|BHXi OX CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS ANGELES
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 BY 
 
 GEOFFREY CORSON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 1915
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1915, 
 
 BV 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 Published February, JQI 
 Reprinted March, 1915 
 
 THE QUINN BOOEN CO. PRESS 
 RAHWAY, X. J.
 
 HARRIET W. PATTERSON 
 
 2128931
 
 BOOK I 
 FIVE CHILDREN
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WITH an itch for adventure in his own veins, Neal early 
 decided that only timid people remained ashore, or old for- 
 gotten persons, like his grandfather Alexander Carmichael, 
 who lived in a pillared house built by a prosperous sea- 
 faring ancestor towards the middle of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury. This ancient homestead overlooked the bay, which 
 had more ships upon it than a boy had the patience to 
 count on sunny summer afternoons, when joy was calling 
 from all quarters; from the hill moors; from the sea 
 marshes ; from the shaded benches of an old, old Mariner's 
 Rest, where ancient gentlemen home from the sea could 
 be prevailed upon to tell shivery tales of black ships rotting 
 their way to the bottom of the ocean, or battening upon 
 feebler craft in the name of skull and crossbones. 
 
 Whatever those old Greeks, beloved of his Uncle Philip, 
 believed concerning those untraceable islands of the sunset 
 called " blessed," Neal knew there had never been such 
 an Island as his own. It furnished everything to make 
 life complete, from silvered buds of pussy-willows in bright, 
 ungenial March, when all the winds ran with him, to chest- 
 nuts pattering upon dry leaves in the enchanted stillnesses 
 of October; from salt pools like fragmentary seas, where 
 one could launch ocean tramps with cargoes of acorns, to 
 tangled forest thickets, where one could examine with 
 breathless, restrained interest a mother bird's nursery. 
 
 Since Neal remembered neither his father nor his mother, 
 the actions of parents, whether those of other little boys 
 or of birds, had always interested him the more because 
 he sometimes mistrusted the vicarious theories of which 
 he was made the subject by devoted kinsfolk. Of this 
 band, gathered beneath the Carmichael roof, his grand- 
 father was the leader, and the only one, Neal thought, who 
 
 3
 
 4 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 had the right to govern him. No authority could be vested 
 in his religious Aunt Caecilia, who insisted on his attend- 
 ance at inscrutable services in the dim church by the sea 
 marshes; nor in his proud Aunt Maria, the Mrs. Guthrie 
 of a small fashionable circle ; nor in his unregenerate but 
 amiable Uncle Jack, a stockbroker with imagination. As 
 for Uncle Philip, long ago married mystically to the classics, 
 Neal was sure that he read too many books, for he always 
 missed the first robin and never saw the first violets. 
 
 The Island, at the end of the summer inaugurating 
 this history, had provided a wealth of adventures, which 
 made the opening of school distasteful in the extreme and 
 inspired Neal to distinguish the remaining warm days by 
 some suitable event, preferably one long dreamed of, the 
 act of heroism which should introduce him to a Hero, an 
 Achilles, a David, a Roland of Neal's own island, from 
 whose august society he was kept by the force of aristo- 
 cratic circumstances. The school he attended, an unim- 
 peachable academy, was not altogether to his liking, for 
 he had the secret conviction that it was looked down upon 
 by the gang who went, with unanimous contempt for learn- 
 ing, to the public school, and whose leader " Chick " 
 McCoy, Neal's hero, a wiry strategian was the champion 
 pitcher of the Irish Terriers, the baseball team that had 
 made Public School 49 a kind of prospective Walhalla. 
 The gods who dwelt there might have their twilight, but 
 never their superseders. 
 
 The Terriers, who played the kind of game that leads 
 to the glory of the League, had scorned the challenge sent 
 to them by the Bradford Academy team on a sheet of 
 monogramed note paper extracted by Neal's chum, Peter 
 Fleming, from his mother's writing desk. Rumor reported 
 that the " Chick," upon receiving this white scented sheet, 
 had spat upon the ball he was fondling and inquired of the 
 bystanders, "Can yer beat it?" The "Chick" himself 
 laboriously wrote the answer : " The Terriers advise the 
 Bradford team to rip off their gloves and root for a reputa- 
 tion. The Terriers can always deliver the goods to the
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 5 
 
 right party, but they don't leg it just because little gen- 
 tlemen whistle for them." 
 
 Neal picked out the sting rightly as being in that op- 
 probrious word " gentlemen.'' It so rankled in his breast 
 that at dinner that evening, emboldened by the low lights 
 and the butler's bank of flowers, he told of the challenge 
 and its answer, inquiring somewhat wistfully why gentle- 
 men should be debarred from the true pleasures of ex- 
 istence. 
 
 A rustle went about the table as the adults considered 
 the question ; Alexander, with a smile on his lined, soldierly 
 old face ; and Philip, as usual, dispatched to Greek mythol- 
 ogy by all questions bearing on the present; while Jack 
 regarded with wonder a nephew who believed in heroes, 
 since he himself at the same tender age had begun his epic 
 of disillusion. 
 
 " Gentlemen ? " The Head of the House considered the 
 word, twisting his wine glass. " Oh, they're not out of 
 things that's a mistake. What made you think they were ? 
 Bradford? Um! a breeding place for snobs, I suspect. 
 How would you like to go to public school?" 
 
 The word echoed raucously against the mellow oak panels 
 of the great room. The butler straightened himself, while 
 Mrs. Guthrie rolled her fair blue eyes towards the por- 
 trait of her ancestor the gallant sea captain painted by 
 Copley. 
 
 " Father ! " Caecilia, his unmarried daughter, protested 
 faintly. 
 
 " Father, you can't be serious," Mrs. Guthrie said, draw- 
 ing her scarf a little closer about her white matronly shoul- 
 ders. Since she had returned to the paternal mansion 
 widowed, and with a pretty little daughter to be established 
 in life, she had intensified her already decided views as to 
 the dignity of the Carmichaels. 
 
 "Why not? I want Neal to be a good American no 
 class distinctions, no nonsense." 
 
 His son Philip smiled, knowing that the Head of the 
 House, like many of his compatriots, was a democrat in
 
 6 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 theory only, while in practice he remained isolated, dom- 
 inant, and a believer in the divine right of the powerful. 
 
 " Class distinctions ! " Jack echoed. " Country's full of 
 'em more than in England. I am not so stiff as you are, 
 Maria, but a man doesn't have to be. It's always the 
 ladies who put the ropes up. You practice pitching, Neal, 
 and the Terriers will soon notice you." 
 
 " If I went to public school could I give up dancing 
 class, Grandfather?" Neal questioned. 
 
 " You see, Father ! " Maria said triumphantly. " No 
 knowing where the logic might end ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " Alexander exclaimed. " The boy has a 
 country to serve and there's more than one class in it. 
 If he only knows his own he's done for." He addressed 
 the butler. " Graham, have you a son in the public 
 school? If you have, send him up for a talk with Master 
 Neal." 
 
 " All girls, sir," Graham replied mournfully. 
 
 " And girls can teach him nothing, of course," Jack 
 murmured. 
 
 Maria, considering the conversation unprofitable, made 
 a sign to Csecilia to rise and bring Neal with her, leaving 
 the men to smoke. Neal soon slipped from the drawing- 
 room, however, into the more congenial environment of 
 the garden, a sweet, formal place, its rows of box inclosing 
 a tangle of flowers, its lawns bordered with lilac bushes 
 and old-fashioned shrubs. The warm September air, though 
 darkness had fallen, was still drawing out of the earth 
 pungent odors of baked grass that mingled with the per- 
 fume of rose-geranium, mignonette and late roses. In the 
 distance the lighthouses were blinking, but Neal's eyes were 
 fixed on the quiet town-lights at the hill's base. Down 
 there dwelt in freedom and untrammeled strength a popular 
 Hero, a true son of the Republic, who did not have to go 
 to dancing school, and who incomparable distinction ! 
 was the champion pitcher of the Terriers. 
 
 Neal yearned to let Chick McCoy know that he was not 
 really a gentleman, even if the Carmichaels had lived upon
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 7 
 
 the Island for two hundred years; that he was uy way 
 of being a great pitcher himself having trained for months 
 on the academy team ; that he hated kid gloves and that his 
 high-life relatives (Aunt Maria especially) were no fault 
 of his, and he would be in no sense responsible for their 
 English or their airs. 
 
 But his thoughts grew less tumultuous as he watched 
 the harbor lights, and nothing mattered much after awhile 
 but the velvety warmth of the night, and its little stars, 
 and the hot odor of heliotrope from an adjacent flower-bed. 
 Always it was so indoors magnified everything! Out of 
 doors took him far from perplexities, for when he was 
 with nature he lived most within himself in a chaotic 
 boy-world where Chick McCoy met the Cid and shook 
 hands with him; and Neal himself hunted the South Pole, 
 or attended as a diminutive page upon Washington. 
 
 After a time he was aware of a bright spark moving 
 cautiously over the lawn, and lay very still until he was 
 quite sure that Uncle Philip and not Uncle Jack was behind 
 that speck of light. Neal could occasionally understand 
 his scholarly kinsman, but his worldly Uncle's aims and 
 pursuits were inexplicable to him. 
 
 Philip, discovering the object of his search, dropped him- 
 self down on the lawn beside Neal. 
 
 " Nice night ! Maria has been talking to me on the public 
 school question. She takes it very hard. Are you so keen 
 for it?" 
 
 Neal nodded an affirmative. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because Chick McCoy " 
 
 He felt himself blushing as he pronounced the name of 
 his hero. The timbre of his voice sent the meditative 
 mind of Philip Carmichael back over the centuries to cer- 
 tain classic adorations, youth of youth. Between Achilles 
 and Chick McCoy what gulfs! and what strange com- 
 munities ! 
 
 " There's no one like him at Bradford," Neal elucidated. 
 " He can swim miles ! Throw anybody in a wrestling
 
 8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 match. He's a crackerjack at all games, and he has nine 
 brothers and sisters." 
 
 " You've delineated a hero." 
 
 " If if I went to public school I could know the Chick." 
 
 " He has scorned you, then for being mewed up in 
 private school." 
 
 " He doesn't know I live ! He's in things." 
 
 "Aren't you?" 
 
 " I've never proved it." 
 
 Philip looked at the boy's graceful limbs and thought 
 his own thoughts, as to what " things " life would eventu- 
 ally put him in. He did not seem fitted physically for 
 certain kinds of struggle, unless nerve should replace muscle. 
 Neal in his fourteenth year was tall but over-slender, with 
 an appearance of delicacy borne out by the too sensitive 
 chiseling of his features, and the deep setting of his blue 
 eyes, whose somewhat dreamy expression was contradicted 
 by the stubborn chin. But Philip understood that the boy's 
 poetical appearance really hid a practical and determined 
 nature, a little ashamed of its occasional lapses into 
 dreaming. 
 
 " Maybe you'll get your chance to show your hero what 
 you can do without going to the public school," Philip 
 said, having a scholar's mistrust of the educational value 
 of the great American institution. " And now I think 
 you'd better go in. Your grandfather wants a game of 
 checkers with you." 
 
 Neal rose reluctantly.- As they approached the house 
 he said with some embarrassment: 
 
 " The Terriers play the Coppers to-morrow. It costs a 
 quarter to get in." 
 
 " Have you the quarter ? " 
 
 " It's the third week of September," Neal said desperately. 
 " I'll pay you back the first of October, Uncle Philip." 
 
 There was a quick transfer. 
 
 Neal, on his way to the library, was confronted by a 
 feminine vision. His cousin Polly, aged seven, attacked by 
 night-terrors, had been found at the foot of the main stair-
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 9 
 
 case by her mother, who was now holding the little night- 
 gowned figure tensely in her arms, the train of her dinner 
 gown wrapped about Polly's feet. The child, who was very 
 beautiful and who adored her boy cousin, held out her 
 arms to him now with a drowsy gesture. 
 
 " She wants to kiss you good-night/' her mother said. 
 Neal approaching gingerly, with a slight frown of protest, 
 bent an austere cheek to the full red lips of the little 
 girl, then proceeded on his way to the library. His Uncle 
 Jack, descending the stairs with the flower in his button- 
 hole that indicated an evening of philandering, observed 
 the incident, and remarked : 
 
 " Some day some woman will break her heart for Neal 
 Carmichael while he's pursuing a purpose." 
 
 Maria was the only member of the family for whom Jack 
 ever put aside the flippancy of his jaded youthfulness to 
 speak the truth. As a rule they understood each other, 
 but on this evening his comment awoke the maternal tiger 
 in her. Crushing Polly to her breast, she swept past him 
 up the staircase. 
 
 " It won't be my daughter," she said with spirit.
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 SITTING tip in bed, his knees supporting his chin, Xeal 
 thought dreamily of the pleasures before him. The day's 
 perspective was alluring three hours in the company of 
 Titans with unlimited lemonade and peanuts; for Uncle 
 Philip, remembering that it was the eve of Xeal's birthday, 
 had recalled the quarter, exchanging it for a two-dollar bill. 
 
 " Delia," he called to his old nurse. " I say, Delia !" 
 
 " Yes, me son." 
 
 " No parties are planned, I hope." 
 
 The servitor, looking critically at NeaTs shoes, vouchsafed 
 no reply. 
 
 " They are not trying to surprise roe," he said tragically. 
 
 "Mrs. Guthrie wants you to be hope punctual from 
 scbooL" 
 
 '* That means a party.*' 
 
 " Don't yon like ice-cream?" Delia asked. 
 
 " I wouldn't give up seeing Chick McCoy pitch for quarts 
 of ice-cream." 
 
 "James McCoy's lad?" 
 
 "Yes, do you know him?" 
 
 Sure, I know the whole family! His mother's me best 
 friend. James McCoy named his tug after her."* 
 
 " The Chick's father isn't captain of a tug is he ! " Neal 
 cried in ecstasy. Tie romance was complete ! Now away 
 with punctilious ceremonies! Into the mists of the past 
 with dancing pomps, ladylike manners, little girls w*\ ice- 
 cream on slippery plates. Neal was for the open world 
 and the glories of manly sport. 
 
 " Delia." be said with determination. 
 
 She was drawing the water for his bath in an adjoining 
 cubicle a ceremuuy she now pa formed only on his birth- 
 day and she <"** her task before replying.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED n 
 
 " Delia's me name. Speak up, for I've got to dress Miss 
 Polly." 
 
 " Don't mention the game." 
 
 "Are ye goin' to it?" 
 
 "Jewel of Ireland, I am," Neal replied with a wag of 
 his head. 
 
 " Mind now, I warned you they wanted you ! " 
 
 " Sure you did." Neal mocked gayly at her retreating 
 figure and made for his bath. 
 
 While splashing he surveyed the landscape through an 
 adjacent window. To his morning fancy the old house, 
 which had sheltered so many of the family, seemed ever 
 to be expecting some good fortune long delayed, so that 
 Neal had formed the habit of gazing out over the waving 
 treetops towards the far blue that was the ocean, as if some 
 day he should see the triumphant sails of a craft advancing, 
 with rich intention, towards the House of Carmichael. He 
 should like to have had it under a flag of piracy but the 
 times did not permit. 
 
 Emerging from the room after a hasty dressing, he 
 encountered Aunt Csecilia, who murmured a prayer against 
 his forehead, as was her custom on his birthday. Neal had 
 suffered at her hands through the medium of catechism 
 and collects, but on the whole he was fonder of her than 
 of Aunt Maria. He submitted with good grace to the 
 blessing, but, apprehensive that a secular moment might 
 immediately follow, with cabalistic references to party 
 clothes, he made his escape. Turning a sharp corner he 
 collided with his Uncle Jack. 
 
 " Why the devil can't you be careful ? " that worthy 
 grumbled. He was usually cross in the morning, and 
 patched in appearance, as if his youth and age had met 
 by clever adjustment the night before, but were again dis- 
 parted. 
 
 Neal followed his inexplicable uncle meekly, wondering 
 if he could get through breakfast without embarrassing 
 questions from his elders. Fortunately the men of the 
 family were soon in an animated discussion of some local
 
 12 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 political question, so he and his little cousin Polly were left 
 to the uninterrupted consumption of their oatmeal. 
 
 An hour later he was on his way to school, choosing a 
 short cut through a plantation of scrub-oak and rhodo- 
 dendron the haunt of innumerable birds. Neal, having 
 time to spare, loitered dreamily through this little forest, 
 wondering how to bring himself within the range of vision 
 of the great Chick. 
 
 A sudden turn of the path astonished him with the 
 spectacle of his Uncle Jack, whom he had left deep in 
 politics at the breakfast table, and by his side a red-cheeked 
 young woman, of full-blown appearance, whose bold eyes 
 dropped at the sight of Neal. Jack Carmichael gave a 
 smothered exclamation, but his nephew passed him rapidly, 
 raising his hat, with no second glance. 
 
