better up here in the country than he did in 
 Syracuse. At Home Farm there were no mem- 
 ories to jostle it, no one had ever been out here 
 at the red farm-house who could make him 
 jealous of Mrs. Bennett. He never opened the 
 instrument; it stood closed just as he had 
 bought it on the day of the auction. But on 
 this evening, after finishing his cigar, he got 
 out the key and unlocked the case and stood 
 for some time looking down at the keys until 
 they blurred before his eyes. 
 
 The hay had been cut that afternoon and 
 the perfume came in sweet and warm, redolent 
 with clover, and across the shorn meadows he 
 heard the men and women laugh and call, going 
 home. 
 
 212
 
 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 The childless bachelor had done his best for 
 the son of the woman he had faithfully loved 
 all his life. Standing by the open piano, he 
 waited now for the young man to arrive. The 
 buggy had gone "over town" to fetch him, for 
 a day or two before John had wired that he 
 wanted to come out and make a visit at the 
 farm. 
 
 The doctor's personal reveries had been 
 agreeable, but he didn't follow them on, but 
 gave himself up to thinking about John, whom 
 he hadn't seen for two years; and since John 
 had come suddenly East he had written the 
 doctor only once, to ask him for a considerable 
 loan of money. This was only the other day, 
 and John had been East some six weeks. 
 
 From where the doctor stood he could see 
 the road wind across the flat country between 
 the harvested fields, and caught sight of the 
 buggy bringing John from the station, as it 
 first declared itself a speck, and then growing 
 larger, finally rattled in at the gate and drew 
 213
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 up by the barn. The young fellow got out, 
 bigger, more tremendous than ever, and Doctor 
 Brainard, who was a small man, felt over- 
 powered. 
 
 "Hello, Doctor," the visitor wrung his 
 friend's hand hard. "Lord, but it's good to 
 smell that hay! And isn't it a bully evening?" 
 
 After supper, when he had wandered over 
 the farm, seen the live stock, had the horses 
 he liked best led out and looked over, when the 
 doctor had observed him furtively, looked him 
 over and made a mental note of "decided 
 nervous excitement" taken in his embarrassed 
 nonchalance, his altered ways, his undoubted 
 manhood, the two went together to the par- 
 lor, where candles had been put on the open 
 piano and where the servant had placed a 
 mass of sweet peas in a bowl. 
 
 "Sit there," the older man ordered, as he 
 might have told John to do when he was a boy 
 and home on his vacation. He made him sit 
 214
 
 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 with his red head and his handsome young face 
 against the light. 
 
 "Well," said the doctor pleasantly, "you 
 came East suddenly, didn't you? But you're 
 doing well on the ranch?" 
 
 "Pretty well." 
 
 "How did you leave things there?" 
 
 "Pretty good shape." 
 
 The curt sentences did not frighten Doctor 
 Brainard. 
 
 "But you didn't think the venture was all 
 that you expected ? What was the matter?" 
 
 "It isn't the ranch that eats up things. I 
 wanted this advance that I asked you for for 
 myself." 
 
 The young man sat on the window-ledge, his 
 hands around his knee. His friend remem- 
 bered the spendthrift gentleman of whom this 
 was the son, and wondered how the boy's 
 father would approach this affair of extrava- 
 gance. 
 
 The doctor cleared his throat. "You know 
 215
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 you haven't got an income to stand the strain 
 you're putting on it." 
 
 "I'm much obliged for the loan, sir," said 
 John evasively. 
 
 "You've been going the pace, I guess," but 
 the doctor smiled so affably as he said the 
 words that his hearer accepted them agreeably, 
 and returned: "Well, I've been running on 
 pretty well, Doctor." 
 
 "What is it, my boy? Cards?" 
 
 John hesitated. 
 
 "Oh little of everything! I've played a 
 lot of bridge, I've bought some horses, and it 
 costs to live." 
 
 "It costs me" his friend replied, "just four 
 thousand dollars a year to run the farm and 
 my town house; it cost your father thirty to 
 forty thousand, and he died a hundred thou- 
 sand in debt. I hoped very much that you had 
 set out on a different plan. But not to seem 
 to preach to you, for after all I'm nothing but 
 a friend, does this loan clear up things?" 
 216
 
 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 "Not by ten thousand dollars." 
 
 And here the young man got up and went 
 out of the room as if to avoid the doctor's 
 exclamation. 
 
 He leaned against one of the piazza, posts, 
 where the honeysuckle vine wound its green 
 leaves and hung its yellow bugles. As though 
 nothing had broken into their conversation of 
 a few moments since, when Brainard finally 
 came out, John said : 
 
 "I've been using my capital right along till 
 now. I haven't got anything left but the 
 ranch." 
 
 The older man, who had been mowing all 
 afternoon with his men in the hay-fields and 
 had felt only a delicious weariness, now experi- 
 enced a sense of burden, a great fatigue crept 
 over him. 
 
 John, by the honeysuckle vine close to the 
 post of the porch, straight and vigorous, did 
 not carry any perceptible burden, for it ap- 
 peared to have shifted over to the older shoul- 
 217
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ders, and when the doctor spoke again his voice 
 was keen. 
 
 "I suppose that I don't understand the set of 
 people you've been going with. Gamblers filch 
 you at their own tables, that's accepted. But 
 these people whose incomes are limitless let a 
 poor young fellow like you go along with them, 
 share their extravagance " 
 
 John turned sharply : "For God's sake," he 
 exclaimed, "drop it, Doctor. They haven't any- 
 thing to do with my extravagance; it's none 
 of their business what I spend, and if I want 
 to go with them, it's my own affair. Jack 
 Bathurst asked me to go on a yachting trip of 
 his as his guest they had to charter a new 
 boat, as theirs is being overhauled and I in- 
 sisted on sharing the expenses." 
 
 The doctor stared at him ; he took his glasses 
 off. 
 
 "My word!" he exclaimed. "Why, it doesn't 
 cost less than fifteen thousand to run such a 
 yacht for a few months." 
 ' 218
 
 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 "Just about that," said the young man mag- 
 nificently. 
 
 "A seventh of your fortune." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 And this time the doctor turned and walked 
 into the house. 
 
 The magnificent prodigal, with more or less 
 serenity, smoked by the honeysuckle vine, then 
 went down the path to the kitchen garden and 
 across the fields to the spring-house. He had 
 especially loved this corner as a boy. Cool 
 and deep and vocal and delicious, the caressing 
 gurgle over the stones of a shallow brook 
 caught his ear and gave him the same old thrill. 
 With its borders of cress and of spearmint 
 holding it round like a bouquet, the pool settled 
 and made its icy bowl. Across its limited sur- 
 face John saw the moonlight drift, and while 
 he stood there the harvest moon, yellow as but- 
 ter, golden as a metal globe, hung over Home 
 Farm. 
 
 John sat down on the grass, the farm-house, 
 219
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 warm and secure, back of him, the pool at his 
 feet He didn't think at all about the doctor, 
 whom he had pained and shocked and troubled ; 
 to his own tangled affairs he didn't give a 
 second of thought. Above his young head the 
 moon seemed to spin in the heavens, a bird 
 called clear in the small forest at his hand, 
 where he had hunted as a boy and dreamed of 
 jungles. He drew his breath with delight at 
 these happy memories. It would be the hunt- 
 ers' moon the following month, and he would 
 hunt with her, not forty miles away. This 
 time he wouldn't follow the scarlet coat as he 
 had done before, like a timid and suffering fool 
 he would know better how to live. 
 
 Memories of the yachting trip, just over, 
 came hard and fast on him heavenly days and 
 nights as beautiful as this and he kept his 
 recollections company until he realized that he 
 was sitting there alone in the grass, and he 
 sprang up with something like a cry of pain. 
 
 As he came back lazily toward the house, he 
 220
 
 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 heard some one playing at the piano. There 
 was no one there when he came in, though the 
 candles burned in their sticks and a sheet of 
 open music stood on the rack. John didn't 
 know that Doctor Brainard played. 
 
 The sheet of music read, "From Alfred 
 Brainard to Mary Poole." Why, that was his 
 mother's name and this had been her piano! 
 He remarked it for the first time and remem- 
 bered that Doctor Brainard had bought it at 
 the sale. 
 
 He stood before the old rosewood, laid his 
 hand caressingly on the stained keys and for 
 the first time thought of his mother with ten- 
 derness; his love for another woman made 
 him now approach all women in his mind with 
 the worship of a lover. The song on the rack 
 was the one his partner at Chiluvista had ever- 
 lastingly been humming. 
 
 "Believe me, if all those endearing young 
 charms." 
 
 221
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 John began very softly to play the opening 
 chords. He fingered the page through. With 
 the last note Doctor Brainard came back, look- 
 ing tired and pale. 
 
 "I guess we ought to be saying good night," 
 Bennett said with compunction. "These aren't 
 farm hours, are they, Doctor ?" 
 
 "I've been haying to-day and I'm stiff as a 
 poker. Your old room is all ready and the 
 lamp is lighted. There are screens in the win- 
 dow and you'd better keep them down. If 
 you'll put your clothes and boots out on a chair, 
 the girl will brush them for you." 
 
 Doctor Brainard took his guest in from his 
 boots to his bright head. 
 
 "You kicked the footboard out of your bed 
 the last time you slept there, John ! We never 
 put it back, so I guess you'll have length 
 enough. Good night." 
 
 The guest, bending his tall head under the 
 low door, went out; the doctor closed the 
 piano, folded up the song, and locked the in- 
 222
 
 I guess we ought to be saying good-night." Page 222
 
 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 strument. He was a sentimentalist. There 
 had been quite enough sacrilege on this night. 
 
 Just before his ward came in the doctor had 
 surprised his servant girl with her hands on 
 the keys, picking out a tune; and now John 
 had played his mother's song through. 
 
 The doctor shut the window and bolted it, 
 closed the front door and locked it, and went 
 up-stairs to bed. 
 
 223
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE RECKONING 
 
 JOHN stayed ten days at Home Farm, and 
 Doctor Brainard left him to his own de- 
 vices. Every morning the hired man took the 
 post in and carried with him a bulky letter, 
 written by the young lover. It had been easy, 
 so fascinatingly easy to cover page after page. 
 In older days, in colder days, how Bennett 
 envied the power and force that created those 
 words, how he yearned for it and with what 
 jealous regret ! He could have written all day 
 long. Instead, he took his passion out of doors 
 and walked with it, its magnificent sunny pres- 
 ence like an angel at his side. 
 
 He lay under the haystacks and read and 
 planned, and even began to rhyme and to make 
 verses. Everything that made him think of 
 224
 
 THE RECKONING 
 
 his finances he thrust away with irritation; he 
 wouldn't open Furniss' letters, and they lay 
 on his table with his bills. During the ten days 
 at Home Farm he never had one letter from 
 Mrs. Bathurst. But then, he hadn't dared 
 hope she would write to him; in a few days 
 the whole Bathurst family would be in Talla- 
 hoe, and he was booked to visit there. 
 
 The present John Bennett was very much 
 warped; he was out of line with part of his 
 nature and in perfect step with the sentimental 
 part. No young man in love is ever balanced. 
 The lunacy of love and its delirium all be- 
 longed to him now, and there wasn't an object 
 on any part of the globe that didn't revolve 
 under the sun of one woman's face; every- 
 thing else was in the dark. To John there was 
 but one pole, the universe hung loose from it. 
 
 During the ten days of his ward's stay Doc- 
 tor Brainard found that he had a very acute 
 case to study. He found himself saying once, 
 "Thank God, he's not my own son !" After he 
 225
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 had said this he discovered he didn't feel any 
 the less badly for the assertion. 
 
 Bennett delighted in doing over all the things 
 he had done at Home Farm when he was a 
 boy. 
 
 Coming in from a long day's fishing up- 
 stream, his big boots high on his thighs, his 
 rod hanging over his shoulder, a flapping 
 straw hat on his red head, he gave his straw 
 basket to the hired girl, who would have cooked 
 a whale for him if he had brought it in, and sat 
 down on the porch like a farmer's lad. The 
 doctor, not quite so limber as his ward, sat 
 down more stiffly on the low step. 
 
 When they had both lighted their pipes, 
 Brainard asked John : "What are you going 
 to do?" 
 
 The young man turned; his face had the 
 look of the morning on it, there wasn't a line 
 of care. As he looked then, some young god 
 might have looked just before he went to his 
 mistress. 
 
 226
 
 THE RECKONING 
 
 "Going to run down to New York to-mor- 
 row for a few days, then I guess I'll go on over 
 to the Valley ; I'm asked to stay there in several 
 places." 
 
 "I meant what are you going to do about 
 your business affairs?" 
 
 A slight wrinkle came over John's brow. 
 Until he found that he hadn't another dollar 
 in his pocket he would go on still hoping that 
 he might discover some bunch of unlooked-for 
 greenbacks in his top drawer. 
 
 "Guess I'll have to sell out to Furniss." He 
 serenely accepted his fate. 
 
