i v EVASION 
 
 EUGENIA BROOKS FROTH INGHAM
 
 O 
 
 /
 
 OF CALIF. LIBRARY, LOS AflGELE
 
 upnia brooks 
 
 THE EVASION. i 2 rao, $1.50. 
 
 THE TURN OF THE ROAD, izmo, $1.50. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK
 
 THE EVASION
 
 The Evasion 
 
 BY 
 
 Eugenia Brooks Frothingham 
 
 Author of " The Turn of the Road " 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 te$S, <ambrib0e 
 
 1906
 
 COPYRIGHT 1906 BY EUGENIA BROOKS FROTHINGHAM 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published March zqob 
 
 THIRD IMPRESSION
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PROLOGUE 3 
 
 PART I 
 
 I. THE FATES IN CONFERENCE 13 
 
 II. A WOMAN OF THE WORLD 23 
 
 III. GLADYS BEGINS HER EDUCATION . . . .30 
 
 IV. THE DEBUTANTE 39 
 
 V. THE SOCIALIST 48 
 
 VI. ATHEIST AND MYSTIC 57 
 
 VII. THE LOVER 65 
 
 VIII. DICK AND ARTHUR 70 
 
 IX. TRUANCY 79 
 
 X. A GAME OF POKER 83 
 
 XI. FEET OF CLAY 89 
 
 XII. ARTHUR DISQUALIFIED 96 
 
 XIII. MOONLIGHT 104 
 
 XIV. QUIXOTISM 108 
 
 PART II 
 
 I. A RETURN 121 
 
 II. OVER THE TEA-CUPS 129 
 
 III. SISTERS 137 
 
 IV. THE GAME 145 
 
 2129522
 
 vi CONTENTS 
 
 V. ARTHUR S WOOING 154 
 
 VI. A MEETING AT MIDNIGHT .... 164 
 
 VII. ANOTHER MEETING 171 
 
 VIII. AFTERMATH 182 
 
 IX. FLIGHT 191 
 
 X. SPRING 197 
 
 XI. A WOMAN S DECISION 204 
 
 XII. A MAN S RESOLVE 211 
 
 XIII. UNCHARTED WATERS 224 
 
 XIV. LAYING THE CORNER-STONE .... 235 
 XV. HUSBAND AND WIFE 248 
 
 XVI. ALPHONSE DE CHAVANNES .... 263 
 XVII. THE PROFESSOR is TROUBLED .... 276 
 
 XVIII. AN AUGUST NIGHT 285 
 
 XIX. AN AWAKENING 299 
 
 XX. REALIZATION 313 
 
 XXI. THE PLACE OF MEMORIES 323 
 
 XXII. THE ORDEAL OF GLADYS .... 335 
 
 XXIII. ARTHUR S RETURN 351 
 
 XXIV. DIANA 358 
 
 XXV. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW . . . .366 
 
 XXVI. BURNT PAPER 378 
 
 XXVII. ON THE CLIFF 390 
 
 XXVIII. ON THE SANDS 395 
 
 XXIX. RENUNCIATION . 407
 
 PROLOGUE
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 T 
 
 HE summer world was full of beauty, beauty that 
 mounted daily as the sap in the trees, as the tides under 
 midsummer moons. Wealth was flung upon wealth, 
 beauty upon beauty, glory upon glory, and Marian 
 Copeland, to whom these things were as the life of 
 her soul, lay dying. 
 
 The accident had been so swift and terrible that 
 neighbors forgot the disapproval with which they had 
 always regarded her irresponsibility, her pagan love 
 of nature and beauty, and her lack of principle as 
 evinced in the bringing up of her boy, with whom since 
 her husband s death she had been more like a child 
 than a mother. They spoke of her now with awestruck 
 voices, wondering how she could die on a day of so 
 much beauty, how she could die at all, she for whom 
 death seemed so much too still and solemn. 
 
 Yet Marian Copeland was to die, and on this day, 
 full as it was of the beauty that she loved. 
 
 " She will not last till evening," said the great spe 
 cialist who had been summoned from Boston. 
 
 " Then I suppose that some one must tell the boy," 
 suggested the specialist s assistant. 
 
 But the famous man was indifferent upon the subject. 
 He was, in fact, unaware of the existence of a boy, and 
 
 3
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 felt that on general principles the less heard of boys 
 the better. The assistant might do as he liked, he said, 
 provided the child could be kept from making a dis 
 turbance ; and then he got into his buggy and drove 
 away. 
 
 The young physician left in charge of the situation 
 stood for a moment in the sunshine. He had an acute 
 recollection of the little figure he had found the night 
 before, lying asleep outside the door of the sick woman s 
 chamber, and of the dark eyes that had questioned 
 him as the boy started into consciousness. He was not 
 an attractive boy, being neither pretty nor particularly 
 clean. In the suddenness and terror of accident no 
 one had thought to wash or undress him, so that his 
 face was still stained by the blueberries picked and eaten 
 the afternoon before by him and the young mother, 
 little more than a child herself, who now lay dying in 
 the glory of the summer day. 
 
 " Can I go in to her now?" he had asked; and at 
 intervals during the morning he had repeated the ques 
 tion with the maddening persistency of children. When 
 denied he had gone quietly away, for they told him any 
 noise would disturb her. But as the day wore on his 
 questions were put with increasing frequency, and after 
 each denial there was a longer pause before he turned 
 away, and during which he fixed upon the one in author 
 ity a look of inquiry and deepening suspicion. 
 
 The young doctor was a coward, as all men are when 
 confronted with emotional responsibility, and while he 
 deliberated as to the course he had best pursue, the 
 
 4
 
 PKOLOGUE 
 
 child stood again before him. His feet were bare, and 
 he carried his boots in his hand. By daylight the blue 
 berry stains about his lips were especially prominent, 
 and the knees of his trousers bore signs of yesterday s 
 frolic. 
 
 "Can I go in to her now?" he asked. "I will be 
 very quiet. I have taken off my boots on purpose." 
 
 " I think you had better not go in yet," said the doc 
 tor, anxious to gain time, and hoping that the little 
 questioner would go away as he had gone before. 
 
 But this time he did not go away. His bare feet were 
 planted firmly in the dust, his eyes were more than 
 usually suspicious, and the pause more than usually 
 long. 
 
 " Why not? " he asked finally. " Why not, can t I 
 go in to her ? " 
 
 " Because you would disturb her." 
 
 There was another pause, and another scrutiny. 
 
 " I have never disturbed her, never once since I was 
 born," he persisted. 
 
 " And how do you know that? " asked the doctor, in 
 a light and cheerful tone. 
 
 " Because she told me so," answered the boy gravely. 
 
 There is a power in the unconsciousness and direct 
 ness of children which the man may envy ; and it was 
 this power, as much as a distressing duty, which made 
 the young doctor exceedingly uncomfortable. He was 
 conscious of distinct relief when the boy turned away, 
 and, stepping softly, disappeared into the house. So 
 little noise did the bare feet make that the nurse 
 
 5
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 was not aware of him till he stood by the bed ; and the 
 sick woman s consciousness, struggling through fever 
 and opium, woke, as with a cry his mother caught him 
 in her arms. 
 
 " Dickie ! Dickie ! " The voice was thick and broken. 
 " Dickie, I am going to die I am too young to die 
 too young ! " And then there were burning kisses, long, 
 laboring sobs, her cheek hot and tear-stained against 
 his, her finger-tips wandering over his brow, his eyelids, 
 his lips, choking words of tenderness, and always the 
 blind kisses, clinging, long-drawn, delirious. In the 
 confusion that followed her inevitable collapse, Dickie 
 was hurried from the room. 
 
 There are many who pass from youth to middle age 
 before receiving the revelation that life can be a great 
 and a terrible thing ; there are more who never receive 
 it ; but to Dickie the knowledge was given while he was 
 yet a child, and stood in his mother s garden knowing 
 that she was going to die. 
 
 To die she was going to die ! She was going to 
 leave him alone ; and Dickie flung himself on the 
 ground in agony. 
 
 Suffering does not measure time, so it might have 
 been a moment or a year before he heard the voice of 
 his nurse, and his head was drawn into her arms. 
 
 " My darlin ! my darlin ! " She was rocking to and 
 fro in her grief. " She won t be for to die ! she won t 
 be for to lave ye. Pray, dearie, pray ! They say the 
 Lord listens to the prayers of little children. Pray to 
 the Blessed Virgin, the Blessed Mother, who knows the 
 
 6
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 pain of children ah! what am I after sayin ? She 
 would never learn ye to pray to our Mother in heaven, 
 and if I learned ye now she might be too angered to 
 stay wid us. Pray wid the Lord s Prayer she taught ye 
 wid her own lips ; but pray low, dearie, pray in a whis 
 per, for she s sleepin now, and it s the sleep that will 
 do her good, and the blessed Lord and all the saints 
 will hear if ye so much as whisper." 
 
 " The Lord listens to the prayers of little children." 
 The words sank deep into Dickie s soul. 
 
 "Tell me about God, mamma," he had asked her 
 once. And she had said that no one knew much about 
 Him, except that He was good. 
 
 " God is good, and listens to the prayers of little 
 children." Then surely surely she would not die. 
 
 Under an apple-tree, far away from his mother s 
 chamber, so that he should not disturb her, Dickie 
 prayed. 
 
 " Oh, God, save her, save her ! " he whispered, 
 kneeling in a huddled little heap, his head almost on 
 the ground. Above and about him was the quiet sum 
 mer stillness, a golden stillness, broken only by the 
 hum of insects and occasional splashes of music from 
 a song-sparrow. 
 
 " There are so many mothers in heaven," prayed 
 Dickie. " You cannot need her up there, there are so 
 many mothers in heaven and I have only her. Let 
 her stay, and I will be good oh, I will be good ! " 
 
 Now and again the whispers were interrupted by 
 sobs, the need of silence was forgotten in the passion 
 
 7
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 of appeal, and then he would cower down in terror, 
 pressing his hands to his mouth. He sobbed with harsh, 
 gasping sobs too heavy for his small frame, so that 
 finally a merciful exhaustion came to him, and with 
 exhaustion quiet came also, and the dawn of faith. He 
 raised his eyes to the branches above, that were full of 
 shadow and sunlight. 
 
 " God is good," repeated the child. " He cannot let 
 her die when I have begged so hard." 
 
 Over the meadows floated the evening song of the 
 wood-thrush, serene, lofty, remote from the passions 
 of men. Dickie felt suddenly that all was well, not as 
 God might will, but as he wished, and he lay on his 
 back with his face to the sky and his arms outstretched, 
 while the song of the thrush came to him again and 
 again through the evening calm. 
 
 " The Lord listens to the prayers of little children," 
 whispered Dickie, after which there was a smile on his 
 lips, and he slept. 
 
 When he woke the world had grown dark. He was 
 shivering, and found on standing up that he must 
 steady himself against the tree, for it was many hours 
 since he had eaten. But he was not unhappy, for he 
 knew that his prayer had been answered. 
 
 The house was still and dark, but a faint light shone 
 from his mother s room into the garden. 
 
 He crept up the staircase, groping his way, and 
 obliged to sit down now and then because of a dizzy 
 feeling in his head. At these times the stillness of the 
 
 8
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 thick dark was like a presence, and at any other time 
 he might have been afraid. 
 
 At the head of the staircase a faint shaft of light 
 came from the half-open door of his mother s room. 
 Very softly the bare feet took him to the door, and he 
 pushed it wide open. 
 
 Half an hour later they found him lying senseless 
 across the threshold. 
 
 After the funeral the presiding clergyman felt it 
 necessary to take Dickie aside. 
 
 " Why did you not kneel with me when the others 
 knelt?" he asked. 
 
 " Were n t you praying ? " asked the boy. 
 
 " Of course we were praying." 
 
 " I thought so," said Dickie. " That is why I did not 
 kneel." He looked at the clergyman with steady, un- 
 childlike eyes. " I will never ask God for anything 
 again," he added.
 
 PART I
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE FATES IN CONFERENCE 
 
 HE fact that he was a notoriously bad boy is rather 
 in his favor than otherwise," said Mrs. Stanwood. " I 
 shall certainly ask him." And Richard Copeland s 
 name and address went down in her notebook. " His 
 guardian is one of my oldest friends," she continued, 
 " and I can hardly refuse to receive his ward at my 
 house because he refused to say his prayers at a funeral 
 when he was ten years old. Why was he expelled from 
 St. Matthew s school?" 
 
 " Because he would not go to chapel. He said the 
 service was wicked, and the Nicene Creed worse than 
 anything in paganism. I don t blame him much for 
 that myself." And Miss Miranda Lawrence, who was 
 a stanch Unitarian, stabbed her emery bag with an 
 energy suggestive of her readiness for combat. 
 
 But her sister, Mrs. Stanwood, made no response to 
 this warlike temper, though she was an Episcopalian 
 who would have scorned to occupy any but the most 
 expensive pew in the most expensive church of Boston. 
 
 " And how about the English schools ? " she asked. 
 13
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " The same difficulty from a religious point of view, 
 added to his unwillingness to stand the fagging. He 
 created quite a scandal in England." 
 
 " A scandal, you say better and better ! " cried 
 Mrs. Stanwood gayly. " Why, the boy is sure to make 
 a mark ! He will be a radical of some kind, perhaps 
 even an anarchist, and he may found a new Boston 
 religion. In the meantime I wish him to be seen at my 
 parties." 
 
 " But why ask him just when you are bringing out 
 Gladys ? " 
 
 " I have n t said that I would bring out Gladys. Wait 
 till I have seen her. You don t tell me she is pretty." 
 
 " I have said that she is small, and has red hair." 
 
 " If you are small enough it is a distinction, and red 
 hair is rather an advantage than otherwise if you know 
 how to dress for it." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Miss Miranda. " I have n t encour 
 aged her to think much about dress so far." 
 
 " We will change all that," said her sister serenely. 
 
 " Which any one would feel sure of to look at you," 
 retorted Miss Miranda. 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," answered Mrs. Stanwood, with 
 great sincerity, and the subject was dropped. There was 
 no ill-feeling between them, but they were more or less 
 unknown quantities to each other. 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood was a woman of what is known as the 
 grand monde. She had married a fortune and a good- 
 natured man, and made the most of both. For fifteen 
 years the best that Europe could offer of talent and 
 
 14
 
 THE FATES IN CONFEKENCE 
 
 aristocracy had met in her drawing-rooms. She was a so 
 cial influence in London, a power in the Faubourg St. 
 Germain, and in Rome Papist and Royalist had met in 
 her palace. It was for these things that Mrs. Stan wood 
 lived, and she had never been heard to say that life 
 was not worth the living ; for there is a social talent as 
 marked and inevitable as that for any of the arts, and 
 Mrs. Stanwood possessed this talent. It seemed there 
 fore much to her credit when she submitted so grace 
 fully to her husband s suddenly announced intention of 
 returning to his own country. 
 
 " Yes," she said, in answer to inquiries, " I am taking 
 poor Willie back to Boston. What am I going to do 
 there ? Dieu salt, ma chere ! But he has stayed over 
 here for so long to please me that it is his turn now, 
 for he never liked Europe." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood usually spoke of her husband as 
 " poor Willie," with an accent suggestive of kindly 
 tolerance, not unmixed with pity for his shortcomings, 
 and on this occasion the impression conveyed was one 
 of voluntary and charming willingness to subscribe to 
 his unspoken wish. In reality, she knew by a certain 
 expression of her husband s chin that his mind was 
 made up, and that no power of hers could unmake it ; 
 so she accepted his decision with the gay philosophy 
 which was her great charm, and prepared to make the 
 best of it. 
 
 It was true that Mr. Stanwood had never liked living 
 in Europe. He found it difficult to remember foreign 
 names, he was unable to cope with repartee, nor could 
 
 15
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 he discuss art, love, temperament, or the subleties of 
 European diplomacy. It followed, therefore, that he 
 was at a disadvantage in his wife s drawing-room, and 
 no man may stand this long and keep his self-respect. 
 
 But it must not be thought that during these fifteen 
 long years Mr. Stanwood had been entirely without 
 consolation. He was known as one of the most eminent 
 beetle collectors in Europe, and in beetles he found his 
 comfort and his pride, for no one could safely contra 
 dict him on the subject of coleopteran specimens, or turn 
 the argument into regions whither he could not follow. 
 
 He had hoped for quiet in the city of his fathers, 
 but soon discovered his mistake. Though he might, and 
 often did, find peace at his club, he need but enter his 
 own door to be plunged into as gay if not so varied a 
 social atmosphere as he had ever encountered in Europe. 
 Superbly padded army officers were lacking, and highly 
 decorative Catholic prelates, and diplomats of strange 
 countries, who had dark skins and wore gorgeous, un- 
 Christian clothes ; but there was just as much move 
 ment, and quite as many dinners and luncheons, as 
 during the Continental years. He had also hoped for 
 New England simplicity of arrangement in his home ; 
 but he was again mistaken, for his wife had imported 
 madonnas, triptychs, shrines, and images from Catholic 
 countries, porcelain from Sevres, mosaics from Italian 
 palaces, and bric-a-brac from every corner of Europe. 
 
 " It might be a Continental bazaar," he said mor 
 bidly, but paid custom-house duties without more seri 
 ous protest than an evening of ill-humor. 
 
 16
 
 THE FATES IN CONFERENCE 
 
 His wife found life little more than tolerable in her 
 own city. Of social gayety there was sufficient to satisfy 
 her exactions ; but after the first winter she became 
 conscious of a void. 
 
 " There is no variety about it," she complained, 
 " and the people are all so young ! " 
 
 Her forty years had sat lightly upon her in Europe, 
 but, once conscious of the reign of the bud and college 
 youth, which is indigenous to Boston soil, she became 
 anxious. The bud and the college youth bored her, 
 and the presence of slang and absence of ideas in these 
 young people was a natural trial to one who had lived 
 among ambassadors and statesmen. 
 
 " But one must have a scattering of debutantes and 
 football players at one s parties, even if one finds it 
 impossible to hold rational conversation with them, 7 
 she said. "I had forgotten Boston was so silly; had n t 
 you, Willie?" 
 
 Mr. Stanwood, looking at the magnificence of his 
 rooms, and remembering the almost equal magnificence 
 of the houses in which he dined, remarked that Boston 
 had changed incredibly; and then he sought the "Bee- 
 tlery," his place of refuge from disturbing thought. 
 
 It was about this time that Mrs. Stanwood felt the 
 want of a daughter to " bring out," and bethought her 
 self of her niece, whom she had never seen, and who 
 must be approaching the delectable age. 
 
 Miranda Lawrence, who was in charge of this niece, 
 had never married. " But what can any one expect 
 who is called Miranda?" asked Mrs. Stanwood of a 
 
 17
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 friend. "Yes, we are sisters stranger things may 
 have been," she added. 
 
 Miss Lawrence would have disdained to answer airy 
 persiflage about her name. The temper of New Eng 
 land villages is not attuned to persiflage, and Miranda 
 had spent her life in one. Moreover, she was by nature 
 serious, and had not the light touch on life and things, 
 nor the easy philosophy, wherein lay much of her sister s 
 power. But, like her sister, she had chosen her own 
 way of living, and never regretted her choice. To stay 
 in the family mansion and take care of her brother 
 and his three children from the time of his young wife s 
 death had been the destiny of her own choice, from 
 which Miranda never swerved. 
 
 Her brother was a professor of bacteriology, who 
 studied germs with even more ardor than his brother- 
 in-law expended upon beetles ; and he often wished that 
 Miranda were not so unflinching in her duty. He would 
 have preferred a little less care-taking, a little less de 
 votion as evidenced in the stiffness of his linen, a little 
 less punctuality of meal hours. He sometimes wished to 
 find his hat and stick on the wood-box where he had 
 left them, though Miranda, already worn thin in his 
 service, had been the one to transfer them to a coat 
 closet. He even went so far as to be conscious of im 
 patience that Miranda s sense of duty compelled her to 
 sit with him in the evening, though she was plainly 
 overcome with sleep by half-past nine. 
 
 But the Professor bore his trouble without protest. 
 Protest and peace could not keep company in a house 
 
 18
 
 THE FATES IN CONFERENCE 
 
 where Miss Miranda was mistress, and above all things 
 in the world the Professor desired peace. Of his three 
 children, two, a boy and a girl, were at boarding-school ; 
 the third and oldest was Gladys, the girl whom Mrs. 
 Stanwood proposed to introduce to the world. 
 
 Miss Miranda loved Gladys, as indeed she loved each 
 one of her adopted family, but she was one of those 
 whose destiny it is to love without return. The love 
 that is capable of lifelong devotion, of heroic sacrifice ; 
 the love of those who will die for us, or, what is often 
 more difficult, live for us, is not always the love that 
 can command return, and this is one of the saddest 
 things in life. The greater part of living is made up 
 of little things, and those who make the little things 
 pleasant for us, who fill our days with a gracious pre 
 sence, with ease, with sweetness, and with mirth, are 
 those who capture our love. Miranda Lawrence had 
 sacrificed personal happiness for her brother and his 
 children, but she could not make them happy. Her 
 presence was not a gracious one ; she lacked the supple 
 ness that makes sympathy and comprehension possible ; 
 she could not shed mirth and sweetness upon the lives 
 about her ; and so her love was fated to be without re 
 turn. Upright, strong, and pure, living rigidly, loving 
 dumbly, knowing neither hesitation nor compromise, 
 Miranda Lawrence walked the cold and lonely way of 
 many a New England sister. 
 
 She was not happy at the prospect of surrendering 
 Gladys to the light-hearted cosmopolitan who had come 
 to claim her ; but pride of race was strong within her, 
 
 19
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 and she wished Gladys to occupy the position of social 
 prominence and power which was hers by birth. 
 
 When the Professor detached himself from his 
 germs sufficiently long to discuss the future of his 
 oldest daughter, and declared himself in favor of her 
 introduction to the Boston world, Miranda made no 
 objection to the plan. It is possible that the Profes 
 sor s ready acquiescence in his daughter s departure 
 from the family mansion may have come from a fear 
 that if Gladys lived too long with her Aunt Miranda 
 she would grow to be like her. But that such a fear 
 would be unfounded, no one looking at the two could 
 doubt. 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood also reflected uneasily upon the pos 
 sible result of Miranda s education of her niece. 
 
 " Tell me the worst at once," she exclaimed finally. 
 " Whom does she resemble you or me ? " 
 
 She asked the question with a pretty gayety at which 
 it would have been impossible to take offense ; but be 
 fore her sister could reply the door opened and a deli 
 cate, spirit-like little person with red hair stood on the 
 threshold. 
 
 " This is Gladys," said Miranda, and her sister was 
 answered. The girl resembled no one but herself. Her 
 personality was unusual, as Mrs. Stanwood noticed with 
 relief, and she almost forgot to wonder if Gladys could 
 be called pretty she was so much more. She was 
 pale, but her pallor was exquisite ; she was small, but 
 so small as to fail in being insignificant. Her fairness 
 was of a transparency that seemed scarcely tangible; 
 
 20
 
 THE FATES IN CONFERENCE 
 
 and one would have said that her flesh and blood be 
 longed rather among essences than substances. But 
 this spirit-like personality was contradicted by the 
 red of her hair, which was like pale, rebellious flame, 
 and whether she spoke or was silent, moved or was 
 still, this flame seemed the visible expression of some 
 subtle essence that vitalized her entire being, giving 
 her delicate little person a vividness and nervous force 
 that made her very emphatically a creature of this 
 world. 
 
 " So this is Gladys," Mrs. Stanwood said slowly, 
 holding her hand after the conventional kiss. 
 
 "And you are Aunt Edith," answered the girl, in a 
 clear, childlike voice, returning her aunt s scrutiny with 
 eyes the color of spring skies. 
 
 There was a short silence, during which Mrs. Stan- 
 wood tried to classify the girl ; but failing in this, she 
 allowed her eyes to wander over the stiff, unbecoming 
 dress of gray print, which was, of course, Miranda s 
 choice. Gladys saw the look, understood it, and re 
 joiced. 
 
 "You had better smooth your hair, child," inter 
 rupted Aunt Miranda, in her downright, decided tones. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " answered Mrs. Stanwood airily, and 
 with a pretty foreign gesture. " We like it rough, 
 don t we, Gladys ? " From that moment Gladys wor 
 shiped at her Aunt Edith s feet. 
 
 " So you are coming to visit me next summer," con 
 tinued that lady, conscious of her easy victory. 
 
 " Am I ? " asked Gladys. A sudden and apparently 
 21
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 uncalled-for mirth danced in her eyes as she turned 
 them upon Aunt Miranda. " Am I ? " she repeated. 
 
 " I think your father has given his consent," said 
 Aunt Edith. 
 
 " Papa oh, yes." A slight upward movement of 
 the chin suggested the trifling importance of such con 
 sent. " And you you are really going to ask me ? " 
 she added, evidently struggling with laughter and some 
 hidden impulse. 
 
 " So far as I am concerned, it is settled," answered 
 Mrs. Stanwood, and then Gladys s impulse conquered. 
 Laughing, half audacious, half ashamed, she knelt sud 
 denly by her aunt s side, a liberty nothing since her 
 childhood had prompted her to take with Miss Miranda. 
 
 " Aunt Miranda said you would never ask me if you 
 did not think I was pretty," she said, " and I think 
 I think that if I did not have to wear so many gray 
 checks, I might possibly be a little pretty some 
 times." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood laughed, a laugh as fresh and young 
 as Gladys s own. " I see that we shall be excellent 
 friends," she said.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A WOMAN OF THE WORLD 
 
 IT 
 
 was only a few weeks later that Gladys Lawrence 
 began a new life. In the dignified colonial mansion of 
 her birth, her delicate, wayward personality had been 
 almost submerged ; but in Mrs. Stanwood s modern 
 house, with its irregular outlines, its gay awnings, its 
 light and space and luxury, Gladys knew herself to be 
 at home. 
 
 On the tables were the latest books, with alluring 
 titles, and current magazines, with news and pictures 
 of strange lands over the seas ; and everywhere were 
 flowers, flowers that she loved, but which had been 
 denied her in the old house because " they cluttered up 
 things so." The bibelots, pictures, and bits of ancient 
 arras that Mrs. Stanwood had brought from Europe 
 were sufficiently prominent to pervade the atmosphere, 
 and these hints of old-world culture were of infinite 
 and bewildering suggestiveness to Gladys, whose hori 
 zon had been limited by pale New England skies. The 
 new and incredible possibilities they offered were not 
 the least important elements in the roseate atmosphere 
 which surrounded her first days of freedom. 
 
 Aunt Edith, always exquisitely dressed, fresh, buoy 
 ant, and apparently as full of life as the girl herself, 
 
 23
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 was the fairy godmother of this wonderful world. She 
 appeared to have unlimited resources in the way of new 
 dresses, ribbons, lace, chiffons of all kinds, with which 
 to replace Gladys s village wardrobe, and one might 
 have said she lived but to provide the girl with pleas 
 ure and amusement. 
 
 But Gladys was of the age when pleasure and amuse 
 ment are only words. She was at the time when the 
 cup of life holds nothing less than happiness, and this 
 cup, full of fragrance and magic, the girl held to her 
 lips with eager, confident hands. Pleasure and amuse 
 ment are things that come later, when our taste for life 
 is dulled, and our days require seasoning, the refuge 
 of jaded palates. An unhappy man or woman may find 
 relief in amusement, and the greater the weariness the 
 more feverish the search for pleasure. But the grays of 
 youth are blue and the yellows golden. In such a world 
 the paltry ring of mere amusement is changed straight 
 way to the tumult of joy bells. 
 
 Beyond the sheltered beauty and gayety of Mrs. 
 Stanwood s home was the sea, still and beautiful, an 
 immeasurable force, slumbering and remote under the 
 blue of June. Only at night, when the warm scents of 
 earth were spent, a damp, alien breath floated in from 
 the great deeps, and there were solemn whispers along 
 the shore as the tides came up. But Gladys knew 
 nothing of these things as yet. 
 
 The first few days were largely spent in consultation 
 with the dressmaker, who brought fabulous stuffs from 
 the city for Mrs. Stanwood to choose from, and the 
 
 24
 
 choosing was an occupation of absorbing and almost 
 sacred importance. 
 
 "It is almost too good to be true ! " said Gladys 
 once, with a sigh of deep happiness. 
 
 " What is?/ inquired her aunt. 
 
 " Oh, everything ! you most of all." 
 
 Mrs. Stan wood laughed lightly. "Nonsense, child, 
 there is nothing too good to be true about me, I can 
 assure you." 
 
 They were in Mrs. Stan wood s boudoir ; and Gladys, 
 for whom most chairs were too large, was indulging a 
 lifelong preference for the floor, cushions, or any other 
 substitute for a formal seat, and had placed herself on a 
 footstool near her aunt, from which position she could 
 look through the long French window at the sea. 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood felt that it was time to broach an 
 important subject. 
 
 " There is one thing wanting, and I wonder if you 
 can guess what it is," she said. 
 
 " What can it possibly be ? " asked Gladys serenely. 
 
 " A lover, of course." 
 
 " A lover ? " Gladys laughed and blushed. 
 
 * C est une enfant delicieuse ! " thought her aunt. " I 
 must take care that my worldly chatter does not spoil 
 her. The want will be supplied soon," she said aloud, 
 " for Willie is to bring down Richard Copeland and 
 Arthur Davenport to-night. Mr. Copeland has been in 
 disgrace of one kind or another ever since he was born, 
 and they tell me he is quite ugly and terribly strong, 
 but very rich and clever. Arthur is tall and handsome 
 
 25
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 and exceedingly poor. I expect him to fall in love with 
 you, which is why I asked him he is an adept in such 
 matters. In fact, I expect them both to be at your feet 
 before the week is over, but I do not suppose you will 
 mind that." 
 
 Gladys blushed again. " I am afraid I should like 
 it," she acknowledged, " but I suppose it is wrong." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said her aunt, much amused. " If you 
 did n t like it, I should be in despair. There is, I believe, 
 a woman who does not like to be loved unless she can 
 love in return ; but such a paradox exists only in New 
 England." 
 
 "It is wrong to give pain," said Gladys, with her 
 eyes on the sea. 
 
 " Pain ah, my child, the wound of a man s heart 
 is the least and the most transient of pains. At a cer 
 tain age all men are sure to love, and at all ages certain 
 men are sure to love. That a man loves one woman 
 rather than another, and if that one be yourself, is the 
 least of matters. The boy loves because love he must, 
 or do something less creditable, and if he loves the right 
 girl he is better all his life for it. The man who loves 
 because love he must, because his temperament demands 
 the excitement and stimulus and there are many 
 such men is surely the last to trouble our conscience, 
 even when he loves us rather than the woman across 
 the way, whom it is likely that he will love, in spite of 
 us, next month. And remember one thing, Gladys, 
 nothing is so easy as to influence for his good the man 
 who loves you." 
 
 26
 
 A WOMAN OF THE WORLD 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood prided herself on the last clause of 
 her lecture, which was an inspiration of the moment, 
 and seemed especially adapted to the nature she was 
 seeking to influence. 
 
 Gladys listened composedly, with her eyes on the sea. 
 " You almost make me feel it my duty to make men 
 love me," she said ; and something in the words and 
 the smile that accompanied them gave a check to her 
 aunt s confidence. 
 
 "Enough of ethics," she cried gayly, and, opening 
 an inlaid box on the table beside her, she took out a 
 delicate snakeskin purse. " This is for your bridge," 
 she continued, handing it to Gladys. "The lesson is at 
 twelve, and you ought to dress soon. I told Celeste to 
 put in fifty dollars, which should be enough for a start, 
 particularly as you have played before." 
 
 Gladys took the purse reluctantly. " You said I was 
 to have ten lessons," she said, " but I had no idea they 
 were so expensive. I don t think I ought to let you 
 give them to me." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood laughed as she rose. 
 
 " This is n t for lessons, child, but for play. You 
 will hardly lose that much in a morning, and you may 
 win ; but it is always well to be prepared for emer 
 gencies." 
 
 The expression of Gladys s face was one of utter dis 
 may. " Do you mean that we are to play for money ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Why, of course ; what else should we play for ? " 
 
 " But that is gambling ! " 
 27
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " Well, if you wish to call it gambling. We call it 
 bridge." 
 
 " I don t see what difference the name can make," 
 said the girl slowly. 
 
 It is trying to have one s badinage taken in such 
 dreadful earnest, and Mrs. Stan wood, in spite of her 
 good temper, was tried. 
 
 " We must n t be matter-of-fact about these things," 
 she said lightly, " or condemn the use of a thing be 
 cause it is sometimes abused." (" Where did I find 
 such a phrase ? " she asked herself mentally, filled 
 with admiration for her own resource.) " Our bridge 
 lessons are very harmless, and the loss and gain aver 
 age up at the end of a year," she continued aloud, " so 
 no one is hurt and every one has had pleasure. We 
 must give the way of the world a trial before we con 
 demn it. The common criminal has that much mercy. 
 There, dear, run and dress. I must write some notes. 
 And try to remember that there is more discipline to 
 our courage, our good temper, our self-control, in bridge 
 and balls than in the self-denial practiced by the Mi 
 randas of the world." Mrs. Stanwood was never more 
 impressed with her own cleverness than at that moment. 
 But she was not prepared for her niece s resistance. 
 
 "I can t do it," was Gladys s slow and reluc 
 tant answer. " Please, please, take the money back, 
 Aunt Edith, and don t think me ungrateful. I would 
 do anything for you, anything but this." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood was severely tried, but she controlled 
 herself. 
 
 28
 
 A WOMAN OF THE WORLD 
 
 " I see. You don t like losing my money," tshe said 
 pleasantly, turning round with pen in hand. " That is 
 very sweet of you, Gladys, but since I give it to you 
 outright for any purpose you wish " 
 
 " It is n t that so much - it is n t losing your money," 
 answered Gladys boldly ; " because you give it to me } 
 but to take it from other people, people I don t know, 
 people who don t want me to have it, who may need it 
 themselves oh, Aunt Edith, I can t do it. I can t ! " 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood hesitated a moment, and then her 
 gay philosophy came to the rescue. With a flash of 
 worldly insight she saw the advantages of the situa 
 tion. A prestige belongs to the unusual, in spite of the 
 world s reputation for conventionality. This prestige 
 should belong to Gladys. The girl had enough position 
 and charm to live out her own individuality, and be the 
 worldly gainer by so doing. So instead of the reproaches 
 for which Gladys waited with a distress only equaled 
 by her resolution, she was given a playful kiss on the 
 forehead. 
 
 " What an obstinate little puss it is ! " cried her aunt. 
 " Well, dear, you shall not play for money if you don t 
 want to, and I dare say you are right. We won t talk 
 any more about it. No, keep the purse ; you may want 
 it for other things. When people ask me why you 
 won t play I shall tell them ? Oh, I shall find enough 
 to tell them when the time comes, never fear."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 GLADYS BEGINS HER EDUCATION 
 
 AKE up, cherie, it is long after nine, and your 
 lovers breakfasted an hour ago." 
 
 Gladys sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the 
 sunlight and readjusting bewildered thoughts to the 
 rush of delight that greeted her every waking in this 
 new world. 
 
 " When did they come?" she asked. 
 
 " Last night, just after you had gone to bed. Wil 
 lie brought them. They are waiting for you now. If 
 you don t go down soon, he will show them the beetles, 
 and I should like to spare them that the first morn 
 ing. Arthur is handsomer than ever. He left college in 
 a blaze of glory. There, if you stop dressing your 
 hair, I shall have to go away. Be sure you leave it 
 loose behind the ears. Yes, he left Harvard in a blaze 
 of glory, for he was captain of the winning nine, and 
 that is the most important position there is, next to 
 the President s. I want you to appreciate your good 
 fortune in having him here. You see, he is Willie s 
 nephew, and has no family. Richard Copeland is very 
 ugly and very distingue. I don t quite place him yet, 
 and am almost sorry I asked him ; for Mrs. Herbert 
 told me last night that he is always putting somebody 
 in the wrong." 
 
 30
 
 GLADYS BEGINS HEK EDUCATION 
 
 " What a dreadful person ! " exclaimed Gladys, in 
 dismay. 
 
 " So I fear. He is older than Arthur, but does n t 
 graduate till next year, for he lost several years by 
 being expelled from so many different schools. But he 
 isn t in disgrace at Harvard so far. Now I must run 
 and dress for church. You won t go, I suppose, neither 
 will the boys, so I will leave you all to make friends. 
 If I am not down before you, Willie will introduce 
 them." 
 
 " But Uncle Willie has n t been down here yet, and 
 I have never seen him," protested the girl. 
 
 " Oh, never mind that ! You are not shy, and he 
 will know who you are ; but I shall probably be down. 
 Now, don t waste time looking at the sea. I will send 
 your breakfast up, and I think you had better wear 
 your green muslin." 
 
 A little later, as Gladys came down the wide stair 
 way in her green dress, with a liberty hat of the same 
 color flopping like a lily pad when she moved, she 
 seemed 
 
 " The smallest lady alive 
 Made in a piece of nature s madness; 
 Too small almost for the life and gladness 
 That over-filled her," 
 
 and the contrast of the green of her dress and the 
 red of her hair was something an artist would dream 
 of. She paused a moment at the foot of the stairs 
 to look through the wide doorway, beyond which were 
 glimpses of the sea under orange-colored awnings, and 
 
 31
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 a riot of June roses on the terrace garden. The fra 
 grance of flowers met her, mingled with suggestions of 
 cigar smoke, and she heard masculine voices engaged 
 in what often seems to a woman the bored and desul 
 tory conversation into which men relax when left 
 to themselves. They were speculating upon such pro 
 foundly uninteresting subjects as the precise direction 
 of Boston Harbor, and the height of the cliff from 
 summit to sea-line. 
 
 Gladys was not shy, but she did hesitate a little be 
 fore going in the direction of the voices. To face three 
 strange men all at once without an introduction was 
 an ordeal, even for Mrs. Stanwood s niece. She ad 
 vanced, nevertheless, and suddenly, without being seen, 
 came upon the group. The heavy, middle-aged man 
 in the armchair was Uncle Willie, of course, and the 
 man who spread his graceful length in the hammock, 
 and who seemed to Gladys s unaccustomed eyes as 
 handsome as a young god, must be Arthur Davenport. 
 A disreputable college cap was pulled over his eyes, 
 and it seemed to the girl that this young Adonis, this 
 idol of a university, looked tired and anxious. 
 
 Lounging on the top step, his back supported by 
 the piazza pillar, and smoking in great content, was 
 another figure. " Very ugly, very distingue" Gladys 
 recalled the words, and would have recognized Richard 
 Copeland by them had there been other men present. 
 The dark face was unusually ugly, " even for a man/ 
 Gladys commented secretly, and his hair seemed al 
 most ruthlessly black for such a morning. While she 
 
 32
 
 GLADYS BEGINS HER EDUCATION 
 
 looked, he took his cigar from his mouth to demonstrate 
 the probable height of the highest tides, as shown by 
 an almost imperceptible mark on the cliffs, and then 
 suddenly he saw her. There was an instant s pause, 
 and that particular sentence about the tides was never 
 finished. As he rose, Arthur, noticing the silence, saw 
 her and rose also, and, before her uncle could speak, was 
 greeting her with the mixture of warmth, deference, 
 and sweetness which did much towards winning him 
 life s success. 
 
 It was not enough that he was handsome as a young 
 god ; nature had added to simple beauty of outline a 
 radiance of smile and expression that had captured 
 the fancy, if not the heart, of many a young girl be 
 fore bewildering Gladys on this particular June morn 
 ing. 
 
 " So this is my new cousin," he said, standing above 
 her, six feet two of hearty manhood, fresh, unspoiled, 
 untried, and perfect in beauty from the wave of his 
 thick chestnut hair to the tip of his perfectly shod feet. 
 " We have been waiting for you I don t know how 
 long, and boring each other dreadfully." 
 
 Her uncle s greeting was none the less frank and 
 hearty because of its delivery in the over-loud voice 
 which had so often and so sorely tried his wife. 
 
 " We are glad to see you, my dear," he assured her 
 warmly. " And it s time you came, for I dare say we 
 were boring each other, though I had not remarked it 
 myself. I suppose you know my friend Dick Copeland; 
 you both lived in the same place as children." 
 
 33
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 As Richard came forward he tossed his cigar iu among 
 the rose bushes. 
 
 " I never saw Mr. Copeland before," said Gladys, her 
 hand meeting his, " but I recognized him at once by a 
 description." 
 
 "A description of me!" He laughed with such 
 evident appreciation of the possibilities of such a de 
 scription, that Gladys, conscious of her false step, was 
 confused. But his eyes, holding hers for a moment, said 
 as plainly as words, " It s all right, I don t mind." 
 
 Then, as she took the armchair Arthur had pulled 
 forward, Richard went back to his seat on the steps. 
 
 There was a moment s pause, during which Gladys 
 found herself the focus of three strange pairs of mas 
 culine eyes. She drew a deep breath, and plunged reck 
 lessly into conversation with Dick. 
 
 " Aunt Edith has been telling me about you," she 
 began, but came to a sudden pause, troubled at hav 
 ing fallen into the same conversational pitfall that had 
 disconcerted her the moment before ; but at that in 
 stant she recognized admiration in the eyes, and, con 
 tinuing with more confidence, included Arthur in her 
 remarks. " She tells me you are very famous people." 
 
 " That is according to one s view of the case," said 
 Arthur. " I have come to the end of my claims to 
 distinction such as they are. What is a baseball 
 captain, after he has ceased to play baseball ? " 
 
 " But Aunt Edith tells me you are one of the most 
 famous people in the country next to the President," 
 persisted Gladys. 
 
 34
 
 GLADYS BEGINS HEK EDUCATION 
 
 "That s all rot," answered Arthur, gazing at his toes 
 while he stuck his hands into his pockets, and looked 
 very boyish and modest. " Besides, it is n t true." 
 
 Gladys laughed. " Is n t it really ? " 
 
 " I say ! that is unkind, in the first five minutes," 
 he said, but laughed with her. " If you want to see 
 a really distinguished person, you must look at Cope- 
 land," he continued. " He can break curtain wire with 
 his biceps, twist horseshoes with his bare hands, and 
 all that sort of thing." 
 
 By this time Gladys had gained entire confidence in 
 herself, and she looked at Dick Copeland critically. 
 
 " Aunt Edith did n t tell me about that," she said. 
 " Perhaps she knew it would n t interest me very much. 
 She told me you were famous for putting people in the 
 wrong." 
 
 " Is n t that another way of saying that I am famous 
 for putting them in the right ? " asked Dick. 
 
 Gladys considered him and his remark for a moment 
 before she smiled. " Then it is true," she said. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " That you deliberately try to put people in the 
 wrong your remark is an acknowledgment of it." 
 
 "Pretty good, by Jove!" exclaimed Uncle Willie, 
 bringing his hand down upon the arm of his chair with 
 a boisterous laugh. He had just realized the point of 
 Dick s answer, and was enjoying it hugely all by him 
 self. 
 
 " Are you really a reformer ? " asked Gladys, when 
 silence was restored, and still addressing Dick. But 
 
 35
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 he remained silent, and she was conscious of having 
 stumbled upon a vital issue in the boy s life. 
 
 " So it is really true," she thought, remembering the 
 story of his terrible childish defiance, and the following 
 years filled with more or less of rebellion and disgrace. 
 In this college man of abnormal depth of chest and 
 breadth of shoulder, of a build almost uncouth beside 
 Arthur s grace and length, she saw nothing to suggest 
 the sensitiveness and intellect that would seem to have 
 been the inevitable mainsprings of his past actions. It 
 was only in his deepset eyes, curiously shadowed by over 
 hanging brows, that Gladys seemed to find that for which 
 she was hunting. Dick s eyes lent redeeming dignity to 
 a face toward which nature had been otherwise unkind. 
 
 Arthur was the first to interrupt her speculation. 
 " Aunt Edith tells me you are not going to church 
 with her," he said. " What would you like to do? " 
 
 " I think it would be nice to go down to the beach 
 and gather some of that beautiful cobwebby seaweed," 
 said Gladys. 
 
 " But it will be hot on the beach," protested Arthur, 
 to whom the collection of seaweed did not commend 
 itself as a morning s occupation. " And what do you 
 want of seaweed ? What can you do with it ? " 
 
 " What do I want of it? What can I do with it? " 
 repeated the girl reproachfully. " Why, papa and 
 Aunt Miranda could n t have asked worse questions 
 than those. Do with it I don t know. Want with 
 it ? I don t know either. Why should I ? It is 
 June, you know, and in June the things we need are 
 
 36
 
 GLADYS BEGINS HER EDUCATION 
 
 not the only things worth while, and the only wise 
 thing is to be foolish. Somebody once spoke of the 
 * transcendent value of the unessential, some delight 
 ful person I have always wanted to know." 
 
 " Are your father and Aunt Miranda insensible to 
 these transcendent valuables ? " asked Dick. 
 
 " Why, yes. Papa is a bacteriologist. Did n t you 
 know? He grows germs in bouillon and guinea-pigs, 
 which means that he is scientific, and Science, he 
 says, does not recognize the unessential. As for Aunt 
 Miranda, well, if you saw her you would know at 
 once that she could only value the things she can use. 
 Poor Aunt Miranda! Now I think it is just the practi 
 cally unessential things that are good for the soul." 
 
 " Seaweed, for instance," suggested Dick. 
 
 "Yes, and this." She rose and pulled down a spray 
 of the white rose rambler that hung above her. 
 
 Mr. Stan wood was endeavoring to recall echoes of an 
 article he had once read on the " Psychology of Beetles" 
 which had demonstrated startling analogies between 
 the moral condition of that insect and man. 
 
 " Some day science may be able to demonstrate the 
 existence of a soul," he said. 
 
 Gladys swung her branch of roses. " I should not be 
 lieve in a soul that could be demonstrated," she said. 
 
 When Mrs. Stanwood, a figure of graceful elegance, 
 descended upon the group, she found her niece entire 
 mistress of the situation, and signified her approval by 
 inviting her husband to go to church. The taking of 
 Willie to church was a sacrifice, for he lost his way 
 
 37
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 in the prayer-book and breathed heavily during the 
 sermon ; but Gladys must have a morning of undis 
 puted possession, and Mrs. Stanwood felt that the girl 
 would repay the sacrifice. 
 
 " I like Uncle Willie," said Gladys, when the victoria 
 had disappeared round the curve. " He seems so so 
 good." 
 
 Arthur laughed. " That is damning with faint praise, 
 or, more truthfully, praising with faint damns. But he 
 is good," he said more seriously, adding to himself, 
 " and I rather think his wife has often had reason to 
 find him so." 
 
 Dick stood on the steps, looking at the sea. 
 
 " We have the whole long morning before us," he 
 began. 
 
 " What a way of putting it ! " interrupted Arthur, 
 laughing again. 
 
 " I did n t mean it that way," said Dick quietly. 
 
 " I did not take it that way," answered Gladys in 
 the same tone. She had already decided that Arthur 
 laughed too much and that she liked Dick the best. 
 
 " We have the whole long morning before us," re 
 peated Dick. " Where shall we go ? " 
 
 " What shall we do ? " asked Arthur. 
 
 " Why do you say do ? " 
 
 " Why do you say go ? Is n t this pretty good ? " 
 
 " The beach is pretty good, but the woods are nicest 
 in June," continued Dick. 
 
 Gladys lifted her head like a bird about to sing. 
 " Let us go to the woods," she said.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE DEBUTANTE 
 
 A 
 
 FEW evenings later, Mrs. Stan wood opened the 
 season with an evening reception for her niece. The 
 room was cleared for dancing, and in the library card 
 tables were set for " bridge." Before the first guest had 
 arrived, Gladys stood with Arthur and Dick at one end 
 of the empty, brilliantly lighted rooms, and discussed 
 card-playing. She was dressed in billowy white, and 
 appeared more than usually delicate and spirit-like be 
 tween the two powerful men ; but the souls of Puritan 
 ancestors looked aggressively from her eyes. 
 
 " Are they really going to play for money, to-night ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 "Of course they are," said Arthur. "Aunt Edith 
 thought at one time of giving it up on your account, 
 but I told her it was no use. No ; society will not 
 stand that sort of thing. But it s all right for a girl," 
 he added, with his radiant smile. 
 
 The blue flame in Gladys s eyes was pure and stern. 
 It seemed to Dick, suddenly, that high, invisible pre 
 sences walked with her, and that in her keeping was 
 life s holy of holies ; these are dangerous thoughts for 
 the very young man. 
 
 " It s all right for a girl," repeated Arthur. 
 39
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 "Why for a girl?" 
 
 " Why, because Oh, well, it s right for girls to 
 stand up for things." 
 
 " What things ?" 
 
 " The best things. We want the best for you." 
 
 " I should be ashamed to say that if I were a man," 
 said Gladys. " Do you play for money ? " she asked, 
 turning to Dick. Under the heavy shadow thrown by 
 his brow his eyes looked more than usually formidable. 
 
 " Do you play for money? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Gladys paused, considering him with direct, uncon 
 scious scrutiny. " I had an idea you would not do 
 what you thought was wrong," she said finally. 
 
 "I do not think it wrong." 
 
 " Not wrong to gamble ! How can you pretend such 
 a thing ? " 
 
 " I do not pretend it, I believe it. I believe, not 
 in removing temptation, but in making men strong to 
 resist it." 
 
 Arthur rattled some loose coins in his pockets and 
 looked bored. If asked his opinion he would have said 
 that he had " no use " for the seriousness with which 
 Copeland took life, and Mrs. Stanwood, who came up in 
 time to hear the last remarks, was of Arthur s opinion. 
 She even doubted if Dick Copeland was the best of in 
 fluences for Gladys at this particular period of her life. 
 
 " You have come just in time to prevent Gladys 
 from having the woman s last word," cried Arthur, 
 hailing an interruption. 
 
 40
 
 THE DEBUTANTE 
 
 " I notice a man always allows the woman the last 
 word when she has the better of him in an argument," 
 said Gladys, with a lift of her chin, and she was suddenly 
 transformed into a personality for which no Puritan 
 ancestor could have been held responsible. 
 
 " They have been talking ethics, the rights and 
 wrongs of things, you know," said Arthur. 
 
 " Children ! Children ! " cried Mrs. Stanwood. " Our 
 guests are arriving, and right and wrong have nothing 
 to do with them." 
 
 During the evening Mrs. Stanwood explained her 
 niece s eccentricity with her usual ease. 
 
 " No, my niece does not play with us. The child is 
 such an odd little puss," she said. " I could not per 
 suade her that it was not wicked to play for money. 
 Oh, yes, I suppose she will change, but I am not 
 altogether sure that I wish her to, she is so refreshing 
 just as she is." 
 
 " Miss Lawrence does not look like a member of the 
 Woman s Social Reform Club," remarked the friend 
 who was particularly questioning Mrs. Stanwood ; and 
 as she spoke she raised a lorgnette and looked over at 
 a table in the corner where Gladys, seated with three 
 men, was playing for black beans. Several other men 
 who had offered their services as teachers were stand 
 ing behind her, and the group was a centre of noisy 
 merriment. 
 
 " I understand that you have the baseball hero and 
 that Copeland boy staying with you," continued the 
 
 41
 
 questioner. " Are not you afraid of her falling in love 
 with the penniless Adonis ? " 
 
 " With Arthur ? No, I think not," said Mrs. Stan- 
 wood slowly. "There is a great deal of glamour about 
 Arthur, but I suspect Gladys of being an unusually 
 clear-eyed little girl. She would be more likely to care 
 for Richard Copeland." 
 
 The lady put up her lorgnette again and looked at 
 Dick, who was among the group surrounding Gladys. 
 
 " He is very rich, they tell me," she said, " but he 
 is also exceedingly ugly, and has an obstinate chin. 
 It would be a risk to marry a man with a chin like 
 that." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood laughed. " It is often those deter 
 mined-looking men who are most easily controlled by 
 their wives," she said. " But I don t want Gladys to 
 think of marrying any one yet." 
 
 To those who questioned Gladys as to her refusal 
 to play for money, a refusal which had already cir 
 culated from end to end of the crowded rooms, the 
 girl gave only laughing answers. Instinct was already 
 teaching her that light touch of grave subjects with 
 which the woman ofjthe world when in the world 
 veils her earnest convictions. 
 
 " It is entirely a question of ethics with me," she 
 said to one of the interlocutors. "Now why do you 
 look at me that way, Mr. Antson ? " Laying her cards 
 upon the table, face up, Gladys interrogated her part 
 ner. "Does he mean that he doesn t believe I know 
 what ethics are?" 
 
 42
 
 THE DEBUTANTE 
 
 " You don t look as if you did ; upon my word you 
 don t." 
 
 " Which is probably intended as a compliment, but 
 not taken as one. Aunt Miranda brought me up too 
 well for that. Why, my cards are face side up ! Every 
 one must have seen everything why did n t some one 
 tell me? Aunt Edith says it is not ethics at all, but 
 only a name. If I had not been brought up by some 
 one called Miranda, she thinks I should be earning my 
 pin money now. Why doesn t somebody play?" 
 
 " We are waiting for you, Miss Lawrence." 
 
 " We have been waiting for you some time." 
 
 "And you may as well trump my trick, since you 
 really care about it," concluded her partner resignedly. 
 " As you have so honorably shown your hand, we shall 
 not win a bean this time, however hard we try." 
 
 "I pretend not to play for money because of high 
 principle," she told one of the later questioners ; " but 
 it is really because of my original sin. Gambling for 
 beans excites me so dreadfully, I feel such awful envy 
 of the person who has a larger pile of beans than mine, 
 that I should grow hopelessly depraved in a single 
 evening if I played for money." 
 
 Before the evening was over any doubts that may 
 have remained in Mrs. Stanwood s mind concerning 
 the success of her experiment were dispelled. When 
 the dancing began, Gladys seemed in her element. 
 She danced exquisitely, with an almost passionate 
 abandon, and while the music lasted a corner was 
 occupied by a knot of eager youths waiting for their 
 
 43
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 turn with her. It was the kind of success that mounts 
 to a girl s brain like young wine, and Gladys was 
 intoxicated with happiness before the evening ended. 
 
 Many were the congratulations received by Mrs. Stan- 
 wood as her guests shook hands with her. The young 
 men, of limited college vocabulary, said that Miss Law 
 rence was " great, simply great." Her contemporaries 
 assured her that her niece would be the success of the 
 next season, and would give no end of trouble to the men. 
 
 " Which is just what I wish her to do," retorted the 
 hostess gayly. 
 
 One older man, of the kind who have " lived," which 
 means that he had exhausted his vital energies both 
 physical and moral by the dissipation of several con 
 tinents, looked at Gladys with eyes that gave sudden 
 betrayal of his tired spirit. This man was Richard 
 Copeland s trustee, and he had known Mrs. Stanwood 
 for many years. He was usually, though in an appar 
 ently casual and accidental way, to be met with in the 
 drawing-rooms of whichever European capital she was 
 occupying at the time, and society had grown weary of 
 asking itself whether this juxtaposition was as casual 
 and accidental as it appeared. 
 
 He was present on the evening of Gladys s debut, 
 and approached his hostess with more than his usual 
 deliberation. Leslie Aldrich s movements were increas 
 ingly deliberate, but whether this was a result of con 
 scious reserve power engendered by his years of expe 
 rience, or from gout, or simple ennui, it would have 
 been difficult to say. 
 
 44
 
 THE DEBUTANTE 
 
 " I have enjoyed the evening " he began. 
 
 " After your own fashion, Leslie." 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " Which is not a happy one these days." 
 
 He bowed acquiescence, and continued. " I was 
 about to say that I have enjoyed the evening even 
 less than usual. Your niece troubles me." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood laughed. " Are you not a trifle old 
 for her?" she asked. 
 
 Leslie Aldrich colored. 
 
 " You misunderstand me. Your niece " He paused, 
 this time of his own accord. 
 
 "My niece?" 
 
 "You are always the most charming of women, 
 Adele." 
 
 " I took your opinion on that subject for granted 
 many years ago. You say it now when you want to 
 scold me. My niece you were remarking ? " 
 
 "Troubles me. She is an exquisite child. Do not 
 spoil her, Adele, do not ruin her life " 
 
 " My dear Leslie ! you are flattering to-night." 
 
 " You who have so successfully ruined mine." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood laughed easily. " You are so gener 
 ous, you sons of Adam. The woman tempted me ! 
 No, Leslie, my conscience is easy with regard to you. 
 You would have ruined yourself quite successfully 
 without any intervention of mine." 
 
 Leslie Aldrich bowed low and took his departure. 
 
 When the last guest had gone, Gladys bounded across 
 the room, and flung her arms about her aunt s neck. 
 
 45
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Edith ! I am so happy ! I never thought 
 any one could be so happy. And it is all you! you! 
 you ! " she cried. 
 
 After the girl had gone to bed Mrs. Stanwood sought 
 her husband in his dressing-room. It was an unusual 
 occurrence, and he rose eagerly to receive her, starting 
 to toss aside his cigar as he did so. 
 
 " Never mind about that," she said, stopping him. 
 " I am only going to stay a minute," and she sat pro 
 visionally on the chair he brought forward, for tete-a- 
 tetes with Willie were among the few almost unendur 
 able occasions in her life. 
 
 "You are looking pretty fit to-night," he said, 
 grinning at her delightedly. 
 
 She smiled with absent-minded kindness. Unless 
 forced by relentless circumstance, she was always kind 
 to Willie. 
 
 " I want to speak to you about Arthur," she said. 
 " Did you notice him ? " 
 
 "He seemed in better spirits than usual." 
 
 " Nonsense, Willie, that is not what I mean." 
 
 Mr. Stanwood waited for enlightenment. 
 
 " He played bridge as though it were rouge et noir 
 at Monte Carlo," continued his wife ; " and would not 
 leave the tables, even to dance, so long as there was 
 any one to play with him. I saw you standing by him 
 once in the smoking-room. Did he play for high 
 stakes ? " 
 
 " Yes," admitted Mr. Stanwood, with evident reluc 
 tance. 
 
 46
 
 THE DEBUTANTE 
 
 Did he win ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Did any one person lose heavily to him ? " 
 
 "Only young Copeland." 
 
 " Ah ! I do not mind him ; he can afford it, and will 
 not be obliged to pass the night on a haystack as those 
 foolish boys did who played at the Athertons till they 
 had no money to go home with. I only wanted to know 
 if there were to be a scandal of that sort at my house." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood s lips curved in lines of scorn. Her 
 cool, fastidious senses revolted at the violent form of 
 social excitement which is offered by the modern de 
 velopment of " bridge." 
 
 " Arthur is your nephew," she continued, " and I 
 think he ought to be looked after, unless you want to 
 find yourself forced to pay large sums to keep him out 
 of disgrace." 
 
 " I never heard of any one who did not love and re 
 spect Arthur," said Mr. Stanwood. 
 
 " Fiddlesticks ! " answered his wife lightly. " I am 
 glad Gladys does not seem inclined to fancy him." 
 
 Mr. Stanwood removed the cigar from his mouth, and 
 looked at it reflectively. 
 
 " I hope you will not spoil her," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood tapped her foot impatiently, for this 
 was becoming tiresome. 
 
 " Why should I spoil her ? " she asked. 
 
 Mr. Stanwood continued to gaze at his cigar, but, 
 failing to draw enlightenment therefrom, he replaced 
 it in his mouth, and offered no further suggestions.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE SOCIALIST 
 
 D 
 
 AYS of ease and pleasure succeeded each other, and 
 in the future Gladys seemed to behold gleaming and 
 bewildering stretches of pure delight. Her aunt was 
 to take her to Paris in the autumn, after which would 
 come the winter in Boston, to which this summer s 
 gayety was but a prelude. No disillusion came to mar 
 the perfection of these first months. Her friends were 
 as young as herself, nor did she find among them the 
 frivolity and worldliness against which Aunt Miranda 
 had warned her. She even found those who, like her 
 self, refused to play cards for money, and she carried 
 the discovery to Mrs. Stanwood with undisguised 
 triumph. 
 
 " Of course, there are many who have such scruples," 
 admitted Aunt Edith, " and you will find them among 
 some of our oldest families, but rarely among the ac 
 knowledged leaders of our gay life." 
 
 " If I were an acknowledged leader, I should force 
 people to follow me," said Gladys proudly. 
 
 " Are you not doing it now, more or less, little girl ? " 
 asked her aunt good-naturedly. 
 
 Under a personality of exquisite delicacy, Gladys 
 held suggestions of an unquenchable and indomitable 
 
 48
 
 THE SOCIALIST 
 
 vitality, of an untrammeled spirit that was carelessly 
 and easily aloof from the ultimate influence of those 
 about her. Her aunt had recognized and regretted this 
 power during the first days of her companionship, and 
 her new friends were unconsciously influenced by it. 
 
 " She talks well, and what she says has a quality of 
 its own," said an older man, in speaking of her. " But 
 the most unusual thing about Miss Lawrence is that 
 she dares to stop talking. Girls of her age usually regard 
 a pause in the conversation as a social disaster hardly 
 to be retrieved in life, and act accordingly." 
 
 " That is probably why Miss Lawrence sometimes 
 gives a fellow the feeling that she is t other side of the 
 world when she is sitting in the same canoe with him," 
 said one of the men who had been piqued and charmed 
 by her moments of serene detachment. 
 
 But moments of detachment were rare, for into the 
 abandon of music and dancing, the iridescent brilliancy 
 of ballrooms, the excitement of opposing tempera 
 ments, the intoxication of conquest, and the rush of 
 gay and shifting experience, Gladys flung herself with 
 a passionate ardor. 
 
 " She shows something more than the effervescence 
 of average girlhood ; it is a vocation Gladys has a 
 vocation for the social world. She is my own niece," 
 commented Mrs. Stanwood, with great satisfaction. 
 
 During July neither Arthur nor Dick had reap 
 peared. Of the former she thought but little, but her 
 strong and inevitable liking for Dick was not forgotten 
 in the gay and exciting experience that followed her first 
 
 49
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 meeting with him. The sense of his existence lay in the 
 background of her consciousness unrecognized for days, 
 but always returned with a sense of comfort and reliance 
 during the rare moments when she experienced fatigue 
 or disappointment. 
 
 " I don t want Gladys to be engaged to any one just 
 now, but Richard Copeland is very rich, and it is a pity 
 to lose sight of him," Mrs. Stanwood told her hus 
 band. " So bring him up the next time you run across 
 him." 
 
 A few days later Mr. Stanwood did meet Dick in 
 Boston and brought him up on the late train, after 
 Gladys, who was tired from an exceptionally gay week, 
 had gone to her room for the night. Nor had she ap 
 peared the next morning at the hour when her aunt, 
 ready for church, met Dick on the piazza. Mrs. Stan- 
 wood was exquisitely dressed in ecru lace, and carried 
 a prayer-book which had been illuminated for her at 
 a fabulous price by a Florentine artist. 
 
 " No, Gladys does not go to church," she told Dick, 
 after greeting him cordially. " She is a Unitarian, you 
 know. I had hoped she would come to hear our bishop 
 when the season was in full swing and she was inter 
 ested in seeing people ; but she says she would be 
 ashamed to go to church for such a reason as that. 
 She is such a queer little puss ! " Mrs. Stanwood 
 laughed her gay young laugh as she pressed the button 
 to summon her victoria. 
 
 " It is a beautiful little church," she continued, " one 
 of the best copies of fourteenth-century Gothic in the 
 
 50
 
 THE SOCIALIST 
 
 country, and La Farge did a window for us. It is so 
 crowded every Sunday that people stand outside to hear 
 the service." 
 
 Dick held his pipe in his hand as he leaned against 
 the piazza railing, and watched Mrs. Stanwood. He was 
 quick to seize the significance of the ecru lace, the 
 illuminated prayer-book, the Gothic church, and the 
 bishop. In these things he saw the religion that is the 
 luxury of fastidious senses, and there was the scorn of 
 youth in his eyes, that violent, uncompromising scorn 
 which is unalloyed by tolerance, pity, or humor. 
 
 When Mrs. Stanwood s victoria had disappeared 
 round the curve of the avenue, Dick flung himself 
 prone in the shadow of the copper beech, for he was 
 very tired after the hot summer of work in Cambridge. 
 And it was not long before Gladys came into the 
 garden. 
 
 She also was tired, and her face in its relaxation 
 and languor seemed more transparent than before, 
 and more especially alluring. 
 
 Unconscious of his presence, she wandered listlessly 
 through the garden paths, between waxen lilies that 
 lifted cups of fragrance nearly as high as her head, 
 and sentinel-like rows of hollyhocks, the tops of which 
 her hand could not have reached. 
 
 Dick rose, but did not speak as he watched her mov 
 ing through the flowers that were taller than herself 
 and seemed less flowerlike. She was dressed in white, 
 and to him the red nimbus of her hair was as the spirit 
 of flame, while beside her the hollyhocks became rustic 
 
 51
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 and primitive, the asters commonplace, the dahlias 
 coarse and boisterous, the heavily perfumed lilies op 
 ulent and sensuous. 
 