 Meg Barrow, the daughter of a gardener on the Car- 
 michael estate, nodded over her shoulder at Neal's re- 
 treating figure. 
 
 "Will he blab?" 
 
 " Does he look as if he would ? " Jack rapped out. 
 
 The arena upon which the Terriers and the Coppers were 
 to meet was a stretch of flat meadow land between the 
 hills and the sea. To Neal there was exhilaration in the 
 steaming heat of the September afternoon, in the rank odor 
 of the sea marshes, and the glare of the white sand visible 
 through the sedge, in the vivid coloring of the players' 
 stockings and the freshly painted grand stand. An odor 
 of hot roasted peanuts pervaded the atmosphere. Neal's 
 money was already burning his pocket. 
 
 Bradford Academy was well represented in the throng 
 at the entrance gate, its members drawn there by the fas- 
 cination which snubbers exercise over the snubbed. Neal 
 soon found his particular chum, Peter Fleming, a merry 
 lad with an itch of adventure in his veins that made him 
 an excellent Sancho Panza to Neal's Don Quixote. 
 
 " I have three dollars," Neal announced. 
 
 " Where did you get them ? "
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 13 
 
 " Birthday." 
 
 " Of course. I'm invited to your party." 
 
 This lively ghost, it seemed, was never to be laid, so 
 Neal exorcised it for the last time. 
 
 " I've cut the party." 
 
 Peter looked at him admiringly. 
 
 " I told Mother you wouldn't stand for it. Mrs. Guthrie 
 invited a lot of girls." 
 
 " I thought so," Neal said gloomily. 
 
 Having stuffed his own ears against the song of the 
 sirens he proceeded to insure Peter's immunity. 
 
 " We'll see the game, then we'll hang around a bit, just 
 to let the Terriers know we don't sulk. Here, I'll get the 
 peanuts." 
 
 " I suppose Ada will wait around for me to take her," 
 Peter said thoughtfully. 
 
 "Who's Ada?" 
 
 " My cousin. Her father and mother's dead so she's 
 come to live with us." 
 
 " She hasn't fastened herself to you, has she ? " Neal 
 said with sympathy. 
 
 " She tried to. She wanted to see the game." 
 
 Neal groaned in very ecstasy of escape. They were by 
 this time in the grand stand in a line with the home plate, 
 and delightfully squeezed, pushed, jammed and poked by 
 the restless feet, knees and elbows of a perspiring multitude 
 of fans filling the stand to its hot tarred roof. The Terriers 
 in home uniforms, as the Coppers were a visiting team, 
 sauntered on the edges of the infield, pawed each other, 
 juggled balls, and took stock of their idol the Chick, who, 
 slim in figure as a Mercury, was rounding up the team 
 with grim- jawed bites of speech. Soon he would be pitch- 
 ing swift, snakey twirlers which, Neal was sure, would 
 render the man at the bat frantic and cross-eyed. Through 
 hours of anguished emulation Neal had practiced that de- 
 livery, until his arm was half-paralyzed and Peter would 
 bat for him no more. 
 
 " Who's the new short-stop ? " Neal inquired.
 
 i 4 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " The Chick's brother." 
 
 " There's a new left-fielder, too. Where's the grey- 
 hound ? " 
 
 " His family moved up-state. The Chick's going to have 
 a try-out next Spring with a bully team I've forgotten its 
 name." 
 
 " He'll deliver the goods," Neal remarked. 
 
 " Surest thing you know." 
 
 " McCreary's batting for the Cops." 
 
 " They say he's a bear with the willow." 
 
 The umpire, a youth with an eagle eye, iron jaw and a 
 " both-be-damned " expression, stepped out on the stroke 
 of the hour, and announced the batteries. McCoy threw 
 three balls to an infielder, then faced the man at the bat. 
 
 Two strikes were declared against McCreary. 
 
 Both scored goose-eggs in the first inning. The second 
 began with a two-bagger to right field. Neal and Peter, 
 gorged with peanuts and hoarse from yelling, had forgotten 
 everything but the dizzy excitement of the occasion. Mc- 
 Coy's work had never been better. 
 
 " Holy Smoke ! " Peter yelled, when McCoy had again 
 made a fool of the Coppers' batsman. " That Chick's a 
 mind-reader." 
 
 " He makes the letter S look like a flagpole," Neal 
 commented, then he clutched Peter's arm. 
 
 " There's Graham." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Over there. Duck!" 
 
 They watched the solemn-faced butler pursue his search, 
 dodging whenever his roving eyes looked their way. Gra- 
 ham's conscience was heavy, apparently, with the burden 
 of his errand, but he was human. Moreover, he had money 
 on the Coppers and a nephew in that team, so, after a 
 fruitless effort to locate the truant Neal for the purpose 
 of haling him home to his waiting guests, he settled himself 
 to enjoy the game for two innings. 
 
 The Terriers were working with a well-balanced, machine- 
 like swing when an accident occurred which was to change
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 15 
 
 not only the order of the game, but also, and materially, 
 the lives of several individuals. The Chick, away at the 
 crack of the bat, started to run to third, slipped, and as he 
 stretched his length received the grinding heel of a fielder 
 upon his wrist. The Copper fans started a yell, which 
 was downed by a groan from the Terrier champions when 
 it was seen that the Chick lay quite still, stunned appar- 
 ently by a blow from the shoe in its lively effort to release 
 the wrist. Its owner was now bending over the Chick's 
 motionless figure with a frightened face. 
 
 " They've spiked his wrist," Peter yelled. 
 
 Neal, pale and speechless, hurled himself into the nearest 
 passageway, and was among the first of the spectators to 
 reach the Chick's side, pushing his way through the team 
 which had gathered about its leader and calling to them 
 to fetch water. Made bold by devotion, he raised the 
 Chick's hand, tenderly touching the injured wrist with his 
 sensitive fingers. The Chick's eyes opened at last and ex- 
 changed with Neal's a long demanding look; then he sat 
 up, uttering a smothered howl as shooting pains in his wrist 
 reminded him of what had happened. 
 
 " You better make a run to the doctor's," Neal sug- 
 gested. 
 
 The Chick grunted, groaned, stared at him, gazed with 
 bitter contempt at his wrist, and looked around at his under- 
 lings with an air of finding them all wanting. He blun- 
 dered at last to his feet. 
 
 " Where's Brown?" he demanded of the bewildered and 
 incoherent Terriers. 
 
 " Ain't here," a fielder replied. 
 
 In that instant the voice of his great opportunity spoke 
 to Neal. He essayed to speak; but, restrained by the dif- 
 fidence of all adorers since the world began, he could not 
 voice the battle-cry in his heart, " Let me pitch, O 
 Achilles ! " 
 
 The Chick was gazing gloomily about him. 
 
 " That ends it." 
 
 Then Neal's tongue was loosed.
 
 16 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " Let me pitch. I've watched you. I've practiced the 
 trick for months." He waited, his eyes shining stars. 
 
 The Chick, wheeling about, measured him inch by inch, 
 Neal blushing furiously the while. The scrutiny was not 
 so long as it might have been had Neal been as unfamiliar 
 to McCoy as he imagined himself. 
 
 " You've got nerve to want to take my place in the box. 
 Right-hander? Hold out your paw." 
 
 This was the beginning of an ordeal, for Neal had been 
 ashamed of his long slender fingers ever since he had been 
 dubbed " the Duke of Buckingham " because of them in the 
 classic haunts of Bradford. 
 
 " That ain't a pitcher's paw, young 'un," the Chick com- 
 mented. A laugh followed, but Neal's months of hero- 
 worship had toughened some fiber of persistence in him. 
 
 " Give me a try," he said stubbornly. 
 
 The umpire's under lip shot out. 
 
 " Him! " he scorned. 
 
 A chorus echoed. " Him ! He ain't no good. Send him 
 back to his mother." 
 
 " Oh, shut up ! He hasn't any," the Chick retorted. 
 
 Neal, amazed by this knowledge of his family affairs, 
 received the Chick's words as an accolade of friendship. 
 He saw signs of yielding in the Hero's face, but on the 
 verge of this supreme attainment a heavy hand was laid 
 on his shoulder, having reached there across the inter- 
 vening bulk of the faithful Peter, who, seeing the fat form 
 of danger approaching in the person of the butler Graham, 
 had bumped against Neal by way of warning. 
 
 " Your Aunt Maria says you're to come home to the 
 party, Master Neal," the unsuitable Graham announced in 
 a high rasping voice that reached to the outer edge of the 
 circle. 
 
 A yell of laughter and derision followed this pronounce- 
 ment. 
 
 " Go home to the party, Master Neal. Aunt Maria wants 
 you, Master Neal." 
 
 Even Graham's squeak was imitated. The only thing
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 17 
 
 that kept Neal steady during this ordeal was the Chick's 
 appraising silence. He was so manifestly preparing for some 
 decision that the crowd soon subsided to listen. 
 
 " Aw, what's the use ? " said the Hero to the umpire. 
 " Neither White nor the Dago could last one-half hour in 
 the box, not if the Coppers had their eyes shut and one 
 hand lashed behind them. There's nothing to it but this 
 young 'un." Then, turning to Neal, now trembling with 
 delight, he added : " Do it your own way, kid, only give 
 'em hell. If you make good 111 buy you the earth with a 
 fence around it." 
 
 Graham capitulated, seeing a chance to win his bet. 
 
 Neal's knees wavered slightly when he walked to the 
 box. There was a constriction about his temples as if a 
 cord had been knotted there and twisted tight. He muffed 
 the ball the umpire tossed out to him, and half the grand 
 stand rose as one man and hooted loud, long and joyously. 
 To steady himself Neal bent over and deliberately untied 
 and retied his right shoestring. Then he did the same for his 
 left. After that he rolled the ball in the dust, got a good 
 grip on it and delivered a lightning straight one and two 
 puzzling inshoots to Baggsy Sullivan, who stood behind 
 the plate to take the three allowed by law before the first 
 batter came up. 
 
 Red Hogan stood leaning on a bat about as long as him- 
 self, watching, with lofty amusement, the new pitcher. 
 Presently he spat on his hands, stepped up to the plate 
 and announced his intention of knocking the trademark off 
 with no uncertain touch. 
 
 Neal paused five seconds to size him up, and felt the 
 cord around his temples tighten again. Fifty feet away, the 
 distance between Red's shoulders and his knees appeared 
 inconsiderable, but the square pugnacity of his jaw and 
 the knotted muscles in his bare forearm were prominent 
 factors in the problem that the new pitcher set himself to 
 solve. Neal had told himself that he would use his head 
 from the start, study each batter like a diagram in his 
 school geometry, and then proceed to outguess him delib-
 
 i8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 erately. As it happened, he did nothing of the sort. Red 
 Hogan grinned fiendishly, sticking his tongue out at the 
 pitcher as he lifted his bat. 
 
 Neal " saw red " more pronounced than the frowsy hair 
 and freckled face in front of him, and sent his first ball 
 as straight and fast as he could deliver it at his enemy's 
 head. 
 
 Red Hogan, having no desire to be " beaned," moved with 
 a nervous haste that made the delivery of the next ball a 
 matter of sheer instinct. The ball seemed to start straight 
 for his head, as before. Just before reaching him it dropped 
 slightly below his shoulder and curved out over a corner 
 of the plate. Neal followed this first stroke with another 
 that was its exact duplicate until Red managed to foul it 
 off, sending it sharply into the grand stand behind him. 
 The fourth ball was a straight one that cut the plate clearly 
 even with Red's shoulder. Red struck under this, ex- 
 pecting it to drop, and retired to the player's bench after 
 flinging his bat halfway across the diamond. 
 
 The second batter up hit the first ball, and drove a scream- 
 ing line fly that the short-stop picked out of the sky with 
 one gloved hand. The next two men struck out, as a result 
 of Neal's mixing a slow drop, occasionally, with the two 
 balls he used to start the game. 
 
 He had read somewhere that very few players in any 
 League can hit a high fast curve or a straight that breaks 
 close to their shoulder consistently, and during the next 
 three innings, when the Coppers were at bat, he demon- 
 strated the truth of this axiom to his own satisfaction, and 
 that of every other Terrier player and fan, who roared 
 themselves hoarser and hoarser as the game went on. 
 
 The Chick had forgotten his pain and was waving his 
 good arm and yelling with Comanche fervor. Peter watched 
 his chum in an ecstasy of admiration. Graham was divided 
 between pride of the House he served and dejection over 
 the loss of his bet. 
 
 A roar of triumph announced at last the victory of the 
 Terriers. The grand stand poured itself out over the dia-
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 19 
 
 mond; Neal was slapped on the back and had his arm 
 wrung nearly out of its socket. But he had but one thought 
 to lay this victory at his idol's feet. The proudest mo- 
 ment of his life was when the Chick, looking down upon 
 him with a kind of paternal tenderness, said nonchalantly: 
 
 " Good work. You'll sign with the Terriers." 
 
 " Won't I ! " Neal gurgled. 
 
 " Pretty good for a swell, eh ? " said a bystander. 
 
 " He ain't no swell," the Chick gave back. " He's the 
 real stuff."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 NEAL, escorting his hero home the dazzled Graham had 
 capitulated was to have one more reminder of the aris- 
 tocracy on the hill. Just outside the field he met Charles 
 Divine, a neighbor of the Carmichaels and the famous 
 editor of one of the dailies in a neighboring city. Neal 
 admired him immensely, but upon this occasion he would 
 have liked to slip by him. He could not ignore, however, 
 the friendly hand held out to him. 
 
 " That was good work, Neal. I've a mind to give you 
 half a column to-morrow." 
 
 Neal murmured his thanks. McCoy beamed. He swore 
 by the sporting page of The Courier. 
 
 The house occupied by the McCoy family was an old 
 one facing the water and not far from the dock to which 
 the Mary McCoy was moored in its rare moments of leisure. 
 Children overflowed its broad porch like a comfortable lap 
 and its old-fashioned garden. Seated upon the flat top 
 of a gatepost, the eldest daughter Patricia, a lank, gray- 
 eyed girl of thirteen, had been watching for the last half- 
 hour for her brother James the name in private life of 
 the great Chick. 
 
 Meanwhile, the boy who was to change the whole course 
 of her existence was advancing nearer and nearer, still 
 flushed with the joy of his triumph. A turn of the street 
 bringing the three boys into view, Patricia perceived that 
 her brother was not alone and knit her dark brows in 
 jealous protest, for James would be sure to ask " the tag- 
 gers," as she mentally called them, to stay to supper. The 
 forms of the offending hero-worshipers being at that dis- 
 tance unfamiliar to her, she turned her back upon them as 
 intruders and looked out over the bay. In her Saturday 
 
 80
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 21 
 
 afternoon white muslin, her long legs dangling against the 
 gatepost, she was a more prominent object than she knew. 
 Neal, eying her with disapproval merely because she was 
 a girl, wondered why all delightful chums should have some- 
 thing feminine related to them. Even poor Peter, once so 
 carefree, was now saddled with a girl-cousin. This black- 
 haired creature on the gatepost was probably a sister of the 
 Chick's a suspicion confirmed by McCoy's pulling her long 
 braid like a bell-rope. 
 
 "Hello, Pat!" 
 
 She turned angrily, but at the sight of her brother's com- 
 panions she checked her words, growing as scarlet as a 
 peony, for Neal Carmichael, the haughty hill-dweller and 
 the object of her secret admiration, stood before her. 
 
 " My sister Patricia," James said casually. " Carmichael's 
 joined the Terriers, Pat. He pitched to-day saved the 
 game." 
 
 " Where were you? " she inquired jealously. 
 
 " I hurt my wrist." 
 
 She was off the post and at his side in an instant, giving 
 a little cry of concern as she took the limp hand most 
 tenderly in hers. 
 
 In the midst of the excitement over James, his father 
 arrived, a tall, muscular man, with a network of humorous 
 lines about his clear eyes and close-set, kindly mouth. 
 Neither he nor his gentle wife seemed much disturbed by 
 James's adventure, arousing Neal's admiration of their do- 
 mestic nonchalance, as if in a family of ten children the 
 casual attitude towards a day's fortunes was a necessity. 
 
 Mrs. McCoy, who had the natural dignity of manner 
 belonging to character, sent off for the doctor, then turned 
 her attention to her son's guests. Neal and Patricia, with 
 the instinct of two adorers to discover their mutual emotion, 
 had been meanwhile appraising each other. This Patricia 
 since heroes must be hampered with sisters seemed to have 
 qualifications for the honor, being a silent, watchful, yet 
 fiery kind of a girl, straight as a pine tree, with a level 
 glance that measured Neal and Peter as candidates for some
 
 22 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 accolade not of James's bestowing. She talked most 
 with Peter, but her eyes, shadowy beneath their thick 
 lashes, were always upon Neal when his own were turned 
 away. 
 