 After a slight pause the doctor said medita- 
 tively, "I .remember the time when you wanted 
 to hire out as an errand boy at Hickson's. 
 And for a first-rate reason," the doctor went 
 on. "You had a sort of fine pride ; you didn't 
 want to be patronized. Your father was a 
 spendthrift, he spent his money like a prince, 
 but for some reason or" other he always seemed 
 to be acting the host." 
 
 227
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 His auditor stirred uneasily, and then asked : 
 "Do you mean that you think I sponge?" 
 
 The doctor found that he was as sensitive as 
 a woman before his task. 
 
 "To go about with millionaires everywhere 
 takes a large income. You have a very small 
 one." He looked down at the young fellow's 
 feet. John had drawn off his big boots. "Those 
 stockings," Brainard thought himself very 
 keen, "didn't cost you a cent less than two dol- 
 lars a pair." 
 
 Bennett's conscience gave him a twinge. 
 They had cost him six dollars, and he had a 
 dozen or more pairs of them. 
 
 "And I dare say," the doctor went on, "that 
 your general expenses are about on the same 
 scale. We're both men here together, and I 
 wasn't born yesterday, if I am an old bachelor." 
 
 The brightness died out of John's face. 
 
 "Have you your bills with you ?" 
 
 "The whole bunch." And he remembered 
 the day when at school he had carried in his 
 228
 
 THE RECKONING 
 
 pocket the florist's bill and his tailor's bill, and 
 how the doctor had come suddenly to tell him 
 about his inheritance. 
 
 "Money certainly is the deuce," John mur- 
 mured, and he took his pipe out of his mouth 
 and looked at it hopelessly, as if his own 
 fortunes were contained in the little bowl. 
 
 "In a lump sum, how much do you owe, 
 John?" 
 
 Bennett told him. 
 
 "How much have you left of your capital?" 
 
 The young man cleared his throat, took a 
 whiff at his pipe, which had gone out. He 
 turned about and laughed. 
 
 His friend's pipe was still red, and the doctor 
 smoked in the lingering sunlight, his eyes on 
 the peaceful fields. The man washed the buggy 
 in front of the barn door; the water splashed 
 on the whirring wheels ; John's fish was frying 
 in the kitchen, and the odor of soda biscuit 
 browning in the oven, came out, fragrant and 
 tempting. 
 
 229
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "The ranch," Bennett said "that is, my 
 share of it will more than pay up everything 
 I owe you, Doctor Brainard." 
 
 "I dare say. I expect it's a little too soon to 
 ask you what you've got out of all this sort 
 of thing." 
 
 "Lord," John tried to face the music. "A 
 fellow has got to live, a man must see the 
 world." 
 
 "Costs a great deal to go around it," said 
 the doctor. "There have been men who thought 
 they had done it in eighty days. I'm twice 
 your age, and I don't pretend to have seen 
 much more than Home Farm." 
 
 His eyes grew small under his heavy brows ; 
 he could not but think as he spoke of how 
 complete the world would have been right here 
 if! 
 
 Mary Poole's son got up, and with a good 
 
 deal of dignity for one who had nearly ruined 
 
 himself and borrowed money, he said: "It 
 
 doesn't make so much difference what I've got 
 
 230
 
 THE RECKONING 
 
 out of it just now, Doctor, does it ? I'm only 
 twenty-six." 
 
 "No," returned the older man slowly, "you 
 can't, of course, weigh everything against 
 money." 
 
 The physician knew very well the set in 
 which his ward had been seeing life; most of 
 the people were his own patients, some of the 
 men were inebriates, most of the women had 
 nerves. "Have some of my tobacco." He held 
 out his pouch. 
 
 The young man filled up and lighted his 
 brierwood. 
 
 "Do you know any real nice girl you could 
 marry?" 
 
 His ward roared. "Marry ! I'm never going 
 to marry, Doctor. I wouldn't marry the best 
 girl alive." 
 
 "I thought not," replied Doctor Brainard 
 quietly. "But if you'll marry some good girl 
 within a year, I'll put the ranch back, pay your 
 debts, and start you fresh." 
 231
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "You're awfully kind," exclaimed Bennett 
 heartily; "but if that's the alternative I guess 
 I'll have to sink or swim alone, for I can't meet 
 you." 
 
 The shadow on John's face deepened, for 
 with the alternative, even Home Farm, where 
 he had buried his soul these last days, became 
 like a "bird's nest filled with snow;" he couldn't 
 return to it as he had done any more. 
 
 He glanced up at the doctor, who appeared 
 thoroughly to enjoy his pipe and had the air 
 of a man fully satisfied with his own point of 
 view, and, after a little, he said: "I know 
 marriage doesn't need me to plead for it an 
 old bachelor's views on the subject aren't 
 worth much. But there is such a thing, John, 
 as filling your mouth with ashes and thinking 
 it's honey. There is such a thing as planting 
 your garden beds full of sterile weeds. . . . 
 I see that James has begun to graft the bushes 
 down there by the south fence, and I want to 
 go over and look at the trees." He rose slowly. 
 232
 
 THE RECKONING 
 
 "I shall wire Bob Furniss to-night," Bennett 
 said, "to sell out my share of the ranch/' 
 
 "And with what's left," said Doctor Brain- 
 ard, "after you've paid up your debts, I suppose 
 you'll go round the world again." 
 
 And the young fellow half-heartedly re- 
 turned his smile : "I guess that's about right, 
 Doctor!" 
 
 233
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE SUSPICION 
 
 VIRGINIA BATHURST, in her riding- 
 habit, coming from the stables, the dogs 
 at her heels, felt herself not more than "sweet 
 and twenty," and looked it too, for, touched 
 by one of those rare auroras which now and 
 then give to a woman the semblance of a false 
 dawn her step and her laugh, her gestures of 
 happiness as she played with her dogs, the song 
 she hummed as she went into the house, were 
 all buoyant. She was expecting a visitor, and 
 the room was lighted by the warmest of lamps. 
 Hesitating whether or not she would go 
 up-stairs to dress or stop where she was, she 
 finally decided on the latter course, and went 
 into one of the smaller rooms, where a big fire 
 lighted on the hearth was the only sound likely 
 to disturb her. 
 
 234
 
 THE SUSPICION 
 
 She was alone at Bathurst House for the 
 time with Grace Cornwallis, now Mrs. Peter 
 Bathurst, Junior, and Grace's baby. Peter, 
 Senior, and his sons were in Saratoga for the 
 races, and the lady of her house was left to her 
 own devices, wanderings, and ridings ; she had 
 gone pretty well over the country. It had 
 been with relief that she had seen them all 
 leave Tallahoe, for she wanted to be alone and 
 to pursue her thoughts from under her hus- 
 band's eyes. Daily she had reviewed the lands 
 of memory as she had gone daily over the 
 Tallahoe country, where now and then she 
 would bring her horse up short at a perilous 
 jump so she would bring her thoughts up 
 short at the one perilous place. She knew how 
 great the danger was there, though some- 
 times she would deny it and ride straight and 
 free; then again she would confess that it 
 was a fatal danger, and if she should go on 
 would mean some kind of death. 
 
 She knew that she loved John Bennett, boy 
 235
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 as he was, young as he was and that her de- 
 frauded heart, which had experienced many 
 disappointments, found in this man's love and 
 being, solace and beauty, and that she could 
 there find happiness. 
 
 She accepted the fact as it was, she acknowl- 
 edged it frankly and she was great in the way 
 she faced it; but until this afternoon here at 
 Tallahoe, when he was coming back to her, 
 she had not been quite able to decide what she 
 was going to do with him. 
 
 His adoration and passion, the security in 
 the fact that he had never and probably would 
 never love again as he did now, gave her 
 strength to be mistress of herself; she felt 
 there wasn't any hurry about the climax, if 
 there was to be one, and she knew that with 
 her experience she held him, and that it was 
 for her to do what she liked she knew that 
 he was hers. She understood in a measure the 
 pilgrimage he made to her, how he had come 
 to her shrine ; she understood that for the time 
 236
 
 THE SUSPICION 
 
 she was a sacred thing to him; he was young 
 and clean-eyed, passionate and manly, and she 
 knew that she was for the present all women to 
 him and that she would remain throughout his 
 life as the one woman; according to the way 
 she should manage this situation, his ideals, his 
 happiness or his miseries would take form and 
 date from her. 
 
 Virginia understood that she need not fear 
 a rival; for a long time she would be safe in 
 the little kingdom he gave her; whether she 
 should decide to become its queen or to re- 
 main its goddess it wouldn't for the present 
 make any difference to this ardent lover; it 
 was her own ground, her own realm. 
 
 It was difficult to feel that the very most 
 common-sense course, the wisest course, was to 
 wreck this kingdom in John's eyes, and it 
 hadn't been possible yet for her to take de- 
 cision, to think very clearly; she was far too 
 conscious of herself, far too much a prey to 
 her own self in it. She didn't know she 
 237
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 couldn't tell what she would be "good 
 enough" she put it "to do." 
 
 She had forbidden him to speak to her of 
 love she had told him that the day he dis- 
 obeyed her she would never see him again, 
 laughing in her heart at his white face and his 
 obedience, conscious how unable she would be 
 to keep that threat! But poor John took her 
 at her word and accepted the silence she forced, 
 only because he believed her and wanted above 
 all other things to be near to her. 
 
 In Newport he had attached himself to the 
 worldly skirts of their set, and, as poor Doctor 
 Brainard had known, followed like a pauper 
 prince, and the pace was beyond his means. 
 
 He had seen, nevertheless, little of the 
 woman for whom he was wasting his youth 
 until he went away with them all on the yacht- 
 ing trip; it had been conceived to give Jack 
 a chance to carry off the girl he was trying to 
 win; he had chartered a yacht of his own for 
 the party of butterflies who had flown off into 
 238
 
 THE SUSPICION 
 
 something like a midsummer dream with Vir- 
 ginia for chaperone and Cynthia Forsythe as 
 the goal. 
 
 The congressman, Peter Bathurst, Senior, 
 hors de combat from the very first day, con- 
 fined himself with his cocktails to his own 
 quarters, and John Bennett had had the field 
 for his own. During those summer days when 
 the warm waters curled like azure under the 
 keel when sky and clouds seemed made of 
 witchcraft and the boat in which they sailed 
 to be a ship of dreams, the young man had sat 
 by Virginia's side, read to her, watched the re- 
 flections in her eyes, basked under the tranquil 
 beauty of her face, sunned himself in the sun 
 of her, and longed to spend his whole existence 
 in one kiss on her lips, which seemed to him 
 to be the most perfect way in which he could 
 offer her his soul. 
 
 He listened to her, existed for her, drank 
 her, ate her, lived her until it was as though 
 his very heart became the ship itself, and she 
 239
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 rested on it and he seemed to carry the burden 
 of her over every wave. 
 
 Because she had never flirted with him, as 
 he knew the word to mean, because she had 
 never once met the passion in his eyes by a 
 passion in her own, he had never felt assuaged 
 or much encouraged. 
 
 She never gave him permission to speak, and 
 there was something about the way she treated 
 him and her own attitude that kept him from 
 a violent outburst. Even in the nights when 
 they sat side by side on the deck, under the 
 planets that swam above them in the heavens, 
 she never so much as drew him to touch her, 
 and John grew to worship her as well as to 
 love her, and she became as sacred to him as 
 she was desired. His case was hopeless and 
 for his emotion and his ecstasy there was only 
 one possible cure. 
 
 Virginia, as she waited for him, had chosen 
 a big leather chair and seated herself in it, 
 turning her back to the room and her face to 
 240
 
 THE SUSPICION 
 
 the fire. She had been in riding dress when 
 John found her on the porch at Newport, and 
 she knew how much he liked to see her so. 
 He would come in an hour, and she would 
 remain as she was to receive him. 
 
 If she had chosen, she might have taken 
 sincere satisfaction in contemplating the ways 
 she had conducted herself with this young man 
 in love. She had certainly been irreproach- 
 able; but she did not commend herself. 
 
 "As far as that goes," she thought, "I really 
 ought never to have seen him again after the 
 way he went on here. But as it now stands 
 as it now stands Heaven knows Heaven 
 only knows." 
 
 Grace Bathurst came in with her child in 
 her arms. 
 
 "Don't you," she asked, "want to look after 
 the boy for a second, Virginia ? 1 must answer 
 a telephone call." And she put the blond child 
 down in the lap of the woman in the big chair. 
 The little thing leaned his curls against Mrs. 
 241
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Bathurst's breast and looked up at her with 
 humid eyes. She bent over him, her slender 
 hands with their sparkling rings caressed his 
 baby head as she bent her head, and the fire- 
 light played on the dark and on the golden 
 hair. It delighted her that she could not, be- 
 cause of her age, have been the mother of Jack 
 or Peter, nor even of Mrs. Peter, Junior, and 
 that this was not her step-grandchild except by 
 courtesy. 
 