 A vagrant breath from the sea passed through the 
 garden, and as Gladys lifted her face to meet it she 
 saw Dick. 
 
 " I had no idea that you were here," she said, as her 
 hand rested for a moment in his. 
 
 " I have been watching you for some time," he an 
 swered. " What were you thinking about as you walked 
 through the garden ? " 
 
 A dancing light came into her eyes. 
 
 " I was thinking of you," she said. 
 
 But Dick set his face sternly and turned it seaward. 
 
 " I had rather you did not say those things to me 
 unless you mean them." His voice was low and hard. 
 
 Gladys for one brief instant caught her breath, but 
 she answered him almost at once. " I do mean it. I 
 was wondering how long it was since you first came, 
 and if you were coming again." 
 
 She spoke sincerely, but with a disarming lightness 
 of tone, and they moved to the edge of the terrace., 
 below and beyond which stretched the sea. 
 
 " How good it smells," she said, " better than the 
 lilies, I think. I wish Uncle Willie had a yacht. 
 Aunt Edith says that she would never have married 
 him if she had known he did not care for yachting or 
 fast horses." 
 
 " It seems a pity one should not find out those little 
 things before going to the altar," said Dick dryly. 
 
 52
 
 THE SOCIALIST 
 
 They sat on the Italian balustrade of white plaster 
 that bordered the edge of the terrace, and were silent 
 for a while. Gladys kept her face turned from the 
 garden, and lifted her head a little to feel the sea 
 breeze on her face and in her hair, and Dick watched 
 her. 
 
 " You are tired," he said finally. 
 
 " A little, but last week was worth it." 
 
 "You care, then, for all this sort of thing? " 
 
 "What sort of thing?" 
 
 "The sort of thing that is filling your life this 
 summer." 
 
 " Yes, I love it," said Gladys defiantly ; but then 
 she laughed. "I forgot your vocation for the mo 
 ment," she added. 
 
 " My vocation ? " 
 
 " Yes ; that of putting people in the wrong." 
 
 "You mean putting them right," corrected Dick, 
 smiling. 
 
 The smile changed his face so suddenly that Gladys 
 forgot to answer. 
 
 " What is that?" she asked, pointing to a shame 
 fully misused book that he had stuffed into his pocket 
 on rising to meet her. As he handed it to her, she 
 gave an exclamation. 
 
 " Do you read Voltaire ? " she cried. 
 
 " Whenever I can." 
 
 " But was n t he an atheist? " 
 
 " He was not an atheist. But even if he had been " 
 His eyes sought the sea, and into them came the light 
 
 53
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 of a smouldering and most bitter memory, the memory 
 of that which had made his boyhood a dark place, where 
 there was a great sorrow, but neither faith in God 
 nor help in man. " Even if he had been an atheist 
 great men, good men have been atheists," he continued. 
 "Voltaire was a great liberating force. He gave his 
 splendid intellect to the work of abolishing shams and 
 defending the oppressed." 
 
 " That sounds like something I read once in a 
 socialistic tract," interrupted Gladys. " Was Voltaire 
 a socialist?" 
 
 " Not exactly," said Dick, smiling. 
 
 " Perhaps you are." 
 
 She had not seriously believed it; but something 
 in Dick s face as he returned the book to his pocket 
 surprised her. 
 
 " Are you ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes," said Dick ; " that is, I hope to become one 
 when I have learned enough of the lives of the op 
 pressed to be worthy to stand with them in fighting 
 the oppressors." 
 
 Gladys gasped. In her mind socialists, anarchists, 
 and nihilists were confused together with all forces of 
 disorder, violence, and terror, and here stood Dick, 
 making his declaration solemnly, as a man answers for 
 the high faith of his soul. 
 
 " Tell me about it," she commanded him ; so very 
 willingly Dick told her, and was transformed in the 
 telling. There was flame in his eyes, his unwieldy 
 frame became spirited and expressive, and his voice 
 
 54
 
 THE SOCIALIST 
 
 wide-ranged, powerful, warm, in spite of occasional 
 harshness, had the qualities that fire and haunt. 
 
 To the knowledge gained from books he added the 
 crudely moulded ideas of his own youth, and he had 
 the dangerous power of vitalizing worn phrases with 
 life and glamour. It was more the structure of a dreamer 
 than of a thinker that he reared before the girl s be 
 wildered eyes, but she was only conscious of standing 
 in the presence of one of the world s great issues, for 
 which men fight and suffer and die, and knew her first 
 thrill of response to the world s passion. While under 
 the spell of his voice and words she almost caught the 
 consuming flame, almost dedicated herself with him to 
 the cause. But when he had finished speaking, when 
 silence was restored to the garden, and over the bit of 
 high road that wound near the foot of the terrace was 
 to be seen the home-coming of fashionable church-goers, 
 she brushed the hair from her eyes with an impetuous 
 movement which seemed at the same time to clear her 
 brain. 
 
 " You almost made a disciple of me," she said ; " I 
 was nearly ready to give up society and start a second 
 Brook Farm ; nearly not quite. But you are not 
 consistent. They tell me you are rich. How can a 
 friend of the oppressed be rich ? " 
 
 " The money is not mine any more than it is the 
 street-sweeper s," said Dick soberly. " It is only in my 
 keeping to be used where it is most needed. Unfortu 
 nately it is not even in my keeping until I am thirty." 
 
 " So you have years in which to change your mind ? " 
 55
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I shall never change." 
 
 Gladys laughed. " Hear him," she cried, apostro 
 phizing the hollyhocks. " He says that he will never 
 change, and he is only twenty-three." 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Stanwood s carriage swept up 
 the curve of the avenue, and Gladys ran to meet her. 
 Dick remained where he was, pacing slowly to and fro, 
 thinking as much of the girl who laughed as of the 
 cause to which he was to give his life. Suddenly she 
 came back to him. 
 
 " I have just thought of a story you might like to 
 hear," she said. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " A man said to a girl, Mary, I wonder what God 
 is. And the girl said to the man, When you first 
 went to college you would n t have wondered, you would 
 have known. Now if you think the cap fits, you may 
 wear it."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ATHEIST AND MYSTIC 
 
 T 
 
 HE next day was exceptionally gay, and Dick s 
 only communication with Gladys was to hand her 
 a manuscript. 
 
 " What is it? " she asked curiously. 
 
 "Nothing but one of the daily themes I am doing 
 ahead for the English department next winter. But I 
 wish you would read it. This evening I will tell you 
 why." 
 
 Gladys made an almost immediate excuse to be 
 alone, and, tucking herself into the corner of a large 
 armchair she read : 
 
 " Faith and Doubt met in one of the great spaces 
 between the worlds. 
 
 "In the eyes of Faith was light and joy; but the 
 shadowy eyes of Doubt spoke of broken hearts, and a 
 great courage. 
 
 " I had not thought to meet you again, she said. 
 What message have you brought the century ? 
 
 " I have brought the search for knowledge, and 
 bitterness beyond the bitterness of death, said Doubt, 
 and for a moment the joy in Faith s eyes was dimmed. 
 
 " Where I build you destroy, she cried. Where I 
 57
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 bring peace you torment. You tear the veil from 
 reverent eyes 
 
 " No veiled eyes are truly reverent. 
 
 " And burn the image in the shrine. Yet you 
 claim your mission to be greater than mine. 
 
 " Since the beginning men have feared and hated 
 me, said Doubt. But through me they have come 
 to knowledge, and though it has often destroyed their 
 faith and broken their hearts, it has brought them into 
 their greatest heritage which is truth. 
 
 " The light had returned to the eyes of Faith. It 
 must be all for the best, she said. Some day you 
 and your evil works will die. 
 
 " There was almost a smile in the solemn eyes of 
 Doubt, as she answered, Can you not see that the cen 
 turies need you less and less ? Can you not guess that 
 you are only a crutch men are learning to live with 
 out? " 
 
 That evening Gladys and Dick sat together on the 
 steps that led down to the sea. The sky was veiled. 
 There were no stars in the dim, vast night, and they 
 seemed suspended between the echoless vault above 
 them and the pit of darkness below, out of which 
 came the occasional wash and sigh of a falling wave. 
 
 "I have read your theme," said Gladys, speaking 
 to the almost invisible figure beside her, "and I liked 
 it. Why did you want me to read it?" 
 
 " I wanted you to know how I felt about things." 
 
 " You mean the things one believes." 
 58
 
 ATHEIST AND MYSTIC 
 
 " Or does not believe." 
 
 " We have to believe in some things that we do not 
 know," said the girl. " We have to believe in God." 
 
 Dick was silent. 
 
 " Don t you believe in God? " 
 
 " How is it possible ? " 
 
 Gladys was silent in her turn. 
 
 " It is terrible ! " she whispered at last. " I thought 
 every one believed in God." 
 
 " There have been wise men, good men, great men, 
 who did not believe in Him." 
 
 " But faith does that prove nothing ? " 
 
 "What faith?" 
 
 " The faith of the world since the world began." 
 
 " Since the world began man has shown infinite 
 capacity for illusion. There are millions to-day who 
 have faith that a wooden statue will give them the 
 wish of their souls, or find their hat-pin. If their faith 
 is not evidence of truth, how should we regard our 
 own?" 
 
 " But the Bible " 
 
 " There are so many books of revelation, the Vedas, 
 the Koran, and the Upanishads ; and they are all dif 
 ferent, and all claiming to be direct revelations of the 
 only reality; and modern criticism has proved these 
 documents to have come down to us so bungled, dis 
 torted, and inaccurate in text, and uncertain as to ori 
 gin, that it would be impossible to accept them as 
 evidence, even if the so-called revelations were any 
 thing but convictions generated in the consciousness of 
 
 59
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 ordinary man, generated by his own act independently 
 of the supernatural, at a time of the world s history 
 when the nations had not stepped into the light of ac 
 curate knowledge." 
 
 " I am not sure that I have any particular respect 
 for accurate knowledge," said Gladys. " Papa has de 
 voted his life to obtaining it, and I do not see that it 
 has taught him anything about life. It is more impor 
 tant to know how to deal with people on this earth 
 than to know whether the world turns round the sun, 
 or the sun round the world. The mystery is so great, 
 so beyond our understanding " 
 
 " That is what they all say," broke in Dick passion 
 ately. " As if the fact that no man can understand a 
 thing were any sort of a reason for believing it. In other 
 words, I am to kick my intelligence behind me, and 
 accept a ready-made theory evolved from a world of 
 erring men, the separate parts of which world are only 
 agreed in calling the other parts deluded. Have I 
 shocked you? " 
 
 " You know that you have not." 
 
 "Yes, for I believe that you are one of those who 
 dare to doubt." 
 
 "How did you begin to doubt?" asked Gladys. 
 And then Dick told her the story of his mother s death. 
 
 He told it with pauses between his words, and 
 when he had finished he remained motionless with his 
 head in his hands, and suddenly the girl shivered. 
 
 " Your story is terrible ! How could you live ? How 
 could you bear life afterwards ? " 
 
 60
 
 ATHEIST AND MYSTIC 
 
 " At first I came near losing my mind," continued 
 Dick. " I had not only lost my mother, who had filled 
 my world, but felt that I had been betrayed by the 
 maker and ruler of worlds. He had held in his hand that 
 which was dearer to me than life, and had withheld it ; 
 He had let me trust, and cheated me ; He had been 
 cruel and false as few human beings could be ; and yet 
 He was the one from whom I came, and to whom I 
 should return, and without whom there was no life at 
 all. One thing I knew during that time, which was 
 that I hated God. I said so openly, and it was like de 
 claring myself to be a leper. The boys left me out of 
 their games and pointed me out as the child who hated 
 God. But I spent hours meditating as to what God 
 was ; and as I grew up I came to see what a flimsy 
 edifice the so-called religions are ; and then I saw the 
 truth. As I grew older still, I found there were great 
 and good men who believed as I did. I read their 
 books, and learned from them of the cosmic process 
 which is better than jealous gods, and how nature had 
 worked patiently and grandly through the ages, bring 
 ing higher from lower, and turning very evil into good. 
 I saw that if there was no invisible greatness and good 
 ness, it was here in this world, which made living and 
 striving worth while. And then I began to think of 
 the greatest good of the greatest number, and of what 
 was the best way to help sickness, and sin, and sor 
 row." 
 
 " But that is not enough ! " cried Gladys, with a 
 passion that surprised herself. " One must believe in 
 
 61
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 God. Without Him there has never been enough in 
 this world to satisfy man." 
 
 "Then we must learn to go hungry," said Dick. 
 " It is better to possess a grain of truth than a world 
 of lies. It is better to starve, and suffer, and die, than 
 to be comforted by an illusion." His voice rang with a 
 proud enthusiasm for disbelief, an enthusiasm which 
 was woven of the same substance as that mystical, ex 
 alted essence which has inspired men to die for faith. 
 
 "But what has it all come from your disbelief ?" 
 asked the girl. " From the fact that a prayer was not 
 answered. I could not believe in God if prayers were 
 answered. The prayer that asks for things is an im 
 pertinence to divine wisdom. The angels must laugh, 
 I think, when ministers of Christian churches read 
 from their pulpits that Moses went on the mountain-top 
 and argued with the Lord, and made Him change His 
 mind ! " 
 
 " At any rate, I wanted you to know," he continued, 
 and because of a subtle change in his voice Gladys 
 caught her breath. " I wanted you to know, and I hoped 
 that you would not hate me for it because " he 
 paused a moment "because I want you to love me," 
 he said. 
 
 His voice was very low, and a great tenderness strove 
 with the harshness of it till it wavered and almost broke. 
 
 " I want you to love me. Do you think that you 
 could?" 
 
 " I do not know. How can I tell so soon ? " Gladys 
 faltered breathlessly. 
 
 62
 
 ATHEIST AND MYSTIC 
 
 " I shall keep on loving you all my life," continued 
 the boy, " so I thought you had better know it at once, 
 and I will wait till you are ready, however long a time 
 that may be but I hope you will love me soon I 
 hope that it will be soon." 
 
 Gladys realized suddenly that it was a wonderful 
 thing to be loved, and the thrill and the passion of it so 
 overwhelmed her that it was some moments before she 
 could speak. 
 
 " I have not said that I could love you at all, I have 
 not even thought of it," she said at last. 
 
 " Will you begin to think of it now ? " 
 
 " I do not know. I cannot promise. I do not even 
 know that I want to." 
 
 Dick paused. "You will have to think of it now, 
 whether you want to or not," he said finally, and 
 though she answered nothing, she knew that he was 
 right. 
 
 " I have loved you since the first moment I saw you," 
 he continued. " But I did not know it till this morning 
 when you came into the garden." 
 
 " Only since then! " exclaimed Gladys. 
 
 If Dick had been a little older, or a little less in love, 
 he would have heard disappointment in her voice. 
 
 " It seems as though I had loved you all my life," he 
 answered. 
 
 " I do not see how any one can be sure of loving at 
 all if they have known about it only one day," pro 
 tested Gladys. 
 
 "I was sure of it when I had only known it one 
 63
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 second. Don t you believe it ? Don t you believe that 
 I love you ? " he insisted, as she remained silent. 
 
 " I do not see how I can, so soon," she said. 
 
 " It seems impossible that you should not believe it 
 when I love you so much," said the boy slowly, with a 
 note of grave wonder in his voice, and then he rose. 
 " If you do not believe me, we will not talk any more 
 about it yet. I will wait, and I shall keep on loving you. 
 Shall we go in now ? " 
 
 He held out his great hand to help her rise, and as 
 she did so she felt that the hand trembled.
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 THE LOVER 
 
 0, 
 
 NE foggy afternoon in the middle of the week Dick 
 arrived suddenly and claimed Gladys for a walk. He 
 was pale with the unhealthy pallor that belongs to those 
 who spend summer days working indoors, and his eyes 
 seemed more deeply sunken than she remembered them. 
 
 " I only have two hours," he said, " and the fog will 
 not hurt us. Will you come ? " 
 
 Gladys looked into his eyes, and, finding them formi 
 dable, she was half tempted and half afraid ; but even 
 tually she went with him. 
 
 " I read your theme again, and I like it," she began, 
 " and I wish that you would take a summer course of 
 poetry instead of political economy." 
 
 But Dick was not thinking of his theme or of his 
 summer courses, and he turned his eyes on her with 
 that in them which a woman understands though she 
 see it for the first time, and can never forget, though 
 she see it but once. 
 
 " I love you," he said suddenly. 
 
 For a long time neither of them spoke again. On 
 and on they walked through the fog, till the silence be 
 tween them became to Gladys vital, eloquent, tumultu 
 ous, almost unbearable. She feared the words he would 
 
 65
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 answer to any words that she might speak; but she 
 feared more to meet his eyes, heavy with pain and 
 mystery, and his presence at her side in this dim world 
 of phantoms gave her a sense of suffocation. 
 " I love you," he said again. 
 
 Gladys bent her head, and quickened her pace in 
 unconscious effort to escape him. 
 " You believe it now ? " 
 " Yes." 
 
 " When did you first believe ? " 
 " I think I have always believed it." 
 " Have you thought of me during the week ? " 
 " Yes, often. I have thought that I did not love you." 
 " No," he said, " I see that you do not." 
 There followed another silence, longer than the 
 first. Last week he told her gravely that he had loved 
 her since the morning, and should go on loving her all 
 his life ; and she had laughed at him, but believed in 
 spite of her laughter. The fact of being loved seemed 
 sweet and wonderful, and she longed for the time when 
 Dick should come again, and perhaps tell her more of 
 it. But when he came he was no longer her friend 
 and companion, but a stern-lipped person of dreadful 
 silences. His love that was to her as incense, mystical 
 and sweet, had become a flood that menaced her secret 
 strongholds. She felt the stress of his silence to be 
 greater than that of his speech, and neither a thing to 
 be endured. 
 
 Suddenly they found themselves on a beach. The 
 sound and the smell of the sea came to them through 
 
 66
 
 THE LOVER 
 
 the fog, and a wave licked upon the sand at their feet, 
 and withdrew into mystery. 
 
 Dick looked down at her, and saw that her face was 
 damp with mist and had grown pallid as a storm-beaten 
 flower. 
 
 " I have tired you," he exclaimed quickly, " I have 
 been a brute. You look done up you look afraid of 
 me." 
 
 Never had she seemed so fragile, and never had he 
 been so conscious of his own brute power. 
 
 " I am not afraid," she answered, with spirit. " At 
 least, I should not be afraid if I loved you nothing 
 could make me afraid then. But I do not, I cannot. 
 There is something in me that will not yield. A 
 woman must pay a heavy price for loving." 
 
 " What price ? I do not understand." 
 
 " Neither do I understand ; but I feel that it is so." 
 She paused, looking seaward, and from out of the fog 
 the sea seemed to speak with strange, deep voices. " I 
 do not understand, but I think the price is freedom," 
 she said. 
 
 " I would never wish to take that from you." 
 
 " If I loved I could never be quite free again. I would 
 pay the price gladly, if I loved, but I cannot ! 
 I cannot ! There is something I do not know what 
 it is, but it is something free and untamed that is ours 
 that is a woman s until she loves, and I do not want 
 you or any man to take that from me yet. I want to 
 make the laws of my own life sing my own songs for 
 myself a while longer." 
 
 67
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " But I would never wish you to sing any but your 
 own songs." 
 
 The girl shook her head. "You could not help it. 
 If I loved you, all my songs would be for you. Cannot 
 you understand ? " 
 
 " It seems not," answered Dick wearily, passing his 
 hand over his forehead. " You talk as though it were 
 a question of going into slavery, because I offer you 
 the work of my hands and brain, and the devotion of 
 my heart while I live." He looked down at her with 
 haggard eyes. "I very much fear that this last is 
 yours for the rest of my life, whether you want it or 
 not," he added. 
 
 With a quick, unconscious gesture she touched his 
 arm. 
 
 " You are unhappy," she said. " Oh, I am sorry ! I 
 cannot bear it ! I cannot bear to have you unhappy 
 about me. I am going," she added unsteadily, as she 
 turned from him. " I must be alone. I will go home 
 by the shore, and you must not follow me. I must be 
 alone." In another moment she was lost in the fog. 
 
 Dick stood where she had left him, and looked down 
 at the place on his sleeve where her hand had been. 
 
 On her way home the wind rose, and while she strug 
 gled against it and bent her head to escape the oncom 
 ing rain, her breath was caught in short, gasping sobs, 
 for the pain in Dick s eyes haunted her, and in this 
 hour was first given her the knowledge that life is a 
 profound, a passionate, and possibly a terrible thing. 
 
 She seemed to have walked a long time when a 
 68
 
 THE LOVER 
 
 familiar cliff loomed through the fog. A narrow strip 
 of sand separated it from the sea, and there she found 
 Dick waiting for her with umbrella and waterproof. 
 
 " The rain came on almost directly after you left, so 
 I hurried to get these," he said, and helped her into 
 her ulster without further words. When he had handed 
 her the open umbrella, he stood well beyond its shelter, 
 and, with the rain dripping from the rim of his hat 
 and trickling down his dark features, he put his hands 
 in his pockets and started to explain matters. 
 
 " I thought it over as I came along," he began, " and 
 I see that I have been a brute to let myself go as I 
 did. I am ashamed and sorry for it. You should n t 
 be bothered, however much a man might love you, and 
 I will try not to bother you again until you are ready. 
 Then there is another thing." He paused before con 
 tinuing. " You were sorry for me a little while ago," 
 he went on, with something of an effort. " Oh, don t 
 think I misunderstand ! Don t think I hope you are 
 beginning to love me because you are sorry for me. 
 I know you would be sorry for any beggar that was 
 hurt. But you mustn t waste time that way for me. 
 I am not sorry for myself. I have never been so happy 
 as during some of the hours since I knew that I loved 
 you ; and as for the rest of the hours, when perhaps I 
 am not so happy why, they are my affair. But I 
 shall keep on loving you whether I talk about it or 
 not. I want you to know that, and I shall never stop 
 trying to make you love me, till I hear from your own 
 lips that you care for some one else."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 DICK AND ARTHUR 
 
 HE next time Dick came to visit her, Mrs. Stan- 
 wood deemed it important to have a few words with 
 him about Gladys, and she approached the subject 
 with her usual directness. 
 
 " Of course you know that I do not wish Gladys to 
 engage herself to any one before the end of next win 
 ter," she said. "I shall do everything I can to pre 
 vent such an occurrence." 
 
 " Then, as long as I am accepting your hospitality, I 
 suppose I ought to say that I shall do all in my power 
 to persuade her to engage herself to me at the earliest 
 possible date." 
 
 " If you could wait," she continued, " I would do 
 everything I could to help you after next winter." 
 
 "I don t think I care to wait," said Dick, slowly 
 and with great deliberation. 
 
 "So we are avowed antagonists," answered Mrs. 
 Stanwood, with a charming smile. " But this does not 
 mean that you are not always welcome more than 
 welcome here, provided you can make up your mind 
 not to pass so much time with Gladys." 
 
 The result of these few words was that Dick took 
 his dress suit case down to the inn that afternoon, 
 
 70
 
 DICK AND ARTHUR 
 
 but met Gladys on a moonlight sailing party in the 
 evening. 
 
 " I was a fool," said her aunt to Leslie Aldrich, who 
 had come to pass the night. She spoke to him on the 
 subject, not because he would give her sympathy, but 
 because he would understand. " I was a fool, and my 
 methods absolutely crude. I might have known that I 
 could not influence him, and it is as important to know 
 when you cannot influence as to know when you 
 can." 
 
 " The Emperor of Austria failed to influence his own 
 son in a love affair," observed Mr. Aldrich. " I like 
 the boy," he added. 
 
 " So do I, and he has so much money that I should 
 have no objection to his marrying her, if he would only 
 wait. But to have an engaged girl to bring out is 
 hardly what I planned for. Then there are his social 
 theories. Perhaps, being a socialist, he would not allow 
 himself to keep money." 
 
 " As nearly as I can make out," said Mr. Aldrich, 
 " the socialist would take money away from the rich, 
 who know how to use it, and give it to the poor, who 
 do not, thereby reversing the rule of life, and of the 
 Scriptures, which say that to him who hath shall be 
 given, and from him who hath not shall be taken away 
 even that which he hath. " 
 
 " It seems such a very uncomfortable doctrine, so 
 very inconvenient and ill-fitting, that he may give it 
 up," suggested Mrs. Stanwood. 
 
 " He does not look like the kind of person who 
 71
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 gives things up," observed Mr. Aldrich. " One would 
 say, on the contrary, that he was one to lead forlorn 
 hopes." 
 
 " I don t feel sure that any money could make up 
 for a husband who led forlorn hopes." 
 
 Mr. Aldrich made no reply, for the reason that he 
 was not listening. He looked out on the moonlit water, 
 and saw the days of his youth. 
 
 " On the whole," he said dreamily, " I do not pity 
 the leader of forlorn hopes." 
 
 " I was speaking of his wife," Mrs. Stanwood re 
 minded him. 
 
 " I led one myself once," said Mr. Aldrich, still not 
 hearing her. 
 
 " You, Leslie, nonsense ! " 
 
 " It was before I met you, Edith." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood deliberately ignored the significance 
 of his remark. Leslie was growing old, and had the 
 gout, and quarreling was disagreeable. 
 
 " I remember, it was in one of our Indian raids," 
 she said pleasantly; "and you were successful, were 
 you not ? " 
 
 " I believe so," he answered, " though that is hardly 
 what matters." 
 
 A little later he spoke of Gladys. " I like the girl, 
 too," he said. " She is a creature of flame and nerves. 
 Life will speak to her with many voices. Some women 
 with that temperament have creative power, and then 
 they are geniuses ; some prey upon themselves, con 
 suming their own powder, and they become nervous in- 
 
 72
 
 DICK AND ARTHUK 
 
 valids. Few are happy, though endowed with the most 
 exquisite capacity for happiness." 
 
 Before the end of the week, Dick had finished his 
 work in Cambridge, and went again to see Gladys. On 
 coming out of the smoking-car, the sight of Arthur 
 emerging from the other end, gave him an unpleasant 
 shock, for he knew at once that Davenport must be 
 going to the Stanwoods. Not being intimate or partic 
 ularly friendly, the young men greeted each other with 
 a solemn handshake instead of the blows on the back or 
 chest, and the abusive language, which is the college 
 form of affectionate greeting. There followed a pause 
 which women would have found embarrassing, and dur 
 ing which Dick took comfort from the fact that Arthur 
 was not as handsome as he had been in the middle of 
 the summer, while Arthur was saying to himself, with 
 the surprise born of sudden encounter, " What an ugly 
 brute Copeland is ! " 
 
 " I suppose they have sent something to take us up," 
 he said aloud, looking vaguely in the direction of the 
 carriages. 
 
 " I am staying at the club," said Dick. 
 
 " How absurd ! " exclaimed Arthur. " My aunt won t 
 like it. While you are here, you ought to be with us. 
 I will answer for you." 
 
 "Mrs. Stan wood might be glad to see me if I 
 could answer for myself," said Dick, knowing that 
 Arthur could not understand. 
 
 "That is all nonsense," persisted Arthur. "But 
 73
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 hang it all ! I am not going to drive up alone with that 
 English automaton who sits on the box. I will walk 
 part of the way with you. It will give me some exer 
 cise." 
 
 As they fell into step on the road, Dick wondered at 
 Arthur s cordiality, and it occurred to him then and 
 several times during the walk, that the boy wished to 
 ask him for something. But very soon he ceased to 
 wonder about him at all, for he was thinking of Gladys. 
 Lights came deep into his eyes, and his lips smiled. 
 He was looking, at that vision of mystery, beauty, and 
 rapture which is love, and the light of it was on his 
 face. In this moment the ecstasy of poets was his, as 
 it has been the heritage of lovers since the beginning. 
 But gradually Arthur s words forced themselves upon 
 his attention. 
 
 " It is all very well for you chaps with money," he 
 was saying gloomily. 
 
 "Money? " repeated Dick vaguely. 
 
 " Yes. I say it s all very well for you chaps with 
 money. You can look round and take time. But what 
 is a poor beggar like me to do ? Uncle Will is a brick. 
 He put me through college ; but after this he says I 
 must make my own way as he did. And a man must 
 live ; if he is a gentleman he must have money for cer 
 tain things." 
 
 "You mean such things as cigars and club dues," 
 observed Dick. 
 
 " No, I don t. I mean a decent roof over his head, and 
 food to keep him alive. I mean money enough to keep 
 
 74
 
 DICK AND ARTHUK 
 
 him out of jail without taking the poor debtor s oath," 
 said Arthur, with unexpected passion. " I tell you, life s 
 pretty rough, in ways you fellows with money don t 
 dream of." 
 
 Dick was silent. He knew now that Arthur must be 
 in serious money difficulties, but was so little intimate 
 with him that an offer of help would have seemed a 
 liberty. Neither spoke for a time, and Dick s mind was 
 again straying among elysian fields, when they came 
 upon a village exhibition of jugglery presided over by 
 an Irishman from the Bowery, who by a certain ar 
 rangement of hair and beard had changed his Hiber 
 nian countenance into a ludicrous semblance of Indian 
 mystery. 
 
 Both young men stopped on the outskirts of the 
 crowd, as much to relieve the tension of their silence 
 as to see what was going on. There was nothing un 
 usual in the performance. The impossible was demon 
 strated with teasing facility. Space and time were 
 transcended. Live stock, in the shape of rabbits and 
 crowing roosters, was produced from a teacup of dry 
 sawdust. Yards of sausages were drawn from the waist 
 coat of an indignant bookkeeper, and Arthur s own 
 immaculate shirt front yielded an unexpected harvest 
 in the form of eggs. 
 
 But to both men these things were an old and weari 
 some story, and Dick was moving away when Arthur 
 put a hand on his arm. 
 
 " I say ! look at this, it is worth while," he exclaimed, 
 as the juggler drew out a pack of cards and began to 
 
 75
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 explain and illustrate the tricks by which professional 
 gamblers won their game. The performance was so 
 clever that as the entertainment broke up Dick re 
 marked that had a warrant been out for a gambler 
 and were an officer present, their entertainer s liberty 
 would have been worth little more than the fleetness 
 of his heels. 
 
 After his momentary excitement, Arthur relapsed 
 into gloom. 
 
 " I don t see why one should n t envy those chaps 
 who are clever enough to be dishonest with safety, and 
 under no obligations of conscience or the opinion of 
 their social world to be honest," he said. "If they get 
 into a scrape, and want some extra plug, there s a turn 
 of the wrist, and the world is their own again." 
 
 They had come to the crossroads, and paused before 
 going in different directions. Arthur stood with his 
 hands in his pockets, a frown on his handsome brow, 
 and something more than discontent in the eyes beneath. 
 Dick looked at him with awakened curiosity, in which 
 there was also sympathy. He seemed too handsome, 
 too finely fibred, too genial, and altogether too lovable 
 a creature to be harassed by the sordid and coarse 
 grained seams of life; and unfit, in spite of his six 
 feet two of brawn and muscle, to grapple with issues 
 that have an ugly and loutish inevitableness of result. 
 
 " I suppose we shall see you at the club this even 
 ing," Arthur continued, with an unsuccessful attempt 
 to throw off his depression. 
 
 "I may look in," said Dick; and then they paused, 
 76
 
 DICK AND ARTHUR 
 
 lingering still at the crossroads, as though there were 
 something more to say. 
 
 Dick shifted his bag to the other hand, and his face 
 was more than usually harsh and uncompromising, be 
 cause he was trying to make Arthur an offer of help. 
 
 " I say " began Arthur himself suddenly. 
 
 " Yes ? " answered Dick. 
 
 " I say you won t repeat anything I have said 
 about the poor debtor s oath, and all that, to Uncle 
 Will?" 
 
 His smile as he asked the favor was lacking in its 
 habitual radiance. 
 
 "Of course I won t say anything," Dick assured 
 him. " Why don t you ? " he suggested. 
 
 "Oh, because he would ask questions." 
 
 " Why not tell some one who won t ask questions ? " 
 
 Arthur shrugged his shoulders. " If he means to 
 help me out, why does n t he say so ? " he thought ; 
 while Dick told himself that Arthur must now under 
 stand that help was there, supposing it were agreeable 
 to him to accept it. They stood a little longer, and then 
 Arthur said: 
 
 " Well, so-long. See you at the club." 
 
 But still he seemed hesitating, while Dick wondered 
 if he should offer plainly and Arthur if he should ask 
 frankly ; but the sum was a shameful one. " And hang 
 it all," he told himself, " a fellow can t ask a thing 
 like money of a man he hardly knows, particularly 
 when he is after the girl you may decide to go in for 
 yourself ! " 
 
 77
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 Appreciation of his own moral fastidiousness restored 
 his confidence, and before Dick could speak Arthur 
 straightened his shoulders, said " So-long " again with 
 considerable cheerfulness, and swung along the road 
 with erect head, every motion expressive of a splendid, 
 perfectly balanced strength that was good to see. 
 
 He went up towards the dwellings of those who 
 lived for ease and pleasure, and, remembering that he 
 would find Gladys there, Dick sighed unconsciously 
 before he turned and went down to the village.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 TRUANCY 
 
 T 
 
 HAT afternoon there was a concert at the club. It 
 was a country club, and neither money nor talent had 
 been spared to ensure its success. The grounds were 
 spacious, the clubhouse low-gabled and picturesque, 
 and it was a centre of growing popularity for the gay 
 life within a radius of several miles. Private tennis 
 courts, billiard rooms, smoking rooms, and even din 
 ing rooms were being deserted for those of the club. 
 " Which is simply one of the unfortunate inelegancies 
 of this over-blown, over-restless, superficially active 
 American life," said Mrs. Stanwood ; but she paid its 
 subscriptions and attended its entertainments, like 
 every one else. 
 
 This afternoon the lawns and golf grounds lay 
 almost deserted under the August sun, while a large 
 audience of fashionable and unwilling listeners filled 
 the club parlors, and overflowed on to the piazzas. 
 They had come because one of their own set was per 
 forming, and, though he performed but poorly, it was 
 necessary to buy his tickets and be present when he 
 played. 
 
 Gladys sat in a corner of the piazza, and was exceed 
 ingly bored. Fashionable life seemed a profitless affair, 
 
 79
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 and sea wind blowing in over the meadows made her 
 restless for wide spaces. 
 
 " I thought you were young enough to know bet 
 ter," said Dick s voice suddenly, almost at her ear. 
 
 She started, and turned to find him standing just 
 outside the piazza rail against which she was leaning. 
 The color flooded her face, and she knew that she was 
 very glad to see him. Dick knew it, too, but he knew 
 also that she was not yet glad in the way he wished. 
 
 " Only those who have lived long enough to forget 
 what is worth while are willing to pass an August 
 afternoon in such a way as this," he continued. " I 
 thought you were young enough to know better." 
 
 " I thought people were usually old enough to know 
 better." 
 
 " That is a mistake," said Dick, " discovered only by 
 the young." 
 
 She laughed, conscious of being well pleased with 
 him. 
 
 "I haven t looked at the programme," said Dick, 
 " but I think I know who it is;" and he mentioned the 
 name. 
 
 " Yes. How did you know ? " 
 
 " I have heard him before. When he left college, he 
 tried State Street as a means of support, but the office 
 hours were bad, and he had n t the stock exchange in 
 stinct, and altogether it seemed degrading work ; so he 
 took to music, for which he had always shown a tal 
 ent, having led the glee club four years at Harvard, 
 and his fashionable relations helped to support him 
 
 80
 
 TKUANCY 
 
 during a course of study at a German conservatory; 
 since then his fashionable relations, aided by his fash 
 ionable friends, have continued to support him by buy 
 ing tickets for his concerts, and paying the prices for 
 them that they would pay to hear great artists." 
 
 " But after all," said Gladys, " you are here your 
 self." 
 
 " Because you are." He made the statement as a 
 simple matter of plain fact. " He will not play any 
 thing in a way that you could enjoy, so you had better 
 come away with me." 
 
 " No," said Gladys, " I am going to stay. I won t 
 pretend to like it, but I regard it as a charity. You, as 
 a socialist, ought to help charity." 
 
 "I, as a socialist, do not approve of charity. I see 
 that I must give you a lecture on socialism, but this is 
 neither the time nor the place. Will you come ? " 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " continued Gladys. " He must do 
 something. What can he do ? " 
 
 " I don t know," said Dick. " Certainly not music, 
 possibly typesetting." 
 
 " Hush," she said, " I think he is going to play 
 again." 
 
 "It is highly probable. He will play industriously 
 for an hour or so. He will play industriously and con 
 scientiously through several sonatas of Beethoven " 
 
 " We have had one already," interrupted Gladys. 
 
 " Good, that will be one less. He will continue with 
 a Brahms variation or two, some Schumann and Bach, 
 and he may give us a nocturne or so from Chopin, 
 
 81
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 which, he would have us understand, are thrown in 
 purely to satisfy those who crave the sensuous and sen 
 sational." 
 
 " How do you know so much about music ? " asked 
 Gladys, surprised. 
 
 " There is a beach not far away," continued Dick ; 
 " they call it the Singing Beach because it has golden 
 sands that sing when you walk on them. It is an in 
 comparable beach, lonely, and solemn, and beautiful. 
 It is bounded by strange rocks, and looks out over 
 measureless horizons of waters; and grand, stately 
 breakers from mid-ocean come up on it with every 
 tide." 
 
 " I have wanted Aunt Edith to drive me there all 
 summer," said Gladys. 
 
 " Will you come with me now ?" 
 
 She was silent, picturing to herself the beach as he 
 described it. 
 
 " What might not happen on a singing beach ? " he 
 urged. 
 
 She turned to him quickly, about to speak, but he 
 prevented her. 
 
 " I promise to be perfectly good if you will go with 
 me," he assured her calmly. 
 
 "But you know," she said, "that I do not love you." 
 
 " Never mind about that now. Will you come ? " 
 
 And Gladys went.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A GAME OF POKER 
 
 JL HAT evening Gladys went again to the club, this 
 time to a dinner, and on the way there she leaned back 
 in the gloom of the carriage and thought of Dick, and 
 of the afternoon with him on the " Singing Beach." 
 
 He had been " perfectly good," according to his pro 
 mise. Lying at her feet, with his head supported by his 
 hand, he never spoke once of his love, but asked her 
 of her own life, and listened to what she told him with 
 steady, deep-lit eyes on her face, smiling now and then, 
 a sensitive smile of rare sweetness. It was his smile, 
 and the change it wrought in his face remained with 
 her now more clearly than the golden sands, and the 
 solemn roll of the breakers coming in upon them. 
 She remembered something Mr. Aldrich had once said 
 of Dick. 
 
 " His face gives the impression of mere brute force," 
 he had remarked, "until you look again and see that 
 his lips are sensitive, pitifully sensitive for a man. He 
 will try, and blunder, and fail, as most men do, but I 
 think he will try more desperately than most, and blun 
 der more for he is not one to consider expediencies 
 and, with those lips, suffer abominably." 
 
 Leaning back with closed eyes, Gladys wondered if 
 83
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 Mr. Aldrich were right. Dick s love had grown to be 
 a sacred thing in her life, a thing that made her at 
 once humble and proud. He had captured her imagi 
 nation, and in these flushed, untried hours of her youth, 
 she might well have mistaken this for love, as millions 
 have done before her, and will do again. 
 
 But Gladys possessed an unexpected power of clear 
 and level vision. She knew that she did not love Dick, 
 but she knew also that she might some day learn to 
 do so. 
 
 The dinner was as other dinners. She sat next 
 to Arthur, who had temporarily banished care. His 
 smile was as radiant, his eyes as unclouded, as ever. 
 Gladys looked at the smile, and told herself that she 
 preferred Dick s. She looked also, and often, into his 
 eyes and his handsome face, and told herself again that 
 she preferred to look at Dick. She listened to his easy, 
 amiable remarks, and compared them to Dick s con 
 versation, which was brilliant, sarcastic, and warm by 
 turns. 
 
 " One could fill a woman s world if he chose, but the 
 other could never occupy more than a corner," she told 
 herself. 
 
 And having decided these things, she proceeded to 
 devote herself to her cousin with a willingness that 
 deceived every one at table save himself and her aunt. 
 The cool, detached spirit that looked out behind the 
 laughter in her eyes was not that which Arthur was 
 accustomed to find in the glances of the women to 
 whom it seemed worth his while to be agreeable. But 
 
 84
 
 A GAME OF POKER 
 
 he was as little vain as it was possible for a man to 
 be under the circumstances, and accepted his cousin s 
 indifference with perfect good humor, and without 
 lessening the attitude of devotion it was so natural 
 for him to assume. But after the dinner was over, and 
 as soon as it was possible to do so with courtesy, he 
 sought some men in the billiard room and started a 
 game of cards. Not long afterwards Mrs. Stanwood 
 and her niece, passing along the piazza on their way to 
 the carriage, paused to look in upon him. The men 
 they had dined with were sitting at a large table upon 
 which were cards and chips and glasses of whiskey, 
 while on a smaller table near at hand were fresh packs 
 of cards and unopened bottles of whiskey. Mrs. Stan- 
 wood noted these things with an experienced eye. 
 
 " I shall not expect Arthur or Willie home before 
 morning," she said carelessly. 
 
 " It is n t bridge, is it ? " asked Gladys, watching the 
 scene wonderingly. 
 
 " No, it is poker ; but if bridge turns out as it pro 
 mises, it will not be long before our private houses look 
 as much like a gambling saloon as this does," she said 
 contemptuously, and was passing on when Dick entered 
 the room from the door facing them, and she paused, 
 thinking the sight of him at a card table might be a 
 salutary lesson for her niece. 
 
 He moved deliberately toward the players, and stood 
 looking on with his hands in his pockets, and Mrs. 
 Stanwood became suddenly aware that he was watching 
 Arthur, who sat with his back to the window. Then 
 
 85
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 he came round to his side, and, putting a hand on his 
 shoulder, said something to him. It seemed to Mrs. 
 Stanwood that he was asking him to come away, but 
 Arthur shook him off impatiently, and after a moment s 
 pause, Dick, in answer to a sign from one of the other 
 men, seated himself at the table and took a hand. 
 
 The whole thing had taken only an instant, but the 
 incidents stamped themselves forever upon the girl s 
 consciousness. 
 
 " Was that just an ordinary game of cards for 
 men ? " she asked, on the way home. 
 
 Her aunt shrugged her shoulders. " They usually 
 look like that when they play," she said. 
 
 "I do not believe that was an ordinary game," 
 Gladys insisted a little later, but she offered no expla 
 nation for her conviction. The last thing she remem 
 bered, before falling asleep, was the flushed, excited 
 face that Arthur had shown her as he turned to answer 
 Dick. 
 
 At midnight, the group of men still sat round the 
 card table. They were silent now, and rather grim. 
 Several of them had taken off their collars, for the 
 night was warm, and their shirts were tumbled and 
 soiled with cigar ashes. The air was thick with tobacco 
 smoke, and one or two of the whiskey bottles were 
 empty. 
 
 Dick had been winning steadily, and the flush was 
 gone from Arthur s face, which was very pale. Once 
 he took the cigar from his mouth and turned slowly to 
 stare at Dick from under lowered brows. The last 
 
 86
 
 A GAME OF POKES 
 
 three hours had swept all refinement and beauty from 
 his features, which had grown haggard, sullen, and 
 brutalized. 
 
 "You learned those card tricks well," he said de 
 liberately. 
 
 From that moment the luck shifted, and Arthur won 
 phenomenally. Gladys was right, this was not an 
 ordinary game. 
 
 A few hours later, the six men still sat at the card 
 tables. They were hollow-eyed and disheveled, for the 
 fiercest passion known to civilization had been at work 
 among them all night. The room was foul with stale 
 tobacco smoke and the fumes of whiskey, when sud 
 denly the dawn, wan and solemn, came into it. One of 
 the players, looking up and seeing the gray light at 
 the window, stopped his deal. 
 
 " It is day ! " he exclaimed. One by one, they lifted 
 their eyes to the eastern window, and the spell of the 
 night slipped from them, leaving with each man a feel 
 ing of degradation, and the sense of possessing a name 
 less but violent grudge against his neighbor. 
 
 One of them rose stiffly, and stretched himself. 
 " Seems like a dream a bad one," he said. 
 
 " I guess it won t seem a dream after breakfast, when 
 you look at the cold figures," said another, straight 
 ening his collar as he spoke, and brushing some cigar 
 ashes from his cuff. He looked about the dim, evil- 
 smelling room with as much disgust as though he had 
 just come into it. " You may wash us, and shave us, 
 and clothe us as you will, but we are all brutes at the 
 
 87
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 bottom," he muttered discontentedly, staring at his 
 companions with sullen suspicion, as though they were 
 severally responsible for his discomfort. 
 
 " Oh ! shut up, Morrison ! You make me tired ! 
 Don t you suppose we have enough to stand without 
 a moral at this hour of the day ? " grunted another. 
 " The devil himself was in those cards last night, and 
 it s a deuced queer thing " 
 
 " We would not mind being brutes all the time. It s 
 being brutes part of the time that hurts," cut in Dick, 
 looking at Arthur, who, still seated, was facing the 
 brightening windows with unseeing eyes. 
 
 Suddenly a man, who had been examining the loose 
 cards, rose with an oath, and, pouring some whiskey 
 into a tumbler, lifted it above his head. 
 
 "It is day, and I have to propose a toast," he cried. 
 
 " Good Lord ! " groaned Morrison. " Have n t we 
 had enough whiskey for one time ? " 
 
 " A thing of beauty is a joy and so forth," quoted 
 some one thickly, reaching for a tumbler. " Have n t 
 the quotation right, but you get my idea." 
 
 " If you are trying to say, One can t have enough 
 of a good thing, say it, you infernal idiot, and shut 
 up," cried Morrison, in tones of strong disgust. " Bah ! 
 you had better get under the pump," he added. 
 
 The man who had proposed the toast still stood with 
 the glass raised above his head. 
 
 " It is day," he repeated, " and I drink to the dis 
 covery of the scoundrel among us who has been play 
 ing with cards up his sleeve. Curse him ! "
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 FEET OF CLAY 
 
 .RTHUR let himself into the house with a shaking 
 hand. As the gloom of the empty hall struck him, he 
 turned to face the east just as the sun, blazing, jubi 
 lant, mighty, came out of the sea, flinging gold far on 
 the waters and searching the land with flaming shafts 
 of light. 
 
 Arthur s spirit, shrinking and devitalized, could not 
 meet the dominant splendor of the scene, so, turning to 
 the house again, he entered and went into the dimness 
 of it, closing the door behind him. In his own room he 
 sat on the edge of the bed with his head bowed on his 
 hands, and tried to think. 
 
 From time to time he asked himself if the thing 
 were true. Yesterday he had been the idol of a uni 
 versity. In him had seemed embodied the qualities of 
 knighthood. Courage, gentleness, honor, and perfect 
 physical beauty, were the things he had stood for 
 yesterday, and to-day ? Less than an hour ago a man, 
 excited by wine, maddened by serious loss, had pro 
 posed a toast to the destruction of a scoundrel who 
 had cheated him, and Arthur knew himself to be that 
 scoundrel. The memory of the word struck him as a 
 physical blow under which his frame shrunk visibly. 
 
 89
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 He pictured the consequences of his act were it dis 
 covered, and the picture scorched him like flame. He 
 thought of the friends and the honors which had been 
 his, and which he must lose ; of the doors which had 
 been opened, and which would be closed. The clubs 
 would expect him to resign, his name would be struck 
 off the lists of the Harvard societies where he had 
 been a hero. He thought of the four splendid years at 
 college, and then he thought of the squad, the nine 
 uncouth giants who had loved him, and whom he had 
 led to battle and victory. Tears stood in his miserable 
 eyes as he imagined what they would feel when they 
 heard of his act. How could he bear these things? 
 He told himself that he could not bear them. On 
 starting the game he intended nothing save to win the 
 money he needed ; but instead of winning, he had lost 
 steadily. He had staked what he had, and had lost it. 
 Then he had staked more than he had, and lost that. 
 It was not merely the passion of a gambler that pos 
 sessed him, he told himself now, but the desperation of 
 loss. Then came the temptation, and he had gone 
 down under it, as do those wretches who people prisons 
 and penitentiaries. 
 
 " I had to have that money I had to have it ! " he 
 groaned, seeking some justification for his act. 
 
 Well, he had the money, and as yet no one knew 
 how he had come by it. He had the money, and though 
 it was not sufficient to clear him of debt, it would tem 
 porarily free him from creditors who had been his tor 
 ment. It would give him time to lift his head above 
 
 90
 
 FEET OF CLAY 
 
 the waters, and take measures to keep it there. " A 
 fellow must have time to breathe," he told himself, 
 and, lifting his head from his hands, he did breathe 
 with cpnsiderable relief. The anxiety which had not 
 left him for months was gone. He was free, he assured 
 himself, trying thereby to smother the memory of the 
 thing he had done. But the memory could not be 
 smothered just yet, particularly with the fear of dis 
 covery hounding it into life. 
 
 The man who had lost most heavily, and proposed the 
 toast, was the president of the club ; and it was said 
 by those who knew him that he possessed an unpleas 
 antly rough side. Arthur felt sure that he would not 
 allow the episode to pass without investigation. 
 
 Gradually a distant opening and shutting of doors, 
 steps in the parlors beneath him, and a sweeping of 
 staircases forced itself upon his consciousness. The 
 hour had come when he must begin the day. A shower 
 bath and a shave restored him to some measure of 
 confidence and self-respect, and there was no one to 
 face at his early breakfast. But in spite of physical 
 well-being, the memory of what he had done grew 
 more and more insistent. 
 
 After having tried in vain to forget it in a few words 
 with Gladys, who came downstairs just as he left the 
 dining-room, he began to hate and dread it as some 
 evil gift of fate for which he was in no sense respon 
 sible. 
 
 Sitting in the sunny morning room, watching his 
 cousin pour out her coffee, and passing her the things 
 
 91
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 she needed with a deference that was not less charm 
 ing for being more quiet than usual, his face wore a 
 becoming pallor, and by some strange alchemy seemed 
 incapable of registering an unworthy thought or emo 
 tion. He was ashamed and badly frightened, but he 
 appeared wistful, and dangerously appealing. Look 
 ing at him, it would have been hard to believe him one 
 who had yielded to sordid temptation. He seemed 
 rather as some heroic and chivalric being caught de 
 fenseless by a malignant fate. 
 
 His uncle had passed what remained of the night at 
 the club, and on his return he summoned Arthur to 
 the " Beetlery," that being the one spot where he was 
 secure from interruption. 
 
 " This is a bad business," he began, seating himself, 
 and looking older and heavier than usual. 
 
 The proximity of these coleopteran specimens in glass 
 cases was apt to get on Arthur s nerves, and this morn 
 ing the place seemed one of torture. 
 
 " A bad business," repeated his uncle slowly. 
 
 " You wish to speak to me about it?" Arthur man 
 aged to say respectfully. 
 
 " Yes. I have been talking with the president sit 
 down, my boy." 
 
 Arthur obeyed him. 
 
 " I have been talking with the president, who insists 
 upon an investigation of some kind." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " The investigation will be strictly private, of course," 
 he added. 
 
 92
 
 FEET OF CLAY 
 
 " Of course," repeated Arthur mechanically. He no 
 ticed that Mr. Stanwood avoided meeting his eyes, and 
 fear ran through his veins like a consuming acid. 
 
 Mr. Stanwood took a valuable microscope from the 
 table beside him, and toyed with it recklessly. 
 
 " The unfortunate part of it is," he continued, " that 
 the only two men who won anything out of the game 
 are my nephew and the man who has been my guest 
 all summer." 
 
 " Do you suspect me, sir ? " asked Arthur faintly. 
 
 " God forbid, my boy, God forbid ! " 
 
 Arthur recognized the exclamation as one of sorrow 
 rather than of trust ; and as he sat there he felt his 
 manhood leaving him drop by drop, for he knew that 
 his world would more easily forgive the man who steals 
 his friend s wife than his friend s money. 
 
 "I should be sorry to think you ever wanted money 
 without turning to me," continued his uncle, with appar 
 ent irrelevance. He spoke still with averted eyes, and 
 recklessly fingered his most cherished possession. " Are 
 you in need of money now ? " he asked. 
 
 " No," answered Arthur truthfully. " You are very 
 kind," he murmured. 
 
 Beads of perspiration began to roll down his face, 
 and the room, with its thousands and thousands of 
 hideous insects, seemed a chamber of horrors. If he 
 could ever get out of it, and away from his uncle s 
 shamefaced, averted gaze, he thought that his guilt 
 would weigh less upon him, and that he could find 
 some way of shuffling off its consequences. 
 
 93
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " Is there anything else you wish to say to me about 
 it? "he asked. 
 
 " Yes, one more thing. It is remembered that during 
 the night, at the time Copeland was winning so heavily, 
 you made a remark to him about having learned the 
 card tricks well. Can you explain that remark ? " 
 
 " I believe he once saw a fellow show up some gam 
 bling tricks," answered Arthur evasively. He thought 
 he began to see a way out of the difficulty. 
 
 "Was it yesterday when you were with him 
 that he saw those tricks ? There was, I believe, a jug 
 gler in the village during the afternoon." 
 
 So it was known that they had been together, but not 
 certain that they had witnessed the exposition of trick 
 ery. Arthur was thinking hard now, and the way out 
 was widening. 
 
 " Don t you think it would be better fairer to 
 Copeland and me if I answered no questions about 
 him behind his back ? " he suggested. " He will, I take 
 it, be present at the investigation." But as he spoke 
 Arthur knew that Dick must be prevented from ap 
 pearing. 
 
 Mr. Stanwood met his nephew s eyes for the first 
 time, and drew a heavy breath of relief. 
 
 " You are right, Arthur, you are right," he said 
 heartily. " I think that will be all for the moment." 
 
 And Arthur made his escape with all possible expe 
 dition. His brain was clearing, and he felt a man again, 
 with events under his hand. Sitting on the rocks, he 
 tried to think it out. It was known that he and Cope- 
 
 94
 
 FEET OF CLAY 
 
 land were together in the afternoon. The coachman 
 had probably told of it ; but it was not known that they 
 had witnessed the exhibition of trickery, and Copeland 
 must be prevented from testifying to this fact. But 
 how was he to be prevented ? 
 
 It would be useless to suggest that such an admission 
 would tend to incriminate himself. When questioned 
 he would undoubtedly tell exactly what he had done, 
 even though it might involve another man, and that 
 the man he himself suspected of guilt. That Copeland 
 did suspect him, Arthur knew well, and his face burned 
 now at the memory of the look Dick had given him 
 just as the game broke up. The perspiration started 
 out on his forehead at the thought of it, and by this 
 time he had ceased to feel shame. There was no room 
 in his consciousness for anything but the instinct of an 
 animal at bay. Escape from the consequences of his 
 act was a desperate need, and in his panic he did not 
 stop to question the cost of escape. Dick must be pre 
 vented from testifying, that was the first thing to be 
 accomplished; and after several hours of agonized 
 searching he rose suddenly, looked at his watch, and 
 went swiftly down to the club.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 ARTHUR DISQUALIFIED 
 
 N the excited and ominous ending to the night s 
 game, Dick had gone straight to his room, and after a 
 few hours of heavy slumber he awoke feeling consider 
 ably ashamed of himself. It seemed as though demons 
 had taken possession of him the night before, and it is 
 the pride of self-controlled manhood to subjugate de 
 mons. Disgust and shame were with him all the morn 
 ing, and considerable anxiety as to the outcome of 
 Arthur s tampering with the cards. He liked the boy, as 
 did nearly every one who came in contact with him, nor 
 did he bear any serious ill will for the insulting words 
 with which Arthur had addressed him at midnight, for 
 he knew that the remark had been wrung from him in 
 a moment of dreadful stress, and had no foundation 
 in belief. But he despised Arthur, with the scorn that 
 came to him so easily. He told himself that the fellow 
 who could do a thing like that was rotten to the core. 
 
 Before luncheon he went to the beach for a swim, and 
 when he came out from the bathing-house, Arthur con 
 fronted him with a pale and desperate face. 
 
 " I want to speak to you," he said humbly. 
 
 Dick did not answer as he turned to lock the bath 
 ing-house. 
 
 96
 
 ARTHUR DISQUALIFIED 
 
 "I want to apologize for saying what I did last 
 night," continued Arthur, " I did not mean a word of 
 it." 
 
 " I never thought you did," answered Dick shortly. 
 " Don t say anything more about it." 
 
 Arthur had suspected Dick s knowledge of his guilt. 
 Now he was sure of it. 
 
 " Would you mind coming out on the rocks where 
 we need not be interrupted?" he continued. " I have 
 something to say." 
 
 There was nothing to do but to go with Arthur to the 
 rocks, and Dick went, with all imaginable reluctance. 
 Arthur did not speak at once, but sat doubled over 
 with his head in his hands. 
 
 " I did it ! " he said suddenly, without lifting his 
 head. 
 
 There did not seem any appropriate answer to the 
 confession, and Dick made none. 
 
 " I did it," repeated Arthur. " I cheated at cards. 
 I did the lowest down, meanest thing a man can do, 
 and I feel as if I should go off the hooks if I did n t 
 tell somebody." At this moment Arthur quite believed 
 what he said. " But I had to have the money ! You 
 believe that I had to have the money ? " 
 
 Here was a chance for Dick s scorn to find expres 
 sion, but he found himself suddenly and most unex 
 pectedly moved to pity. 
 
 " Why did n t you ask me for it yesterday ? " he de 
 manded. 
 
 " I tried to, but you shied off." 
 97
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I tried to offer, but you would n t let me. Makes 
 me feel as though the infernal business were all my 
 fault," thought Dick miserably. 
 
 " God ! how did it happen ! " continued Arthur, 
 with his hands hanging limply between his knees. 
 " I thought I was a gentleman the fellows they 
 would n t have left much of any one who doubted me. 
 What will they do when they hear I am just a cad ? 
 I believed in myself last night, and then I did it easily 
 did the thing no one will ever forget about me. I 
 can t believe in myself again, no one will believe in me. 
 They won t want me at their clubs, and when I try for 
 a business who will want to take in a fellow who is 
 known to have cheated at cards ? He cheated at cards ! 
 I can hear them say it of me whenever I enter a room. 
 How can I bear it? How can a man bear things like 
 that?" 
 
 " It won t be as bad as that," answered Dick. " Is 
 any one on to you yet ? " 
 
 " No, but there is going to be a sort of investigation 
 this afternoon." 
 
 "It s lucky you needn t wait for it. You will find 
 the president, Mr. Murray, at the club now if you go 
 at once." 
 
 " Good Lord, man ! Do you think I am anxious to 
 hurry it ? " 
 
 " The sooner the better. He is mad right through, 
 for he promised to take his wife to Newport next week, 
 and he lost so much money last night that he can t do 
 it. But if you give him back what you took, I will 
 
 98
 
 AETHUK DISQUALIFIED 
 
 be your banker, and do the same by the others who 
 owe you anything " 
 
 " But that would be confessing that I did it," cried 
 Arthur, lifting a startled face. 
 
 Dick looked grave, and paused for a moment. " It 
 is the only decent thing to do," he said at last, and the 
 sympathy had gone out of his voice. " It is the only 
 decent thing to do, and the only way out of the mess." 
 
 " I don t call it a way out of the mess ; I call it get 
 ting into it with both feet." 
 
 " It is no business of mine," said Dick coldly, be 
 ginning to skip pebbles into the water. " But I think 
 you will be an awful fool if you don t make a clean 
 breast of it. If you give back the money, you will not 
 only have restored their good humor, but have taken a 
 big step towards restoring their good opinion of you, 
 and there is n t one who would tell. But if you wait to 
 be found out " 
 
 " I am hoping not to be found out." 
 
 Dick threw pebbles in silence. 
 
 " There s the money I owe them," said Arthur, as if 
 discerning the other s thoughts. 
 
 " That is rather an important item," admitted Dick 
 dryly. " What do you propose to do about it if you 
 are not found out ? " 
 
 "I could deposit it to their accounts in the bank. 
 They need n t know whom it comes from. But I can t 
 confess. I can t do it," he groaned. " Another fellow 
 might. I can t. I tell you, I am no good! There is 
 something wrong about me ! I went down under temp- 
 
 99
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 tation this time, and I 11 do it again some day, however 
 hard I try." 
 
 Dick ceased to throw pebbles. " That s rot," he said. 
 " Stop it." 
 
 Arthur looked at the sea with desperate eyes. 
 
 " What was that in the Rubaiyat, " he continued, 
 " about the pot that was damaged in the making be 
 cause the hand of the potter trembled? The hand of 
 the potter must have trembled when he made me, or 
 else I was made of poor clay, and I guess that is it 
 I guess I am just poor clay. But that was the potter s 
 fault not mine." 
 
 It seemed to Dick that he was confronted by the 
 most pitiful of things. Here was a man not fighting 
 for a desperate chance, or one who could fight and 
 would not ; but a man who would fight and could not ; 
 one who was morally unable to do so, a vessel of poor 
 clay, in the making of which the hand of the potter 
 had trembled. But he made another effort. 
 
 " You were all right fighting Yale on the diamond," 
 he said ; " you can fight this if you want." 
 
 " It s easy work fighting on the diamond," answered 
 Arthur, "because there are the fellows straining at 
 your elbow, and the music and cheers, and flags, and 
 the girl on the bench. Besides, I have given in, in 
 spite of those things, when the game was going too 
 much against me. No, I can t confess. Another might, 
 but I can t. I tell you, I can t ! " and there was panic 
 in Arthur s voice. 
 
 " But, man alive ! don t you see that it is the only 
 100
 
 ARTHUR DISQUALIFIED 
 
 way out? You not only atone for an act that isn t 
 square by one that is, but you choke the whole thing 
 off. Don t be such an infernal idiot as to crouch like 
 a dog under a cane. Stand up and strike out from 
 the shoulder. Give it a blow between the eyes. You 
 can do it. The way is open, which it is n t for every 
 poor devil that has slipped. Pull yourself up pull 
 yourself up by the roots if need be ; never mind if it 
 hurts. Pull yourself up and start again. You can wipe 
 it out and be nearly as good a man as you ever were. 
 It is only for you to say how it turns out." 
 
 Tramping about on the slippery rock in momen 
 tary danger of falling, he continued to exhort Arthur 
 in this vein, with increasing variety and confusion of 
 metaphor. But the culprit sat huddled and shivering 
 helplessly till at last Dick realized the uselessness of 
 his task and sat down again by his side. 
 
 " What are you going to do about it when you are 
 found out ? " he asked. 
 
 " But I may not be found out," said Arthur, remem 
 bering suddenly that the need of sympathy was not the 
 object of his confession. 
 
 "It stands this way," he continued. "They know 
 you and I were together yesterday afternoon. They 
 know there was a juggler in the village who taught 
 card tricks, but they do not know that we were at the 
 show. We stood outside, and I don t believe any one 
 turned round to look at us. Now how are they going 
 to find out if we don t tell? " 
 
 " But how are we going to help telling if they ask 
 101
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 us ? And if you are in such a funk at the idea of any 
 one s finding it out, why did you tell me ? " 
 
 " I could n t help it," murmured Arthur. " I had to 
 tell some one, and you are one of the kind who can 
 be trusted." He was now thoroughly conscious of the 
 part he had intended to play when he planned the in 
 terview, and would have played the part but poorly 
 had not every tone of his voice and every line of his 
 body expressed his genuine distress. " You are one of 
 the kind who can be trusted," he said, and rose heav 
 ily. " I am I am a thousand times obliged to you, 
 old man, for listening and trying to help me out." 
 And then he stood crushing his old college cap between 
 his hands and looking at Dick with piteous, entreating 
 eyes. 
 
 "I can t bear being found out," he whispered 
 hoarsely, and then he turned away. " The examination 
 is to be this afternoon," he added. 
 
 " See here ! " Dick almost shouted. " I can t be pre 
 sent at your infernal examination. If I do, I shall have 
 to answer questions, and since some power of darkness 
 prompted you to tell me this thing, I can t give it away. 
 I had better not even go back to the club. I ve got to 
 hook it. I ve got to have important business in town. 
 But I have important business here ! " he groaned, 
 remembering an engagement with Gladys, and using 
 vigorous language under his breath. " It was one thing 
 to suspect him on my own evidence, but now that he 
 has confided in me, I am tied hand and foot," he 
 told himself. 
 
 102
 
 ARTHUR DISQUALIFIED 
 
 Arthur paused, but did not turn. 
 
 " You had better not do anything you don t want to 
 do on my account ; I am not worth it," he said. Sin 
 cerity and shame were in his voice ; but there would 
 have been little of either had he been less sure that the 
 day was won.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MOONLIGHT 
 
 ICK had postponed his engagement with Gladys 
 till the evening ; and, waiting for him on the terrace, 
 the magic of the night fell upon her. 
 