 To this gallery of the proletariat Neal was beginning to 
 find them all delightful was added after a time the family 
 physician, a Dr. Murphy, who seemed amply endowed with 
 that rare quality, common sense, his son Thomas, who im- 
 mediately sought out Patricia ; and Father Carew, a rotund, 
 kindly looking Catholic priest, who said to James : 
 
 " I heard ye were hurt, me lad, so as I was passin' I 
 thought I'd inquire what you've been up to now." 
 
 " Broke his southpaw, Father," the assembled children 
 informed him in sympathetic chorus. 
 
 " What a haythen term to give to a member of the body 
 like the name of an American Indian. Well, it's lucky you 
 can use your right hand for writin' an' figurin' an' other 
 unimportant matters, James, me boy," the priest commented, 
 adding, for he was tender-hearted, " Och ! careful, Murphy ; 
 ye're hurtin' the lad." 
 
 " He'll have to stand it if he wants to pitch for the 
 Terriers next Spring," the doctor answered, while James 
 nodded casually at Neal. 
 
 " I've a bully understudy, Doctor." 
 
 Neal glowed with pride. At last he was in that real life 
 for which he had yearned. These people were of stern and 
 sturdy stuff, unhampered by the contractions of gentility. 
 And those misguided relatives on the hill had actually 
 thought that a birthday party could compensate him for 
 these bracing contacts. 
 
 At supper, to which Neal and Peter stayed as a matter 
 of course (no preliminary fusses here), the tug captain, 
 the doctor and the priest began to talk of village matters, 
 and Neal inferred that certain hill-dwellers were not looked 
 upon with favor by the people along the shore. He listened 
 to a new vocabulary, looked down an unfamiliar perspective 
 and found himself growing curious, accusative, as he won- 
 dered how the early Carmichaels had made their money,
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 23 
 
 and if they had been good to the poor. The talk drifting 
 to long-ago days, Father Carew spoke of Garibaldi, and 
 of his living in poverty and exile on the Island, working as 
 a day-laborer in a factory. Neal, already tuned to hero- 
 worship by recent events, resolved to identify himself hence- 
 forth with the commoners, the breeding-class of those who 
 endure and are glorious. Patricia, at the same moment 
 admiring the way Neal and Peter handled their knives and 
 forks, was aspiring to the aristocracy in inverse ratio to 
 Neal's descending fancy. 
 
 But a glorious afternoon and evening were to flower 
 into a real miracle, a ride in McCoy's tug, proposed by 
 that gallant captain himself. Neal, scarcely able to articu- 
 late for joy, went to the telephone to inform his family on 
 the hill of this chance of a lifetime. He was soon made 
 conscious of a lack of sympathy somewhere on the wires. 
 Alexander Carmichael's return message was succinct and 
 direct. 
 
 " Since you have taken the day into your own hands, you 
 might as well finish it. Miss Fleming waits to congratulate 
 you. We shall keep her until Peter comes. Don't be later 
 than nine, as you must make your apologies to your aunts 
 between then and bedtime." 
 
 The earlier generation was at its old inhuman trick of 
 tying a string to its presents. Peter's mother was slightly 
 satirical also over the wires ; but even a chilly acknowledg- 
 ment of the glad surprises of existence being better than 
 none, the boys returned with enthusiasm to their delightful 
 hosts. 
 
 They were all marshaled on the tug at last, and one 
 of the dreams of Neal's short existence came true, for he 
 had always loved those breathless, panting, choky objects 
 called tugs, forever hurrying on their errands as if very 
 late, and always so lovingly near the water that leaning 
 over the edge one could almost touch the swelling waves 
 so close to the pulsing heart of the engine, too, that one 
 was a part of its fire and energy could be at once very 
 cool and very warm. Neal was to find later that to be both
 
 24 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 cool and warm was in this life one way of mastering 
 existence. 
 
 He sat high in the bow above the shaggy rope-apron 
 that looked like the tug's beard. The low September stars 
 were floating into view above the apricot sky of sunset. 
 The dark hills of the Island were dotted with lights, and 
 in the distance the shores of another Island stretched like 
 a blue mist, while far off the stupendous city hung a mon- 
 strous constellation against the Northern sky. 
 
 An ocean tramp with red, battered iron sides, anchored 
 in the bay, was the first object of the Mary McCoy's investi- 
 gation. McCoy took his tug up to her, exchanging hearty 
 greetings with the captain, while the crew, foreigners, with 
 dark-bearded faces, leaned over the sides and peering 
 through the yellow twilight showed their white teeth as 
 they smiled at the cargo of children. 
 
 The blur of white that was Patricia remained motionless 
 and speechless, but through the twilight her eyes were 
 drawn again and again to Neal's face. That he politely 
 ignored her only added to his charm, born, as usual, of 
 mystery. What did he say and how did he act in that 
 great house on the hill with the fine ladies, his aunts, and 
 his erect, stern grandfather? She was beginning to feel 
 ashamed of the fact that his old nurse Delia was a friend 
 of her mother's. 
 
 " Patricia, sing for us." 
 
 The Chick suddenly broke the silence with this command. 
 For a moment she was too embarrassed to beg off, and her 
 brother threw out a peremptory, " Go ahead, old girl." 
 
 She hesitated, not from doubt of herself, for she pos- 
 sessed a sweet contralto, but because she was afraid her 
 voice might quiver if for one instant her mind turned from 
 the song to the fact of the splendor of her audience. 
 
 " Give us a song, Pat," her father said coaxingly. 
 
 She hesitated a moment longer, then began the sweet old 
 Irish melody, 
 
 "Oh, the days of the Kerry dances, 
 Oh, the ring of the piper's lay."
 
 ; BLUE BLOOD AND RED 25 
 
 Neal had rarely heard- the unaccompanied singing voice. 
 As he listened he was drawn far away from baseball to a 
 country to which he was sometimes admitted by his Uncle 
 Philip when the latter read Keats or Shelley to him; and 
 Neal was first impatient, then subdued, then sharply stirred 
 as if by the faery-horns of elf-land. He was conquered 
 now as the clear voice floated far out over the water, and 
 two men in a distant rowboat rested on their oars to listen. 
 
 When she had finished, her father said : 
 
 " Now the Dixit Dominus, Pat." 
 
 Patricia sang with her mother in the choir of St. Mar- 
 garet's, Father Carew's church, women not being then 
 excluded from the choirs, and she knew most of the Latin 
 chants by heart ; so she began the slow, grave, stately music, 
 with its pathetic minor note of pleading. Neal, who had 
 never heard anything like it, wished that she would not 
 go on. The Kerry dances were more to his taste than these 
 strange Latin words set to music that sounded like a sob. 
 But the others evidently took Gregorian chants very much 
 as a matter of course, for the Chick whistled a soft accom- 
 paniment, and the captain beat time, his honest eyes looking 
 far out to sea. 
 
 An hour later Neal and Peter endured the ordeal of facing 
 a circle of adults with whom they were manifestly not in the 
 highest favor. Uncle Jack alone seemed amused by Neal's 
 disposal of his birthday. This battered relative, strolling 
 in from the billiard-room, surveyed the young offenders 
 nonchalantly and requested the baseball score; but grand- 
 father Carmichael, with his Order-of-the-Garter air, in- 
 formed Neal that his rudeness to his Aunt Maria must be 
 explained and apologized for. She was playing Lotto in 
 the library with little Miss Fleming the new female draw- 
 back in the gallant Peter's existence. 
 
 Neal looked at his chum with resignation. They might 
 as well face the music and be done with it. Peter nodding 
 acquiescence, the two crossed the hall and presented them- 
 selves at the doorway. Maria and Caecilia were seated on
 
 26 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 opposite sides of a low table, and between them, with the 
 air of a grown-up belle, sat a little girl who had evidently 
 subdued these ladies by the double force of beauty and an 
 unchildlike indifference. She was permitting them to en- 
 tertain her with perfect politeness and tolerance. As she 
 saw her cousin in the doorway she put back a curl, smoothed 
 a ribbon, looked rather haughtily at Neal, and said to her 
 kinsman : 
 
 " At last you've come, Peter." 
 
 Neal instinctively felt that no explanations would be de- 
 manded of him in the presence at least of this assured young 
 lady whose years scarcely numbered twelve; and he was 
 right. Aunt Maria, under some subtle influence of the 
 amazing Ada, received him as if he were grown up. 
 
 " Here is our truant host, who did not know, I'm sure, 
 what guests were expected, or he would certainly have 
 returned in time. After all, Ada, we didn't really tell him 
 there was to be a party." 
 
 The little girl smiled. 
 
 "Didn't the butler tell him?" she inquired. "Peter, I 
 am afraid you are to blame, too." 
 
 Her voice was too controlled for a child's, yet there was 
 an infantile sweetness in it, a trailing inflection as if she 
 scarcely thought it worth while to speak at all. Neal re- 
 sponded to it with the first curiosity he had ever felt 
 regarding a girl. This one was slim and pale as a princess 
 in a picture-book. Her beautiful lacey dress and white 
 silk stockings added to the effect of luxury that she pro- 
 duced of something foreign and daintily cared for. Neal 
 wondered vaguely why Peter hadn't said more about her. 
 He looked shyly at her when he shook hands with her, and 
 muttered something about being sorry. She received this 
 in silence. 
 
 " Ready to go home, Ada ? " Peter asked cheerfully. 
 
 " I am not anxious to go home," she replied. " Mrs. 
 Guthrie and Miss Carmichael were giving me a very nice 
 time, but I am afraid I have taken too much of their 
 evening."
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 27 
 
 This was a " grown-up " speech, yet somehow it didn't 
 affect Neal as unpleasantly as wisdom in the mouth of 
 babes generally did. Its reactionary influence upon him 
 was to make him somewhat annoyed with himself that he 
 had been so delighted with a mere ride in a tug. And when 
 Aunt Csecilia said with her gentle enthusiasm over an- 
 other's pleasure, " We've saved some ice-cream for you," 
 Neal replied stiffly : " Thanks, I don't care for any, Aunt 
 Caecilia." 
 
 " Crickey ! I do ! " exploded the amazed Peter. Then 
 Neal emerged from the hypnotic state of not-boy into which 
 Ada had thrown him and became himself again. Without 
 flourishes the two made a bolt for the dining-room. 
 
 On their return they found a cloaked princess waiting to 
 be escorted home. As the young lady shook hands with 
 Neal, she said : " The next time you have a party I shall 
 expect you to be here." He was too astonished to answer. 
 
 But even Aunt Maria had to be forgiven after such a 
 birthday; so he meekly asked her pardon and went to bed, 
 at peace with all the world, with the exception of one person. 
 A feeling possessed him that Ada Fleming had not really 
 forgiven him. Perhaps because of this her impassive face 
 obscured even the baseball game as he sank to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A FEW days later Alexander Carmichael summoned his 
 grandson to a conference in the library, the assistant at the 
 ceremony being Uncle Philip. 
 
 " I've been talking with your uncle, Neal," he announced. 
 " We agree that you have too many masters in this house, 
 including Graham and Delia, with the consequence that you 
 obey no one. You shall choose now who shall issue orders 
 to you henceforth, whether Maria, Caecilia, Philip or my- 
 self." 
 
 Neal observed that his Uncle Jack was not included 
 among the fosterers of youth. The two ladies he mentally 
 eliminated as a matter of course, but this narrowing of 
 choice was a source of embarrassment, for to award the 
 mentorship either to his grandfather or to Philip was to 
 forfeit some privilege only accorded by one of the pair. 
 His mind went rapidly over his short, boy history for 
 statistics of permissions and refusals. The balance was in 
 favor of Pfiilip, who was so absent-minded that he would 
 let Neal do anything; but fond as he was of this kinsman, 
 Neal mistrusted his judgment because he read books so 
 much. His grandfather, on the other hand, rarely opened 
 a book, but he had been a soldier, a lawyer, a judge in 
 short, a real person; so Neal awarded him the apple on 
 which his own wisdom teeth were to be cut. 
 
 Philip Carmichael had a passing throb of jealousy, for 
 his nephew seemed like his own son, but he applauded 
 Neal's choice. Grandfather Alexander proceeded with in- 
 structions : 
 
 " You report to me then, Sir. My permission overrules 
 all secondary refusals, and vice versa. It's high time, any- 
 way, you were out from under petticoat rule." 
 
 28
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 29 
 
 " I'd like to ask for something now," Neal said, taking 
 advantage of this novel situation. 
 
 " Well, out with it." 
 
 " The McCoys are a fine family and I think you said 
 you didn't want me to be a snob." 
 
 " I didn't forbid you being an artistocrat, however," 
 the old man said proudly. " There is a difference, you 
 know." 
 
 Neal was in no mood for word-sifting. His soul burned 
 with love of his absent, new-made friend. 
 
 " They were awfully decent to me, Grandfather. I want 
 to give a party and invite the Chick and Patricia, and as 
 many more as will come." 
 
 " Do you want Peter's cousin Ada, too ? " his grand- 
 father inquired. 
 
 To his annoyance, Neal felt himself reddening. His 
 grandfather laughed with sudden relief as he perceived that 
 not Patricia, but Ada of Neal's own circle, had established 
 her influence over his boyish fancy. Alec could never for- 
 give his son Jack's easy ways with women out of his class. 
 
 " Would you invite both together ? " Philip questioned, 
 foreseeing difficulties. 
 
 " Why not ? " Neal returned. " I don't care what girls 
 come or stay away so the Chick comes." 
 
 " When do you want to have this party ? " 
 
 " Immediately." 
 
 " Well, get off your invitations, but remember this is your 
 experiment. If it doesn't turn out well, you are responsible 
 as master of ceremonies." 
 
 " Oh, Peter will help me make a go of it," Neal said 
 lightly. He was in the first exhilaration of his release from 
 feminine dictatorship and all things seemed possible. 
 
 By dinner-time the household was in possession both of 
 the news of Neal's choice of virile government and of his 
 first privilege under the new regime. Mrs. Guthrie could 
 scarcely restrain her impatience. 
 
 " You see what comes of association with common boys," 
 she complained. "If you must have your friends from the
 
 30 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 village, Neal, why don't you have them alone? Why do 
 you ask the Bradford Academy set to meet them? I shall 
 write Mrs. Fleming the circumstances, so she can send Ada 
 or not as she likes." 
 
 Neal thought he should like to see Ada again. After 
 dinner he went into the library to perform himself the 
 arduous task of writing her a note. 
 
 The library was a faded room whose soft browns and 
 russets bloomed faintly into rose above the fireplace, where 
 hung the portrait of an ancestress of Neal's in a gown of 
 pinkish silk, with a basket of flat pale roses on her knee. 
 She was the one representative of her sex whom he found 
 companionable because she had nothing to say to him. Her 
 long eyes were always watching her lover in the saffron 
 background of the picture where the pillared mansion of 
 the Carmichaels was shown, a flag flying from its circular 
 " walk " on the roof, and beyond it a glimpse of the sea 
 with a vessel upon it, enduring a dead calm while a thunder- 
 storm lurked in clouds like feather beds upon the distant 
 horizon. 
 
 Neal always marveled that people were so casual in old 
 paintings. It was always going to rain and they never 
 cared. And there were always great, red-tasseled curtains 
 looped to pillars that apparently soared to heaven, for the 
 roofs they supported were never seen. And there were 
 always beneath the curtains, on lion-legged tables, globes 
 and classic casts and unrolled documents, to some cryptic 
 word on which the lady or gentleman in lace and satin 
 pointed a long forefinger with a sly smile. Or else they 
 played with little thin spaniels, their noses pointed one 
 way, their eyes looking another. But whatever they did, the 
 thunder-storm was always coming to spoil the red curtains 
 and the documents and the satin clothes and they didn't 
 care. This was the chief reason why Neal liked old por- 
 traits, and he wondered what change in the generations had 
 made Aunt Maria dread the rain. 
 
 Looking at his ancestress, he thought of Ada, who seemed 
 almost as non-committal. In his mind he coolly challenged
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 31 
 
 the modern young lady to stay away from his party, which 
 he would take pains to make a ripping one with games and 
 a noble supper. 
 
 His meditations were interrupted by the apparition of 
 Peter with a squirming puppy tucked under one arm. Neal 
 enthusiastically bade him enter, and announced his intention 
 of giving a party. 
 
 " You're asking the McCoys ? " 
 
 " To be sure ! I'm inviting your cousin, too. If she 
 doesn't want to come she can stay away." 
 
 Peter laughed. 
 
 " I'll tell her that. It will fetch her. She does anything 
 she likes with mother," he added confidentially. " Wish I 
 could ! " 
 
 " No girl could do anything she liked with me," Neal said 
 with undue emphasis. 
 
 " The gods will have vengeance upon you," said a voice in 
 the background. They turned. It was Uncle Jack, and he 
 had a flower in his buttonhole his invariable recognition 
 of the eternal feminine.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE Utopia already established in Patricia's heart was 
 only set in a more magical light by the prospect of attending 
 Neal's party. Since his visit she had thought of little else 
 than the proud but extraordinarily gentle boy who had 
 bestowed all his attention upon her brother. When she had 
 received his note her first real note of invitation her heart 
 fluttered in her breast as if it had been a bird and a hand 
 had closed over it. 
 