 She thought these things as she bent over the 
 child. 
 
 "To-day," she was saying to herself, "to-day 
 he will be here soon and I'm almost sorry, 
 for I never wanted so much to see him as to- 
 day . . . it's not well for him to come while 
 I'm so happy." 
 
 He had written her from Doctor Brainard's 
 farm every day for a fortnight, and she had 
 laughed over his letters and she had cried over 
 them; hot, hasty, voluminous a word mis- 
 spelled here, here and there blotted with the 
 242
 
 THE SUSPICION 
 
 lover's haste, and there was not one page which 
 did not bear the fire and beauty of passion. 
 These were the things that brought heaven 
 down to earth, or rather, lifted the dreary earth 
 to the skies. 
 
 Nicholas Pyrnne wrote to her, too. 
 
 She had not seen her old friend since the day 
 he had left her, two years or more ago. He 
 had told her then that when she wanted him 
 she was to send for him. Poor, poor, dear 
 man! But every week, faithfully, he wrote 
 her charming letters, full of the topics of the 
 day : clever, witty, a little malicious, masculine, 
 and discreet; but how dry and cold they read 
 beside those other letters from Home Farm, in 
 their big envelopes, many of them without be- 
 ginning or end ! John's letters had made her 
 young again, made her press them to her lips 
 as though they had been screens to shield her 
 face from herself. In them the boy had told 
 her everything she had forbidden him to say 
 he had told her without stint or fear: in them 
 
 243
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 he had been a man at last, and she saw what 
 a real man he was, what a dear, deep and tender 
 man he was and what a heart he had and how 
 he was hers. John wrote of himself till his 
 ranch life lived for her, he made Home Farm 
 a rural poem, until, reading, she had closed 
 her eyes and wandered through the meadows 
 with him as though they had been boy and girl. 
 
 Ah that was it, boy and girl! Oh, why 
 couldn't they be, why? For why must he 
 bring all this richness to a woman bound and 
 chained as she was bound and chained; bound 
 fast as death, bound to a man who loved her 
 although she hated him; and as for her girl- 
 hood, already it was too far behind. 
 
 "Come, baby," Grace put out her hands to 
 her child; "come, darling." 
 
 She knelt on the floor before Virginia and 
 the child. "Come, Jacky he won't leave you, 
 Virginia aren't you proud? Who do you 
 think just telephoned me, fancy, from the 
 Washingtons', over on the hill ? Cynthia, she's 
 244
 
 THE SUSPICION 
 
 over there with them. Isn't it bully ? It's just 
 two years, you know, since we were all here 
 together, Virginia. It's a reunion, isn't it? 
 You remember how awfully in love Cynnie was 
 with John, don't you? And now I've got a 
 piece of news to tell you. She'll want to tell you 
 herself, but I'm going to get ahead of her, for 
 she didn't forbid me. It's all right between 
 Jack and Cynthia, but I suppose you really 
 know." 
 
 Virginia's face reddened, and she hid it by 
 the head of the child. "I'm not surprised," she 
 said;, "I almost knew it. It will be a piece 
 of news to tell John." And then for the first 
 time she gave her stepdaughter the informa- 
 tion that John Bennett was coming that very 
 night. 
 
 "I had a telephone from him some time 
 ago," she said with what ease she could. She 
 was embarrassed under the younger woman's 
 frank gaze. "He's going to make a visit or 
 two in the Valley and will begin here with us." 
 245
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Oh !" Mrs. Peter answered rather vaguely, 
 "here, in his old hunting-ground, isn't it?" 
 
 And the hostess repeated: "Yes, his old 
 hunting-ground." 
 
 Mrs. Peter took her child and went over to 
 the window and stood there patting the pane 
 with the baby's little hand. 
 
 She knew they all knew everybody knew 
 but Virginia's husband. What did she know? 
 Why, she knew that John Bennett was in love 
 with Virginia, desperately in love with her. 
 But then, that wasn't anything; loads of men 
 had been in love with Virginia. 
 
 Their names had been coupled already, over 
 and over again in Syracuse and Newport ; but 
 Virginia's name stood much, and no one ever 
 really supposed that Peter Bathurst, Senior, 
 was the kind of man to endure the slightest 
 pang of jealousy. 
 
 To Grace, with her heart at peace, with her 
 child in her arms, and her husband not far 
 away, the idea of Virginia's romance was not 
 246
 
 THE SUSPICION 
 
 sympathetic; she didn't think for a moment 
 that Virginia cared a bit, but she thought that 
 she was ruining the life of a young man. 
 
 "Poor fellow," she said to herself, "poor 
 John!" 
 
 "I wonder," she reflected as the baby's hand 
 beat against the glass, "I wonder that she lets 
 him come here like this, with all the men away. 
 She knows that people talk and what they say. 
 I don't know what the Valley will say now; I 
 really don't know." 
 
 She wondered so long and so profoundly 
 that her thoughts began to grow complicated, 
 and her cheeks grew red and her face troubled. 
 
 "Oh, no," she said aloud, "it isn't possible, 
 it couldn't be possible !" 
 
 247
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 JOHN, coming in in the evening, found the 
 house deserted. There was no one in the 
 library before the fire where Virginia had been 
 waiting for him; she had left before his trap 
 drove up to the door. There was no one to 
 make him welcome, and from the servants 
 who took his luggage and showed him to his 
 room his own old room he learned that the 
 family were away for the most part and no 
 one but Mrs. Peter, Junior, and Mrs. Bathurst, 
 at home. 
 
 As far as John was concerned this news in 
 itself did very well for a greeting, and he 
 needed all the time there was before dinner in 
 which to accustom himself to the knowledge 
 that he was to be practically alone with his 
 hostess here. His fortnight in the country had 
 248
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 made him restless instead of quieting him, and 
 his heart was all in a tumult his whole nature 
 like the summer land around him, ripe, mature, 
 ready for the harvest. 
 
 There was a sweetness and a charm, some- 
 thing more, almost a delight in the very odor 
 of the house as he came in at the front door. 
 He ran up-stairs before the man-servant to 
 his room and saw the curtains falling white 
 before his windows, and the aspect of the 
 place had the familiarity of something which 
 he had known and loved, and where, if he had 
 been unhappy, he had as well experienced his 
 greatest bliss. 
 
 How had he ever lived through two years 
 without seeing her again? Why, he had once 
 held her in his arms in this very room, and 
 after such a madness she let him now come 
 back again she let him now come back and 
 find her here with no one else to claim her. 
 She had never blamed him, never referred to 
 that past; and as he thought this he rejoiced 
 249
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 in it and also thought in wonder and amaze- 
 ment and with a great tide of excitement that 
 almost terrified him that after all he had said 
 in his daily letters, she still had let him come 
 to her. 
 
 He dressed leisurely for dinner, and he was 
 too young yet, too simple, too sincere not to 
 take a great pride in his looks, not to be glad 
 that he was tall and strong and young. He 
 tied his cravat, put his hair in order, and stood 
 for a moment before he went down with his 
 hand on the door that two years before he had 
 opened for her with such mingled emotions 
 when she came in to him the night before he 
 left Tallahoe. But as he went down-stairs 
 something of his spirits left him, for he realized 
 that now when he looked at her it would be 
 with the knowledge back of them both of 
 everything he had written and said. He 
 wondered how she would welcome him, what 
 she would say? And if he should, by any 
 chance, find her alone although there would 
 250
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 be nothing easier than to take her in his arms, 
 would he dare do it? 
 
 John found three women before the fire in 
 the big hall, and there were several men there, 
 too, whom he remembered for old cronies. 
 His first thought was something of relief, and 
 it helped him to gain his self-possession. Mrs. 
 Bathurst gave the guest her hand limply she 
 scarcely touched his she scarcely spoke to 
 him, she didn't look at him, and his life went 
 out of him at her soulless welcome. She sent 
 him in to dinner with some one whom in his 
 excitement he could not see he went in with 
 a girl who had to speak to him twice before 
 John, lifting up his blue eyes, slowly recog- 
 nized her to be an old friend. 
 
 He had been sent in to dinner with a mar- 
 velously good-looking young creature, all fire 
 and sparkle, tall and bright-lipped. She turned, 
 laughing to him. 
 
 "How perfectly killing of you not to know 
 me!" 
 
 251
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "But you didn't know me, did you?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Naturally not," she said; "Bennett isn't 
 an uncommon name ; Mrs. Bathurst said a Mr. 
 Bennett was here, but I didn't think of you, 
 and when you came in I almost roared, do you 
 know." 
 
 John's hard white face relaxed a little, his 
 brow cleared just a trifle. "I don't really 
 know you now," he confessed, "but I used to 
 know you very well; indeed, I called you by 
 your first name." 
 
 "Yes, Johnny," she nodded, "perhaps you 
 did, but you needn't call me by my first name 
 now. I am prouder and haughtier than I 
 used to be. Shall I tell you something?" 
 
 "Yes, do," he urged. 
 
 She slightly leaned toward him, smiling with 
 amusement, her eyes blue as Irish lakes, and 
 she whispered with a pretty combination of 
 grace and coquetry: "Well, your hair isn't 
 really red, you know !" 
 252
 
 ^ITHOUT MERCY 
 
 Bennett smiled, then began to laugh. "Why, 
 that's what we quarreled over! You called 
 me red-head and I was perfectly furious with 
 you." 
 
 Gazing at the hair in question, his com- 
 panion said: "I should say it was more pink 
 than red ; but it's a lovely color, and you have 
 grown crosser-looking and more bad-humored 
 than ever." 
 
 John talked to her through dinner and he 
 overdid it. She acted to him as a stimulant 
 would have done after a hard race; he made 
 himself charming, devoted; there was a 
 piquancy in the situation ; he liked to have her 
 call him down and tease him. His vivid 
 recollections of her had an agreeable little sting 
 in every one of them, for he had loved her 
 madly in his boyhood and she had turned out 
 to be a ripping girl. 
 
 John looked during dinner not once toward 
 his hostess, and Mrs. Peter watched his polite- 
 ness to Milly Haven with relief and content. 
 253
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Virginia Bathurst watched him too. As they 
 came out together she said: 
 
 "So you and Mr. Bennett are old friends, 
 Miss Haven ?" 
 
 "Heavens, yes," explained the girl. "Why, 
 he was in love with me when I was in short 
 frocks, and we've been talking about it. He 
 was awfully amusing, you couldn't think, and 
 he ran up all sorts of ridiculous debts buying 
 me flowers and getting himself a dress-suit." 
 
 She linked her arm in Mrs. Bathurst's and 
 looked back over her lovely young shoulder, 
 white as a snow bank, toward the room where 
 the men lingered with their cigars. 
 
 "Hasn't he turned out well," she said 
 warmly; "isn't he nice to look at?" 
 
 And after her hostess' murmured response 
 she defended herself, laughing: "Oh, I don't 
 doubt he's a heart-breaker, and I'm not smitten 
 with him. I used to think it the greatest fun 
 in the world to tease him to death, and I expect 
 I should think so now." 
 254
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 Milly Haven spoke nonchalantly with the 
 assurance that beauty and youth give. She 
 turned away and settled her mass of dark hair 
 before an old mirror, flanked by candle lights. 
 She moved well, with dignity and much grace ; 
 her hair had no lights in it, nothing but the 
 shades of night. 
 
 "Grace," she said, "listen, isn't that your 
 baby?" 
 
 "Yes," said the mother, "he's a naughty 
 thing to-night, he absolutely refuses to go to 
 sleep." 
 
 "Oh, let me run up to him !" Milly exclaimed. 
 "You know I adore him." 
 
 As she went up-stairs without waiting for 
 permission, Grace said to her mother-in-law: 
 "Isn't she stunning, Virginia; did you notice 
 her at dinner with John?" 
 
 "Charming, charming !** 
 
 "Oh, they're too beautiful together," said 
 the young married woman rapturously, "made 
 for each other. I knew they'd hit it off, it's 
 255
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 been a pet dream of mine. Oh, dear, I hope it 
 won't fall through." 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst went to the fire and put her 
 foot on the edge of the firedog, lifting her 
 dress a little above her satin shoe. She leaned 
 on the mantelpiece and stared down, at the 
 flames. She had chosen, after careful thought, 
 a frock brown as an autumn leaf and around 
 her waist fell a long scarf, its ends hung with 
 little gleaming crystals. They dropped into 
 the monotone folds of the chiffon in her dress 
 like bits of ice on a brown forest stream. She 
 had dressed with care; she was very pale, and 
 her pearls added to her pallor. 
 
 Grace, as she stood by her side, thought she 
 had never seen Virginia so lovely or so sad. 
 
 "You've no bad news, have you?" 
 
 "Why do you ask it? No." 
 
 "You seem a bit tired." 
 
 "I rode twenty miles and the horse has a 
 hard mouth." 
 
 The two women turned at a sound on the 
 256
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 stairway; Milly Haven had come down again 
 with Grace's child in her arms. He was in 
 his night-dress and he nestled against her. 
 