 In the garden were moonlight, and mystical shadows, 
 and the perfume of lilies drenched in dew. Beyond the 
 garden great tides swung full and rapturous under the 
 August moon. The still night listened. It seemed to 
 Gladys that the world had been waiting like this 
 waiting and worshiping for millions of years. The 
 lilies standing in rows were waiting, while they held 
 stately chalices pallid as starlight to the skies, and 
 these other listening Presences, motionless, expectant, 
 of unsubstantial essence that would be only trees 
 and shrubs to-morrow. She stretched out her hand 
 and touched one of them slowly, wonderingly, as a 
 child will try the unknown, for she felt a stranger in 
 the garden she knew so well. This dim, tenebrous shape 
 with its drooping meshes of shadow was it the weep 
 ing beech under which she had breakfasted that morn 
 ing? 
 
 With every breath, she drew the beauty and mystery 
 of the scene deep into her being, and it became an ec 
 stasy and a pain. The faith that is betrayed and lives ; 
 
 104
 
 MOONLIGHT 
 
 the hope that is too high for earth, and endures ; the 
 passion that is in the uplift of crucified hearts, of 
 these things she could know nothing, but the sense of 
 them was with her, pulsing upward through the deep 
 and tranquil night as from the world s heart ; and 
 because of them tears lay on her face. 
 
 Dick was coming through this garden to meet her. 
 It was well, she told herself, that he should come 
 to-night of all nights that ever had been or would 
 be. What she should say to him she could not yet tell 
 herself ; but never doubted that when he came she 
 would know. 
 
 All that a girl s first lover can mean to her of ro 
 mance and glamour Dick had meant for Gladys. Un 
 der the spell of his love, possibilities that were wonder 
 ful, sacred, and holy had stirred within her as sleepers 
 stir at dawn. Sometimes she paused to listen by the 
 hushed chamber wherein they dwelt, and then she 
 seemed to hear them speaking in whispers of poignant 
 tenderness tenderness that hurt. Was Dick to lead 
 her within this chamber to-night ? 
 
 She waited for him on a seat built by the terrace 
 wall, just where a path dropped to the road. By this 
 path he should come, and she placed herself in the 
 shadow, for she wanted to see him, unseen herself, as 
 he came up out of the darkness. 
 
 There was a step below, and she leaned forward, lis 
 tening eagerly, but silence fell almost at once, and she 
 was glad the steps passed on, for her heart beat sud 
 denly to suffocation. But very soon she began to listen 
 
 105
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 again, with elbows on the stone parapet and chin in 
 hands. Now and then she closed her eyes, and with her 
 face turned to the stars she tried to imagine how he 
 would look and speak when he saw her. Because of the 
 great patience and content of the listening world, she 
 waited without impatience herself, as still waters must 
 have waited the coming of the first dawn. 
 
 But moments went by, and the night changed subtly. 
 There came a wind on the sea, and under it the rhyth 
 mic swing of the tide was broken. There were rustling 
 murmurs through the garden which had been so still, 
 and withered leaves on a bush near her began to chat 
 ter inquisitively of paltry things. Suddenly she knew 
 that she had been waiting long. 
 
 He would not come now. He had failed her for the 
 second time that day ; and she rose swiftly, with tears 
 of bitterness and disappointment in her eyes. The 
 magic of the night was shattered. 
 
 " He need not come at all," she told herself. " He 
 need never come again. It is too late. His hour has 
 gone." 
 
 Then it was that Mrs. Stanwood s voice called her. 
 " Gladys, where are you ? " 
 
 She obeyed the call, and found her aunt standing in 
 a stream of light that came from the open hallway. 
 
 " Gladys, where are you ? " 
 
 "Here, Aunt Edith." 
 
 "You had better come in," said her aunt. "Dick 
 Copeland cannot come to-night. He is in the library 
 now." 
 
 106
 
 MOONLIGHT 
 
 " In the library now," repeated the girl, pausing at 
 the foot of the steps. 
 
 " Yes, with your uncle and the president of the club. 
 Come in, dear, the night has grown cold."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 QUIXOTISM 
 
 Gi 
 
 fLADYS, dazed and bewildered with the reaction 
 from her hour of exaltation, knelt by the fire, pretend 
 ing to warm her hands, while Mrs. Stan wood explained 
 the situation. Her serenity was ruffled, and there was 
 distinct annoyance in her voice and manner. 
 
 " It is all very foolish and disagreeable," she said. 
 " Why could n t they leave things alone ? Men are 
 fools. The worst of it is that the case seems to stand 
 between Arthur and Dick Copeland." 
 
 Gladys laughed scornfully. " How absurd to accuse 
 Dick of cheating ! " she said. " I should be ashamed to 
 think such a thing for a moment." 
 
 " We have to think a good many things as we 
 grow older," answered her aunt dryly, " and we might 
 as well learn in the beginning not to be ashamed of 
 them." 
 
 She walked to and fro on the polished floor, pausing 
 now and then to listen to the voices that came from the 
 library. 
 
 " I should suspect Arthur of cheating far sooner than 
 Dick, though Arthur is my cousin," said Gladys. 
 
 " So should I," answered her aunt frankly. " For 
 one of your years you have an unusual gift of seeing 
 
 108
 
 QUIXOTISM 
 
 through the glamour of people. Je vous cnfelicite, mon 
 enfant. But in this case it does not seem to have been 
 Arthur." 
 
 " Why should it have been either of them there 
 were other men playing ? " 
 
 " But they were the only two who won anything. 
 The first part of the night Copeland won phenomenally, 
 and at midnight Arthur turned to him before them all, 
 and remarked that he had learned his card tricks 
 well." 
 
 " How did Dick answer the insult ? " 
 
 " He told Arthur not to make an idiot of himself ; 
 but he won no more that night, except spasmodically. 
 All the winnings were for Arthur till the game broke 
 up at dawn. Some of the men had thought things 
 looked strangely, and then they found the cards had 
 been tampered with, and some one remembered Arthur s 
 remark to Dick, and the fact that Dick s winnings 
 ceased from that moment." 
 
 " The idea being, I suppose, that Dick was afraid to 
 go on," said Gladys quietly, still warming her hands. 
 
 " Obviously." 
 
 "Is that all?" asked Gladys, still speaking with 
 quiet scorn. 
 
 " No. There was to have been an examination this 
 afternoon, and one man avoided it." 
 
 " Ah ! " breathed the girl. 
 
 " The man was Dick," said her aunt. 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 " It is true that he broke his appointment with me 
 109
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 this afternoon," she said at last. " But there might have 
 been many reasons for that." 
 
 " Did he give you one ? " 
 
 There was another and a longer pause before Gladys 
 answered. " He wrote unavoidable circumstance, " 
 she said. 
 
 " Ah ! " breathed Mrs. Stanwood, in her turn. 
 
 " He did not know there was to be an examination," 
 said Gladys. 
 
 " That is one of the things they are trying to find out 
 in the library." 
 
 "A man who does not believe in God." The words 
 repeated themselves mechanically within her. Her aunt 
 paused by the girl s side, and watched her face in the 
 firelight. 
 
 " You did not love him, Gladys ? " 
 
 "No," she answered aloud, adding to herself, "I 
 should have loved him had he come to me in the garden 
 to-night." 
 
 " I thought not ; but in any case it seemed better to 
 risk telling you everything." 
 
 " Much better." 
 
 " You are fortunate, my child, in that you have the 
 power to see things clearly." 
 
 Gladys was silent. 
 
 " And that you will not take this man or any other 
 in blind trust." 
 
 " If I had more trust, I might see more clearly," said 
 the girl, though she could have given no reason for so 
 speaking. 
 
 110
 
 QUIXOTISM 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood resumed her walk. "He may or 
 may not have had important business this afternoon," 
 she continued, " but he was evidently anxious to avoid 
 being seen to-night, for he did not stop at the club on 
 his way here, but sent a man to get his things and leave 
 them at the station." 
 
 Gladys remembered Dick s writing that he would 
 come to her in the garden because meeting people first 
 in the house was a nuisance. She had fallen from her 
 high places, fallen among garish things, to meet this 
 intolerable, incredible suspicion. That it was neither 
 tolerable nor credible she knew, and fought it as one 
 fights the flapping wings of a bat. But in her, as in 
 many highly conscious, complex natures, there was a 
 cool, questioning spirit, which was an alien to emotional 
 extravagance or unreasoning, whole-hearted trust, and 
 Dick had hurt her bitterly that night. Because of him 
 she had seemed ridiculous in her own eyes. So, though 
 she was tortured and ashamed, she knelt on by the fire 
 which had ceased to warm, and weighed the evidence. 
 
 In the library Dick had immediately and most un 
 wisely lost his temper. Impatient as only a lover can 
 be at being stopped on his way to the woman he loves, 
 conscious that he must not betray Arthur, and tried to 
 the limit of his endurance by the thought of Gladys 
 waiting in the garden, he answered the first questions 
 with indignant evasions. 
 
 " I deny the right of any unofficial person to ques 
 tion me on any subject whatever," he said. " Moreover, 
 I have an appointment which I intend to keep." 
 
 Ill
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " You have a great many appointments, Mr. Cope- 
 land," said the president. "There was one this after 
 noon which prompted you to evade the investigation 
 of this affair. We shall be glad of your assurance that 
 you did not receive my summons." Then, turning to 
 Arthur, who sat in the shadow with a bowed head, " I 
 believe you told me, Davenport, that, so far as you were 
 aware, Mr. Copeland did not know of the proposed 
 investigation." 
 
 There was a pause, while Dick realized the possible 
 cost of possessing Arthur s secret. 
 
 " I am sure that Copeland did not know of the in 
 vestigation," said Arthur, and Dick felt as though a 
 frightened cur had licked his boot. 
 
 " You confirm Mr. Davenport s statement ? " asked 
 Mr. Murray. 
 
 There was a sneer in his voice, and under the impli 
 cation of that sneer anger and contempt entered into 
 Dick, and took possession. 
 
 "You confirm Mr. Davenport s statement?" 
 
 "The statement is untrue," he answered. 
 
 " You knew of the investigation ? " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " Before leaving for the city ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The line of Dick s sensitive lips hardened, and from 
 time to time he looked at Arthur with growing wonder 
 in his eyes. 
 
 " Were you and Mr. Davenport present yesterday 
 when a juggler exposed some card tricks?" 
 
 112
 
 QUIXOTISM 
 
 " I refuse to answer any questions connected with 
 Davenport." 
 
 " Were you present yourself ? " 
 
 "I was." 
 
 When accused of dishonor, Dick s ancestors had not 
 deigned to give other reply than the flinging of the 
 glove of challenge, and it was in the same spirit that 
 Dick flung his damaging answers at the president. He 
 had never been so angry in his life. 
 
 Mr. Murray, who was almost startled by such direct 
 success, tried to exchange a glance with Mr. Stanwood, 
 but that gentleman was looking at Dick with surprise 
 and incredulity. 
 
 Mr. Murray turned to Dick with the look one man 
 may not endure from another, and ugly, savage things 
 leaped to Dick s eyes in answer. 
 
 " You have made several damaging statements," said 
 Mr. Murray. " I suppose you are aware of their import 
 in connection with last night s game." 
 
 At this point Mr. Stanwood interrupted for the first 
 time. 
 
 " When I allowed you to question Mr. Copeland in 
 my house, I stipulated that there should be nothing 
 but questions, and no accusations of an insulting 
 nature." 
 
 "My enforced presence here is an insult," said 
 Dick. 
 
 " I have no doubt," continued Mr. Stanwood, " but 
 that my friend can give a satisfactory explanation of 
 his absence this afternoon." 
 
 113
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 "We shall be glad to hear it," said Mr. Murray, 
 tapping the table with his fingers. 
 
 " I decline to give any explanation," answered Dick. 
 
 The president leaned back in his chair. 
 
 "You have evaded certain things, and admitted 
 others," he said. "The inference" he controlled 
 himself with difficulty " out of deference to our 
 host s wishes I will only ask you if you have anything 
 to say for yourself ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Dick. 
 
 Arthur in his corner moved like one on the rack. 
 
 " Why don t you tell em you did n t do it ? " he 
 said, in a strained voice. 
 
 Dick looked at him with amazed contempt. He 
 began to suspect that Arthur would let him bear the 
 blame rather than confess his guilt. 
 
 "Davenport is right," commented Mr. Murray. 
 "We are waiting to have you declare your inno 
 cence. * 
 
 " Do you think that I should deign to declare any 
 thing of the sort to you ? " asked Dick. And then for 
 one instant he met Arthur s eyes with their burden of 
 shame, panic, and entreaty. If the boy had clung to 
 his knees, confessing his inability to act the part of a 
 man, while imploring him to withhold the contempt 
 which scorched like a blow, his degradation and help 
 lessness could not have seemed more complete. Dick 
 paused, with his hand on the door, and for one moment 
 the voices of his anger and outraged pride ceased their 
 clamor. 
 
 114
 
 QUIXOTISM 
 
 " It is not too late," his eyes said to Arthur. " Come, 
 out with it now, and I will stand by," but Arthur 
 shook his head; his lips moved, but no sound came 
 forth, and the moment passed. Incredulous contempt 
 came into Dick s face, and he opened the library 
 door. 
 
 In his anger he had forgotten that Gladys was wait 
 ing, but coming upon her suddenly, while she knelt in 
 the rosy firelight looking more than ever a miracle of 
 flame, spirit, and bewildering sweetness, words crowded 
 eagerly to his lips. He would have told her of the sus 
 picion he was under, and expected her to sympathize 
 and laugh at it with him, believing in her faith as in 
 his own. But something in her face stopped him, and 
 then Dick s heaven was riven as by a thunderbolt, for 
 he saw that the girl doubted him. 
 
 Immediately after Dick came the president, followed 
 by Mr. Stanwood and his nephew. While Mrs. Stan- 
 wood and Gladys greeted their guest as though nothing 
 had happened, Arthur touched Dick s arm. 
 
 " For God s sake, Copeland ! why don t you tell em 
 you did n t do it ? " he whispered harshly. " I ve tried, 
 but I can t. I tell you, I can t." 
 
 But Dick seemed not to hear. It was all over, then ! 
 She believed he could do this ugly, sordid thing. It 
 was all over, for Dick knew that he would never ex 
 plain, would never sue for her confidence, or say to her, 
 " I am not a thief." 
 
 He turned blindly to find his hat, and at the door 
 Mr. Murray faced him. 
 
 115
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I shall have to ask for your resignation," he said, 
 in an undertone. 
 
 " My resignation," repeated Dick vaguely. He stood 
 still and massive, with a face denuded of all expression ; 
 but his eyes had the look of a dumb creature that is 
 maimed and stricken. 
 
 " I think you can hardly fail to understand. Your 
 resignation to the club." 
 
 " Ah, my resignation to the club yes. You shall 
 have it, of course." 
 
 The words fell with weary carelessness ; and then 
 he saw Gladys, who had come up in time to hear 
 the conversation. She was oblivious of the presence of 
 a stranger, and she was trembling, but Dick did not 
 know this. 
 
 " Tell me," she said, in a strained whisper, " tell 
 me why it was that you did not come to me this after 
 noon?" 
 
 Dick looked at her with an expressionless face, and 
 then he answered, from the depths of his pride and his 
 mortal hurt. 
 
 " I did not come because I wished to avoid the in 
 vestigation," he said, and left her. 
 
 Out on the moonlit sands he strove for the second 
 time with the powers that destroy, and for the second 
 time the powers had their way with him, so that he lay 
 on the ground and rolled over on his face, as he had 
 done on that long-distant day of his childhood. 
 
 This time he did not pray. 
 
 116
 
 QUIXOTISM 
 
 The sea wind was rising ; it came into the hall where 
 Gladys was standing as Dick had left her, and she 
 shivered as it struck her. 
 
 Mr. Murray was taking his leave. 
 
 " We have settled it more easily than I expected," 
 he said. 
 
 Gladys shivered again. 
 
 " I think some one just walked over my grave," she 
 said, in answer to her aunt s inquiry. 
 
 " It has been a shameful scene," said Mrs. Stanwood. 
 "No wonder that we are all upset. Shut the door, 
 Arthur. The weather has changed."
 
 PART II
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A RETURN 
 
 three years Mrs. Stanwood and her niece re 
 mained in Europe, while Mr. Stanwood divided his time 
 between the house in Beacon Street with its shrouded 
 furniture, and different parts of his own country, from 
 which he returned with important additions to the 
 beetle collection. 
 
 At the end of the first six months, Mrs. Stanwood 
 had written a sufficiently definite explanation of her 
 continued absence. 
 
 " The treachery of her friend made such a painful 
 impression upon Gladys," she wrote, " that she dislikes 
 the idea of returning to Boston, where she would be 
 liable to meet him at any time. In the meanwhile, she 
 is quite happy here, where the social atmosphere is 
 more congenial to both of us than it could be at home. 
 You had better not come over, Willie, you would be 
 wretched, as you have always been in Europe, and now 
 that we have transported all our property to America, 
 some one ought to stay and look after it." 
 
 So Mr. Stanwood stayed, but, during those two years, 
 neither his property nor his beetle collection was the 
 principal object of his thought. He had been born 
 with certain convictions, and during the fifty-odd years 
 
 121
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 of his life he had slowly and painfully acquired a few 
 more. But, if he was slow to arrive at an idea, few 
 things short of disintegration could have dislodged it 
 when once imbedded in his brain ; and the idea over 
 which Mr. Stanwood worked, during the absence of his 
 wife, was the problem of Dick Copeland s " treachery." 
 He thought of it deliberately and painfully for one 
 year, at the end of which time he arrived at his un 
 alterable conclusion, which was that the man who had 
 taken the blame was not the man who had cheated. 
 Before the first half of the second year, he arrived at 
 his second conclusion, which was that Arthur Daven 
 port had been the actual culprit ; and the discovery 
 gave him so much bitterness and shame that when the 
 time arrived for his wife s return he had not decided 
 whether or not to tell his niece the truth. 
 
 In the meantime he had tried to find Copeland, with 
 a dim idea that he would like to shake hands with 
 him ; but since the night of the disastrous game, there 
 was scarcely a trace of the boy. He had not returned 
 to finish his last year s course at Harvard, and there 
 were rumors to the effect that he had gone West, and 
 was working in a Colorado mine. Later on his name 
 was mentioned in connection with a serious strike in 
 the gold regions, and it was suspected that he had been 
 partly responsible for violence and loss of property. 
 
 Over these rumors Mr. Stanwood shook his head, 
 but they did not alter his conviction. Arthur he never 
 saw, or wished to see, and the memory that the boy 
 was his sister s only child became a bitterness of which 
 
 122
 
 A RETURN 
 
 only death could relieve him. Arthur, on his part, had 
 no wish to seek his uncle. He had seen him only a 
 few times since the night of the game, and on each of 
 these occasions Mr. Stanwood had contrived to make 
 him exceedingly uncomfortable. The mere presence of 
 his uncle was a reminder of the event which the hap 
 piness of Arthur s life required him to forget, and he 
 strove to forget it, with all the ardor of which he was 
 capable. 
 
 During the first few days the thing had been a night 
 mare to him. What he had done was bad enough, he 
 told himself, and allowing another man to assume the 
 fclame of it was worse. For a time he almost longed 
 to hear that Dick had told the truth, and relieved him 
 from his shameful burden of gratitude. But very soon 
 he began to fear that Dick would tell, and to suffer 
 the consequences of his act seemed the one intolerable 
 alternative. Remorse, shame, and fear had their way 
 with Arthur during these days, and they fought him 
 and one another till his consciousness became a place 
 of tumult and misery. 
 
 But time went on and no word came from Dick; 
 moreover, Arthur s world continued to smile on him, 
 and the smile of the world is the best of salves for a 
 bruised conscience. He had one of the temperaments 
 which ignore unpleasant memory. Shame, remorse, or 
 sorrow could not dwell long with him, nor yet the 
 sense of evil doing. With easy impulses toward good 
 and bad, he much preferred the good, and ignored or 
 forgot his wrong and unworthy actions as speedily as 
 
 123
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 possible. He liked the people about him to be as happy 
 as himself, and in the gracious acts of daily life was 
 charmingly courteous and generous. 
 
 Months passed, and still no betrayal came from 
 Dick. Increased security brought lessened remorse, 
 and gradually Arthur warmed into his genial, expan 
 sive self, and was almost persuaded that no great 
 wrong had been done. Dick could not have cared for 
 the girl, or he would have explained the situation to 
 her at once ; and though it was true that ugly rumors 
 were spreading in connection with his disappearance, 
 the opinion of fashionable people in an Eastern city 
 could matter little to a man who had elected to live in 
 another part of the world and stir up labor unions. 
 
 Then, quite suddenly, fortune opened her hands wide 
 to Arthur. An unmarried woman much older than 
 himself loved him for two years, after which she died, 
 leaving him her large property with no heirs to dispute 
 it. The occurrence was much discussed, but it was 
 generally admitted that Arthur s behavior in connec 
 tion with it had been perfect. He spent a week in 
 the Maine woods hunting up a distant connection of 
 his benefactress, and made him independent for life. 
 He had also given generous sums to various charities, 
 and then, quite secretly, through a third person, he de 
 posited certain sums of money to the credit of the men 
 he had defrauded on the night of the game. 
 
 After this transaction Arthur saw the page of his 
 life fair and spotless before him, and almost forgot 
 that it had been anything else. Outwardly he wore his 
 
 124
 
 A RETURN 
 
 honors with becoming soberness, and spent his money 
 as lavishly upon his friends as upon himself. 
 
 But underneath his happiness was a deposit of bit 
 terness. In the depths of his consciousness he knew 
 that he was worthless, and with this knowledge grew 
 an unsuspected cynicism. He had gone down once, 
 and he knew that he would go down again under suf 
 ficient pressure ; but when the end came, what differ 
 ence could it all make? Eternal punishment was a 
 fetich of the past, and it was probable that on the last 
 day the good would lie down with the evil. If he was 
 made of poor clay on whom was the blame ? 
 
 So did Arthur reason in the secret chambers of his 
 mind, for in very truth the rust was in his gold, and 
 the moth in his garment. 
 
 The only outward result of his experience was an 
 eagerness for praise, and an almost feverish satisfac 
 tion in such tribute as he won by good behavior, for 
 apart from a residue of cynical bitterness was his win 
 ning and affectionate self, which yearned to stand justi 
 fied and virtuous in the eyes of his friends. 
 
 He could have married often in the course of the 
 next few months, but held his hand and his heart till 
 such time as he was to see his cousin Gladys again. 
 The girl had held a somewhat thorny charm for him, 
 but the memory of her would not altogether subside, 
 and he waited the hour for her return with a half- 
 formed intention of falling in love with her and win 
 ning her for his wife. 
 
 He heard from friends that Mrs. Stan wood had re- 
 125
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 opened her salon in Rome, where Gladys had a social 
 success which gratified her aunt s most severe exac 
 tions. One spring she was presented at the London 
 drawing-room, and at last in the following autumn, 
 about the middle of November, Mrs. Stanwood brought 
 her home. 
 
 Mr. Stanwood was forbidden to meet his wife and 
 niece on the steamer s arrival. 
 
 " He will only be in the way," was her explanation, 
 " and sit about on the boxes, looking helpless." 
 
 So he waited for them in the Beacon Street house, 
 which had been hastily denuded of its white shrouds, 
 and put in order by a competent housekeeper. With 
 him waited also his niece s father, the professor of bac 
 teriology, and Molly, her younger sister. The professor 
 was almost as delicately built as Gladys herself. His 
 thick hair and beard were snow white, but his near 
 sighted blue eyes looked at the world with the candor 
 of a child. His manner was gentle and uncertain, and 
 his attitude toward practical and worldly things one of 
 deprecating detachment and incompetency, but he was 
 almost invariably beloved. 
 
 Molly was a good-looking young athlete of seventeen 
 summers ; tall and straight of limb, with shoulders as 
 broad and chest as deep in proportion to her size as 
 those of any man. Her mane of crisply curling hair 
 was brown, as were her eyes and skin, and her large, 
 well-bred hands. She was competent in the use of 
 slang, and what she did not know about golf and golf 
 clubs was not worth knowing. When she entered a 
 
 126
 
 A RETURN 
 
 room boisterous breezes from open fields seemed to 
 enter with her. 
 
 Molly characterized her sister s career on the Conti 
 nent as " effete," but waited her arrival with a resent 
 ment born of a tiny unacknowledged fear of her. She 
 felt it just possible that Gladys might look down on 
 her clothes, so she had donned her manliest suit and 
 hat and boots in self-defense. 
 
 The professor had given up a meeting of the com 
 missioners on the latest poultry disease in order to be 
 present at his daughter s arrival, and this neglect of a 
 duty which was also his pleasure, caused him some mild 
 annoyance. But as the time drew near for expecting 
 her he was conscious of unusual emotions, and once or 
 twice he took off his near-sighted glasses to wipe them. 
 
 " The steamer was at the dock two hours ago. Is n t 
 it almost time for them to be here ? " he asked ner 
 vously. 
 
 " They have sixteen trunks," said Mr. Stanwood. 
 
 " Sixteen trunks ! " cried Molly contemptuously. 
 " What could anything short of a traveling theatrical 
 show want of sixteen trunks ? " 
 
 Mr. Stanwood shook his head. " They are probably 
 full. They always used to be," he said patiently. 
 " Then there will be the baggage of the English maids. 
 I had forgotten them." 
 
 " Maids ! Is there more than one ? " 
 
 " They have one apiece, I believe." 
 
 Molly threw up her head with much the movement 
 of an indignant colt. 
 
 127
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " A maid apiece ! " she said. " If Gladys is n t 
 ashamed, she must have grown effeminate ! " 
 
 " Here she is ! " cried the professor from the window, 
 and Molly looked out just in time to see what appeared 
 to be a tiny duchess, clad in dull green and sables, run 
 up the steps.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 OVER THE TEA-CUPS 
 
 _RS. Stanwood followed her niece slowly, but her 
 appearance was equally bewildering to the two whose 
 visions of raiment were limited by Aunt Miranda s 
 standards. 
 
 The professor and his daughter scarcely knew 
 Gladys in the exquisite little mondaine, whose greet 
 ings, though warm, were inevitably limited by her 
 Gainsborough hat. 
 
 " Papa, dear, you have n t changed an atom, nor you 
 either, Uncle Willie. Is it germs and beetles, I won 
 der, that keeps you both young when the rest of us 
 don t laugh ; I was twenty-one last month and I feel 
 as if oceans of time oceans and oceans of it had 
 gone over me since I went away. As for Molly, stoop 
 down, Molly, or I cannot reach you. You have become 
 a grenadier. I thought at first you were Harold dressed 
 as a girl ; though, if it comes to that, you are not 
 dressed so very much like a girl, either. You might 
 almost be one of the mountain-climbing Englishwomen 
 one meets." 
 
 "If I thought I looked like the English, I would 
 buy a dress like yours at once," answered Molly. 
 
 " You could n t get one, my child, not in this hemi- 
 129
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 sphere," interrupted Mrs. Stan wood, kissing her niece 
 lightly on the forehead, and reflecting with dismay 
 upon this latest development of American girlhood. 
 " Have you ordered tea for us, Willie ? We are 
 almost starved." 
 
 The tea arrived at that moment, and Gladys seated 
 herself behind the silver service. 
 
 " Have you really a prejudice against the English ? " 
 she asked, measuring out the hot water. 
 
 " I don t call it a prejudice," answered Molly hotly, 
 " but I have n t forgotten the Stamp Act and Bunker 
 Hill." 
 
 " Dear me, Molly, it was so long ago," murmured 
 Gladys, " and they have forgotten." 
 
 "Who? The English?" Molly laughed shortly. 
 " I rather think they forgot as soon as they could," 
 she said, adding, " They say you are going to marry 
 one of them." 
 
 " Which one ? " asked Gladys, serenely pouring out 
 a cup of tea. " I am making this strong for you, Aunt 
 Edith." 
 
 " I hope that it is not true," said the professor 
 deprecatingly. He was a little afraid of his eldest 
 daughter, who appeared to him as an alien of dazzling 
 species. " I hope that it is not true ? " 
 
 "What, papa? That I am giving Aunt Edith a 
 strong cup of tea ? It is not good for her. I have often 
 said so." 
 
 Molly was growing more and more resentful of her 
 sister s delicate, indifferent ease. 
 
 130
 
 OVER THE TEA-CUPS 
 
 " Don t pretend, Gladys," she said bluntly. " You 
 never used to." 
 
 "Didn t I? Well, I do now," answered Gladys 
 easily. " Papa, I have forgotten how you like yours." 
 
 "Is it true about the Englishman?" persisted 
 Molly. 
 
 "I suppose she means Sir Kenneth," suggested 
 Gladys, appealing to her aunt, who, teacup in hand, 
 was inspecting the condition of her bibelots. 
 
 " Then you do know whom I mean," cried Molly tri 
 umphantly. " Are you going to marry him ? " 
 
 " My dear Molly ! " protested Aunt Edith. " How 
 bluntly you put things! " 
 
 " Do you like him, Gladys ? " 
 
 " Sometimes." 
 
 " It might be rather dangerous to marry a man whom 
 you only liked sometimes," suggested the professor 
 timidly. 
 
 " That is just what I told him, papa," answered 
 Gladys. 
 
 " So you did n t pretend with him ? " 
 
 " I have never yet found it worth while to pretend 
 with a man." 
 
 " Then it is not true." 
 
 " That I am going to marry an Englishman ? No, 
 indeed." 
 
 " But you let him give you flowers," protested Molly, 
 only half appeased, and alluding to a bunch of violets 
 that Gladys wore on her dress. 
 
 She put down her cup and laughed. " Dear Molly ! 
 131
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 do you think one must marry every man whose flowers 
 one wears ? And if you will think again, you will see 
 that violets could scarcely keep fresh during a week at 
 sea. No, Arthur gave me these." 
 
 "Ah," said Molly, with real respect in her voice, 
 for the glamour of his baseball days still made Arthur 
 worshipful in the eyes of the athletic girl. 
 
 " The flowers came out with the custom-house offi 
 cers, and Arthur met us on the wharf," said Mrs. Stan- 
 wood. " He was very useful in helping us through with 
 our boxes. Don t you think that he has improved, Wil 
 lie?" 
 
 " I have scarcely seen him since you left," answered 
 Mr. Stanwood, looking suddenly at Gladys. 
 
 " I thought he had improved immensely," she said. 
 " He seems quite too good to be true now, with his 
 beauty and his charm and his money." 
 
 " I suppose you will see a great deal of him this 
 winter," suggested Molly enviously. 
 
 " Perhaps so. He was never very interesting as a 
 conversationalist, but I think he would be a most orna 
 mental attendant at balls and other places where a 
 male attachment is necessary to one s self-respect." 
 
 In spite of her sister s white hands and exquisite 
 dress, Molly acknowledged reluctantly that it would be 
 impossible to look down on one who dared to speak so 
 casually of a baseball hero. 
 
 " Did you know him well that first summer you went 
 away?" asked Molly. "We had an idea that Dick 
 Copeland was the one you liked." 
 
 132
 
 OVER THE TEA-CUPS 
 
 At the sound of Dick s name Gladys s hand paused 
 on its way to the sugar-bowl, and in the sudden arresta- 
 tion of her movement there was a suggestion of breath- 
 lessness. An almost imperceptible pause followed, but 
 before her aunt could come to the rescue the girl was 
 speaking quietly for herself. 
 
 " I did like him," she said. 
 
 " I never could imagine why," continued Molly, 
 unconsciously ruthless. " I used to see him sometimes 
 when he came to look after his own place. Why did 
 you like him, Gladys ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I do not know. Why does one like a man ?" 
 Her voice was light and languid. " I think I remember 
 liking the way he passed the salt and shook hands." 
 
 Mr. Stanwood leaned back in his chair, much relieved, 
 and content that he need not reveal his nephew s dis 
 grace, since Gladys spoke so carelessly of the man who 
 had assumed it. 
 
 " That is almost as ridiculous as what he said about 
 you," said Molly, in answer to her sister s last re 
 mark. 
 
 " About me " - A close observer might have again 
 noticed a breathlessness in the perfectly poised little 
 figure at the tea-table. " When did you see him to talk 
 about me ? " 
 
 " It was that summer before he went West. I met 
 him at his own gateway, and Mr. Blake introduced us, 
 and I asked him if he saw much of you, and why it was 
 people said you were so different from other people. 
 He smiled in a queer way, and then he said that if I 
 
 133
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 could tell him what charm was, or why violets were 
 sweeter than cornstalks, he would tell me why you were 
 different from other people." 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Stanwood came firmly into the 
 middle of the room. 
 
 " That was a very pretty compliment," she said. 
 " And now, Gladys, it is time we took a rest, for there 
 is a full day before us to-morrow." 
 
 Gladys rose as her aunt spoke, and the little party 
 broke up. In the hall alone with her father she clung 
 to him unexpectedly ; and her voice when she spoke 
 was as forlorn and wistful as a lonely child s. 
 
 " Are you at all glad to see me, papa ? I mean, really 
 glad? " she asked. She had removed the Gainsborough 
 hat, and as his arms came about her she leaned against 
 him in complete relaxation. 
 
 " My daughter ! Of course I am glad ! " said the 
 professor, embarrassed but happy, for it seemed to him 
 that his little girl, the child of fifteen years ago, lay 
 again in his arms. 
 
 " Really glad, papa ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, really glad." 
 
 "It is so nice," continued Gladys, nestling closer 
 into his arms, " it is so nice to be with some one you 
 love." 
 
 " Don t you love your Aunt Edith ? " 
 
 " Aunt Edith ? Dear me, no ! It would worry her 
 dreadfully. But Aunt Edith and I understand each 
 other perfectly, and that is the most important thing, 
 if two people are to live together. Don t you think 
 
 134
 
 OVEK THE TEA-CUPS 
 
 so ? Don t you think that after all the best thing is to 
 understand ? " 
 
 " I think it might be better to love." 
 
 "I wonder" said Gladys, still lying in his arms. 
 " If you understand about a person from the beginning 
 you know what to expect, and then they could not 
 break your heart ; but if you loved them and did not 
 understand Do you believe a heart can be broken, 
 papa ? " 
 
 " I do not know, my child. What a strange ques 
 tion! " The professor began to wonder if he had done 
 quite right in allowing his children to pass so entirely 
 under Miranda s control as they had done since their 
 mother s death. 
 
 " I was wondering if I could not come out and stay 
 with you a little while this autumn, before the season 
 begins," she continued. " I might help you about 
 things. I might hold a germ while you examined it 
 Oh, no! that isn t the way things are done, is it? I 
 had forgotten." She laughed a little. " Do you think 
 they would like to have me ? I am afraid I irritated 
 Molly this afternoon, but I didn t mean to. Molly 
 is handsome, but oh, papa! why do you let her wear 
 such boots ? " 
 
 " Boots ! " repeated the professor, startled. 
 
 " Yes, boots. Look at them the next time you see 
 her. They are shameful; they might be a man s. I 
 wonder if Molly would like me to come out ? " 
 
 " It would be a pleasure a happiness for us all 
 to have you back for good if you are not content." 
 
 135
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " No ! Oh, no ! I could never go back to live. I 
 did not mean that, for I am content here. It is just 
 the kind of life I want. Of course, I thought it all 
 over while I was away thought over the best way 
 for me to be happy, I mean ; and it is people, all kinds 
 of people, that I care for, and the things they bring. 
 But I was thinking that just for a little while it would 
 be nice to go back. How is Aunt Miranda?" 
 
 " Miranda is well. She did not come to-day, because 
 she thought there would be quite enough of the rest of 
 us ; but she sent her love." 
 
 Gladys kissed her father, and slipped out of his arms 
 with a change of manner. Her eyes danced suddenly 
 as she helped him into his coat. 
 
 " Give my love to Aunt Miranda," she said, " and 
 tell her that I have improved so much that I have 
 really learned to enjoy doing those things which I 
 ought not to do."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 SISTERS 
 
 LATI 
 
 ?E the next afternoon Molly went again to see 
 her sister, and was sent to Mrs. Stanwood s boudoir, 
 where she found Gladys sitting on the floor in front of 
 the fire with her hands clasped about her knees. She 
 was dressed in a kimono of white India silk, embroid 
 ered with a single flock of green birds in diminishing 
 sizes. The tendrils of bright hair nestled lovingly 
 about her neck. The loose garment left her throat 
 and arms partially bare, and in the firelight her flesh 
 was rosy and transparent. Firelight was wondrously 
 becoming to Gladys, and in the glow of it she seemed 
 infused with essences of flame and spirit. Molly was 
 dimly conscious of these things as she looked at her 
 sister, but her own militant spirit remained undaunted. 
 
 " What is that thing you have on ? " she asked dis 
 approvingly. 
 
 Gladys looked down at her wide sleeve. " A kimono ; 
 don t you like it? I brought you one." 
 
 Molly sat down very hard upon a spiderlike chair. 
 
 " Good gracious, Gladys ! " she exclaimed. " What 
 do you expect me to do with it ? " 
 
 " I thought when you were tired " 
 
 " I am never tired ; and when I am, I go to sleep." 
 137
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 She rose again dutifully to kiss her aunt, who en 
 tered at that moment dressed in a neglige of white 
 lace, and in spite of herself she was penetrated by a 
 sense of discomfort in the manliness of her own attire ; 
 but it was a discomfort which she would never have 
 acknowledged. 
 
 " I only came in for a moment to bring you the 
 tickets," she said. " It is lucky that you came back in 
 time for the game." 
 
 " The game ! " 
 
 " What game ? " 
 
 " Whose game ? " 
 
 " She is probably speaking of football," said Mrs. 
 Stanwood, suddenly enlightened by past experience. 
 
 " Perhaps you don t remember what football is." 
 Molly spoke with bitter sarcasm. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I do. It is something like baseball. In 
 one game the object is to run as fast as you can, and 
 in the other the object is to prevent any one else from 
 running ; but I can t remember which is which." 
 
 Molly paused indignantly. " I am afraid that you 
 are entirely given over to vanities," she said finally. 
 
 " So are you, Molly, only to different kinds of vani 
 ties," observed her aunt. " Gladys is proud of her white 
 hands ; you are proud of your brown ones. It is her 
 vanity to look as well as she can ; it is yours to look as 
 athletic. Where she would care to be the controlling 
 force in a roomful of clever men and women, you 
 would wish to win a golf tournament and stride over 
 the fields in a short skirt and unwieldy boots, with a 
 
 138
 
 SISTERS 
 
 hundred or so of sporting admirers trailing after you 
 in company with several newspaper reporters and a 
 camera fiend. Some women are proud of their wit, 
 others are proud of their biceps, but it is vanity all 
 the same. You can t blame Gladys for her lack of 
 interest in football when she has dined with ambas 
 sadors, talked with cardinals, danced with descendants 
 of Gruelphs and Ghibellines." 
 
 " And been spoiled for all the real, strenuous, whole 
 some American things," answered Molly, rising to take 
 her leave. " Well, so long," she said. 
 
 " Oh, Molly ! " protested Gladys, " I thought only 
 boys said so long. " 
 
 Molly laughed good-naturedly. "You have really 
 grown effeminate," she said. " I suspected it as soon 
 as I heard of the sixteen trunks and the two maids." 
 
 When the last sound of her boots fell silent, Gladys 
 and her aunt looked at each other. 
 
 " Effeminate ! " said Mrs. Stanwood. 
 
 " Effeminate ! " echoed Gladys softly, and they both 
 laughed. 
 
 " And I must bring her out." 
 
 " I suppose so. In the meantime, we must try to 
 make her as * effeminate as we can." 
 
 Aunt Edith turned to her desk, while Gladys sat on 
 in the firelight, and for a time there was silence. Then 
 Gladys sighed. 
 
 " I wonder if she is right," she said. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Molly." 
 
 139
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " Right in what ? " 
 
 " In saying that I am spoiled. Aunt Edith, do you 
 remember the night in Rome " 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood turned, pen in hand. 
 
 " The night in Rome, when the heads of the two 
 great factions the prince of the Church and the 
 prince of the State met in your salon ? " 
 
 " Ah," said Mrs. Stanwood, laying down her pen. 
 
 With a little challenging laugh, Gladys lifted her 
 arms and clasped them behind her head. 
 
 "That was a moment worth living for," she said. 
 " It made you draw in your breath like the first shock 
 of a steel blade. Do you remember the sudden silence 
 in the room ? It needed all your nerve, Aunt Edith, 
 all your daring and charm, to carry it through. But 
 you did carry it, and I think I helped a little with 
 one or two of the secretaries." 
 
 " You did help," her aunt admitted generously. 
 "You were a splendid support that night. You and 
 I might go far together, Gladys. The difficulty is, 
 that I should end by being jealous of you ; for if 
 I have what you call charm and daring, you have 
 more." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Edith! how can you say that? If I 
 know anything, it is because you have taught me." 
 
 " You are an apt pupil, my child." 
 
 " There was another time," continued Gladys, " a 
 day when I worried a diplomatic secret out of that 
 foolish secretary, and the minister suspected it, and 
 passed the entire evening at the Sciarra reception 
 
 140
 
 with me, trying to find out how much I knew. I held 
 the minister in the palm of my hand that night, 
 and I made the most of him." She laughed again, and 
 a light that did not come from the fire danced and 
 leapt in her eyes. " Ah, those were days ! days ! 
 days ! " she cried, stretching her arms high above her 
 head and then letting them fall. " And we have come 
 back to football. Yes, it is true, Aunt Edith, you have 
 spoiled me." 
 
 " It is very different here," admitted her aunt. 
 " There are plenty of balls and dinners and recep 
 tions, but no society worthy of the name. However, 
 such as it is, we shall make the most of it. There are 
 clever men here, whom it is difficult to force from their 
 fireside, but between us I think we can make it worth 
 their while to come. Then there are the artists and 
 musicians. We will have them, or such of them as are 
 presentable and do not wear their hair too long, 
 though I should not make long hair an absolute barrier 
 to receiving them. I think we might have something 
 of a salon in the end, something that is different, at any 
 rate, from what every one else has. And we will not 
 have bridge, Gladys. We will not turn our drawing- 
 rooms into a combination of gambling and drinking 
 saloon, as most prominent women are doing to-day. 
 Our business shall be with men and women rather than 
 with games, with ideas rather than aces. We both have 
 wit enough for something higher and more subtle than 
 bridge, thank Heaven ! But I doubt if I could have 
 found another girl in Boston who could support me 
 
 141
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 as you can. You are my own niece, child, in spite of 
 Miranda. And you will make a success of things, as I 
 have done." 
 
 "I intend to make a success of life," said Gladys 
 quietly. 
 
 " Then you must find out what you want, and the 
 way to get it, my dear." 
 
 "I am not so much afraid of being unable to get 
 what I want as of not knowing what I want, or of 
 being unhappy when I have it," said Gladys. " Mak 
 ing a success of life will not be so simple for me as for 
 you, Aunt Edith." 
 
 "Why not, cherie?" 
 
 " Because I can suffer, and I do not believe that 
 you can." 
 
 Mrs. Stan wood laughed easily. " What a curious 
 notion ! And if it comes to that, what do you know 
 about suffering ? " 
 
 Gladys paused, and the delicate lines of her mouth 
 grew almost stern. 
 
 " I stood on the edge of it one night, and looked in," 
 she said slowly. " I looked in, and I shall never for 
 get." Lifting her hand to her forehead, she pushed 
 back her hair, and stared into the fire as though the 
 vision were there. What she really saw was the face 
 of a boy, a dark, strong face with deep-lit eyes. " At 
 one moment it seemed as though I were going to fall 
 in, and then I went by I went by, and I was saved ; 
 but I can never forget. There will always be the 
 knowledge of the dark place with its awful undertow 
 
 142 J
 
 SISTEES 
 
 sounding in my ears ! " She shivered and dropped 
 her arm. 
 
 " I went by, and I was saved," she repeated. " But 
 it has made a coward of me ever since, and that is why 
 I am so determined not to make mistakes, so that my 
 life can be a success. I will not suffer as I might have 
 suffered that night. I will not ! and yet I know that 
 I am a fool as I say it a fool ! a fool ! I know that 
 things might happen to me at any moment which 
 would ruin my life take all joy out of it for ever 
 and ever, and I must be very careful to keep out of 
 the way of those things. But I know also that if they 
 came knocking at my door and calling to me I should 
 go out to meet them, and nothing would stop me." 
 Her head fell back a little, and her face with its closed 
 eyes was white and passionate. 
 
 " I should go out to meet them, though I knew they 
 would lead me to the dark place and the floods " 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood rose decisively. "My child, you 
 must be exceedingly tired, and I insist upon your 
 lying down before you dress for dinner," she said. 
 " Come." 
 
 Standing by Gladys, she held out her hand ; and as 
 the girl opened her eyes a more normal color came into 
 her face, she even smiled faintly. 
 
 " Aunt Edith, you are good for me, you are so serene, 
 so calm, so cool. You would not go out to meet any 
 dangerous persons who knocked at your door, would 
 you?" 
 
 " My dear, no dangerous persons would ever knock 
 143
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 at my doors," answered Mrs. Stanwood, with cheerful 
 candor. " If they did, I should not hear them. I have 
 not that temperament. And now you must lie down. 
 Wilson will call you in time to dress." 
 
 Gladys rose and stood a moment without moving. 
 
 " But what I have been saying is true," she said. 
 " True, even though it is well to laugh at it."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE GAME 
 
 _LN spite of herself, Gladys was drawn into enthu 
 siasm for the game, and early in the afternoon of the 
 day when the great rival colleges were to meet on the 
 gridiron, a party consisting of Mrs. Stanwood and both 
 of her nieces, with Mr. Stanwood and Leslie Aldrich 
 (who had come on to Boston for the occasion) were 
 assembled in the hall, waiting for Arthur s automobile, 
 which was to take them to Cambridge. Arthur himself 
 had long since been in private retirement with the 
 " squad " for which he was one of the coaches. 
 
 Considerable excitement was caused at the outset of 
 the occasion by the appearance of Gladys in a costume 
 of blue velvet. 
 
 " I won t go with you. I won t be seen with any one 
 wearing Yale colors," declared Molly stormily. 
 
 " Is it, then, a disgrace to wear Yale colors ? " asked 
 Mr. Aldrich gently, putting up his monocle to look at 
 the offending garment. "I think Miss Gladys looks 
 exceedingly well." 
 
 Peace was restored when the butler handed Gladys 
 a box of crimson roses which Arthur had sent her ; 
 and when she had fastened two or three of them in 
 her dress and consented to carry a crimson flag, her 
 
 145
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 sister was comforted. Molly had purchased a large 
 quantity of flags, Harvard badges, and tiny footballs, 
 and it was while pinning several of the latter on to her 
 uncle s coat that Mr. Aldrich, who had been observ 
 ing her with mild curiosity, spoke to her for the first 
 time. 
 
 " I feel a disorganized and most unexpected desire to 
 possess a flag or a football. May I not have one, Miss 
 Molly?" 
 
 Molly looked at him suspiciously. "Why are you 
 going to the game ? " she asked. 
 
 " I was told that it would give me emotions," he said, 
 " and I thought I would try the receipt." 
 
 " You may have a flag," she answered grudgingly, 
 after considering his explanation, "but you must 
 promise to wave it." 
 
 " I will wave it whenever you tell me to," answered 
 Mr. Aldrich meekly. " Indeed, I feel that the waving 
 of a flag at proper moments might have emotional pos 
 sibilities which it would be a crime to neglect." 
 
 " The whole city seems quite, quite mad," said 
 Gladys. " The shops are iridescent with Harvard and 
 Yale colors, there are crimson pills and blue pills in the 
 druggists windows, there are crimson and blue hats in 
 the milliners . No florist would dare to display any 
 thing but crimson and blue flowers, or a confectioner 
 expect to be patronized unless he could offer crimson 
 and blue candies. And as for the crowds pouring into 
 the city " - 
 
 " I had to stand for half an hour in the train," inter- 
 146
 
 THE GAME 
 
 rupted Mr. Aldrich feelingly. " I have never seen any 
 thing like it since the Queen s jubilee." 
 
 At this moment Molly gave a great shout. " The 
 automobile has come," she cried ; and as it was one of 
 the earliest of its kind, the excitement of entering it was 
 intense. Mr. Aldrich looked at the thundering, quiver 
 ing monster with assumed dismay. 
 
 " I understand these things to be the abode of the 
 strange and the unexpected," he said. "Is it really 
 wise to entrust ourselves and our flags and our possible 
 emotions to its mercy ? " 
 
 Molly emitted something between a shout and a war- 
 whoop as they sped on their thundering way through the 
 crowded, noisy streets, and Gladys began to wonder if 
 there were not something in American life, after all. 
 The throng of people and carriages flowing in one direc 
 tion was so great that Arthur s car could soon go no 
 faster than the slowest hack-horse, and Mr. Aldrich 
 took advantage of the pace to remark upon the things 
 about him. 
 
 " A city of cold-blooded business men as drunk with 
 enthusiasm as a southern race with spring sunshine," 
 he said. " Seven thousand students who have thought 
 and worked and dreamed for weeks of this one crowded 
 hour, forty thousand people sitting on hard benches 
 with no backs, on a cold day, and cheering and shout 
 ing because twenty-two young ruffians are trying to 
 carry a ball over a line. While such things can be, 
 there is hope for the nation. Troy is not yet fallen." 
 
 " Troy is not yet half built," cried Molly, who was 
 147
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 fresh enough from her school-books to understand the 
 allusion. " America and Harvard forever ! " 
 
 She rose as she spoke, and, recognizing some friends 
 in an adjacent landau, unfolded a crimson banner that 
 streamed several feet behind her on the breeze. 
 
 Mr. Aldrich looked at the handsome and aggressively 
 assertive figure. " Young America," he murmured, 
 " young America incarnate. It is a trifle noisy, and 
 might be fatiguing if one had a headache, but it is 
 mettlesome and sure to get there. " 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood did not tell her niece to sit down, or 
 to make herself less conspicuous, for she was sufficiently 
 alive to the dramatic values of the situation to see that 
 Molly was entirely in harmony with them. 
 
 Gladys was unusually silent, but her eyes sparkled, 
 and she was conscious of having lost for the first time 
 that cold and sluggish feeling which had been at her 
 heart ever since her return to America. 
 
 Once a year, on the occasion of the great ball game, 
 Boston, the city of workers, forsakes its duties, and, dis 
 daining practical issues, flings its gates wide to a huge 
 and joyous enthusiasm which can neither be ignored 
 nor despised. Clouds of dust rose in the still air from 
 the feet of multitudes, and in the sunlight of a Novem 
 ber afternoon this dust seemed as a golden mist, while 
 through it, to the movement of streaming banners, 
 and cheers and song, a great people went as to a 
 national event. But still the girl was conscious of a 
 sense of detachment, of being an observer rather than a 
 partaker of the vital currents about her, and it was not 
 
 148
 
 THE GAME 
 
 till seated in the vast amphitheatre, among forty thou 
 sand spectators, all more or less drunk with excitement, 
 that she gave herself unreservedly into the arms of this 
 monster enthusiasm. 
 
 The benches were swept by sounding waves of the 
 cheers that stir elemental forces, the forces that have 
 made nations eager to go forth to battle and victory 
 and death. Enclosed in the arms of the amphitheatre 
 was a field where twenty-two uncouth giants fought 
 for the ball which was their symbol of glory. Arthur 
 was there consulting, encouraging, and advising, con 
 spicuous, in the grace and symmetry of his perfectly 
 tailored person, among the players, who were disfigured 
 by nose-guards and portentous paddings at knees and 
 shoulders. He was one of the observed of observers, as 
 much for his height and aristocratic profile as for 
 memory of his past honors. 
 
 " Is n t he handsome ? " said a girl to her friend on 
 the bench below Gladys. "My sister knows him to 
 bow to." 
 
 Gladys looked down at her roses, and was not above 
 a thrill of triumph. Shortly after that a cheer was 
 given with Arthur Davenport s name at the end of it ; 
 and while the ring of it was still in her ears, and the 
 excitement of it tingling in her veins, Arthur himself 
 shouldered a difficult way towards her. 
 
 He spoke to his aunt, arranging a place of meeting 
 after the game, and then stood below Gladys with his 
 head bared in the golden sunlight, while he talked to her 
 alone. Had she thought his mouth weak? It was hid- 
 
 149
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 den now by a yellow mustache. The radiance of suc 
 cess and happiness was on his face, the glamour of 
 this splendid hour and his share in it was about him, 
 so that he seemed to her a victor and hero ; and al 
 ready she knew herself to be the woman he had chosen. 
 
 When he went back to the field, people turned to 
 stare at and envy her, and again she felt the thrill of 
 her triumph. Of the game itself she knew little enough 
 in spite of Molly s explanations ; but she could follow 
 it sufficiently to understand that victory was with the 
 crimson, and whenever her own college smashed the 
 enemy s lines, and the serried ranks of spectators rose 
 as one man to cheer, the drama of the situation swayed 
 her tumultuously. 
 
 Mr. Aldrich, with his monocle in his eye and his chin 
 on the hands folded over his cane, surveyed the battle 
 field to a running commentary of reflections. 
 
 " I understand that one of the players was operated 
 upon for appendicitis a few weeks ago, and is practi 
 cally risking his life to play," he said. " I am also told 
 that any worthy member of the team would consent to 
 being disfigured or maimed for life rather than not do 
 his share to support the honor and glory of his col 
 lege. Are these young men fools or heroes ? Is this a 
 ball game or a national event ? Is it very silly or very 
 fine?" 
 
 " I think it is very fine," said Gladys. 
 
 " It is certainly very cold," said her aunt, " and I am 
 inclined to think it very silly. Dreadful accidents 
 happen sometimes." 
 
 150
 
 THE GAME 
 
 Even as Mrs. Stanwood spoke the players separated, 
 and one of them lay stretched on the field, visibly writh 
 ing with pain. Time was called, and a doctor, a pail of 
 water, and a score of anxious sympathizers were brought 
 into action. It was some minutes before the injured 
 man struggled to his feet supported by two friends, and 
 after staggering about the field, gained control of him 
 self and returned to the battle, accompanied by hearty 
 applause from both sections. 
 
 The ready tears stood in Gladys s eyes. " How can 
 he possibly go back ? " she asked. 
 
 " Of course he went back," answered Molly. " Any 
 of them would go back while they could move." 
 
 " It seems as if so much enthusiasm and self-sacrifice 
 might be given in a better cause," remarked Mrs. Stan- 
 wood. 
 
 " It is n t the cause that matters," returned Mr. Al- 
 drich. " This enthusiasm and self-sacrifice is the same 
 that led the Greeks to die at Thermopylae, the same 
 uncomfortable and indomitable spirit that has made 
 the greatness of nations since the beginning." 
 
 As the game progressed several occurrences of this 
 sort caused Gladys to hold her breath and suffer keenly, 
 and she was not the only one exhausted with excite 
 ment when the last great run was made by the Harvard 
 full-back, at a time when there remained only one min 
 ute in which to play. It was then that enthusiasm be 
 came a delirium, leaping from tier to tier like flame. 
 Hats, scarfs, muffs, and banners were flung into the air, 
 and cheer rolled upon cheer in crashing avalanches of 
 
 151
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 sound. Molly stood on the bench, and lifting her chest, 
 gave a cry that would have done credit to a Valkyrie 
 maiden. Gladys stood beside her cheering also, waving 
 her flag in a frenzy, caught up and out of herself by 
 the splendid tumult, and tears of exultation stood in 
 her eyes. 
 
 Five minutes later she was passing out of the arena 
 with the great audience. 
 
 "It is better than tormenting the ambassador at 
 Borne," she told her aunt. " It is better and finer than 
 anything I have ever known. I am glad I am an 
 American. I am glad you brought me home when you 
 did, Aunt Edith." There was blue fire in her eyes, and 
 her cheeks flamed. 
 
 Molly clapped her on the back. " Bravo, Gladys ! 
 You are the right sort, after all," she cried. 
 
 Gladys laughed and restrained an impulse to clap 
 her sister in turn. She buried her face in her roses 
 instead, and because it was an hour of victory she 
 thought happily of her personal conquest of one who 
 had been conspicuous in the glory of this day. It was 
 then that she noticed a letter that was falling from 
 the pocket of Mr. Aldrich, who walked beside her. 
 
 " You are losing something," she said. 
 
 He looked at the letter, and then he looked at her. 
 
 " Thank you," he said ; " I should have been sorry to 
 have lost it. It is from Richard Copeland." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 Mr. Aldrich had reasons of his own for regretting 
 the growing darkness which began to hide her face. 
 
 152
 
 THE GAME 
 
 " Is he in Boston ? " asked Gladys, and Mr. Aldrich 
 also regretted the noise about them, which prevented 
 him from hearing the undertones of her voice. 
 
 " No, he is not in Boston, he is out West, working 
 in a mine like any laborer." 
 
 " Ah ! " she said again. 
 
 " I have only seen him once in two years," he con 
 tinued, "and he only writes to me when he wants 
 money. He seems to want a great deal of money," 
 Mr. Aldrich pursued reflectively. 
 
 Gladys drew her furs about her face. " I suppose 
 so," she said, and even through the tumult he could 
 hear her voice grow hard and cold. 
 
 " So she believes it," he thought. " The question is 
 does she care ? " 
 
 Aloud he added, " He needs a great deal of money ; 
 but I am bound to say that, judging by the looks of 
 his clothes, very little of it goes on to his back."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 ARTHUR S WOOING 
 
 JjEFORE returning to New York, where the social 
 life was more pungent and suited to his tastes than 
 anything he could find in Boston, Mr. Aldrich had some 
 words with Mrs. Stanwood about Dick Copeland. 
 
 "I spoke to your niece about him," he said, "and 
 it is evident that she believes him to be the man who 
 cheated." 
 
 " Don t you ? " 
 
 " I do not know," said Mr. Aldrich slowly. " I have 
 lived long enough to know that one does not know, 
 nine cases out of ten." 
 
 " But he confessed it practically." 
 
 " Which means that he did not confess it actually. 
 He was very young at the time, and when we are young 
 and unjustly accused, supposing him to have been 
 unjustly accused, we are also very angry ; and when 
 we are young and very angry there is no knowing what 
 foolishness we may not commit. It would be just like 
 Copeland to scorn to defend himself under such circum 
 stances. He has done a sufficient number of foolish 
 things since then to prove himself capable of almost 
 anything in that line." 
 
 " I understand that he is working in a mine." 
 154
 
 ARTHUR S WOOING 
 
 " It was a mine the last time I heard from him. Be 
 fore that it was a railroad, and in a short time it is to 
 be mills. He has a notion that one can only under 
 stand labor conditions by living them, so he is living 
 them, and creating considerable disturbance all along 
 the line. I expect that some day I shall have to get 
 him out of jail. In the meantime the process is not 
 becoming to him. The last time I saw him " 
 
 Mr. Aldrich shook his head as he watched the smoke 
 rings of his cigar. " He is getting rid of a lot of money 
 just as much as I will give him, and when he comes 
 into the whole of it, I don t know what will happen." 
 
 " When does he have his fortune outright ? " 
 
 " It is in trust my trust till he is thirty. If you 
 ask me why thirty was fixed upon as his year of prob 
 able discretion, I can only answer that I do not know. 
 It was a whim of his father s." 
 
 " When you saw him did you make any reference to 
 his disgrace ? " 
 
 " Not the slightest. He never gave me a chance to 
 refer to anything, evidently taking it for granted that 
 I believed him guilty. He only saw me in order to sign 
 a necessary paper, which he did in perfect silence, and 
 went out again without so much as offering to shake 
 hands. I am in the dark as to what he is doing with 
 his income, and he may be no end of a scoundrel, but 
 I don t believe it." Mr. Aldrich spoke vigorously, for 
 getting his customary caution. " I don t believe it," he 
 added. 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood was growing tired of the subject. 
 155
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " He is quite out of the game now," she said. " So I 
 do not know that we need agitate ourselves about him. 
 Only I would not speak of him to Gladys. His name 
 acts like a corrosive acid on any enjoyment she may 
 be having. The strange thing about it all is, that if 
 he did not cheat, Arthur did, and that seems almost 
 impossible." 
 
 "Arthur, the darling of the gods and women," 
 murmured Mr. Aldrich, looking at the point of his 
 cigar. " Do you think your niece will marry him ? " 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Ah ! " Mr. Aldrich contemplated his cigar a little 
 longer, and then replaced it in his mouth. 
 
 " It is none of my business," he said. 
 
 " Not in the slightest degree, Leslie, and I beg that 
 you will not make it so." 
 
 " Copeland is coming to this part of the world soon," 
 he added, after a pause. 
 
 " I do not see how that can concern Gladys or my 
 self." 
 
 " He is coming to work in Massachusetts factories." 
 
 " It is scarcely likely that my niece will meet him 
 there, and should she come across him anywhere else, 
 why," Mrs. Stan wood shrugged her shoulders, "he 
 has put himself quite effectively beyond the pale of 
 recognition." 
 
 " Are n t you putting it a bit strong ? There are fel 
 lows who have done what he is supposed to have done 
 without being socially ostracized." 
 
 " But it s the man s reputation in other ways, and 
 156
 
 ARTHUK S WOOING 
 
 then there are the immense sums of money he gets 
 rid of no one knows how. And how about the factory 
 girl?" 
 
 " So you have heard that ? " 
 
 " Certainly I have." 
 
 " As a matter of fact, I believe that he is paying for 
 her education in an art school. Voila tout! " 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood laughed. 
 
 " Leslie ! Leslie ! I believe that you have really 
 permitted yourself to be interested in him." 
 
 " I have," he admitted ruefully. " I liked the boy. I 
 like the man, worse luck ! " 
 
 Gladys s autumn visit to her old home had been aban 
 doned in view of the early festivities at which it seemed 
 necessary that she should appear. Only one night did 
 she spend in the little room which had sheltered her 
 early girlhood, and that was in order to eat a Sunday 
 dinner with her family, which on this day included 
 her brother Harold, who was on leave from boarding- 
 school. 
 
 Harold looked his sister over with the critical and 
 discerning eye of eighteen, and expressed himself 
 frankly on the subject to Molly. 
 
 " I tell you what, Molly, you and girls like you who 
 go in for muscle and manliness are off the trolley. 
 Gladys can teach you a thing or two, and you could n t 
 do better than learn what she teaches. When it comes 
 to real things, such as making other people do what you 
 like, having power over men and women, and taking 
 
 157
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 laurels generally all along the line, Gladys can give 
 you all the go-by ; though 1 suppose you could swing 
 her over a five-barred fence with your left hand. She 
 is as delicate as a bit of Dresden china, and her deli 
 cacy is more powerful than all the muscles in your 
 body. I am glad I am her brother, for if I were any 
 one else I should be in love with her way over my 
 head, and she would n t look at me. It is the feminine 
 women men fall in love with, not the ones who can 
 match them on the tennis courts and golf links, and 
 don t you forget it." 
 
 " You are talking like a fool," answered Molly, with 
 natural resentment. " One would suppose that the only 
 thing worth a girl s while was to please men. Gladys 
 is old-fashioned. We are finding things more impor 
 tant to reckon with than men." 
 
 " And that s another rum thing about some of you 
 modern women," continued Harold. " It s those of 
 you who are most scornful of man who take the great 
 est pains to imitate him. Look at your boots, your 
 coat, your hat, your stride. They are a direct imitation 
 of the creature you pretend to despise." 
 
 This was a home thrust which reduced Molly to the 
 verge of indignant tears, and would have done much 
 towards antagonizing her towards Gladys had not grati 
 fied pride at Arthur s attentions to her, and admiration 
 of the coolness and ease with which she received them, 
 more than offset the disapproval of her general person 
 ality. 
 
 An enthusiasm for the ways of her own land which 
 158
 
 ARTHUR S WOOING 
 
 had been generated by the football game, launched 
 Gladys happily upon the season s gayeties. 
 
 " It is not exactly an intellectual satisfaction, and 
 lacks in under-currents," she told her aunt. " It is 
 just boys and girls together having a good time, but a 
 good time we certainly have, and it is all fresh and 
 frank and clean." 
 
 As an offset to the younger element in her niece s 
 winter, Mrs. Stanwood made her house a musical and 
 artistic centre as far as it is possible to do in this time 
 and place, and Gladys was content as she had not be 
 lieved it possible to be in her own city when she had 
 surveyed it from the European point of view. 
 
 "I am still young enough to enjoy a romp," she told 
 herself happily, as though she had made a discovery ; 
 for she knew that on the night following Dick s dis 
 grace she had taken leave of her first girlhood. To 
 him had gone the best of her youth s high faith, and 
 he had betrayed it. 
 
 " I came so near to loving him. A little more, and I 
 would have given up all and gone with him down into 
 the ugly and sordid places to help the people ; and then 
 he cheated at a game of cards ! He cheated, and ran 
 away to leave another man to take the blame ! I gave 
 him the best I had, except love, and I almost gave him 
 that. Some day I suppose he will become a demagogue 
 of the people, a leader of the raw, disorderly masses, 
 perhaps even a prisoner." 
 