 "Do you think they ought to go, James?" Mrs. McCoy 
 asked her husband that night in open family council. " I 
 mean, of course, James and Patricia." 
 
 " Oh, Mother ! " wailed the rejected. 
 
 " Two are enough from one family at any party." 
 
 " By that calculation," the Chick said pleasantly to his 
 young brothers and sisters, " most of you will get to a party 
 once in a hundred years." 
 
 " Mother ! Can we only go to a parry once in a hundred 
 years ? " arose a protesting chorus. 
 
 " You'll be lucky to do that," their mother replied. " I'm 
 not sure even Patricia and James should accept. The Car- 
 michaels are hill-people. When Neal gets a little older, he'll 
 not be going with James." 
 
 The captain of the Mary McCoy looked proudly around 
 his overflowing table. 
 
 " Aren't our children good ? Aren't they healthy ? 
 What's the matter with them that they can't play with the 
 hill children?" 
 
 " I think Neal Carmichael would be a grand friend to 
 anybody," Patricia championed, her cheeks glowing. 
 
 Her mother looked at her intently. Patricia's blossom- 
 ing, her dreamy moods these days, had not escaped the 
 maternal observation. 
 
 32
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 33 
 
 " We're not going to test him. But you can go this 
 once." 
 
 Patricia was already planning what she should wear, for 
 she must find favor in the eyes of Neal Carmichael, whom 
 she had resolved to hold as her everlasting friend. Already 
 she was looking into the future, picturing herself in long 
 dresses, and somewhere on the Island meeting Neal, accom- 
 panied by many fair ladies of his own set. He would doff 
 his hat, and when his companions asked out of their golden 
 haze of gentility, " Who is she ? " Neal would reply, " My 
 good, true friend, Patricia McCoy." 
 
 On the afternoon of the party she stole to her bedroom 
 to look at the white linen dress lying in its freshness across 
 the bed, at the new, crisp hair ribbons and the lace-trimmed 
 petticoat. Dressing, for the first time in her life, was an 
 occult ceremony. 
 
 Then suddenly the scene shifted, and she was walking 
 meekly by James's side, while before her in the soft Sep- 
 tember light the pillared house rose, its porches, to her 
 excited fancy, thronged with boys and girls. 
 
 Neal, spying his guests from afar, came running to meet 
 them, while Patricia's wild-rose color again played in her 
 cheeks and her shining eyes proclaimed her joy in the 
 occasion. 
 
 The presentation to the other guests was for James a 
 simple matter. Not one Bradford Academy boy but re- 
 garded him as a hero, who had forever won their devotion 
 by his acceptance of Neal; but Patricia received from the 
 little girls present only rather aloof glances, though Caecilia 
 and Maria, being hostesses before they were sectarians, 
 made her cordially welcome. They had been indeed agree- 
 ably surprised by Patricia's appearance. This slender little 
 girl, with her sweet wide-open eyes, her shy but not nervous 
 manner, dressed plainly and suitably, might have come from 
 any household on the hill. Philip, to whom all little girls 
 were wonderful, took her himself into the library to shake 
 hands with Judge Carmichael. 
 
 The keen eyes of the old gentleman searched her face
 
 34 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 as if impatient to find flaws there. He was sorry she was 
 so pretty, and after inquiring if her parents were well, dis- 
 missed her abruptly. 
 
 When she returned to the porch the other little girls did 
 not open their circle and take her in they were all clus- 
 tered together like little white birds so she sat by herself, 
 wishing that her host would reappear. He ran up breath- 
 less at last, and, hurrying by the circle of the elect, came 
 straight to her, his eyes beaming. 
 
 "Can you play croquet, Patricia? We're just waiting 
 until Ada Fleming comes to begin. Do you play tennis? 
 We're going to do outdoor things for a bit, then after 
 supper we'll have a dance. You don't play tennis and 
 you do play croquet is that it?" 
 
 " Oh, please leave me out and let me look on," she 
 pleaded. 
 
 "Why, Patricia?" 
 
 He liked to say her name and to feel that he had over 
 her the gentle authority of the host. When she opened her 
 gray eyes wide as if she were startled, he thought she 
 looked so pretty, but not so pretty as Ada. 
 
 " James thinks he'd rather play croquet on account of 
 his wrist being hurt," Neal went on. " We'll have a ripping 
 match. Some of them are for archery. That's old- 
 fashioned, but my grandfather likes to see it played. They're 
 setting up the targets now. Would you care to try ? " 
 
 " I used to practice with a bow and arrow once," Patricia 
 admitted as she rose and followed Neal out upon the broad 
 lawn. 
 
 He had seen the impression she had made upon the older 
 generation and felt a personal pride in her as a discovery 
 all his own. Ada had laid the authority of the feminine 
 world upon him, had made him feel the might of her sex, 
 but for the first part of the afternoon at least Patricia was 
 reaping the benefit. Neal, conducting her to the archery- 
 ground, where by this time most of the little girls were 
 assembled, had the hope that she would distinguish herself. 
 Perceiving her timidity he did not put her forward at once,
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 35 
 
 but waited until some wild, and random shots had been 
 made before placing a bow and arrow in her hands. 
 
 But just at that moment Ada appeared, walking very 
 slowly over the lawn with a governess to whom she was 
 talking rapidly in French. She wore a short dress of pink, 
 simple enough, but Parisian, and a big drooping hat, in 
 the shadow of which her impassive face looked like a pearl. 
 
 Neal introduced the two guests of honor. 
 
 Patricia, a tremulous Diana, her bow and arrow drooping 
 from one hand, extended the other to this small, self- 
 possessed Venus who, ignoring it, merely bowed, while her 
 eyes swept Patricia critically. 
 
 " Didn't she want to shake hands ? " said a hearty voice 
 over Patricia's shoulder belonging to James in the character 
 of protecting brother. 
 
 Patricia turned on her heel. 
 
 " I don't know and don't care," she said with sudden 
 anger; but she had scarcely spoken the words before she 
 realized what a bomb she had cast into the idyllic peace 
 of the occasion, for Neal turned pale, Peter laughed, and 
 her own brother said with some sternness : " Hold your 
 horses, Pat. Maybe they don't shake hands up this way." 
 
 Ada smiled softly, the expanding of a rose in the pearl 
 of her face, and turned to James McCoy. 
 
 " Please let me shake hands with you," she said with 
 soft flattery, " because they tell me you are a wonderful 
 pitcher. I'll shake hands with your sister, too, if she'll let 
 me. I didn't mean to be rude, but I've been in Europe a 
 long time and don't understand American ways." 
 
 Her voice caressed every word she uttered. Neal, wish- 
 ing that Patricia, whom he liked so much, had behaved 
 better, fell under the spell of that soft apology to the 
 extent of believing that Peter's cousin was an angel. Pa- 
 tricia, unhypnotized, but intensely ashamed of herself, held 
 out her hand at once. She could not explain that Ada's 
 act had been the last straw in an afternoon of feminine 
 snubbings. 
 
 " I'm sorry," she said. Peter, glancing at her with some
 
 36 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 distaste, for his cousin Ada was becoming a source of pride 
 to him, thought Neal was only getting what he deserved 
 because of his headstrongness in inviting the McCoys. 
 
 " We're making a try for the bull's-eye," Neal said to 
 Ada. " Will you have a turn ? " 
 
 Patricia, the untried candidate, stood aside, a lump in 
 her throat, her spirit bowed with humility because she had 
 created a scene for her host. She still disliked Ada, but 
 she wanted now to conceal it, to recover her ground, to 
 make Neal believe in her again, like her again. Oh, if he 
 should not like her again, she felt that she didn't want to 
 live. It hurt her intensely to see him keep his face turned 
 away from her as if he were embarrassed, while he helped 
 Ada adjust her bow and arrow. By this time there was 
 a large circle of spectators. Ada gracefully took her place, 
 a slim, slightly swaying figure, her steady eyes fixed upon 
 the bull's-eye. She released the arrow, which hit the outer 
 circle. 
 
 " Now, Patricia." 
 
 Neal looked at her at last to find her eyes full of tears. 
 All the latent chivalry and kindness of his nature leaped 
 to the fore. He had wanted her to have such a good time 
 at his party and she was not having it ! 
 
 " Come, Patricia," he repeated. 
 
 She stepped humbly forward at his word, and let him 
 put the bow and arrow in her hands. She prayed for 
 success. 
 
 " Don't get rattled, old girl," came the cheerful voice of 
 the Chick, which gave her courage. Stepping into position, 
 she took careful aim. Her arrow found the third circle 
 from the bull's-eye and everybody clapped. 
 
 " Great ! " Neal exclaimed. " You and Ada are cracker- 
 jacks. Now, Ada, see if you can do better than that." 
 
 Ada took her place again with a quite unchild-like poise 
 and coolness, secretly resolving to distinguish herself. That 
 Patricia should be two rings nearer the ultimate was as 
 unbearable to her as a trailing shoe-tie, for Ada always 
 regarded other people's successes as her own defeats.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 37 
 
 Neal watched her intently, scarcely knowing whether he 
 wished her to win or not. His admiration of the Chick 
 inclined him to back Patricia, but Ada was gaining over 
 him the everlasting victory of emotion by awakening him 
 to girlhood. Patricia might have been another boy, but no 
 one could see boyish traits in Ada, an embodied feminine 
 breath from far lands. 
 
 Jack Carmichael, who had spent most of his life dealing 
 with her adult counterpart, was much amused by her, but 
 rather hoped that the little black-haired Irish girl would 
 win, because she seemed such a good sport. He had clapped 
 Patricia's first effort, had been secretly glad when Ada did 
 not surpass it and now awaited Patricia's next arrow with 
 unusual interest. It hit the bull's-eye exactly in the center. 
 A shout of applause went up, and Neal came forward with 
 a prize a little silver bracelet. 
 
 Patricia floated rather than walked across the lawn to 
 the croquet ground; but her sense of triumph was devoid 
 of personal vanity. That she had pleased and justified Neal 
 was the source of her exhilaration. She thought that now 
 she would surely be welcomed by that flock of little girls 
 who seemed to keep together as if through some concerted 
 plan, but dropping into line with them she found the at- 
 mosphere no warmer. Ada, indeed, was monopolizing all 
 their attention, for she was again chattering in French to 
 the hovering governess, and this feat in itself compelled 
 interest. Peter was walking with her. He had spoken 
 politely enough to Patricia when she first arrived, but after 
 that he took no further notice of her. This hurt her be- 
 cause he was Neat's chum. 
 
 Her little moment of triumph was short-lived, and she 
 envied her brother James his established reputation. All 
 the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't upset the 
 fact that he was the champion pitcher of the countryside 
 and how calm it made him! James was really enjoying 
 himself ! 
 
 At this juncture Ada detached herself from her gov- 
 erness and came directly to Patricia.
 
 3 8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " I'm so glad you won the bracelet," she said. " I have 
 so many of them." 
 
 " Then you didn't want one more did you ? " Patricia 
 said, stoutly resolving this time to keep her temper. 
 
 " Not a silver one. Most of mine are gold." 
 
 Patricia bore this communication without flinching, for 
 Ada was the last person to whom she could say that the 
 bracelet was gold to her the gold of glory. She gave it 
 a gentle twist and replied : 
 
 " If it was gold my mother would not allow me to wear 
 it. She doesn't think it good taste for schoolgirls to wear 
 jewelry." 
 
 Ada flushed, then smiled. This girl had brains and was 
 using them. Secretly she found Patricia more stimulating 
 than the daughters of the hill-dwellers, but she resolved to 
 keep her a stimulating enemy, for even at twelve Ada knew 
 that enemies often contribute more than friends to the zest 
 of existence. 
 
 " Your mother must be a very sensible person," she said 
 graciously, " and know things by instinct. The grande 
 dames of Paris think exactly the same way." 
 
 Patricia knit her brows. Was this insulting, or wasn't 
 it? She was not quite sure, and her moment of doubt 
 became the savior of her self-control, since she who hesitates 
 is more generally saved than lost. 
 
 " Mother probably learned it from the Irish kings, our 
 ancestors," she said, " or maybe the family Banshee warned 
 her." 
 
 Ada laughed. She was genuinely entertained and there- 
 fore she felt good-humored, but she resolved, nevertheless, 
 to put Patricia in her place and keep her there. 
 
 " Delia, Neal's old nurse, was telling me what a fine 
 character your mother has," she observed with sympathetic 
 interest. " She said she had been a friend of hers for 
 many years." 
 
 Patricia shriveled, attempted to reply, but found no words 
 forcible enough.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 39 
 
 Neal, watching the approach of the two girls from the 
 croquet ground, turned impulsively to Peter. 
 
 " I think your cousin's a jolly good one," he said fervently. 
 " See how friendly she is being to Patricia." 
 
 " Oh, Ada's not stuck up," Peter replied complacently. 
 
 Patricia's joy in the party was dead. No friendliness of 
 Neal's, no politeness on the part of Neat's elders, could alter 
 the fact that a friend of her mother's was a servant in that 
 large, pillared house that rose against the soft September 
 sky as the visible embodiment of aristocracy and long-con- 
 tinued power. The truth loomed so large that it crowded 
 out even resentment of Ada. Patricia dreaded the approach 
 of supper-time, for, undoubtedly, Delia would be assisting 
 in the dining-room, and she must either speak to her as 
 a friend or be a coward. 
 
 She was near to her testing. When supper was an- 
 nounced, Neal had deposited her conspicuously at the head 
 of the dining-room and plied her with good things, but 
 her appetite for them was gone. She toyed with her food, 
 keeping her eyes down, because she had seen the opening 
 of a door and the influx of a small army of servants, among 
 whom she recognized Delia. 
 
 Patricia was torn with conflicting emotions. The stanch 
 old Irish woman had been very kind to her in the past, and 
 this was no hour to forget a certain shock-headed doll 
 most dear, most beloved, or intermittent showers of choco- 
 late drops ; yet Patricia felt cowardice weighing her eyelids 
 down. 
 
 All social differences were forgotten by the other children 
 in the broad human interest of sandwiches, but Patricia's 
 tasted dry in her mouth. The spirit was willing, the flesh 
 weak. When Delia came with her tray of lemonade, Patri- 
 cia took her glass without looking up, and the old servant 
 with Celtic tact remained silent, yet she was disappointed 
 over those downcast eyes. Just a smile would have sufficed. 
 
 The moment was over, and the defeated one was now 
 knowing shame. Raising her eyes she saw that Ada, seated 
 near by, was regarding her with an amused expression.
 
 40 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Patricia flashed an acceptance of the challenge back to her, 
 then rising, followed Delia's retreating form. Feeling a 
 pressure on her arm, that honest servant turned to see eyes 
 as warm as her own gazing into hers. 
 
 " Delia, Mother sends love, and says it's a long time since 
 you've been to supper.'' 
 
 Patricia returned to her seat with the light-heartedness of 
 the shriven. The act had been to her like blood-letting, 
 and the fever of her anxiety passed as if the premature 
 disease of adult sufferings through adult standards was over, 
 and she was back in the peace of childhood. 
 
 But when she went into the drawing-room to dance a 
 new awe fell upon her, this time not of people, but of the 
 history back of them. This grave, mellow room with its 
 dignity of a bygone century, its aloof beauty, was like an 
 introduction, not to the living, but to the aristocratic dead. 
 
 The music began, and on the first strains her feet found 
 the path to fairy-land. She was a good dancer, as the boys 
 soon learned, but she cared only for her dances with Neal. 
 
 " Are you having a good time ? " he whispered to her 
 as they circled the room. 
 
 She smiled mutely. She would never be able to tell him 
 what was in her heart.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE fate of socialism as far as it depended upon 
 feminine assent hung in the balance after the party, for 
 Neal and Peter were indulging in reactionary masculine ex- 
 ploits of the kind prohibited to petticoats, such as climbing 
 the scaffolding of the gardener's new house, visiting the 
 stables to inspect a litter of collie pups, and practicing base- 
 ball for a coming game. In the house by the shore Patricia 
 went about her tasks dreamily. Having been admitted to 
 participation with aristocracy, she now passionately desired 
 to fit herself for permanent occupation of that bright sphere. 
 She began to be very particular with her English, with her 
 hair, with her walk, copying unconsciously Ada's graceful, 
 deliberate gait. But since our imitations are, as a rule, for 
 the benefit of one person, Patricia found herself in imagina- 
 tion rehearsing always before Neal. 
 
 One afternoon she was seated rather primly on the porch 
 with a bit of embroidery in her hands, when the click of 
 the gate brought her out of her dreams to reality. Her 
 brother James, attended by Neal and Peter, summoned her 
 to join them, which she did with an alacrity born of the 
 consciousness that she looked well. 
 
 Neal and Peter said " Hello " simultaneously, but with a 
 kind of impersonal expectation as if Patricia were but a 
 necessary link in some projected enterprise. 
 