 "Don't bring him any farther, Milly," called 
 his mother, "he'll catch cold. What a perfect 
 goose you are ! Take him back." 
 
 As the men came out of the dining-room 
 Milly Haven remained where she was, laugh- 
 ing and holding the child under the light of the 
 first turn on the stairs. 
 
 John Bennett looked up and saw her and the 
 sudden maturity in her beauty, a pretty mater- 
 nity in the picture. Reluctantly, as though it 
 were against his will, he walked slowly over 
 to where she stood. He put his hand out to 
 the little boy. 
 
 "Hello, Jackit," he said, "what's the row 
 with you? He's a jolly little kid, isn't he?" 
 
 "He's a darling little dear," said the girl 
 warmly, kissing him. 
 
 "Milly," cried the mother, "please, please 
 take him back to the nurse." 
 
 257
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 And the girl obeyed, making the baby wave 
 an affable good night to the company; then 
 she went laughing up-stairs with her pretty 
 burden. 
 
 John Bennett watched her, waiting until she 
 had turned out of sight; then he slowly trav- 
 ersed the room to the fireplace. 
 
 Sitting there with all of them, with Mrs. 
 Peter and his hostess, and Donald Dash- 
 wood and the others not with Milly Haven, 
 for she didn't come back and he didn't miss 
 her or know of her absence he passed the 
 most wretched evening of his life. Although 
 he sat where he could see his hostess and 
 addressed some confused words to her that 
 were briefly answered, it was their only com- 
 munion. He watched her pale, pure cheek, 
 and he felt that she was cold and dead to him 
 voiceless, soundless as a bell which has been 
 broken in the mold. The poor fellow tried 
 vainly to think what it might mean, and finally 
 made up his mind that she was angry at hii 
 258
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 letters and that she had let him come to tell 
 him so, to put him definitely in his place, and 
 for just this reason she had let him come here 
 when she would be alone and could tell him 
 his fate. His misery was so keen, his sense 
 of desolation so complete, that his face aged 
 in that half hour as he sat there and let his 
 heart cry out to the woman in her saffron dress 
 with the crystal beads that hung like trickling 
 silver down the brown folds of her gown. His 
 whole state of mind had altered; try as he 
 would he couldn't bring up one sweet, con- 
 soling memory. His companion of the sum- 
 mer evenings on the yacht, the love of his 
 dreams, seemed defaced from the universe and 
 this belle dame sans merci to have taken her 
 place. 
 
 "Gosh," he breathed to himself, "I wonder 
 if she thinks it's fair to make a chap go through 
 such hell?" 
 
 But she never stirred from her quiet indo- 
 lent indifference throughout the evening, and 
 259
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 even the others found her unresponsive and 
 left early. Grace lingered as though she did 
 not want to leave them alone together, but 
 finally she, too, went up-stairs; and then John 
 drew his breath in so that it came cold around 
 his heart and seemed to hold it like a vise. 
 Like a man thrown into a whirlpool and bid- 
 den to swim for his life, he heard the rushing 
 waters thunder in his ears and his very lips 
 tasted of salt, as if the spray had touched 
 them. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst was immovable before him; 
 the firelight around her, the crystals gleaming 
 on her dress she swung one small foot in its 
 satin shoe to and fro; it marked his hour for 
 him like a living pendulum. John waited until 
 every sound had died away, then he came 
 over and sat down by her in the chair close 
 at her side. No fewer than a hundred first 
 words had been forming in his mind, but he 
 threw them all away he simply sat and looked 
 at her so long and without one word that 
 260
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 she finally turned her head and the great pallor 
 of her face was swept to scarlet. 
 
 "Well," she said evenly, "does it seem like 
 old times here?" She tried to smile at him, 
 bit her lip, and stopped. 
 
 "I meant," said Bennett, striving with his 
 thick voice to articulate clearly, "I meant 
 every word that I wrote you in those letters, 
 every single word." 
 
 And Mrs. Bathurst said: "I've kept those 
 letters, every one." 
 
 "Oh" 
 
 "I'll give them back to you; you may use 
 them all again ; they're far too good to waste, 
 John." 
 
 She struggled again with herself and, win- 
 ning again, said, with his hardening face to 
 help: 
 
 "I mean to say, when you make love to 
 
 her a nice girl, some girl whom you can 
 
 marry, you can copy those out to her you 
 
 might even send them as they are, some of 
 
 261
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 them have no beginning or end." She laughed 
 gently and put out one of her lovely hands. 
 "My dear boy, don't look so savage, please." 
 
 The waters that had surged around him 
 began to die down; the spray on his lips was 
 turning to a burning fire. 
 
 "Is this the way women do," he said, "is 
 this the way ? Is it the way you do to Pyrnne 
 and others? No, no," he interrupted himself, 
 "no, you don't mean it, you're only angry at 
 me for something I can't guess. I know I was 
 mad to go on as I did, but I couldn't help it ; 
 you forbade me to speak and I had to write. 
 I was afraid that you'd send them all back to 
 me, but you didn't." And here, with the ten- 
 sion snapped for a moment, he broke forth: 
 "It's no crime to love you, is it ?" 
 
 And those words freed him, as though the 
 four letters that made the word love were the 
 wand to knock off his chains. He had both 
 her hands ; struggle as she would, she couldn't 
 get away. But she kept up, she kept up. 
 262
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 He repeated: "It's no crime just to love 
 you, is it? Oh, do you hear me?" And he 
 said it, not knowing any words more eloquent, 
 twenty times. 
 
 If he only might have possessed then the 
 penetration to see behind that quiet face, to 
 have known for one second of a lifetime what 
 a perfect mate she was for him, then 
 
 "Will you let my hands go, John, will you 
 let them go ? There. Will you get up, John ?" 
 
 They both rose. 
 
 "Good night, good night; you promised not 
 to do this, you know you've gone back on 
 your word, you are very, very foolish and very 
 young. You will never listen to me." 
 
 Bennett said something under his breath 
 and came close to her, fixing his darkened eyes 
 on her face. 
 
 "I will listen," he murmured; "I want to 
 listen, and I want to hear you say just one 
 thing." 
 
 "I will never say it," she said, "never." 
 263
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 She had once before used the words she now 
 employed : "Foolish boy, foolish boy. My poor 
 John!" 
 
 "For God's sake," he cried, "don't use 
 those words; it isn't possible that you don't 
 care for me, it isn't possible !" 
 
 Then, as he saw she was going to make him 
 an answer, he put out his hand: "Don't tell 
 me, don't." He turned his young face away, 
 and if he had not done so then he would have 
 seen her as she was, for her mask fell at the 
 sight of his emotion. 
 
 "You'll get over this," she said gently ; "you 
 will forget it all." 
 
 "Hush," he said fiercely, "I want to die 
 with it." 
 
 And she laughed softly, but not without 
 tenderness. 
 
 "Nonsense," she answered him, "don't think 
 of death your life is all before you. Remem- 
 ber that picture that we've both just seen on the 
 stairs." 
 
 264
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 But before she could finish he had caught 
 her hand again brutally. 
 
 "I don't know why you treat me so," he 
 said; "why you make fun of me and laugh 
 at me. I'm a man and my life is all yours, all 
 yours. Oh," he breathed, drinking in her face 
 with his ardent eyes, "how I love you ! Don't 
 you want it, don't you want me ?" 
 
 She said to herself under her breath: "I 
 can't last for ever; just a minute more, just a 
 little more " And at bay before him she 
 made one final try. "What are you asking 
 me for?" She put it to him, controlling her 
 voice and her eyes. 
 
 And he stammered, made a desperate ges- 
 ture and whispered close to her : "I love you, 
 you know that, I love you. When I was a boy 
 you came then you were kind and ever 
 since then I've looked to you, to you for all." 
 
 Trying again, trying again and winning, 
 smiling on him defiantly with the old dear 
 smile, having herself well in hand and daring 
 265
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 to do so, she put her hands against his broad 
 chest, both her hands, and met his eyes with 
 her own. 
 
 "John," she said, "John, I remember that 
 time, too. Trust me, go on trusting me; it's 
 all right, go on looking to me." 
 
 And he stammered: "You mean you 
 mean " 
 
 "I mean," she said, "that you must go up- 
 stairs to your room, please. I ask you to go." 
 
 But brought out of the dazzling passion, in 
 which he had nearly lost his reason, by her 
 serenity and her quiet, he said more calmly: 
 
 "Not until you promise me, not until you 
 promise me." 
 
 Seeing that he was not to be withstood, 
 knowing that her own powers of resistance 
 were at their end, she said desperately : "Prom- 
 ise you what what do you want?" 
 
 And once again he whispered, "All." 
 
 And it was perfectly useless for her to hold 
 out her hand to keep him back, quite useless; 
 266
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 he had taken her again in his arms, and he 
 never forgot throughout his life the wonder of 
 it, the marvel of it. For this time was unlike 
 the other time ; this time she knew, and she was 
 looking at him with a light in her eyes, even as 
 he kissed her lids down. 
 
 "I want you," he stammered, "I want you, 
 Virginia." He dared to call her name, to 
 breathe it, as he had called it in his dreams. 
 "You must marry me, you must divorce that 
 drunken beast." 
 
 From his broad shoulders, all the length of 
 his splendid body, she felt him as he held her, 
 and she knew that he would never be any other 
 woman's as he was hers, and that no other 
 woman would ever touch the clear marvel of 
 the first wine of John's first love. 
 
 When she found her breath, she said : 
 "There's some one on the stairs, I hear them ; 
 will you set me free?" 
 
 And once again, without any fear of detec- 
 tion, he said : "Not until you promise me." 
 267
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "You mean," she whispered, "that you look 
 to me " 
 
 And he cried : "Yes, for all." 
 
 And she assented : "I promise you. I promise 
 you let me go." 
 
 And John, still holding her, demanded again : 
 "All?" 
 
 She repeated the word to him : "All." 
 
 "Mrs. Bathurst, Mrs. Bathurst " Milly 
 Haven's voice, cautious, cleverly distanced, as 
 though she were too wise a woman to come 
 suddenly on a tete-a-tete and Milly appeared 
 on the landing, slowly coming down the broad 
 stairs. 
 
 "Mrs. Bathurst, are you there? Won't you 
 come up? Grace's little boy isn't well." 
 
 Pausing on the last step, Milly looked into 
 the shadow of the room, where the lamplight 
 and the firelight were insufficient illumination. 
 Virginia went quickly over to her. 
 
 "Come up, will you? Jackit's very feverish. 
 And, Johnny," she called easily and a little 
 268
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 imperiously over to the young man who had 
 not moved from his place before the fire, 
 "Johnny Bennett, won't you telephone to the 
 doctor ? Doctor Shepherd, at the Big Tree Inn. 
 That's right, isn't it, Mrs. Bathurst ?" 
 
 Later, much later, well on toward four 
 o'clock, Milly Haven was awakened out of a 
 doze by her beautiful hostess coming into the 
 room, 
 
 "Oh, is the baby worse?" cried Milly, start- 
 ing up in bed. 
 
 Virginia held her dressing-gown close 
 around her and sat down on the side of Milly's 
 bed. 
 
 Miss Haven had never seen Mrs. Bathurst 
 before that afternoon, and she never forgot 
 how that lady impressed her on this sudden 
 and unexpected visit toward the dawn. Flushed 
 by her anxiety for Grace's baby, no doubt, 
 tired from her long watching, her slender 
 beautiful hands holding her gown across her 
 269
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 breast, the lovely disorder of her dark hair, 
 she was an unusual picture. 
 
 "No, no, the baby's all right. He's asleep; 
 it was nothing but a little indigestion. Grace 
 is asleep, too." 
 
 As it appeared then, Mrs. Bathurst was the 
 only one in the house who was not asleep. 
 
 "But I've been horribly restless, and as I 
 looked out of my window I thought I saw a 
 man moving across the lawn. Of course, it 
 was ridiculous; there's no one in the house, 
 but my room was intolerable to me." 
 
 Milly afterward thought that she had not 
 once considered her as a person, though she 
 bent and lightly touched the young girl's head. 
 
 "I think I'm rather nervous to-night," she 
 said. "I know I've disturbed you very much, 
 I hope you will forgive me." 
 
 "Oh," Milly exclaimed warmly, "I'm aw- 
 fully glad that you felt that you could come or 
 that I could be of any use." 
 
 She tried to lift her heavy eyelids and to 
 270
 
 WITHOUT MERCY 
 
 seem intelligent; she had been profoundly 
 asleep when Virginia awakened her. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst said more naturally, with her 
 lovely smile: "Don't try to stay awake, go 
 to sleep again. If you'll let me, I'll throw 
 myself down on your lounge and rest there." 
 
 "Oh, no," said the girl, "you'll be cold." 
 She made a place by her side. "Lie here." 
 She drew the coverlid over the beautiful figure 
 of her hostess, and by Milly Haven's side the 
 lady lay so quietly that she seemed to rest. 
 