 She repeated these things to herself during the un 
 welcome moments when Dick s image intruded itself 
 
 159
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 upon her ; and when she thought of them she felt old, 
 and knew that with her faith in him other things had 
 gone out of her life never to return, while in their place 
 was the realization of possible suffering, black and 
 hopeless, that might be waiting for her beyond the shel 
 ter of her present existence. 
 
 So for this winter she rejoiced consciously in being 
 light-hearted, which is rare, for deliberate consciousness 
 of a mental condition is apt to destroy it. 
 
 Gladys was not above enjoying attention from the 
 most sought-after man in the city, and it was many 
 months since her aunt had listened to any ethical pro 
 tests against allowing men to love her. 
 
 What she called Arthur s habit of devotion had kept 
 her in some doubt as to his actual feeling, and she was 
 not satisfied till convinced that love for her was the 
 first serious passion of his life. After this discovery 
 she became remorseful, and wondered what she should 
 do with him; though this last difficulty was not one 
 that troubled her seriously or often. 
 
 " You do not care for me at all," he said one even 
 ing, while they " sat out " the two sets of dances that 
 he had begged from her. 
 
 " Yes, I do," she answered, " I do care ; but not in 
 the way you want." 
 
 "Any other way is nothing." He sat opposite to 
 her with his elbows on his knees, and looking down 
 at the fan he held, shut and opened it slowly. " Any 
 other way is nothing," he repeated, in a low, halting 
 voice. " Don t you think you can ever love me ? " 
 
 160
 
 ARTHUR S WOOING 
 
 " I am fond of you, more fond of you than of any 
 man I know," she said, trying to speak gently. " But 
 I shall never love you." 
 
 There was a pause, and still he did not look up. 
 
 " What is there you do not like about me ? " he 
 asked finally. 
 
 " There is nothing I do not like about you." 
 
 " Then why " - 
 
 " Oh, please, please, Arthur, do not let us talk any 
 more about it." 
 
 " That is asking too much," he said, with some bit 
 terness. " A fellow is crazy about a girl. He dreams 
 of her all night, and thinks of her all day, and is so 
 wretched he hates life and himself and everybody else 
 during every moment he is not with her, and then she 
 tells him not to talk to her about it." 
 
 " But does any good come from talking about it ? " 
 
 " I must win you. I cannot bear living if I don t," 
 he said, and as he lifted his eyes to her face they shone 
 heavy and dark through a man s difficult tears. "I 
 must win you." He crushed her fan between his hands 
 as he spoke. Many men had looked at her so since 
 the first one, and suddenly a wave of utter weariness 
 swept over her. 
 
 She told herself she was tired of seeing love in 
 men s eyes. It amounted to so little, and it was all 
 so much alike since that first love. She pressed 
 the back of her clasped hands to her eyes. Arthur 
 was talking again, but she did not hear. What was 
 life for? she asked herself. What was left in life 
 
 161
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 for a woman who was tired of seeing love in men s 
 eyes ? 
 
 " Is there anything I can do that I do not do ? " 
 she heard him saying, and then she looked at him to 
 find that her fan was in danger of destruction at his 
 hands. She bent over and rescued it quietly. 
 
 " It is very valuable," she explained. 
 
 " Is there anything you would like me to do ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 " I should like you to do something" 
 
 "Something?" he repeated vaguely. 
 
 " Yes. I don t care what it is, provided you do some 
 thing, even if it is only going into a broker s office and 
 cleaning out bottles." 
 
 " But they do not have bottles in brokers offices. 
 At least, they ought not to have them," he answered, 
 with an unwilling smile. 
 
 "Well, wastebaskets then. They must have waste- 
 baskets. I know you do not need to work for your 
 living, but you ought to work for your character." 
 
 " I see. You want me to go into business." 
 
 " I want you to want to go into business." 
 
 " I will begin to-morrow ! " he cried enthusiastically, 
 springing to his feet. 
 
 " But you don t understand," she protested. " I do 
 not want you to do it for me." 
 
 " I cannot pretend I am doing it for any one else. 
 But I know what you mean, and you need n t think I 
 take it that you are making my work a condition of 
 
 162
 
 ARTHUR S WOOING 
 
 your loving me. Only I shall feel that I am pleasing 
 you. You did mean that it would please you?" he 
 asked anxiously. 
 
 " Yes, Arthur, but " - 
 
 " Oh, that s all right. It s enough to give all my 
 time just to pleasing you. And I shall keep on hop 
 ing for the best. I think it will all come right in the 
 end." 
 
 His buoyant temperament asserted itself triumph 
 antly at the new prospect, and his face was radiant as 
 he offered her his arm. 
 
 " We must have this waltz," he said. " Who knows 
 that it will not be my last, if I am to buckle down to 
 cleaning wastebaskets for my character and you ! "
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A MEETING AT MIDNIGHT 
 
 O 
 
 N this occasion Arthur was as good as his word. 
 It was several days before Gladys heard from him, 
 and then late one afternoon he came to say that he 
 had taken a position in a prominent note broker s 
 office, and would be at work there daily from nine 
 until six o clock. 
 
 " What is a note broker ? " she asked. 
 
 " As near as I can make it, he stands between the 
 people who borrow and the people who lend; he se 
 cures collateral " 
 
 " That is enough," she interrupted quickly. " Col 
 lateral is a dreadful word, and I am sure that I could 
 never understand anything about it. What are you 
 going to do in the office?" 
 
 " I shall know more in a few days. I begin to-mor 
 row. Are you glad ? " he asked. There was wistful- 
 ness in his eyes and voice as he stood above her with 
 his back to the fire, and put his question. 
 
 " Yes, I am very glad," she assured him warmly. 
 " I think it will make a man of you, Arthur, and it 
 is n t manly to be always leading cotillions and giving 
 dinners and talking to pretty women." 
 
 164
 
 A MEETING AT MIDNIGHT 
 
 " I have not had much to say to more than one of 
 them all winter," he said. 
 
 So Arthur went to work, and with the thought of 
 Gladys in his heart he worked most faithfully, often 
 sacrificing late hours at night for early ones in the 
 morning. 
 
 Leaving a dance early, he could not take a partner 
 for the cotillion, and evening after evening stood among 
 the ballroom derelicts, those partnerless men who block 
 the doorways, while he waited for the one hour de 
 voted to supper, which he always took with Gladys. 
 
 Seeing him pale from forced work, seeing the look 
 in his eyes that followed her constantly, and the radi 
 ance of the smile that met hers, Gladys was touched. 
 
 " I am very fond of Arthur," she told her aunt. " I 
 do not see how any one could help being so, and I wish 
 oh, I wish that I could say yes." 
 
 " Cannot you, cherie ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Why not ? He seems to have everything." 
 
 " I know. But I simply cannot, that is all." 
 
 " Then do you think it quite fair " 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Edith ! This from you ! " Gladys rallied 
 her gayly. " Must I explain things to you in your 
 own words ? My dear, a man s love is the least of 
 things to worry about. Do you remember telling me 
 that long ago ? I have found out that it is true. I am 
 making a man of Arthur by putting him to work, and 
 by the time he is a man he will be ready to love some 
 one else, who will benefit by my efforts." 
 
 165
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 Arthur was too ingenuous to hide his condition, and 
 it was known and commented on by his world. 
 
 " There are so many men who can grub in a State 
 Street office ; there is not another man in Boston who 
 can be so decorative and useful in a ballroom. Why 
 couldn t you have left him to us, Miss Lawrence?" 
 an older man asked one evening, just after Arthur had 
 left her at the entrance of a grove of evergreens, where 
 he had brought her ices and talked of love. 
 
 The girl s social triumph seemed at its zenith that 
 night. When the cotillion ended, at four, two of the 
 ushers helped in carrying her flowers and favors to 
 the carriage, and at her own door the footman lifted 
 an armload of them into the house. 
 
 She found the hall less faintly lighted than was 
 usual at that hour, and the still fragrant odor of cigar 
 smoke pervaded the atmosphere. " Uncle Willie must 
 have had a late visitor," she thought, dropping into 
 one of the big armchairs that was drawn close to a 
 smouldering fire. 
 
 Her fur-lined evening cloak slipped from her shoul 
 ders, making a nest from which her little person, that 
 was incased in pale satin and silver, gleamed dimly 
 through the gloom. She nestled back with a sigh of 
 relaxed content, and the warm, still solitude of the 
 house enveloped her like a benign -presence. By the 
 faint glow of the fire lay her flowers and cotillion 
 favors in a confused, gayly colored profusion, and she 
 smiled drowsily as her eyes fell upon them. They sig 
 nified the triumph of her personal charm. They were 
 
 166
 
 A MEETING AT MIDNIGHT 
 
 a symbol of the adulation, the brilliant ease and lux 
 ury, of her present existence. Her thoughts roamed 
 idly and happily through the events of the evening as 
 well as of evenings past and to come, and the conscious 
 ness of Arthur s chivalrous devotion drifted through 
 these thoughts like a fragrance, for she had suffered 
 no recurrence of the temporary fatigue caused by see 
 ing love in a man s eyes. His roses lay at her breast, 
 and detaching one of them she passed it over her 
 cheek, which was still warm from dancing; but she 
 was very sleepy, and almost immediately turned her 
 head, pillowing it upon her hand. In another moment 
 she would have been asleep, but a sudden noise broke 
 the silence. At first she wondered if she could have 
 been dreaming, and then she heard it again, the 
 moving of a chair in the library above her, followed 
 by muffled footsteps on heavily carpeted floors. It 
 was not her uncle s footstep, and there should be no 
 other man in the house. Kecalling every burglar story 
 she had ever heard, she sprang to her feet with the 
 intention of slipping into the telephone-room which 
 was near at hand, and where, after securely locking 
 the door, she could call the police. But it was too 
 late. A man was coming down the shadowy stair 
 case, and, while she could only stand motionless, he 
 advanced toward her through the hall. She was ex 
 ceedingly frightened, but she was even more angry, 
 and her hand was on the bell when he paused sud 
 denly and saw her. 
 The man was Dick. 
 
 167
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 Her heart seemed to stop, while, breathless and wide- 
 eyed, she looked at him. In the dim light he appeared 
 unsubstantial, pale, his heavy features more prominent, 
 his eyes more deeply set than when she had last seen 
 him ; but with his face before her a wave of memo 
 ries swept her mercilessly. She could almost have cried 
 aloud with the pain of it, during what seemed the 
 timeless period in which they faced each other, motion 
 less and silent. 
 
 And then, without a word, he passed into the dark 
 ness at the other end of the hall. There was an inrush 
 of cold air as he opened the front door, and she heard 
 it close behind him. She did not think that she had 
 seen a vision, or dreamed a dream, but knew clearly 
 that Dick Copeland in the flesh had passed by her, 
 and gone again into the night. It was then that a sus 
 picion came to her, a suspicion hideous, grotesque, 
 wounding as a blow. 
 
 There was another sound in the house, the grating 
 of another chair on the library hearthstone, and a step, 
 unmistakably her uncle s this time, in the hallway 
 above. In another moment, she had passed up the wide 
 stairway, and was at his side. 
 
 " You knew he was here, Uncle Willie ? Then you 
 knew he was here ? " she whispered breathlessly. 
 
 " My dear ! how pale you are ! " 
 
 "But Dick Copeland you knew he was in the 
 house ? He was visiting you ? " 
 
 " He passed the evening with me," answered Mr. 
 Stanwood, with an unusual gravity on his heavy face. 
 
 168
 
 A MEETING AT MIDNIGHT 
 
 "Oh! I thought I thought" She felt an im 
 pulse to hysterical laughter which was controlled with 
 difficulty. " Why did he come here ? " 
 
 " He is working in one of my mills, and wished to 
 speak to me of a threatened strike. I saw him by acci 
 dent last week, and asked him to visit me here." 
 
 He paused uneasily, evidently wishing to say some 
 thing more, and was still struggling with the impulse 
 when his niece mounted the stairway leading to her 
 room, and her threatened disappearance in the gloom 
 above demanded desperate measures. 
 
 " Gladys," he called, " Gladys, I want to speak to 
 you, my dear." 
 
 She hesitated, and leaned over the banisters to 
 listen. Poised in her gleaming dress between the 
 shadows above and the uncertain light beneath, with 
 her pale face, and her eyes with the desperate laughter 
 in them, she appeared as some bright but unhappy 
 sprite. 
 
 " What is it, Uncle Willie ? " 
 
 At this point, Mr. Stanwood made a superhuman 
 effort to overcome his shyness. 
 
 " Did you care about Copeland enough to marry him 
 before " 
 
 Gladys had started visibly under the bluntness of his 
 attack. 
 
 " No, I did not," she answered hastily. " No ! no ! 
 How can you ask such a thing ? " 
 
 " I wanted to know," he answered, fingering his collar 
 uneasily. " Sometimes a girl does not answer quite 
 
 169
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 truly when she is questioned on these subjects at 
 least, so I have been told. Sometimes they deceive 
 themselves as well as others. Are you quite sure, my 
 dear, that you are not deceiving yourself, or me, upon 
 this subject ? " 
 
 " I am not one of the women who deceive myself, or 
 others." 
 
 " No, I suppose not ! Of course not ! " he assured 
 her hastily. " I was foolish to think it, only there are 
 some things one must be very sure of very sure in 
 deed. There is one more question I should like to ask 
 you"- 
 
 " I hope it is not a long one, Uncle Willie, because 
 I am very sleepy," she said, with over-brilliant, sleep 
 less eyes. " I am very sleepy, and it must be nearly 
 day." 
 
 " Are you going to marry Arthur ?" asked her uncle. 
 
 " Am I going to marry Arthur ! " she repeated 
 blankly. " Am I going to marry Arthur ! I think the 
 world is mad mad as the March hare s tea-party 
 to-night. No, I am not going to marry Arthur. No ! A 
 thousand times no ! Shall I say it again ? Do you 
 think I am still deceiving myself and you ? I am not 
 going to marry Arthur. I was not going to marry 
 Dick Copeland, and I thank God I thank God for 
 that ! And now I hope you are satisfied, Uncle Willie, 
 for if you ask me one more question I believe that I 
 shall sit down on the stairs and have hysterics."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ANOTHER MEETING 
 
 JL DON T suppose you have any real objection to 
 meeting Richard Copeland, have you ? " 
 
 Gladys was taking afternoon tea with a friend when 
 the question was put to her. 
 
 " You know there are queer stories about him," 
 whispered her hostess. 
 
 " I know," answered Gladys, stirring her tea. 
 
 She was dressed in lilac velvet with a gray fur collar 
 that had slipped from her shoulders, and there were 
 fresh Parma violets in the lace at her breast. Her per 
 sonality, rare, exquisite, and vivid, was as usual the 
 controlling force in the room ; and she felt sufficiently 
 well-poised on a wave of social ascendency to bear 
 with the mention of Dick, and, if necessary, with his 
 presence. 
 
 The other night, unsupported by companionship or 
 the excitement of adulation and conquest, in the dark 
 ness wherein there was no sound but the voices of her 
 own memory, she had been caught defenseless. 
 
 " How does he happen to be coming here ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Well, you know he was Phil s great friend all 
 through college, and he never would believe one single 
 
 171
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 word against him. So since his accident Phil s ac 
 cident, I mean Mr. Copeland has been here to see 
 him often, and since the big strikes are on he has come 
 every day because, you see, he is out of work. Does n t 
 it seem simply too absurd for words that any one with 
 all that money should work in a mill ! " 
 
 Gladys s hostess, Mary Whiteside, was a colorless 
 little girl with amiable and tremulous ideas. Her 
 flickering conversation bristled with superlatives that 
 seemed an unconscious defense against her lack of per 
 sonal emphasis. 
 
 " You know he has heaps and heaps of money, and 
 it seems as if he must be terribly mean to work for a 
 dollar or two a day, but Phil says " 
 
 " Do you expect him here, Mary ? " 
 
 " Oh, I hope you don t mind," said Mary almost 
 tearfully. " Because, you see, the doctor is here now, 
 and Phil said that if Mr. Copeland came before he went, 
 I was to ask him ask Mr. Copeland, I mean in 
 here and give him some tea, and I don t dare not to. 
 The other people are strangers, and probably never 
 heard of him. But if you won t speak to him 
 What shall I do?" 
 
 " I should be perfectly willing to speak to him, only 
 I am not likely to have a chance, for it is time I went 
 home," said Gladys, rising as she spoke, but Mary held 
 her by the sleeve. 
 
 " Don t go. Don t leave me to do it all alone," she 
 entreated. " I can t talk to strange men, and Mr. 
 Copeland makes me nervous because I never know 
 
 172
 
 ANOTHER MEETING 
 
 what I think about him. Besides, he is here now. I 
 hear him in the hall with mamma." 
 
 Gladys heard him also, and, with an impulse she 
 could not have analyzed, she sat down again. 
 
 " You are very kind, Mrs. Whiteside, but I am 
 hardly dressed for an afternoon tea." His vibrant and 
 compelling voice was speaking just beyond the portieres, 
 and Gladys drew in her breath sharply, for it was the 
 voice of the man she had honored above all other men, 
 of the man she had nearly loved ; and it held memo 
 ries of the highly wrought, expectant hours of her girl 
 hood. 
 
 " This is not an afternoon tea," protested Mrs. 
 Whiteside, still invisible, "and Mary is expecting 
 you." 
 
 " It is only the loss of the man I thought he was 
 that hurts," Gladys assured herself. " He is deserving 
 only of contempt." 
 
 " No one is here but one or two of Mary s Philadel 
 phia friends, and Miss Lawrence," continued Mrs. 
 Whiteside. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " He was born a gentleman, so perhaps he will not 
 come in now," Gladys told herself ; but the next mo 
 ment Dick had followed his hostess into the room. 
 Mary introduced him to her friends with a more than 
 usually palpitating manner, and then turned to Gladys 
 with a look that confessed her inability to deal with 
 the social emergency, and implored aid. The instinct to 
 save an awkward situation is a point of honor with the 
 
 173
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 woman of the world, and Gladys responded to the de 
 mand of the moment. 
 
 " I think you must have met Mr. Copeland," said 
 Mary timidly, after which she felt what she described 
 later as a desire for the ground to open and swallow 
 her up, for she remembered a report to the effect 
 that Miss Lawrence and Richard Copeland had been 
 engaged just before he fell into disgrace and disap 
 peared. 
 
 But Gladys began to speak easily in answer to her 
 introduction, and Mary s suspicions were calmed. 
 
 " Why, yes, Mr. Copeland and I met some years ago," 
 Gladys was saying, in her lightest and easiest manner, 
 " and curiously enough " she had been looking at 
 some distant spot over Dick s shoulder, and now turned 
 from him to address the man on her right " curiously 
 enough, we met about a month ago, one night after I 
 came home from a dance. He had been spending the 
 evening with my uncle, but I did not know that, and 
 when he came through the hall " she paused to give a 
 light touch of arrangement to the flowers at her breast 
 "I was afraid, because when I saw him I thought 
 he must be a thief," she added deliberately, with her 
 delicate smile. 
 
 Dick received the insult without a change in the 
 impassivity of his face, nor was there a trace of flinch 
 ing or discomposure in his attitude. Mary, who was 
 one of the three who understood the hidden allusion, 
 laughed hysterically. 
 
 " How perfectly absurd ! " she cried. 
 174
 
 ANOTHER MEETING 
 
 " It was perfectly natural," said Dick, in a tone as 
 deliberate as Gladys s own. 
 
 The tone startled her. How had he dared ? For 
 one brief, unwilling instant she looked at him, realizing 
 that he seemed to have grown ten years older, and was 
 rough and strong and stern as she had not remembered 
 him. Then the hand, knotted and scarred, that held his 
 hat arrested her attention. She had seen such hands on 
 the man who drove her father s plough. An invisible 
 force seemed to drag her eyes upward till they met his, 
 and there they found an incredible thing, for Dick was 
 looking at her with something akin to grave scorn. 
 
 Had this man, who was a proven scoundrel, who had 
 fled from honorable society, and found refuge among 
 the raw and crude masses of those who labor, come back 
 to her world in his rough clothes, bearing on his person 
 the marks of a brutalizing toil, to stand in her presence 
 unashamed and look at her with scorn in his eyes ? 
 
 She told herself that she must be mad or dreaming ; 
 but she knew that she was neither, and that Dick Cope- 
 land, whom all honorable men must despise, stood be 
 fore her a more vital and dominating fact than any that 
 had come into her life. 
 
 " Won t you have a cup of tea, Mr. Copeland ? " she 
 heard Mary ask, and her consciousness underwent a 
 swift and mechanical readjustment to the demands of 
 the moment. 
 
 "Thank you," answered Dick; "I will." He merci 
 fully moved away from her, and the man on her right 
 claimed her attention. 
 
 175
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I wish you would go on with what you were telling 
 us before Mr. Copeland came in," he said. 
 
 " What was I telling you ? " 
 
 " Why, about those people you met in Rome, those 
 popes and kings, and the descendants of the Guelphs 
 and Ghibellines." 
 
 " I only met one pope and one king," said Gladys. 
 " Mary, will you give me another cup of tea ? As for 
 those descendants of the Guelphs and Ghibellines "- 
 she gave a graceful foreign gesture of disparagement, 
 " my sister would call them effete," she added. 
 
 " All the same, Gladys, every one thought you were 
 going to marry one of them," said Mary, from the tea- 
 table. 
 
 " I am very tired of hearing about being married," 
 said Gladys. " Why should a woman marry ? What 
 can marriage give her that she has not already ? Save 
 a husband, and that would be such a doubtful gift." 
 
 " Oh, I say, Miss Lawrence ! " 
 
 " You are not qualified to say anything, Mr. Kings- 
 ley, because you never had a husband, and never will 
 have one. The nearest you can ever come to a husband 
 is being one, in which case you would be less than ever 
 entitled to judge of him." 
 
 Gladys felt that she was breathing as though she 
 had been running hard. 
 
 " Miss Lawrence s tea is ready. Will you take it to 
 her ? " said Mary, and Dick approached Gladys again, 
 carrying teacup and sugar bowl. 
 
 "I wish I could think it was a nightmare," she 
 176
 
 ANOTHER MEETING 
 
 thought. On taking the cup from his coarsened fingers 
 her hand shook so that some of the tea spilled into the 
 saucer. 
 
 " One lump or two ? " he asked. 
 
 " None, thank you," she answered, putting her cup 
 hastily on the table. 
 
 " After all, every girl must marry sometime," con 
 tinued Mr. Kingsley. 
 
 "Why?" asked Gladys. 
 
 " Oh, well, because why, you would find life so 
 beastly dull without it. Particularly if you live in 
 Boston, where most single women go out of society after 
 their second year, and take to kindergarten or discus 
 sion clubs." 
 
 " But one could get used to discussion clubs just as 
 one does to Boston east winds and baked beans. In 
 fact, I have already begun to get used to them. I went 
 to an Ibsen drama the other day, and discussed it at a 
 lunch club which exists for the sole purpose of en 
 abling people to say what they think, and why they 
 think it." 
 
 " By Jove, Miss Lawrence ! I would not have 
 thought it of you." 
 
 " But you see, I am already at the end of my first 
 season." 
 
 By this time Gladys felt sufficiently composed to 
 hold her teacup. 
 
 " After all, I am going to ask Mr. Copeland to give 
 me some sugar," she said, to prove that she was her 
 own mistress again. 
 
 177
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 He was standing at no great distance, with change 
 less eyes on her face, and he handed her the sugar as 
 she spoke. This time her hand did not shake. 
 
 " I am already at the end of my first season," she 
 continued, " so I thought I must begin to educate my 
 self by hearing an Ibsen play." 
 
 " What did you make of it ? " 
 
 " Nothing," she said. " There was a man in it who 
 built nurseries for the children of men. If you ask me 
 why he built nurseries, I cannot tell you, unless it was 
 because there were no children to occupy them. He 
 also built high towers, for no appreciable reason but 
 because he was afraid to climb them. I made nothing 
 of it nothing at all." 
 
 At this point Dick spoke for the first time. 
 
 " Do you think the childless never build nurseries, 
 and that men have never reached for heights beyond 
 their grasp ? " he asked slowly, in his grave voice. 
 
 Gladys did not lift her head, and she seemed to hear 
 more than he had spoken, though she could not have 
 told what it was. A little pause followed ; then she rose. 
 
 " I must go, Mary," she said, " it is late." 
 
 " But your carriage has not been announced." 
 
 " When it comes, say that I have gone. Good-by, 
 Mr. Kingsley, though that is not exactly the word, for 
 we shall probably meet about midnight at the Allisons . 
 Good-by." 
 
 Dick Copeland was vaguely included in a general 
 farewell, and Gladys left the room. Mary followed 
 her into the hall. 
 
 178
 
 ANOTHER MEETING 
 
 " I never can thank you enough for staying," she 
 said, helping her into her coat. " And the worst is 
 over, for I think the doctor must come down directly." 
 
 " But I said a hateful thing, Mary." 
 
 " You mean about about the thief." 
 
 " Don t. The word hurts. It was a hateful thing. I 
 wonder why I said it. It was rude to you and brutal 
 and unwomanly, and he looked as if he thought so. 
 The only comfort about that is that it cannot possibly 
 matter what he thought or looked. Where is my muff? 
 Can t you find it ? No, I cannot stay and talk things 
 over. There is nothing to talk over, and I want to go 
 home." 
 
 The portieres separated again, and Dick came into 
 the hall. " I beg your pardon, Miss Whiteside, but did 
 I understand Miss Lawrence to say that she was going 
 to walk home alone ? " 
 
 "I cannot make her wait for the carriage," said 
 Mary. 
 
 " You must not go alone," he continued, addressing 
 Gladys directly. " The streets are unsafe at this hour. 
 Unemployed men are about, and a woman was sand 
 bagged near a back alley only last night." 
 
 Gladys lifted her eyebrows as she fastened the fur 
 at her throat. 
 
 "lam not afraid," she said. " Good-night, Mary," 
 and she passed swiftly from the house. 
 
 " Is it really and truly unsafe ? " asked Mary tremu 
 lously. " Oh, what shall I do ? Gladys is so so " 
 
 " Phil is not ready to see me yet," interrupted Dick, 
 179
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 picking up his hat. "I shall be back in half an 
 hour." 
 
 Gladys walked rapidly, forgetful of unemployed men 
 and the possible sandbaggers, though the streets were 
 lonely and empty, as it is characteristic of Boston s 
 fashionable quarter to be. 
 
 " He was trying to make an excuse to walk home 
 with me," she told herself. " He is bold and unashamed. 
 Everything I find out about him seems to make it worse. 
 He deserved what I said, and yet he looked at me as 
 though he were ashamed for me rather than for himself. 
 And then he dared he dared to try and walk with 
 me ! He used to be kind. I remember the time he car 
 ried a hurt puppy for two miles. Perhaps he would be 
 kind now ; dishonest people sometimes are, and if he 
 knew how it tortured me to see him, if he knew I 
 wonder if he would keep away." She looked at the 
 stars, unconscious that the tears lay on her face. " It 
 seems as though there could be no good in all this 
 world, in any God or any man unless there were 
 some good in Dick " she whispered. 
 
 At that moment she passed one of those back alleys 
 which split the blocks of handsome residences in two 
 with a narrow space of perilous darkness, and from it 
 a figure darted to her side. 
 
 " You come along with me," a man said, in a thick 
 voice ; but before he could touch her or she could cry 
 out, another man stood in his place. The whole inci 
 dent occurred so quickly and noiselessly that her pace 
 was hardly interrupted, and she found herself walking 
 
 180
 
 ANOTHER MEETING 
 
 as she had walked before, with the difference that Dick 
 Copeland was at her side. 
 
 " By what right did you follow me ? " she said, in a 
 stifled voice. 
 
 " It was impossible for you to walk home alone." 
 
 " A policeman would have come." 
 
 " Did a policeman ever come when he was needed ? " 
 He spoke evenly ; almost, it seemed, as though he were 
 sorry for her and wanted to make the situation as easy 
 as possible. Fortunately for Gladys, she was not far 
 from home, and a few minutes of silence brought them 
 to her own door, where he mounted the steps to ring 
 the bell for her. 
 
 " I will wait until the door is answered," he said, for 
 the house was on the corner of another alley. 
 
 " If he knew how his presence tortured me, I wonder 
 if he would go away," she repeated to herself. 
 
 But, forced to recognize that he had done her a real 
 service, she spoke to him with uncertain, unwilling lips. 
 
 " I thank you, Mr. Copeland." 
 
 The door opened at the other end of the vestibule. 
 Dick lifted his hat, and for one instant as he stood 
 facing her in the stream of light, the control of his well- 
 guarded face gave way. For one instant before leaving 
 he looked at her with his naked soul in his eyes, and 
 under the sadness and the love and the power of that 
 look Gladys turned suddenly faint. She knew that he 
 loved her as he had years ago, and her strength seemed 
 to be leaving her utterly as she passed up the vestibule 
 steps and into the house.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AFTERMATH 
 
 THAT 
 
 evening, while waiting till it was time to dress 
 for the ball, Mrs. Stanwood reproached her niece for 
 not having come home in the carriage. 
 
 " They say it is not safe for women to walk alone 
 after dark, now that there are so many unemployed 
 men about," she said. 
 
 " I did not walk alone," answered the girl, adding, 
 with a bitter and unhappy smile, " Dick Copeland 
 came with me." 
 
 " Dick Copeland ! I am very sorry. You should not 
 have been subjected to such an annoyance." 
 
 " It was the most serious annoyance I have ever 
 been subjected to in my life," said Gladys. Toying with 
 the paper-cutter on the table beside her she looked 
 at it with half -open, brilliant eyes. " But I found out 
 certain things about myself that it is well to know," 
 she continued, with the same smile. " He had changed 
 grown rougher, sterner, bigger. He was dressed 
 Heaven knows how. His hands were the hands of a day 
 laborer rough, scarred, and broken down at the nails. 
 He was unashamed. He did not show the delicacy one 
 would expect even from a dishonest man who was born 
 a gentleman and I liked him ! Think of that, Aunt 
 
 182
 
 AFTERMATH 
 
 Edith ! I liked Dick Copeland, the dishonest man, 
 the people s demagogue ! I did not think I was one to 
 like that sort of a person, did you ? But you see, that 
 is what I learned this afternoon. I knew that I liked 
 him as soon as I heard his voice outside of the room, 
 and when he came in I liked him more. I liked the 
 things he said and the way he said them, and all the 
 time I despised him. What is a woman to think of 
 herself who feels like that ? What is a woman to think, 
 except that she is utterly contemptible ? " 
 
 " My dear child, it is all perfectly natural. You 
 liked what you believed him to be, and not having seen 
 him since his disgrace you still confuse what you 
 thought he was with what he is. There is nothing to 
 agitate yourself about." 
 
 But Gladys was not listening, and suddenly she 
 turned her cheek against the back of the chair with the 
 movement of a child in pain. When she spoke her 
 voice was low and pitiful. 
 
 " If you could have seen his hands," she said. " I do 
 not see how they can ever look like a gentleman s hands 
 again. There was one scar he must have had a cut 
 that nearly took his thumb off to make a scar like that. 
 I wonder if he if people who are hurt have to go on 
 working just the same. I suppose they cannot afford 
 to stop just because they are tired, or ill. Of course 
 this does n t apply to him, because he has thousands in 
 the bank, and can stop any moment he chooses. But 
 he looked as though he had worked hard ; his hands 
 were knotted and coarse. I can t forget them. I do 
 
 183
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 not feel as if I could ever forget them. Not because 
 they belong to to any one I know, but because they 
 make me think of the millions of others of the honest 
 hands that look like his. It does n t seem fair, does it ? 
 It does n t seem fair that part of the world should have 
 hands like his, while the other part look at mine ! " 
 She held her palm against the light. "It is so delicate 
 the light shines through. It might have been nourished 
 on dew and flowers. I am ashamed, and if I were God 
 I should be ashamed to have made such a world. I 
 think I will give up luxuries. It is n t fair for one to 
 have them if another does n t. I think seeing Dick 
 Copeland s hands has made a socialist of me. I think 
 Aunt Edith!" she exclaimed, in a different voice, 
 " I am talking like a fool ! Why don t you stop 
 me ? " 
 
 " I have been waiting for a chance, cherie. It is time 
 the season ended, for I think you are tired and over 
 wrought." 
 
 " Yes, that is probably it," answered the girl, sud 
 denly grown pale and listless. " I am tired." 
 
 " Your moods tire you ; you have so many of them. 
 And I occasionally notice in you a tendency to being 
 dramatic, as to-night, for instance. You should avoid 
 it as much as possible, for it will make you old before 
 your time, and is of no use to yourself or any one. 
 Nothing that life can bring is worth being dramatic 
 about." 
 
 Gladys thought languidly for a while, and then she 
 rose. 
 
 184
 
 AFTEKMATH 
 
 " It is time to dress for the ball. I am tired, but I 
 think I shall go. There is so much less chance of 
 being dramatic at the dance than in staying at home 
 and trying to rest." 
 
 A few days after this episode Mr. Aldrich made one 
 of his monthly visits to Boston, and took tea with his 
 old friend ; though during the winter each had become 
 conscious of an intangible cause of irritation against the 
 other. 
 
 "I wish that you could keep your ward where he 
 belongs," she said on this occasion. 
 
 " It is so very difficult to know where that is," said 
 Leslie Aldrich. " Where would you suggest ? " 
 
 " I should not suggest a drawing-room." 
 
 " Has he been seen in any lately ? I am glad to 
 think he may be coming to his senses." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood related, in part, the meeting at the 
 Whitesides , while Mr. Aldrich listened attentively. 
 
 " And he annoyed your niece ? Too bad ! too bad ! 
 But you can hardly expect me to do anything about it. 
 I never see the fellow, and if I did I could no more 
 prevent his handing Miss Lawrence a cup of tea and 
 making inappropriately intelligent remarks, than I can 
 his attempts to turn the established order of society 
 topsy-turvy, or his theories for making himself uncom 
 fortable. I have no objection to theories, as such. I 
 have known successful men who made collections of 
 them. It amuses them as it does your husband to col 
 lect beetles, and it amuses their friends considerably 
 
 185
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 more. A man may hold as wayward and pretty an as 
 sortment of theories as one can find in a well-bred luna 
 tic asylum without inconvenience to himself, provided 
 he does not live his theories. But Copeland lives his 
 and wants every one else to live them. He is a practical 
 romanticist, so to speak. He believes in a working ideal. 
 Que voulez-vous ? " Leslie Aldrich shrugged his shoul 
 ders with a nervous gesture of irritation. " What can 
 one do with a man like that ? He is one of the star- 
 gazers who will trip over a dung heap, and there is no 
 knowing where he will bring up. It may be in prison, 
 and then the world will call him a law-breaker; or 
 he may die in want and neglect, and the world will 
 dub him a fool and a failure. On the other hand, he 
 may go down to history as a reformer and martyr. Who 
 can tell ? Best or worst, it will all be a trick of fortune. 
 In the meantime I have allowed my cigar to go out in 
 order to talk about him, and it annoys me exceedingly 
 to have my cigar go out. Whichever way I look at it, 
 the fellow annoys me." 
 
 Striking a match on the sole of his boot, and com 
 forted by his next smoke wreath, Mr. Aldrich took a 
 more cheerful view of the situation. 
 
 " After all, he is very young, and though youth is 
 the most dangerous of diseases, it is one that is sure 
 to be outgrown. He may marry and settle down in 
 his own station before he is thirty." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood held the fire-screen before her face, 
 and yawned slightly. 
 
 " I am tired of hearing about him," she said. 
 186
 
 AFTERMATH 
 
 Leslie Aldrich puffed silently at his cigar for a few 
 moments. 
 
 " Let us then talk of something, or some one, more 
 agreeable," he answered. " Let us talk of Arthur 
 Davenport. It would be quite impossible to forget 
 one s cigar in discussing that young man. He strikes 
 me as possessing unusual capabilities for collapsing 
 under pressure. How is his suit progressing ? " 
 
 "His suit?" 
 
 " My dear Edith, you should be far too clever a 
 woman to try evasion with me. However, I am an 
 swered. Your niece has not yet accepted him. I met 
 her in the hall," he continued. "We had a few 
 words." 
 
 " How did you think she was looking ? " 
 
 Mr. Aldrich paused before answering. "I do not 
 know," he said at last. 
 
 " Dear Leslie, you are growing positively oracular." 
 
 " My cigar has gone out again," he remarked. " It 
 must be, in some way or other, a very poor cigar." 
 
 " Try one of Willie s," she suggested. 
 
 "Thank you, but I can never endure any brand 
 but my own." 
 
 He selected another from a silver case in his pocket, 
 and lit it carefully. 
 
 "Miss Gladys was very gay," he continued, "but 
 she has lost the poise, careless and true as a bird s, 
 which was hers three years ago. She looks as though 
 life had got hold of her somewhere, and I think it pos 
 sible that life will hold her pretty hard before she gets 
 
 187
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 through with it. She will never be happy with any 
 thing that you can give, Edith." 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood mused for a while behind the fire 
 screen. 
 
 " Sometimes I think that you almost hate me," she 
 said at last. " Men sometimes do end by hating the 
 women they" 
 
 "Exactly," he finished. "But I do not hate you, 
 though I have loved you long and well, and because 
 of you I stand to-day at the end of my life with utterly 
 empty hands and heart." 
 
 " If they are empty, it is your own fault. What do 
 you complain of ? " 
 
 " You have ruined my life." 
 
 "My dear Leslie! that is so exceedingly fool 
 ish." 
 
 " You have ruined my life," he continued, as quietly 
 and dispassionately as though he were discussing a 
 microbe. "I was not what you call a high type of 
 man in the beginning, but I had some ability, and 
 I was, to a certain degree, affectionate. I could have 
 gone far in the diplomatic career, but I gave it up 
 because it did not leave me at liberty to follow you. 
 I could have married and loved my wife. I do not say 
 that I should have been faithful to her, but I should 
 have loved her and my children. For you I gave 
 up my career. For you I gave up the woman who 
 would have been my wife, and any possibility of better 
 things that was in my nature!" A bitter intensity 
 had crept under the calm of his manner, just as the 
 
 188
 
 AFTERMATH 
 
 sluggish blood was creeping under his withered skin. 
 " Because of you I am a cynical, useless, lonely old 
 man to-day." 
 
 "I am sorry, Leslie, I am sorry," she answered 
 softly. " You plucked the grapes. Is it my fault that 
 they were poison?" 
 
 He looked at her with a twisted smile. 
 
 "Have you a bit of heart tucked away anywhere?" 
 he asked. 
 
 She looked at him with her singularly girlish smile. 
 
 " Is that my fault, either ? " she returned. " I gave 
 you what I had." 
 
 He had risen, and stood looking down at her with 
 his back to the fireplace. 
 
 " In the meantime, why do you continue to come 
 and see me ? " she asked. " I suppose you have formed 
 the habit of it." 
 
 " I think that is it," he admitted. " And then we 
 speak the same language up to a certain point." He 
 was breathing more heavily than usual, and the blood 
 was still in his face. 
 
 "It is n t always a pleasant habit these days, is it, 
 my friend ? Neither pleasant for you nor for me," she 
 said sweetly, though she was almost as angry as it was 
 possible for her to be. 
 
 " I have just thought of another grudge against this 
 most charming of women," he said. 
 
 " And that is ? " 
 
 " It is because of you that I have suffered a lifelong 
 shame." 
 
 189
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 She rose with a slight laugh. Neither of them saw 
 Gladys standing just within the threshold. 
 
 "Now, at last, you have surprised me," said Mrs. 
 Stanwood. 
 
 " Surprised you ! You are surprised that I should 
 speak to you of feeling shame to you, whose husband 
 has been my lifelong friend ? " 
 
 At that moment they both saw Gladys, and, more 
 than that, they saw that she had heard, and understood.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 FLIGHT 
 
 Ti 
 
 HAT evening Gladys received by her aunt s side at 
 the entrance of the great drawing-room, and the next 
 morning she returned to her old home. In the recoil 
 of this intolerable revelation she knew that it would be 
 impossible for her to share Mrs. Stanwood s home, or 
 to accept more of her favor and kindness. 
 
 It often happens that the aliens of humanity are not 
 those who sin from overmuch life, but those who remain 
 virtuous from too little ; and because there was lawless 
 blood in the girl her heart might have sought some 
 excuse for Mrs. Stanwood, had this serenely cold wo 
 man been capable of a feeling sufficiently vital to cause 
 her to suffer and to dare. 
 
 But Gladys had seen much of the world ; open-eyed, 
 fearless, inviolate, she had passed through a corrupt 
 and decayed civilization, and she recognized her aunt 
 as one of those for whom right and wrong hold no sig 
 nificance, but who are controlled by policy to preserve 
 the semblance of convention, and are rewarded there 
 fore with respect and homage. 
 
 She announced her proposed departure quietly, for 
 she did not wish a quarrel or ill feeling. 
 
 " I have decided that I had better go home," she 
 191
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 told Mrs. Stanwood ; and for a moment astonishment 
 deprived that lady of speech ; but her ready and supple 
 brain surveyed the situation rapidly, saw its hopeless 
 ness, and adjusted itself to circumstances. 
 
 " I think you are right, cherie," she said, after her 
 moment of silence. " You have been looking tired for 
 some time, and a good rest in the country is just what 
 you need." 
 
 But Gladys knew that her aunt understood. 
 
 In the eyes of her world she went home to rest ; 
 but it was difficult to continue the deception with her 
 family. 
 
 " I do not see why you came back, Gladys," said 
 Miranda Lawrence ; " it was evidently not because you 
 wanted to come." 
 
 " I thought I had explained it," answered the girl 
 with dreary patience. 
 
 " Did you, indeed ? If you thought that, you must 
 have less intelligence than I ever gave you credit 
 for." 
 
 " I did not feel like living with Aunt Edith any 
 longer." 
 
 " Yet you liked the life you led with her, and you 
 liked her." 
 
 Gladys admitted for the hundredth time that both 
 of these things were true. 
 
 She had been sewing all the morning in the mahogany 
 fastnesses of the sitting-room, while her aunt mended 
 a pair of Molly s golf stockings. The spring rain was 
 gorging every water-spout, streaming from the edge of 
 
 192
 
 FLIGHT 
 
 a colonial porch, and guttering the avenue. Gladys 
 was making herself a dress. In her girlhood there had 
 been money enough to employ a village dressmaker ; 
 but during the last months Professor Lawrence had 
 lost property to a serious extent, a circumstance which 
 caused the homecoming of his oldest and most extrava 
 gant child to be looked upon in the light of a financial 
 burden. 
 
 " And there was no quarrel," continued Miss Mi 
 randa, " yet you left her house suddenly, you have held 
 no communication with her since, and brought with 
 you nothing of either the clothes or the presents she 
 had loaded you with during the three years since you 
 first saw her. I never believed in Edith," she added 
 firmly. 
 
 " Aunt Edith has always been more than generous 
 and kind to me," said Gladys. "And I should be 
 with her now but for my own wish. I will take any 
 blame there is. I owe her the happiest years of my 
 life." 
 
 " Then why not owe her some more of them ? You 
 make it quite plain to us all that you are not happy 
 here." 
 
 " I am sorry, Aunt Miranda. You see, it is very dif 
 ferent. I shall get used to it I must get used to it, 
 for I shall probably live here all my life all my 
 life ! " she repeated, with poignant emphasis that was 
 in startling contrast to the listlessness of her former 
 manner. Her sewing dropped to the ground. 
 
 "You might pick it up," said her aunt, "but you 
 193
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 had better not go on with it. The more you do the 
 more there will be for me to undo." 
 
 Gladys controlled herself quickly. " I am doing it 
 most vilely," she admitted ; " but if papa has lost so 
 much money that we cannot afford to buy clothes, I 
 must learn to make them. The next time I go to town 
 I will get some Butterick patterns." 
 
 " It is n t any harder for you to make your clothes 
 than for Harold to give up going to college." 
 
 " It may not be so hard," said Gladys. 
 
 In the silence that followed Miss Miranda reflected 
 upon the irony of a fate that had taken the luxurious 
 member of the family off their hands during the time 
 of comparative wealth, and brought her back at this 
 moment of poverty. 
 
 Gladys, sewing her seam " most vilely," looked from 
 time to time at her aunt s face, which was thin and long, 
 lacking in gracious lines, and at her aunt s hair, parted 
 in the middle and drawn primly back into the old-fash 
 ioned knot at the top of her head. Then she tried to 
 recall the name of this knot, and it seemed to her that 
 in some far-off dead existence she had heard it called a 
 " P u g-" The lines of Miranda s figure were angular and 
 uncompromising. Had she ever lounged ? 
 
 It was inevitable that another figure should come 
 before the eye of her mind, the figure of a woman 
 graceful, elegant, luxuriously moulded, satisfying in 
 every detail to sensuous demands and aesthetic taste. 
 
 Every few days Arthur sent her flowers, opulent 
 flowers, nourished in hothouses, and every Sunday he 
 
 194
 
 FLIGHT 
 
 came himself, bringing with him something of excite 
 ment from the world that she had loved. He was puz 
 zled and disturbed by Gladys s flight to the country, 
 and begged an explanation from his aunt. 
 
 "There is no quarrel," she told him. "We simply 
 differed in a point of view. Think of parting company 
 at the end of the nineteenth century because of a dif 
 ference in a point of view ! Gladys is a very silly little 
 girl. At the same time, she is one of the few women I 
 was ever able to like, and I shall be glad to have her 
 back." 
 
 " I went out to see her yesterday, and she was mak 
 ing a dress for herself," continued Arthur, with grave 
 astonishment. " It does n t seem like you, Aunt Edith" 
 he paused. 
 
 " My dear boy ! she is more than welcome to her 
 wardrobe, and it is much in the way here. But that 
 child can no more live without pretty clothes than I 
 can. Few things could bring her to her senses sooner 
 than wearing a home-made gown or two, for to a 
 woman with her genius for dress no amount of grati 
 fied ideal could compensate for a badly hanging skirt. 
 You see, I am playing directly into your hands." 
 
 All that spring Gladys continued to make her clothes, 
 and she was loyal in her application to such household 
 duties as were thrown upon her by the dismissal of half 
 the family servants. But while dusting the shelves 
 containing old china, or darning stockings, she thought 
 with bitter longing of the traffic of ideas, the inspira 
 tion of the arts, the exercise of personal power, and the 
 
 195
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 men who had loved her while she lived out in the world. 
 She looked into the years to come and saw them filled 
 with nondescript, eventless days. She saw the wrinkles 
 grow in her face and the gray in her hair, and life com 
 ing to her with futile, empty, and withered hands.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 SPRING 
 
 spite of Gladys s efforts to be cheerful, her discon 
 tent was sufficiently palpable to reach the perception 
 of her absent-minded father. 
 
 " She does n t look well," he told Molly one day. 
 
 " I should think not," answered his browned and 
 vigorous younger daughter. " Gladys never had flesh 
 like any one else s, and now she is almost transparent. 
 If she swallowed claret or anything bright, I think you 
 could see it passing through her throat." 
 
 This remark troubled the professor seriously, and 
 was in his mind one day when, coming in from a morn 
 ing walk, he found Gladys on her knees beside a flower 
 bed. 
 
 " I am afraid that my little girl is lonely," he said. 
 
 She looked up and brushed the hair from her eyes 
 with the back of her hand. 
 
 " Of course it is quiet," she admitted. " Harold is 
 away, and Molly is busy with spring examinations, and 
 you are busy with germs, and Aunt Miranda never 
 talks unless she has something to say. After all, there 
 are so few things that are worth saying, but one need 
 not stop talking because of that. Sit down, papa, on 
 that stone. It is quite warm, and we can talk a little, 
 
 197
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 even though we say nothing. You don t mind my buy 
 ing the flower-seeds, do you ? They cost hardly any 
 thing. I used to love the garden, and I thought I 
 would try to love it again." 
 
 " But you are not very successful at loving it yet, eh, 
 Gladys?" 
 
 She looked off over the brown earth stretched pa 
 tiently under the quickening warmth of spring sun 
 shine. A wide, benign smile seemed to rest on the whole 
 of nature, but the girl saw it as the face of a friend 
 from which friendship has fled. 
 
 " Something seems to have gone out of the world," 
 she said. " I wonder what it is." 
 
 "Things go out of the world for us all, sooner or 
 later. But you are too young to have lost anything. I 
 think you are tired from the gay winter, and a little 
 lonely." The professor hesitated before continuing 
 shyly, " Perhaps you are worried as to what you had 
 better do about that very good-looking young cousin 
 who sends you flowers every day." 
 
 "Why, papa ! do you think that I am thinking of 
 marrying Arthur ? " 
 
 " Surely, my dear. Why else " 
 
 " But you don t want me to marry, do you ? " 
 
 " I should like my little girl to be happy, which she 
 will never be in her old home ; and this Arthur is a 
 charming fellow." 
 
 " But I do not love him." 
 
 Again Gladys looked out over the bare meadows, 
 and unhappiness dwelt in her eyes. 
 
 198
 
 SPEING 
 
 " I shall never love any one," she said, " and so, of 
 course, I shall never marry any one." 
 
 Her father looked startled, and then fell to study 
 ing the hole made in the ground by the point of his 
 cane. 
 
 " You cannot possibly know that even if there had 
 ever been " He paused, conscious of indelicacy in 
 seeming to question even his own daughter on such a 
 subject. 
 
 " There never was," said the girl. 
 
 " Then surely you are unreasonable to think that 
 there never will be." 
 
 " It could not be Arthur in any case." 
 
 The professor sighed helplessly. "He seems such 
 a charming fellow," he said, " and I think he would 
 make you happy." 
 
 " Oh, please ! please ! papa, do not tease me ! " 
 
 " But, my dear, I never meant " 
 
 " It could never be Arthur. He is a very dear boy, I 
 know, and I think that he is very fond of me and would 
 try to make me happy. But Arthur could never under 
 stand." 
 
 " Understand ! " repeated the professor vaguely, feel 
 ing very far from understanding himself, and disturbed 
 by the rising excitement in his daughter s voice. 
 
 " Yes. There are some people who know why you 
 cry or smile. They know something of the things yovi 
 would say when you are silent, and the unspoken words 
 behind the words that you speak, and, what is more 
 important than all, they know when they do not know. 
 
 199
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 But Arthur would never understand anything, and the 
 more I explained the less he would know." 
 
 The professor felt that he could sympathize with 
 Arthur s condition of mental darkness. 
 
 "There was one man who understood," continued 
 his daughter, " and he was not a good man, he was not 
 honorable " Her words halted as though the speak 
 ing of them gave her physical pain. " I think I might 
 some day have loved what I thought that man was," 
 she continued in a lower voice, " and if I ever met 
 any one who was what I imagined him to be, why, I 
 might " 
 
 " Perhaps you will meet such a man," suggested her 
 father timidly. But Gladys shook her head. 
 
 " I never shall. Never ! Never ! Never ! " she re 
 peated desolately. 
 
 " I suppose we are thinking of the same person." 
 
 Gladys, supporting herself by her hand as she bent 
 over the flower bed, did not lift her head, and kept a 
 silence which her father interpreted as consent. 
 
 " Are you quite sure that the charges against him 
 are just, my daughter ? " he asked, in a low voice. 
 
 " They are quite just," said the girl, speaking al 
 most inaudibly as she bent over the earth. " They are 
 true. He confessed them. And there are other 
 things. He spends a great deal of money no one knows 
 how and there is a woman the kind of woman " 
 A painful flush swept her face and throat. 
 
 The professor took off his hat and looked soberly 
 into the crown of it. 
 
 200
 
 SPRING 
 
 " His father was my oldest friend," he said slowly. 
 " It would have broken his heart. I am glad that he 
 died." They spoke in the hushed voices of people al 
 luding to a calamity. 
 
 " If his mother had lived, perhaps he would have 
 grown up into a good man," she said. " He loved his 
 mother at least, he told me so." She lifted her head 
 suddenly, with a bitter smile. "Perhaps that story 
 also was a lie," she added. 
 
 "What story?" 
 
 Gladys rose, and the professor looked with surprise 
 at the expression on her face. It was as though an 
 acid had curdled the youth of it. 
 
 " If I never ask anything of you again, let me ask 
 this one thing," she said. " Never speak to me of 
 Richard Copeland. He was my friend. I gave him 
 the best that I had except my love, and I might 
 have given him that if he had been what he seemed. 
 As it is the world is too small, the seas are too shal 
 low, the skies are too low to separate me from him as 
 utterly as I would be separated ! " 
 
 In his spare moments, the professor ruminated with 
 considerable perplexity upon this conversation with his 
 eldest daughter. 
 
 "Poor little girl!" he thought. "It is hard to 
 stumble over a scoundrel at the threshold of life. I 
 wonder if she is as much or more hurt by the fall than 
 she thinks ? " There was no answer to this question, 
 and the professor shook his head over it with deep dis 
 tress. " My poor little girl ! " he repeated. 
 
 201
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 A week passed, and the " green fire " of spring crept 
 up from the lowlands. The brooding patience of the 
 March landscape was flung off in an hour. All night 
 the hylas piped shrill and sweetly in the marshes, 
 and the day was full of beating wings, of stirring 
 pulses, of mounting aspiring life a riot of life in 
 earth and air and animal. And beyond what the eye 
 could see or the ear could hear, beyond the farthest 
 horizon, or the vanishing cloud, came the eternal and 
 mysterious call of the springtide. 
 
 "Perhaps you will be happier now that the real 
 spring has come," her father suggested ; but Gladys 
 answered with a swift and unexpected passion. 
 
 " I think that I could bear anything in life any 
 thing, except the spring ! " she cried ; and then tried to 
 laugh away her intensity. " It makes you want things," 
 she explained. "It makes you want big, wonderful 
 things, mountain-tops, mid-oceans, distant lands." 
 
 As she spoke, the flowerlike blue of her eyes was 
 clouded by the ache of living, and her father looked 
 at her with growing trouble. 
 
 " I think that you need a change," he began, after a 
 short pause, " and of course you will visit your New 
 port and Bar Harbor friends this summer." 
 
 " I could not possibly visit anywhere in clothes of 
 my own making. Oh, papa, I am sorry I said that ! 
 I didn t mean it as a reproach I didn t, really." 
 
 With quick compunction, Gladys threw her arms 
 about her father s neck, and then most unreasonably 
 she began to cry with suffocating violence. 
 
 202
 
 SPRING 
 
 The professor patted her back awkwardly, and ven 
 tured to suggest that there might be something on her 
 mind that she did not confess ; but she answered with 
 an indignant denial. 
 
 " What should there be, papa ? How absurd men 
 are ! Don t you see that I am crying ? Don t you see 
 that I want to be by myself ? " 
 
 Left alone, Gladys continued to sob, and as she 
 wept she began to think of Dick. In a world blurred 
 by her tears his figure loomed gigantic as the one 
 overpowering fact in her existence. 
 
 " He might have meant the happiness of my whole 
 life if he had been what he seemed, and that is why I 
 cannot forget him," she said, and continued to weep 
 hopelessly with her head bowed into her hands.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 A WOMAN S DECISION 
 
 NE day Harold sought a private interview with his 
 elder sister. "I saw Arthur Davenport at his office 
 to-day," he began, with a careful attempt at indiffer 
 ence. " I thought he might help me to find something 
 to do. And he was trumps, all right." 
 
 " What did he suggest ? " 
 
 " He says I must go through college." Harold ven 
 tured an embarrassed sidelong look at his sister. " He 
 says that my prospects of getting ahead in the future 
 will be diminished about one half by the lack of col 
 lege education and friends, and he wants to put me 
 through himself." 
 
 " Did you accept his offer ? " asked Gladys gravely. 
 
 " What do you .take me for ? I had to speak to you 
 first. Hang it all, Gladys! why do you make it so 
 hard for a fellow to explain ? I could take a gift like 
 that and pay it back some day, from a brother-in-law, 
 but I can t from a comparative stranger. If you will 
 only make up your mind what you are going to do, I 
 can make up mine." 
 
 This was the beginning of Gladys s torment. 
 
 " Do you all want me to marry him ? " she cried once 
 to her father. 
 
 204
 
 A WOMAN S DECISION 
 
 " My dear, if you could want to marry him, it would 
 make us all very happy," he answered. 
 
 Aunt Miranda took sides against her. 
 
 " You have too many fanciful notions," she said. 
 " The period of being in love is a very short one, and 
 when it is gone the best that is left to go through life 
 on is respect and affection you admit that you start 
 with that. I do not think that a woman is called upon 
 to make an unhappy or degrading marriage for the 
 sake of her family, but to let a mere whim stand in the 
 way of your brother s future, not to speak of the actual 
 comfort of your father s old age for we are very poor 
 seems to me actually wrong." 
 
 " But it is not fair ! " she cried to Harold, in the one 
 moment when her reserve broke down. " Why should 
 I be sacrificed to your pride ? Take Arthur s offer as 
 it was made, generously. But do not make me the cost 
 of the gift." 
 
 " Nobody wants to make you the cost of anything^" 
 answered Harold. His young eyes were stern and hard ; 
 but he forced himself to speak gently, out of pity for 
 the wan misery of her face. " I don t know what Molly 
 and Aunt Miranda are saying to you, but I don t want 
 you to lift a finger on my account. I only want to know 
 what you are going to do." 
 
 " But I don t know I don t know what I am going 
 to do ! " she cried desperately. 
 
 Harold looked at her with the easy contempt of 
 masculine youth. " I should think you might have 
 plenty of reasons of your own for accepting a man like 
 
 205
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 that," he said. " You will never have such another 
 chance, and you had better nail that up on your 
 mirror where you can see it every day. Sometimes 
 women behave as though they preferred being miser 
 able." 
 
 Arthur did his best in these days, though he would 
 often have given up in despair but for the support and 
 prompting of his Aunt Edith. 
 
 " I can t work or play or do anything," he told 
 Gladys. " You look like a ghost, and you are wretched 
 in this God-forsaken place any one can see that ; yet 
 you won t let me take you away and make you happy." 
 
 " Are you sure that you could ? " she asked him, with 
 a faint smile. " Are not you afraid the bill might be a 
 heavier one than your credit could stand ? " 
 
 " No, I am not. You were the gayest, happiest girl 
 I knew before you came here to bury yourself alive ; 
 and if you would come back among your friends, who 
 are all longing for you, you would be again." 
 
 " Which, Arthur, gay or happy?" 
 
 " I should say they were pretty much the same 
 thing." 
 
 " They are quite, quite different." 
 
 Arthur puzzled dimly over this remark, but he was 
 too much in earnest to dwell upon its complications. 
 
 "Haven t you changed your mind at all?" he 
 pleaded. "Aren t you feeling it more possible than 
 you used to ? " 
 
 " I do not love you, Arthur." 
 
 " Come without loving me, then ! " 
 206
 
 A WOMAN S DECISION 
 
 " Would you wish me to come that way ? " 
 
 " I want you any way," he said. " Sometimes it 
 seems as though I should go wild wanting you ! " So 
 spoke Arthur in his most exalted hours, with his face 
 touched and refined by the highest issues his life was 
 to know. Before the woman he loved his nature w#s 
 drawn to its full height, and, looking at him, this 
 woman, who was thinking of becoming his wife, asked 
 herself with a flash of bitter intuition if he were not 
 standing at more than his height, if he were not, in 
 fact, on tiptoe. 
 
 " You could make the right kind of a man out of me, 
 if you would take me," he said, as though in answer to 
 her thought. 
 
 " Are you not the right kind of a man now ? " 
 
 He did not answer at once, for her words had roused 
 the unwelcome memories that showed him to himself 
 as he was, and he felt suddenly callous and quite old. 
 Indulgence, praise, and easy pleasure had weakened the 
 springs of his vital being, which had never been either 
 deep or strong ; and in these moments of self -revelation 
 life seemed a worthless and a shuffling thing in which 
 nothing was worth a struggle, even the love of the 
 woman he wanted. If Gladys had looked at him, she 
 might have seen something of this in his face. 
 
 " Do not come next Sunday," she was saying, in a 
 voice unusually still and controlled. " Do not come 
 next Sunday unless I send for you." 
 
 Arthur stood for a moment in silence. 
 
 " I don t want you to to do anything with the idea 
 207
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 of helping me," he said at last. " I am a poor stick, 
 and I suspect I am not worth helping." He laughed 
 drearily, and this was perhaps the most sincere and dis 
 interested utterance of his life. 
 
 The next day Gladys went out alone into the spring 
 world that she had almost grown to fear because of its 
 insistent appeal to everything she was trying to forget ; 
 but the time had gone by for weakness, for futile com 
 plaint, and the cherishing of her own misery. Sitting 
 on the edge of a wide meadow that was brimful of sun 
 shine, and where the rush grass rippled in the wind, and 
 the birds went mad with joy, she deliberately faced her 
 life. Bitterness, vanity, poverty, and paltry consider 
 ations had come into it ; but was this enough to have 
 despoiled it of bloom and fragrance ? Desolately she 
 sat there, wondering why promise and hope should have 
 fled so utterly. Once she had dreamed of a winged 
 rapture 
 
 And now that the years to come were marshaled for 
 her inspection, she asked herself how she was to fill 
 them, the eventless years of unfulfilled possibilities, 
 the meagre years that she saw moving past her into the 
 shadows of old age. And she pictured life as it might 
 be as Arthur s wife, holding enriching and stimulating 
 experience. She could not imagine that these things 
 or any others could bring her happiness, though they 
 would bring her life, of a kind. But like a presence in 
 the noonday was a voice telling her that few wrongs 
 could be greater than that of the woman who gives her 
 self without her love. It was only an ideal. " But it 
 
 208
 
 A WOMAN S DECISION 
 
 would be selling it too cheap too cheap ! " she cried. 
 For in her nature was something of the substance that 
 goes to make poets and mystics. 
 
 There were moments when she felt that the things of 
 this world were not enough ; when she was conscious 
 of the reality of unseen forces, of an ultimate harmony, 
 a deathless beauty, a solemn significance in her relation 
 to timeless laws. And now, facing a crucial hour in her 
 life, she regained the sense of her own deepest being 
 which had been dissipated by years of excitement and 
 pleasure, and the need was upon her to choose the road 
 that would lead to the dignity and righteousness of 
 her inner life. By righteousness she meant beauty, 
 for she had this in common with poets, that she loved 
 the right chiefly because it was beautiful, rather than 
 the beautiful because it was right. 
 
 " For myself, for anything that it may bring me, I 
 cannot do it ! " she repeated. 
 
 And then she thought of others. She saw her father s 
 face worn with care ; she saw her brother s life impov 
 erished by the lack of opportunity which she could 
 bring, and wondered how she could endure lifelong re 
 proach in the eyes of those she loved. There were many 
 who gave themselves that others might be saved, and 
 held their lives well spent. This opportunity had come 
 to her. What should she do with it ? 
 
 Slowly and insensibly her existence had grown into a 
 savorless thing, what matter, then, how she used it if 
 others were helped ? Of what value was her ideal this 
 dim and obscure ideal that dwelt on the heights of her 
 
 209
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 sou l beside an immediate human need ? If she bar 
 tered the sense of her relation to eternal laws when she 
 gave herself without love, what matter was it ? What 
 was the unseen that lives should ache in its service ? 
 And what was her own life that she should hesitate to 
 yield it to others ?
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 A MAN S EESOLVE 
 
 _LL that spring and part of the summer Richard 
 Copeland lay ill of a fever, and the elms in front of 
 the hospital were yellowing under falling autumn suns 
 before he was discharged. 
 
 Stepping into the street for the first time, the noise 
 and confusion of it smote his weakened nerves intol 
 erably, and he walked uncertainly and feebly, like one 
 already old. But Dick knew that the flood-tide of life 
 was before him; and sitting in a public park by the 
 river through long afternoons, feeling his strength re 
 turning to him hour by hour, he reviewed the events of 
 his past and planned his future. Without intention 
 of giving up his work, he temporarily ceased to think 
 of the toiling multitudes whose cause he wished to 
 make his own. Their affairs appeared to him just now 
 as dreary and unmanageable. But hungrily, gladly, 
 and audaciously, he thought of the woman he loved. 
 
 Gladys had been as a presence dominating his hours 
 of delirium, and when he came back to the conscious 
 ness of actual things, though apprehending them but 
 dimly because of his mortal weakness, she was still 
 strangely near. The black mist of her misunderstand 
 ing hung between them ; but above the knowledge of 
 
 211
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 her brain, and higher than the testimony of visible 
 proof, her inmost being seemed rising to meet him with 
 triumphant recognition. 
 
 At the second stage of his convalescence he left this 
 fancy behind him, but remembered the moment at the 
 door of her house when she had stood radiant in her vel 
 vet and fur and violets, but facing him coldly. Then 
 he had looked at her, and under the look had seen her 
 face change and vibrate with passionate, unwilling sur 
 render. He felt that she was nearer to loving him then 
 than she had ever been during that wonderful summer ; 
 and, with such wisdom as he had gained during the 
 three years that had passed since then, Dick determined 
 to tell her the truth. The boyish pride and defiance 
 which had kept him silent in the beginning was un 
 worthy of a moment s consideration when opposed to 
 the stress of actual living, and for Arthur Davenport 
 he had nothing but contempt, feeling no more com 
 punction at brushing him from his path than he would 
 have at disposing of a troublesome insect. 
 