 " We want you," James announced, " to come with us 
 to see Uncle Shamus." 
 
 " Uncle Shamus ! " Patricia faltered with rising color. 
 Why, oh, why should the purblind James wish to conduct 
 Neal and Peter to this irreverent old sailor-uncle in the 
 Mariner's Rest who always smelled slightly of rum and 
 smoked a pipe? 
 
 " We want you along because Uncle Shamus always tells 
 
 41
 
 42 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 finer tales when you are around," James explained, " and 
 Neal and Peter want to hear some thrilling tales of the 
 sea." 
 
 " Oh, please ! " Neal entreated. 
 
 His eyes were winning, and she surrendered, though she 
 dreaded the visit. James, of course, couldn't understand her 
 longing to rise into the bright, fortunate, dominant life of 
 these hill-dwellers. Before her wistful eyes, covetous of 
 aristocratic virtues and privileges, rose the fierce old figure 
 of Uncle Shamus, as unpliable to the demands of fashionable 
 society as the battered figurehead of some ancient sailing 
 vessel. 
 
 " You won't like Uncle Shamus," she addressed Neal 
 frankly. " He's rough." 
 
 " Oh, they all are down there," Peter put in good- 
 humoredly. " We don't expect Chesterfields in a Mariner's 
 Rest. They're sea-seasoned, those old chaps. I love to hear 
 'em swear and yarn. I'm dying to hear a good yarn. Aren't 
 you, Neal ? " 
 
 " Would you mind very much ? " Neal questioned. 
 
 " I'll go," she answered with a little catch in her voice. 
 She would do this for her hero, sit through the hour of 
 real torture it would be to her to have her uncle on parade, 
 no Chesterfield, indeed, but something cast up, worn and 
 battered by the sea, belonging wholly to the class Patricia 
 was now, not without shame, disowning. 
 
 " That's a good Sis," James commented. " You must 
 coax Uncle Shamus to show Neal and Peter the ruby the 
 cannibal queen gave him." 
 
 The Mariner's Rest was a group of ancient ivy-covered 
 buildings surrounded by lawns sloping down to the placid 
 channel that separated the Island on its western side from 
 the mainland. Under the great trees now dropping their 
 leaves, many old men were seated, or they strolled together, 
 or stood alone in meditation as they watched the boats in 
 the channel, with heaven knows what thoughts of old sea- 
 days. Something autumnal was all about the place, not
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 43 
 
 wholly the effect of the misty October sunshine and the 
 low October wind. It was as if the hoarse voices of these 
 old men came from very far off with a strange tale in a 
 strange tongue. The place reeked with the sea, yet only 
 the odor of dead leaves and mignonette, from many beds 
 of that flower, came physically to the senses. Neal, at least, 
 never passed under the arched gateway with its invocation 
 to the god of many waters without tasting brine and hearing 
 a spectral wind whistle through unseen shrouds. 
 
 Learning that Uncle Shamus, troubled by rheumatism, 
 was by his fire, they started up the avenue, when a soft 
 voice called, " Peter." 
 
 All turning, they saw Ada descending from a carriage 
 in which sat Mrs. Fleming and another person who, Peter 
 explained briefly to Neal, was a visiting uncle of Ada's. 
 The carriage drove on, while Ada approached them with 
 her usual languid walk. Patricia, feeling that fate could 
 scarcely be more unkind, looked about for some unseen 
 road of escape, then the courage of the desperate returned 
 to her. She faced Ada with a smile, and awaited the pro- 
 nouncement that young lady was about to make. 
 
 " I was terribly bored/' she addressed Neal, " so when 
 I saw you I called to the coachman to stop. I think Uncle 
 Whitney wanted a word alone with Aunt Bertha, anyway, 
 so it's just as well. How do you do, Patricia, and where 
 are you all going ? " 
 
 " To see my uncle," Patricia answered quickly before 
 cowardice could close her lips. 
 
 " Your uncle ? Is he a director here ? " 
 
 " No, he's a pensioner an old sailor." 
 
 Neal, watching Ada anxiously, saw, to his relief, only a 
 mild interest in her calm, pretty face. Divining why 
 Patricia wasn't happy, he wished that Ada hadn't joined 
 the party; yet, as usual, she drew all his thoughts to her, 
 turning them by some alchemy into mature, unboyish specu- 
 lations as to what she really was a nuisance or a singular 
 joy. He wished she would not use French words. She was 
 too nice for such airs.
 
 44 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 They found Uncle Shamus brooding over the fire, his one 
 good eye as bright as a burning coal itself, his wooden leg 
 crossed in stiff peace over his knee, his pipe as firmly 
 wedged in his mouth as if that aperture had been forced 
 open to receive it. The room, which smelled of fish, pepper- 
 mint, liniment and old leather, had somehow the effect 
 of a pirate's cave, an aspect so convincing that Neal's de- 
 light was instantaneous. He surrendered to the whole 
 before he took account of details of the stuffed tuna in 
 glazed supremacy above the fireplace ; of the great taran- 
 tulas, in hairy suspension amid tropical butterflies that 
 quivered curiously on wires as if alive; of the misshapen 
 clubs, odd paddles, Samoan bowls and fans ; of the Chinese 
 ornaments; of the outlandish beads and feathers; of the 
 whole queer stock of sailor's trophies, making a brown 
 twilight, lit only by a pale bone or a scarlet butterfly. 
 
 " Uncle Shamus, I've brought some friends of mine to 
 see you," James announced. 
 
 The old man drew out his pipe and laid it gravely on 
 the mantel before extending his hand to Ada. 
 
 "Who's the lass?" 
 
 They explained her and the others were introduced in 
 their turn. 
 
 " We've come for a tale, Uncle Shamus," James said 
 coaxingly. " A ripper Neal here is partial to devil-fish." 
 
 " He wouldn't be if he'd ever met one." 
 
 " Did you ever meet one ? " Neal challenged. 
 
 " It war off Sark," Shamus admitted modestly. 
 
 " Oh, tell us about it." 
 
 Shamus surveyed the company and wagged his head in 
 Ada's direction. 
 
 "You wouldn't believe it now, would you, Miss?" 
 
 Ada, perched gingerly on a sea-chest, responded : 
 
 " All sailors tell tales." 
 
 This atmosphere of skepticism was felt as a chill by the 
 company. Ada's singular faculty of taking the glamour out 
 of things while yet throwing a glamour about her own 
 little person this talent was already drawing Neal out of
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 45 
 
 boyhood with its piratical instincts and ready faith in 
 marvels. He began to feel that the whole expedition was 
 stupid and James's uncle a tobacco-flavored bore. His 
 finger nails were outrageously dirty, and his devil-fish were 
 probably the invention of gin. Patricia looked steadily out 
 the window, her cheeks burning. Only James remained 
 expectant. 
 
 " Never mind Ada, Uncle Shamus," he said, with flaunt- 
 ing democracy. " Girls never really believe anything. Spin 
 your yarn." 
 
 Uncle Shamus's eye brightened. 
 
 " I had shipped with the Flyin' Mercury," he began. " A 
 cattle boat she was. We put in at Guernsey to buy a full- 
 bred cow for the Captain's missus in Portland. We had 
 one passenger he war a Rosicrucian." 
 
 Neal pricked up his ears. 
 
 "A what, Mr. O'Brien?" 
 
 " A Rosicrucian." 
 
 " What's that, Uncle Shamus? " Patricia asked. 
 
 " Them that is one knows. Them that ain't one 
 guesses." 
 
 " What was he like ? " Peter inquired. 
 
 " Shure, he had honey on his lips an' lightning in his 
 eyes. We run into a storm midways over, an' he was 
 asleep in the cabin, the only soul who could sleep. The 
 Flyin' Mercury was flyin' to her doom that night and the 
 pack of us prayin' an' swearin' an' rememberin' those on 
 shore. Nigh to what seemed the end, he appeared all of a 
 sudden an' looked out on that hell of water with the smile 
 that only a few of us ever saw on his lips. Then he sung 
 out: 
 
 " ' The Flyin' Mercury will reach her harbor look ! ' 
 
 " Every mother's son of us looked, an', by the green 
 fields of Ireland, there, straight ahead, was a hoop of light, 
 an' before we could say Holy Virgin the ship rose on a 
 wave and straight through the hoop she went an' was in 
 calm water on the other side. The wind went down, an* 
 the stars came out, an' the Rosicrucian went back to his
 
 46 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 bunk. He left us at Portsmouth, for he was farin' on to 
 the East to join some gentry he called Masters in the 
 Himalayas. But I'm wanderin' from me subject. You 
 were after askin' me about devil-fish." 
 
 " Let's be a secret society and call ourselves the Rosi- 
 crucians and seek adventures ! " Neal said. He was suf- 
 fering a relapse into boyhood, but his eyes were eagerly 
 on Ada's face. That young lady had scarcely heard the 
 remarkable narrative of Uncle Shamus, so intent was she 
 on her own thoughts, which concerned Patricia. Should 
 she ignore her in future, relying on her own power to keep 
 Peter and Neal from these undesirable playmates, or should 
 she accept her for the sake of whatever fun was going? 
 A larger percentage of entertainment seeming assured by the 
 latter alternative, she received Neal's proposition amiably. 
 
 " It's a silly name," she said, " but there's no use staying 
 out of things because you don't like their names." 
 
 " It isn't as silly as you think," James gave back. " I 
 looked it up once in the encyclopedia, and it's a very old 
 secret society and only the elect get into it." 
 
 " We're the elect," said Peter. 
 
 Shamus turned a terrible eye on him. 
 
 " Ye'll make damned pore Rosicrucians, all of ye except 
 that lad," he added, pointing a gnarled forefinger at Neal, 
 " an' that lass," pointing to Patricia. 
 
 " Uncle, please don't swear," Patricia begged softly. She 
 was growing happier as her sense of exclusion from Neal's 
 circle was becoming fainter. That Ada should consent to 
 be a member of a society which included her, Patricia, 
 seemed a forecast of the fulfillment of her ambitions. Hence- 
 forth a mystic bond united them all, one not dependent upon 
 social standards. What adventures as a society they were 
 to expect, and how often as a society they were to meet 
 and conspire, she left to Neal's ingenuity. 
 
 " Show us the ruby the cannibal queen gave you, Uncle 
 Shamus," James commanded. 
 
 Uncle Shamus, fumbling at the neck of his flannel shirt, 
 drew out at last a string of green beads, attached to which
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 47 
 
 was a kind of leather scapular. From its oily rotundity 
 he produced a large red stone. 
 
 Ada held out her hand. " Let me see," she said eagerly, 
 for she had a passion for jewels. 
 
 She carried the stone to the light. Patricia, her heart 
 thumping, watched her anxiously. She had always believed 
 in this ruby which Uncle Shamus had assured her would 
 be hers at his death, and which had symbolized to her 
 barbaric wealth as well as mystery and adventure. She 
 had thought that if anything ever happened to the Mary 
 McCoy if the tug should burn up or be in a collision 
 there would be Uncle Shamus's ruby to fall back upon. 
 Now a fearful doubt assailed her. 
 
 Ada turned the stone in the palm of her hand for a while, 
 then gave it back to its owner with a smile. 
 
 " What about it ? " James said sharply. As far as he 
 thought about her at all, he resented Ada. " Wouldn't you 
 like to own it ? " 
 
 " If it were real. It isn't." 
 
 At this amazing verdict, Uncle Shamus reached for his 
 pipe and lit it. Then, as if it gave him courage, he ful- 
 minated : 
 
 " A queen's word against yours, me haughty lass. The 
 gem's for me niece when I'm gone." 
 
 " Oh, I say, Ada," Peter protested, " don't be so cock- 
 sure it isn't a ruby." 
 
 " Thinking it one won't make it so." 
 
 " Put it up, Uncle," Patricia said impatiently. 
 
 " I'll believe it's a ruby until it's proved otherwise," Neal 
 announced. 
 
 The old man returned his treasure to its leather bag 
 without a word. An embarrassing silence fell upon the 
 little company, broken at last by a knock at the door. Ada's 
 uncle entered. He was a young man, fashionably dressed 
 and with a manner not unlike Ada's bored yet amiable. 
 
 The two uncles were introduced. Whitney Birrell shook 
 hands with Shamus O'Brien, but had evidently no desire 
 to linger.
 
 48 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " The carriage is waiting, Ada. I am empowered to 
 bring you, too, Peter and Neal is asked to dinner. One 
 of you boys can sit beside the coachman." 
 
 Ada rose with alacrity. Patricia, a lump in her throat, 
 said half under her breath to Neal : 
 
 " But you haven't heard about the devil-fish." 
 
 He hesitated. Secretly he desired to stay in this mys- 
 terious room which he had only half examined, to see it 
 with Ada's skeptical presence removed. At the same time 
 he desired to go with Ada, to watch her play fine lady with 
 her admiring relatives. 
 
 Ada herself settled the question. " Peter can sit on the 
 box ; Neal can ride with me." 
 
 " I'll see you soon, Patricia," Neal said. 
 
 " Come on, Pat ; we'll walk home," James announced 
 bluntly. " Ball practice to-morrow, Neal ; don't forget." 
 
 He swung off with the enviable manner he had towards 
 these aristocrats of not feeling the gulf between him and 
 them, or else not caring. The others followed, all except 
 Patricia, who preferred to remain in the desolation suddenly 
 created for her. That the ruby was not real was only a 
 symbol of some other things that were not real Neal's 
 friendship and the newly founded society of the Rosi- 
 crucians, powerless to cement five hearts in a true union. 
 Baseball could do that, but not Neal's transient enthusiasm. 
 Patricia suddenly felt scorn of his self-deceptions. He 
 liked Ada and Ada's world. Why pretend to include her, 
 Patricia ? 
 
 " I won't see him again. I sha'n't see him again," she 
 said passionately to herself. " I I hate him." 
 
 The door having closed on the departing ones, Patricia 
 drew a footstool before the fire and seated herself, rest- 
 ing her chin on her hands. Uncle Shamus smoked in 
 silence, now and then turning his eyes on her with some 
 concern. 
 
 " What's wrong, me jewel ? " he said at last. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Lave such lies to foine ladies as her who's gone.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 49 
 
 You're a colleen the truth comes aisy to. Is it the ruby 
 you're doubtin' ? " 
 
 " No, Uncle." 
 
 " Your foine friends didn't bespeak you for dinner, I 
 noticed. Give 'em the go-by, lass." 
 
 She swallowed her tears, staring at the fire, and made no 
 answer. 
 
 " How's young Tom Murphy ? " 
 
 " I haven't seen him." 
 
 " There's a foine lad." 
 
 She made no answer. 
 
 Uncle Shamus sighed helplessly. Patricia down-hearted 
 was for him a novel and disconcerting spectacle. He put 
 down his pipe at last. 
 
 " Learn a lesson from their rudeness to you, an' keep 
 with your own kind. You an' me'll play we're Rosi- 
 crucians, an' some day I'll tell ye some secrets that pas- 
 senger on the Flyin' Mercury told me. Them that goes 
 'round the world a dozen times gets to know things know 
 things." 
 
 His voice had sunk to a whisper. His eyes glowed, his 
 lips moved as if tasting some rich reminiscence. 
 
 A sudden distaste filled Patricia of the unwashed old man 
 beside her, of the pensioner's shelter, of the ignorant mind 
 prating of half-understood things. 
 
 She rose abruptly. 
 
 " I'm going, Uncle." 
 
 " Good-by, me lass. An' mind what I tell ye keep with 
 your own kind." 
 
 The belated Rosicrucian made her way home, tearing 
 her soul to tatters as she went. At the foot of the last 
 hill she paused. To climb it and go through the plantation 
 back of the Carmichael house was entirely unnecessary, 
 but her feet inevitably took the road. Once in the planta- 
 tion she could give way to her tears. Feeling frankly misera- 
 ble, she sat down beneath one of the pine trees and hid 
 her head in her knees. Uncle Shamus was right. Only 
 heartaches could come of this association with hill-people.
 
 50 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 James felt as good as they, or, better yet, he felt nothing at 
 all. Patricia, cursed with a consciousness of social differ- 
 ence, lashed herself up a lonely road. 
 
 In imagination she was bowing distantly to a member 
 of the society from which she was self-exiled, when a 
 voice behind her called : " Patricia ! " 
 
 She sprang to her feet. Neal was looking at her, peni- 
 tently she thought, at least uneasily. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " he asked. 
 
 " I stopped to rest." 
 
 " You've been crying," he said boldly. 
 
 " I thought you were at the Flemings'," she stammered, 
 ignoring the charge. 
 
 " I'm going back there. I had to run over a minute to 
 see Grandfather. I'm coming down to-morrow to see what 
 we can do to be a real society, and Ada and Peter are 
 coming with me if you'll be home." 
 
 She hesitated, then melted. " I'll be home. We'll we'll 
 make some butter-scotch," she added, joy beginning to trem- 
 ble in her voice. 
 