 Milly Haven, on the contrary, remained for 
 some time awake, wondering many things in 
 her clever mind, thinking out in a direct fashion 
 a point of view, and her young cheeks grew 
 warm and her eyes kindled in the dark, and 
 some of her meditations were as profound as 
 her neighbor's. 
 
 The blue eyes, whose darlc color had in- 
 spired little John Bennett to send gentians at 
 Easter, grew soft, and their sparkle, too keen 
 and bright for tenderness, as a rule, dimmed, 
 271
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 and Milly Haven's Irish eyes were soft under 
 her long lashes. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst's breath came evenly at last, 
 and Milly had the satisfaction of knowing that 
 her human propinquity had proved a reposing 
 element for the lady in some trouble or other ; 
 and then Mflly herself fell asleep, and when she 
 finally awakened from a dream in which she 
 was trying to pull John Bennett out of a fish- 
 pond where he was gathering water-lilies, 
 Milly found that her companion was gone, and 
 nothing but a long imprint on the bed and a 
 crushed pillow told her that Mrs. Bathurst's 
 visit had been a reality. 
 
 272
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A NURSERY RHYME 
 
 JOHN BENNETT, at noon the next day, 
 was aware of an infernal pounding on his 
 door. He had been dreaming as well as Milly 
 Haven, but his dreams were not about fish- 
 ponds or lilies, and there wasn't any Irish-eyed 
 girl in them. And when the knock came and 
 the voice there was something in it that re- 
 called pleasure, and for this reason he opened 
 his eyes, heavy with the late sleep of the morn- 
 ing. 
 
 "John, John," he recognized the voice as 
 Grace's, "do get up, it's nearly noon and we 
 want to know when to order the horses." 
 
 Bennett jumped out of bed and cautiously 
 opened his door a bit. "Hello, what's the row, 
 what does anybody want to do?" 
 273
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "Why, don't you want to ride before lunch- 
 con?" 
 
 "Love it. What are the rest going to do ?" 
 "I'll telephone the stables ; and hurry, John." 
 In an hour John came down into the glori- 
 ous morning with, as he supposed, a new world 
 for his own, inhabited by one woman and him- 
 self, and that woman was to be his. He loved 
 her : every other consideration was a phantom. 
 The horses were waiting at the steps, the 
 bay mare which he liked to ride and the new 
 Ladybird, with a side-saddle for as John 
 thought with a bounding heart for his mis- 
 tress. His mistress his hot blood showed 
 how Kis shame, young as he was, glowed at 
 the word; this was what she would be, if she 
 couldn't get a divorce from her husband. But 
 of course she could, and she would; that 
 wasn't in the question. Even this hour would 
 not go by before he would see her again, and 
 he looked toward the staircase for her to come 
 down. 
 
 274
 
 A NURSERY RHYME 
 
 Up-stairs in the hall, little Jack's nurse was 
 standing little Jack was well, then, this morn- 
 ing and he was being bidden to 
 
 "Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross," 
 
 and the quaint words caught John's ear in the 
 silence of the house. 
 
 John the night before had been completely 
 mad. He had gone to Mrs. Bathurst's boudoir 
 and waited for her there until she should come 
 out of Grace's room later. But she had not 
 come, and when at length he had stolen to his 
 own apartment, the dawn had risen in the east. 
 
 "To see a fine lady get on a white horse." 
 
 He heard a step in the corridor and his heart 
 stopped its beat; he would help her on to her 
 horse and they would ride away together, and 
 would there be any place far enough away, any 
 wood deep enough, any wonderful, golden yel- 
 275
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 low, mellow autumn wood sweet enough for 
 him to ride into with her? 
 
 The lady in her riding-habit had fairly come 
 up to his side before he saw that it was not 
 Mrs. Bathurst 
 
 "Are you ready?" Milly Haven asked. 
 "Come, then it's nearly one o'clock, and we 
 can ride only an hour. Isn't it a glorious day ?" 
 
 Milly wasn't a giggling girl, she didn't even 
 smile very much ; she was mature for her years. 
 She had a fine, well-moulded figure; she rode 
 straight, her brown habit suited her tint and 
 her color perfectly. She tranquilly drew on her 
 gloves. 
 
 "Grace says I may ride the horse you sent 
 on from the West for Mr. Bathurst. Isn't she 
 a pretty creature ? Are you ready ?" 
 
 John Bennett followed her in silence, he had 
 not even bidden her good morning; as she 
 passed out he gave a despairing glance up the 
 stairway, where, his blond head shining in the 
 sun, little Johnny was in his nurse's arms. 
 276
 
 A NURSERY RHYME 
 The nurse sang her chant : 
 
 "Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall, had a 
 great fall." 
 
 John lagged behind his companion, and the 
 groom helped Miss Haven to mount Ladybird. 
 
 Miss Haven took her time, settled herself 
 comfortably in the saddle, gay, debonair and 
 happy. 
 
 As Bennett flung his leg over his horse he 
 said: "Anybody else riding?" 
 
 "No one else," responded his companion; 
 "poor Grace is done up after last night, and 
 I guess Mrs. Bathurst must be at Albany by 
 this." 
 
 "Albany?" he repeated. 
 
 "Why, yes, that's the route for Saratoga, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 And at his blank staring she exclaimed : 
 
 "Why evidently you don't know ; didn't any- 
 body tell you ? Mrs. Bathurst left at eight this 
 277
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 morning for Saratoga. Mr. Bathurst tele- 
 phoned her to go on for the steeplechase, and 
 of course when a woman's married I suppose 
 she has to obey." 
 
 278
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 A SCENE 
 
 AS soon as Bennett could make a decent 
 excuse and get away, he went to Sara- 
 toga, and the first person he saw after leaving 
 his train was Peter Bathurst, Senior, in the 
 bar of the United States Hotel. The gentle- 
 man was being piloted away by a book-maker 
 evading the new law by the help of his worthy 
 friends. Bathurst was not so intoxicated as 
 not to recognize his sons' college friend, and 
 held out his hand affably. 
 
 "Benny, Benny," gasped the congressman, 
 "my dear old frien', John Benny. Got any 
 money? Here's Van Cortlandt, he'll take care 
 of it for you, old fell. Come in see us, come 
 see m' wife." 
 
 Bennett got away from him not without 
 279
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 cursing his existence. "Bound to this beast," 
 he thought, "tied to this sot!" He couldn't 
 bear the sight of Bathurst. 
 
 The next person to cross his path was Nich- 
 olas Pyrnne. The honorable gentleman wore a 
 smart costume in the height of summer fashion, 
 and sported a flower in his buttonhole; he 
 looked extremely fit and debonair, and came 
 brightly along the piazza of the United States 
 Hotel, the very picture of good spirits and 
 good cheer. 
 
 "Hello, Bennett!" he exclaimed heartily. 
 "Where did you drop from? I haven't seen 
 you for an age. You've left the West, then? 
 The Bathursts are all here, do you know?" 
 
 "Yes," returned the other, "I've just seen 
 the governor now. I'm looking for Jack and 
 Peter." 
 
 "Why, the whole lot of them are out at the 
 
 De Puysters' for lunch. You'll come along, 
 
 too, won't you? I'll be responsible for your 
 
 welcome. The De Puysters keep open house." 
 
 280
 
 A SCENE 
 
 "No, no," Bennett refused; "I'll run in to 
 see them when they come back later." 
 
 "Married yet?" Nicholas asked as they 
 walked along together. "That pretty little Miss 
 Forsythe. . . . You know, of course, and 
 Jack " 
 
 "Yes," Bennett nodded. 
 
 When Pyrnne finally left him at the motor- 
 car into which he got to drive out to the De 
 Puysters' place, John felt completely left out 
 and put aside. A terrible misgiving suddenly 
 came over him at the sight of Pyrnne, at the 
 sight of Mr. Bathurst, and the atmosphere of 
 Saratoga, its garish, blatant ugliness, the 
 smell, the temper of the place, all assumed a 
 sudden gross reality to him, and he felt at last 
 as though he were beginning to waken out of 
 a long, long dream. 
 
 He wrote to Mrs. Bathurst a passionate ap- 
 peal, and, with quantities of flowers, he sent 
 the letter to the hotel where the Bathursts were 
 stopping. 
 
 281
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 When she received the sudden gift, Virginia 
 held the letter to her lips she wore it for days 
 in her bosom she didn't read one line of it 
 then, but John couldn't know that . . . she 
 put his flowers away and kept them until they 
 were ghosts and dried, until they fell apart like 
 dust, but he never knew these things. 
 
 At tea-time, having received no answer to 
 his letter, John went in to see her sitting with 
 visitors. His first glance showed him that she 
 had changed wonderfully and her face was al- 
 tered so that it made him sick to see the trans- 
 formation. Virginia Bathurst's youth was 
 gone, her contours had sharpened, and to any 
 one but a man mad in idolatrous love, she 
 would have seemed less beautiful and much 
 aged. 
 
 Nicholas Pyrnne, as well as several other 
 men, were there with her, and John discovered 
 that Peter, Junior, had gone back to Tallahoe 
 to his wife and child, and that Jack had 
 gone back to Tallahoe to his fiancee, and no 
 282
 
 A SCENE 
 
 one vouchsafed any information about Mr. 
 Bathurst, Senior. 
 
 The lady welcomed him as though he were 
 her boys' friend; she said how sorry she was 
 that they had both gone, and what a pity it 
 was that John hadn't known it. She talked to 
 Pyrnne as she used to do in the Valley, before 
 John Bennett had told her how he loved her 
 before he held her in his arms and kissed her 
 . . . kissed her. He said these things over 
 to himself defiantly as he sat there staring at 
 her, and he bore her cruelty with bitter indig- 
 nation. "She's a cruel, cruel coquette," he 
 raged within himself; "she's a wicked, wicked 
 woman." And then he contradicted and af- 
 firmed that she was broken-hearted and suf- 
 fering, that she was so good, so heavenly good 
 that she was reproaching herself, and his wild 
 chivalry provided him with the needed cour- 
 age to speak to her. . . . She hardly an- 
 swered him. 
 
 Then he thought miserably: "She's angry 
 283
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 with me, I've offended her." And on this he 
 built his hopes, settling back in his chair and 
 doggedly determining to outstay every man of 
 them. 
 
 She tolerated his presence, scarcely speak- 
 ing to him, ignoring him as though he had been 
 a mere boy, awkwardly lingering on, unbidden, 
 endured. 
 
 At length, the others took leave, but John 
 didn't budge Pyrnne rose the last and looked 
 over at him. 
 
 "Which way are you going, Bennett?" 
 
 The young man's voice was hoarse as he an- 
 swered : 
 
 "Why, I'm not going anywhere right now, 
 Pyrnne; I'm going to stop here another few 
 moments." 
 
 But Mrs. Bathurst interrupted him: "I'm 
 going out to dine with Mr. Pyrnne myself; 
 we might all go down together. Won't you 
 wait, Nicholas, until I fetch my hat and gloves, 
 and we'll run along?" And when she returned 
 284
 
 A SCENE 
 
 to the drawing-room after quite a long time, 
 Pyrnne had mercifully left the room and the 
 lover was in it alone. . . . He stood there 
 white as death; his patent misery and his de- 
 spair and anger challenged her. 
 
 "What have I done, what have I done, that 
 you should treat me so ?" he broke forth. "Do 
 you want me to kill myself !" 
 
 At these words she seemed startled at first, 
 but said quite calmly and with much sternness : 
 "It's impossible even to see you, you make it 
 impossible. I want you to go to-night from 
 Saratoga, not to try to see me any more. You 
 don't want to force me to " and she stopped 
 here, although her voice was perfectly in con- 
 trol. 
 
 "Why, you forget," he cried wildly, "you 
 forget!" His cheeks crimsoned, the tears 
 sprang to his eyes. 
 
 "I shall never forget that I have liked you 
 very much, and I hope you won't make me do 
 so. Please, please " 
 
 285
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 She drew her hands away from him and he 
 stammered: "You promised, you promised," 
 and caught her hands again in spite of her de- 
 fense and crushed them. 
 
 "You don't love me, then?" he asked des- 
 perately. "You don't love me ?" 
 
 His passion, his youth, his pleading blinded 
 him he saw neither pity nor kindness in her 
 face. 
 
 "Tell me, answer me, don't you don't you 
 caref" 
 
 "Why, of course not," she said with effort, 
 "how absurd! Come, John, do have common 
 sense." 
 
 Cruelty was the best remedy she knew. She 
 stood like a surgeon with the knife. 
 
 Then Bennett gave a wild cry, and flung her 
 hands away as though they had been objects 
 of a despised spoil and he didn't want them 
 any more. Then he laughed like a crazy man 
 and caught her to him violently, pressed her 
 to him until she felt the very iron of his bones 
 286
 
 A SCENE 
 
 and muscles against her and felt knit to him, 
 and he kissed her until she cried out for mercy 
 against his burning lips. 
 