 But immediately upon this decision Dick had fallen 
 ill, and now he tried his strength in the autumn sun 
 shine, laughing at his incredible weakness, walking day 
 by day a little farther, and wondering how long it 
 would be before he could reach the corner from which 
 an electric car could take him to Gladys. At these 
 moments he felt an Olympian being, degraded to some 
 thing less than man, by reason of his inability to walk 
 to a street car. 
 
 Humiliating considerations were necessary before he 
 212
 
 A MAN S KESOLVE 
 
 could reach her, and tell her that it was all nonsense, 
 for he had never done the thing. The possibility of 
 her disbelieving him never crossed the remotest region 
 of his thought. 
 
 The day came at last when he said, " I can go to 
 morrow," and that afternoon he met Molly. 
 
 There was nothing in her look or movement that 
 remotely suggested Gladys ; but because she was her 
 sister, Dick s heart leapt from the place assigned to it 
 by nature, and his knees threatened ignominious col 
 lapse. He even thought with longing of an adjacent 
 bench, but succeeded in addressing her with superficial 
 firmness. 
 
 Molly seemed more than willing to pass him, and 
 when he questioned her with regard to her sister s ad 
 dress, she looked at him curiously before answering. It 
 appeared that Gladys was in New York, and had been 
 moving when last heard from. Mr. Aldrich would 
 know where she was at present, and then, after a 
 barely perceptible pause, Molly left him with the im 
 pression that she had withheld important informa 
 tion. 
 
 Dick sat upon his bench and wrestled with a disap 
 pointment that seemed of titanic proportions. In New 
 York ! she might almost as well have been at the 
 North Pole. Moreover, he felt dimly that circumstances 
 were conspiring a second time to take her from him, 
 and arrogance is not easy to one who is incapable of 
 standing firmly upon his legs. But Dick was a fighter, 
 and he did not sit long upon the bench, but rose and 
 
 213
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 walked to another one which was in the common, and 
 which was reached by crossing an arid waste strewn 
 with pitfalls of street-corners, and dangers of onslaught 
 from perambulators guided by reckless and agres- 
 sively healthy nursemaids. At last he sat again, after 
 the longest walk since his illness. He was slightly out 
 of breath, and weak in the knees, and thought with 
 dismay of the necessity for getting back again. 
 
 " But I shall go to New York on Monday," he said. 
 
 It was Tuesday when Mr. Aldrich, to whom he had 
 sent a brief note announcing his arrival, waited for 
 him in the leather armchair by his library fire. He 
 was suffering from gout in his right knee, and his face 
 had the prematurely cadaverous look which is age s 
 heritage from an unnaturally exhausted youth. Since 
 last seeing Dick he had made up his mind to say cer 
 tain things to him ; but he had waited eight months for 
 a chance to say them, during which time his ward had 
 disappeared as completely as though he were dead. 
 
 Mr. Aldrich had been anxious, but now that Dick 
 had come to the surface again he was irritated at the 
 cause of his anxiety, and grumbled aloud as he looked 
 into the fire. 
 
 " He has been up to more damned foolishness," he 
 said. 
 
 During the eight months of Dick s silence certain 
 things had happened, and as he waited and grumbled 
 Mr. Aldrich wondered if Dick knew of them, and if 
 he would care. 
 
 " Mr. Copeland asks if you could see him for a mo- 
 214
 
 A MAN S RESOLVE 
 
 ment, sir," announced the butler, appearing noiselessly 
 at the door. 
 
 "Tell him to come up. Send him up!" said Mr. 
 Aldrich testily; and when Dick appeared a moment 
 later, he looked at him fiercely. 
 
 To himself he was saying, " I am infernally glad to 
 see the fellow." Aloud he said, 
 
 " I have a bad knee and can t get up. What have 
 you been doing with yourself ? " 
 
 " Been ill," said Dick cheerfully. 
 
 " You look it. What was the matter ? " 
 
 "Fever typhoid with complications, bad dreams, 
 hospital, and the rest of it. I am all right now." 
 
 Mr. Aldrich tapped his armchair with his fingers, 
 and looked as though he had received a personal af 
 front; though not since the night of the disastrous 
 game four years ago had his ward presented himself 
 in so genial a mood. He seemed to have forgotten the 
 suspicion under which he stood, or else to be discount 
 ing it as unworthy of further consideration. 
 
 "You went so long without drawing any money, 
 that I thought you were dead," said Mr. Aldrich. 
 " Why did n t you let somebody know ? " 
 
 " I told them to notify you if I died." 
 
 " Thoughtful of you ! " 
 
 " I am sorry about your knee," said Dick. " What 
 is it?" 
 
 " Good living," growled the older man. 
 
 " Gout," supplemented Dick. The other nodded. 
 
 " I am sorry," added Dick. 
 215
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 "Then we agree about something at last. Don t 
 become a tippler, Richard, whatever you are." 
 
 Dick smiled a warm and brilliant smile. 
 
 " I am a teetotaler," he said. " Is n t that worse ? " 
 
 " The devil you are ! Why? No, don t explain. It s 
 probably something to do with the greatest good of the 
 greatest number, and I always disliked the greatest 
 number, there is an unsavoriness about them which 
 but never mind. Have you come for more money ? " 
 
 " I cashed quite a check in Boston before leaving. 
 No, I came to find out if you still have that old 
 dress-suit case I left in the station four years ago. 
 Some one told me they sent it to you." 
 
 Dick smiled as he alluded to the night of his accu 
 sation, which began to seem to him as fantastic and 
 unreal as a bit of comic opera. 
 
 Mr. Aldrich looked at him keenly for a moment. 
 
 " So he has cut his eye-teeth," he thought with satis 
 faction, and, ringing the bell at his side, he ordered 
 the dress-suit case in question to be brought him. 
 
 " What do you want with it ? " 
 
 " There used to be a dress suit there. I want that." 
 
 " My dear fellow ! what for ?" 
 
 " Why do men usually want them ? I want to put it 
 on. I am going to a dinner." 
 
 "And you contemplate wearing a dress suit four 
 years old ! " 
 
 " I don t think the company will mind, it is a 
 semi-political affair, and we are going to discuss labor 
 measures. You probably don t realize," continued 
 
 216
 
 A MAN S EESOLVE 
 
 Dick, " that I am quite a famous personage. A re 
 porter heard me give my name at the bank, since 
 when I have been interviewed several times, and a 
 publisher has approached me with the suggestion that 
 I put my experience of Western mines into book form." 
 As he spoke, Dick s sombre eyes shone with unex 
 pected amusement, and Mr. Aldrich remarked silently 
 that his ward was a new man, and hoped that a hos 
 pital nurse was not responsible for the change. 
 
 " So you have given up working with your hands, 
 shoulder to shoulder with the perspiring proletariat," 
 he said. 
 
 "No, I want to experience more of the conditions 
 in my own State," said Dick. " The fever stopped me 
 in the middle of it." 
 
 There was that in the younger man s expression 
 which made Mr. Aldrich fear an exposition of said 
 conditions, and he changed the subject hastily. 
 
 " Did you happen to meet Arthur Davenport on the 
 way upstairs?" he asked. 
 
 " Arthur Davenport !" The exclamation was invol 
 untary, and then a well-trained impassivity usurped 
 the expression of Dick s face. 
 
 " Was I likely to meet him ? " he asked. 
 
 " Too late ! " thought Mr. Aldrich triumphantly. 
 " He has betrayed it." Aloud he said, " No, you 11 not 
 meet him unless you wish. He is confined to two rooms 
 where he has been ill with a bad attack of grippe. The 
 hotel was not exactly the place for him, and he was not 
 ill enough for the hospital ; so, at the request of one 
 
 217
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 whose wishes it has been the study of my life to 
 gratify, I brought him to my house. He has been 
 here some days." And now, though Mr. Aldrich spoke 
 with gentle and elaborate nonchalance, he looked sig 
 nificantly at Dick. 
 
 " He has been here some days," he repeated, " and 
 is more agreeable than the average convalescent. But 
 I have conceived a curious dislike to shaking hands 
 with that young man." 
 
 Dick met his look with eyes and face still guarded, 
 for he had no intention of casting any suspicion upon 
 Arthur which was not necessarily suggested by the 
 declaration of his own innocence. 
 
 But Mr. Aldrich felt that he was understood, and 
 presently there came a subtle relaxation in Dick s 
 attitude toward the room and its owner. A log on 
 the fire collapsed into a shower of sparks, and he 
 left the distant chair where he had been provisionally 
 seated. 
 
 " Shall I stir it up a bit?" he asked. 
 
 Obtaining permission, he attacked it with capable 
 hands, and then, drawing up an armchair that was 
 companion to Mr. Aldrich s, he stretched himself in it 
 luxuriously and looked about him. 
 
 " Pretty jolly room you have here," he remarked. 
 " I always used to think that when I grew up I would 
 have a library with books piled so high that you had 
 to reach them with a step-ladder, as you do here." 
 
 " You are a good fellow, Richard, but you ve been 
 an awful fool," stated his trustee abruptly. 
 
 218
 
 A MAN S RESOLVE 
 
 Dick dropped his eyes from the bookcases to the 
 older man s face. 
 
 " I have been a good deal of a jackass," he admitted. 
 
 " I never thought you did it," continued Mr. Aldrich. 
 
 " Thanks," said Dick briefly. 
 
 "The older one grows, the more one realizes that 
 any one is likely to do anything at any time ; but this 
 seemed especially unlikely, and in the case of the 
 other man it didn t." 
 
 " We can leave the other man out of it." 
 
 Mr. Aldrich looked at Dick with fierce old eyes. 
 
 " That s as it may be," he said. 
 
 The butler s entrance with a dress-suit case inter 
 rupted the conversation, and Dick recognized his own 
 property. 
 
 " I ought to be going," he observed. " I must get a 
 shave and a bath, and there isn t more than time 
 enough, taking in the distance to and from the hotel." 
 
 " What s the matter with going to the dinner from 
 here ? I can offer you a comfortable dressing-room, 
 though of course there is no inducement in the way of 
 companionship." 
 
 Under the grudging tone of this invitation Dick s 
 sensitiveness enabled him to recognize a genuine wish 
 for his company, which the lonely man was too proud 
 to express. 
 
 " I d like firstrate to stay," he said heartily. 
 
 " Now that you are sure I am not suspecting you 
 of taking my money behind my back," grinned Mr. 
 Aldrich. 
 
 219
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 For the first time in several years Dick found his 
 dress suit laid out for him, his bath drawn, his shav 
 ing-water prepared, and in these things he luxuriated 
 mightily. 
 
 " I feel almost like a gentleman," he remarked, on 
 returning to the library. 
 
 There was a long, old-fashioned mirror between two 
 bookcases, and he stood in front of it, surveying himself 
 the while with some complacency. 
 
 " I have n t had on a dress suit for four years, and I 
 think I look quite well," he announced. 
 
 " It would n t be my idea of the thing at all," said 
 Mr. Aldrich. 
 
 " What s the matter ? It bags a little because I have 
 grown thin, but it was a first-class dress suit in its 
 day." 
 
 "In its day!" Mr. Aldrich lifted his hands. "My 
 dear fellow, it is four years out of fashion ! " 
 
 " I don t mind that," answered Dick comfortably. 
 
 " There is where we should differ. You have some 
 twenty thousand dollars in the bank, why don t you 
 buy a new one ? " 
 
 Dick laughed good-humoredly as he reseated him 
 self by the fire. 
 
 " What do you think of my hands ? " he inquired, 
 holding them out. 
 
 Mr. Aldrich put on his glasses and scrutinized them 
 gravely. 
 
 "They look less like a thug s hands than they 
 did," he admitted. 
 
 220
 
 A MAN S KESOLVE 
 
 " That s what I thought. They improved consider 
 ably in the hospital, but I don t suppose they will ever 
 be really decent again. I am vain enough to object to 
 those hands. They shock people." A grave and tender 
 smile touched Dick s lips as he recalled the time he 
 had passed Gladys the teacup. Then, leaning towards 
 the fire and holding the poker between his knees, he 
 asked his question, 
 
 " What is Miss Lawrence s New York address ? " 
 
 Mr. Aldrich s monocle dropped with a click. 
 
 " Miss Lawrence s address ! " he repeated. 
 
 " I was told you knew it." 
 
 " Miss Lawrence well, the fact is that the lady in 
 question is probably in the house at this moment." 
 
 Dick looked up blankly. 
 
 " I mean Gladys Lawrence." 
 
 " I know who you mean. I am not an imbecile 
 not quite yet ! " exclaimed Mr. Aldrich, who was con 
 siderably upset by the question, as well as by the man 
 ner in which it had been put. " She is here every day, 
 nursing our mutual friend, Arthur Davenport. If you 
 had lived where you belonged, you would have known 
 that he has been trying to marry her ever since she 
 returned from Europe. And he is one of those whom 
 fortune favors." 
 
 Dick sat motionless, with vacant face and eyes 
 turned to his guardian, and for the moment he felt 
 deprived of sensation or understanding. 
 
 " Is she engaged to him ? " 
 
 " I suppose you might call it an engagement of a 
 221
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 kind," answered Mr. Aldrich, with grim and dismal 
 intonation. 
 
 " Is she is it too late for her to know the truth 
 about him ? " asked Dick, in a toneless voice. 
 
 For an instant Mr. Aldrich hesitated. Then his eyes 
 flashed, and he thumped the arm of his chair. 
 
 " No, it s not too late ! not too late by a lifetime ! " 
 he cried. 
 
 Dick dropped his head on his hands. 
 
 " So the hemp was spinning for my gibbet," he 
 muttered, and it was some moments before he moved, 
 for the weakness of illness was still upon him. Sud 
 denly he rose to his full, gaunt height. 
 
 " Where shall I find him ? " he asked. 
 
 " In the room to the right of the front door, and he 
 will be alone. This is his hour for sleeping while she 
 goes to walk. Give him no quarter, boy! Don t let 
 any hobgoblin of * plighted troth stand in your way. 
 I wish I were you, with your youth and your chance 
 and your prize to win ! " 
 
 Dick was already at the door when Mr. Aldrich was 
 smitten with indecision. Rising in strong excitement 
 he hobbled after his ward. 
 
 " Richard ! Confound this infernal knee ! Richard ! 
 I say, don t forget you ve been ill, you are not fit 
 for excitement. Perhaps I ought to tell you, it may 
 be too late for her to listen to you." 
 
 " It won t be too late for her to listen to him ! " 
 answered Dick, from halfway down the stairway and 
 without turning his head. 
 
 222
 
 A MAN S RESOLVE 
 
 The older man returned to his chair. 
 
 " The boy smells powder," he muttered. " He will 
 fight for his own ! And if he is conquered now by 
 priests and conventions, I 11 never forgive him." 
 
 After that he was quiet listening and waiting.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 UNCHARTED WATERS 
 
 J_N the room to the right of the front door Arthur lay 
 asleep in a Morris chair, nor did he stir when Dick 
 entered, and, turning up the light, stood looking down 
 at him. Irresolution, inefficiency, and commonplace 
 limitation lay on the sleeping face in helpless exposure ; 
 but there was also the pathos of emaciation, some 
 sweetness, and peace. 
 
 It annoyed Dick that anything so incompetent, so 
 manifestly helpless by reason of circumstance, as well 
 as through weakness of nature, should be at his mercy ; 
 but he stretched out his hand to wake him, and Arthur s 
 eyes flew open and stared, incredulous and afraid. 
 
 " You ! " he whispered. He seemed incapable of mo 
 tion, and as though hypnotized by the powerful man 
 above him. 
 
 " Why have you come ? " he asked, his lips feeling 
 their way slowly to the words. 
 
 " When you are thoroughly awake and convinced I 
 am not a nightmare, we will talk it over." Dick stood 
 near the fire, with his elbow on the mantelpiece, and 
 spoke with the rough, uncompromising strength that 
 he had learned in dealing with humanity s brute forces. 
 
 " What do you want? " asked Arthur. 
 224
 
 UNCHARTED WATERS 
 
 " I understand that you expect to marry Miss Law 
 rence ? " 
 
 For a moment Arthur stared silently, and Dick saw 
 the old dread and entreaty gather in his eyes. 
 
 " You have come back, I might have known " 
 
 " Yes, I think you might. So it is true ? " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " That you are thinking of marrying Miss Lawrence." 
 
 Arthur seemed to hesitate before he answered. 
 
 " I have been thinking about it for several years." 
 
 " Then it s about time for you to think of something 
 else." 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " 
 
 " I am not going to do anything." 
 
 " You are not " 
 
 " You are going to do it all." 
 
 u J " 
 
 " You are going upstairs now, to tell her the truth." 
 
 A wave of passion swept the blood to Arthur s face, 
 and then as suddenly left him dangerously white. 
 
 "You can t mean that! " he said. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I can," Dick assured him. 
 
 " It is impossible. I can t do a thing like that now." 
 He buried his head in his hauds. " I must think," he 
 muttered. But suddenly he rose, and walked to and 
 fro with the hurried, uncertain movements of a fright 
 ened animal that seeks escape. 
 
 " I must think. You have me at a disadvantage. If 
 you can t consider me, consider her. Think of what it 
 will be to her if she loves me." 
 
 225
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I don t believe she loves you, and if she does she 
 had better get over it. No good nor happiness could 
 come to a woman from loving you." 
 
 " You have me at a disadvantage. I am not myself," 
 continued Arthur, still moving about the room. " I am 
 not myself. I am a sick man." 
 
 " If it comes to that, so am I," answered Dick, who 
 was disgusted to find excitement mastering him so that 
 his hand shook visibly on the mantelpiece, " and in 
 no mood to stand your weakened procrastination. Go 
 up, and be done with it." 
 
 " You look ill," said Arthur, as he paused in front 
 of Dick with sudden and eager entreaty in his face. 
 " We are neither of us ourselves. Wait, Copeland, 
 wait till we can think it out quietly ! You were good 
 to me once you helped me save myself." 
 
 " I helped you damn yourself." 
 
 "You helped me save myself," continued Arthur. 
 " Help me again. My love was making a man of me. 
 I know I have been a cad, but this is my one chance. 
 I dare say I am not worth a chance, but don t take it 
 away, Copeland. Leave me that, and the happiness 
 which you made it possible for me to have." 
 
 He pleaded rapidly, feverishly, without animosity, 
 with the frank, winning ingenuousness of a child, so 
 that Dick felt and wondered at the charm that could 
 look through the eyes of such abjectness. 
 
 " I can t think you will ask this of me when you have 
 thought it over," he continued. " I can t think you 
 would ask a man to tell the woman he loves the things 
 
 226
 
 UNCHARTED WATEBS 
 
 about himself you want me to tell. Why, it would be 
 more than flesh and blood could bear. She is n t a 
 woman one can lose. You know her, I used to think 
 you cared for her yourself until you went off without 
 explaining. You know something of what she is, though 
 no one can know her as I do. I tell you I cannot lose 
 her like this. You can t mean it. Wait and think it 
 over, Copeland. Wait, for God s sake ! " 
 
 Dick gave a movement of strong disgust. 
 
 " Quit begging, Davenport, and save a rag or two of 
 self-respect," he said. "I am not here to change my 
 mind." 
 
 Then Arthur dropped into a chair. He looked at 
 Dick with fear and wonder, and wiped his forehead 
 with his hand. 
 
 " My God, Copeland ! you are a hard man," he mut 
 tered. " I am not sure you are not a worse man than I 
 am. I could not find the heart to stand up against a 
 fellow like that." 
 
 " I don t believe you could," said Dick. 
 
 Arthur breathed heavily. 
 
 " Why don t you tell her yourself ? " 
 
 " Because it suits me better to have you tell her." 
 
 "You love her!" cried Arthur, in sudden and vio 
 lent excitement. " You love her ! What a fool I have 
 been ! I thought you were working out one of your 
 infernal ideals of abstract justice. You love her, and 
 that is why you want to take her away from me ! But 
 it s too late ! You can t have her ! I did n t tell you be 
 fore because I thought it might make you more deter- 
 
 227
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 mined than ever ; but you can t have her, Copeland. 
 To begin with, she hates the sound of your name " 
 
 Dick s voice, still and contemptuous, cut sharply into 
 the feverish agitation of Arthur s speech. 
 
 " You pitiful coward ! " he said. 
 
 " You love her ! " repeated Arthur, trembling with 
 anger. " You dare to love her, and come here " 
 
 Then Dick strode to Arthur s side, and, slipping a 
 hand under his collar, jerked the limp figure to its feet. 
 
 " Get up, you infernal white-livered scoundrel ! " he 
 cried savagely. " You have skulked and shivered long 
 enough. Go and tell her the truth. When she knows 
 you for a cheat and a coward, you may come down 
 again. Go now, before I give you the thrashing that s 
 too good for you." 
 
 Arthur staggered to the centre of the room, but 
 there he paused. 
 
 "There s some one at the door," he whispered, shiv 
 ering violently. 
 
 "You may wait till they go. I locked it for that 
 purpose," said Dick. 
 
 There was a pause while the door-handle was rattled 
 softly, and the flame of Arthur s ineffectual anger sank 
 till the old panic and entreaty lay naked and abject in 
 his eyes. 
 
 " She has come," he said, still whispering. 
 
 " Arthur, Arthur ! " Gladys s voice, sweet and light, 
 came from beyond the locked door. " Wake up, you 
 lazy boy ! " 
 
 " She has come. My God ! " 
 228
 
 UNCHARTED WATERS 
 
 Dick squared his shoulders. 
 
 " Copeland what are you going to do ? " 
 
 " I think I had better stay here and see you put it 
 through," said Dick. 
 
 " Arthur ! " she called insistently. 
 
 " I can t do it, Copeland," his voice broke. " I love 
 her. You must tell her what you will. I married her 
 last month." 
 
 He walked unsteadily to the door and fumbled with 
 the key. 
 
 "It turns to the left," called Gladys. "Helpless 
 boy ! " she added, and her laughter, gay and soft, 
 drifted into the room as the door opened and she en 
 tered, fresh and radiant from a walk in the autumn 
 wind. She was dressed in a walking-suit of golden 
 brown, not so bright but that her hair was brighter ; 
 and there were raindrops on her hair and face, and on 
 the violets she carried. 
 
 " Is it kind to lock me out when I have been all over 
 the city hunting for the book you wanted ?" she con 
 tinued gayly. " Is it kind, or " and then she saw 
 Dick. 
 
 There was an immediate silence. He never forgot 
 the sudden arrestation of her motion and breath, or 
 how the mirth, tenderness, and color left her as he 
 looked. And, though she stood upright, he seemed to 
 know that something within her reeled under the shock 
 of this meeting. 
 
 For a moment his own mind swung giddily. She 
 was married ! Emotion, primeval in its cruelty and 
 
 229
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 violence, bore down upon him. She was married ! But, 
 a rebel against social law, her marriage did not of itself 
 set the seal to his silence. He tried to think, while the 
 world continued to swing perilously before his eyes. It 
 would be time enough by and by to go through hell on 
 his own account ; for the present, he must think, and 
 think clearly, for her. Union between this particular 
 man and woman was an abomination, that much was 
 clear. The law which bound them was arbitrary, with 
 out justice or truth. But she had been happy when she 
 entered the room. She had been radiant with gayety 
 and tenderness till they withered under his presence. 
 It was probable that she loved her husband, intoler 
 able and incredible as the fact might seem ; and if the 
 truth about him freed her of love, was she one to allow 
 it to release her of obligation ? Would she not hold 
 herself bound as before, but to misery and degrada 
 tion? 
 
 He had left her years ago, and he could do it again 
 if need be; but the first time he had been helped by 
 pride and anger and boyish defiance. Now there was 
 neither pride nor anger to sustain him, nor yet the 
 pitiable, the laughable, the tragically far-reaching defi 
 ance of his youth. Moreover, a growing and a horrid 
 weakness was at the pit of his physical being, and it 
 seemed just possible that he might experience the final 
 ignominy of fainting in her presence. 
 
 She had, a moment ago, been a happy woman. She 
 would be happy again if he kept his silence and went 
 out of her life. When Dick had come to this conclu- 
 
 230
 
 UNCHARTED WATERS 
 
 sion he knew that he was at the end of the matter, but 
 in the meantime it was necessary that he should bear 
 himself as a man. 
 
 If she had looked at him then, she might have 
 recognized the hunger and the love and the truth in 
 his eyes, but she did not look. During the brief mo 
 ments in which Dick made his decision her face had 
 frozen slowly, and her eyes were upon her husband s 
 face. 
 
 Arthur breathed heavily, and there was a wild agita 
 tion in his manner. But the moments passed, and Dick 
 said nothing. 
 
 " I thought that you were resting upstairs," Arthur 
 ventured feebly, breaking the dreadful silence. 
 
 " I was not aware that you could have matters for 
 private discussion with Mr. Copeland," she said, and 
 her voice, like her face, seemed frozen. " I will come 
 back when you are at liberty." 
 
 As she turned her violets dropped, and Dick stooped 
 mechanically to pick them up. They had fallen in 
 the shadow, and, as he searched for them a little blindly, 
 he was obliged to support himself by holding on to the 
 edge of the table with his hand. But he rose safely, 
 and as she stood partly turned from him and would 
 not see the flowers when he handed them to her, he laid 
 them on the table. 
 
 " I have nothing to say to your husband which need 
 be a secret," he said steadily, "nothing further to 
 say to him of any sort." He was gone before either of 
 them could answer. 
 
 231
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 Arthur dropped into his chair muttering feverish 
 and incoherent things, while his wife began to draw off 
 her gloves with hands that trembled intolerably. 
 
 " I am surprised that you should hold any communi 
 cation with Richard Copeland," she said. " I do not 
 inquire the cause of your interview, but I must ask you 
 not to see him again, or to mention his name in my 
 presence." 
 
 Arthur laughed hysterically. 
 
 " You may be jolly well sure that the interview was 
 not of my seeking," he said. 
 
 Gladys s words had been brave and cool, but her 
 hands still shook pitiably. And now she looked at her 
 husband s bowed figure with critical and unsympathetic 
 eyes, consciously recognizing the general inadequacy 
 of the man. Was this because Dick, for a brief moment, 
 had stood in the same room with him ? Watching Ar 
 thur, she asked herself what had become of the protect 
 ing tenderness which she had felt for him since her 
 marriage, and which, because of her woman s heart, had 
 brought her some measure of happiness. What had 
 become of her poise and quiet affection ? Their absence 
 left her dismayed and afraid, as though she were sud 
 denly adrift upon uncharted waters. Stripped of this 
 consciousness of sacred and willing obligation to her 
 marriage, life stood unredeemed, sordid, and unaccount 
 ably imperiled. Was this also because Dick had stood 
 in the room ? 
 
 " You knew that he loved you ? " said Arthur, with 
 feverish emphasis. " You have always known it ! How 
 
 232
 
 UNCHARTED WATERS 
 
 do I know that you would not have married him in 
 stead of me if he had not if he " 
 
 " I do not suppose that you wish to insult me," said 
 Gladys, " so I can only assume that you are tempora 
 rily irresponsible for what you say." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said, without lifting his 
 head. " The fact is that I am I am unstrung. I beg 
 your pardon," he repeated humbly. 
 
 Then her face changed. She went to him slowly, and 
 stood by his chair, looking down at him with doubt 
 and misery in her eyes. It was as though she were 
 seeking an uncertain refuge. 
 
 " You and I cannot afford to quarrel," she said. 
 
 " No, no ! " he cried, with his head still in his hands. 
 
 " Have I made you happy so far ? " 
 
 He sought her hand, and kissed it violently. 
 
 " Can I go on making you happy ? " Her voice be 
 gan to tremble with the weight of a yearning that was 
 for something far beyond the husband at her side, and 
 she knelt swiftly and passionately by his chair. 
 
 " Can I always make you happy ? I want to be sure 
 sure ! " 
 
 "My darling! Yes!" 
 
 " No, do not kiss me yet. I want to be sure, because 
 I have staked my life on it. If I cannot do that, I 
 might as well not be alive at all " 
 
 " You love me at last ! You love me " 
 
 " Can I do it, Arthur ? " 
 
 " Yes, a billion times yes." 
 
 " Hush hush. Now you may kiss me. You are 
 233
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 feverish again, and it is my fault, poor boy ! It is my 
 fault, I am sorry. I did not mean I was upset at 
 finding that man here. He must never come again, for 
 we must make a success of our marriage. I do not 
 dare," she shivered in his arms, " I do not dare not 
 to make a success of it," she said.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 LAYING THE CORNER-STONE 
 
 1ST] 
 
 EARLY two years later, Mr. Aldrich and his ward 
 sat facing each other across a common deal table, which 
 was the principal article of furniture in a cabin where 
 Dick had elected to pass the summer. It was his birth 
 day and the occasion of his formal coming into posses 
 sion of a fortune. 
 
 " I think that is the last," said Mr. Aldrich, pushing 
 a railroad certificate across the table. 
 
 Dick compared it with a list he held, and acqui 
 esced. 
 
 " And you verified the bulk of it that I deposited in 
 your safety vaults. If you will sign this, we can be rid 
 of each other for all time." 
 
 While Dick signed in silence, and then locked up 
 his certificates, Mr. Aldrich investigated the aspect of 
 the room. The table at which he sat, another table used 
 as a desk and covered with a disorderly litter of papers, 
 several chairs, and some shelves put roughly together 
 to hold the books that overflowed onto a carpetless 
 floor, that was all. 
 
 Outside, a young growth of maple and oak trees 
 crowded up to the narrow window-panes ; but in front 
 of the door a clearing had been made, which sloped 
 
 235
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 briefly downwards to the ample and tranquil flow of a 
 great river. 
 
 " It is a singular abode for a millionaire," remarked 
 Mr. Aldrich dryly. 
 
 "I didn t expect you to care for it, exactly," an 
 swered Dick, pocketing his bunch of keys, and turning 
 to his guest, who was sniffing the air suspiciously. 
 
 " I see that the greatest good of the greatest number 
 is compatible with the use of tobacco," he said. 
 
 "Shall I give you a light?" asked Dick, ignoring 
 this opening for argument. "I can t offer you any 
 cigars, for I only use a pipe." 
 
 " And I only use my own cigars. But I will have a 
 light. Thanks. And now that I no longer have the 
 shadow of a legal right to ask you questions, I should 
 like to put a few." 
 
 Dick intimated that he might ask as many as he 
 liked, and sat in the doorway with his feet on the 
 ground outside, while he filled his pipe. Mr. Aldrich, 
 noting the strong lines of his figure showing through a 
 workingman s shirt, the brown, sinewy throat rising 
 from the loose collar, and the powerful head above with 
 its shock of coarse black hair, and its bony, roughly 
 moulded features, sighed suddenly and impatiently, 
 for Dick seemed to him like some youthful Titan 
 spending his strength on futile issues. 
 
 " Do you know that you only have one life ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 Dick continued to press tobacco into the bowl of his 
 pipe. 
 
 236
 
 LAYING THE CORNER-STONE 
 
 " I dare say that I shall think one is enough by the 
 time I get through with it," he answered. 
 
 " And do you know that life is short, and that there 
 are beautiful things in it, great pictures, great music, 
 and great and beautiful countries to visit, while you 
 live in a pine cabin of one room ? " 
 
 "Four rooms," corrected Dick, with an inscrutable 
 face. " A study, kitchen, bedroom, and room for Mrs. 
 Gary." 
 
 "Who is Mrs. Gary?" 
 
 " You would call her my servant." 
 
 " What do you call her ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Gary." 
 
 "Ah! Is she er young?" 
 
 Dick turned to Mr. Aldrich with one of his unex 
 pected and brilliant smiles. 
 
 " No," he answered. " Her husband used to beat 
 her, sometimes because he was drunk, sometimes be 
 cause she was ugly, sometimes because she made him 
 bad bread. She makes me bad bread, but as I do not 
 drink, and am not her husband, and do not care 
 whether she is ugly or not, I treat her decently and 
 pay her regularly. The result is that she loves her 
 husband, counts the days until he returns from the 
 penitentiary, and can barely tolerate me." 
 
 " Why do you waste yourself on them, Richard ? " 
 
 Dick was silent a moment before answering. 
 
 " Because I have seen the things a man cannot see 
 and forget," he said finally. 
 
 " But they are a degraded and brutalized lot." 
 237
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " There is degradation and brutality among them ; 
 there is also unthinkable crime, and unspeakable dis 
 ease. There are millions of them born into a heritage 
 of moral and physical filth. They are a sink of corrup 
 tion. They are loathsome, hideous, piteous beyond all 
 power of telling, seeing them the very good man 
 might well wish to curse his God and die. Their easi 
 est recreation is sin, actual joy of living can only come 
 to them from intoxication, and these things are to 
 the everlasting shame of their oppressors ! " 
 
 "Of whom I am one," suggested Mr. Aldrich 
 suavely. " And why are not you, as a capitalist, an 
 other?" 
 
 " I do not expect to remain a capitalist." 
 
 " Good Lord, Richard ! what are you going to 
 do?" 
 
 " It is practically done. I have bought out the cot 
 ton mills that you can see if you go down to the edge 
 of the river, and every private enterprise, such as the 
 drugstore, grocery, liquor saloons, and landed property 
 in connection with the mills. I am going to run them 
 my own way." 
 
 " Is n t that a pretty fair imitation of monopoly ? " 
 
 " My own way will be to own no greater share of 
 the concern than any of the others who work for the 
 good of the whole." 
 
 Mr. Aldrich groaned. 
 
 " You are going to give your property away ? " 
 
 " It is on the face of things that the property is not 
 mine to give, and never was." 
 
 238
 
 LAYING THE CORNER-STONE 
 
 Mr. Aldrich wiped his forehead. "You will be a 
 pauper," he said. " I never believed you would really 
 do it. It s the thing Fourier, Saint-Simon, and other 
 madmen attempted and failed in. Why can t you take 
 a lesson by them ? You can t have an ideal community 
 till you have ideal characters. You are fighting wind 
 mills, boy, you are fighting windmills." 
 
 " I do not expect an ideal community, but I want 
 something nearer than what we have. A man should 
 have a chance to reach his full stature, which he has n t 
 at present, being occupied chiefly with keeping body 
 and soul together. I have never been able to persuade 
 myself that I should not be a wife-beater if I had 
 been born and bred among the classes of the unskilled 
 laborers, who only receive sufficient return for their 
 labor to keep them in good working condition. Every 
 thing over and above that goes to increase the luxu 
 ries of those already wallowing in them. In other 
 words, those who sow in blood and degradation are 
 not those who reap. There you have the crude, raw 
 fact, the shame of our economic civilization." 
 
 Mr. Aldrich continued to wipe his brow. 
 
 " You will be a pauper," he said. " You have made 
 away with a good deal of money in the past five years. 
 Has it all gone in experiments of this sort ? " 
 
 " There was n t enough of it. At one time I bought 
 out some liquor saloons and established centres of 
 temperance instead of alcoholic drinks." 
 
 " What became of them ? " 
 
 " They were burned and otherwise destroyed during 
 239
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 the labor disturbances. Carrie Nation could not have 
 used her hatchet to better advantage." 
 
 " Ah ! " Mr. Aldrich leaned back in his chair with 
 an expression of complacency. " What was the matter? 
 The men did n t like the drink, I suppose ? " 
 
 Dick grinned. " It was poor stuff," he admitted. 
 " If you had been willing to sell out those few hundred 
 shares of my Illinois Central I could have done it 
 better." 
 
 " If anything could have made me firmer in my 
 refusal than I was, it would have been the knowledge 
 that you were going to invest them in temperance 
 drinks. I am glad you failed. It was a good lesson, 
 may you have more of the same kind before it s too 
 late. They hacked your wretched establishments up, 
 you say ? Good boys ! My sympathies were never 
 enlisted on the side of the laboring men before." 
 
 " They may be again," said Dick, " for there is going 
 to be nothing but temperance drink in my village." 
 
 " The devil there is n t ! Then I see the first snag of 
 the many that you will break up on. How about the 
 church ? " 
 
 " It is to be turned into a lecture hall. There may 
 be some lay sermons given there, along with the lec 
 tures on social and physical science, and all subjects 
 that encourage knowledge of and reverence for the life 
 of man and nature." 
 
 " Good Lord, Richard, you will never make it go ! 
 They will be smuggling whiskey in boot-boxes, keep 
 ing Virgins in woodsheds, and holding prayer-meetings 
 
 240
 
 LAYING THE CORNER-STONE 
 
 in cellars before the end of the first six months. A 
 community where man is deprived of his drink and 
 his religion won t live a year." 
 
 " A community purged of its vice and superstition 
 ought to survive and overtop all others." 
 
 " I accept your amendment, but it will never work. 
 The world is n t ready for a Utopia yet, and a revival 
 now and then might almost persuade them into liking 
 temperance drinks. Better give them their own way in 
 religion, Richard." 
 
 "I intend that they shall go the right way," said 
 Dick, tranquilly obstinate. 
 
 " But if each one has share and share alike, what is 
 to prevent their overturning your plan ? " 
 
 ". I have provided against that in a measure. As I 
 say, no one is to come in unless he likes it, and his 
 share of the property only belongs to him while he 
 falls in with the general working scheme of the 
 community. As soon as any one breaks through he 
 forfeits his property, which is returned to the general 
 treasury, the general treasury being myself in case 
 they mutually disband." 
 
 " But supposing they destroy the works ? You are 
 protected by insurance, I hope ? " 
 
 " Insurance companies are among the economic vam 
 pires. I have nothing to do with them." 
 
 " Richard," said Mr. Aldrich solemnly. " If you 
 were a madman you could not contrive your own ruin 
 more effectually. You will never come out of this thing 
 with your life and your money." 
 
 241
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 Dick smoked on contentedly. In spite of his acri 
 mony, Mr. Aldrich s immaculate person and cultivated 
 speech were a distinct satisfaction to one who had not 
 spoken to any of his own kind for many months. 
 
 " If there are no churches, what are you going to do 
 about marrying them ? " asked the older man. " But 
 as a socialist I do not suppose that you approve of the 
 marriage ceremony." 
 
 " I do not subscribe to any one set of socialistic ideas, 
 and I am not sure that it is not an infamous law which 
 binds two people together against their will, and when 
 further union can only result in the degradation and 
 despair of one or both of them. But it is necessary for 
 the preservation of social order and efficiency that a 
 man and woman electing to pass their lives together, 
 and bring up children, should be bound by something 
 stronger than their own fidelity. If all men and women 
 were faithful, there need be no formal marriage ser 
 vice. The service is purely a question of expediency, 
 but as such it is still of high importance." 
 
 " Is that why you balked unexpectedly at a crucial 
 moment about two years ago ? " 
 
 Dick s face was without expression, and he made no 
 reply. 
 
 " You were a fool, Richard." 
 
 And still Dick did not reply. 
 
 " They have been in Europe ever since their mar 
 riage," continued Mr. Aldrich ; " but I believe they 
 have returned now for good, and are building a house 
 in the country." 
 
 242
 
 LAYING THE CORNER-STONE 
 
 Involuntarily he looked at a hillside some distance 
 away, where the ground was evidently being cleared 
 for a laro-e estate. Then he looked at the motionless 
 
 O 
 
 face of the man who sat in the doorway, and decided 
 to keep his counsel. 
 
 " Their house is a social centre," he said ; " their en 
 tertainments are the most perfect, their carriages the 
 handsomest, their automobiles the swiftest this side of 
 New York. Mr. Davenport is the handsomest and most 
 genial of hosts, as his wife is the most attractive of 
 hostesses. Some fashionable papers have spoken of her 
 as the best-dressed woman of two continents. At a 
 certain court ball in London she wore pale green and 
 silver, with emeralds in her hair. The king asked to 
 meet her and talked to her alone for just thirty minutes 
 by the clock. If I were to add that happiness has 
 nothing to do with any of these things, I should be 
 disgustingly trite, a tendency to moralize seems to 
 increase with gout and years, we must all beware 
 of it, Richard, yourself most of all." 
 
 Dick did not reply, and sat looking at the river while 
 his pipe grew cold in his hand. It could not be said 
 that his face had moved; but it had changed subtly, 
 and Mr. Aldrich forgot the reformer and the fighter 
 of windmills, one whom some would laugh at, some 
 would praise, and many would blame, for he saw 
 simply a proud and lonely man. 
 
 When Mr. Aldrich rose to go, Dick walked with him 
 for a part of the way, which lay through meagre growths 
 of black pines growing by the river s edge. They 
 
 243
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 said little before reaching the spot where the older man 
 was to meet his carriage ; but then, with his hand on 
 Dick s shoulder, he paused and looked at him somewhat 
 wistfully. 
 
 " I suppose this is the parting of the ways for us in 
 good earnest," he said. " And you must be glad to be 
 rid of me, boy ? " 
 
 " I should have supposed it would be the other way 
 round," said Dick. 
 
 " We have been an infernal nuisance to each other 
 for a good many years. You have caused me more 
 more annoyance, not to put too fine a point upon 
 it, than any one else with one exception in the 
 world ! " 
 
 Dick smiled. 
 
 " What sticks me," said the other irrelevantly, " is 
 what you are doing it for. You could n t more consist 
 ently do what you think right at the expense of your 
 own happiness and well-being if you were working for 
 your eternal salvation according to the precepts laid 
 down in the Ten Commandments and the Apostles 
 Creed. What constrains you to do right if you don t 
 believe in a hereafter ? What has prevented you from 
 breaking the moral laws and having a good time ? 
 What is good without God ? " 
 
 " You forget humanity," answered Dick. " Through 
 strife and agony and during millions of years men have 
 evolved certain laws for the preservation of their lives 
 and happiness. They have evolved them first as men 
 evolved thumbs, because they needed them. These laws 
 
 244
 
 LAYING THE CORNER-STONE 
 
 are called the Ten Commandments ; and there is one 
 other, the greatest of all, given us by Jesus of Nazareth, 
 which is, Love thy neighbor as thyself. I call this the 
 greatest of all because the others are included in it; 
 and perhaps I should call it the only one, for if it were 
 kept there would be no need of the others. Stealing, 
 murder, envy, lust are wrong, because they cause suf 
 fering, because they menace the happiness of the com 
 munity. Every time a law is broken some one suffers, 
 and usually more than one ; so we cannot guard this 
 morality, this good, too sacredly." 
 
 " So it s only for others, after all, that you do these 
 things. Well, well ! " Mr. Aldrich looked into the sky 
 flooded with light from the falling sun. " But why do 
 you care so much for the others ? " 
 
 " The difficulty would be not to care." 
 
 " But why, Richard ? Why ? I don t care for them." 
 
 Dick also looked into the sunset, and gave no 
 reply. 
 
 "So you have a creed after all; and it s nothing 
 more, in spite of your talk of intellectual emancipation, 
 than the essence of Christianity." 
 
 " Yes," assented Dick. " Christianity reaches the 
 secret of the world s need more nearly than any of 
 the religions. Love thy neighbor as thyself, " he re 
 peated gravely, "that is the alpha and omega of 
 life, the force that keeps human beings from mutual 
 destruction as the force of gravity holds the stars in 
 place." 
 
 " Boy ! boy ! " cried the other. " I believe that you 
 245
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 are as great a worshiper as any of them, even though 
 you pretend not to believe in God." 
 
 " The strongest evidence of God is our need of Him," 
 said Dick, " and that, I will admit, is very great." He 
 still looked into the sunset, and in answer to the beauty 
 and mystery of it his eyes held the immeasurable ache 
 of living, and the wonder and sadness that, being so 
 much, man is not more. 
 
 "If the need of a thing were the proof of its ex 
 istence " he began, and paused. 
 
 " Kichard," said Mr. Aldrich suddenly, " there is 
 that in you which makes me think that you would 
 make a good preacher. Did you ever think of becom 
 ing one?" 
 
 " There might be some difficulty in finding a pulpit 
 for me," answered Dick, smiling. 
 
 " If you are ever within a mile of me again, look me 
 up, if it does n t bore you too much." 
 
 Dick gripped his hand with painful heartiness ; but 
 after that, though there was obviously nothing more to 
 be said, the older man lingered. 
 
 " What a great fellow you are ! " he said, passing his 
 hand over the muscles of Dick s arm and shoulder. " I 
 wish things might have been different with you, my 
 boy, I wish it very much." 
 
 Dick made no pretense of misunderstanding him. 
 
 " It was the only way," he said. 
 
 " The only way for you ; there would have been 
 another for me. Well, I must go, or I shall lose my 
 temper. Good-by, and good luck. If I can ever do any- 
 
 246
 
 LAYING THE CORNER-STONE 
 
 thing for you, I will, but for yourself, mind, not for 
 the unsavory masses. It s my opinion that before long 
 you will need help as much as they do, if not consider 
 ably more, Richard, if not considerably more."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 
 
 E 
 
 lARLY the following spring Gladys moved into her 
 new home on the hillside, and preferring to be alone 
 during the first weeks of wrestling with carpenters and 
 decorators, she came without her husband. 
 
 " She ain t nothin more than a girl," said one of the 
 gardeners, speaking of her. " Who d a thought she 
 had hobnobbed with dooks and kings, when she s that 
 simple, an don t dress more stylish than my wife ! " 
 
 " She has a look, though," said another. " She ain t 
 stuck up, but she has a kind of proud and dainty way 
 with her that s oncommon. She s the littlest woman I 
 ever see, and her hands was like flowers till she began 
 to dig in this here garding ; but she knows what she 
 wants, and how to get it. Golly ! " the man chuckled 
 reminiscently, "You should ha seen her make me 
 dig over a border fifty feet long because I had put in 
 daffodils instead of narcissus, as she tol me. There s 
 three trunks come from Paris last night, and I reckon 
 that if Jim saw what s inside em he would n t be cal- 
 lating that his wife s bills for dress was the same as 
 hern." 
 
 Gladys superintended the arrangements of her house 
 and garden with unexpected enthusiasm. 
 
 248
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 
 
 "I think that I am going to love it. I think we 
 are going to be happy here," she told her husband on 
 the afternoon of his arrival. The present order was 
 only comparative ; an odor of fresh paint pervaded the 
 half-furnished rooms, and packing-boxes with most of 
 their contents on the floor disfigured the vistas of hall 
 way and sitting-rooms. Different-colored hangings 
 were draped provisionally over the backs of chairs, 
 and nowhere was there a corner that could invite rest 
 and comfort. But spread beneath temporary debris 
 was the making of a spacious and beautiful home. 
 
 " It has made me feel like a girl again," she informed 
 her husband. 
 
 " And you look younger, by Jove, you do ! " he said. 
 " Give me a kiss, little girl. I had such a nice one 
 when I first drove up that I want another." 
 
 Gladys yielded herself good-naturedly, nor did she 
 withdraw immediately from his arms. 
 
 " I don t mean that you ever looked anything but 
 young," continued Arthur, " but you looked a bit tired 
 sometimes." 
 
 " Oh, I have been tired, horribly tired, ever since 
 ever since the baby died. You don t know, Arthur 
 no man can ever know " 
 
 Her voice broke, and he patted her back with easy 
 tenderness. 
 
 " There, there ! " he said. " We won t talk of that 
 our first night. Poor little chap ! It was hard to have 
 him die ; but you were unreasonable about it, he 
 was only two weeks old, and we can t break our hearts 
 
 249
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 over the loss of anything we have only had two weeks. 
 This would be a jolly place, though, to bring up a 
 child ! " 
 
 " Would n t it ! " she said, lifting her head eagerly. 
 " I am glad you thought of that, Arthur. I am glad 
 you thought of it without my speaking first, for I have 
 been thinking how it would be to teach a child 
 to love it all, I mean the garden especially, and 
 the way flowers come up in the spring, and the 
 meadows, and the smell of the earth after the rain, 
 and the dear country silences. These are the things 
 I loved when I was a child ; but somehow I never 
 cared for them again after I left home until three 
 weeks ago, when I came up here." 
 
 "You are going to have plenty of time in which 
 to enjoy them now," said Arthur, vaguely interested. 
 " How about the bachelors quarters ? I should like 
 to see them before dinner. And can t we dine soon ? 
 That ride up from town has given me a fierce hun- 
 ger." 
 
 After dinner coffee was served on the terrace which 
 overlooked meadows and woods and a gently flowing 
 line of hills. A river, wide, calm, self-sufficing as in 
 evitable law, wound through the centre of the land 
 scape and lost itself in the woods on the southern 
 horizon. 
 
 The evening was warm, and Gladys had chosen to 
 wear a girlish white muslin dress in honor of her hus 
 band s return. Her bright hair, not elaborately ar 
 ranged as he had been accustomed to see it, was twisted 
 
 250
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 
 
 in a knot at the back of her neck. The loosened ten 
 drils curled lovingly about her ears, and the small- 
 featured face was girlishly frail. 
 
 Arthur tilted his chair back against an ancient col 
 umn of Italian marble which had come from Europe 
 the week before and was waiting its final disposition. 
 He inhaled his tobacco smoke luxuriously, and looked 
 at the sky, while his wife watched him with quiet, 
 observant eyes. 
 
 He was growing stout; almost insensible tides of 
 flesh were stealing up under his well-browned skin, 
 blurring the vigor and clearness of lines that had given 
 force to his youthful beauty, and dimming the glamour 
 that had surrounded his entire person. Nor had satis 
 faction with his existence and security in its perma 
 nence agreed with Arthur : the alchemy that possessed 
 the seeming power of turning his dross to gold had 
 deserted him. He looked as one in whom the higher 
 emotions were mysteriously cheapened, and his wife 
 asked herself if the happiness which she had striven so 
 earnestly to give him had degenerated into mere com 
 placency. 
 
 Soon after marrying Arthur, she had realized his 
 commonplaceness of temperament and lack of mental 
 sinew, but she had resolved that he should not sink 
 while her hand was there to lift him; and this re 
 solve had taken the form of a sacred obligation which 
 it became increasingly difficult not to betray. Now 
 that they were beginning a new life in new surround^ 
 ings, she recognized the necessity for renewed effort. It 
 
 251
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 was impossible for her not to realize that companionship 
 with her, the woman he still loved, stimulated his 
 nature to its highest possibilities, so 
 
 " I think we are going to be very happy here, and 
 we will enjoy it together, will we not ? " she asked 
 him. 
 
 " I shall enjoy anything, even to cold minced mutton, 
 with you, while you are as nice to me as you are to 
 night," he said. 
 
 " But I am always nice to you, am I not ? " 
 
 " You have been a good girl better than I deserve," 
 he said affectionately ; and stretching out his arm he 
 lifted her hand and kissed it with his easy and courtly 
 grace. " But I wish you would n t look so depressed at 
 the idea of not being nice to me." 
 
 " Why not, dear ? " 
 
 " Because it makes a fellow feel why, as if you 
 tried so hard, as if it were a sort of religious 
 effort " 
 
 " Foolish boy ! " 
 
 " as if you could n t do it naturally." 
 
 She left her hand in his and kept the smile on her 
 lips, but asked herself silently if she were not failing, 
 if her husband, whose mind was not without percep 
 tion, could be kept in lifelong ignorance of the weari 
 ness that his presence gave her. 
 
 " We are always so busy according to your own 
 wish," she said ; " we are so occupied with our friends, 
 and entertainments, and automobiles ; we are so rarely 
 by ourselves that I haven t time to be nice to you. 
 
 252
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 
 
 But let us live differently up here ; let us be together 
 more and enjoy it all together." 
 
 Arthur fondled his wife s hand lazily while he looked 
 about the terrace in the disorder of its half-finished 
 pergola and newly graded flower-beds. Beyond the 
 terrace the tranquil country landscape grew dim in the 
 twilight. 
 
 " Is there really so awfully much to enjoy in the 
 country ? " he asked. 
 
 " Of course there is. Come, and I will show you ! " 
 she said, rising gayly. " In the first place you must see 
 the hollyhocks ; they went in last Monday look 
 they are all in a row along the south side of the per- 
 gola." 
 
 " I don t see anything," said Arthur. " Perhaps with 
 the aid of a microscope " 
 
 " Nonsense, it is n t too dark yet. Kneel down beside 
 me, and you can see them. Of course they are only 
 babies yet only babies ; but I put them all in my 
 self after James had dug the holes. Along here are 
 the shirley poppies, oh, I have been so worried about 
 them ! The night after I came up it was very cold and 
 I was afraid there would be a frost, which would have 
 killed them. I lay awake thinking about it, and almost 
 got up to put hot-water bags on them. Don t laugh! 
 Flowers are like real people to me and I get ridicu 
 lously fond of them. So will you when you have broken 
 your finger-nails, sprained your back, and got headaches 
 looking after them. When I work in the garden I stop 
 now and then to ask myself why I care for it so much ; 
 
 253
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 I ache in every limb ; I am uncomfortably warm ; my 
 hair has fallen into my eyes ; I am ruining my hands 
 and complexion ; and I am perfectly happy. It 
 does n t seem rational, does it ? " 
 
 Arthur admitted that it did not. 
 
 " It s all right if it makes you happy," he said, " but 
 I <3an t help thinking that you are made for something 
 more lively than digging in the ground. Of course you 
 want something to occupy you, since you won t play 
 bridge ; but if you must have a fad why can t you get 
 one that won t spoil your complexion ? " 
 
 His wife s hands dropped at her sides. 
 
 "And about bridge " began Arthur. 
 
 " About bridge " repeated Gladys lifelessly. 
 
 " Come over here where we can sit down, and let us 
 talk it over," he said, with an evident effort to speak 
 easily. " It s too dark to look at any more flowers to 
 night, and I want but I say, Gladys, why won t you 
 smoke with a fellow, it makes everything so much 
 more sociable. Try one to please me." He held out 
 his cigarette case, but Gladys shook her head. 
 
 " Please don t ask me to do that," she said. 
 
 " But it s not bad form now, all the women of 
 your set are smoking," he protested discontentedly. 
 
 " It is n t a question of form. I simply dislike it and 
 it makes me ill." 
 
 " But you would get all over that after a few days 
 practice." 
 
 " I wonder if I ought I wonder if I ought to learn, 
 to smoke with him ? " she asked herself wearily. 
 
 254
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 
 
 * You are the most inconsistent woman in the world," 
 he continued, in the same tone. 
 
 " Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, " 
 quoted his wife, with determined good-humor. 
 
 " I never heard that before," said Arthur suspiciously. 
 
 " I suppose not." 
 
 " Who said it, anyway?" 
 
 " Emerson." 
 
 " Emerson ! There you are again. How is a man to 
 follow you ? You won t go regularly to church ; you 
 live for society, you lead it, you ornament it, you spend 
 hours with your maid, and days with your dressmaker. 
 You don t shy at receiving geniuses whom no one knows 
 anything about, and talking with them and being seen 
 with them in a way no woman in Boston but yourself 
 could do. But you won t play bridge ; you won t smoke ; 
 and suddenly one hears of you reading Emerson and 
 being perfectly happy for weeks at a time weeding a 
 garden. Now take a woman like Diana Hart ; she is 
 consistent if she is a sport, you always know where 
 to find her, and she is always sure to give you a good 
 time." 
 
 " So it is Diana Hart that you have been smoking 
 with?" said Gladys musingly. 
 
 " I had to do something with my evenings while you 
 were digging holes in the ground." Arthur thought that 
 his wife looked pallid and distant in the dying light. 
 " There is nothing to be jealous about," he muttered. 
 " You know that I would give all the Diana Harts in 
 the world for your " 
 
 255
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " Please don t, Arthur." Gladys drew her hand away 
 gently, but firmly. " And I am not jealous, as you 
 put it. I am glad you like Diana, and we must arrange 
 to have her here to stay." 
 
 " She can come in July," said Arthur unguardedly. 
 
 " Ah ! July will be a very good time. I will write 
 her to-morrow. Shall I try for the Jefferies at the 
 same time?" 
 
 " The very thing ! " exclaimed Arthur, with enthu 
 siasm. " I was thinking of them myself, but I did n t 
 like to suggest it, for I half suspect that you don t like 
 the Jefferies. You are trumps all right when it comes 
 to the point, Gladys ; and I am sorry I teased you about 
 the smoking. You are right about that, too. Some one 
 said you always made him think of real lace and violets, 
 and the smell of tobacco would n t go well with those 
 things. There s no one like you, and I never forget it, 
 though I do go now and then for a smoke or a whiskey 
 and soda with Diana " 
 
 " What was it you were going to say about bridge?" 
 
 " Well, it s just this," he began. " I think we shall 
 have to give up standing out for a superior moral tone 
 and all that sort of thing. I gave in at first because 
 you seemed to care so much, and I did n t blame you, 
 after that wretched affair. And it was very sweet of 
 you, very warm-hearted, and all that, to care so much. 
 But it s all past and gone now. We can t be laughed 
 at for prigs just because a friend of yours cheated at 
 cards years ago." Soothed by the confidence, nurtured 
 on the admiration of his friends, Arthur had almost 
 
 256
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 
 
 forgotten his own guilt. He paused now, hoping that 
 his wife would speak, but she was silent ; and after an 
 uncomfortable pause he began again in a louder tone, 
 as though to fortify his irresolution. 
 
 " It s all very well, but we cannot go on this way 
 forever. People are laughing at us already. I have 
 done it to please you, and I was glad to do it for a 
 time ; but the time has come to listen to reason. There 
 are not many husbands who would have let you have 
 your way as long as I have. Now are there ? " 
 
 " My experience in husbands has been so slight," 
 murmured Gladys. Her voice, remote and gentle, sug 
 gested an irritating detachment from the heat and 
 bluster of his own argument; and irritation gave him 
 further courage. He rose, and began to walk to and 
 fro. 
 
 " It is no use bandying words," he said. " I would 
 do a great deal to please you, but the time has come to 
 take a stand and to remember that I am master in my 
 own house." 
 
 It was the first time in their married life that he had 
 addressed his wife in such a tone, and during the pause 
 that followed he waited, thoroughly anxious and already 
 remorseful, to hear her reply. 
 
 " I am wondering who told you to say that to me," 
 she said finally. 
 
 " Hang it all, Gladys ! " He sat down again boyishly. 
 " You know I can t do it unless you say so ; but why 
 will you make a fellow look like a fool before all his 
 friends ? Why won t you give in ? " 
 
 257
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 Gladys was silent for a moment or two while she 
 thought it over. Her determination not to have bridge 
 played at her house had caused the one struggle of her 
 married life. Arthur had yielded as much because of 
 his love for her as because of his inability to oppose his 
 will to hers. But lately he was growing restive under 
 the influence of his friends, and she realized that 
 further opposition might result in his alienation from 
 home and wife. 
 
 But she paused yet another moment before answer 
 ing, to dwell upon the weariness and futility of her life 
 with him, and upon her sudden realization of how little 
 she would care if he turned from her to another. 
 
 " I have failed," she thought. " I have failed to make 
 my marriage other than the thing of humdrum adjust 
 ment, of easy, tolerant fondness that is born of daily 
 contact. I have failed, but what does it matter ? " She 
 looked into the twilight sky, and thought of the night 
 years ago when her future a thing of wonder and 
 magic had seemed to be coming towards her from 
 among the stars. 
 
 " Won t you please think about it ? " Her husband s 
 voice sounded remote and oddly incompetent. "Won t 
 you please think about it ? " 
 
 "I have thought," she answered, bringing her 
 thoughts back to him with an effort, " and it shall be 
 as you wish, Arthur." She spoke to him with her usual 
 gentleness of manner, but withdrew from his remorse 
 ful caresses. 
 
 " I am tired to-night," she said, turning her cool cheek 
 258
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 
 
 from him. " And please, Arthur, do not think about 
 saying Thank you. Perhaps it is not so great a sacri 
 fice as you think ; and, as you say, it is your house." 
 
 " I was a brute, and you must forgive me," he cried 
 exuberantly. 
 
 " There is nothing to forgive. And now don t you 
 think we had better go in ? It is quite late." 
 
 " All right. I will run up first, for I want to tele 
 phone Raymond to bring the bubble up to-morrow." 
 
 Left alone it seemed to Gladys that she breathed 
 more deeply. It was over, then, the long struggle to 
 defend her house against what seemed to her intrinsi 
 cally wrong and which held associations that she hated 
 and feared. It was the last and greatest of many sac 
 rifices that she had made for him, sacrifices concern 
 ing perhaps the choice of plays they should see, the 
 books and periodicals that were found on their tables, 
 the friends they should entertain, points that were 
 small in themselves, but which gradually involved the 
 surrender of her fastidious social and intellectual re 
 quirements, and cheapened little by little the surface of 
 her life. 
 
 She knew that a woman does this at her own peril, 
 but she had grown to feel that few things in her own 
 life mattered. She had ceased to expect personal hap 
 piness, though she could have given no definite reason 
 for so doing. To hold Arthur to the level of his love 
 for her, and to make him happy, were the articles of 
 her daily creed. And now she was failing. She thought 
 of Diana Hart and her pulses leapt suddenly, for 
 
 259
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 she knew that she was glad that Arthur spent his even 
 ings with her. " He is not vicious," she said to herself, 
 " he is only commonplace, and he wearies me. For 
 two years I have talked to him, listened to him, hu 
 mored him, given my mind, my soul almost, up to his 
 wishes. I have shared his interests, and when he would 
 not share mine I have given them up. But now for a 
 little while I will be free. For two weeks I have been 
 almost happy in the garden ; to-night I tried to make 
 him enjoy it with me, but he would not, and now I will 
 enjoy alone." 
 
 Leaning on the terrace wall, she looked into the soft, 
 thick darkness, and breathed deeply, because she felt 
 free at last. A line of poetry came to her mind, 
 
 " The huge and thoughtful night." 
 
 She repeated the words half aloud, and then she smiled 
 gravely and gladly, while her nature seemed to stretch 
 itself as after a long sleep. 
 
 If she had paused to think, she would have known 
 that the world with its pomp and circumstance would 
 claim her restless spirit inevitably and often, but for 
 the moment it was enough to stand there and feel her 
 self absorbed into the night. It was enough to hear the 
 lift and fall of the wind in the woods and the occasional 
 drowsy and tender murmur of young birds turning in 
 their nests. It was enough that she had made a com 
 pact with nature, and the great brooding heart of it 
 welcomed her home. 
 
 " It is eleven o clock, and time to turn in," her hus- 
 260
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 
 
 band s voice interrupted her suddenly, as he passed his 
 arm about her. " I can t tell you how good " 
 
 " Please do not try," she interrupted him, without a 
 trace of impatience in her voice ; but without knowing 
 why, he took his arm away. 
 
 " There is a pretty view here in the daytime," she 
 said lightly. " The only thing I don t like is an ugly 
 factory settlement by the river ; but the trees will hide 
 it in a few years. You can see the lights now, at the 
 left." 
 
 " Do you know what that is ? " Arthur asked her sig 
 nificantly. 
 
 "Why, no; what is it?" 
 
 "Dick Copeland s social settlement. I heard it 
 when I came up here with you two weeks ago, but 
 I thought I would say nothing at the time because I 
 knew it would bother you, and it was too late to do 
 anything." 
 
 For one giddy moment Gladys asked herself if she 
 were dreaming, but immediately she knew that this 
 thing was true, and that Dick was probably down there 
 among the blur of lights. The happy peace she had 
 planned to find in her new home was rent with an 
 ugly sound, for neither happiness nor peace could ever 
 dwell with her while this man was near. 
 
 Her husband stood with his gaze following hers mo 
 rosely, for among the lights of Dick s settlement there 
 was that which he also feared. 
 
 " How much did you ever care for the damned fel 
 low, anyway ? " he demanded roughly. 
 
 261
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 "Are you trying to insult me?" she asked; and, 
 though her voice was cold, she felt that at this moment 
 she hated her husband almost as much as the man 
 whose footfall had the power to shake her life. 
 
 " Curse him ! curse him ! curse him ! " cried Arthur. 
 And so, for the first time, passion and anger and fear 
 stood confessed between them.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ALPHONSB DE CHAVANNES 
 
 _L SAY, Gladys, it s all very well to keep a gay house 
 and that sort of thing, but don t you think you are 
 rather going the pace ? " 
 
 The remonstrance came from Arthur during one of 
 the rare moments when he found his wife alone. She 
 had come into his dressing-room just before luncheon 
 to consult him regarding afternoon plans. 
 
 "Don t you think that you are rather going the 
 pace ? " he repeated, looking at her in the mirror, while 
 he wrestled with a new cravat. 
 
 She was dressed in ecru lace, and wore a bunch of 
 purple pansies at her belt. Arthur thought that she 
 had never looked more exquisitely delicate and youth 
 ful than at this moment, and for this reason he frowned 
 at her as he jerked his tie into place. 
 
 " If you would only speak plain English, Arthur, I 
 might understand you," she said. 
 