 " Patricia what were you crying for ? " 
 
 She looked dumbly at him suddenly desirous of nothing 
 but an eternal playtime with him. She trembled to think 
 how near she had been to severing permanently her con- 
 nection with the blessed society of the Rosicrucians. 
 
 " Do you like butter-scotch ? " she asked with a desperate 
 smile, to turn his mind from her tears. 
 
 " Rather ! " he exclaimed.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 MRS. FLEMING, suddenly presented with a niece of Ada's 
 calm and self-possession, had not altogether relished the 
 task of overseeing an infant whose views on life were much 
 more decided than her own. 
 
 " Ada will marry whom she pleases, I imagine," she was 
 saying to Whitney Birrell, who, in the half-hour before 
 dinner was discussing his niece's future. " You were asking 
 about Neal Carmichael. I can answer for his romantic 
 disposition. Peter worships him. It's amusing enough to 
 pair children off, but nothing ever comes of it. I could 
 bestow Peter upon little Polly Guthrie she's an adorable 
 baby of seven but when he gets old enough, he'll probably 
 pick out a girl I've never heard of and can't like, but then 
 I don't expect to like my son's wife." 
 
 " No, it isn't in nature," Birrell said sympathetically. 
 
 " Of course it isn't in nature. You bring a boy into 
 the world ; you pour your life into his ; you watch, you 
 pray that is, if you're the praying kind; you keep it up 
 year in and year out; then, suddenly, you realize that 
 strange women have seized upon him, women who demand, 
 not give the girl, the girl's mother, the girl's aunts and 
 cousins. Your wonderful product is handed over to them 
 to be criticised and used. Is he good to the girl? Is he 
 making ten thousand a year for the girl? Naturally his 
 one and only mother feels left out." 
 
 " Peter, you must make a vow never to marry." This 
 from Whitney Birrell to Peter who had just entered the 
 room with Neal and Ada. " Your lady-mother says she 
 isn't going to like your wife." 
 
 " Mother, I don't intend to have one," Peter declared to 
 the accompaniment of a warm kiss on his mother's cheek. 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense, Peter," Ada said sweetly. "Of 
 
 51
 
 52 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 course you will marry. Everybody does who isn't eccentric." 
 Then she added, dropping her lashes, " Neal intends to 
 marry, I'm sure." 
 
 Neal colored, half vexed, half flattered, at the personal 
 allusion. But he found himself tongue-tied. He realized 
 that he was singularly lacking in views upon this ancient 
 institution. Yet it would be nice to marry Ada, and order 
 her around, and touch her curls. But Patricia would be 
 better fun for long walks, and scrambles through the woods. 
 
 He was considering their respective merits, not as candi- 
 dates for marriage, but for the exigencies of a newly formed 
 society as he went home that evening. They would inau- 
 gurate it with a butter-scotch party, but later meetings must 
 hold mystery and adventure or the object of the association 
 would not be gained. 
 
 As he passed through the gateway of the lodge, the lodge- 
 keeper's wife opened her door to usher someone out and he 
 recognized Meg Barrows, the gardener's daughter, who 
 seemed equipped for a journey. Her face was pale, defiant 
 and sullen. Jerking a nod of recognition towards Neal and 
 bidding the keeper's wife a hoarse good-by, she walked 
 rapidly through the gates and down the road. 
 
 Neal, on entering the house, was conscious of a tension 
 in the atmosphere something thunderous and threatening. 
 Csecilia and Maria, both in lugubrious black evening gowns, 
 were in the drawing-room, their chairs drawn close together, 
 a sure because a rare sign of some topic of great interest 
 to them both. As a rule, between the shrinking spinster 
 and the dominant matron with her passion of maternity 
 there was little real sympathy. At sight of Neal they 
 stopped talking abruptly, but Philip entering the room at this 
 moment they inquired in a breath, " Is it arranged ? " 
 
 " Money will arrange anything," Philip replied coldly. 
 " The girl may be lying, of course. She has been in scrapes 
 before, and her own father is inclined to disbelieve her." 
 Then, catching sight of Neal, he added hastily, " Your 
 grandfather wishes to see you in the library." 
 
 Neal hesitated. " Go at once," Philip commanded.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 53 
 
 Neal found his grandfather nursing a rheumatic leg 
 before the library fire, and evidently ill at ease. His face 
 was flushed, his lips set in a hard, straight line that did 
 not relax when Neal appeared ; nor did he greet his grand- 
 son, who felt at once that this stern attitude had connection 
 with Caecilia's and Maria's whispered conversation. Neal 
 awaited in some trepidation the pronouncement which came 
 at last like a bolt from the cloud. 
 
 " I sent for you to tell you that you are to resign from 
 the baseball team you've lately joined." 
 
 Neal was too stunned to reply. Resign from the Ter- 
 riers ! His grandfather could never ask such a thing if he 
 realized what the climb to that Olympus had cost Neal. 
 The boy felt a tightening in his throat, a burning sensation 
 in his eyes, while his grandfather's figure wavered and grew 
 hazy. He opened his lips, but the lump in his throat made 
 speech impossible. 
 
 " And, furthermore, you are not to go to the McCoys' 
 again." 
 
 Neal began to tremble, but not so much from anger 
 as from sheer tottering amazement a sense of a universe 
 collapsing and amid the clouds of chaos, including such de- 
 tached objects as Patricia's face, the spider-haunted room 
 of her sailor-uncle, James McCoy's brawny muscles, and 
 a swaying lilac bush by an old gate. 
 
 " You understand me ? " the stern old soldier said as Neal 
 remained silent. 
 
 " I don't understand, and I can't promise to obey." 
 
 It was the first time in his life that he had ever defied 
 his grandfather, and the act made him a stranger to himself. 
 The boy Neal Carmichael receded to an interminable dis- 
 tance, while close beside him stood an unfamiliar being, hard, 
 mature, defiant. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " You must tell me why first. You've given me no 
 reasons." 
 
 His grandfather looked amazed. Then he answered tes- 
 tily : " Because no good ever comes of mingling with people
 
 54 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 out of your own class. You can't know James McCoy and 
 his sister when you grow older." 
 
 " When I grow older I shall know whom I please, Grand- 
 father," Neal answered in an uncertain voice. 
 
 " Do you intend to obey me ? " 
 
 " I don't think your reasons are good," Neal gave back, 
 " and I don't understand your change of mind. Only two 
 weeks ago you wanted Graham's sons to play with me." 
 
 " Yes and he had no sons. Daughters are a different 
 matter," the old man commented grimly. " Have I your 
 promise, Neal?" 
 
 "I told you I wouldn't smoke until I had my growth 
 and I can keep such promises because they concern only 
 myself; but this is a different matter, Grandfather. These 
 people are my friends." 
 
 Old Carmichael turned away his head a moment, smoth- 
 ering a desire to draw the boy to him, to crush him against 
 his breast and then to give him his liberty, allowing him to 
 walk by the light that burned in his clear eyes. But he knew 
 that idealism has its own pitfalls. Since the death of Neal's 
 father had left him with two sons not after his own heart, 
 his passion had been to make his grandson into a desired 
 image. The boy's resistance to his will on this occasion was 
 establishing him more surely in his grandfather's imagination 
 as a rock in this household of ineffectuals Csecilia an old 
 maid ; Maria a dissatisfied widow ; Jack, the less of him the 
 better; Philip drearily browsing in the dead and buried 
 centuries. This boy was another matter thank God ! 
 
 " You need take none of the responsibility," he replied. 
 " Write to James McCoy, tell him it is my wish you leave 
 the team. Don't try to explain anything. Have I your 
 word ? " 
 
 " Yes and I I " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Neal wanted to cry out, " I hate you ! " but something 
 wistful in his grandfather's eyes restrained him. 
 
 " Nothing good-night, Sir." 
 
 But Caecilia blocked the doorway, her pale, virginal face
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 55 
 
 lit up with some unusual emotion or resolution. She gently 
 barred Neal's passage and put an arm about his shoulder 
 in an appealing way, that he answered dumbly by standing 
 still to see what service she wanted of him. He felt in- 
 stinctively the thrill of some strong feeling in her which 
 his own wracked spirit answered. 
 
 "Father?" 
 
 "What is it, Cecilia?" 
 
 " You're unhappy to-night. It may change your thoughts 
 if I tell you some pleasanter news. I've I've accepted Mr. 
 Griffin." 
 
 Her father turned his head sharply with a long, still look 
 at her. In the lamplight, her pale, sensitive face framed 
 in its gray hair, her angular frame a little rigid from the 
 excitement of the news she was conveying, she seemed as 
 little a candidate for marriage as a stiff figure out of some 
 ancient hagiology. 
 
 "When did this happen?" Alexander Carmichael asked. 
 
 " Only to-day." 
 
 " Well, I hope you'll be happy. Griffin's a good man and 
 God knows they're not plenty. Has he asked to see me ? " 
 
 " He'll call to-morrow," she said timidly. 
 
 Neal, glancing up at his aunt, felt that she, too, was 
 struggling towards an independence not yet attained by the 
 astounding step of engaging herself to the Reverend Mr. 
 Griffin. He was glad because she seemed glad and he 
 liked the rector, who had won Neal's heart because, when 
 preparing him for confirmation, he had refrained from 
 probing him, had accepted his boyish incoherence on mystic 
 subjects as a substitute for " convictions." 
 
 " I just am pleased, Aunt Caecilia," Neal whispered, 
 squeezing her hand ; then, misery overwhelming him again, 
 he beat a retreat to the empty schoolroom and laid an 
 aching head on the table. Harder even than crying was to 
 wish to cry and not be able to. How could he ever write 
 that letter to James McCoy, and what should he say to 
 Patricia, who would make her preparations for a butter- 
 scotch party? What a sneak they would think him! Or
 
 5 6 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 else they would call Alexander Carmichael a wretched snob 
 and an oppressor of the poor. What was at the root of it 
 all? Neal, piecing together the scraps of conversation he 
 had heard, made out vaguely that his Uncle Jack was in 
 the center of this family storm a blast strong enough, 
 indeed, to fix even Caecilia's will in a new direction. But 
 where was Uncle Jack ? It was not fair to create a turmoil 
 and then leave. 
 
 Suddenly the schoolroom door opened. Two figures ap- 
 peared in the doorway, Philip and Charles Divine, who was 
 on intimate terms with the Carmichael family. At this 
 crisis Neal would have resented any other stranger but 
 Divine, between whom and himself existed a sympathy 
 which seemed independent of real acquaintance. 
 
 Philip turned up the light, while Divine, with a nod to 
 Neal, lit a cigar, and then examined with unfeigned pleasure 
 one of Polly's battered dolls lying within convenient reach 
 on the table. 
 
 After a few uneasy turns around the room Philip stopped 
 abruptly by Neal's chair. 
 
 " I understand your grandfather has asked you to do a 
 hard thing." 
 
 Neal was silent. 
 
 " You've promised ? " 
 
 " I had to," Neal gave back passionately. " It isn't fair 
 and it is dreadful to happen now. Patricia's making butter- 
 scotch for us to-morrow and we've just founded the society 
 of the Rosicrucians." 
 
 Divine laid down the doll suddenly and looked at Neal. 
 The editor's lean face was lit for a moment with a curious 
 light, reminiscent, it would seem, of some experiences not 
 shared by the majority. 
 
 " In heaven's name, where did you youngsters hear of 
 that?" 
 
 Neal explained, Divine listening with a queer, enigmatical 
 smile. 
 
 " Did you know of them, sir ? " Neal asked. 
 
 Uncle Philip began to give data after the manner of a
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 57 
 
 professor, but Divine interrupted him. " There's no ade- 
 quate history, Philip. Well, is this society now to be dis- 
 solved?" 
 
 " It has to be," Neal answered bitterly. 
 
 " Submit." 
 
 " To an injustice? " 
 
 " Yes. It's the only way of conquering it. Well, tell 
 Polly that Clementina's wig needs combing/' he added, pick- 
 ing up the doll again. " Philip, I must be off." 
 
 He nodded pleasantly to Neal, but the light touch in his 
 manner had restored the boy's equanimity. When he had 
 gone Neal addressed himself to his uncle, who still wore 
 a tragic air of gloom and disgust. 
 
 " Uncle Philip, I think I have the right to know what 
 this is all about." 
 
 " You are paying with the rest of us for your Uncle 
 Jack's misdemeanors," was the reply. 
 
 " What has he done ? " 
 
 " He doesn't treat women as he should, particularly 
 women not in his own class. Your grandfather is afraid 
 
 that some day your knowing " He broke off in sudden 
 
 embarrassment, for the boy's clear eyes fixed upon his did 
 not look comprehending. 
 
 " So I am to give up baseball and James and Patricia 
 because Uncle Jack hasn't been good," he exclaimed bit- 
 terly. It was his first realization of the interdependence of 
 human beings and of the unpleasant chance everyone runs 
 of being hampered or retarded by someone else. " It isn't 
 fair," he finished hotly. "Where is Uncle Jack? I want 
 to tell him it isn't fair." 
 
 " He's gone to a hotel, and he sails for Venice to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Venice ! " Neal cried. The word had always held magic 
 for him. Uncle Jack exiled to Venice! that wonderful 
 city of the boy's dreams. " That's the way he gets punished ! 
 And I stay home and give up baseball." 
 
 Philip drummed drearily on the windowpane. " Caecilia's 
 going to be happy," he commented. " It needed a family
 
 58 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 row to push her into Griffin's arms. Maria's upstairs crying. 
 She's fond of Jack." 
 
 " He's going to Venice ! and I've got to write two awful 
 letters ! " 
 
 " Do it and get it over," Philip advised. 
 
 He left Neal to his bitterness, to tears shed behind a 
 locked schoolroom door, to blotted paper and scattered frag- 
 ments of impossible screeds. Neal wept the most over 
 James's letter. Through its blundering phrases his spirit 
 cried out as sharp a farewell as ever classic poet waved to 
 the retreating shade of a comrade beloved.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IT is observable that not a little of the tragic aspect of 
 events comes from their association with the small, obscure 
 elements that make up the day's round. If a gardener's 
 boy had delivered Neal's two notes early in the morning, 
 as he was told to do, Patricia would have been spared the 
 contrast between her assembled bowls and platters for a 
 butter-scotch party and the unbearable fact that the guests 
 would never come. 
 
 She had spent the whole forenoon in her preparations, 
 scouring the copper kettles until they shone, brightening up 
 a kitchen which, with its red geraniums in the windows 
 and its gleaming utensils on the wall, was always a pleasant 
 sight. The whole family had assisted at the function, full 
 of silent pride that Patricia could so hold her own with 
 the hill-people that hill and shore had made permanent 
 arrangements to play together. Even Mrs. McCoy, the 
 Rubicon of the party safely passed, was disposed to refrain 
 from pessimistic prophecies. 
 
 At the climax of the preparations Neal's notes were 
 handed in. James brought Patricia hers before opening the 
 one addressed to himself. She read it, turned as white as 
 the dress she wore, crushed the paper in her hand, and faced 
 James, who was already digesting his communication with 
 a wry countenance. Mrs. McCoy, who happened to be in 
 the kitchen, looked anxiously from one child to the other. 
 
 " What is it, James ? " 
 
 " Somebody on the hill's got cold feet. It isn't Neal, 
 I guess. But I've lost the only pitcher the Terriers can 
 work up this winter. I guess the kid's aunts want to put 
 him back in cotton wool." 
 
 He handed the note to his mother. When she read it her 
 eyes instinctively sought Patricia's. The girl's lips were 
 
 59
 
 60 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 working nervously, and there was a look in her face as if 
 she were smothering. No need to ask what was in her 
 note. She was beginning to put away the bowls and dishes 
 in a noiseless, secretive way that surrounded these everyday 
 implements with an atmosphere of strangeness. For several 
 hushed, black minutes something sinister filled the kitchen. 
 James made good his retreat with a hollow whistle. As well 
 touch a live wire as speak to Patricia under such circum- 
 stances. 
 
 But her mother could not bear it. " Get your hat on, me 
 sweet and we'll go up to the city and take in a show." 
 
 Patricia laughed then but she did not reply. Something 
 in the laughter frightened her mother. 
 
 " You're not grievin' for a parcel of children whose elders 
 don't seem to know their own minds. If they've been rude 
 to you, it's their loss, not yours." 
 
 For answer Patricia threw Neal's note on the fire. " I 
 am going out for a walk, Mother, and please don't talk it 
 over with the family." 
 
 Her colorless voice reassured her mother, who was begin- 
 ning to feel wrath stir in her bosom that her chicks should 
 be thus treated by the people on the hill. Her strong 
 common sense had foreseen some such outcome, but she 
 had scarcely expected the break to come so soon and in so 
 discourteous a manner. 
 