 "There," he panted, "there. No matter 
 what you say, you are mine. No man has ever 
 kissed you more!" 
 
 He flung her violently from him, and before 
 she could speak to him, had she possessed the 
 power to speak, Bennett rushed from the room, 
 and in the hall collided with Nicholas Pyrnne, 
 who was on his happy way to his appointment 
 with Mrs. Bathurst. Bennett dashed past the 
 Albanian without a greeting, and Pyrnne, as 
 he came into the sitting-room, said : 
 
 "Why, Virginia, what have you done to poor 
 young Bennett ! He nearly toppled me over as 
 I passed him just now in the corridor." 
 
 The woman he came to see was' standing by 
 the center-table in the room, leaning on it, 
 some agitation visible on her beautiful face; 
 but she had heard Pyrnne's step she had 
 pulled herself together, after the manner of 
 287
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 women of the world. Nicholas was himself too 
 happy to be suspicious. He felt himself nearer 
 to Virginia Bathurst than he had ever been in 
 his life, for not three days before she had 
 telegraphed him to meet her at Albany, and 
 they had come up here on the train together 
 to join Peter Bathurst, Senior. After two years 
 she had sent for Nicholas to come to her, and 
 he had quietly obeyed without one word or re- 
 mark or reminder, without one demand. He 
 was profoundly happy. 
 
 After a few words of greeting, she said : "I 
 can't go out to dinner to-night, Nicholas." 
 
 "Really! Are you ill?" 
 
 "I'm enervee. I've just had a terrible scene 
 with John Bennett. He's in trouble and he 
 came to confide in me." 
 
 "Oh," accepted her companion, his nice eyes 
 not changing their expression, "poor chap, I'm 
 awfully sorry, but don't let it knock you all out 
 like this." 
 
 "But it has," said the woman with an effort, 
 288
 
 A SCENE 
 
 "and I shan't go out. It's given me a nasty 
 headache." 
 
 And Pyrnne expostulated : "Don't spoil our 
 fun because the third person is out of sorts, 
 Virginia. It shall be, however, just as you say, 
 my dear ; but I think a little air and music and 
 a cocktail will set you up. I don't want you to 
 stop here and brood about this boy. It's far 
 better to come with me as we planned." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 "Of course I do," he answered decidedly. 
 She hesitated; she didn't want to spoil his 
 pleasure, she didn't want to make another inch 
 of misery or even cast another cloud. She again 
 took up her gloves, which she had drawn off. 
 
 "Very well then come let us go. ... " 
 
 "Splendid!" he cried, beaming with the 
 pleasure her concession gave him. "You're the 
 right sort." He lifted her hand to his lips and 
 kissed it. He didn't ask her anything about 
 Bennett's trouble, he didn't think he needed to 
 ask. He had no jealousy as he thought of him, 
 289
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 only a kindly comprehensive pity for any man 
 who loved this dear woman in vain. . . . 
 He never even dreamed that she cared for "the 
 Bennett boy." 
 
 A little later, leaning across the table to her, 
 a vision of the young chap's face as he had 
 seen it on the stairs recurring to him, he said : 
 
 "I wish I could be of some service to Ben- 
 nett, Virginia." 
 
 And with a singular smile, Mrs. Bathurst 
 said : "Perhaps some day you may be." 
 
 290
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE DOCTOR AND HIS BOY 
 
 WHEN the first cold of November had 
 stung and passed, when the middle of 
 the month had bitten through the country and 
 found the heart of the earth, when through- 
 out the land fragrant torches had been lit and 
 the air smelt of fire and pine, the deceptive 
 haze of an unexpected midsummer day fell 
 over the country like a veil and there came a 
 softness on the wintry air as delusive as a 
 woman's promises which she never means to 
 keep. Doctor Brainard sat in his ofBce ex- 
 pediting his last patient; eager to get out for 
 a certain drive. 
 
 The last patient had scarcely closed the front 
 door behind him, carrying away with him his 
 complaints and his groans and his prescrip- 
 tions, when the door from the hallway opened 
 291
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 into Doctor Brainard's office and another vis- 
 itor came in. 
 
 "My word, John," said the doctor, with his 
 hands outstretched, "I can't believe my eyes!" 
 
 He had not seen his boy nor heard one line 
 from him since the young man left him in the 
 summer. 
 
 "You're an ungrateful chap," but the doctor 
 paused and followed up, "In Heaven's name, 
 John, I believe you've come to see me pro- 
 fessionally. Haven't you, my son?" 
 
 He called him that name and looked at him 
 over his glasses. Many years before the Ben- 
 nett boy had stood where he was standing now, 
 twisting between his hands his school cap, and 
 nervous, awkward, and proud, he had said that 
 rather than be sent to school by a woman he 
 would work in a store. 
 
 Doctor Brainard at that time hadn't thought 
 
 twice about the Bennett boy; but he had 
 
 learned to love him dearly in the intervening 
 
 years, and he had grown even dearer during 
 
 292
 
 THE DOCTOR AND HIS BOY 
 
 these months when John had left him in utter 
 ignorance of his whereabouts, and while the 
 doctor from a distance watched him and fol- 
 lowed him as well as he could, yearning, but 
 not daring to make a sign. 
 
 Bennett flung his overcoat and hat on a 
 chair; he looked thirty years old his first 
 youth was for ever gone, his face bore the 
 marks of things which it cut the doctor to the 
 heart to see and recognize. 
 
 "If I were his own father now," he thought. 
 "Thank God, his mother has been spared 
 this !" "Sit down, my boy," he said. 
 
 John didn't do so; instead he thrust his 
 hands in his pockets and walked over to the 
 front windows and looked out into the bright 
 street. A trolley-car ran between the asphalt 
 where the horse-car used to swing lazily 
 along. Down the wide street, in the sunlight, 
 a long line of golden leaves blew in a whirling 
 dance. 
 
 "Don't let me keep you from your visits," 
 293
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 Bennett quietly remarked, without so much as 
 turning around. "I see the buggy's waiting, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 Doctor Brainard, who had come up behind 
 him, put his hands on his shoulders. 
 
 "You come along and drive with me; I've 
 only got a couple of people to see, and you can 
 wait outside. I shan't be long anywhere. After 
 that we'll drive out in the country." 
 
 Aside from a word or two about a direction 
 which they would take, Doctor Brainard did 
 not talk to his prodigal until the last call had 
 been made ; then the young man drove him out 
 of the town into the country. 
 
 "This isn't the first time you've been away 
 from Syracuse, but it's the first time you've 
 come back like this," the doctor said. "But 
 you've come back, and as far as that goes, I 
 take it as a good sign." 
 
 Between his teeth the young man said rather 
 brutally : "Don't preach to me," and with un- 
 disturbed good-humor his friend answered : 
 294
 
 THE DOCTOR AND HIS BOY 
 
 "Why, I haven't even the right to your con- 
 fidences." 
 
 And the other exclaimed : "Lord, my con- 
 fidences! I guess nobody would care to hear 
 them ; and as far as that goes, you're the only 
 person in the world that cares a hang whether 
 I live or die or go to hell! I've been a cur to 
 bother you, and you've always been a brick, 
 Doctor Brainard. I haven't any confidences or 
 any excuses," and his pale face with its scars 
 spoke more eloquently than his words to the 
 older man. "But I've been through hell, all 
 right," John said, and added more naturally: 
 "It doesn't seem to have burned me up quite, 
 though I wish it had !" 
 
 For a long time he drove without any fur- 
 ther remark; finally the doctor asked him to 
 hold up while he lighted a cigar. 
 
 John did so and lighted one as well, smoking 
 it as he drove slowly between the bare yellow 
 fields. 
 
 The golden light of the afternoon swept 
 295
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 from horizon to horizon; the clustering trees 
 were still leafy, for the winds this year had 
 been few, and hillocks and furrows, gray fence 
 rails and sandy roads were all painted and 
 bathed in the warm deceptive glory. The sky, 
 pale and cloudless, appeared to have lent all its 
 light to the earth, and spread ethereal and cold 
 over the warmer land. 
 
 "When you were up at the farm," Doctor 
 Brainard said, "I knew then just where you 
 were and what you were going through but 
 a man can't force a friend's confidence." He 
 very delicately put himself on a plane with the 
 younger man, as though they had been of an 
 age. "I would have gladly helped you, but I 
 don't think any one ever helps another much 
 in such things, at any rate. Certain states only 
 wear themselves out." And after a few mo- 
 ments, he added, "When they take hold of a 
 big, fine fellow such as you are, and drag him 
 down, then they're cursed otherwise 
 
 The young fellow driving began to frown, 
 296
 
 THE DOCTOR AND HIS BOY 
 
 but the doctor had been clever enough to stop 
 at a word which John would like to follow up, 
 and John repeated it and asked : 
 
 "Otherwise?" 
 
 "Why, they're capable " the doctor cast his 
 eye over the mellow country "they're capable 
 of going along with him into every season, of 
 filling his barns and his storehouses until the 
 grain's all in." 
 
 Bennett had never thought of Doctor Brain- 
 ard as being young, as being anything but a 
 frumpy old country doctor, and an old trump, 
 a brick ; as a man of sentiment, why, the very 
 odors of anodynes and medicines in the gloomy 
 old James Street house put romance away. 
 
 They passed a big red farm-house where the 
 barn door stood open and the loft doors 
 were wide. Bags of grain were being thrown 
 up from a heaped wagon, and the doctor's 
 simile, taken from wayside things, appealed to 
 his companion. Then he forgot everything but 
 his own absorbing contemplations. 
 297
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "You've been in New York," said the doc- 
 tor. "I suppose you've been more or less keep- 
 ing yourself there. I've been sending your let- 
 ters to the Club, and that's where I sent the 
 last check." 
 
 John said cruelly : "I've been down there all 
 this time, you're right. I didn't write because 
 I didn't want to I bit at everything I could 
 find," he said sharply, "and I couldn't find any- 
 thing to take the taste away " He now turned 
 his face to his friend, and the doctor looked at 
 him with a quick alarm. 
 
 Doctor Brainard put his hand on his ward's 
 knee. "I don't ask you any impertinent ques- 
 tions; it's" your own life. I guess the stuff in 
 you is good enough to pull you out. I know 
 just about how damn fool you've been, John, 
 but you haven't been taking drugs, have you?" 
 
 And the boy threw his bright head back and 
 laughed. There was a bitterness and a touch- 
 ing sadness in his laugh. "Search me," he said. 
 "By Jove; I wish I'd thought of them!" 
 298
 
 THE DOCTOR AND HIS BOY 
 
 In spite of what his expression implied, the 
 older man exclaimed with gratitude: "Good, 
 good! You can cure any healthy animal of a 
 sting, all right." 
 
 And John followed up: "Well, you know, 
 they take it in their own way and roll in the 
 mud." 
 
 And after quite an interval, John spoke 
 again and said : "Doctor, you seem to think 
 you know a lot about me." 
 
 "I know all the Valley knows," said his 
 friend. "I know the common talk." 
 
 The young man frowned desperately ; anger 
 and rebellion, shame and humiliation had strug- 
 gled with him for a long time, and he had 
 given his confidences to no one. 
 
 "She's ruined my life at the start," he said 
 passionately, "and I don't want to pull it to- 
 gether; I don't care a damn what becomes of 
 me now. I haven't got a cent in the world ; I've 
 tasted the lowest things of life to forget her, 
 and don't you talk about the gathering in of 
 299
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 the grain to me, or of anything but a woman's 
 cursed influence on a man. There's never go- 
 ing to be any decent harvest for me, Doctor 
 Brainard; I've died young." 
 
 The doctor found there was no place for 
 humor or even for philosophy. Though the 
 man was young, what difference did that 
 make? There was great affection in his voice 
 as he asked : 
 
 "Why did you come back here, John ?" 
 
 The other threw his cigar out, spoke to the 
 horse, and said : "I don't know ; habit, I guess, 
 much as anything. I suppose underlying it all 
 there's some magnet in it, some humiliating 
 idea that I may catch sight of her again." 
 
 "Let's turn," said the doctor; ''it gets sud- 
 denly cold these evenings, and I've got another 
 patient or two coming to see me before sun- 
 down." 
 
 They turned ; John spoke to the horse, and 
 as they rolled softly on their rubber tires down 
 the street they passed the Bathurst house. John 
 300
 
 THE DOCTOR AND HIS BOY 
 
 didn't look toward it ; he set his face as though 
 it were an iron mask and never turned to right 
 or left. 
 
 Bennett, when they got back to the house, 
 went to bed in his old room and heard the 
 trolley run till dawn along the familiar street. 
 The following morning he opened the Syracuse 
 Times in bed. It was noon; he had slept long 
 and no one had disturbed him; the maid 
 brought him his coffee and the papers when he 
 at length rang his bell. 
 
 The Times fell from his hands. He sat there 
 motionless, staring white and red, white and 
 red, then he read the paragraph again. 
 