 " I think you usually understand all right," he mut 
 tered discontentedly, rummaging in the drawer for his 
 second hairbrush. " I have never interfered between 
 you and any one you wanted to see. It would n t 
 do any good if I did ; but as a matter of fact, I never 
 have, and don t mean to now. But as for pretending 
 
 263
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 that I like the way you and this Frenchman are seen 
 together, I don t and I can t." 
 
 Gladys sat down by the chintz-curtained window, 
 and let a summer wind have its way with her hair. 
 
 " Monsieur de Chavannes is a charming man," she 
 said. " We play with ideas delightfully together." 
 
 " I had rather you played with hollyhocks ; I had 
 rather you dug holes in the ground, and spoiled your 
 complexion," he continued, in the same tone. 
 
 Gladys smiled faintly. " Your language is almost 
 extravagant," she said. " I like Monsieur de Cha 
 vannes. It is not often that I like a man ; when I 
 do " The pause was sufficiently eloquent. 
 
 " Then there s this automobiling " 
 
 " You were the one to urge me to it." 
 
 " But I never intended you to be your own chauffeur 
 and tear through the country at the rate you do after 
 dark. It s not womanly. You had much better play 
 bridge." 
 
 " Tell me one thing, Arthur " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " If we gave up this life, and settled down to live 
 with each other quietly, would you be happier ? There 
 are charming people, the best people, who do not gam 
 ble and bet and flirt with their neighbors wives. Why 
 should we not associate with them instead of with this 
 small, brilliantly superficial and superficially brilliant 
 circle of our own friends? Perhaps if we gave them 
 up, you would feel more like settling down to some one 
 definite interest, and care less for wine and cards." 
 
 264
 
 ALPHONSE DE CHAVANNES 
 
 " What new rig are you up to now ? " he asked mo 
 rosely, turning in his chair to look at her. 
 
 " I will give it all up if you say so," she continued 
 earnestly, " and we will try again." 
 
 " Try what ? " 
 
 " You must know what I mean. We are thousands 
 of miles apart and drifting farther. Shall we stop and 
 begin again? Think well, for this may be our last 
 chance." 
 
 Arthur s face glowed with sudden comprehension. 
 
 " Think well," she repeated. 
 
 " I tell you what I will do," he said. " I will give 
 up Diana if you will agree to give up the Frenchman, 
 for I suppose that was what you meant." 
 
 In that moment Gladys came to her ultimate reali 
 zation that further effort toward uniting their lives was 
 useless, and she smiled suddenly and happily at her hus 
 band because of her relief. She had made the sugges 
 tion with sincerity, but a great dread of its acceptance. 
 In this life of excitement she was conscious of finding 
 safety from strange and terrible tides of feeling that she 
 began to hear dimly, as she had sometimes heard waves 
 of the blue ocean of her youth whispering solemnly 
 along the shore while she lay awake in the night-time. 
 
 " Is it a bargain ? " asked her husband. 
 
 But she shook her head at him gayly. " We will both 
 keep our friends," she said, " and I won t tease you 
 any more. Your hair is not quite smooth on the back 
 right-hand side ; but you must hurry or you will be 
 late to luncheon. Aunt Edith has gone down." 
 
 265
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 Her objection to intercourse with Mrs. Stan wood 
 was one of the things Gladys had been obliged to set 
 aside in her married life, and outwardly the two women 
 were the best of friends. Living in the world, she had 
 grown to see its vices with something of indifference, 
 and, aside from approval or affection, she admitted Mrs. 
 Stanwood s wit and charm to a place among the con 
 genial pastimes of her days. 
 
 She found her aunt in the library now, talking with 
 Diana Hart. The room was papered and hung with cool 
 greens, and Mrs. Hart, who was dark and colorless, 
 considered that Gladys had so furnished it for the ex 
 press disadvantage of her husband s friend. She was 
 not a pretty woman, but her tall, perfectly moulded 
 figure was supple as moving water, and there were 
 gleams in her long, restless eyes, and a power and del 
 icate insolence in her mouth, that a rival might well 
 fear. She was laughing when Gladys came in. 
 
 " Are you talking of Uncle Willie ? " asked Gladys, 
 hearing Mr. Stanwood s name. " Why did n t you 
 bring him with you, Aunt Edith ? " 
 
 " My dear, he would be bored to death here ! Par 
 ticularly now that you have got over your prejudice 
 against allowing us to play bridge." 
 
 "I can t imagine why you do not play yourself," 
 said Mrs. Hart, looking at her hostess with suspicion, 
 and wondering if her refusal to touch cards were not 
 a pose. " No woman of her age could possibly be as 
 innocent as she looks in that lace and those pansies," 
 
 she thought. 
 
 266
 
 ALPHONSE DE CHAVANNES 
 
 " I can t imagine why you don t play," she continued 
 aloud. " Sometimes I think you are quite too good for 
 us, and then again " She shrugged her shoulders 
 with a significant look. 
 
 The incorruptible purity and delicacy of Gladys s 
 appearance annoyed Diana, but more annoying than 
 her appearance was her friendship with Monsieur de 
 Chavannes, for that distinguished traveler had come to 
 America with every appearance of being Mrs. Hart s 
 devoted admirer. 
 
 " Where are the men ? " asked Mrs. Stanwood, fold 
 ing her embroidery. " It must be past lunch time, and 
 I am hungry." 
 
 "Monsieur de Chavannes does not usually absent 
 himself so long," said Diana. 
 
 "No; and we miss him, don t we?" said Gladys 
 tranquilly. 
 
 " Speak for yourself, dear." 
 
 " Certainly, if you wish. But I cannot imagine that 
 one could find Monsieur de Chavannes anything but a 
 delightful man." 
 
 " Why do you like him, cherie ? " asked her aunt. 
 
 " I like his mind." 
 
 Diana laughed. 
 
 " I like his mind," continued Gladys, disregarding 
 the laugh. " It is subtle and supple. One can discuss 
 the latest play, and book, and picture with him. He is 
 familiar with ideas." 
 
 " You were discussing ideas on the terrace last night, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 267
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " Yes. He told me that he agreed with Maeterlinck in 
 thinking Ibsen s Master Builder a strange and dis 
 quieting play. I think it only a murky and unwhole 
 some one. He also thinks the later works of Henry 
 James subtle and profound, whereas I consider them 
 complicated and obscure. The discussion of these 
 things helps the time along amazingly." 
 
 Diana Hart yawned, smiled, and shrugged her 
 shoulders ; but Mrs. Stan wood looked appreciation and 
 sympathy. 
 
 " What friends we should be if I only had a heart 
 and a conscience, or you had neither," she said, address 
 ing her niece. 
 
 " Here is one of the men," interrupted Diana, as 
 Monsieur de Chavannes entered and bowed low over 
 the hand of his hostess. 
 
 He was a man small and delicately built, neither 
 young nor old, whose sensitive, distinguished fea 
 tures remained undisfigured by the beard of appalling 
 dimensions which is fashionable among his country 
 men. 
 
 " Madame, your pardon," he said. " I am late becos 
 of spending the morning with one of your compatriots, 
 discussing the labor propositions of your most wonder 
 ful country. I allude to Mr. Richard Copeland. Ah ! 
 What a man, a Titan " 
 
 " Come, come. We will not discuss men or Titans 
 now," interrupted Mrs. Stanwood. " Luncheon is 
 ready and I am starving, as I said before. Here are 
 the others, Gladys, and let us go in." 
 
 268
 
 ALPHONSE DE CHAVANNES 
 
 At the table he sat next to his hostess, and talked to 
 her under cover of the crude and noisy merriment led 
 by Mrs. Hart and Arthur. 
 
 " Madame is among them as a subtly fashioned work 
 of art among crude tools," thought the Frenchman ; 
 " an essence rare, elusive, and fine, beside commonplace 
 clay. How did she come here? Where will she end? 
 One feels in her a tenderness une tendresse adorable f 
 line purete et une charme exquise!" And again and 
 again he looked from the face of the wife to that of the 
 husband. 
 
 " What did you think of Copeland s settlement ? " 
 asked one of the men unexpectedly. 
 
 " One think many things," he began. " First of all 
 one think the young man make moch trouble for him 
 self." 
 
 Gladys was looking out of the window at the spot 
 where she had planted her tallest flowers in order that 
 a view of the place where Dick Copeland worked might 
 be hidden. 
 
 " What kind of trouble ? " she asked, without turn 
 ing her head. 
 
 " Mafoi ! almost any kind. At present it is a ques 
 tion if he be struck down by the law or those who defy 
 the law. By one he is suspected of fermenting is 
 that how you call it ? excuse my atrocious English 
 of fermenting the labor disorders ; by the other he is 
 accused of trahison would you say betrayal ? " 
 
 " Betrayal ! " said Gladys, speaking low and very 
 distinctly. "Yes, that might be the word." Her face 
 
 269
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 was still turned as she leaned back in her chair, crum 
 bling bread with her right hand. Monsieur de Cha- 
 vannes, looking at the fragile profile, asked himself if 
 it had not suddenly grown pale. 
 
 " But I do not think he has betrayed any one," he 
 continued. " He has only made one big mistake. He 
 has discovered early in life that the rich man liv off 
 the poor man, which is true. Next " 
 
 " Bernard Shaw ! " murmured Mrs. Stan wood. 
 
 " Ah, madame ! You read heem ? There is a wit ! 
 a cleverness hardly tolerable ! a juggler with ideas ! a 
 facility unsurpassed of intellectual leger de main. But 
 often he is true as well as dazzling ; and it is true that 
 the rich man he liv from off the poor man." 
 
 " My dear Alphonse," interrupted Diana Hart, " all 
 this might sound admirably in a lecture, but please 
 remember that you are talking to people who have not 
 come to admire but to understand. And will you ex 
 plain how we householders and landholders who pay out 
 hundreds of dollars a month to our servants, part of 
 the so-called poor, who serve us most vilely, and drink 
 our wine, and take our pocket-handkerchiefs and neck 
 ties whenever our backs are turned, how we whose 
 entire income goes to paying the poor for the needs 
 of our everyday existence, live off of them? " 
 
 Alphonse de Chavannes inclined himself toward his 
 questioner with perfect good humor. 
 
 " It is a complicated subjec , chere madame," he an 
 swered, "but one it would give me pleasure to ex 
 plain." 
 
 270
 
 ALPHONSE DE CHAVANNES 
 
 " Please do not try to do so," said Gladys, in her 
 lightest voice and manner. " It must be something to 
 do with political economy, and we could not possibly 
 digest it. I read a book on the subject once, so I know 
 of what I speak." 
 
 " And how much did you understand of it ? " asked 
 a man opposite, with a heavy attempt at being quizzical. 
 He knew Gladys as a gay and pretty woman, the lead 
 ing spirit in a circle of which he was sometimes the 
 proud guest, and he regarded her therefore as a spar 
 kling, but frivolous and mindless being, his own mind 
 being one which rarely aspired beyond sporting gossip 
 and the latest news on the stock exchange. 
 
 " And how much did you understand of it ? " 
 
 " Every word," she answered promptly. " I under 
 stood every word of it perfectly; but nothing at all 
 of all the words together. The only fact I gleaned 
 from the whole book was that it is wrong to buy gold 
 lace. I never wished to buy any before, but since 
 then it has become a vicious and not always resisted 
 craving." 
 
 " This is all my doing," said Mrs. Stanwood approv 
 ingly. " When Gladys came to me she was quite in 
 competent to enjoy doing those things which she ought 
 not to do." 
 
 " But I became competent so soon that it is not fair 
 to hold the past against me. However, I am afraid I 
 don t enjoy doing them quite as much as I did. It was 
 a delicious and awful pastime at first, such as was en 
 joyed by the first woman who smoked a cigarette or 
 
 271
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 rode a bicycle ; but now, in this world we all share, so 
 many people are doing what they ought not to do that 
 the peril has gone out of it. It has become almost as 
 commonplace as the virtues of the child in the Sunday- 
 school books." 
 
 Monsieur de Chavannes looked curiously at his host 
 ess, for his sensitive ear had detected a new and slightly 
 forced note in her words and manner. 
 
 " But in the meantime we have not heard who Dick 
 Copeland has betrayed or what trouble he is likely to 
 find himself in," asked Morrison. He was the man 
 who had originally questioned Alphonse de Chavannes 
 concerning Dick, as well as one of those who had 
 been present years ago at the game of poker during 
 which one man had lost his reputation and another his 
 honor. 
 
 " I think he betray no one, but he make the mistake 
 of thinking that he can make the human being live 
 according to a system of his own contriving. Men will 
 never live according to any system not evoluted, that 
 is not the word, but you onderstand, not evoluted grad 
 ually from millions of years of failures and slow adjost- 
 ing. But whether from obstinateness or disinterested 
 ness, he has put all his money and his strength into his 
 system, and he fail. His people are very angry with 
 him for taking away their drink and their religion. 
 Que voulez-vous ? Can one blame them ? If you take 
 away the vices of the proletariat you must leave him 
 his emotions, and in the prayer-meeting there is moch 
 emotion." 
 
 272
 
 ALPHONSE DE CHAVANNES 
 
 " You seem to be almost as good an atheist as Cope- 
 land himself," interrupted Morrison. 
 
 " Pardon ! there is moch difference between us. He 
 is an atheist. I am an agnostic. He is more credulous 
 than I. He believ in negation. He believ in nothing, 
 I believ nothing. Voilaf Am I onderstood? Madame, 
 I am sure, comprehends." 
 
 He turned to Gladys with his charming smile, but 
 there was no answering smile on her lips or in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " In what sort of trouble is he likely to find him 
 self ?" she asked, as if against her will. 
 
 " The troubles of a bold man who fight alone against 
 things that exist. The labor question is at an acute 
 point at present. You who liv on this hillside in your 
 beautiful home cannot onderstand the misery and vio 
 lence that is passing in the town of mills whose chim 
 neys you see from your windows. The las big strike is 
 announce for to-day, and it is not a demand for higher 
 wages or shorter hours, but for the clos shop. Our 
 friend Copeland is in favor of the open shop ; he be 
 liev that free citizens should possess the right of ac 
 cepting such employment as they choos . The laboring 
 class hold that soch freedom strike the foundation of 
 their organized movement for better conditions. Cope- 
 land has up to this time espoused the cause of the 
 workingman, and the workingmen say now that he 
 betray them. They say that his settlement with its 
 fine mills and its tenements is only a bid for high-class 
 labor, and the whole a monster machine I think 
 
 273
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 that is their phrase for increasing his own fortune. 
 It may be true, but I do not believe it I do not ! " 
 
 The Frenchman paused to sip his claret, and then 
 looked about the table to see that the lunch had long 
 since been eaten and removed. 
 
 "Your pardon, madame! " he exclaimed quickly, "I 
 have bored your guests with my hobby-horse is it 
 hobby-horse that you say?" 
 
 " Hobby-horse will do all right. We don t usually 
 take the trouble to say it all," said the stockbroker 
 opposite. 
 
 "Have I bored you, as well as your guests, ma- 
 dame ? " continued Alphonse de Chavannes contritely. 
 " Once or twice I have thought you show an interest in 
 these questions, or I should not have allowed myself to 
 be led away." 
 
 " You are right, monsieur. They do interest me," 
 said Gladys, regaining the ease of manner that at one 
 moment she had felt was leaving her. " I am interested, 
 and some day we must have a long talk about it, but I 
 warn you that I have no comprehension of the social 
 ists point of view. I do not see how we can level con 
 ditions without leveling ability." 
 
 " Permit me, madame it is not a question of con 
 ditions as much as of adjostment of the opportunity 
 to share and share alike." 
 
 Gladys laughed. "I see that I must not argue with 
 you or I might become convinced, and that would be 
 so uncomfortable. Your opinions are your luxuries, 
 your articles de vertu, to be cherished and analyzed. 
 
 274
 
 ALPHONSE DE CHAVANNES 
 
 Mine^ would be articles of faith to be lived by; and 
 that is because of my remnant of a New England con 
 science, which I have never been able to leave quite 
 behind me. Aunt Edith, shall we have coffee on the 
 piazza?"
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE PROFESSOR IS TROUBLED 
 
 PR< 
 
 IOFESSOR Lawrence visited his daughter during 
 the following week, and observed herself and her sur 
 roundings with puzzled and profound anxiety. Women 
 who smoked and gambled and drank cocktails were an 
 offense to the professor, and the fact that these same 
 women were attractive and well-born only increased his 
 trouble. It was true that his daughter did none of these 
 things, but she permitted them in her house. She not 
 only made them possible, but easy and attractive. The 
 cigarettes, ash trays, matches, were dainty and expen 
 sive. And most perfect was the system with which noise 
 less servants unfolded the card tables, arranged lamps, 
 whiskey, and siphons in that corner of the hall where 
 the bridge-players held their nightly revels. 
 
 Nor was it only card-playing and smoking that 
 troubled the professor. It seemed to him that his son- 
 in-law s guests drank more wine than was compatible 
 with health and good breeding. There was no hour of 
 the day, and very few if any of the night, during 
 which the wine sideboard in the dining-room did not 
 stand unlocked ; and a servant was always within call 
 to furnish cracked ice and other ingredients necessary 
 
 276
 
 THE PROFESSOR IS TROUBLED 
 
 to the making of cocktails, which Arthur was said to 
 mix with the hand of an artist. 
 
 There came one not-to-be-forgotten evening when 
 Professor Lawrence was persuaded to taste a cocktail 
 before dinner, and in the ensuing exhilaration he ac 
 cepted a second. The result had been a warm and 
 pleasing glow, a sense of something long forgotten that 
 was proud and bold and golden as youth, and under 
 the influence of which he told with success the story of 
 a certain night of his college career. 
 
 He was conscious during this period of being agree 
 ably excited by wine, and he did not care. And, on 
 reflection induced by cool and positive daylight, this 
 was the worst of it: that, knowing himself to be influ 
 enced by wine, he had not cared. As a matter of fact, 
 the professor had been no more exhilarated than is con 
 sidered fitting and proper at a successful dinner party, 
 but shame was his portion for several days to come. 
 
 But worse than the drinking, smoking, and card- 
 playing, was the display of devotion between his son- 
 in-law and Mrs. Hart, and the more quiet but equally 
 evident friendship that Gladys permitted to exist be 
 tween herself and the Frenchman. 
 
 These various abominations, added to his annoyance 
 at being called upon to automobile at a pace beyond 
 that prescribed by the laws and statutes of his country, 
 and the impossibility of getting any but the richest and 
 most highly seasoned food to eat, combined to make 
 the week spent with his daughter one of profound dis 
 turbance. 
 
 277
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I am afraid that you have not enjoyed it very 
 much," she said to him, on the last evening he spent 
 with her. 
 
 Alphonse de Chavannes was spending several days 
 among the factory towns of the region, and her other 
 guests were playing bridge. 
 
 The professor ignored her question. " I feel as 
 though I ought to tell you something," he said ear 
 nestly. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Twice to-day I have seen one of the butlers helping 
 himself to wine from the sideboard. Do you think it 
 quite fair to subject him to to such temptation ? He 
 is a very young man, and it seems a pity " The pro 
 fessor paused, abashed at his own temerity. 
 
 "It must be Charles," said Gladys. "I have sus 
 pected him for some time, and he broke my best cut- 
 glass decanter last week. I will speak to Arthur about 
 it, and if he is drinking badly I suppose we must get 
 another man, though it is awfully hard to do so in mid 
 summer." 
 
 " But, my dear might n t it be better to remove 
 the temptation ? " 
 
 " Give up keeping our sideboard open ? " 
 
 " It might be better for every one," said the professor 
 gravely. 
 
 His daughter paused before speaking, and then she 
 changed the subject. 
 
 " Let us go out," she said. " The night is warm and 
 lovely, and we need not sit on the piazza or the terrace, 
 
 278
 
 THE PROFESSOR IS TROUBLED 
 
 but in the field where the apple trees are. It may re 
 mind us of the field in our old home. Will you come, 
 papa ? " 
 
 " Surely, my dear." 
 
 " It is frightfully hot indoors, but out here in the 
 moonlight the night is like a friend," said Gladys, 
 leading the way through piazza and garden till they 
 came to a field on the hillside where the grass had just 
 been cut, and the hay lay strewn as it had fallen at the 
 mowing. 
 
 Masses of vapor suffused with light hid the moon, 
 and brooding low over the land wrapped it closely and 
 tenderly, like some great benign presence, and between 
 the vapors and the earth the night lay shadowless and 
 softly bright. 
 
 For a while they were silent, and then she began to 
 speak in a low and dreamy monotone. 
 
 " Is n t it sweet," she said, and, pushing some hay 
 together, she made a pillow and lay beside her father. 
 " Is n t it sweet and still and warm, and how low the 
 clouds come ! One could almost touch them. They 
 seem to bend low and kindly over us ; the whole night 
 is kind. It seems to wrap us close, close and warm. 
 I do not think we could be afraid of anything on a 
 night like this. One can rest on it as on the bosom of 
 a huge, peaceful tide, yield one s self utterly to it, let it 
 unroll one s soul. It would be well ah, papa, I think 
 it would be well to die, to cease to be, on such a night." 
 
 Her voice sank till it was scarcely audible, and her 
 father made no answer. There was no answer to make, 
 
 279
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 for it seemed to him that he was listening to the voice 
 of a heart-broken woman. 
 
 "Are you afraid to die, papa?" she asked, after a 
 slight pause. 
 
 " No, my child." 
 
 " I used to be afraid," the voice continued. " Even 
 now, I am afraid of drowning or burning or of being 
 shot, but I am not afraid of dying, particularly if I 
 could die to-night, sink deep into this great, tender 
 peace till I sank into everlasting sleep." She was silent 
 again, lying with her arms stretched wide beside her 
 on the warm hay. " The peace of God which passeth 
 all understanding. The peace of God which passeth 
 all understanding, " she murmured. " I often want to 
 cry when I hear that, for it is so far away from me. 
 But I do not want to cry to-night. The ache of living 
 is gone. Papa, do you believe in God ? " 
 
 " Surely " 
 
 " I wonder why I wonder why people believe in 
 God. Sometimes I ask them, but they never seem to 
 have any real reason, yet they go on believing. Is it 
 because He is ? or because we want Him so ? I have 
 hours of great unhappiness because I cannot feel sure 
 of God, but to-night it does not seem to make any 
 difference. Perhaps it is because I feel Him without 
 knowing or believing." 
 
 " It is good for every one to believe in God," said 
 the professor. " It is especially good for a woman to 
 believe." 
 
 Gladys turned her face toward him on the hay, and 
 280
 
 THE PROFESSOR IS TROUBLED 
 
 it was light enough for her father to see that she smiled 
 faintly. 
 
 " Do you say that because you think we women are 
 so weak ? " she asked, but added immediately, " It is 
 true ; we are weak. I used to think that I was strong, 
 and even now I feel that I could do all things if I be 
 lieved in one above me and the world, whose love and 
 wisdom were infinite. But of myself alone I can do 
 nothing nothing." 
 
 The professor sat with his knees drawn up and his 
 hands clasped about them. His daughter lay relaxed 
 and motionless, looking into the luminous night. He 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 "What is it you want to do? Why are you un 
 happy ? " he asked. 
 
 " I am not unhappy, at least, not to-night," she an 
 swered. " But nothing seems to matter, that is all." 
 
 " I should be very unhappy if I thought we had 
 persuaded you against your judgment into a marriage 
 which perhaps " The professor paused. 
 
 " But you must never worry about that, papa, for if 
 it were to do over again I would do the same. When 
 I feel that living is not altogether worth while, the only 
 thing that makes it seem so is the knowledge that 
 Harold and Molly have the opportunities they deserved 
 through what I have been able to give them. And 
 Arthur has always been a good and loving husband to 
 me. You must never regret that I married as I did. 
 There was nothing else, you see, and there never could 
 have been." 
 
 281
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " If you had your child " 
 
 " Yes. There was a time when I thought I should go 
 mad with the longing to fill my empty arms, to feel his 
 little hand against my face. But that is gone now. He 
 is safe, you see my baby is safe. If he had lived, all 
 my love could not have stood between him and suffer 
 ing, and suffering is so terrible. Sometimes I do not 
 think the song of a million who are happy can balance 
 the cry of one who is in pain. Does the gift of life 
 seem such a precious thing to you, papa ? If you knew 
 that a comet was to destroy our earth to-night, and 
 that there would never be any more laughter and tears, 
 would it seem a terrible thing? " 
 
 True to his lifelong habit of accurate thinking, the 
 professor considered carefully before he answered, and 
 then he said, " I do not know, my child." 
 
 " I talk like some one who is very old," continued 
 his daughter, " like some one very old, whose strands 
 of life are loosening, and who has lived them all. But 
 I am young, I have had no real life, and I know that I 
 never shall ; but it does not seem to matter. There was 
 a time when an unfulfilled life seemed to me the sad 
 dest thing that could be ; but now it makes so little dif 
 ference ! I could have cried myself ill, wished to dash 
 myself on the ground, had I known that I could ever 
 speak like this, and not care. That was during the days 
 when I cared for everything. I looked for the hours 
 when life was to be writ in flame, or when the wind 
 walked like a herald, ushering in the passionate, tragi 
 cal, and glorious things. But now something is killed 
 
 282
 
 THE PROFESSOR IS TROUBLED 
 
 in me, some life-spring broken. I do not know what it 
 is. I do not complain. And I only ask not to be made 
 to suffer, and to fill the days, and to have a few times 
 like this in which to rest. Of course, there is part of 
 me that enjoys excitement and admiration, that takes 
 a pleasure in jewels and beautiful clothes and worldly 
 things, but that part has nothing to do with the real 
 woman." 
 
 Neither of them spoke again, and in the silence and 
 the dim luminousness of the night Gladys felt herself 
 sinking deeper and deeper, as into friendly arms. Sud 
 denly there were voices and laughter in the garden 
 above, and then the voice of Alphonse de Chavannes, 
 ringing with energy and enthusiasm, rose above the 
 others, 
 
 " Yes, I hav been down among the people," he cried, 
 " into the furnace where I hav seen forging the civili 
 zation of the future, red-hot, distorted, an violent, but 
 destined to make over the world. And down there I 
 hav met a man, a Titan. Not a hero of the knights, 
 a hero of the plume, making battle to trumpets, but a 
 hero whos work is his glory, whos peril is his joy." 
 
 " Hear ! Hear ! " cried one of the listeners. " Come 
 in for a whiskey and soda, de Chavannes, and tell us 
 more about it." 
 
 Gladys rose as the voices trailed off into silence. Her 
 tiny person looked wan, eerie, and unsubstantial in the 
 dim, shadowless light. But she began very practically 
 to pluck the hay from her dress. 
 
 "He is talking of Richard Copeland," she said, 
 - 283
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 coldly ; " and the laboring people who know him say 
 that he has betrayed them. Monsieur de Chavannes is 
 an enthusiast. He is moved by his own eloquence even 
 more than we are."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 AN AUGUST NIGHT 
 
 M 
 
 . ADAME is especially gay and especially onhappy 
 since a week." 
 
 Gladys was seated on the piazza steps, and as he 
 spoke she lifted her eyes to Monsieur de Chavannes, 
 who stood above her. 
 
 " I hope that monsieur is not falling a victim to the 
 paradox," she said. 
 
 " It pleas madame to trifle ? " 
 
 " It is so much too hot to do anything else." 
 
 " Ah, mon Dieu, oui ! It is hot. What a climate I 
 Last week we shivered in a pardessus" Alphonse 
 de Chavannes sat on the step beneath her and wiped 
 his brow with frank discomfort. 
 
 The weather had been intensely, breathlessly hot all 
 day, and neither complete inactivity nor cooling drinks 
 had sufficed to make humanity even comfortable. It 
 was twilight now as Gladys and the Frenchman sat 
 together apart from the bridge-players, whom the almost 
 unbearable heat of lamps had not driven from their 
 evening pastime. 
 
 " Now that your father is gone I may talk to you 
 again with freedom," said Monsieur de Chavannes. 
 
 285
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " He did not like that we talk so much. Hein I am I 
 not right ? He think that I compromis you." 
 
 " My father does not understand that in my small 
 circle a woman is not respected until she is, in some 
 measure, compromised," said Gladys, moving her fan 
 languidly. 
 
 " Mon amie" the Frenchman spoke gently, "you 
 are bitter to-night. You are onworthy of yourself, as 
 all these companious of yours are onworthy of you. 
 May I say a few things that are on my mind and in 
 my heart ? " 
 
 " I am listening." 
 
 "You are unefemme spirituelle, and you have come 
 to live among des sots, among the small smart set in 
 your city, who imitate the morals and manners of those 
 whose pride it is to have neither, yet who lead society 
 in New York and Newport. Why is this, madame ? " 
 
 " That would be the story of my life, monsieur." 
 
 " But why do you stay among them ? " 
 
 " I could not hold my husband to any other life." 
 
 " Why hold him to any life, madame ? Why hold 
 him to any? " 
 
 She laughed softly. " You speak boldly, Monsieur 
 de Chavannes." 
 
 At that moment her husband and Diana Hart 
 emerged from the house at the other end of the piazza 
 and passed together into the twilight. 
 
 " Is it permit that I add a word ? " continued the 
 Frenchman. 
 
 " It will be interesting, I am sure." 
 286
 
 AN AUGUST NIGHT 
 
 " Are you sure that you hold him at all, even if you 
 will?" 
 
 " You speak boldly," she said again, with the same 
 delicate indifference of manner. 
 
 " We others are not afraid to speak to a human 
 being independently of man-made laws. Do not think 
 that I recognize any law which could prevent me from 
 making the lov to you, had not " 
 
 " I know. There is the other woman. It was con 
 siderate of you to have told rne that at first." 
 
 " It is not altogether the other woman, madame, it is 
 yourself. It is true that the one I have lov is still near 
 to my heart, but I know that she is never for me, and 
 you are one of those who have power over men even 
 when they lov another. But you are as ice, madame. 
 We talk so moch together becos it is inevitable that 
 we should talk as that winds should blow and water 
 run down hill, but beyon that you give me nothing." 
 
 " Yet we have played with fire quite prettily now 
 and then." 
 
 " I do speak not of play, madame ; you are not a 
 woman to play with, neither are you one to be indif 
 ferent to men, whether you lov them or not. Yet 
 you are indifferent to all the men about you, and so 
 I mus infer that there is one man who is not about 
 you" 
 
 " Monsieur de Chavannes ! " 
 
 " Madame ? " 
 
 " In my country it is not customary to speak to 
 women as you are speaking to me." 
 
 287
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 "And I care not for what is your costom. Thert, 
 are things older and greater than costom, and one is 
 the lov of any man for any woman. With this great 
 natural force the union enforce by law and called 
 marriage has nothing to do, no smallest thing. On 
 that point I ana as great a revolutionist as my friend 
 Copeland." 
 
 "Pray, monsieur, do not talk to me any more of 
 Mr. Copeland. He is an incendiary person, and it is 
 so very warm already." 
 
 " I am sorry you do not like him. He is a splendid 
 fellow." 
 
 "There are some who think him But positively 
 I will not discuss it. Diana ! " she called lightly to 
 Mrs. Hart, who strolled back through the garden with 
 Arthur. " Diana ! come and protect me, and you, too, 
 Arthur. Monsieur de Chavannes has begun to discuss 
 revolution in general and Richard Copeland in par 
 ticular." 
 
 "That dreadful person," said Diana languidly, 
 " who grudges us our lace dresses, our cool rooms, our 
 iced drinks, and even the servants who prepare them 
 for us." 
 
 " He only grudge them to you when they are pur 
 chased at the expense of those who hav far less than 
 yourselves." 
 
 " Are you still discussing the poor man ? " Mrs. 
 Stanwood s voice rallied them gayly as she came from 
 the house. " Pour Vamour de Dieu, mes enfants, find 
 a more peaceful occupation. What are you going to 
 
 288
 
 do with us, Gladys, between now and bedtime ? It is 
 too hot for any more bridge." 
 
 " I think we have done everything there is to do," 
 said Gladys. " What more can any one suggest, unless 
 we start and do it all over again? " 
 
 " I should suggest a drink ; perhaps it will give us 
 an idea," said Arthur. " Come in, de Chavannes. Shall 
 I mix you a Martini, Diana?" 
 
 " I will go in and mix it myself. Coming, Gladys ? " 
 
 " No, it is cooler here," and Gladys remained alone 
 sitting on the steps. 
 
 Somewhere down in the factory towns people were 
 fighting and struggling, and among them was the man 
 whose name grew more and more hateful to her as it 
 grew the more impossible to escape. But the thought 
 of these things did not move her to-night as she leaned 
 against a pillar and looked upwards into the foliage of 
 her maple trees. 
 
 All day the leaves had hung motionless ; but sud 
 denly while she watched them they began to move, to 
 whisper and shiver among themselves. They became 
 restless, vigilant, there was tumult among them, and 
 something of fear. The air which had lain like warm 
 and lifeless water over the land began to stir also, and 
 the night became full of movement and half-uttered 
 meanings. An awning above her head flapped sud 
 denly and a puff of wind blew some road dust into her 
 face. She rose, choking and disgusted, but alert, and 
 inexplicably alive. 
 
 " The night seems to be preparing for something," 
 289
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 she thought. " I wonder what it is going to be." And 
 then the thought of danger came to her. " How good 
 to be in danger," she said, " how good to be in dan 
 ger of something beside a headache, or the tearing of 
 a new dress, or the failure of the oysters to arrive for 
 dinner! " 
 
 As she spoke the wind passed through the woods 
 like a long-drawn breath, fell silent, and came again 
 more strongly, so that it swayed the topmost branches 
 of the maples and blew her lace scarf against her face. 
 The breath of it was feverish : it seemed to have passed 
 over violence and ugly passions, and with it, poig 
 nantly and intolerably vivid returned the thought of 
 the struggle that was raging just beyond the shelter of 
 her own acres, and of the man who fought in its midst. 
 
 The night with its rising tumult of suggestions be 
 came a thing not to be endured, and Gladys sought 
 refuge in her house, where the stored heat of midsum 
 mer lay breathless and undisturbed. In the billiard 
 room she found her guests ; the men alternately sip 
 ping whiskey and soda and pretending to play, while 
 Diana Hart and Mrs. Stanwood talked to each other 
 over a table containing several empty cocktail glasses 
 and a cigarette box. They sat close to the wide-open 
 glass doors which were screened by wire netting. 
 
 "We are discussing husbands," said Mrs. Hart, as 
 her hostess approached them. 
 
 " One might say so many things about husbands," 
 Gladys answered, seating herself near them on a formal 
 pile of cushions. 
 
 290
 
 AN AUGUST NIGHT 
 
 * Diana was sympathizing with me for having to 
 superintend the packing of Willie s beetles twice a 
 year when we move," explained Mrs. Stanwood, "and 
 I don t deny the trial of it ; but every husband must 
 have an absorbing interest apart from his wife. Some 
 have other men s wives, some have fast horses, some 
 have cards. Willie has beetles. It might be worse." 
 
 One of the men at the billiard table laughed without 
 turning. 
 
 "You must not listen. The conversation is not for 
 you," said Mrs. Hart. 
 
 " I was n t listening. Morrison made a miss-cue ; 
 that s why I laughed. Get to work, Davenport. The 
 next move is up to you." 
 
 The indifference of his tone and attitude was almost 
 insolent, and Gladys, in the mood of strange alertness 
 that had come to her through the night with the first 
 puff of hot wind, saw the occupations of these men and 
 women as a degeneracy of actual living, and in her 
 loathing of them and it, she could have almost cried 
 aloud. 
 
 " Speaking of husbands," continued Mrs. Hart, un 
 der cover of a burst of laughter from the men about 
 the billiard table, " speaking of husbands, I thought I 
 would tell you as my nearest friends that I have my 
 divorce at last, and received the papers this after 
 noon." 
 
 " I congratulate you, my dear," said Mrs. Stanwood. 
 
 " Thanks," answered Diana tranquilly ; " Jack was 
 a brnte, and I am well rid of him." 
 
 291
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 A short silence followed, in which there fell an ex 
 clamation of acute misery from the Frenchman. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! qu llfait chaud ! C est a mourir" 
 
 " Have another whiskey and soda, de Chavannes." 
 
 " Thank you, my friend ; I cannot control the fire in 
 the air, but I can abstain from taking it internally." 
 
 Arthur, chalking a billiard cue, approached his wife. 
 
 " I say, Gladys," he whispered, " can t you get Diana 
 and Aunt Edith away on some pretext or other ? We 
 men must take off our coats, or something desperate 
 will happen." 
 
 " Poor boy ! you must be uncomfortable. I will do 
 my best." 
 
 "What was that?" exclaimed Morrison suddenly. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I heard an awning flap. There it goes again. That 
 means wind. The weather has changed, and it may be 
 cooler. Get that infernal wire netting of yours open, 
 Davenport ; it keeps out what air there is." 
 
 " The mosquitoes," protested some one feebly, but 
 Arthur opened wide the screen door. 
 
 "It s worse than ever," exclaimed Morrison, dis 
 gusted as he felt a feverish breath on his face, " and 
 the moon has just come up to grin at us. Did you ever 
 see a more battered-looking person ! What is the mat 
 ter with her ? " 
 
 " She is waning," said Gladys, stepping out to see 
 the moon, red-hot and distorted, hanging just above 
 the horizon. " She is dying, and oh, she is old ! " 
 
 " And tipsy." 
 
 292
 
 AN AUGUST NIGHT 
 
 " And disreputable." 
 
 " I almost saw her wink. Here s to her." The stock 
 broker held his glass up to the luminary and drank. 
 
 " The mosquitoes are coming in," said Mrs. Stan- 
 wood. " Please come in yourselves, or shut the screens 
 behind you." 
 
 The men came back as requested, and returned to 
 the billiard table. Morrison alone peered out through 
 the wire netting. 
 
 " Look at the light above your famous factory town, 
 de Chavannes. I rather think there is hell down there 
 to-night." 
 
 "Not hell, my friend. Danger and soffering, yes; 
 but not hell. The real tragedy of life is not with those 
 who stroggle, who lead forlorn hopes " 
 
 " And lose them," said a man at the billiard table. 
 
 " The losing is not the point," answered the French 
 man rapidly, with one of his vivid gestures. " It is not 
 the failure to win that counts, but the glory that there 
 are men to dare." 
 
 " Please let up on that, de Chavannes," said Mor 
 rison, with unexpected gravity ; " I don t feel as though 
 I could stand it to-night. I heard something just be 
 fore dinner about poor Copeland, and I have been 
 rather sick ever since." 
 
 " My frien Copeland in treble, an you never tell 
 me ! " cried Alphonse de Chavannes. 
 
 "Can t we drop Copeland as well as his work?" 
 said Arthur sullenly, with his back turned, as he played 
 with billiard balls. 
 
 293
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " You might as well come out with it, now that you 
 have begun," said the stockbroker. "I never could 
 help sort of liking the fellow in spite of " he paused, 
 looking at the three women ; but Mrs. Hart lit another 
 cigarette indifferently. 
 
 " Do not mind us," she said. 
 
 " Gladys looks pale," said Mrs. Stanwood, " and I 
 think we will go." 
 
 But Gladys, standing white and still, did not hear. 
 
 " What has happened to Dick Copeland ? " she asked. 
 It seemed to her that the world had suddenly stopped, 
 that movement and light and sound had gone out of it. 
 Somewhere in the void she heard her own voice asking, 
 "Is he dead?" 
 
 " No, he is not dead, but " He paused. 
 
 Sensation, torturing, tumultuous, returned to her. 
 She reeled under it, and put her hand against the wall 
 to save herself from falling. She wanted to shriek 
 aloud, she wanted to tear his news from Morrison with 
 her hands. Dimly she heard her aunt s whisper : 
 
 " Take care that no one sees, cherie ! " 
 
 And then there were eager questions, and at last 
 Morrison s explanation. 
 
 " It was that head gardener of yours, Davenport, who 
 told me. He had been down to visit his brother at the 
 cotton mills, and got home just before dinner. We all 
 knew Copeland was in trouble : de Chavannes explained 
 about the disaffection in his own mills, and the anger 
 caused by his attitude on the open-shop question. It ap 
 pears the feeling against him reached a climax last Mon- 
 
 294
 
 AN AUGUST NIGHT 
 
 day, when he openly joined the non-union skilled work 
 men who were hired to break the strike at Riverbend. 
 It was a mad thing to do. His own men turned against 
 him. The laboring classes considered him a Judas. He 
 had come among them, they said, to win their confi 
 dence and betray it, But the point is that yesterday 
 morning something went wrong with the loom Copeland 
 was working at. He was caught in it and pass along 
 the whiskey ! none of the workers near him would 
 do anything, which gives the suspicion of foul play. 
 They say if it had not been for his great strength he 
 would have been thoroughly smashed up. As it was, 
 he contrived to break or stop something, but not before 
 the machine had done for his right arm, which, accord 
 ing to report, was taken off by the attending surgeon an 
 hour later. I am sorry, Diana. It is n t a nice story, 
 but you were warned." 
 
 " There is something especially gruesome about being 
 caught in a machine," admitted Mrs. Hart, " and one 
 hates to think of a superb animal like Dick Copeland 
 being mauled up like that. But some one ought to look 
 after Gladys, I think she is going to faint." 
 
 " Gladys is all right," Mrs. Stanwood assured them. 
 " She never could bear to hear of things being hurt, 
 and after the strain of this heat but you might bring 
 a little whiskey, Arthur. You must drink it, cherie, 
 for your own self-defense," she added, in an aside, and 
 Gladys drank, seated on the ottoman beside her aunt. 
 
 It seemed to her that she was being torn by the same 
 awful machine that had crushed Dick. Relentless hands 
 
 295
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 were at her throat, grappling with her breath and stop 
 ping her heart, and there was still upon her the need 
 to shriek. 
 
 " The Frenchman is looking, cAerie," her aunt s 
 warning came again; and because the fear of pride 
 degraded, and emotion betrayed, is as strong as life, 
 Gladys smiled and put aside offers of help. 
 
 " Of course these things happen all the time," con 
 tinued Morrison, putting down his glass. " It s only 
 having it occur under your own window, so to speak, 
 while you are fooling with cool drinks and comfort, 
 that makes you feel weak-kneed, particularly when it 
 happens to one of your own classmates, who, whatever 
 he may have done since, has one time stood at your 
 shoulder through the freshman rush, and helped you 
 with Greek hexameters." 
 
 " Mon Dieu I it is awful ! " groaned de Chavannes, 
 with his head in his hands. " He was mad to do it. 
 But what superb courage ! the courage of martyrs and 
 fools, who consider not that which is expedient, or that 
 which has common sense ! The courage " 
 
 " Courage be ! " interrupted Morrison with im 
 patience. "Every man who is worth anything and 
 does not vitiate himself with amusement can stand up 
 for what he thinks is right." 
 
 The Frenchman started but said nothing, for if he 
 did not understand, he was still learning to recognize 
 and accept what seemed to him the rough brutality 
 with which the Anglo-Saxon male treats his friends. 
 
 " What matters now is that feeling against Copeland 
 296
 
 AN AUGUST NIGHT 
 
 is as high as ever," continued Morrison. "They are re 
 solved to make an end of him entirely. He is physically 
 unable to defend himself, and the attack against him is 
 likely to be a personal one." 
 
 " But the police where is your police ? Is this 
 a civiliz country or not ? " 
 
 " Not, my friend ; emphatically not, and don t forget 
 to put that in your next lecture about us. There are 
 enough raw and lawless elements in the United States 
 to set Europe in a blaze from end to end could they be 
 transported. But Copeland could get himself protected 
 if he would, and it s part of his general madness that he 
 won t. He is out there alone in his cabin in the woods. 
 The Lord knows who is looking after him ! " 
 
 " Then he is still in danger of his life. Can we mes 
 amis, I ask it as man to man can we permit this ? " 
 
 Arthur, who was very pale, moved uneasily up and 
 down the room. 
 
 " I don t know what we can do about it," he mut 
 tered. 
 
 " But surely with your servants, your automo 
 bile "- 
 
 " The auto is broken and there is not a servant who 
 would help him. You see, he has betrayed them." 
 
 " Betrayed ! And you admit he is your frien ! " 
 
 " No, I don t. There is where you are dead wrong. 
 Dick Copeland is no friend of mine." 
 
 Arthur wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand, 
 and when he was next wanted he had left the room. 
 
 " Does no one know where his cabin is ? " 
 297
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " It s miles away, and I hardly know in which direc, 
 tion." 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! But this is horrible ! and one can do 
 nothing nothing ! " 
 
 " You are cowards ! " said Gladys, very low. She had 
 risen, and they looked at her, startled. 
 
 " She is like a white-hot flame," thought the French 
 man; but then he saw something else in her face, and 
 forgot to make further simile. 
 
 " If you can suggest anything, we will do it, Mrs. 
 Davenport," said Morrison gravely. 
 
 "Cowards!" she repeated, "Cowards all of you," 
 and passed swiftly from the room. 
 
 The men stared after her blankly. "Jove ! " said the 
 stockbroker, after a pause. " Jove ! " he repeated, 
 "would you think little Mrs. Davenport had that 
 amount of the tiger to her ? " 
 
 The Frenchman said nothing, but took advantage of 
 general stupefaction to follow his hostess.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 AN AWAKENING 
 
 "LADYS stumbled in the darkness of her telephone 
 room. Emotion, huge, terrible, merciless as the ma 
 chine which had torn Dick Copeland, bore down upon 
 her. 
 
 Her shaking hands missed the switch that commanded 
 a light, and after finding the telephone receiver a me 
 tallic buzz was the only message the wires brought her. 
 She rang again and again. 
 
 " I shall go mad if they do not answer ! I shall go 
 mad!" she sobbed. 
 
 Then she feared that she could not hear a voice be 
 cause of the dreadful hammering of her heart, and that 
 she would be unable to answer because of the blood 
 which seemed coming into her throat. 
 
 A faint " hello " reached her at last, the mere phan 
 tom of a voice that came from nowhere, drifted past 
 her, and was lost. But she called, and the wires brought 
 it to her again. 
 
 " I want to be put into connection with the Copeland 
 settlement," she said. 
 
 There was a pause, and then the dim voice wandered 
 past her again in disjointed shreds of words that seemed 
 swept and torn as by great winds. Soul and body were 
 
 299
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 strained to hear, but " Copeland," " phone," "impossi 
 ble " was all she heard. 
 
 " I can t hear on account of the noise," she called. 
 " For the love of God, stop the buzzing on the wires ! 
 Can t you stop it ? " 
 
 Almost immediately there was silence, and then a 
 voice spoke suddenly in her ear. 
 
 " You want Copeland s settlement ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I guess they are not answering the phone 
 there to-night ; they are too busy firing the mills." 
 
 " Where is he ? " 
 
 " Probably at his cabin." 
 
 " Who is with him ? " 
 
 " I don t think he has exactly a guard of friends." 
 
 " But he is in danger. Somebody must be there 
 give me his line." 
 
 " The strikers cut that yesterday." 
 
 Gladys felt that she was going to fall, but her 
 parched lips found the receiver again. 
 
 " I am a friend of Mr. Copeland are you listen 
 ing? Hello ! Are you there? " 
 
 " Where should I be ? Who is it, please ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Davenport. We are friends of Mr. Copeland s, 
 and he must be warned of his danger. He must be 
 saved. Are you alone in the office ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma am. Worse luck ! " 
 
 " Can t you call some one ? Or telephone some one 
 who will find men to go to him, to take him away? 
 He must not be left there. Pie will be murdered. 
 
 300
 
 AN AWAKENING 
 
 Money is no object. Think, Central, think what can 
 be done." 
 
 " I guess there is n t much to be done," came the 
 answer sullenly, " and I guess Dick Copeland can take 
 care of himself as well as he deserves. He has done 
 harm enough and to spare, and there is n t a man to 
 night that I know of who could be hired to help him." 
 
 " But he is ill he is crippled " 
 
 " So are a good many others. I don t know of an 
 able-bodied man in town to-night that has n t gone to 
 the fires, and I have my work. Good-by." 
 
 The receiver dropped from her hands, and, leaning 
 against the wall for support, Gladys tried to think. He 
 was crippled, and his life was threatened. Who was 
 there to warn or save him ? " No one ! " she cried ; 
 " there is no one ! " The next moment she herself ran 
 out into the night. 
 
 Unwilling to waste time on the spacious curves of 
 her avenue she took a path through the woods, where, 
 missing her way in the darkness, she stumbled often. 
 The bushes seemed to stretch out cruel hands to tear 
 the laces and muslin of her dress, and the cat-briers 
 caught her ankles. Reaching the high road at last, she 
 turned in the direction of Dick s cabin, the exact posi 
 tion of which she knew well, and forced herself to walk, 
 or her gasping breath and thinly shod feet would not 
 have carried her far. The night was now full of hot 
 wind, and the elms that followed the high road bent 
 dismayed and tortured before it. Now and then the 
 sky pulsated with a red and awful light from which she 
 
 301
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 hid her face, for it meant that his mills were burning. 
 Only a few people passed, and once an electric car 
 clanged by her with a load of singing, half-drunken 
 men. At the thought that they might be strikers on 
 their way to him, the blood seemed to come up in her 
 throat again. She feared to fall, and for one moment 
 permitted herself to sit on a stone by the roadside. 
 Then she asked herself why she was doing this thing, 
 why she was rushing through pain and danger to save 
 an outcast, a man whom she despised. 
 
 And then she answered herself clearly at last. 
 
 " Because I love him." 
 
 The misery and apathy of her life stood explained. 
 " I love him ! I have loved him always," she whis 
 pered. 
 
 But the next moment neither her love nor the joy 
 nor the shame of it mattered. He was in danger of his 
 life, and she must go to him. 
 
 With the wind at her back straining at her scarf and 
 laces and tossing them in front of her as she ran 
 stumbling often in her thin high-heeled slippers, and 
 gasping because of her haste and the hard sobs that 
 tightened her throat, she went on and on over the dusty 
 high road till she came at last to the clearing, back of 
 which she knew that Dick s cabin was hidden in the 
 woods. Through the trees she caught a cool gleam of 
 moonlight on the river as it slipped tranquilly under a 
 wooded bend of land that backed against the wind. 
 
 Now that she had come to the place and the man she 
 paused, afraid, and wondering if she could find the 
 
 302
 
 AN AWAKENING 
 
 strength to face him. But through the tumult in the 
 trees and bushes she heard faintly, though distinctly, a 
 voice shouting behind her, and then rapid footsteps on 
 the road. She sped into the woods by a pathway that 
 could be scarcely more than imagined in the confusion 
 of moonlight and shadow. Again her dress and hair 
 were torn, and she tripped often over half-sunken roots 
 and creeping vines ; but before expecting it she found 
 herself in another clearing, protected from the wind, 
 where it was wondrously still. And there a small cabin, 
 dark and silent, slept in the moonlight, while just be 
 yond it the river flowed by, with dimples and silken 
 folds of silver gleaming and vanishing on its peaceful 
 surface. 
 
 There was no sound but the wash of wind in dis 
 tant treetops, nor any crack of light to be seen in the 
 cabin. Absolute loneliness, but peace and security as 
 well, seemed to dwell here. Moving toward the front 
 of the house she was startled by an odor of fresh to 
 bacco smoke, and, turning the corner, she came upon 
 some one sitting on the doorstep. 
 
 It was too late for any attempt to hide, for she stood 
 an isolated figure in the moonlit space, and motionless, 
 with suspended breath, she faced the man, whose face 
 she could not see. 
 
 For a moment he looked at her without stirring, but 
 then he rose, and she saw that it was Dick, and that his 
 right arm was in a sling. 
 
 " Who is it ? " he asked. 
 
 So the story of his mutilation was not true. An 
 303
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 agony of pity was lifted from her, but the sound of 
 his voice coming after the silent years was almost 
 more than she could bear. 
 
 He came down the few steps that led to the turf, and 
 paused suddenly. 
 
 " It is you ! " he said slowly. " It is you ! " 
 
 In the silence that followed she heard again a man 
 shouting on the road. 
 
 " Hush ! Hush ! " she whispered. " Do not speak. 
 They are trying to find the way in. Some one followed 
 me. I ran I" Her voice failed, and he caught 
 her as she was about to fall. 
 
 " There is no one," he said steadily. " Listen. It is 
 quite still. There is no one." 
 
 For one moment she lay in the curve of his arm as 
 lightly and helplessly as a broken bird. 
 
 "They have gone by," she said. " Thank God ! they 
 have gone by," and, lifting herself, she drew away, and 
 pushed the hair from her eyes that she might look at 
 him. 
 
 " You must not stay here," he continued. " People 
 are likely to come to-night, and if you were found I 
 will walk back with you from wherever you came. That 
 will be the best way. Shall we go at once?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! that would be best, that would be safest. 
 No one will think of finding you with me. Come." 
 
 Her disjointed, incoherent phrases might have been 
 those of one in an agony of personal fear, and to Dick 
 they could seem to mean nothing else. 
 
 But Gladys was physically incapable of further effort. 
 304
 
 AN AWAKENING 
 
 At her first movement toward the road she put her 
 hand to her throat. 
 
 " I cannot," she said. " I ran all the way I cannot 
 go any further." And, half lifting her, Dick led her to 
 the house. 
 
 To secure the blinds so that no one could look in was 
 the work of an instant, and then Gladys, who had sunk 
 into the chair he placed for her, heard him searching 
 in the dark for matches, and once or twice muttering 
 savage things under his breath. When he had found 
 them and lit a small lamp, she was sitting with her 
 arms flung across the table and her head dropped upon 
 them. 
 
 " You must drink some of this," he said, putting a 
 small glass by her and pouring some whiskey into it. 
 
 Very obediently she drank, and then, in the light of 
 the evil-smelling kerosene lamp, she lifted her eyes to 
 his face. It was a stern, lonely, and desolate face, with 
 large-boned features gauntly prominent, and dark, 
 heavy lines of physical pain under sunken eyes. 
 
 The desolation and the look of pain smote her, so 
 that she forgot herself and the secret she must guard. 
 
 " How you have changed ! " she said slowly and very 
 low. 
 
 " You are the same," he answered. 
 
 " Can a face lie so well ? " she murmured, and added 
 brokenly, " It was long ago." 
 
 " It was only yesterday." 
 
 She shivered, and put her clasped hands, paln? s *mt- 
 wards, before her eyes. 
 
 305
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " If he spoke to me of love, if he even put out his 
 hand to touch me, should I not be at his mercy ? " she 
 thought, and then, rising swiftly, she put the width of 
 the room between them. 
 
 Dick stood by the table, with his eyes turned from 
 her. 
 
 " You cannot stay," he said. " People are likely to 
 come here." 
 
 " What people ? " 
 
 " No friends, and I can neither hide you, nor, I fear, 
 protect you." 
 
 " Your enemies, then, your enemies ! You are still 
 in danger ! " Her voice, strained and breathless, was 
 escaping her control, but she forced herself to add qui 
 etly, " What do you suggest ? I cannot go alone, you 
 must see that. It would be dangerous for me to-night." 
 
 " I will go with you as far as the livery stable. I 
 know a good man who will take you safely." 
 
 " And after that?" - 
 
 " He will drive you home, of course." 
 
 " And you ? " - 
 
 " I shall come back." 
 
 She did not answer at once, wondering how she could 
 keep him from reaching the stable. 
 
 " Perhaps we could find your own horse," he sug 
 gested. All this time they dared not look at each 
 other. 
 
 " That would be impossible," she said. 
 
 " So I feared. You seemed to have been running a 
 long way when you came." 
 
 306
 
 AN AWAKENING 
 
 " I had run far." 
 
 There was a silence, and then Gladys lifted her eyes 
 from her locked fingers and looked about the room. 
 She noted its bareness and discomfort, the disorder 
 of the shelves, a loaf of bread half cut, an ink-bottle 
 beside which some ink had been spilled and not wiped 
 away. Everywhere were evidences of Dick s clumsy 
 effort to do his housekeeping with one hand. On a 
 nail beside a bookshelf was an old coat with three but 
 tons gone, and nowhere was there a comfortable chair 
 in which a sick man might sit at ease. 
 
 These things made a background of loneliness and 
 neglect for him which she carried with her for long 
 days. 
 
 Over the door was a football, and hanging by it a 
 boy s fishing cap with a crimson H upon it. It was 
 a relic of Dick s college days, and she recognized it 
 immediately. He had worn it once, she remembered 
 the place and the hour, the sun on the water, the wide 
 sky, the moving of winds and light. She remembered 
 the look in his eyes, the words on his lips. Life had 
 wooed her exquisitely in those days. The Possible, a 
 thing of glamour, and mystery, and infinite promise, 
 had walked at her side. 
 
 Suddenly she knew that Dick was looking at her. 
 
 She had come upon him that night as he sat with 
 failure, and tried grimly to outstare it. A rebel against 
 things that are, with pity in his heart for the ones who 
 bear the heat and burden of life, he had striven to lift 
 them to things as they should be. He had striven hon- 
 
 307
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 estly, but he had schemed arrogantly, and executed 
 without wisdom, without fear, and scorning expediency. 
 So he had failed, and sat alone this night with his for 
 tune destroyed and his life threatened by those to de 
 fend whom he had risked both. 
 
 Dick was obstinate in his point of view; he had 
 found it difficult, as many a man had found it before 
 him, to understand how convictions as simple and in 
 evitable as his own could fail to convince, and counted 
 on the adherence of his own settlement to the mental 
 attitude induced in him by developments of the big 
 strike. 
 
 To-night he was learning his lesson, and scorning to 
 evade a single humiliating detail, but the wounds of it 
 cut to the bone of him. He was hurt in the pride of 
 his intellect, which is perhaps the deepest hurt a man 
 can receive, and, unstrung as he was by physical and 
 mental suffering, he saw his life stripped and stark as 
 a riven oak. 
 
 Then suddenly came the woman he loved, who sat 
 before him with miserable eyes. 
 
 " So you are unhappy, after all," he said. " If I had 
 known " 
 
 " We must go," she said, " or they will be here the 
 men you have sold and betrayed." 
 
 He did not stir. " You believe that ? " he asked 
 gravely. 
 
 " The past explains the present," she said, and her 
 voice shook with passion and misery. 
 
 Some one knocked at the door, rapidly and noisily. 
 308
 
 AN AWAKENING 
 
 " They are here ! They have come ! " she whispered, 
 forgetting everything but his danger. " Do not speak. 
 Go into the back room quietly, and get out of the win 
 dow while I talk with them. They will not hurt a 
 woman. I am not afraid I will " 
 
 Dick interrupted sternly, and put her behind him. 
 
 " Open the closet on your left and lock it after you," 
 he said, speaking rapidly, with his eyes fixed on the 
 door, at which an insistent rapping continued. " You 
 can get into the woods that way, and there s a path by 
 the edge of the river that will take you to the livery 
 stable I spoke of. Do you understand ? Go quickly." 
 
 " And you and you " 
 
 " Go at once, or I can neither hide nor protect you." 
 
 " I am not afraid." 
 
 " Let me in," cried a voice outside. " It is I your 
 friend, de Chavannes." 
 
 " Go," whispered Dick again, without turning his 
 head. 
 
 There was a moment s pause, and then Gladys 
 slipped in front of him and unlocked the door herself. 
 
 " I am glad that you have come," she said. 
 
 De Chavannes stood on the threshold, and blinked 
 at the light. 
 
 " I am glad that you have come," she repeated, look 
 ing at him steadily. " I lost my way and wandered 
 here by chance, fortunately for me, as Mr. Copeland 
 has been very kind." 
 
 Her breath failed, and her hand sought her throat, 
 but she met his eyes firmly. 
 
 309
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " It was fortunate, indeed," answered the Frenchman 
 suavely. " I will never f orgiv my own stupidness in 
 allowing the horse to run with me. If you were not 
 just descended from the carriage your voice might 
 have controlled him. You are pale, madame, and 
 tired. Can you f orgiv ? " 
 
 " Surely, since you have found me. How did you 
 trace me here ? " 
 
 " Voila ! " He held up a shoe-buckle of rhinestones. 
 " It was on the edge of the woods in the moonlight, and 
 at the opening of the path was a bit of lace. And you, 
 my frien , he approached Dick, and put a hand 
 on his shoulder, " you have given us fright. But I 
 am tol that the dreadful rumor that you had los your 
 arm is untrue." 
 
 "I am unpleasantly conscious of the possession of 
 my arm," said Dick. 
 
 " But you are still in danger. Will you not come 
 with us? The carriage wait , and I am sure that 
 madame " 
 
 He hesitated and looked at Gladys, who, wan and 
 spent with emotion, leaned against the wall as if for 
 support. 
 
 " My husband s house is open to Mr. Copeland," she 
 said slowly. " My husband will be glad to return the 
 protection Mr. Copeland has so kindly given me." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Dick, addressing de 
 Chavannes. "But I am all right here. The rumors 
 have been exaggerated." 
 
 " But you are alone here, my frien , and you suffer. 
 310
 
 AN AWAKENING 
 
 I see it in your face. I take madame now, but to 
 morrow I come back." 
 
 " Don t bother about me, de Chavannes." 
 
 "They burn your mills to-night." 
 
 " So I am told." 
 
 " It will mean great money loss to you? " 
 
 " You had better go, de Chavannes. It is not safe 
 for Mrs. Davenport here." 
 
 " Madame, are you ready ? Good-by, Copeland, a 
 bientbt." 
 
 In the carriage that de Chavannes brought for her, 
 Gladys leaned back with closed eyes, and they drove 
 home almost in silence. 
 
 " Why did you follow me?" she asked at last. 
 
 " It seem to me that madame may need a f rien to 
 night. I see madame s face, white and reckless. I see 
 her go down into the woods like one in a delirium. 
 I guess where she go, an I say, She is in need of a 
 frien . There is being compromis , there is also being 
 ruin . Madame is ruin if any one but de Chavannes 
 know where she is to-night. With de Chavannes it 
 does not matter. I go to your stables, where I fin 
 one small groom, and I say to him : Madame desire 
 to go to see the mills burn. I go with her. Put the ol 
 horse into the cart. Madame wait for me on the avenue. 
 I start. The horse is ol and sleepy. He go slow. I 
 am not sure of the road I lose it. I ask a question 
 or two. At las I see madame like a spirit in the moon 
 light, jus entering the wood. I shout she pay no 
 attention. I tie the horse I see the shoe-buckle. I 
 
 311
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 try for the path and find the cabin at las . Then I wait. 
 I like not to interrupt " He hesitated. " I know 
 how those things are," he added. " What Frenchman 
 does not ? And life is so full of interruptions ! Then I 
 hear madame s voice. It is a voice of anger, and I know 
 they do not enjoy. I knock. Did I do right ? Did I 
 interrupt ? " He asked the question anxiously. 
 
 " If I were not a very unhappy woman, I should 
 smile at your question," she said. 
 
 " Why, madame ? " 
 
 " It would be hard to explain." 
 
 " I do not try to open the door," he continued, " for 
 madame may wish to escape. If so, it is well. If she 
 wait to receive me, that also is well. Her first words 
 reassure me. I see her point I play the game. I 
 play him well Jiein ? " Pie turned to her with a smile 
 of childlike vanity. " It is a good game, but does it 
 deceive him ? " 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 " My friend Copeland he stand bleak and sombre, 
 like a November day. It was necessary to bring you 
 back to-night, but he has moch onhappiness. I like to 
 think that he onderstan . Chere amie, a Frenchwoman 
 would not try so hard to keep him from happiness." 
 
 She did not speak again till they turned into the 
 avenue. 
 
 " There is nothing more to be said, but thank you," 
 she told him. " I cannot even try to deceive you, for 
 my shame is bare under your eyes." 
 
 " I know of no shame," answered the Frenchman.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 REALIZATION 
 
 EM< 
 
 [OTION and fatigue so prostrated Gladys that 
 for several days she lay white as the linen of her bed, 
 and beyond the reach of further suffering. Her guests 
 sent messages of reproach that she should have slipped 
 away to view the great fire without giving any of them 
 the chance to join her. They also sent condolences, 
 advice, and the hope that she would be better ; but 
 receiving no answer from beyond the closed door of 
 her bedroom, and finding themselves limited in the 
 amount of noise they could make, they took themselves 
 away at last. 
 
 On that day Gladys was better, and allowed her 
 husband to see her for the first time. He was startled 
 by her pallor, and moved by what seemed the pathetic 
 youth of her face. Her arms were stretched at her 
 side with hands upturned as though in utter abandon 
 ment, and bending, Arthur kissed her palm. 
 
 Without moving she turned her eyes to him. They 
 were listless, unresponsive, and seemed to look from 
 far away ; but they were not unkind. 
 
 "Are you feeling better?" he asked, speaking less 
 loud than usual, and taking care not to jar the bed as 
 he drew a chair beside it. His wife was grateful to him, 
 
 313
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 and dimly conscious that not every man would have 
 been capable of such consideration. 
 
 " They all went this morning," he continued. 
 
 " I suppose Diana is still here." 
 
 " Why do you suppose that ? " questioned her hus 
 band sharply. She considered his face with the grave 
 and listless eyes of a tired child. 
 