 Patricia took her hat from the peg, and went out into 
 a world from which all sunlight had departed. Even in 
 the fresh October air she felt as if she were choking, for 
 the tumult of her emotions was like a black and breathless 
 storm. Under that strange law by which love springs 
 stronger from a wound, she had to bear, in addition to her 
 disappointment and mortification, a fierce longing to see Neal 
 Carmichael, to tell him he was a wretched, hateful coward, 
 a retreater, a false friend, a self-seeker, and yet only he 
 only he could comfort her, only he miserable fact could 
 restore her self-respect. 
 
 She sought the hills and flew over them with the light 
 step of the despairing. Her visions fell crushed about her,
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 61 
 
 her dreams mocked her. She was to have studied French, 
 music, German; she was to have gone to college all for 
 Neal Carmichael. She had wanted to be beautiful, learned, 
 distinguished, full of confidence like Ada, so that in the end 
 she could not blink that fact Neal would think as much 
 of her as he did of Ada. 
 
 Neal would never have treated Ada so ! Why did being 
 shore-people give hill-people the right to be cruel to you? 
 Patricia suddenly hated her class, her friends, even poor 
 James with his sordid baseball honors! How could you 
 ever be happy in this world while there were people above 
 you who could smite you, crush you with a word or two? 
 Patricia longed to be among the smiters, the wielders of 
 power. She had made a poor beginning, and the thorns 
 seemed actually crushed against her breast. 
 
 " I'll do it yet! I'll make them see yet! " she cried out 
 of her misery. And she tried to solace her wounded spirit 
 with visions of her self grown by some miracle rich and 
 powerful and exalted; of her meeting Neal in some draw- 
 ing-room where he would find her the center of an admiring 
 circle and inquire her name and origin. She pictured his 
 surprise, his admiration, his deep repentance. What then? 
 Should she repulse him? She would keep him a long time 
 in doubt. This afternoon would mean years of purgation 
 for Neal. She began, in imagination, to get over these 
 years to hurry to the end, to the inevitable end, when, her 
 cheek against his, she would tell him he was her dearest, 
 dearest friend, and always would be. 
 
 Out of this dream she woke again to the reality the 
 bleak hill, the bright, chilly October air, and in the distance 
 the house of the Carmichaels looking seaward. Her airiest 
 flights of fancy could not comfort her because years must 
 elapse before anything could be accomplished. Meanwhile 
 she was just Patricia McCoy who went to Public School 49 
 and so could not play with Neal. 
 
 Patricia wandered all afternoon, unconscious of cold and 
 fatigue, and found herself at last by the Mariner's Rest. 
 By this time pride had left her. She only knew that she
 
 62 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 was muscle-weary and chilled and that Uncle Shamus's fire 
 would be burning brightly. 
 
 She found him crouching over it, the inevitable black 
 pipe in his mouth. At the sight of her his good eye beamed 
 a warm welcome. Since yesterday she had been much in 
 his thoughts; he had scarcely recognized her in the char- 
 acter of an heiress who was doubting her inheritance a 
 ruby as red as saints' blood. 
 
 "Come in, me lass! You wanted to see Uncle Shamus. 
 It's foine to have you without your grand friends." 
 
 " No friends of mine," Patricia said in a choking voice, 
 as she drew near the fire and spread her hands to it. 
 
 " I'm glad you've the sense to know that, me colleen. 
 The young lass in particular would do ye an ill turn as soon 
 as look at ye if you got in her way, an' her boy cousin's 
 not much better. The other one " 
 
 Patricia held her breath, then she said huskily, " The 
 other one's no better." 
 
 Shamus regarded her with curiosity. " Has he done you 
 an ill turn, me lass ? " 
 
 " I say he's no better than the others. I I hate him, 
 Uncle Shamus ! " 
 
 Shamus puffed at his pipe and reflected. 
 
 " The man that war a Rosicrucian said hate tied you 
 hard an' fast to the one hated," he began after a while. 
 " Two enemies was like magnet an' iron. I disbelieved him 
 then but once I got an awful enmity with the ship's cook. 
 He left the Flyin' Mercury afore we could have a fight an' 
 let blood an' get the pizen out of us. So, by Ireland's mis- 
 eries, there was no remote spot of the world afterward but 
 what I met him in it Singapore an' Samoa an' Cape Town. 
 An' we always kep' on hatin' an' delayin* the good, savin', 
 head-breakin' shake-down that would have made us friends. 
 
 " I come upon him final in the Suez. He war dyin' an' 
 I says to him, ' I can't call you a liar on your deathbed, 
 Michael, nor break your head for you, so let's call it square 
 without them friendly preliminaries.' He grasped my hand 
 like a brother, and he says, ' I'd like to have kicked the
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 63 
 
 liver out'n you, Shamus O'Brien, but it's too late now for 
 such kind attentions ; let's call it square.' So we made up, 
 an' he died peaceful an' we buried him in the Red Sea 
 with benefit of clergy, God rest his soul ! though his pota- 
 toes was always soggy. It was them that started the row 
 soggy potatoes." 
 
 He turned to see the effect of this sprightly narrative 
 upon Patricia, who had stretched herself on the hearthrug 
 before the fire; but she seemed asleep, for her face was 
 buried in the bearskin. Most content to have her there, 
 he leaned back in his armed chair and for a long time 
 puffed peacefully at his pipe, and watched her. Her face was 
 flushed, and once or twice she whispered something in her 
 sleep. It was borne upon him at last that he did not like 
 her looks, as not natural enough to suit the Patricia he 
 knew. Leaning over, he pushed her gently by the shoulder. 
 She opened her eyes drowsily and she spoke, and he strained 
 his ear to listen. 
 
 " And the Fly in' Mercury," she whispered, " went straight 
 through the hoop of light into calm water."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 NEAL leaned against the railing of a transatlantic liner, 
 scrutinizing with tender interest the hills of that Island 
 which flanks Manhattan's harbor on the south. He had the 
 air of one who had finished his lotus-eating period with 
 satisfaction and was prepared for a good share in a game 
 whose stakes were already known to him. 
 
 The Island and its affairs had been kept prominently 
 before him during his European sojourn. Amid the scenes 
 of Oxford, Neal had Divine's letters to remind him that 
 his classical browsings must some day serve the interests of 
 The Courier and of the complex democracy of his own land. 
 His grandfather admonished him to study English political 
 institutions, and in the same sheet informed him that his 
 cousin Polly gave promise of great beauty. What gossip 
 of the Islanders his grandfather omitted, Jack and Csecilia 
 supplied. 
 
 Everyone wrote except Ada, though Neal's letters to her 
 continued, even during that period in Rome when he had 
 fallen in love with such violence as to take the family into 
 his confidence. It transpired that the most acute stage of 
 the disease was precisely when he was unacquainted with 
 the object of his adoration. After the Ambassador had 
 brought about the meeting, the flame languished and died; 
 for Neal was always measuring women by Ada's remem- 
 bered supremacies. His fidelity to his conception of her 
 outweighed the evidence of ladies who were there to speak 
 for themselves. 
 
 Well, he should soon see her ! The shores of the Island 
 which held her were close at hand, for the ship, having 
 passed quarantine, was now majestically on its way through 
 the Narrows, saluted on all sides by smaller craft. One 
 tug was near enough for Neal to read its name. The Mary 
 
 67
 
 68 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 McCoy evoked a whole chapter of his boyhood : his first 
 attempt at fraternity, which had ended in disaster. What 
 had become of James and of his pretty, fiery sister Patricia ? 
 
 On the Mary McCoy, just within the shelter of the cabin, 
 a young woman in nurse's costume was watching with 
 grave, eager eyes the approach of the huge Arcadia, one of 
 whose passengers was known to her. Old defeats of hers 
 had yielded to triumphs which she sometimes hoped, wist- 
 fully, would reach the notice of Neal Carmichael. Her 
 ancient desire to make him suffer was swallowed up in the 
 stronger desire to make him wonder. 
 
 She had surprised her own family, at least. Some of 
 the dollars brought in by the stout little tug had, in 
 Patricia's case, transmuted themselves to such alphabetic 
 phenomena as college degrees. McCoy and his wife had 
 attended more than one commencement, endeavoring not to 
 appear too proud, black silk by black broadcloth in agitated 
 satisfaction Patricia a B.A., then an M.A. ; beyond these 
 mysteries, the more tangible accomplishment of nursing, 
 with the Municipality backing her. Strangest of all, James 
 McCoy often reflected, she was very pretty. The Captain 
 had always thought that women studied things and became 
 learned because nobody would love them. Yet, here was 
 Patricia as white and pink as any lass fed on buttermilk in 
 misty old Ireland. And what she knew ! Almost as much 
 as Father Carew. But her accomplishments were not 
 frightening away Thomas Murphy quite the gentleman 
 Thomas, with a whole wrecking yard under his say-so ; and 
 devoted to Patricia, who wasn't overkind to him. But 
 then, that was the way of maids. 
 
 The Arcadia swept grandly by, and the tug rocked in her 
 swell. Patricia, her cheeks glowing, looked dreamily after 
 her, her thoughts concerned with the returning voyager. 
 Since the day when the Rosicrucian society had broken up 
 in disaster she had had only far-off glimpses of Neal Car- 
 michael, whose life and career she had to create for herself 
 a drama pieced out by what Delia told her of his am-
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 69 
 
 bitions. She was glad that he was interested in the problems 
 of democracy even in feudal Oxford, that he believed in 
 fraternity. Their worlds might never touch, but she at 
 least was ready if they did. The proud Miss Fleming had 
 missed all the fun of this effort of unseen companionship, 
 because she had had so few things to learn Patricia so 
 many! 
 
 Her eyes followed the great boat which seemed about to 
 disappear into the sunset, deep in the horizon where the 
 mists were ruddy, where even the solemn, far-off mountains 
 of the western shore partook of the enchantment of distance 
 and desire. 
 
 Neal was experiencing the usual sensations of the home- 
 comer whose long absence is like a novel into which every- 
 one wants the first glimpse. The faint antagonism between 
 the traveled and the stationary had faded after the first 
 greetings, but he still felt not quite at ease with his family. 
 There was too much to explain in the course of a dinner ; 
 and Neal was too conscious of a certain anticipatory at- 
 mosphere, as if the curtain had rung up at last on the real 
 play, Jack and Philip having proved themselves unequal to 
 the part of heroes. Their nephew had an uneasy sense of 
 being chosen for the role, if the look in Maria's eyes and 
 in Caecilia's could be trusted, and his grandfather's chal- 
 lenging questions. Neal, surveying this circle, let his eyes 
 rest oftenest upon Polly, as soft and exquisite as a Romney 
 portrait, he thought, yet the delicate contours showed 
 strength of will. She was appraising him with loyal glances 
 from what seemed to him the most beautiful eyes he had 
 ever seen. 
 
 He wanted to ask for Ada, but for the life of him he 
 couldn't repeat that little name of hers, caught up Peter's 
 instead, was told that Peter was in the Street " where we 
 all are," Maria elucidated, " except Ceil all trying to make 
 our fortunes." 
 
 This was puzzling. Wasn't the Carmichael fortune made 
 a hundred years ago ? The head of the house, as if reading
 
 70 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 his grandson's thoughts, said wistfully, " I worked hard 
 for many years, Neal. Now I like to see money come in 
 without work " 
 
 When the men were alone at the table they leaned back 
 in their chairs to smoke and listen comfortably while Neal 
 elucidated himself, being genuinely curious to know what 
 Europe had done for him and what he in his turn would 
 do for the family. The history of the Carmichaels had 
 been for generations a series of threatened overthrows, 
 averted at the last minute by some member more alert 
 and puissant than his brethren whose drop of Irish blood 
 was their warrant to dream more than it is ever safe in 
 a land devoted to doing. Neal was inquiring for Divine 
 when Graham ushered him in. The two men greeted each 
 other with a certain eagerness, the younger slipping at once 
 under the fascination which still emanated from the great 
 editor, who had come not only to welcome Neal, but to 
 claim him for The Courier. 
 
 " I can't make him rich, Jack," he said, as if in reply 
 to an anxious look from Jack Carmichael, " but I can show 
 him a run into politics." 
 
 Neal's eyes brightened with appreciative assent. " Oh, 
 the money can wait. The main thing is to be with you." 
 
 Jack whistled and rolled his blue eyes to the ceiling. 
 Here was another Carmichael who seemed likely to con- 
 tribute only ideals to the family treasury. His grandfather's 
 face paled for a moment as he wondered how long he could 
 keep Neal ignorant of the state of the family finances. 
 While he was in Europe it had been comparatively easy to 
 let him think the Carmichael fortune was still in mellow 
 zenith. 
 
 Divine was making his adieus when Graham announced 
 another visitor at sight of whom Neal's heart beat vio- 
 lently, though he beheld advancing towards him a changed 
 Peter, smoothed out of recognition by some early and ex- 
 traordinary success in life, a good-looking, assured young 
 man, beyond playing squire to anybody, but genuinely de- 
 lighted to see Neal. They talked commonplaces, as people
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 71 
 
 are likely to do who meet after a long absence, Peter's 
 eyes wandering often from Neal to Polly, with masculine 
 proprietary glances under which she seemed uneasy. He 
 spoke of a dance to which they were all going, adding with 
 a significant accent, " Ada will be there." 
 
 Neal saw flame for a moment. A wave of expectant 
 emotion passed over him, and Peter, noting the change in 
 his face, was secretly amused. Of course, Ada would do 
 what she liked with him, and he would think her an angel, 
 as in the old days when they were all children together. 
 Peter had what his friend did not possess, a varied knowl- 
 edge of women, of all kinds of women, and even when he 
 couldn't read them he didn't idealize them. 
 
 As soon as he had satisfied his curiosity concerning his 
 old chum, Peter was for carrying Polly off to the dance. 
 She seemed reluctant, but Mrs. Guthrie spoke to her with 
 a certain authoritative briskness, and, rising, she left the 
 room. Neal taking advantage of a moment of general con- 
 versation followed her. She was already on the stairs when 
 he entered the hall, but hearing his step she turned and stood 
 for a moment, a slender, expectant figure with a touch of 
 gravity in her air, which did not seem natural in a young 
 girl departing to a dance. 
 
 " Cousin Neal," she said softly. 
 
 Some depth of feeling in her voice called to the expectant 
 emotion in his own heart, and he came to the stair just 
 beneath her, his face upturned to hers. 
 
 " Cousin Neal, it's net Peter," she said, with a little catch 
 in her breath. " I wanted you to know. Mother and I " 
 
 She broke off with a little sigh, but Neal understood. 
 Between himself and Polly's mother with her worldly 
 standards scant sympathy existed. All at once he was 
 enlisted heart and soul for his little cousin, against an 
 ambitious family. It was all too obvious what Mrs. Guthrie 
 wanted. 
 
 " Polly dear," he said, " you're not eighteen. Time 
 enough years from now. Meanwhile, I'm here and they 
 sha'n't bully you."
 
 72 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 A smile overspread her face. The enchanting evanescent 
 sweetness of her youth seemed like an actual perfume in 
 the air. What her look conveyed was a secret, the thrill of 
 which he felt instantly. Of course, there was someone 
 else! A girl like a spring flower holding fire and dew in 
 its chalice could never escape romance. He framed a ques- 
 tion. Putting her hands on his shoulders, she said eagerly, 
 reverently, as if reciting her faith, " I'm engaged to William 
 Sidney. He'll be at the dance to-night. I haven't told 
 Mother yet. She wants me for Peter because Peter's so 
 very rich." 
 
 " But what difference does that make ? " 
 
 " I think we are in difficulties," Polly said quaintly. 
 
 " And William Sidney is not rich ? " 
 
 "He's poor! He doesn't know it. I don't want him 
 ever to know it." 
 
 Neal felt like saying, " He never will if he has you," 
 but Mrs. Guthrie had appeared in the hall. She gave him 
 a keen look, then followed her daughter. Neal went back 
 to Peter, his mind on the " difficulties " of which Polly 
 had spoken. Now that he thought of it, the garden did look 
 neglected, Graham's livery was shabby, the tone of time was 
 in the old house; and Americans did not let things remain 
 in static picturesqueness for its own sake. 
 
 He had no opportunity to ask his grandfather what it 
 all meant, for when the others had gone Caecilia and Dr. 
 Griffin engaged him in a conversation on Oxford. Curbing 
 his impatience to be off to Ada, he spoke of the things that 
 would interest them most not Shelley's sarcophagus in 
 University College, but Pusey House, and the village of Lit- 
 tlemore, where Newman had yielded his struggling soul at 
 last to an Ancient Will. It was nearly eleven before he 
 finally said good-night and slipped away to the dance, 
 musing as he went upon the changed conditions at home. 
 He had thought more of money in the few hours since his 
 landing on American soil than during his four years' so- 
 journ abroad. It seemed in the air. It was in the old
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 73 
 
 house, like an underbred ghost, which, if embodied, would 
 have been shown the door. 
 