 Toward two o'clock Doctor Brainard came 
 at length out of his cage, as John used to call 
 it, and found his visitor marching up and down 
 like a wild man, waiting for him ; and Bennett 
 took the doctor's arm. 
 
 "Did you read, did you see it in the Times, 
 did you know?" 
 
 The doctor nodded. "Mr. Bathurst's been 
 301
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 ill for two months; I was called in consulta- 
 tion there before you came." 
 
 "Why in thunder didn't you tell me so yes- 
 terday?" 
 
 The doctor made no reply. 
 
 Bennett, without noticing it, said : "Don't 
 you see, don't you understand she's free, 
 she's free!" 
 
 "Have you had your coffee yet ?" asked the 
 doctor. 
 
 The young man resumed his walk up and 
 down the drawing-room at large. When could 
 he go to her when could he see her? She 
 was here, then, in Syracuse; he hadn't really 
 known it, but he had heard she had gone 
 abroad. He had tried not to hear, not to know, 
 to be ignorant, to blot her out of existence for 
 himself. He flung out his hands with a vio- 
 lent gesture and exclaimed: "And I haven't 
 got a cent in the world !" 
 
 Doctor Brainard stood sturdily before the 
 mantel. He looked practical and commonplace 
 302
 
 THE DOCTOR AND HIS BOY 
 
 and businesslike, a little dried up, far from be- 
 ing a lover; he gazed thoughtfully at the young 
 fellow launched so far on his sea of trouble, 
 launched so far on that wonderful sea whose 
 waters, because of death and fate, had been 
 calmed for him many years. He didn't know 
 whether he envied John or not, but he loved 
 him. 
 
 "The woman's almost old enough to be his 
 mother," he said to himself. "She's a brilliant, 
 worldly creature ; she's had a lot of admiration, 
 and she'll have a lot more now. Why, there 
 isn't the ghost of a chance for him. Still, 
 women have been fools fools before." 
 
 Doctor Brainard looked at the lover, this 
 wreck of boyhood its very destruction would 
 touch her and she would know what he had 
 been through for her. "Confound her," he said 
 to himself, "but I'm going to risk it." 
 
 "Will you be quiet a second and stop walk- 
 ing up and down? I told you that when you 
 found a good girl who would marry you I'd 
 303
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 buy the ranch back and all that would start 
 you fresh. Mrs. Bathurst, as a widow, is not in 
 the conditions still, that's your affair and 
 hers. If you want to ask her to marry you, 
 you can tell her that you own the ranch, and 
 that you will be my heir. She's rich and prob- 
 ably won't care, but you're not a beggar." 
 
 John stared at him, and at the human kind- 
 ness, at the benign sympathy, his own natural 
 expression came back to his face. He grasped 
 his friend's hand. 
 
 "You're a wonder, Doctor Brainard, a won- 
 der." 
 
 When could he go, when would it be decent 
 to go ? Not for weeks, not for months. Where 
 would she be then ; would she leave ? Well, he 
 would follow her. 
 
 "Have you had your coffee, John ?" 
 
 "Yes yes." 
 
 "Well, let up now on this asylum walk of 
 yours and come with me to the dining-room 
 and have some more." 
 
 304
 
 THE DOCTOR AND HIS BOY 
 
 The real greatness of his really great love 
 carried him through the next few days so far 
 apart from the common herd that Doctor 
 Brainard wondered, was much impressed by 
 him, and as he watched John, he was transfig- 
 ured back into his own youth and to his own 
 misery, and John grew dearer to him every 
 day. 
 
 The real greatness of his love went with him 
 to the funeral of the Honorable Peter Bath- 
 urst. Up in the gallery of the church, out of 
 sight and unobserved, the light from the win- 
 dow back of him shining on his bare, glisten- 
 ing head, he stared down on the crowd, on the 
 solemn procession, on the altar, on the coffin 
 and on her. She was so still, so beautiful in 
 her heavy weeds ; her face was pale and quiet, 
 and it made him ashamed even to think of love 
 then, for she seemed a thing sacred by reason 
 of her black garments and the solemn words 
 that were being said. 
 
 But his love was stronger than any form 
 305
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 and his love was real ; whereas, he knew there 
 could be no great sorrow in her heart, and it 
 carried him over the hymns and the chants, 
 and his human love spoke above the things in 
 the prayer-book and over the few tears that 
 were shed. He saw her stepsons and Mrs. Peter 
 and Miss Cynthia Forsythe, Jack's fiancee, 
 and he saw the little child, too, carried in, 
 standing straight up in the pew, staring about ; 
 and as he looked on him, the words of the 
 child's nursery rhyme came back quaintly to 
 his mind : 
 
 "All the King's horses and all the King's men 
 Can never, never " 
 
 and the old form and state had been utterly 
 changed by death. These pictures passed be- 
 fore his excited eyes, and he then saw nothing 
 more throughout but Virginia. And ardent, 
 adoring, tender, he leaned over the gallery rail, 
 gazing on the melancholy crowd as though a 
 306
 
 THE DOCTOR AND HIS BOY 
 
 bright angel, winged with life and ecstasy, 
 folded its pinions above death. 
 
 At the door Virginia went out between her 
 stepsons, and Nicholas Pyrnne walked near 
 her. But John's great love carried him even 
 beyond this fact. 
 
 Doctor Brainard saw that he had no need to 
 tell his ward to give himself time and to give 
 her time. A fortnight passed and John never 
 stirred from the house ; he hardly slept or ate, 
 but he didn't drink. The doctor did not know 
 how many hours were spent in remorseful re- 
 gret for the short roll in the mud, and that in 
 the face of the vision he had had of Virginia 
 Bathurst in the church, in the face of his hopes 
 and his plans, his indulgences were a crime 'to 
 him beyond forgiveness. 
 
 In a few days John's limit had been reached. 
 The conventional wait of months was not to 
 be expected of this lover. The family in gen- 
 eral had gone to Tallahoe directly after the 
 307
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 funeral, but the affairs of the estate called for 
 Mrs. Bathurst's presence, and both the doctor 
 and his ward knew that she had returned to 
 town. 
 
 Before starting on his rounds one afternoon 
 the doctor saw John come out of the house, 
 stand for a moment on the step, looking up the 
 street in a certain direction. He appeared 
 taller, maturer, his face white and grave; he 
 had the air of departure, the air of a man 
 starting on a long journey. Doctor Brainard 
 turned away as nervous and excited as though 
 he were himself about to ask a woman to marry 
 him. 
 
 On his own account, he was caring for a 
 very important case and it kept him late, past 
 his dinner-hour. When he returned, learning 
 that his guest was in the house, he went up to 
 the young man's room. He knocked, got no 
 answer, and went in. An electric light from 
 the street porch showed him the figure sitting 
 in the window. At the doctor's entrance John 
 308
 
 THE DOCTOR AND HIS BOY 
 
 rose and was the first to speak, in a voice all 
 roughened at the edges, a voice almost like a 
 boy's, so naive it was in grief. 
 
 ''Do you think I could get away anywhere ?" 
 
 "To be sure. Want to go abroad ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Brainard mentally calculated. 
 
 "This is Monday how would Saturday's 
 boat do?" 
 
 "There's Wednesday's boat," John sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "All right, my boy." 
 
 In the extremely vague light Doctor Brain- 
 ard saw the blond head bend a little. Not a 
 word of consolation came to his mind; he 
 didn't try for any, knowing that in the war be- 
 tween words and feelings, words went to the 
 wall. 
 
 "I'll go to the bank the first thing in the 
 morning and fix you up a letter of credit." He 
 waited a second, then said: "I'll fix it up for 
 a year's expenses." 
 
 309
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 The young man heard this through his mis- 
 ery. "I'll make it all right, Doctor, some day, 
 if i_if i_' 
 
 "Come," said the Doctor, "come, John, buck 
 up, my boy." 
 
 John returned to his place by the window 
 and sat down again, thinking, his head on his 
 arms. 
 
 "I'll go and tell Nelly to pack your things 
 and your trunk." 
 
 The doctor stood there a moment in the 
 half darkness, looking with compassion on the 
 figure of the son of the woman he loved, and 
 his own grief came back again. He mentally 
 called up with distinctness the figure of Mary 
 Poole as he turned away and went out, shut- 
 ting the door behind him. And to the Bennett 
 boy, as he sat there, sorrowing more pitifully 
 than he had ever sorrowed over the loss of his 
 home and his personal things, there came the 
 figure of a woman now to stand behind him 
 and to lay her shadowy fingers on his hair it 
 310
 
 THE DOCTOR AND HIS BOY 
 
 wasn't the same woman's fingers that had come 
 in on his childish misery in the hall-room it 
 was a different woman that in the precarious 
 light developed, and John Bennett, unconscious 
 of her ghostly presence, leaned against her 
 shadow as one whom his mother comforted.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A RARE THING 
 
 THE following autumn, Doctor Brainard, 
 dozing on the porch under the honey- 
 suckle vines at Home Farm, awakened with 
 a consciousness that his delicious nap had 
 been spoiled. A clear voice came from the 
 roadway to his hired man: "Do you know 
 whether Mr. Bennett has come yet? But I 
 thought he was to arrive to-day ?" 
 
 The doctor stirred his drowsy limbs, got 
 up and went toward the stable. The visit 
 thereafter was always connected in his mind 
 with the smell of honeysuckle and with the 
 stirring of the southwest wind in the brilliant 
 maple leaves. 
 
 "Oh, How d'do, Doctor Brainard?" 
 A smart dog-cart had drawn up by the stable 
 door; there was an English groom in the back 
 312
 
 A RARE THING 
 
 and two ladies in front. Doctor Brainard 
 recognized the trap as belonging to Mrs. 
 Nicholas Pyrnne, whom he greeted cordially, 
 but the young lady was a stranger, a much 
 younger woman than the owner of the dog- 
 cart. Dark and graceful she sat up well beside 
 Mrs. Nicholas Pyrnne. She closed her parasol 
 and held it, leaning on it with her white-gloved 
 hands, and looked pleasantly at the old gentle- 
 man from eyes blue as Irish lakes. 
 
 "This is Doctor Brainard ?" She seemed to 
 know him. "I've heard a lot about you from a 
 mutual friend." She gave him her hand with 
 an attractive smile. "We thought I thought 
 that Mr. Bennett would be here by this time. 
 When he left us yesterday at the steamer he 
 said he was coming directly to you, so I've 
 driven over to ask him if he won't ride to- 
 morrow." 
 
 She monopolized the conversation in her 
 clear, bright voice. There was no pronoun in 
 it but the first person singular. Her com- 
 313
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 panion, completely out of the moment's 
 interest, fixed her eyes on the level sweep of 
 the autumn fields. 
 
 When Mrs. Pyrnne had introduced Miss 
 Haven to the doctor, he exclaimed: "Oh, 
 of course," and remembered that "he knew 
 the name from John's letters very well 
 indeed!" 
 
 "We are going to be neighbors, Doctor 
 Brainard," Miss Haven informed him, "for 
 my father has taken the Point Setter Place for 
 a year." 
 
 "Ah, yes, that will be perfectly delightful; 
 it's a fine old property. John will be home 
 to-night." 
 
 After Mrs. Pyrnne had exchanged a few 
 words with her old acquaintance and said 
 how very sorry she was not to see John Bennett 
 she was going to Newport that night 
 the younger lady leaned out of the dog-cart, 
 interested in the low house with its vines, 
 where, through one open window, she could see
 
 A RARE THING 
 
 the piano, and she looked past the house and 
 the garden and over the slope. 
 
 "Is that the spring-house, Doctor Brainard ?" 
 she asked. "And is that the brook down 
 there?" 
 
 "Bless my soul, yes you know Home 
 Farm?" 
 
 She seemed to know it intimately to judge 
 by the expression, which almost said to him: 
 "Dear me, how stupid you are; don't you 
 know it has become to me a sort of sentimental 
 playground already?" 
 
 Doctor Brainard said to himself : "My word, 
 I bet they're engaged!" 
 
 When the smart trap with the two smart 
 ladies had finally driven away, he walked down 
 to the gate waiting for John, and presently he 
 opened it to let the buggy pass through when 
 it went to the station to fetch the home- 
 comer. 
 
 Then Brainard clicked the gate to and leaned 
 there, looking toward the town, where not 
 315
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 more than three miles away the Point Setter 
 Place had been let to the Havens. 
 
 "They're not unlike," he mused, "those two 
 women; the same build, the same type, and 
 I've always thought that a man always loves 
 a certain type of woman. I guess I didn't 
 do far wrong when I bought back the ranch 
 from Furniss." 
 
 Delighted, humorous over the situation, he 
 affirmed at the end of his little meditation, 
 nodding briskly: "I guess that's the girl." 
 