 " I do not know," she said at last, and turned her 
 eyes to the window. 
 
 Arthur was alarmed, and he began to wonder if there 
 were anything unusual the matter with his wife. 
 
 " Diana went with the others," he explained. 
 
 " I am afraid you will be lonely," said Gladys. 
 
 " Don t mind about me. But I wish you would get 
 well. De Chavannes sent you word of his engage 
 ment?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He received a cable yesterday morning, saying * the 
 obstacle had been removed, whether it was mother 
 or father or husband he did not say ; but anyhow he 
 has gone out to marry her. He says that you knew 
 about it all the time, and would be the first to wish 
 him happiness. I was surprised and glad to hear 
 that, for I had been rather miserable about it. Forgive 
 me for doubting even enough to be miserable, won t 
 you ? " 
 
 " There is nothing to forgive," she said. 
 
 " A man ought to be cowhided for thinking anything 
 wrong about you," he said, " for if ever there s a 
 woman like a dewdrop, you are the one. I saw that 
 
 314
 
 KEALIZATION 
 
 poem this morning in your copy of Browning. I can t 
 understand the fellow as a rule, but I understood that 
 all right, because it was about you." 
 
 He paused, hoping his wife would speak ; but, save 
 that she now looked at the hand he had kissed instead 
 of at the window, she had not stirred, and he became 
 conscious of something disquieting : it was as though 
 a deep and fateful significance brooded beneath her 
 apathy. But understanding nothing he continued to 
 inform her of daily happenings. 
 
 " De Chavannes went down to Copeland the day 
 after the fire, and found him seriously ill. We I " 
 he moved uncomfortably "I arranged to get him to 
 the Boston City Hospital. I had to do it. I was glad 
 to, for I could n t put him out of my head. It seemed 
 an infernal bungle of things for me to be here, and for 
 him ,to be down there, and well I could n t stand 
 it, that s all. I telephoned Aldrich, and he came down 
 with a nurse. They re going to pull him through all 
 right. You don t mind my having done it, do you ? " 
 
 "It was kind of you. It was like you," she said 
 with difficulty. And this was true, for when it came 
 to physical suffering Arthur was tender-hearted as a 
 woman. 
 
 " It stopped me from feeling like all kinds of a 
 beast," he murmured. "I going to the hospital may 
 just have saved his life, and that would sort of even 
 things up." 
 
 He had risen and moved about the room restlessly. 
 " It would sort of even things up," he muttered under 
 
 315
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 his breath, while fingering the things on his wife s 
 dressing-table. Then he turned, with one of his volatile 
 changes of mood. 
 
 " They told me not to stay more than a few minutes, 
 so I suppose I must be going. But I say, Gladys, why 
 won t you look at a fellow ? " 
 
 His wife obeyed his request, and Arthur found him 
 self staring into eyes of utter woe. 
 
 " Something is troubling you," he said in dismay. 
 " What is it ? It is n t the damned Frenchman after 
 all?" 
 
 "No." She forced herself to smile under solemn, 
 unchanging eyes. 
 
 " Then " Arthur beamed suddenly and radiantly 
 " is it Diana? Do you mind about Diana? " 
 
 " No, I want you to have your friend." 
 
 " But I don t want to have her. I am glad she has 
 gone. You don t know her." His face grew morose 
 and anxious. " I am afraid of her. She has a power 
 but if I thought our being together worried you, 
 why, I could give her up. It would be as easy as turn 
 ing over a hand." 
 
 " I am afraid you would be lonely." 
 
 " You said that once before. One would think you 
 were contemplating running away. Be honest, Gladys.. 
 Do you mind my seeing so much of Diana ? " 
 
 " No, Arthur. Truly, truly I do not," she said, with 
 evident earnestness, and as though assuring him of a 
 welcome fact. 
 
 " You don t care a rush for me ! You never did ! " 
 316
 
 KEALIZATION 
 
 he cried, with bitter emphasis. Once or twice he walked 
 up and down the room, and paused to look out of the 
 window. " Kismet ! " he muttered miserably, " Kis 
 met!" 
 
 It was the piteous moment of Arthur s life, but his 
 wife, bewildered by her own pain, did not understand. 
 Without speaking to her again, he left the room to 
 answer Diana Hart s telegram. 
 
 The next day Gladys took up her life with its out 
 ward happenings unchanged ; but neither in her wak 
 ing hours nor in her dreams did she forget that she 
 loved a man who was not her husband and whom she 
 despised. Her shame for the last was the greater shame 
 of the two. 
 
 Mood upon mood, each one merciless and resistless, 
 swept her during the weeks that followed. She faced 
 her love deliberately, loathing it and fearing it, but 
 never denying its magnitude, or seeing in it other than 
 the one reality of her existence. There were times 
 when she remembered the ideal of her girlhood. She 
 had told herself that she could never love where she 
 could not worship as well, that her hours of spiritual 
 ecstasy, of deepest, holiest calm would belong to her 
 love, and all that her nature could give of beauty and 
 tenderness, of high endeavor, and of passion pure as 
 flame ; but here was love come to her neither bringing 
 nor accepting any good thing, yet possessing her utterly, 
 throwing her life into a huge disarray of violence, 
 misery, and shame. A man whom she could not honor 
 was king of her nights and days. 
 
 317
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 There were other times when the longing for sight 
 and sound of him grew to a consuming pain. She knew 
 that he was ill and suffering, and nothing but the tra 
 dition of her race and kind held her from his side. She 
 thought of him deserted and hated, and tenderness 
 moved her intolerably, so that she felt she could bear 
 it all did she only know that some one who cared was 
 with him. Pride, shame, duty she could conceive 
 that these things might become as words beside the 
 thought of his bleak and unswept room, his unmended 
 coat, his desolate eyes. 
 
 There were moments when she stood dismayed before 
 her own capacity for suffering, and then she grew 
 merciful towards women who had been tempted and 
 had fallen. 
 
 From the wreckage of her life and ideals she sought 
 a refuge in the religion of her childhood, flung herself 
 upon it as a man dying of thirst will fling himself upon 
 the stream where he has once slaked it. But the bed 
 of the stream was empty : it lay scorched and arid 
 under her parched lips. Gladys had lost her faith. It 
 was one of the things that Dick had taken from her. 
 " There is no proof ! " she cried, "And how can one be 
 lieve without proof ? One must live as bravely as one 
 can, but there is no help no help ! " 
 
 During these days the local papers made hysterical 
 use of Dick s name. His characterization ran the gamut 
 from " martyred chief " to traitor and demagogue. He 
 was also ridiculed and caricatured, and the story of the 
 game of poker which had hitherto been a rumor con- 
 
 318
 
 REALIZATION 
 
 fined among a handful of men, became public, and was 
 immediately and effectively used by his enemies. 
 
 Arthur looked on and saw another man branded 
 with his own dishonor. After all these years his shame 
 rose to stare him in the face again, and he told himself 
 that it was too late to do anything. The sacrifice would 
 be almost futile at this hour even had he possessed 
 the moral fibre to make it. But he was obliged to 
 disinter the self that he knew to be weak and cowardly, 
 and live with it day by day. It was a presence that did 
 not make good company, even after he shifted the re 
 sponsibility of it onto the shoulders of his Maker, and 
 reestablished his grievance against the powers who 
 had fashioned him as he was. He wondered how his 
 wife would look at him if she knew the truth, and his 
 mind shying uncomfortably from the thought, sought 
 increasing distraction with Diana Hart. But he could 
 not forget Dick, whom he had wronged, and whose ruin 
 lay huge and complete for the world to probe. Neither 
 by night nor by day could he forget him ; for Arthur 
 was kind, and had the universe been of his making, 
 he would have had every one in it perfectly happy and 
 perfectly good. 
 
 During these days he was absent-minded, restless, 
 and eager to fill the house with company, a wish his 
 wife gratified by organizing feverish and breathless 
 gayeties. 
 
 The friends of Mrs. Davenport noticed that new 
 forces were at work in her. Passion of some kind 
 seemed to burn like a secret flame behind her fragile 
 
 319
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 elegance. There were times when the need for swift 
 motion possessed her, and urged to an ecstasy of speed 
 that obliterated all fear for herself and others, she 
 drove her touring car at a pace that was the secret 
 terror of her guests. 
 
 A series of entertainments filled the month of August. 
 There were impromptu theatricals in a rustic amphi 
 theatre hastily dug in the maple grove ; there were 
 fishing parties and dinners served on the river. Her 
 guests danced on the lawn through hot midnights, and 
 automobiled till dawn. Twice, while personally running 
 her car, Gladys and a party of friends were held up 
 and fined for over-speeding, and paid with all possible 
 gayety. Distraction, excitement, flattery, vanity, these 
 were the flimsy barriers which she sought to erect 
 between herself and the burning and sterile misery of 
 her life. 
 
 As the days went on her transparent delicacy, which 
 had till now been vital with health, became more pro 
 nounced. Her maid bemoaned the emaciation of her 
 arms and neck, and alarmed by the growing fragil 
 ity of her appearance, Arthur at last insisted upon a 
 doctor. 
 
 A nerve specialist came up from the city, and his 
 patient, exquisitely dressed in white lace and a wide 
 black hat, received him on the terrace, where she was 
 spending half an hour between a luncheon party and 
 the arrival of some friends who were to drive out from 
 the city. 
 
 She talked wittily and charmingly of many things, 
 320
 
 REALIZATION 
 
 and, playing with an August lily she had picked from 
 the garden, encouraged him to tell of Dick s progress 
 toward recovery. Then, with laughing protests, she an 
 swered some of his questions about herself. Before he 
 left the doctor told her that she was burning her life 
 out, whereat she smiled brightly and said that it might 
 be better to burn out than rust out. 
 
 " It is n t a question of playing with superficial 
 metaphor, nor yet of life or death," answered the 
 great man, " nor yet of merely losing your freshness ; 
 but of losing your self-control, of devitalizing your 
 nervous forces so that you will say things you do not 
 wish to say, do things you do not wish to do, and 
 betray the things you might wish to hide. A woman 
 buys her life of excitement dearly at this price." 
 
 Gladys drew the lily slowly through her hand, and 
 listened attentively. 
 
 " That is true," she said at last without looking up ; 
 and then she encouraged him to talk of himself, and 
 had a faint triumph when her personal ascendency 
 proved sufficient to cause the man of science to forget 
 the hour and lose his train. 
 
 When the doctor next interviewed her husband he 
 said that the gayeties must be stopped, and recom 
 mended a change of air and scene, preferably to the 
 seashore. To himself he wondered if nervous prostra 
 tion would be the worst of it. 
 
 Gladys was unexpectedly friendly to Arthur s sug 
 gestion that they have no more guests, but was visibly 
 agitated at his mention of a month at the seashore. 
 
 321
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I cannot go to the sea ! " she cried. " You must 
 know that I cannot go to the sea ! " 
 
 " I know nothing of the sort," said Arthur. 
 
 She controlled herself quickly, realizing that she 
 was already fulfilling the doctor s prophecy. 
 
 " I could go to Aunt Edith s," she said, after a 
 pause. " Uncle Willie has asked me again and again." 
 
 " There was the Harts yachting cruise planned for 
 next month," he said uneasily, "and I don t know 
 that it would do for both of us to back out of that." 
 
 " Of course not," assented Gladys, " and I could not 
 bear to deprive you of your good time." 
 
 Conscious of secret disloyalty, Gladys was feverish 
 in her anxiety to make her husband happy. 
 
 " But I will give it up if you like," he said, fum 
 bling with books on the table. 
 
 "No, dear, you must not think of it." Arthur strolled 
 aimlessly from the room, but in a moment he came 
 back again. 
 
 "I am glad enough to go with you," he reiterated, 
 with something of anxious humility veiled by sullen- 
 ness of manner. But his wife assured him of her cheerful 
 readiness to be without him, and he did not mention 
 the subject again.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE PLACE OF MEMORIES 
 
 Gi 
 
 "LADYS had grown to dread the sea, for she knew 
 that it would speak to her with its solemn voice of 
 things that she feared. 
 
 When she arrived at the coquettish little station 
 where Mrs. Stanwood s carriage was to meet her, she 
 found herself greeted by her aunt in person, whose 
 conversation, more than usually gay and insouciante, 
 claimed her superficial attention agreeably. 
 
 " I m so glad you came, cherie," she began, as the 
 little mare started through the village. "You were 
 never more needed, for Sir Gilbert Essington has just 
 come down for the week end." 
 
 " And who is Sir Gilbert Essington? " 
 
 " The Essington who was colonial secretary for so 
 long. He is traveling for his health, but the really im 
 portant fact about him is that he has come to America 
 with the avowed intention of disliking American wo 
 men and ice water." 
 
 " How charming ! " said Gladys. " What shall we do 
 about him, Aunt Edith ? " 
 
 " I have plans," said Mrs. Stanwood, " which we will 
 discuss later. They depend somewhat upon you." 
 
 "Upon me?" 
 
 323
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " Yes. You see, he is not our only visitor." 
 
 "And I came to rest," said Gladys, with a droll 
 smile. " How pleased the doctor would be ! " 
 
 Mrs. Stan wood observed her niece s poignant frailty 
 with some dismay, but she said nothing. 
 
 " Who is the other ? " asked Gladys ; " and has he 
 also brought a valise full of hostile prejudices ? " 
 
 " His coming was quite unexpected. It was a sud 
 den whim of your uncle s to have him here, and I feared 
 you might be annoyed, but it was too late to warn 
 you." 
 
 "Is your second visitor so very objectionable?" 
 asked Gladys lightly. 
 
 " It is Richard Copeland," said her aunt. 
 
 Gladys felt suddenly faint, and the world seemed to 
 slip from her like water under foot ; but almost imme 
 diately the instinct of self-preservation came to her aid. 
 She knew that she must sit very still, and, when the 
 faintness had passed, speak as though nothing had 
 happened. 
 
 "I know that you disapprove of him," continued 
 her aunt easily. 
 
 " But one disapproves of so many people one is 
 obliged to meet." Gladys listened to her own voice 
 with an odd sense of detached ownership, and almost 
 wondered what it would say next. 
 
 " Mr. Copeland used to be a very agreeable man," 
 continued the voice, with apparent ease. " He is prob 
 ably so still." 
 
 " He does not talk much," said Mrs. Stanwood. 
 324
 
 THE PLACE OF MEMORIES 
 
 " Willie seems to have taken a great fancy to him, and 
 insisted on having him down here, so there was nothing 
 for it but to write him a graceful note of invitation 
 which I did all the more gladly as the season is over 
 and he will not meet the people he used to know. 
 His being here also has the effect of keeping Willie 
 occupied. I am afraid that you will find your uncle 
 very much changed." . 
 
 Through a universe of perilously sliding impressions 
 Gladys perceived that her aunt was talking to save her 
 niece s self-control. 
 
 " Has he been ill ? " she asked. 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood explained that last spring her hus 
 band had suffered from what was probably a slight 
 stroke, and since then he had not recovered his normal 
 health and spirits. Gladys listened with every appear 
 ance of sympathy, and was able to make the right re 
 marks at the right moments while regaining mastery 
 over herself. 
 
 " There is the sea you used to be so fond of," said 
 her aunt suddenly. " What do you think of it now ? " 
 
 " I am not thinking of it at all," she answered, "but 
 wondering if Celeste put in my new Doucet gown. I 
 shall need it if I am to deal successfully with an Eng 
 lishman coated in the mail of insular prejudice." 
 
 She spoke composedly, but Mrs. Stanwood, looking 
 at the white, still profile, told herself that this was a bad 
 case, the ending of which it was impossible to foresee. 
 She talked persistently and gayly, while Gladys felt the 
 wind of the sea on her face as it had been long ago. 
 
 325
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 How was she to meet this man whom she loved and 
 despised ? How was she to speak to him and hear his 
 voice ? At the thought of his nearness she turned faint 
 and sick again, so that she was afraid, and wondered if 
 this thing were to prove too strong for her. 
 
 In the meantime her aunt continued to talk of her 
 husband, of his growing depression and apathy, and of 
 the trial he had become. 
 
 And poor William Stanwood was hard to deal with 
 in these days. Walking painfully on the worn-out edge 
 of his life he developed unsuspected and unpleasant 
 qualities. He was irritable, and evinced an unex 
 plained suspicion of the wife he had loved so long and 
 so well. He had also lost his interest in beetles. These 
 were unkind thrusts for life to play him at the last, for 
 he had always served it with simplicity and honor; and 
 in a dim, half-conscious way he felt them to be so as he 
 sat hour after hour in the " Beetlery," handling his 
 rarest specimens with indifference. 
 
 His desire to see Richard Copeland had been a sud 
 den one, and he made the demand before his wife s 
 friends and in a way which made it impossible for her 
 to refuse. But Mrs. Stanwood was seriously annoyed 
 that Gladj^s should have arrived while Dick was in the 
 house. Her niece had been a girl of vagrant impulses ; 
 she was a woman possessed of, if not by, strange and 
 indomitable forces, forces which might lead her into 
 lawless action. And Dick was a social rebel, as well as 
 a powerful, determined man. 
 
 Neither Richard nor Sir Gilbert was at home when 
 326
 
 THE PLACE OF MEMORIES 
 
 they arrived, and Gladys went to her room on the plea 
 of fatigue, promising to be downstairs for afternoon 
 tea, by which time the men would probably have re 
 turned from their walk. 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood had given her a room in another 
 part of the house from the one she had occupied as a 
 girl, and her windows opened on a tactfully cherished 
 landscape of lawns and shrubs, instead of on the sea. 
 
 She had not seen her aunt s home since the last sum 
 mer of her actual girlhood, and now, lying on a sofa in 
 the lace neglige the maid had substituted for her travel 
 ing gown, she gave herself into the arms of a tide of 
 memory. 
 
 And there she met again her early rapture. Whole 
 days and hours of that radiant summer were marshaled 
 before her, vivid, golden, unforgettable. She met again 
 the Dick who had been the hero of her girlhood, and 
 again her nature vibrated to that love of his which held 
 so much of worship that in the eager ideality of youth 
 she had felt it to consecrate her life to higher issues. 
 There had even been solemn hours when she had vowed 
 never to prove unworthy of him, even though she with 
 held her love. She heard again the words he had 
 spoken, and smelled the sea wind, and felt it on her 
 face and in her hair. 
 
 For a time the memories drugged her like an opiate. 
 She smiled among them drowsily, and once tears of 
 exquisite pleasure trembled on her lashes, and once she 
 blushed. 
 
 Suddenly she came back to the present, and could 
 327
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 have cried aloud with pain, not because of her ruined 
 happiness, nor because she was ashamed of her love, 
 but because Dick was unworthy. She felt an awful 
 desolation, unlike any she had yet known. It was a 
 sadness that seemed immemorial, the hoarded sadness 
 of centuries, the voice of all suffering since the be 
 ginning of the world. All that youth had promised 
 her of happiness, of truth, and of high endeavor had 
 been betrayed, and now she saw clearly into her life, 
 and knew that it was a question as to whether or not 
 she could bring her nature through it unspoiled. Her 
 love was a degradation of the spirit. That which should 
 have been highest was lowest, and the values of life lay 
 in huge disarray. 
 
 She saw herself mastered by an emotion that was an 
 outrage to herself, and was degraded in her own eyes. 
 Poison was in her spirit, and little by little she knew 
 herself to be undergoing a slow deterioration. 
 
 A dog barking on the lawn and the sound of carriage 
 wheels on the avenue recalled her to immediate action. 
 Here was an afternoon, a Sunday, and probably another 
 forenoon to be lived in the house with Kichard Cope- 
 land among the surroundings of their early friendship. 
 And the first necessity was to ring for her maid and 
 prepare to meet him at afternoon tea. 
 
 In bringing her face to face with Dick under this 
 particular roof, fate tortured her with an ingenuity that 
 stung to defiance, and she dressed in a mood of growing 
 pride and determination not to be conquered. 
 
 " Oherie! But how white you look! I should never 
 328
 
 THE PLACE OF MEMORIES 
 
 think you had been resting! " exclaimed Mrs. Stan wood, 
 when her niece entered the drawing-room. 
 
 " Resting is so fatiguing," answered Gladys, seating 
 herself deliberately with her face to the light. 
 
 In contrast to the pallor of her skin her hair was 
 more than usually vivid and luminous, and symbolized 
 the winged, indomitable vitality of her nature. The sky- 
 like blue of her eyes was lit with a passionate excitement, 
 which Mrs. Stanwood understood, and regarded with 
 uneasiness. 
 
 While waiting for him, Gladys elicited certain infor 
 mation from her aunt concerning Dick. 
 
 " Is he perfectly well again ? " 
 
 " Not strong enough to be included in a social pro 
 gramme, but as the man himself has made that impos 
 sible, I cannot, personally, regret his invalidism." 
 
 It appeared that the early reports of his financial 
 ruin were correct, as well as those concerning the bitter 
 ness with which he was regarded by both capital and 
 labor. His failure as a man and reformer was complete 
 and unqualified, and now that the story of his early dis 
 honor was made public Mrs. Stanwood shrugged her 
 shoulders slightly. Willie had never done anything so 
 inconsiderate as asking him to the house. Fortunately 
 Sir Gilbert was a stranger and had heard nothing of 
 the rumors. He appeared to like Dick, and to expand 
 in his presence. There had been some awkward mo 
 ments when Mr. Murray, the man who had been mainly 
 responsible for Dick s expulsion from the club, came to 
 call, and one or two others had met him in company 
 
 329
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 with Sir Gilbert, on which occasions the frigidity of wel 
 come had been sufficiently palpable to make it necessary 
 for Mrs. Stanwood to offer some vague explanation. 
 
 " I really had to defend myself against the imputa 
 tion of asking him to meet undesirable people at my 
 house," she explained, " for he will be sure to hear every 
 thing after he leaves. Of course, I went into no details, 
 and simply said that Mr. Copeland was a much-talked- 
 of man just now, and that there were unpleasant stories 
 about him which some people, among others my hus 
 band, had always refused to believe. It was impossible 
 to know what Sir Gilbert thought of my information, 
 for he pulled his mustache and said nothing. But he is 
 walking with Mr. Copeland now," she added. " Dick 
 has a power a dangerous power." 
 
 " What is he going to do next ? How is he going to 
 live if he has lost all his money ? " asked Gladys. 
 
 " You must ask Sir Gilbert. He could tell you better 
 than I. I believe he has some idea of entering politics, 
 but public knowledge that he has cheated at cards will 
 make that difficult, for it justifies every other dishon 
 orable interpretation of his career. As for the money, 
 I believe he has a few hundred a year left." 
 
 " So he has deserted the cause ? " asked Gladys. 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood shrugged her shoulders again. " Is it 
 surprising from any point of view ? " she asked lightly. 
 It was a source of regret to her that Dick s ruin was 
 of such heroic proportions, for its very magnitude 
 might become a source of danger to the generous tem 
 perament of her niece. 
 
 330
 
 THE PLACE OF MEMORIES 
 
 But Gladys was not thinking definitely of his fail 
 ure, nor of whether he were good or bad, nor yet of 
 the shame of loving him. She was conscious only of 
 the fact that she was about to stand in his presence 
 and to see and hear him again. Waiting thirstily for 
 the sound of his voice she heard it at last in company 
 with that of the Englishman, and then Sir Gilbert en 
 tered the room alone. 
 
 He was a large-boned, immaculately groomed man, 
 with an imposing force of masculine personality, and 
 possessed nothing of the stolidity which American jo- 
 coseness is fond of attributing to the typical Brit 
 isher. 
 
 Gladys was conscious of greeting him with a buoyant 
 gayety for which Dick s imminence was responsible, 
 and the Englishman responded readily to her delicate 
 impertinence. 
 
 " You are such a disappointment to me ! " she said, 
 looking up at him while helping herself from the sugar 
 bowl he held. 
 
 " This is terrible," he exclaimed. " Give me time, 
 Mrs. Davenport, give me time ! It is only five o clock 
 now ; possibly by six " 
 
 But she shook her head. " No, it is hopeless." 
 
 " But I might change," he pleaded. " Is it because 
 I am English that you think I cannot change ? " 
 
 " It is your sense of humor," she explained. 
 
 " Does it displease you ? " 
 
 " I have been looking all my life for the humorless 
 Englishman, the classic of funny papers, and I have 
 
 331
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 never met him. When I heard you were here I was 
 hoping to find myself rewarded for my search." 
 
 In the meantime Dick did not arrive ; but she felt 
 that he could not delay much longer. 
 
 " Why do you not like ice-water or American wo 
 men? " she inquired, turning a luminous expectant face 
 to the Englishman, who received an odd impression of 
 forces at work within her which were far removed from 
 tea-table chatter. " We are willing that you should be 
 gradually educated to an appreciation of ice-water," she 
 continued, "but why do you disdain the charm of 
 American women ? " 
 
 " It can only be because, like some modern literary 
 essayists, I disdain the obvious," answered Sir Gilbert. 
 
 " I should warn you that we have plans for your im 
 mediate conquest." 
 
 He bowed. "I am just realizing the transcendent 
 qualities of a courage that enables me to face such an 
 tagonists." 
 
 And still Dick did not come. Gladys realized that 
 the afternoon was to be passed without him, and felt 
 suddenly tired. She stayed only long enough to prove 
 that she was still sufficient mistress of herself to com 
 mand her voice, and then gave an excuse for leaving 
 the room. 
 
 In the twilight of her own apartment she made no 
 attempt to deny her disappointment, and emotion was 
 beginning to have its way with her. 
 
 That evening there was to be a formal dinner for 
 Sir Gilbert, and she dressed for it with elaborate care, 
 
 332
 
 THE PLACE OF MEMORIES 
 
 no longer seeking to disguise the fact that she was dress 
 ing for Dick. She chose a gown of pale blue, embroid 
 ered in a deeper shade with slender iris, and there 
 were sapphires in her hair, and a necklace of the same 
 stones on her neck. 
 
 "You are a vision, cherie, and would satisfy the 
 demands of the most fastidious taste," commented her 
 aunt. " Go down, and I will join you directly." 
 
 Descending the wide stairway Gladys was irresist 
 ibly reminded of a June morning many years ago 
 when she had gone down into this same hall to meet 
 Dick. The thought that he was unworthy had dis 
 appeared beyond the remotest region of her conscious 
 ness. It was enough that she was to meet him in 
 another moment, or two, or three 
 
 Her face was white with expectancy, and the usually 
 transparent blue of her eyes was deep as the sapphires 
 at her throat. To Sir Gilbert, who watched her from 
 the library door, she was poignantly frail, and lovely 
 with a transparent loveliness through which it seemed 
 that one could look to the vibrations of her innermost 
 being. 
 
 Gladys did not notice the Englishman, but before 
 reaching the bottom of the stairs she saw Dick, and 
 paused. He was evidently waiting for her to pass be 
 fore going up himself, and their eyes met for an in 
 stant in silence, while her heart seemed to stand still, 
 and her lips parted slightly in an effort to breathe. 
 
 Stern, rugged, uncompromising, he waited, and it 
 was evident from the power and gravity of his face that 
 
 333
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 failure had not broken him. He still carried his arm 
 in a sling, and he was roughly dressed. 
 
 Before the pause became dangerous she was able 
 to summon well-trained commonplaces of speech to her 
 aid. 
 
 "We are all glad to know of your recovery," she 
 said. 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " But your arm troubles you still, I see." 
 
 Dick answered nothing, while he held her with a 
 deep and unwavering glance. 
 
 " Will you not be late for dinner ? " 
 
 " I am not going to dinner " 
 
 " You are not " 
 
 " I shall dine with Mr. Stanwood in the library." 
 
 " Ah you will dine well, no doubt, and possibly be 
 as well amused as we." 
 
 She smiled, knowing that her lips trembled like a 
 child s, and went past him with her head high. The 
 dinner to which she had looked forward with buoyant 
 pulses was noise and emptiness. She saw the guests 
 as from a great distance, and it seemed as though their 
 laughing faces were masks, and that their mirth was 
 stale and bitter to them, as to her. Disappointment lay 
 upon her like a dead hand because Dick was not there, 
 and again she asked herself if this thing would not 
 prove too strong for her.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE ORDEAL OF GLADYS 
 
 Ai 
 
 .FTER an almost sleepless night Gladys rose the 
 next morning to the feeling that life was crushing 
 her, pressing her so close against the wall that she 
 could hardly breathe. 
 
 She was taken possession of, against her will, by a 
 devastating emotion ; and what was humanity worth 
 that a woman could become so poor a creature ? Dick 
 did not suspect her love, but if she betrayed it by a 
 vagrant tone or look she knew that she would be in his 
 power. 
 
 Social amenities were the immediate considerations, 
 and she found herself unexpectedly competent to pre 
 serve them. In the morning hostess and guests sat on 
 the piazza, for, owing to the lateness of the season, the 
 church was closed. Dick was near her. Was it malice 
 that caused him to sit on the steps and smoke as on 
 the day when she first met him ? Roses and fragrance 
 had gone from the garden beyond, but asters and 
 dahlias flaunted their colors with a crude and violent 
 effect that bruised her strained nerves intolerably. 
 Beyond the garden the sea, riotously brilliant, raced 
 up the shore line in an eager, glittering, obliterating 
 
 335
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 flood, an orgy of wanton power that called her to ele 
 mental forces and the man she loved. 
 
 But Gladys inquired politely after his health. Dick 
 answered in kind, and, after casually placing a few 
 more conversational straws in the face of the flood, 
 they lapsed into temporary silence. The conversation be 
 came general and desultory ; it concerned the weather, 
 prospects of next year s dramatic season, and the best- 
 selling novel. Gladys might think Dick a bad man, 
 but it was inevitable that she should know when his 
 mind leaped with hers to subtleties of phrase and mean 
 ing that were lost to the others, and now and then he 
 would look at her with an enigmatic smile on his lips, 
 send her a brilliant challenge of an adjective or an 
 idea, and for giddy moments she would forget all else 
 in a luxury of mental enjoyment. She knew that like 
 herself he was moved by the sound of the racing tide, 
 and that like herself he was thinking of the days they 
 had lived together in this same spot. 
 
 During the morning his old adorer, Phil Whiteside, 
 at whose house Gladys had met him years ago, joined 
 the party with his sister Mary ; and it was evident that 
 neither time nor adversity had altered Whiteside s 
 affection . 
 
 After sitting by Dick s side on the step and convers 
 ing with him in low and confidential tones, he endeav 
 ored, with the cooperation of Sir Gilbert, to make him 
 talk of the labor questions, to explain the causes of his 
 failure and his attitude toward them. It appeared that 
 his attitude had changed considerably. He had learned 
 
 336
 
 THE ORDEAL OF GLADYS 
 
 by failure. Ruin had forged his metal free from the 
 crudities and unwisdoms, and some of the arrogance 
 of his youth. New plans, new ideas were pressing upon 
 the old ones, rounding them up, trampling them down, 
 slaughtering them ruthlessly till his mental vision was 
 a battle-ground. These conquering legions he now mar 
 shaled with a certain fury, for Dick, brought again 
 into contact with the woman he loved, was fighting his 
 fight over again, and seeing no light through it a certain 
 rage grew within him. What was man that he should 
 be tied to the rack against his will as though he were 
 a beast of the field ? He willfully emphasized the bru 
 talities of his idea, knowing all the while that he was 
 adding to the misunderstanding and contempt of the 
 woman he loved. 
 
 " Let there be no more charities, organized or un 
 organized," he said ; " no more giving for nothing, no 
 more public soup kitchens, no more meals, or fuel, or 
 lodgings, for those who cannot pay." 
 
 " You mean that it encourages vagabondism ? " inter 
 rupted Mr. Whiteside. 
 
 "I mean that, and a great deal more. It is those 
 who are too weak to resist indulgence of their ten 
 der-heartedness who help to keep poverty and squalor 
 alive. The millions of dollars that go to charities 
 simply draw rags of decency over the disease that is 
 the shame of civilization. They hide the effect from 
 fastidious hearts that the cause may not be considered. 
 They assuage a temporary ill that the everlasting wrong 
 may remain invisible." 
 
 337
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " But, my dear fellow, the people would die in the 
 streets." 
 
 "Then they must die; and let their bodies be taken 
 up and laid on the high places that all the world may 
 see, and make its cry of horror and outrage heard 
 among lawmakers, for it is there, in the laws of our 
 barbarous civilization, that is the source of our evil. 
 Socialists in France and Germany are finding it out, 
 and securing seats in the government for themselves, 
 where little by little they may pass laws which will 
 end by doing away with the cause of a wrong which 
 our charitable millions only alleviate while they en 
 courage." 
 
 " Would you really let people go hungry and cold ? " 
 asked Mary, scarcely more than breathing her wonder 
 and pain. 
 
 " While civilization endures, some have got to suffer 
 for a little while that many be satisfied," answered 
 Dick. 
 
 Phil Whiteside fidgeted, while looking at his idol 
 with glowing eyes. 
 
 " It s all right, old man, and I am with you," he 
 declared. " But for your own sake I can t help wishing 
 you saw it from another angle. It gives your enemies 
 such a ripping chance against you. They can claim that 
 you saw the inexpediency of charities as soon as it be 
 came inconvenient for you to donate them, and that you 
 are satisfying a personal grudge against the fellows who 
 have ruined you. And don t you think you might state 
 it all with a little less brutality ? You talk as though 
 
 338
 
 THE ORDEAL OF GLADYS 
 
 you were no end of a vandal. Two of your present 
 audience are petrified with horror. Look at Mary and 
 Mrs. Davenport. You are surprising and shocking them 
 both beyond measure." 
 
 " I do not believe that Mrs. Davenport is surprised," 
 said Dick deliberately. 
 
 She drew in a sharp breath that seemed to stab her. 
 " I am in no way surprised," she said. 
 
 "And just as if we didn t all know that you are a 
 most preposterously tender-hearted person, who can t 
 even stand having a dog out in the cold, much less a 
 man," continued Phil. 
 
 But Gladys did not hear, for she had fled imme 
 diately after her last remark. She went off to the 
 cliffs and crept miserably into a hollow among the 
 rocks, feeling that Dick had given another stab to 
 the wound that was killing her. 
 
 She could have embraced his conception grim and 
 tragic as it was with passionate renunciation, but for 
 the almost fatal reflection it cast on his sincerity. It 
 was easy to believe this evil of him when she had ac 
 cepted all the rest. 
 
 Conversation on the piazza continued from the point 
 where she had left it. 
 
 " Then you propose to go into politics yourself and 
 become a lawmaker," said Phil. "But politics don t 
 pay, and how the dickens are you going to find the 
 wherewithal to live? " 
 
 " A man can live and be comfortable on seven dol 
 lars a week," answered Dick. "I know, for I have 
 
 339
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 done it. And I can make more than that by scrib 
 bling. The publishers have been after me for years 
 for an account of experiences in laboring districts, and 
 I am hated enough to be read." 
 
 That afternoon he walked alone by the sea. Insur 
 gent forces began to clamor within him. For years he 
 had allowed a lie to stand between him and Gladys. 
 For years he had stood aside leaving his own unclaimed. 
 The birds of the air were wiser ! 
 
 She was not merely the passion of his heart and 
 senses, but of his soul, and he knew that if he chose to 
 seek her love it would be his. That it was his already 
 he did not suspect. 
 
 He had permitted a hideous and grotesque misunder 
 standing to separate them, and had not the silence out 
 raged his nature and hers? 
 
 As the day withdrew into twilight Gladys was pos 
 sessed by the thought that Dick was leaving in the 
 morning, and that she would in all probability never 
 see him again, for he had accepted the editorship of a 
 paper in a Western town. 
 
 " How do we suffer so and live ? " she asked herself. 
 
 That evening there was another dinner, and again she 
 put on her blue satin and sapphires. But this time 
 there was no anticipation in the act, for she knew that 
 Dick was to dine in the library with the master of the 
 house. She was so tired that the very jewels on her 
 neck were too heavy, and against a background of 
 fatigue on which her nerves lay exposed and defense 
 less, the thought of Dick s departure struck with piti- 
 
 340
 
 THE ORDEAL OF GLADYS 
 
 less effect. Her spirit held no refuge where she might 
 escape it, and the rest of the world was dark. 
 
 She was dimly aware that before dinner Sir Gilbert 
 stood before her in an attitude that kept the other 
 guests at a distance. He said little, but looked at her 
 in a way that made her wonder if he suspected her 
 trouble, and was trying to help her. His presence 
 big, awkward, but determined comforted her so that 
 she was willing he should think what he pleased, pro 
 vided he did not go away or make conversational 
 demands upon her. 
 
 He was very kind, in the way that Dick might have 
 been kind if he had been the man she had first known. 
 During the day the two Dicks had become confused in 
 her mind, for when with him it was hard to feel that 
 his nature was other than spacious and fine. 
 
 " Will you please sit by me ? " she asked Sir Gilbert, 
 as they moved toward the dining-room in the informal 
 groups that Sunday evening entertainments permit. 
 
 The Englishman acquiesced readily, for he had al 
 ready asked his hostess for the favor of this arrange 
 ment. 
 
 " You are tired, so you must n t try to entertain me 
 or any of that rot," he said, as he seated himself by 
 Gladys, and during the dinner she continued to find 
 refuge in his friendly presence. Her misery had car 
 ried her beyond the point where it seemed possible or 
 important to make social effort. 
 
 "If I were not so tired I could do better," she 
 thought. "The doctor was right in saying that if I 
 
 341
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 did not rest I should do and say things against my 
 wishes and betray what I wished to hide." 
 
 The man on her right felt that he had never been so 
 disappointed in his life as in this, his first meeting with 
 Mrs. Davenport. The rest of the table thought she 
 looked shockingly ill. 
 
 Under her vivid hair and the gleam of sapphires, her 
 face was wan as that of a spirit ; but her eyes, more 
 deeply blue than usual, shone with perilous excite 
 ment. 
 
 Before the end of dinner she had determined that in 
 some way she must see and speak to Dick before he 
 left, and after the decision a fragile pink flushed her 
 cheeks and she talked with reckless and brilliant 
 gayety. 
 
 The meal was over at last, and then the period of 
 waiting for the men to finish their cigars, and finally 
 the last guest had gone ; but there seemed no way of 
 seeing Dick. 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood pleaded a headache and went to bed. 
 Sir Gilbert lingered about with the air of having some 
 thing to say. The brilliantly lighted drawing-room and 
 hall were empty and silent, save for a murmur of Mr. 
 Stanwood s voice which came from the half -open door 
 of the library, and was interrupted now and then by a 
 deep-toned monosyllable from Dick. Mr. Stanwood 
 had never been a talkative man ; but since his recent 
 illness he would often break long periods of silence by 
 an aimless garrulity which changed to fretfulness if 
 it was not sympathetically received. 
 
 342
 
 THE ORDEAL OF GLADYS 
 
 In order to avoid entering the library, Gladys threw 
 a cloak over her and stepped into the garden, from 
 which she watched the onward rush and glitter of 
 waves, alternately black and glittering under the moon. 
 The moon herself swung regal and golden over the 
 dark waters, and seemed to call Gladys to a lawless 
 and passionate life. She knew that she was fighting for 
 the integrity of her existence, and that by her actions 
 on this night the metal of her spirit was to be tested. 
 
 Sir Gilbert met her at the hall door when she re 
 turned, and as the light streamed outward she thought 
 of the night years ago when her aunt called her from 
 this same garden to hear of Dick s dishonor. 
 
 " Is n t Fate ingenious ? " she asked the Englishman 
 as he closed the door behind her. " She throws an 
 amount of intellectual subtlety into her cruelty that 
 rouses even a victim to admiration. Perhaps you would 
 like to say that her cruelty is so ingenious as to be 
 feminine." 
 
 But Sir Gilbert was not occupied with barren specu 
 lation concerning the attributes of Fate. 
 
 "The important thing is to bring one s self out of 
 the fight uncorrupted," he said stolidly. 
 
 She hesitated on her way to the library, while the 
 words arrested her wildly streaming thoughts. 
 
 " You are tired," he continued, in the same tone. 
 " It s time for you to go upstairs." 
 
 She hesitated still, and then Mr. Stanwood called 
 her from the library. 
 
 She found him sunk in his armchair, with his head 
 343
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 dropped low on his chest, and, in spite of the other fig 
 ure who stood in a shadow beyond the lamp, she was 
 able to notice how ill and changed he was. 
 
 " I have been hoping you would come in to bid us 
 good-night," he said, holding her hand with the feeble 
 insistence of the sick and the very old. " How lovely 
 you are, my dear ! How lovely you are ! " And then 
 he looked from her to Dick and back again with an 
 expression of unmistakable entreaty. " I think that 
 Richard wanted you to come in, too, though he did not 
 say so. Eh, Richard ? " He peered under the lamp at 
 Dick. 
 
 There was a moment s pause before Dick answered 
 easily, " Of course I did." 
 
 Gladys realized that he would not take advantage of 
 her uncle s failing powers, and was dangerously thank 
 ful for this evidence that he was not wholly unworthy. 
 It seemed as if he must know how her feet longed to 
 move towards him, how her hands longed to touch 
 him. The need was upon her to speak to him, and for 
 this one moment of her life she did not resist. 
 
 "I have been out," she said, looking at Dick, while 
 Mr. Stanwood detained her hand. " There is a won 
 derful moon to-night, a golden, full-rimmed, regal, 
 triumphant moon. You should see it." 
 
 " I have," answered Dick. 
 
 She knew that he understood. But when did he not 
 understand her, to the lift and fall of her every mood? 
 At that moment she felt for him the passion of intel 
 lectual sympathy, which is quicker to kindle and longer 
 
 344
 
 THE ORDEAL OF GLADYS 
 
 to endure than the passion of the heart or the senses, 
 and she longed to speak to him again. 
 
 " Don t you want to go out and look at the moon 
 together ? " suggested Mr. Stan wood, with evident 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Are you anxious to be rid of us ? " asked his niece 
 lightly, though she was startled by his desire to throw 
 her into Dick s companionship. It seemed the clearest 
 proof he had given of a failing mind. 
 
 "It is very cold in the moonlight," she added, "and 
 you must feel that my hand is like ice already." 
 
 " Yes, it is cold, it is cold," he murmured uncom 
 fortably. " It is not natural to have such cold hands 
 when one is young." And then he seemed unable to 
 hold the subject longer. 
 
 " I am tired," he said ; " I will go to bed." He rose 
 heavily and with difficulty. " Dick, my boy, will you 
 see that the windows are locked, and the front door? I 
 do not like to trust these things to a servant, and I am 
 not equal to doing it myself to-night. You think that 
 I have grown into an old man, don t you, my dear, 
 into an old man ? " he added, turning to his niece. 
 
 " No, indeed, Uncle Will. I think you are a young 
 thing yet," she answered, kissing him. 
 
 He shook his head sadly. 
 
 " I am an old man," he repeated. " All my life I 
 have lived in what they call a fool s paradise, and that 
 kept me young. When I woke up and found myself 
 only on the earth I grew old all at once. But no one 
 can take away the years I lived in paradise, and it s 
 
 345
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 better to live in a fool s paradise than than a fool s 
 hell." He paused, bewildered by such a bold and unac 
 customed flight into metaphor. " I mean that if we are 
 going to believe something that is n t so, the ones who 
 believe the thing that makes them unhappy are the 
 foolish ones," he explained more humbly. " I wish 
 that you and Richard would remember this," he added ; 
 and turned to go, leaning on Dick s arm as he walked. 
 At the door he paused again to address his niece. 
 
 " This boy has been very good to me very good to 
 me," he said. 
 
 After helping Mr. Stanwood upstairs Dick came down 
 again to lock the house, and Gladys knew that he and 
 she were alone in the still, bright rooms. 
 
 She sat in her uncle s armchair, listening, while he 
 made a tour of the parlors and tried and locked doors 
 and windows. She heard him distinctly through the 
 silence, and every sound of his seemed to beat against 
 the doors of her soul. 
 
 In a little while she knew that he would return to 
 the library to fasten the windows there, and after that 
 he would go unless she betrayed her secret. 
 
 In her desperate longing to cling to these last mo 
 ments there was no room for her to think that she 
 could save herself by going before he returned. So she 
 continued to sit in the big armchair, waiting for him. 
 But when she heard him coming through the hall and 
 back into the library the terrible excitement that 
 seemed to be burning her life away left her suddenly, 
 and in the consciousness of his presence, and of their 
 
 346
 
 THE ORDEAL OF GLADYS 
 
 isolation in the house, she felt an infinite comfort and 
 peace. Everything was well so long as he was there. 
 She longed to beg him to stay with her, and to tell him 
 all to sob out the story of her love, and her agony 
 over his unworthiness. Prompted by some blind in 
 stinct, she felt that he could remove her burden. 
 
 In the strangeness of the time and silence, myste 
 rious agents of psychical laws which have their home 
 beyond the realms of conscious being were working 
 between Gladys and Dick, and if she had looked at 
 him, or he had spoken, the truth would have come to 
 her then, for she felt his love and his tenderness and 
 his strength like presences in the room. 
 
 But he did not speak, and she heard him behind her 
 locking one window and then another. There were 
 only three. 
 
 It was while Dick was at the second window that she 
 remembered Sir Gilbert s words, " The only thing that 
 matters is to pull one s self out of the fight uncorrupted." 
 And she knew that if she could keep silent for the next 
 few moments she would be safe for the rest of her life. 
 
 At the third window there was the fall of a heavy 
 window sash, which brought her, trembling, to her 
 feet. 
 
 "What is it?" she cried. 
 
 " The window-cord is broken," he explained. " It is 
 lucky the glass did n t smash when it fell. I shall have 
 to ask your help, Mrs. Davenport, for it will need two 
 arms to fasten it now, and only one of mine is available. 
 Will you kindly lock it while I hold the sash up in 
 
 347
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 place ? " His tone was one of dry command, and she 
 went over to him slowly across the polished floor, her 
 heart and her spirit crying out to him till it seemed as 
 though he must hear. 
 
 When she reached his side the lock was found to be 
 too high for her to reach, and in silence he moved up 
 a chair for her to stand on, and helped her to climb 
 upon it. 
 
 "It is ridiculous to be so small," she said tremu 
 lously. In rendering him this service, in sharing with 
 him this simple act of everyday life, she was perilously 
 happy. 
 
 Once she looked at him, and on his strong profile 
 she read a certain savageness of restrained impulse. 
 
 " He is unhappy," she cried within herself. " Oh, I 
 cannot bear to have him unhappy ! " Her will swayed 
 giddily, as though in the power of an anaesthetic. But 
 she only locked the window and stepped down from the 
 chair, for she was going to save herself if possible this 
 night. 
 
 Seated again in the armchair under the lamp, she 
 spoke to Dick over her shoulder. 
 
 " When you go out, will you kindly close the door?" 
 she said. 
 
 " I am not going yet," he answered, and moved about 
 the room, trying the doors that led to the piazza. 
 Then she knew that he looked at her, and she sat 
 quite still in the chair. " If he speaks I must not an 
 swer," she thought, " and, above all, I must not meet 
 his eyes. Oh, God help me help me ! " 
 
 348
 
 THE ORDEAL OF GLADYS 
 
 It seemed to her that under the lamp-light her secret 
 must lie pitilessly exposed, and that Dick must be look 
 ing upon it. But he was not, for had he done so no 
 earthly circumstance would have prevented him from 
 claiming his love. He had no false pride about her 
 misunderstanding of him. He knew that it could be 
 destroyed with a word or look, and had he known that 
 she loved him he would have destroyed it like any 
 other grotesque and fantastic thing, for his manhood, 
 hardy, willful, and conquering, was greedy from long 
 starvation. 
 
 Presently he went away without a word, and closed 
 the door behind him as she had bid him do. She heard 
 him walk through the hall and upstairs. After that 
 the house was silent. 
 
 For a few moments she continued to sit motionless, 
 and then, without any warning, the floods broke loose 
 within her. With a cry she ran to the door that had 
 closed upon him, and cast herself against it, and beat 
 upon it with her hands while she called his name. She 
 had let him go, and saved herself, but what did it mat 
 ter that she was saved ? What was there of her to save 
 that did not belong to him ? She cried out that she had 
 been a fool, a fool, and sank upon the ground, 
 writhing and crouching there, sobbing harshly and 
 wildly, with her forehead on the floor, and hands 
 clasped behind her neck. 
 
 What did it matter whether he was good or bad? or 
 that to love him was right or wrong ? These things were 
 words beside the terror and anguish of knowing that 
 
 349
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 her eyes would not see him nor her ears hear him 
 again. She dared not look into the yearning emptiness 
 of her life. 
 
 If he were to come back now and ask her love she 
 knew that she would give it, for the moment had come 
 which she had foreseen dimly all her life, the mo 
 ment in which she was no longer mistress in the 
 chambers of her own soul.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 ARTHUR S RETURN 
 
 A 
 
 WEEK later Arthur returned from the yachting 
 trip to find his wife in the garden of his own home. She 
 wore a wide shade hat and heavy gloves as though 
 ready for work ; but sat on a bench idly, with some tools 
 on the ground beside her. She did not rise to receive 
 her husband, and in the eyes lifted to his he found no 
 welcome. There were dark marks like bruises under 
 the eyes, and her face had grown thinner. 
 
 " I did not expect to find you here," he said, with 
 moroseness and suspicion in his voice. " And you don t 
 look as though the rest had done you good." 
 
 " I came back I could not stand the sea," she 
 said, speaking like one in physical pain. " Did you en 
 joy your trip ? " 
 
 He laughed shortly. 
 
 " No," he said ; and sitting beside her on the bench 
 he began to dig holes in the ground with the point of 
 his cane. 
 
 Gladys realized that he was changed as though by a 
 moral and physical deterioration, which found expres 
 sion in the unambitious slouch of his shoulders, the 
 puffy skin under dull eyes, and the unwholesome color 
 of his increased flesh. 
 
 351
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I want to say something," he began, with sudden 
 resolution ; " if it s not true you can blackguard me 
 all you like, but it s true." 
 
 Gladys waited in silence, some prescience warning 
 her of what he was going to say. 
 
 " You love Dick Copeland." 
 
 Her answer was little more than a breath. 
 
 " Yes," she said. 
 
 It was over at last, and he sat staring at the point of 
 his cane as though nothing had happened. 
 
 For the space of a minute neither of them spoke, 
 and then Arthur took out his handkerchief and wiped 
 his forehead, after which his hands dropped limply be 
 tween his knees. 
 
 " God ! " he breathed. 
 
 " How did you know ? " 
 
 " One night in my sleep I saw your face as it had 
 looked the night of his accident. When I awaked I saw 
 the face still, and then I thought about it, and won 
 dered. After a while I did n t have to think any more. 
 How long have you cared ? " 
 
 " I do not know," she said, staring past his stricken 
 face. Their questions and answers were spoken in 
 lifeless monotones. " It seems as though part of me 
 must have always cared ; but I was a child that first 
 summer, I was n t ready. Then came that dreadful 
 time, the time when I found he had cheated ; I think 
 something died in me then, and afterwards I tried to 
 forget. There was so much excitement and change in 
 the years that followed that I thought I had forgotten, 
 
 352
 
 ARTHUR S RETURN 
 
 until I saw him again ; and then I knew that he held 
 power over me that no other person or thing possessed. 
 When he came near I felt deep and terrible powers at 
 work in me. But I did not know that it was love, or I 
 would never have done you the wrong to marry you. 
 I did n t know that it was love till the night we heard 
 of his accident." 
 
 For the first time she looked at him, and saw the 
 frightened misery of his face. 
 
 " There is one more thing I think you ought to 
 know," she said. . " That night I went to him ! " 
 
 " You went " 
 
 " Yes to his cabin alone. He was not as ill as 
 we were told, and he thought I had been lost. I was ex 
 hausted, and he gave me wine to drink and would have 
 taken me home, but Monsieur de Chavannes came and 
 found me." 
 
 " You were alone with him " 
 
 " As I might have been with a stranger ; he never 
 knew why I came. There is perhaps no reason for 
 your believing me." 
 
 " Perhaps not I do believe you." 
 
 " What can I say ? " she continued. " It seems to me 
 that no woman ever suffered so deep a humiliation as I. 
 But let me try let me try to make it up to you." Her 
 voice broke, and with a passionate gesture she stretched 
 her hands toward him. " Everything that my brain 
 can contrive, that my hands can do for your happiness, 
 is yours till I die. I will work for you, think for you, 
 live for you " 
 
 353
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 Arthur shook her hands off and rose to pace the 
 lawn, while she watched him, helpless and dumb. At 
 last he paused to speak, and she wondered to find 
 neither anger nor contempt in his face. 
 
 " Between us we have made rather a botch of things, 
 have n t we? " he said. In his voice and expression there 
 was a hopeless acquiescence in fate. " But I wish you 
 could remember one thing of me, I have loved you 
 well." 
 
 " Arthur Arthur " she was sobbing frankly now. 
 
 He listened to her with his eyes turned to the wooded 
 horizon, while an expression both bitter and cynical 
 usurped the momentary softness of his face. 
 
 "There must be, after all, a fate that shapes our 
 ends," he murmured, " and it should be confessed that 
 there is a certain poetic justice in mine. Please don t 
 cry any more," he said aloud ; " it worries me, and 
 there is no occasion for it. I want you to understand 
 that you are perfectly free." 
 
 She looked at him without understanding. 
 
 "You are perfectly free," he continued, with some 
 impatience at her expression. " I won t stand between 
 you in any way. It is quite simple." 
 
 "Are you mad ! " 
 
 " Mad ! " He laughed drearily. " I wish I were. 
 We can have a divorce on any grounds you like, or 
 make any other arrangement you choose. Do you un 
 derstand ? I won t stand in the way." 
 
 She looked at him without any change in the haggard 
 despair of her face. 
 
 364
 
 ARTHUR S RETURN 
 
 "I may have deserved the insult, but I did not expect 
 you to give it," she said. 
 
 " I did n t mean any insult," Arthur continued, un 
 moved. " Do you mean that of your own free will you 
 would continue to put it through with me ? I did n t 
 know you had such a prejudice against riding across 
 lots, and as for divorce, it s done every day." 
 
 " Even if it were possible for me to consider that, you 
 forget you forget what he is," she said, in a stifled 
 voice. 
 
 "Who? Copeland? I forget what Copeland is ? Ah, 
 I did forget, so I did. You are thinking of that game 
 years ago when he But we were all boys then. 
 Would you really hold a thing like that up against a 
 fellow all his life ? Would you ? Think how long life 
 is ; and if he were sorry and never did anything of the 
 sort again would you really keep on thinking him a 
 
 cad, and all that ? You women who sit at home and 
 are cared for don t know what want and temptation are. 
 What right have you to judge ? How do you know how 
 much he the man who cheated may have wanted 
 the money ? " 
 
 " He could scarcely have wanted money," she mur 
 mured. " And it is n t only that. His whole career 
 
 everything that he has done But I cannot talk 
 about it." 
 
 " You would n t have believed the other things, 
 the stories of the way he squandered all his money, and 
 the factory girl, and the talk about destroying the labor 
 ing man s religion, turning him against his employer 
 
 355
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 and then deserting him, you wouldn t have believed 
 all this if it hadn t been for that game of poker. 
 Copeland s as right as any of us," continued Arthur, 
 " except that he is a fool. I think him the damnedest 
 fool alive, and you had better tell him I say so." 
 
 " I shall not see him again." 
 
 But Arthur moved away from her, and appeared not 
 to hear. 
 
 " So it s all up," he said to himself. " The wick is 
 spent, the cord is cut, as the old song goes. I can t 
 fight this. But it s not her fault, and I am not sure 
 that it s mine. I was made of poor stuff at the start, 
 perhaps it s Dick s ; the game was his and he would n t 
 play. Yes, I think the whole infernal mess is Dick s 
 fault, and there s something of humor in that." 
 
 Gladys wondered vaguely why her husband stood 
 muttering to himself on the edge of the terrace ; but 
 she did not care. When he came back he said that he 
 must be going, but, making no movement to do so, 
 stood before her, apparently engrossed in digging holes 
 in the turf with his cane. 
 
 " Listen to me, Arthur." 
 
 " I am listening," he said, without lifting his head. 
 
 " So long as you will have me I will stay with 
 you, and make you as happy as 1 may. Do you under 
 stand ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I understand all right. You mean to put 
 it through," he said absently. Dislodging a pebble with 
 the point of his cane, he jerked it over the terrace and 
 lifted his head to watch it fall. 
 
 356
 
 ARTHUR S EETURN 
 
 " Well, I must be going," he said again, and turned 
 to leave her without a word of farewell. Before disap 
 pearing he paused irresolutely. 
 
 "The time may come when you will think that I 
 never cared," he said. " But it won t be true." After 
 that he disappeared into the house, and her world had 
 changed before she saw him again.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 DIANA 
 
 .RTHUR spent that evening with Diana Hart. 
 Her boudoir, with windows open to the moonlight, was 
 yet brilliantly lighted from within ; and dressed in 
 orange-colored gauze so shimmering as to be almost 
 iridescent, she moved about the room collecting pho 
 tographs and knicknacks. 
 
 " For we must have something to make our sitting- 
 room pretty," she explained, selecting two cushions from 
 the sumptuously colored masses of them on her divan. 
 " I always make a point of taking cushions and knick 
 nacks when I travel." Outwardly she was cool, com 
 petent, confident ; but beneath these things one divined 
 her passion and audacity. 
 
 To Arthur, who sat drinking whiskey and soda, she 
 seemed like some splendid panther. He was half afraid 
 of her, for it began to appear as though she was to 
 have her way with him. Then she paused by his side 
 to remove the whiskey. 
 
 " You have had enough," she said. " We do not 
 need stimulants, you and I ; our actual living is going 
 to be sufficiently audacious." 
 
 " You are splendid and beautiful," he said ; " but 
 I believe that you are cruel as well." 
 
 358
 
 DIANA 
 
 Diana Hart laughed low as she stood behind him. 
 
 " You will grow tired of me as you have of others, 
 and drop me as easily as you would a worn-out glove," 
 he said. 
 
 " But to-day I love you." 
 
 Arthur did not stir. The whiskey had created a mis 
 erable, confused excitement in his brain. He thought 
 of his wife, of how well he had loved her, and how ill 
 he had been repaid. He thought of Dick and hated him, 
 and then, strangely enough, he thought of the company 
 of strong and loyal spirits through which the poet has 
 said that God, bending, shows a little of his light ; and 
 he saw himself among the paltry and worthless. 
 
 Diana Hart stood behind him, knowing well that she 
 had never possessed him, but not doubting her power 
 to do so ultimately. 
 
 " Is the automobile ready ? " she asked. 
 
 " It will be here in half an hour from the time I 
 give the order." 
 
 " Let us start at ten ; that will bring us to our first 
 stopping-place at about one o clock to-night. And the 
 next day, and the next, and the next, there will be 
 freedom for us, the freedom of prairie and desert, 
 of strange ocean and strange hemisphere." She spoke 
 with palpitating undertones in her voice ; and then, with 
 an abrupt change of tone, she wondered what Gladys 
 would say. 
 
 Arthur had wondered also : once or twice he had 
 thought she would be glad, but of this he said nothing. 
 
 " Will she divorce you at once ? " 
 359
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I suppose so. And then you must marry me." 
 
 " I am not sure of that." Mrs. Hart laughed again. 
 " Lhave had enough of marriage, and I am not afraid 
 of the frowns of that little portion of the world we call 
 * fashion. " 
 
 "You are a splendid creature," said Arthur. But 
 still he thought wretchedly of his wife. 
 
 Then he rose, and Diana stood behind him no longer. 
 She was very tall, so tall that he could have kissed her 
 without stooping ; and suddenly something obliterating 
 took possession of him, so that for a while he thought 
 of his wife no longer. 
 
 " It is time that you loved a woman who can love 
 you in return," said Diana, with his arms about her ; 
 and again : " She could never have loved you as I do. 
 Say that you believe me." 
 
 " Yes, yes." 
 
 " And you will take me away to-night ? " 
 
 "I am ready." 
 
 " And you will love me, hush ! do not answer. 
 Soon you will tell me without asking. Come for me at 
 ten. I shall be waiting." 
 
 " I shall be here." 
 
 But suddenly she wrenched herself from him, and 
 cried out passionately that he did not love her, that 
 he was unworthy of the tide of life that she could 
 bring him, and she told him to go back to the pale 
 woman with the red hair. 
 
 But at the thought of losing her utterly Arthur saw 
 his life grow stale and cold. He had lost his wife, and 
 
 360
 
 DIANA 
 
 he did not dare to let Diana go. Panic took him as it 
 appeared that she might mean what she said, and for 
 a few moments even she was satisfied with his protes 
 tations. 
 
 But when he left her she watched him down the 
 avenue, doubtful of his return, though his eager pro 
 mises were warm on her lips. 
 
 The breath of the night was cool on Arthur s face, 
 the vault above was spacious and serene, and very soon 
 passion went from him as flame from a wick. He 
 walked slowly down to the inn where he was staying, 
 and wondered why he had consented to go away with 
 Diana. But he was not yet gone. The thought gave 
 him comfort. 
 
 He went to his room and put some things into a 
 dress-suit case, telling himself it might as well be done 
 and that it would be quite easy to take them out again 
 if anything happened to prevent their start. His trunk 
 had already been expressed to their first stopping-place, 
 but it would be easy to send for a trunk. 
 
 When there was nothing more to be done he sat 
 down and wrote to Gladys, which brought her vividly 
 before him. The small, pale face with its tender lips 
 and pure eyes and the halo of gleaming hair came be 
 tween him and his paper, as it had often drifted between 
 him and Diana s kisses ; and he cursed himself for a 
 poor, unmanly fellow that could not stop himself from 
 bestowing his love where it was not wanted. Diana he 
 had never loved; but there were times when she was 
 an obsession with him. 
 
 361
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 In as few words as possible he wrote Gladys what 
 he had decided to do, and while he did so he thought 
 of her sweetness till difficult tears stood in his eyes, 
 and he longed to put his head on her knees and tell 
 her about it and be comforted, as he had told her other 
 things and been comforted during the first year of his 
 married life. Of the long injustice he had done to 
 Dick Arthur wrote nothing, preferring that the man 
 should tell his own truth. The letter he decided to 
 post after they started, for something might happen 
 before then. Diana might change her mind and never 
 send him the signal of the raised window shade that 
 was to advise him of her readiness. He looked at his 
 watch, and found that it was nine o clock. There was 
 an hour more, and many things could happen in an 
 hour. 
 
 The room was warm and close, so he rang for a boy 
 and ordered him to take the dress-suit case down to the 
 gate and leave it there, after which he strolled leisurely 
 through the house which smelled strongly of kerosene, 
 and paused to speak to some sweet-faced old ladies who 
 asked him to take a hand at bridge with them, the 
 stakes being green peas. Between the evil hours he had 
 spent with Diana Hart Arthur had often played cards 
 for green peas with the old ladies, who severally and 
 ardently adored him. Arthur was usually beloved by 
 the very old and the very young, having for them that 
 easy and charming kindness which is often found in 
 men of his type. He refused to play this evening and 
 passed on, smiling under his yellow mustache at the 
 
 362
 
 DIANA 
 
 thought of what they would think did they know that 
 he, a married man, was about to run away with another 
 woman. The smile turned acid on his lips. 
 
 Arthur did not want to be a bad man ; viciousness 
 held no attractions for him, but temptations overcame 
 him, and he submitted too easily to the secret conscious 
 ness that, though the world might think otherwise, he 
 was a cad and a worthless fellow. Often this conscious 
 ness gave him cynical amusement. Sometimes, too 
 rarely for the good of his soul, it was wormwood to him, 
 as it was to-night. 
 
 In the garden he sat on his dress-suit case and lit a 
 cigar. He sat where he could see the light from Mrs. 
 Hart s house. Now he recognized fully the fact that 
 he no longer wished to go away with her, that he hoped 
 the curtained lights of the east chamber would not 
 be unveiled, and that he was not sure that he would go 
 if they were. In the code of many of his world he was 
 bound to go : he was in honor bound to dishonor, and 
 he felt a satisfaction in the cheapness of his moral fibre 
 as proven years ago, it seemed to loose him from ob 
 ligation. 
 
 Resolutely and deliberately he forced himself to 
 think of Diana, but his pulses remained unstirred, and 
 a cold sweat of discomfort and dismay broke out upon 
 him. He felt that he had never been in a worse plight 
 than now, when about to sacrifice all to a woman who 
 left him cold when she was out of sight. But then he 
 asked himself what he was sacrificing, for he had lost 
 everything. And he knew that though the thought of 
 
 363
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 Diana left him cold and reluctant at the moment, it 
 would still be possible for him to live some swinging, 
 triumphant hours at her side. 
 
 As the village clock struck the half-hour, Arthur s 
 chauffeur came for orders and was told to be at the 
 gate by ten o clock. But even then he had not decided 
 to go. The arrival of the car need bind him to nothing, 
 for it would be a simple thing to ride in the other direc 
 tion alone. 
 
 Left by himself again he wanted to think of his 
 wife, but forced the image of Diana into the eye of 
 his mind. She was a woman who might have many 
 lovers, and she had chosen him. Here was a delectable 
 morsel many men would have enjoyed ; but Arthur con 
 templated it without enthusiasm, for as men go he was 
 not vain, and he loved another woman. 
 
 " Any man would go in my place," he thought, and 
 tried to sting himself into action by thinking of the 
 wrong that had been done him, of the years when he 
 had given his best to a woman who did not want it, of 
 the other man But there seemed no power for heat 
 or anger left in him. He saw things dispassionately as 
 from a distance, and his own cowardice and dishonor 
 became plain to him, as though they had belonged to 
 another. 
 
 The clock struck quarter to ten as his cigar burnt 
 out between his fingers. He lit another, watching the 
 red spark of it with satisfaction. Even then he had not 
 decided to go ; but he had ceased to struggle, and left 
 the final issue to impulse, or the trend of fate. 
 
 364
 
 DIANA 
 
 Half consciously he was beginning to feel that it 
 would be easier to go than to stay. Moreover, his going 
 would give Gladys freedom and happiness. This was 
 so evident that he wondered he had not thought of it 
 before. There would be wrong both ways, wrong and 
 misery. Perhaps it did not matter which way his de 
 cision fell. Life was a paltry thing at best. And so his 
 thoughts drifted, hedging and compromising during 
 the last fifteen minutes. And suddenly the clock struck 
 ten. He looked up at Diana s house for the signal, and 
 it came almost immediately, a streaming banner of 
 light from the east window. At the same instant he 
 heard his car panting and straining thunderously as 
 it waited for him around the corner. Rising slowly, he 
 stretched himself wondering still what he should do, 
 but wondering idly, uninterestedly, as though about an 
 action that did not concern him, for it seemed to matter 
 so little either way. 
 
 While he stood, another window flamed in the eastern 
 chamber. Diana s signals were sumptuous, vital, like 
 herself, and he knew that life would be intolerably 
 dreary and comfortless without her. Moreover, if he 
 went with Diana, Gladys would be free. He waited to 
 take a few more puffs at his cigar, and then he lifted 
 his bag. 
 
 " I suppose that I might as well," he murmured, and 
 moved toward the automobile to give his order. There 
 was a mail box under the gas-lamp, and before entering 
 the car he dropped his letter to Gladys under the iron 
 tonsfue.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 G. 
 
 [LADYS received her husband s letter by the mid- 
 morning mail. 
 
 " Wait a moment," she told her maid. " Mr. Daven 
 port may be sending me some directions about his 
 return," and she read the note in silence. 
 
 "There are no orders," she added quietly. "Mr. 
 Davenport does not return just yet." 
 
 Mary Whiteside was spending several days with 
 her; but without explanation Gladys shut herself in 
 her own room, where she could face the monstrous and 
 incredible thing alone. Spreading the paper on her 
 knee she read his words again, and then turned it over 
 wonderingly, with her hand shaking a little, to see if 
 there were not some word of further explanation, 
 something to mitigate the crude brutality of his an 
 nouncement. 
 
 " I dare say that you will not be sorry to hear that I 
 am going off with Diana to-night. We shall not come 
 back." 
 
 Her husband had left her ; that was evident. Poor 
 Arthur! Had she made him unhappy enough for 
 that ? Unhappy enough to fly from her to such preca 
 rious excitement as he would find with Diana Hart? 
 
 3G6
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 She sat long without moving while she thought it 
 over. There were two points of view which some wo 
 men would have grasped at once, but which did not 
 appear to her at all. One was the ignominy of her 
 position before the world as a deserted wife. The other 
 was her legal freedom to follow the call of her heart. 
 Gladys had descended too deep into the abyss of suf 
 fering to hear the chatter of a social world, and her 
 broken marriage left her morally no freer than before 
 to yield to a love that had violated her holy of holies. 
 But below dismay, pity, and some remorse, she saw 
 growing a passionate relief in her freedom from a 
 marriage which had become dreary and hateful, and in 
 the freedom she felt that her nature could rise gladly 
 once more, even to the point of combatting her degrad 
 ing love. 
 
 Presently she summoned Mary to tell her the truth. 
 She knew the letter must have been posted on Satur 
 day night, and it was more than probable that the 
 Monday morning papers would contain full particulars 
 of the elopement. 
 
 Mary was speechless with dismay and a conscious 
 inability to treat a situation of such heroic circum 
 stance, but the deserted wife was calm. 
 
 " Poor Arthur ! " she repeated. " I did not know that 
 I had made him so unhappy. And of course he must 
 have his freedom at once." 
 
 " If it was any one but Diana ! " she added a little 
 later. " But I don t believe she will make him any hap 
 pier than I did." 
 
 367
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 Sunday was spent in writing to her family and law 
 yers. " For of course he must marry her as soon as 
 possible," she said. 
 
 " Divorce seems so perfectly terrible ! " said Mary, 
 whose face did not lose the expression of scared be 
 wilderment that it had assumed on first hearing the 
 news. 
 
 " Would n t it be still more terrible if he could not 
 have a divorce?" asked Gladys, with unmoved com 
 posure. 
 
 Mary twisted her hands helplessly. " And it will all 
 be in the papers," she moaned. 
 
 But before the papers arrived, and in the first wan 
 gray of dawn, there came a messenger to the house 
 who shivered in the morning air, and solacing himself 
 with vigorous chews of tobacco banged upon the door, 
 and asked of a sleepy and disheveled maid if anybody 
 by the name of Davenport lived there. On being in 
 formed that there was a lady of that name, the mes 
 senger delivered a yellow envelope, and demanded a 
 signature. It appeared that the maid could not write 
 her name, much less the name of another, and by the 
 time that Gladys had been roused to sign for her tele 
 gram the entire establishment was awake, and Mary, 
 shaking with cold and anxiety, stood in her bare feet 
 on the threshold of her friend s room. 
 
 "It is possibly the news of Arthur s elopement," 
 said Gladys wearily from where she sat on the edge of 
 the bed. Wrapping the bedclothes about her shoulders 
 she pushed the hair from her eyes in order to see the 
 
 368
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 telegram, and almost immediately she gave a cry, letting 
 the paper flutter to the ground. 
 
 " How horrible ! how horrible ! " she whispered. 
 " Read it, Mary," and she sat huddled in the blankets 
 while Mary read of the automobile accident which had 
 checked Arthur and Diana Hart when barely over the 
 threshold of their life together. Diana had been killed, 
 and Arthur was in the hospital, where his death was 
 hourly expected. The telegram was from Mrs. Stan- 
 wood. 
 
 " Oh, Gladys ! Gladys ! " Mary sobbed hysterically, 
 "how terrible to die like that in sin ! " 
 
 " It is as well to die in sin as to live in it," said 
 Gladys, her quivering nerves rasped by Mary s futile 
 emotion. 
 
 She smoothed the crumpled paper with shaking fin 
 gers. " The accident must have occurred by yesterday 
 noon. He may not be still alive." 
 
 " Perhaps he will not die. Perhaps it will never be 
 known that they were running away," said Mary. " And 
 if he lives, perhaps you will go back to him since 
 Diana is dead." 
 
 " I shall never go back to him," answered Gladys, 
 quietly, but with a hardness of manner that Mary had 
 recently and most reluctantly begun to observe in her. 
 
 A later telegram, from the same source, brought 
 news that reports of Arthur s injuries had been exag 
 gerated. It was even considered possible that he might 
 survive them. And then came the morning papers 
 with hectic accounts of the accident, and hints as to 
 
 369
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 causes of the nocturnal journey. Diana had written 
 freely to her friends on the eve of departure, pleading 
 no extenuating circumstance beyond the fact of her 
 love for Arthur, and fatigue of conventional life. She 
 had made certain statements to her lawyer with instruc 
 tions that he make them public or not as he thought 
 best, and for the next few days the papers indulged in 
 an orgy of sensationalism. The fashionable worlds of 
 two continents were aware that Mrs. Davenport s hus 
 band had left her, and that a vengeance, swift, terrible, 
 but happily dramatic, had overtaken the delinquents. 
 
 In the meantime it could scarcely be said that Arthur 
 lived, save in so far as he did not die. Very soon it 
 began to be suggested that Mrs. Davenport should for 
 give her husband in view of his probable death, or the 
 condition of invalidism in which he must endure his 
 life if it were saved. 
 
 Arthur had received his injury while trying to save 
 Diana, and it was from admiration as much as pity 
 that popular blame swerved from him sufficiently to 
 attack his wife. 
 
 Her own conduct during the past months was sub 
 jected to burning criticism. Her friendship with a cer 
 tain distinguished foreigner was discussed, as well as 
 her reckless social gayety. Diana was known to be 
 a powerful and unscrupulous woman, and there were 
 those among Arthur s friends who said openly that 
 Gladys s neglect had driven him to another woman s 
 love. Moreover, it was rumored that in his delirium 
 Arthur called upon the name of his wife. 
 
 370
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood visited her niece for several days 
 with the secret intent of discussing the situation from 
 this unexpected point of view. 
 
 " You would be considered an angel of light to go 
 back to him," she said. 
 
 " But I shall not go back," answered Gladys very 
 quietly. 
 
 She spoke with well-poised calm, and Mrs. Stanwood 
 was conscious of a new firmness in her attitude, a firm 
 ness that was uncompromising, and, as Mary White- 
 side had felt, somewhat hard. 
 
 Gladys bore no resentment for her desertion, nor 
 did she pretend to any particular grief ; but she had 
 suffered from life in the way that it is not good for a 
 woman to suffer. She was degraded in her own eyes, 
 and her nature was hardening in self-defense, as the 
 tissues of a man s body will harden about the bullet it 
 must carry for life. 
 
 " Poor Arthur," sighed Mrs. Stanwood, drawing a 
 strand of silken floss through her embroidery needle. 
 " He is quite a pathetic figure now." 
 
 " Does he want me to go back to him ? " asked 
 Gladys, with calm eyes on Mrs. Stanwood s face. 
 
 Her aunt admitted that he had not said so, but then, 
 he was scarcely in a condition to say anything. 
 
 " But if he does want you later, as he certainly 
 will?" 
 
 " Of course I have thought of that," said Gladys 
 composedly. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 371
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " And I shall not go. Arthur has money and friends. 
 He will not need me, and this much freedom I must 
 have the freedom of going my own way. Do you 
 and Uncle Willie want me to go back ? " 
 
 With regard to Willie, Mrs. Stanwood allowed her 
 self some reservations. His attitude toward the whole 
 affair, from his unconcealed satisfaction at Arthur s 
 desertion, to his excited fear that Gladys would return 
 to him, was only explicable on grounds of the general 
 breaking up of his system, and his weakening intellect. 
 
 In answer to her niece s last question Aunt Edith 
 admitted that personally she felt there was something 
 to be said for the course in question. 
 
 " What can be said for it?" asked Gladys. 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood smiled drolly. " I fear that none of 
 my reasons would appeal to you," she said. 
 
 Gladys smiled her comprehension. " Probably not," 
 she answered. 
 
 " Your position would be far better as a forgiving 
 wife than as a divorced woman ; you would be more 
 respected." 
 
 Gladys smiled again, a smile grave and somewhat 
 bitter, that sat strangely on her tender and delicate 
 lips. 
 
 " Then of course you would have more money. But 
 this is a point that I know you are too unwise to con 
 sider." 
 
 " Thank you, Aunt Edith." 
 
 Then it was that Mrs. Stanwood brought the argu 
 ment with which she hoped to prevail. 
 
 372
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 " It is one thing to divorce the man who is living 
 happily with the woman for whom he has betrayed 
 you ; it is quite another to divorce a lonely and help 
 less invalid." 
 
 " I have thought of that, too," said Gladys. " The 
 divorce is a side issue, of course, but this is a good time 
 to say that I shall do nothing about it unless Arthur 
 desires absolute freedom. For myself it does not mat 
 ter. But Arthur and I made too great a failure of our 
 life together to try it again. We shall simply live apart. 
 He has chosen to leave me let it be. If he is dying 
 and wishes me to come to him, I will do so ; but if he 
 lives, I shall never go back." 
 
 There was a sense of finality in the very composure 
 with which her words were uttered, and Mrs. Stanwood 
 tactfully refrained from pressing the subject further. 
 
 " The courts will doubtless give you all you need in 
 the way of money," she suggested. 
 
 " I think there will be no difficulty about that," an 
 swered her niece. " I shall keep nothing but this house 
 and place, which Arthur deeded to me last spring, and 
 the property he settled on me when we were married. 
 It will be enough for papa and me to live on." 
 
 " But, my dear ! You could claim thousands a year." 
 
 " I could never take money from Arthur except as 
 his wife. The jewels are already in charge of his law 
 yers." 
 
 " You have given up your jewels ? The sets of em 
 eralds and sapphires ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 373
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " Gladys ! you are mad you are worse you are 
 a fool ! They were personal presents from him ! They 
 are not to be matched in the country " 
 
 " I cannot keep them," she answered ; and Mrs. Stan- 
 wood found her as determined upon this point as upon 
 the other. 
 
 " It is a terrible waste," she moaned sincerely. " Who 
 will wear them ? It makes one wish that Diana had 
 lived." Then she changed the subject abruptly. 
 
 " Did you know that Richard Copeland had not gone 
 out West ? " she asked. 
 
 No." 
 
 " The story of his cheating at poker reached there 
 before he did, and the chance of editorship was with 
 drawn." 
 
 " Ah," said Gladys. 
 
 That evening she wondered if, after all, she should 
 ever see Dick again. Under the excitement of Arthur s 
 flight and accident the secret misery of her existence 
 remained unmoved. There were hours when the misery 
 became a torture, and she wondered how she was to en 
 dure a life in which her eyes were never to see him, or 
 her ears to hear him, or her hands to touch him again. 
 
 " The pain is too great I cannot bear it I hope 
 that it will kill me ! " she cried ; but knew that it would 
 not, and set herself with desolate patience to wait till 
 the passing of months and years should bring her re 
 lief. " For the time must come when I shall not mind 
 so much," she said. " Perhaps even in a month, or two, 
 or three, I shall suffer less." 
 
 374
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 During- these days William Stanwood sat in the 
 " Beetlery," struggling with confused and painful 
 thoughts. He knew that his end was near, and sought 
 to decide what he should do. 
 
 At last there came an hour when he went for the last 
 time to his sanctuary, and was found lying across the 
 threshold helpless, mumbling uncouth and inhuman 
 sounds. His second stroke had come, and they bore 
 him up to his chamber, which he was not to leave till 
 carried to a final resting-place. 
 
 Rallying slightly after the shock, he made it evident 
 to his caretakers that he was not yet ready to be done 
 with existence. His eyes burned, and he made repeated 
 efforts to ask for something or some one, but the words 
 rolled shapeless and inarticulate between his lips. Just 
 at midnight he moved his right hand and made a sign 
 as though he would write. They brought him paper, 
 and his fingers struggled feebly with the tracing of one 
 word, which the nurse deciphered with difficulty. 
 
 " Gladys ? " she interrogated. 
 
 His eyes gave eloquent assent. 
 
 " You want her ? " 
 
 He signed for the pencil again. " Hurry," he wrote. 
 
 For several hours his condition underwent no change, 
 nor did he cease to look at the door till his niece ar 
 rived. 
 
 She came at once to his bedside, and kneeling beside 
 him laid her cheek against his hand while the tears 
 coursed unreservedly down her face. The body of 
 William Stanwood was already dead, but never 1 
 
 375
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 the spirit which looked from his eyes seemed so much 
 alive. Yet it was not the simple, fearless spirit that 
 had been his during his long life, but rather one that 
 was tortured and struggling. 
 
 Gladys soon realized that it was not only to see her 
 that he had sent for her ; but to tell her something 
 which he feared would never be said. Now and then 
 his wife entered the room to stand, cool and fragrant, 
 by his bedside. 
 
 " He has turned against me," she whispei ed, at the 
 door. " Poor Willie ! he must be very near the end." 
 
 His niece never left him, and on the afternoon of her 
 arrival his right hand moved again. Pushing paper 
 beneath it she closed his fingers over a pencil. The fin 
 gers shook with the effort ; they traced one letter, and 
 the pencil dropped. He knew that it would never be 
 lifted again and the expression in his eyes was as a 
 visible cry of anguish. 
 
 The letter was D, and Gladys had a sudden prescience. 
 
 "Is it Dick, Uncle Will? Is it Dick? "she whis 
 pered. " Close your eyes if it is not." 
 
 The eyes remained open. 
 
 " Dick," she repeated in the same tone, and her eyes 
 were almost as haggard as his own. " What of him ? 
 Oh, Uncle Will, what of him ? " 
 
 She knelt at his side with her face close to his that 
 she might not miss any shade of meaning that went 
 from him. 
 
 " I love him, Uncle Will ! I have loved him always," 
 she said. 
 
 376
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 His eyes grew desperate, agonizing, his lips mumbled 
 loosely, and the effort to articulate was torture to make 
 and terrible to see. Gradually his niece realized that 
 he was dying and that he knew it. 
 
 " Bring lights," she commanded. " Bring them close, 
 closer yet ! There is something that he wishes to say 
 perhaps I can see it if there is light enough." 
 
 An hour passed, and a gray wanness began to sweep 
 over his face with awful swiftness. 
 
 " Uncle Will, try try to tell me ! " she said, with 
 dry sobs tearing at her throat. 
 
 His eyes blazed suddenly, and the sweat broke out on 
 his face as he made his supreme and final effort. 
 
 " Dick," he said. 
 
 The light in his eyes swayed like flame in the wind, 
 and then it went out. William Stanwood was dead.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 BURNT PAPER 
 
 TJ 
 
 HE morning after Mr. Stanwood s death Gladys 
 found his widow in the library, and a prey to excite 
 ment such as her tranquil nerves had rarely experi 
 enced. 
 
 " I have found his last will," she cried, " and he has 
 cut me off with only half of the property. Whom do 
 you suppose that I divide it with ? " 
 
 " If it is with me you may have it back again," said 
 Gladys. 
 
 " I divide it with Richard Copeland ! " She held up 
 the typewritten sheets and struck them angrily. 
 
 " This is a duplicate copy, or I should have destroyed 
 it as easily as waste paper and kept my counsel," she 
 continued. " Willie has not been himself for several 
 months, and Mr. Copeland has taken advantage of his 
 weakness to repair his own fortunes. This will is dated 
 on the day after the visit he made us." 
 
 " I do not believe that Mr. Copeland took advantage 
 of him," said Gladys gently. " I watched them to 
 gether, and and Dick seemed fond of him. I think 
 he was touched by Uncle Willie s goodness. No one 
 can be bad all the time. I do not believe that he 
 schemed to get the money from you." 
 
 378
 
 BUKNT PAPER 
 
 She turned her white and quivering face on the chair 
 so that Mrs. Stanwood should not see it. 
 
 " He shall not have it, whether he schemed or not," 
 said her aunt. " There is plenty of proof that Willie s 
 mind had weakened. The will must be broken. I wish 
 I knew who had the original. I must write Hinckly 
 and Hinckly of this at once." 
 
 As Gladys sat in her uncle s leather armchair, some 
 thing of his kind, loyal, and simple nature seemed to 
 be near her, bringing comfort to her lonely heart and 
 spirit. Tears, that had ceased to flow for her own grief, 
 coursed freely and quietly down her face. 
 
 During the last hours of his life the impression that 
 his unspoken message held a vital significance for her 
 had been strong ; but in thinking it over in the calmness 
 of aftermath she saw how unlikely it was, and attributed 
 his excitement to the feverishness of a failing mind. 
 
 Nothing could be done about the will until after the 
 funeral, and during the intervening days Gladys, who 
 was very quiet and more gentle than she had been for 
 many months, sought to calm her aunt on the subject of 
 the will, and Richard Copeland s possible share in it. 
 Fortunately for every one concerned, Mrs. Stanwood s 
 attention was evenly divided between the future of her 
 property and the immediate consideration of her 
 mourning. 
 
 Mr. Stanwood, at his own request, was buried in a 
 little churchyard tucked under a hill, and after the 
 funeral lunch was served at his home for members of 
 the family, as there was no early train to town. 
 
 379
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 In the hall Mrs. Stanwood, who was a dignified and 
 distinguished figure under the sweeping lines of her 
 crepe veil, called her niece aside. 
 
 "Did you see Mr. Copeland at the church?" she 
 asked. 
 
 Yes, Gladys had seen him. 
 
 " He is coming here," continued Mrs. Stanwood. 
 
 "Here"- 
 
 " Yes, and I could see that he knew about the will. 
 He would not stay to luncheon, but he is coming here 
 to speak to me. Tell James to send him to me in the 
 library." 
 
 So he knew about the will. The old restless torment 
 was upon her again. It caught her like a fever, and 
 corroded the balm of a pure and sincere sorrow for her 
 uncle s death. 
 
 In the dining-room she joined her father and Molly 
 and Harold. Harold was a senior at Harvard, and had 
 just been elected captain of the football team, from 
 which eminence he looked at Gladys with accusing eyes. 
 It is the way of masculine youth to be impatient with 
 frailties and the unconventional. Harold abhorred his 
 sister s unpleasant prominence. 
 
 " It would be much easier for all of us if you could 
 make up your mind whether or not you are going back 
 to your husband," he said. 
 
 " I have quite made up my mind not to go back to 
 him," answered Gladys quietly. 
 
 " Under ordinary circumstances no one could expect 
 you to," continued Harold; "but everybody is fond 
 
 380
 
 BURNT PAPER 
 
 of Arthur, and everybody knows that Diana was a 
 beast, and made him run off against his will, and that 
 he would n t have gone at all if you " He paused. 
 If I ?" 
 
 " I guess you know well enough. It does n t look 
 well to be so unforgiving to a poor fellow who must lie 
 on his back all the rest of his days ; and it s infernally 
 unpleasant for me, because all the world knows he put 
 me through college." 
 
 Molly was secretly shocked and unsympathetic. " It 
 seems positively degenerate to be mixed up with 
 divorces, and elopements, and men, the way Gladys is," 
 she thought. " So much for a European education." 
 
 But she gave no outward expression of her opinion 
 on this occasion beyond an atmosphere of disapproval, 
 of which Gladys was definitely conscious. 
 
 Professor Lawrence drew his eldest daughter aside 
 for some private words, and his gentle old eyes were 
 distressed and anxious. 
 
 " You look ill, my dear," he said. 
 
 " I am better than I was," she answered. 
 
 " And unhappy you look unhappy, also." 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " Would it not be better for you, for the peace of 
 your heart and spirit, if you could forgive your un 
 fortunate husband ? " 
 
 " Dear papa," she said, and kissed him, " I believe 
 that you are the best man in the world, now that Uncle 
 Willie is gone." 
 
 " Would you not be happier ? " 
 381
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I do not know ; but I shall never go back to him." 
 
 " It is not well, iny child, to be too hard upon one 
 another." 
 
 " I forgive him," she said, " if it can be said that 
 there is anything to forgive. I could wish that Diana 
 had lived to love him and take care of him, if she had 
 been capable of either, which she was not. But I must 
 have my freedom. It is the only thing left me, and I 
 will not go back to my bondage as Arthur s wife. It is 
 his own act that has made me free." 
 
 " I saw him yesterday," said her father. 
 
 " You saw Arthur ? " 
 
 "Yes, for the first time. You would hardly know 
 him." 
 
 " But he is going to live ? " 
 
 " He is going to get better ; but he can never get 
 well. A piece of machinery entered his lung, and this 
 injury, as well as the one to his spine, will make his 
 existence a precarious one." 
 
 " Poor Arthur! " said Gladys softly. " He was not 
 big enough for such a fate." 
 
 " He must live in the South, if he lives at all," con 
 tinued the professor ; " and they hope to move him be 
 fore January. I understand that the Sandersons have 
 offered to take him down on their yacht. It is a pity, 
 my dear, that you saw so much of that Frenchman, for 
 it helped to turn public sympathy in your husband s 
 direction." 
 
 " I hope so," said Gladys sincerely. " I hope every 
 one will be good to him ; and they will be. People are 
 
 382
 
 BUENT PAPEK 
 
 always good to Arthur. He will not be lonely. He will 
 not need me." 
 
 "I I have brought you a letter from him." 
 
 " A letter " - 
 
 " It took him several days to write it, a word or two 
 at a time, and he kept it hidden so that no one should 
 know." 
 
 The professor searched among the documents in his 
 wallet. 
 
 " I think this is it," he said, peering near-sightedly 
 at a scrap of paper ; and Gladys, turning her back to 
 him, read : 
 
 " They are beginning to talk of your forgiving me 
 and coming back. I don t know that I am worth bear 
 ing a grudge against, but I know that I am not worth 
 coming back to. I was happy in a way with poor 
 Diana for that one day, and I should have been happy 
 in the same way until she got tired of me. But I never 
 loved any woman but you. 
 
 " Perhaps I ought not to say this, for it sounds as 
 though I were urging you to come back, and if there 
 is a God in heaven He knows I would not do that. 
 
 " I am not worth coming back to, which is the only 
 thing my mind is really clear about just now. Ask 
 Uncle Will." 
 
 The handwriting had faltered into illegibility at the 
 signature. Here was Arthur at his best. The tears 
 stood in Gladys s eyes as she read, and she was forced 
 to conscious acknowledgment of what she had known 
 from the beginning, her husband wanted her. 
 
 383
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " But even then," she said, " he has no right, and 
 there will be so many others he will never be lonely. 
 I shall never go back." 
 
 When Dick was ushered into the library Mrs. Stan- 
 wood received him graciously. 
 
 " I asked to see you apropos of a somewhat unpleas 
 ant matter of which I am sure you will be as surprised 
 to know as I was," she began suavely. 
 
 " I had my surprise yesterday," said Dick. " You 
 are probably speaking of the will." 
 
 " Ah you know, then." 
 
 " The last day I saw Mr. Stanwood he handed me 
 an envelope which I was only to open on hearing of 
 his death. Beside some personal matter, which need 
 not be repeated, I found a will in which I am left one 
 half of his personal property. A copy of the same 
 document is, I understand, in this house." 
 
 " It is, and was found by me the morning after 
 his death. And now, Mr. Copeland, what are we go 
 ing to do about it? My poor husband was, as you 
 know, not himself mentally during the last months of 
 his life " - 
 
 Dick assented. 
 
 " And I am sure that you do not wish to take advan 
 tage of his weakness," she continued ; " at the same 
 time, these things are apt to be troublesome, and I 
 thought it would be so much more comfortable if we 
 had a few words about it in private." 
 
 At this point Mrs. Stanwood became aware that 
 Dick was looking at her with amusement. 
 
 384
 
 BUKNT PAPER 
 
 " I am perfectly aware that had Mr. Stanwood been 
 quite himself he would never have made this last will," 
 he said ; " and there are several ways of arranging it. 
 One is for you to break the will, which would be ex 
 pensive and troublesome for you. Another is to allow 
 the document to be executed, after which I could hand 
 the property over to you ; but that would be expensive 
 and troublesome for me, and I have no money to 
 spend on lawyer s fees. The simplest way would be for 
 us to burn both original and copy of the will in each 
 other s presence, and I suggest that we do it now and 
 here without further discussion." 
 
 A few moments later Leslie Aldrich tapped on the 
 French window with his cane, and, on being let in by 
 Dick, he perceived the smoke of burnt paper. 
 
 " So you have summarily disposed of the question," 
 he remarked, for Mrs. Stanwood had told him about the 
 will. 
 
 "I find myself in the position of having accepted 
 a present of one million or so of dollars from Mr. 
 Copeland," she said, and turned to Dick with her face 
 a little flushed. "I you are the first man in my life 
 to whom I have not known what to say," she added. 
 
 "From all of which I judge that my boy has not 
 lived up to his reputation," said Mr. Aldrich. 
 
 Mrs. Stanwood s flush deepened. 
 
 " I do not see how I can ever thank you, Mr. Cope- 
 land. I do not even see how I can try," she said. 
 
 " Perhaps I am only making a coup de theatre" 
 said Dick, looking about for his hat. 
 
 385
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " One does not make them at such a price." Mrs. 
 Stanwood laughed a little with relief and excitement. 
 " Perhaps you will let me beg your pardon if I may 
 not thank you," she added seriously, holding out a 
 hand which Dick took without enthusiasm. " I have 
 done you great injustice to-day, and I now begin to 
 think that the injustice must be one that dates back 
 much further than to-day. I am sorry." 
 
 Dick answered nothing as he dropped her hand. 
 
 " It seems as though the least I could do would be 
 to acknowledge our injustice publicly," she continued, 
 "but for family reasons, I allude to my nephew, 
 and the necessary explanations in his connection, I 
 am not going to do so. You must think of me what 
 you will. I stand confessed before you as a fabulously 
 indebted and ungrateful woman, and can only repeat 
 that I am sorry." 
 
 She spoke with the frankness that was her best 
 quality, and Dick yielded a certain admiration to her 
 almost manly directness. 
 
 A little later she left the two men alone. 
 
 " The thing I am puzzling over now is whether your 
 day is definitely over or only just beginning," observed 
 Mr. Aldrich. 
 
 " I think that one of them is definitely over," said 
 Dick. " But there s always life, and the fight that 
 makes life worth while." 
 
 " I have a suspicion that you will win out yet, my 
 boy, though you have an infernal mess of misunder 
 standing to live down. What are you doing now ? " 
 
 386
 
 BURNT PAPER 
 
 " Getting my book into shape." 
 
 "And after that?" 
 
 Dick shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " It s a beastly nuisance that this story of the poker 
 game should have come up again." 
 
 " I have an idea that I can make any man disbelieve 
 that the moment I choose." 
 
 " I believe that you could, Richard. I believe that 
 you could." Mr. Aldrich changed the subject abruptly. 
 
 " I suppose now you are ready to believe that she 
 was not happy with him." 
 
 " If she was unhappy, it was not I who made her 
 so." 
 
 " But if you had known how it was to turn out ? " 
 
 " I should have acted differently." 
 
 " And now, Richard, now ? " 
 
 " Now it can make little difference which of us she 
 believes is guilty," said Dick. After a while he turned 
 his back and looked out of the window. " I have a 
 ruined fortune and a dishonored name," he added. 
 
 " In so far as fortune is concerned, I have left you 
 the whole of mine," began Leslie Aldrich, looking more 
 than usually irritable. " And there is also a little sum 
 which I put aside for you at the time you went in for 
 reforming those wretched beggars, which was a great 
 liberty on your part, and I knew they would give you 
 your deserts before they were through with you. The 
 money has been rolling up very satisfactorily all this 
 time. It only wants your signature to make it yours." 
 
 " How unreasonably and awfully good of you ! " ex- 
 387
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 claimed Dick. " But I you see, I can t possibly take 
 it." 
 
 " The devil you can t ! And why not ? " 
 
 " In the first place, I don t need it." 
 
 " Fiddlesticks, Richard ! Fiddlesticks ! Look at your 
 coat." 
 
 " It s a very good coat," said Dick. " It s as good 
 a coat as I have had in years. A trifle warm for the 
 season perhaps, but I shan t find it so in December." 
 
 " I see that you are determined to annoy me," com 
 plained Mr. Aldrich. " You always have done so, and 
 I suppose you always will. You worried me into pre 
 mature old age, and now you willfully and wantonly 
 worry me to death." 
 
 Dick smiled. " And you have been the best friend I 
 ever had," he said. " But, you see, when it s a question 
 of money Besides, I have enough left to live as I 
 always have lived " 
 
 " And a devilish poor way that is ! " muttered the 
 older man. 
 
 " I should probably give the rest away to some re 
 form board or other. Now, how would you feel to have 
 your money helping to propagate reforms ? " 
 
 " I never thought of that," said Mr. Aldrich soberly. 
 " You mean that you would give it all away?" 
 
 " In one form or another, yes." 
 
 " Richard," exclaimed Mr. Aldrich, " all this giving 
 away of money looks perilously like Christianity ; and 
 I am hanged if I don t think some of you atheists the 
 best Christians we have ! " 
 
 388
 
 BUENT PAPER 
 
 Dick smiled at him with grave amusement. 
 
 " As for the money," continued Mr. Aldrich, " you 
 might as well take it, for I shan t touch it, and in the 
 bank it will simply roll up and contribute to the mil 
 lions of naughty capitalists. I don t see how your prin 
 ciples can allow you to permit that." 
 
 " I will promise to remember it if I am in need," 
 answered Dick ; " and the fact that you want to give it 
 I don t seem to know how to say thank you." 
 
 " Don t you dare to try ! You will offend me seri 
 ously if you do. Some day you may want to marry, 
 who can tell ? and then it would come in where it 
 belonged," ventured the old man, who had just per 
 ceived Gladys standing on the cliff s edge, a lonely and 
 sombre figure in black. But her hair suggested a bright 
 emblem of insubordination against mourning or re 
 straint.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 ON THE CLIFF 
 
 N leaving the library Mrs. Stan wood encountered 
 her niece in the hall. 
 
 " Did he know about the will ? " asked Gladys. 
 
 " Yes, but I am bound to say that he behaved very 
 handsomely. We have burned both copies." 
 
 Gladys turned without a word and left the house. 
 It was her last day there, and passing through the 
 ruined garden where the plants were black and stricken 
 by early frosts, she went on beyond the terrace wall to 
 the edge of the cliffs. The air was warm and still. 
 Under a gray sky the landscape lay subdued and lonely, 
 and out over the motionless sea were vast spaces of 
 brooding stillness. But neither brooding nor stillness 
 was in her soul. 
 
 She had seen Dick in church, and his face, stern, 
 lonely, and grave, had drawn her will from her. She 
 yearned for him intolerably, with the whole of her 
 mind and heart and spirit. And now she asked herself 
 the significance of good and evil. Was she not free 
 to choose ? Would it matter when the last sleep came ? 
 Did anything matter, save that the hour of one s 
 being should be full of life, since this life might be 
 all? 
 
 390
 
 ON THE CLIFF 
 
 Her love for Dick seemed greater than good or evil : 
 it was a part of timeless things, inevitable as the swing 
 of great tides, as the coming and going of stars. He 
 was part of herself, and if a part of him were evil 
 what then ? She imagined him coming to her alone 
 through the brooding silence, and she knew then that 
 the struggle would be over. Sin, pride, resistance, 
 these things were words. If he saw her now, and 
 came to her, she knew that she would go with him. 
 
 And just then Dick came. 
 
 She heard him on the porch, and then on the turf 
 behind her, and presently he stood at her side ; but she 
 did not turn to look at him. 
 
 " How still it is ! " he said. 
 
 The simple words were slowly and quietly spoken, and 
 as she heard them a strange thing happened. The mis 
 erable and discordant vibrations of her soul fell silent 
 suddenly, as will the strings of a harp when a hand is 
 laid upon them. She did not speak. It was enough 
 that he stood at her side. 
 
 So they remained in silence, and the world was very 
 still, as he had said. 
 
 " May I tell you that I am sorry for the unhappiness 
 I know you must suffer in the loss of your uncle?" he 
 said at last ; and then turned with a smile breaking into 
 the stern gravity of his face. " But I seem to have told 
 you without waiting for permission, don t I ? " 
 
 She realized a difference in his attitude towards her. 
 He was bearing himself easily, as one friend before 
 another, and without the distance and restraint with 
 
 391
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 which he had always seemed to recognize her know 
 ledge of his guilt. 
 
 " You were very good to him," she said. 
 
 " I thought it was the other way." 
 
 " He cared for you. Your name was the last word 
 he spoke. He tried to tell me something about you 
 after he could no longer speak. Do you know what it 
 was that he wished to say ? " 
 
 " I think I do," he said quietly. 
 
 " He tried up to the moment of his death. I wonder 
 my heart did not break to hear him." Tears stood in 
 her eyes as she lifted them to meet the pity in his. 
 
 Blind instincts within her were feeling their way 
 upwards toward the light. 
 
 "You were good to him," she said. "Why have 
 you not always " She paused, and turned away her 
 head. 
 
 " You are very tired," said Dick. " Would n t it 
 rest you to sit here where no one can find you ? I can 
 get you a rug in a moment, and then I must go." 
 
 "It is not worth while, for I must go back myself," 
 she said ; but neither of them moved. The wash of a 
 falling wave sounded from the beach below, and crows 
 called from inland pastures. 
 
 Dick had himself well in hand, but he dared not 
 trust himself to look often at the pale and tender face 
 of the black-robed woman at his side. He looked in 
 stead at the sea, and for a while Gladys watched it with 
 him. Great subdued lights roved and mused upon it. 
 The world was spacious and still. Creation seemed im- 
 
 392
 
 ON THE CLIFF 
 
 bued with a wide leisure in which truths could be heard 
 and felt. 
 
 Standing by Dick she felt his presence draw the poi 
 son from her spirit. He was there, and her life could 
 hold no greater, more secure content than this. She 
 looked at him, and for the first time she looked no 
 longer through the tortured medium of his imagined 
 guilt. But suddenly she remembered, and scourged 
 herself again with belief in his baseness and dis 
 honor. 
 
 "You could be good to him," she said. The words 
 were wrung from her as a wild and bitter cry of pain. 
 " You could be good and honorable with him. Nature 
 made you so in the beginning, I think. Why have 
 you made yourself unmanly, and base, and cruel ? What 
 is man ? What is life ? What is the power above us, 
 since such things can be ? " 
 
 A dark flush rose suddenly to Dick s face, and then 
 he grew very pale. 
 
 " Have you not been a little hasty in assuming that 
 they are?" he asked, and turned to leave her. 
 
 But she moved nearer to him, trembling. " Look at 
 me," she cried, "look at me." 
 
 He paused, and let her search his face trait by trait, 
 while he stood motionless. High purpose she found 
 there, and proud endurance, and austerity, but no line 
 of baseness or of yielding. For an instant the memory 
 of her husband s face came to her, and she recognized 
 its commonplaceness, its lines of weak evasion. 
 
 Then her eyes came back to Dick s, and she looked 
 393
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 through them into his spirit. She looked long, and Dick 
 understood, though he gave no sign. 
 
 " Was it a mistake?" she whispered, and then she 
 put out her hand and touched him. 
 
 " Dick," she said, " Dick ! " A sob broke in her 
 throat. 
 
 In his soul there went up a loud shout of triumph, 
 but he only gathered her hands into his and bowed his 
 head over them. 
 
 " Dick can you forgive me ? " 
 
 He kissed the hands. " Child child ! " he said 
 brokenly. 
 
 Her face, stilled with wonder, was lifted to his. " I 
 cannot understand I cannot believe are we alive ? 
 Is it you your hands your eyes yourself? Am I 
 dreaming? or have I waked? Look at me! There are 
 tears in your eyes! Have you loved me so well, then, 
 while I while I My heart was breaking because 
 I thought you were unworthy of my love. Think of it, 
 Dick and all the time the shame was mine for doubt 
 ing you the shame was mine! Can you forgive?" 
 
 "Hush Hush!" 
 
 And then suddenly she broke into wild and breath 
 less sobbing.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 ON THE SANDS 
 
 HE next morning she met Dick on the sands under 
 the cliff. 
 
 " Is it you ? " she asked ; and again, " Is it you ? I 
 feel immortality once more. You have given me new 
 senses, new heart, new soul. The sky is not the same, 
 nor the wind, nor the smell of the sea." The face she 
 lifted to his was transfigured. 
 
 " My love, my love ! " he said. 
 
 Land and sea were shrouded in a warm mist, tender 
 and luminous with suggestions of violet and rose, and 
 out of it the waves sprawled lazily upon the sands. 
 
 He brought her rugs and cushions to make her 
 comfortable among the rocks. 
 
 " Nature is friendly," he said. " She has sent her 
 vapors to wrap us about warm and close. Why must 
 I sit so far away from you ? Have I not been away 
 long enough ? and far enough ? All night I would not 
 have slept if I could and I could not for thinking 
 of you. There were times when you seemed to me a 
 creature all of flame and wind and spirit. I wondered 
 that a man would dare to touch you or call you his. 
 And now now that you are at my side, you are still a 
 miracle to be worshiped, and it is evident that substances 
 
 395
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 above this earth of clay must have gone to the making 
 of you ; but you are also the woman I love, and I shall 
 not always sit an arm s length away." 
 
 She put out her hand and touched his as it lay on the 
 warm sand. "Dear," she said, and in the word was 
 gathered all the unuttered tenderness of her life. His 
 eyes grew misty under the ineffable caress of it. 
 
 " Yesterday I was body, to-day I am spirit, and no 
 thing can overcome me any more. Yesterday my nature 
 stooped to meet love, to-day the uttermost reaches of my 
 being are not high enough for it. All night I could 
 not sleep for the wonder of it, and then look away, 
 Dick, or I shall be ashamed to tell I thought of the 
 dear, familiar little things that I had not dared to think 
 of all these years. I remembered the way your hair used 
 to grow back from your left temple, and I thought that 
 I could not wait till day to see if it grew so still." She 
 laughed, with tears on her lashes. 
 
 " What did you think of after that ? " he asked. 
 
 " After that I could think only of that which under 
 neath I shall think of always of the injustice the 
 wrong I have done you." Her voice broke. " And it 
 was Arthur." 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " You need not answer, because I know." 
 
 " How did you know at last that it was not I? " 
 
 " It came to me when you came yourself without 
 disguise. Since that dreadful night years ago we have 
 always met with the consciousness of this thing between 
 us. It was in your face, your eyes, your voice. There was 
 
 396
 
 ON THE SANDS 
 
 always restraint, and your acceptance of my understand 
 ing. You were never yourself till yesterday, when you 
 refused further admittance of this grotesque thing. And 
 if you had come to me at any time during these years, and 
 stood by me, and looked and spoken as you did then, 
 why, I should have understood, Dick. You would not 
 have needed to tell me that you were not guilty. I 
 should have known, as I knew last night, from your be 
 ing yourself. But you never came, you never came " 
 
 " Had I known you loved me I should have come," 
 he said. " No earthly power could have stood between 
 us then. It was I, after all, who was the dull, dense sod, 
 unillumined by any spark at all, since I could live in 
 the same world with your love for me and never know 
 of it." 
 
 They spoke of the future. "By the time the law 
 has freed you from him utterly, I know that I can be 
 in the way of making enough to support us," said 
 Dick. " It s only the beastly reputation I have which 
 makes me feel as though I should have run away yes 
 terday as soon as I began to suspect that you were 
 finding out I was n t quite the blackguard you thought. 
 For myself, it doesn t matter. Hostile circumstance 
 braces me, and I will wade chin-deep in it without com 
 plaint ; but I can t endure to think that you should be 
 touched by the fringe of the tide." 
 
 " There is something that I must tell you, Dick 
 something that I must tell you now." 
 
 Her voice stung him to nameless alarm, and he saw 
 that she had grown pale. 
 
 397
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I have not told you all I thought of last night," 
 she continued, without meeting his eyes. 
 
 " What else was there ? " 
 
 " I am afraid I am afraid to tell you." She shiv 
 ered, even as he drew her hands firmly into his. 
 
 " Gladys, what is there in life that you should be 
 afraid to tell me?" 
 
 " Only this one thing." 
 
 " Little girl, little sweetheart," he laughed uncer 
 tainly, " what foolishness is this ? " 
 
 " It is no foolishness. I meant that we should have 
 our morning, but I must tell you now." 
 
 " Tell me, then, but look at me first so. Now, with 
 your hands and eyes in mine, tell what you thought 
 of between four and five or was it between five and 
 six o clock this morning ? " 
 
 The pallor of her face was almost luminous, and under 
 his gaze Dick saw pain and entreaty grow in her eyes. 
 
 " Dick, yesterday, before you came to me on the cliff, 
 I thought that you were unworthy of a good woman s 
 love, and yet you had mine wholly. And because you 
 were unworthy, love so shackled me to dishonor and 
 shame that if you had said to me, Come, I would 
 have gone to you in any way or to any place you 
 wished. And to-day I know you for one to the loving 
 of whom a woman must bring the best she has, and 
 because of this I must go back to Arthur." 
 
 He did not speak, and for some moments his eyes 
 held hers blankly and without understanding. Then 
 very slowly he released her hands. 
 
 398
 
 ON THE SANDS 
 
 "This is foolishness, indeed," he began roughly. 
 " I 11 hear no more of it." 
 
 " Dick you must listen you must understand." 
 
 " Which of us is mad ? " he said. " Would you mind 
 saying it over again ? " 
 
 She repeated her words as nearly as she could, and 
 Dick passed his hand over his forehead. 
 
 " I was a bad fellow yesterday, and so you would have 
 gone with me. I am a fairly decent one to-day, and so 
 you will not go is that it ? You will admit the para 
 dox to be startling just at first." But then, with a ges 
 ture that seemed to sweep it all away, he knelt in the 
 sand at her side, and took her hands into his again. 
 
 " Dear heart, you cannot do this thing to yourself or 
 to me. Of that I am sure. But let us talk it over. No, 
 leave me your hands I will be perfectly good and 
 reasonable. I can be, you know, when I choose. I was 
 good one day, long ago, on the beach, when I promised 
 to be do you remember, sweetheart ? " 
 
 " I know that you can understand if you will." 
 
 " I admit that I don t want to understand," he an 
 swered, forcing a smile. "There is some mistake of 
 reasoning and conscience somewhere, so let us clear it 
 away." 
 
 Gladys spoke with difficulty, and her eyes, wide, 
 pure, appealing as a child s, were fixed on his. 
 
 " Why do you owe allegiance to Arthur Davenport 
 to-day that you would have withheld from him yester 
 day ? " he began, with determined patience. 
 
 " Yesterday, because I believed that love did violence 
 399
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 and shame to my nature, and possessed me against my 
 will, and all the strength of my soul, there seemed no 
 good thing in life. I was degraded by forces outside 
 myself. Right and wrong did not matter. But to-day, 
 just because I love you with heart, brain, and soul, 
 there is a divine obligation on me to do nothing un 
 worthy. A woman cannot bring to her love anything 
 less than the best that she has." 
 
 " Nor a man." 
 
 " And because love is so great and wonderful I know 
 there is something greater still, something that makes 
 life significant and beautiful, even if it is not happy. I 
 could have done wrong for the love that degraded me. 
 I cannot do wrong for the one which lifts me." 
 
 " Do you think that I wish you to do wrong ? " Dick 
 put the question with the precarious gentleness one 
 may use to a child whose caprice threatens a life. " Can 
 you think that, sweetheart ? " 
 
 "No, Dick. No." 
 
 " Then let us come to the actual point. Are you un 
 willing to dissolve your marriage vows ? Do you think 
 of legal marriage as anything but a makeshift, a human 
 institution ? " 
 
 " No, but it is the best we have the only one that 
 keeps civilized humanity from chaos, that attempts to 
 preserve purity and faith ; and as such we must guard 
 it sacredly." 
 
 " And is this conscience of yours so stern that you 
 would guard the form of marriage after the violation of 
 its purity and faith ? " 
 
 400
 
 ON THE SANDS 
 
 "No." 
 
 " And has not Arthur, of his own independent act, 
 broken his vows ? " 
 
 " It was I it was I who made him break them." 
 
 " This is madness ! " he said violently. 
 
 " Listen, Dick " - 
 
 " Child ! child ! you cannot hurt our lives so fatally 
 for a morbid belief like this ! " 
 
 " Listen ! " she cried entreatingly. 
 
 The struggle was beginning to tell on them both, and 
 her breath came quickly. 
 
 " I married Arthur because of what he could give me 
 and my family, and he married me loving me as truly 
 and as wholly as it was in him to do. He was never vi 
 cious, he never cared for vice for its own sake, he was 
 only weak ; and if I had loved him a little I could have 
 kept him a true husband and a good man. But I loved 
 you, Dick, you ! I had nothing for my husband who 
 brought me his best, and from whom I took all. And 
 then this woman came to him with what he knew I could 
 not give. When she came I was glad, for his love was 
 a burden to me, and I tried to think that he had trans 
 ferred it, but all the time I knew better. There came 
 a day at last when he asked me if I loved you, and I 
 told him the truth. The next night he went away with 
 Diana, and I was glad when I heard it, and told myself 
 that now at last I had proof that he had ceased to care ; 
 but all the time I knew that it was not so, I knew that 
 he had only gone to her because of his misery and des 
 peration. Then came the accident; Dick, be patient 
 
 401
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 with me, my heart is breaking ; at first they thought 
 he would die, but now he will live, and he will never 
 walk again. Did you know that ? " 
 
 Yes, Dick knew. 
 
 " They began to speak of my going to him, and again 
 I deceived myself and said that he did not want me, and 
 again, though I would- not admit it, I knew that he did. 
 One day he wrote me a letter. He wrote it when he was 
 purified by pain and despair, and I see now that he in 
 tended me to marry you; but after that I no longer 
 tried to think he did not care for me, only I told myself 
 that even if he did, that if he died wanting me, I would 
 never go back. Life still had no beauty or meaning ; 
 and that day that very day you came. Dear, if you 
 could ever know what that was, how the world swung 
 into rhythm again and I felt the consciousness of that 
 which, if not the God of human religions, is the life 
 above our life, a timeless spirit which was before stars 
 were hung, which is the beauty beyond our beauty, the 
 truth and love beyond our truth and love, dear," 
 her face was white and transparent with spiritual pas 
 sion as she put out her hand to him, "you would not 
 have me do anything for you which could drag us down ; 
 and so and so, I must go back to my poor husband 
 and take care of him as long as he lives." 
 
 His face was growing haggard and desolate. 
 
 " This that I ask of you is not wrong," he said. 
 
 " Could we be happy with that wrecked life between 
 us?" 
 
 "But the life is not between us. Listen to me, 
 402
 
 ON THE SANDS 
 
 Gladys, as I have listened to you. His life is not be 
 tween us. He came there by his own cowardice and 
 treachery, and by the same faults he has put himself 
 beyond us. By the law of men, of nature, of your God, 
 you are mine. Little girl, do you not understand ? " 
 
 He spoke with grave tenderness ; but he was begin 
 ning to breathe hard, as a man who is fighting for his 
 life in a losing game. 
 
 " It cannot be," she said. " I have ruined my hus 
 band, and I must stand by him to the end." 
 
 Then Dick felt the bonds of his self-control bursting 
 like rotten rope. 
 
 " And what of his unworthiness ? " he asked. " What 
 of his dishonor which took you from me ? What of his 
 silence which held you during those years of marriage ? 
 You say that he has loved you ; but I what of my 
 love?" 
 
 She cried out as though he had hurt her. 
 
 " And you pretend that you will put it aside as a 
 useless garment, and you think that I will submit? 
 This is my answer." He swept her into his arms. 
 "This and this!" 
 
 His strength, resistless as a great flood, conquered 
 her, then surrounded and wooed her with obliterating 
 tenderness, and she lay for a while, a deep and pas 
 sionate content possessing her utterly. But presently, 
 with both hands against his chest, she lifted her head 
 and looked at him. 
 
 " Dick, how far would you care to take me, if I 
 could be won against my conscience by this? " 
 
 403
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 He let her slip through his arms then. 
 
 " You mean that mine is the strength of the brute, 
 and may not prevail," he murmured. 
 
 " Dear would you have it otherwise ? " 
 
 "No." He passed his hand over his forehead, and 
 spoke slowly, brokenly. "No. It was a cowardly 
 means to use, I beg your pardon." 
 
 "My love! My love!" she cried, triumphant and 
 tremulous between laughter and tears. " Ah, I could 
 not do less than go back to him, since I must live to 
 be worthy of you." 
 
 He turned, and walked from her to the edge of the 
 tide where he stood a while, dim and unsubstantial 
 through the mist. When he returned she saw that 
 his face was set for conflict. 
 
 " The whole thing is utterly wrong," he said. " We 
 will talk it over again." He spoke with a grim, deter 
 mined calm, though breathing quickly. " It was his 
 contemptible act that separated us in the beginning. It 
 was through his cowardice that he won you for his wife 
 and held you. Are these things true ? " 
 
 "Dick"- 
 
 " Are these things true ? " 
 
 " They are true." 
 
 " And his last act of dishonor has given you back 
 your freedom. What answer can you give me to 
 this ? " 
 
 " The last act of dishonor was my fault." 
 
 " Your fault " 
 
 "Mine mine! " 
 
 404
 
 ON THE SANDS 
 
 She was kneeling on the sand at his feet, supporting 
 herself with her hand on a rock. 
 
 " I thought that I had explained I must try to do 
 it better," she said ; and with her words beginning 
 to break into sobs she struggled again through the 
 wrongs and failures of her marriage. 
 
 " I took everything and gave nothing," she said at 
 last. " I gave nothing, because I was yours, Dick 
 yours as I am to-day, as I shall always be in this 
 life and after. I took his money and his life and 
 assumed a solemn obligation in return, and I betrayed 
 it. I have ruined him. But for my indifference and 
 neglect he would have been a loyal husband, and be 
 cause of me this rest of his life is to be lived in pain 
 and helplessness. I must stand by and save and com 
 fort what is left to him of life." 
 
 " And do I count for nothing ? " 
 
 He stood above her with accusing lips, and strug 
 gling with her sobs she crept nearer to him, putting up 
 her hand to him in despairing appeal, but with an 
 untamed, unconquered spirit shining in her eyes. 
 
 " One reads about women who long to immolate 
 themselves," he said. " You are evidently one of them. 
 You think only of your own fault why not consider 
 his ? It must be a question with you of an excessive 
 desire for immolation, and quite incidentally, of course, 
 I am crushed along with you." 
 
 " Dick you are killing me ! " 
 
 Then he lay down beside her on the sand, and hid 
 his tortured face on his arms. 
 
 405
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " It is not that I forget his fault, but my obligation 
 to him outweighs it," she said hopelessly. " It is be 
 cause of me he is disgraced, and that the rest of his 
 life he must suffer and be crippled." 
 
 He did not answer ; and after a while she stretched 
 out her hand and touched his hair. 
 
 " Dear boy dear love," she murmured brokenly. 
 
 In the tenderness of her voice was such a poignant, 
 ineffable expression of her love that it followed him 
 into the years, and feeling that it must live with him 
 beyond the grave almost conquered his belief in mor 
 tality. 
 
 Without raising himself he drew her hand to his 
 lips, and she felt his face hot and wet with tears.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 RENUNCIATION 
 
 RED MORRISON and Mr. Murray discussed 
 Dick s presence in the region that had been the scene 
 of his disgrace. 
 
 " It s like his damned impudence," said Mr. 
 Murray. 
 
 Fred Morrison looked unsympathetic. 
 
 " I watched him at the funeral," he said, " and I am 
 bound to admit that I never saw any one look less like 
 a cad. If we had n t been so sure that he cheated at 
 cards it would have been easy enough to discredit the 
 other reports. Sometimes I wonder if there has n t 
 been some mistake." 
 
 " There s only one other who could have done it," 
 protested Mr. Murray. 
 
 " And that s a man who recently ran away from his 
 wife ! " 
 
 " But every one knows that his wife was to blame." 
 
 " There are two opinions about his wife." 
 
 " From what I hear there must be several." Mr. 
 Murray laughed as he spoke. 
 
 " Mrs. Davenport wishes to speak with you, sir," an 
 nounced the butler. 
 
 " Mrs. Who ? " 
 
 407
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " She said Davenport, sir." 
 
 " I must apologize for the intrusion," said Gladys, 
 standing in the doorway. " But I understood that Mr. 
 Morrison was with you, and so, as I wished to speak to 
 him also, I came in directly." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Davenport, this is an unexpected 
 honor ! " exclaimed Mr. Murray, with an anxious cor 
 diality induced by fear that she might have overheard 
 his last remarks. 
 
 Both men were conscious of a change in her. The 
 black-robed figure with the pale, pure face subdued them 
 oddly, and it was as though a strain of music, grave, 
 tender, and lovely, had entered the room with her. 
 
 " I am especially fortunate in finding Mr. Morrison 
 with you," she began ; " for I wished to speak to you 
 both, and as I have little time I will begin at once. 
 You remember, and you also, Mr. Murray, a certain 
 game of poker played in our club here some years ago, 
 and for cheating in which Mr. Copeland was expelled 
 in disgrace." 
 
 " Permit me to correct you, Mrs. Davenport ; he 
 was requested to resign. As chief actor in the trans 
 action I wish it to be so understood." 
 
 " Thank you. I had forgotten the detail. Since that 
 day he has suffered more or less directly from the ef 
 fects of his supposed action, and quite recently it has 
 interfered seriously with his career and means of earn 
 ing a livelihood. I have come here to-day to say that 
 Mr. Copeland was not the man who cheated." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 408
 
 RENUNCIATION 
 
 "Are you quite sure of this?" asked Mr. Murray, 
 with visible annoyance ; " and is it not far from er 
 wise to rake up the subject in any way after this dis 
 tance of time?" 
 
 " Not while the results of the story are cruelly injur 
 ing an innocent man. It is to my husband that the 
 blame belongs." 
 
 Both men gave a suppressed exclamation, and to one 
 of them her words suggested an ugly suspicion. He 
 had seen Dick and Gladys alone on the cliffs the day 
 of the funeral, and her unforgiving attitude towards 
 her husband was well known. 
 
 Fred Morrison suspended judgment. 
 
 " The circumstances have only just come to my know 
 ledge," she continued quietly, " but it may not be too 
 late for us to render justice. For the present I can 
 only give you my word that injustice has been done. 
 If necessary, my husband will confirm my assertion." 
 
 Mr. Murray cleared his throat. " It is a very delicate 
 and unpleasant matter," he said. " And we must speak 
 with entire frankness. Have I not understood that you 
 and Mr. Davenport were ahem " 
 
 Gladys paused a moment to gather the full meaning 
 of his suspicion, and then she spoke again with un 
 changed voice and manner. 
 
 " My husband is very ill, as you know. I am on my 
 way to the station now. I hope to see him within a few 
 hours, and if he is strong enough we shall go South for 
 the winter. But I may not be able to speak to him on 
 this subject just yet, and if you could make a general 
 
 409
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 announcement of the injustice done to Mr. Copelaiid 
 without bringing my poor husband to the pain and 
 humiliation of immediate confession, I we should 
 both be most grateful to you. If you cannot do this, 
 Mr. Davenport will give you a personal confirmation 
 of my statement as soon as his health permits him to 
 do so." 
 
 " Am I to understand that you wish me to make a 
 public declaration of this act of Mr. Davenport s ? " 
 
 " If such a course is necessary to clear the name of 
 an innocent man. But I am hoping that my husband 
 need not be mentioned in this connection." 
 
 " It is an exceedingly unpleasant business," exclaimed 
 Mr. Murray, rising and walking about the room. 
 
 " There is one man who must have found it so for 
 many years," said Gladys quietly. 
 
 " And it makes us look like a rare set of fools." 
 
 She rose and held out her hand. " But you are not 
 to think of that, or of anything but of ending a most 
 unfortunate and cruel injustice," she said ; " and you 
 are going to help me, are you not ? I am sure that you 
 will, and you also, Mr. Morrison. For any reluctance 
 on your part to make the truth well known will only 
 precipitate and assure the necessity for a personal con 
 fession on the part of my husband." 
 
 " If it comes to the necessity of a personal admission 
 of his er guilt, is it not possible that your husband 
 will refuse to make it ? " 
 
 "No. I can answer you this with absolute confi 
 dence." 
 
 410
 
 RENUNCIATION 
 
 " Is Copeland aware of what you are doing for him ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Shall you tell him that a movement is on foot to 
 clear his name ? " 
 
 " I shall not see Mr. Copeland again." 
 
 " It shall be as you say," Fred Morrison assured her 
 gravely. " And may I not express my admiration for 
 your courage and justice ? " 
 
 She smiled faintly. " Perhaps it does not require as 
 much courage as you think, and I am sure that the dif 
 ficult thing for all of us would be to remain silent now 
 that we know the truth." 
 
 Both men went with her to her carriage, and sought 
 to hide their gravity and concern under polite common 
 places. 
 
 The cold light of an autumn afternoon flooded the 
 hospital room in which Arthur lay on the day when 
 his wife returned to him, and she stood afraid before 
 the awful emaciation of his face. He held her hand 
 and looked at her while his lips quivered boyishly. 
 
 " They tell me you are coming back to stay," he said, 
 and his voice was hoarse and fallen. It seemed the 
 perilously unsubstantial echo of a man that lay straight 
 and still between the sheets. " They tell me you are 
 coming back to stay. Is it true ? " 
 
 " Do you want me ? " 
 
 The quivering lips passed beyond his control ; but 
 his eyes, unnaturally brilliant from pain and fever, 
 answered her eloquently. 
 
 411
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 " I never loved Diana," he said at last. 
 
 " I know " 
 
 " But I don t deserve this I never thought" 
 
 "Hush. If you talk too much they will send me 
 away." 
 
 His famished eyes devoured her face. " And you are 
 really coming back ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " To stay ! It is wonderful ! " he murmured, and 
 sighed, full of contentment. Then he fingered her black 
 dress feebly. " Who is dead ? " he asked, and while 
 she was wondering if it would be safe to tell him he 
 seemed to read her thought. 
 
 " It will be all right to tell me," he said. " I do not 
 mind who is in the world now that you have come back. 
 You are sure that you mean to stay always ? " he 
 reiterated childishly. 
 
 She told him so again. 
 
 " I like to hear you tell me so," he said. " I never 
 thought you would come, even to-day when they told 
 me, that your letter was not a dream. At ten o clock 
 they came to give me a shave for the first time since I 
 have been ill, for I did not want you to find me too 
 much changed ; but I was afraid to have them do it. I 
 was afraid that if I shaved you would not come, just as 
 it does n t rain if you take out an umbrella. At twelve 
 they came again, but I sent them away, for I was still 
 afraid. At one I thought that you must have sent word 
 that you had changed your mind, and I made some one 
 go to the office to find out. They brought back word 
 
 412
 
 RENUNCIATION 
 
 that you had left the hotel, so then I let them take off 
 my beard. Am I much changed ? Did you think to 
 find me so ill ? " 
 
 " I knew that you had been very, very ill, but you 
 are going to get better now." 
 
 " I shall never be well," he said. " Will you want 
 to go away if I am never worth anything again ? " 
 
 " No, no." 
 
 " Where are you going now ? " 
 
 " Only to take off my hat." 
 
 " Don t go far ; don t go where I can t see you, for I 
 can t turn round to look after you yet. Is n t it ridicu 
 lous for a great, strong man like me not to be able to 
 turn over alone ? There is something wrong with my 
 lung, too, and that is what will kill me in the end. 
 They say that I shall have to live in the South. Will 
 you stay if we have always to live in the South ? " 
 
 " You are a foolish boy," she said. 
 
 After that he was silent for some time, and seemed 
 to sleep, while his wife watched his face in the pitiless 
 light of his white-walled room, and knew with inevit 
 able prescience that he could not live long. Just after 
 sunset he awoke. 
 
 " It is wonderful that I am alive and that you are 
 here," he said, and he looked at her a long time with 
 out speaking. 
 
 " You have changed," he continued finally. " You 
 look happier than I have ever seen you. You look as 
 though you were happy about some secret thing." 
 
 " I am happy." 
 
 413
 
 THE EVASION 
 
 He waited some time longer before further speech, 
 then : 
 
 " Dick never did it," he said. 
 
 " I know," she answered softly. " I am glad you 
 told me." 
 
 " It makes you think better of me ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I wonder how I dared to tell you," he continued. "I 
 never should have if I had not stood so close to death. 
 To look at death gives one more courage for life." 
 
 " Have you nothing else to tell me ? " she asked. 
 She felt him shiver suddenly and put out her hand to 
 quiet him, but repeated the question mercilessly. 
 
 " You know that, too, then," he whispered. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And yet you came back ! " 
 
 " You and I must free Richard Copeland from this 
 injustice." 
 
 " Do you want me to say I know he is innocent ? " 
 
 " Yes, and if necessary you must say more. Confes 
 sion would be the only way for you to win back respect 
 for yourself." 
 
 " That is just what Copeland told me years ago." He 
 spoke as though musing aloud, and lay awhile in silence. 
 At last he sighed, as though dismissing the subject. 
 
 " I will do anything you like," he said. " It is all 
 the same while you stand by. I did not answer at once 
 because I was wondering why I was so willing to tell. 
 The ties that hold a man to the world seem to have all 
 loosened for me, somehow. Yes, I will tell the truth if 
 
 414
 
 RENUNCIATION 
 
 you wish it, and it will be nice to think things are 
 straight again with poor Copeland." 
 
 Gladys felt his hand seeking hers in the dusk, and 
 when he found it he sighed again. 
 
 " Now that I have confessed, perhaps you can make 
 a fairly decent fellow of me before I die," he said. 
 
 That evening, on returning to her home, Gladys 
 found Dick s last message to her. All night the words 
 of it sang aloud in her soul, and she felt that her 
 being would swing to the meaning of them while the 
 days of her life slipped into months, and the months 
 into the years that were to be lived without him. But 
 she knew at last that the years would not be many. 
 
 The message was two lines of poetry : 
 
 " I shall remember while the light yet lives, 
 And in the darkness I shall not forget."
 
 fiibersibe 
 
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