 After supper that night, when the returned 
 traveler had lighted his English brienvood 
 pipe, discoursed on its merits, polished it 
 up with the palm of his hand, forced the 
 doctor to weigh it and smell it and admire it, 
 it was not until they both sat in the doorway, 
 smoking under the honeysuckle vine that 
 Doctor Brainard said: 
 
 "Miss Haven rode over from the Point 
 Setter Place to ask for you. It seems they've 
 rented that property." 
 
 3*6
 
 A RARE THING 
 
 The adopted son took his pipe out of 
 his mouth, smiled at it rapturously, and 
 said: 
 
 "Gosh, isn't she a beauty !" 
 
 "She is a very handsome woman, indeed." 
 
 "I meant the pipe." John rubbed it on his 
 sleeve until it shone. 
 
 "She seems to have a lot of spirit and 
 charm, too," the doctor continued. 
 
 Then his companion asked: "Did she drive 
 over here alone?" 
 
 "A groom came with her," replied Doctor 
 Brainard, and before he could pursue any 
 further hypocrisy, the young man remarked : 
 
 "It's a very rare thing, isn't it, Doctor, that 
 a man marries his first love?" 
 
 And the doctor agreed that it was very rare 
 indeed, thinking to himself : "By George, 
 the boy's going back to his old theme!" 
 
 "Milly Haven," said John meditatively, 
 "was my first love." 
 
 317
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE SPELL BROKEN 
 
 SIX years later he returned to Syracuse and 
 in the springtide. 
 
 Doctor Brainard had died suddenly and 
 among the bits of property left to him along- 
 side of the doctor's fortune, John Bennett 
 came into possession of the old James Street 
 house, his old home. 
 
 He stood, toward four o'clock one after- 
 noon, in the window of the empty dwelling. 
 There were no household goods belonging to 
 other people to disturb him with strange mem- 
 ories or to suggest anything but his own 
 people. He could see the lawns, green with the 
 young growth of spring; the grass sown with 
 gay dandelion heads. The brick path to the 
 gate sagged, was broken up, weeds grew over 
 it; but even in disuse and the ravages of 
 318
 
 THE SPELL BROKEN 
 
 time, the atmosphere of familiar things came 
 back and met him here at home. 
 
 Standing in the bare window in the bare 
 room, far away now from any other house- 
 hold and from any other treasures, John let 
 himself think back. It was the very first time 
 that he had given himself any such mental 
 holiday. 
 
 It was as plain to him as yesterday how he 
 had stood in that very window on the day of 
 the auction and longed and yearned for the 
 one possession that meant his father to him; 
 how he had suffered there, a wretched, lonely, 
 little boy, and how some one had come and 
 helped him through! 
 
 He was past thirty now, a young man still, 
 but he had matured and deepened as the years 
 sounded new depths in his loving, rich nature, 
 and as home life, husband-hood and father- 
 hood opened the springs of his heart. 
 
 But this return to old things and old places 
 leveled like magic the distance between the 
 319
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 little boy and the man, and, like his child self 
 on the auction day, John felt and acknowl- 
 edged that there was always in his heart a 
 yearning and a loneliness, and that indefinable 
 something which nothing had ever quite an- 
 swered. 
 
 As he so stood, reflecting, turning his mental 
 and spiritual state over in his mind, he was 
 waiting for the builder with whom he had a 
 rendezvous, who was to come and make plans 
 for the new town house which he intended 
 putting up here in Syracuse, where he should 
 some day come and live. 
 
 The solitude of the rooms oppressed him like 
 an audible demand on him; they stretched 
 away, empty, untenanted. He was going to 
 change them all, the people whom he would 
 bring here to live had never known his boy- 
 hood's memories or any of his old life, and he 
 didn't care that they should. He had been 
 desolate here and he was desolate now, as he 
 gazed out on the sunny lawn, at the road, 
 320
 
 THE SPELL BROKEN 
 
 and at the spring sunlight filling the town 
 streets. 
 
 It was the inevitable isolation of soul, the 
 solitude of being, the yearning of a man young, 
 full of desire, very ardent and keen, for the 
 ideal for the completion of an idea he had 
 never been entirely able to firing to its proper 
 satisfaction. 
 
 As he bravely allowed himself to understand 
 this fact, a pang hurt him like a physical thing, 
 his heart swelled within him. The associations 
 around him had taken him back nearly twenty 
 years, and the childhood agony that had shaken 
 him here was no more real than that which 
 swayed him now, and he wanted wanted to 
 see her again. He permitted himself to confess 
 the fact and that anger, revolt, blame, and 
 reproach had long ago died, in his memories 
 of her he forgot that he had ever thought 
 her a cruel, heartless coquette who had played 
 with a man's heart and soul, he forgot every- 
 thing excepting that she had been to him the 
 321
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 one perfect woman and that he wanted to see 
 her once more. 
 
 In these years, happy years, calm, success- 
 ful, and harmonious, nothing had disturbed 
 his content. The new love which he had 
 violently and desperately taken into his life 
 crushed out the old. But here, in his native 
 town, her memory came to tell him that he 
 could never be happy or at peace unless he 
 saw her. And that should he see her and 
 love her again, and find that he had never 
 ceased to do so, his happiness was doomed. 
 Nothing but her hands could close the doors 
 between them or open on the gardens of his 
 old self and his first great passion a promise 
 of something from her still the fulfilment to 
 him of the promises she had never kept. 
 
 A motor, driven by a man in livery, puffed 
 up, stopped at his gate, and a lady got out of 
 the car and came up the sagging brick path 
 where the weeds had grown. He knew that 
 it was Mrs. Nicholas Pyrnne his heart beat 
 322
 
 THE SPELL BROKEN 
 
 like an engine in his breast and he did not 
 move, but waited as he was until she came up 
 the steps and her foot fell on the porch. He 
 had not seen her since, in the drawing-room of 
 her own house here in Syracuse, he had asked 
 her to marry him and she had told him she 
 was engaged to Nicholas Pyrnne. She came 
 in without ringing or knocking, for the door 
 stood wide open, and before he could decide 
 whether to run or stand fast, he knew without 
 seeing her that she had come into the room 
 and was standing before him. He never re- 
 membered whether or not he greeted her; he 
 had a vague feeling that as she came their 
 hearts and senses and minds blent in a mystical, 
 union. 
 
 "I saw you at poor Doctor Brainard's 
 funeral last week, John. I was hoping we 
 would meet before you went West ! . . . It's 
 awfully nice to see you again, John; I've 
 had your news from the boys. And how 
 dear of you to telephone me, as you did just 
 323
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 now from the old house, and how splendid 
 that you're going to live here in Syracuse some 
 day." 
 
 He had not looked at her, with every word 
 she said, his heart, like a thing to be tor- 
 tured and sacrificed, was being led back into 
 the foolish, dreadful, wonderful, beautiful, and 
 agonizing past. He thought doggedly: 
 
 "There's nothing in her voice that's going 
 to break the spell there's no hope or help 
 there." 
 
 He had been a fool to send for her! 
 
 Mrs. Pyrnne laughed softly, and that sound 
 was another pang, musical, humorous, and 
 sweet. 
 
 "Are you blind, John ? Have you lost your 
 eyesight ?" 
 
 For six years he had been reading the book 
 of young beauty, and he had learned his lesson 
 with great affection and sincere love. He had 
 become a connoisseur of bloom, of soft youth- 
 ful lines, slenderness and grace, of eyes fresh 
 3 2 4
 
 THE SPELL BROKEN 
 
 and blue as Irish lakes, of raven hair, glossy, 
 untouched by a white thread. 
 
 He put his hand out frankly and said with- 
 out any perceptible effort: "It was awfully 
 good of you to come like this, Mrs. Pyrnne 
 but you were always good to me." 
 
 "I've been far better to you than you ever 
 knew," she couldn't help saying; she didn't 
 tell him that she knew he found her changed. 
 But his frankness, his sudden ease, his look of 
 evident emancipation! Oh, heavens! Vir- 
 ginia Bathurst had thought she knew what 
 the keen pang was; she had thought when he 
 left her that day in Syracuse, six years ago, 
 that she could never suffer again. She saw 
 now that she had been wrong. 
 
 "You're going to make a lot of changes here, 
 aren't you? You're going to rebuild?" 
 
 The proprietor looked around the bare rooms 
 with sudden interest. 
 
 "Yes, it's a little too small for the family 
 as it is now, you know." 
 325
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 She nodded sympathetically. 
 
 "See," he indicated through the window, 
 "there comes the architect, confound him, and 
 who's that with him?" 
 
 "My husband." 
 
 They faced each other in the dismantled 
 room. Then John Bennett, mentally and 
 spiritually set free by the sight of her, yet 
 finding her wonderfully dear and knowing that 
 he should always love her much, said warmly : 
 
 "I've never dreamed what a splendid friend 
 you are until now. Do you know, I've cursed 
 you all my life for making me suffer, but I 
 understand that you meant something else by 
 what you did, and though," he added with 
 tenderness, "I couldn't imagine a greater 
 happiness than to have been your husband, 
 still I know that when you were cruel to me 
 you did not really mean to make me grieve." 
 
 The lady before him rested her dark eyes, 
 grave and beautiful, on John; her smile was 
 adorable, she was lovely as the late rose is 
 326
 
 THE SPELL BROKEN 
 
 lovely as it lays its full-blown beauty against 
 a patch of autumn sunlight on the wall before 
 it withers and its petals fall. She put her 
 hand on his shoulder and it reposed there 
 like snow on the dark cloth. 
 
 "Your wife owes me a great deal," Mrs. 
 Pyrnne said, "although I don't suppose she 
 knows it, for you were a very determined 
 lover, John." 
 
 His heart began to beat again. 
 
 "You taught me how to love," he said. 
 
 Still thinking how charming and wonderful 
 she had been, how more charming and more 
 wonderful she was now, putting as she did her 
 master touch to it all by setting him free, by 
 leaving his mind and imagination free to love 
 his wife, whom until this moment he had 
 never really been free to love with all his 
 power for he had been haunted, tempted, 
 assailed with his image of Virginia Bathurst 
 still thinking that he was grateful to her, he 
 said: 
 
 327
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 "I have been mad enough to think more than 
 once of that last night in Bathurst House and 
 what you promised me then." He flushed 
 as he spoke. "Of course, you don't remember, 
 but you said " 
 
 She interrupted him. "I said I would give 
 you all." 
 
 He nodded. "I built my life on that." 
 
 A shadow crossed her face and she answered 
 hesitatingly: "I can't see why you should re- 
 call this now." 
 
 And he replied, having grown in his emanci- 
 pation suddenly very wise and very clever: 
 
 "I see to-day for the first time that when 
 you said that, you meant something else. You 
 meant then that you would give me just what 
 I have to-day. I mean to say Milly and the 
 kids." 
 
 The lady forced herself to smile. 
 
 "You're a very clever man, John." 
 
 And he exclaimed, delighted at his wisdom : 
 328
 
 THE SPELL BROKEN 
 
 "Well, I've just thought it all out now; and 
 you were a wonder, a wonder." 
 
 She laughed gently. "So were you, John, 
 so were you." 
 
 The light poured full from the window on 
 her now, revealing her plainly. She knew per- 
 fectly well, as every beautiful woman knows 
 well, that her hair was marked with gray and 
 that her bloom was faded. She stood fear- 
 lessly in the garish, pitiless light. It had 
 shone on her twenty years ago as she stood 
 there in the fresh bloom of her beauty and it 
 shone on her now. Her hand was still on his 
 shoulder, and John covered it with both of his. 
 Something in her laugh brought back for a 
 moment his old despair. 
 
 "Oh," he said with a long breath, "do you 
 know that I went through hell for you? If 
 you had cared for me even a little bit, no 
 matter what you thought you ought to have 
 done, you couldn't have treated me as you did. 
 
 329
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 It must have helped you splendidly not to 
 care." 
 
 She said: "Well, you don't seem to have 
 quite forgiven me, John." And to herself: 
 "I didn't suppose I would have to go through 
 just this again. . . ." 
 
 And he replied slowly: "Oh, yes, I have 
 forgiven; but it's a very fresh forgiveness. 
 I've only just forgiven you this day." 
 
 In spite of herself, she breathed : "And you 
 speak of cruelty !" 
 
 But she smiled as she said the words, and 
 half humorously, half tenderly, hearing the 
 steps of the two men on the porch, John said : 
 
 "Do you know that you owe me many, 
 many " 
 
 And he didn't finish, for Mrs. Pyrnne bent 
 toward him. She blushed, she didn't kiss him, 
 but for a second her fragrant cheek lay against 
 his lips, as the full blown rose lays its beauty 
 to the sun and then, as they stood apart, 
 Nicholas Pyrnne and the architect came in 
 330
 
 THE SPELL BROKEN 
 
 together. And in the next five seconds, after 
 he had greeted the two gentlemen, John Ben- 
 nett, with a great show of interest, was indi- 
 cating to Mr. Pyrnne and the builder where he 
 wanted the front window to be cut out and 
 transformed into a bow. 
 
 THE END
 
 A 000127511 4