 To make money was not the ambition he had brought 
 back to the United States; rather to aid in the revival of 
 its democracy a tradition preserved like a mummy in a 
 case, while the plutocrats stalked outside the tomb, alive 
 and lusty. He wanted to see, investigate, uproot, rebuild, 
 love or hate, but never to retire into the indifference of per- 
 sonal aggrandizement. 
 
 Facing her in the little conservatory, he had the sensa- 
 tion of having wasted those years in Europe. He should 
 have been home working for his right to win her. Not only 
 her beauty fascinated him but her poise, which long ago 
 had subdued his own uneasy spirit. Ada had been born 
 sure of many things, a faculty which is one of the fairy 
 gifts. To Neal, something of fairy-light was all about 
 her, as she faced him expectantly, asking mute questions 
 he was only too eager to answer. Her eyes, blue and placid 
 as summer lakes, were regarding him with interest and 
 amusement. He was the same idealistic Neal Carmichael! 
 
 " And you are really glad to be home ? " she was saying 
 softly. 
 
 " I didn't know how glad till I saw you, Ada ! " 
 
 " I was afraid you'd be too serious to come to a dance. 
 They say you are a genius ! You may not believe it, Neal," 
 she added, in a teazing voice, " but I read all your articles 
 in The Northern Review. People talked about them at din- 
 ners said you were the coming man whatever that may 
 mean." 
 
 Neal laughed. " If I'm a coming man, you are the person 
 I am coming to if you'll let me ! It may take time. I 
 haven't Peter's knack of making money." 
 
 "I'm glad you haven't. You'll be famous when he's 
 among the forgotten millionaires." 
 
 " There's something I .want even more than fame." 
 
 Impulsively he took her hand and bent over it, pressed 
 his lips to it quite in the manner, Ada thought, of the
 
 74 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 hero of an old-fashioned romance, but the gesture did not 
 displease her. 
 
 " If you knew how I had looked forward to seeing you, 
 Ada ! "" 
 
 " And you are not disappointed ? " 
 
 " Disappointed my dear " 
 
 " Yet you fell in .love in Italy ! " 
 
 " There has never been but one woman ! " 
 
 She did not answer this for a moment, her face becom- 
 ing grave, as if she wondered if he meant what he said. 
 Ada possessed all the skepticism of a woman who has had 
 many love affairs, yet the hackneyed words on Neal's lips 
 sounded novel, alluring, as if he might reveal to her an 
 unknown coast worth some voyaging to behold. 
 
 In the dim light of the conservatory, her beauty merged 
 on the magical; and he, too, felt the call of a land which 
 is on no known map. The thrill of exploration was keying 
 their spirits to something higher, more serious than the 
 atmosphere of gayety in which they found themselves. He 
 bent towards her with the authority of the lover. 
 
 " Ada Ada dear ! " 
 
 " Hush here comes Peter ! " 
 
 Neal, turning, saw his old chum approaching with some- 
 thing very like a scowl on his handsome face. 
 
 " Poor Peter ! " Ada said, " I am afraid your little cousin 
 has spoiled his evening for him." 
 
 Her voice had grown suddenly cold. Neal looked anx- 
 iously from her to her cousin, conscious of that confidence 
 on the staircase. Peter seemed better fitted for business 
 than for romance, and Neal resolved to ask him before the 
 evening was over what the trouble was at Carmichael 
 House. 
 
 " Don't take Ada away, Peter," he said. " We've just 
 started in." 
 
 " I'll not take her away, but Wentworth will," Peter 
 answered with a grim smile. " You'd better look to your 
 laurels, Neal ! " 
 
 "Who's Wentworth?"
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 75 
 
 Peter laughed unpleasantly. 
 
 " One of Ada's satellites who wants to be the central sun. 
 He's an Englishman, with barrels of money and related to 
 titles. Here he comes now, Ada. You'd better look 
 sharp ! " 
 
 " Don't be a goose, Peter," she said coldly. 
 
 At the very suggestion of a rival, Neal's jealousy began 
 to stir, assuming presently the form of a reflection that 
 after all he himself had nothing yet to offer Ada but his 
 demands on the future, while this stranger was already 
 intrenched in the material well-being which is a man's 
 warrant for marital hopes. With these gloomy thoughts 
 Neal rose to be introduced to Wentworth, a short, fair 
 man, possessed of a determined mouth and clear, unre- 
 sponsive English eyes, well adapted for staring a mere 
 American out of countenance. He acknowledged the intro- 
 duction pleasantly enough, but his manner as he bore off 
 Ada said, as plainly as words, that he felt sure of some- 
 thing of which Neal was not sure. 
 
 " Let's go and smoke," Peter said. 
 
 "I am supposed to be chaperoning Polly, and I haven't 
 had a glimpse of her." 
 
 Peter's face darkened. " I am afraid your charming 
 cousin is a coquette," he said, in a voice not wholly free 
 from acidity. " You should instruct her, Neal, that it's 
 not good form to forget her dances." 
 
 "Oh, she didn't do that did she?" 
 
 For answer Peter slipped an arm through Neal's. " Come 
 to the smoking-room and have a chat." 
 
 The two men, facing each other from their armchairs, had 
 difficulty in beginning their talk, for the reason that each 
 wanted private information on widely different subjects. 
 Peter was wondering if Polly had ever mentioned him in 
 her letters, while Neal speculated as to how much his 
 friend knew of the state of the family finances. He asked 
 an abrupt question at last. 
 
 " Your grandfather has given Jack- far too much author-
 
 76 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 ity," Peter said sharply. " Did you know the property was 
 mortgaged ? " 
 
 Neal turned a white, incredulous face to him. " Mort- 
 gaged ! The Carmichael property ! Who holds it? " 
 
 Peter gave an unfamiliar name. " Don't take it so hard, 
 Neal. If you had had a practical mind like my humble 
 self, you would have known while you were in Harvard 
 that your grandfather trusted Jack too much." 
 
 " I thought he never trusted him at all," Neal blurted out. 
 
 " As a moral picture-book for his nephew, no ; as a 
 money-maker, yes. Jack is a money-maker; but keeping 
 money's another kind of art, and he hasn't got it. Don't 
 look so tragic. The house is tumble-down, anyway. It's 
 beginning to look like the ruins of a Greek temple." 
 
 The knife in Neal's heart was given another twist by 
 Peter's description of his home. Ah ! it was time to climb 
 to its cupola, to strain eyesight seaward for those golden 
 argosies of his vanished boyhood approaching under a 
 burden of white unearthly sails. The long expectation of 
 his house and race could not end this way with Peter's 
 grimace and jest over its lost hope and its lost desire. He 
 must save it, somehow, rescue it from the dishonors of 
 debt, raise it again into its former sanctities. 
 
 Peter noted his agitation with surprise. Neal must know 
 that he never had been a prospective inheritor of great 
 wealth. 
 
 " Say, old fellow," he whispered sympathetically, " you 
 haven't been getting into debt, have you, on your pros- 
 pects ? " 
 
 " No ! but it makes me sick to have the house in the 
 market. It has been the shell of the whole tribe of us 
 for over a hundred years. Oh, you don't know ! " 
 
 Clearly Peter didn't. He listened with a queer pucker 
 of his lips, as if he must whistle his astonishment. Old 
 houses were all very well, but nothing to make a fuss over, 
 and always draughty. He and Ada had both planned their 
 own ; his to shelter Polly, hers for whatever man she finally 
 decided upon. It might as well be Neal, Peter thought.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 77 
 
 They would exchange cousins as in boyhood they had 
 " swapped " marbles. 
 
 " Don't you worry about that little mortgage," he said 
 soothingly, putting a hand on Neal's arm. " Your beloved 
 house will be safe. You see, I'm going to be in the family 
 soon." 
 
 Neal turned to him with a look of inquiry, but realized 
 at once that Peter voiced only his hopes, not his certainties. 
 This boast of Peter's gave him added pain, for it threw 
 a sinister light forward on the whole situation, complicating 
 it hatefully. Peter might use his power as a lever to force 
 Polly's consent. And Neal, himself, how far off from Ada 
 it had pushed him! How disentangle in the eyes of the 
 world and Ada's family his love for her from self-interest ! 
 
 He began to ask quick, hurried questions as to the busi- 
 ness aspects of the situation. Peter replied fully, giving him 
 figures, jotting down memoranda on a bit of paper for him. 
 Neal sat staring at it, his eyes melancholy pools of specula- 
 tion, his long fingers nervously twisting and turning the 
 slip of paper. Figures had always puzzled and fatigued him, 
 but he felt now he must grip them beyond evasion. 
 
 Bitter resentment of his Uncle Jack welled up in him. 
 He remembered that long ago he had been made to give 
 up baseball because of one of his uncle's escapades ; while 
 Jack went gracefully to Venice and unknown waters by 
 way of repentance and amendment of life ! 
 
 " I don't believe in families hanging together," Peter 
 commented. " I admire Mrs. Guthrie as much as anybody, 
 but I won't have her live with Polly." 
 
 , " You seem very sure of Polly," Neal said with resent- 
 ment of Peter as an arbiter of the family fortunes. 
 
 " Look here, Neal," Peter gave back, a sullen look creep- 
 ing over the well-bred mask of his features. " Don't you 
 want me to have that little cousin of yours? You know 
 you have influence with her. Use it." 
 
 " I don't control Polly's heart," Neal said,* an edge of 
 defiance in his voice. 
 
 " But you want to control Ada's."
 
 78 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 The inference was unmistakable. The two men faced 
 each other, the inmost secret of each revealed. Neal soft- 
 ened first, coming, at the very sound of Ada's name, out 
 of the nipping wind of actuality in which for the last hour 
 he had shivered, and resting with a sigh in the delicate 
 world of his fancy, warmed perpetually by her presence. 
 To remember her was to forget resentment. Peter, a lover 
 himself after his own fashion, which differed from Neal's, 
 melted to the look in his friend's eyes. 
 
 " Ada for Polly," he cried gayly. 
 
 As Neal returned after his interview with Peter, the 
 moon rode high above the House of Carmichael, shining 
 full upon the broad facade of time-worn brick and upon 
 the great white wooden pillars that in his childhood he had 
 believed were enchanted giants. In the pallid light the 
 ancient dwelling had its old air of expectation awaiting 
 its hour of miraculous recovery, its cargoes of wealth from 
 the seas. The bushes of bridal wreath seemed covered 
 with snow, as Neal went slowly through the garden, paus- 
 ing by the oval tulip bed, around which the carriage drive 
 wound, to gaze upon the house where he hoped some day 
 to bring Ada, and where his children should be born. That 
 a stranger's hand should be on its portal was a profanation 
 which must cease even if he had to delay his own hap- 
 piness. 
 
 When he entered he found that the household had retired 
 for the night, with the exception of Philip, who was read- 
 ing in the library. He was just the person Neal wanted 
 to see, and Philip, weary of his book, welcomed him 
 gladly. 
 
 " I am glad Divine thinks he can make an editor of 
 you," Philip remarked when they were both in easy-chairs 
 before the fire, always needed in the library until summer 
 was well under way. 
 
 " I hope the process won't be too long. I've got to make 
 good. I'm four years behind as it is." 
 
 Philip looked at him inquiringly. " What do you mean ? "
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 79 
 
 Neal answered the question with another. " Who is Dr. 
 Murphy?" 
 
 " I don't know why? " 
 
 Neal reached for the telephone book, turned to the thin 
 division of it allotted to the Island. He ran his finger 
 through the M's. " Here's a Dr. Thomas Murphy." 
 
 Suddenly a light of remembrance dawned upon him. 
 Years ago a Dr. Murphy had been called in to examine 
 Chick McCoy's broken wrist. Could it possibly be the same 
 one? 
 
 " I learned to-night from Peter," he went on, " that this 
 gentleman has the honor of holding the mortgage on this 
 house." 
 
 Philip sat erect in his chair, looking genuinely astonished. 
 " I had no idea of such a thing," he exclaimed. 
 
 Neal cast a half-contemptuous glance at the pile of books 
 at his uncle's elbow. What did it avail to consort with 
 Plato and Aristophanes, with St. Augustine and Plotinus, 
 if it blinded one to things going on under one's very nose. 
 Scholarship was a bloodless business, since scholars could 
 always prove an alibi. " I didn't know there was a starving 
 man at my gates yesterday. I was assisting at the con- 
 version of Constantine." 
 
 " Jack knows all about it," Neal said. 
 
 Philip turned his gaunt face with its deep, sunken eyes 
 to his nephew in a kind of helpless protest and inquiry. 
 Jack and his sins had always struck the sharp note of reality 
 in the reminiscent atmosphere of the aging house, while 
 Philip, whose grasp of actuality was weak, was content to 
 drift away from uncongenial family matters to the dear, 
 dim frescoes of the past. 
 
 " Father trusts Jack more than he does me," he replied 
 coldly. " He dismisses me to my books if I venture opin- 
 ions on things outside of them. I'd like to help, but what 
 could I do! I've never had anything but a professor's 
 salary. I am putting a certain percentage of that away for 
 my old age." 
 
 His statement fell drearily on Neal's ears, as confessions
 
 8o BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 of limitation always do on the young appraising their 
 boundless universe. He fell to wondering whether this 
 was the reason that the world of women had let Philip 
 severely alone, women always ready for adventure. They 
 would naturally be shy of a man who doubted his universe, 
 or who fenced off too small a portion of it against the cold. 
 Perhaps Grandfather Alexander Carmichael was instinc- 
 tively right when he preferred Jack's flirtations with the 
 bounty-dispensing Olympians. 
 
 " I'd like to put the house back where it was in the days 
 of Michael Carmichael," Neal said, naming a prosperous 
 ancestor who had won gold from the sea. 
 
 " You don't expect to make money, do you ? " Philip 
 asked. " You've got bigger things to do." 
 
 " I want to make money so I can do them. I want to 
 live." 
 
 For answer Philip leaned over the bookcase and drew out 
 a Horace. " I've always loved these lines," he said. " I'll 
 give you a woman's translation : 
 
 " ' Ah, Sestius, happy Sestius ! life is short, 
 Too short e'en to begin hopes long and fair.' " 
 
 They both glanced instinctively at the portrait of the lady 
 above the fireplace, Neal's ancestress eternally awaiting her 
 lover. He had come and gone; they had kissed and wept 
 and rejoiced; and then consented to the last mystery, for 
 both had been asleep for over a hundred years under the 
 walls of the dim church by the sea marshes. 
 
 " Read me more of Horace," Neal said, willing at last 
 to share Philip's limitations, for in this midnight hour in 
 the mellow library the world-old muddle over money seemed 
 inappropriate. Philip responded gladly, for he had piti- 
 fully few opportunities to show how rich his narrow king- 
 dom was. He finished the Ode to Sestius in Latin, while 
 through the open windows the night wind brought scents 
 of the garden and of the sea, and the fire sank lower on 
 the hearth. Neal thought of Ada, not as an heiress chal- 
 lenging all his strength to match her advantage, but as a
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 81 
 
 beloved woman from whom he could no longer be separated. 
 He was hopeful again as he climbed the stairs to his old 
 chamber, released as usual into confidence and hope through 
 beauty, not fact. As he passed his Uncle Jack's room he 
 was conscious of that worthy's Gargantuan snoring the 
 paean from oblivion of one at peace with all the world. 
 Jack did not require the ministrations of Horace to forget 
 that the house was mortgaged.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 DESPAIRING of a rescue of his family from financial dis- 
 aster, Neal threw himself into his new life as a reporter 
 with all the zest of a man taken sharply by love and ambi- 
 tion out of his theoretical world. His work lay chiefly in 
 the tenement districts, those swarming hives where the 
 bitter honey of an outlandish patriotism is forever being 
 distilled. Here were problems of poverty, great enough to 
 baffle a scientist, or to wrest his faith in a merciful Creator 
 from the saint. Here was a gurgitation into whose foam 
 and boiling the offal of Europe was cast for a chemical 
 change, beyond the wizardry of a Prospero. They went 
 in the oppressed they came out the oppressors, if only of 
 one ward, of a little group of girls in a sweat-shop. It was 
 marvelous ! Was it the air of the country ? Was it the 
 result of its over-nervous life? Neal was always asking 
 questions never to be answered adequately even by Divine 
 in his editorial watch-tower. 
 
 Neal was one day on the track of a convict who, just 
 released, had telephoned the city editor that he had " hell's 
 own story to tell," to the proper reporter, whom he would 
 await at a certain lodging-house. Neal was sent to get 
 what he could. He swung along the crowded streets of the 
 East Side whose scenes seldom awakened in his heart the 
 warm, spontaneous response of the born humanitarian. De- 
 spite his theoretical efforts towards fraternity, he realized 
 that the practice of brotherhood in its fullest significance 
 was beyond his undeveloped powers. His five senses de- 
 feated his charity. Stumbling over one of the innumerable 
 babies on the sidewalk, he was stooping to pick it up when 
 he heard a low, vibrant voice that seemed not quite sure 
 of itself. 
 
 $2
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 83 
 
 " You won't get very far if you stop to pick up babies, 
 Mr. Carmichael." 
 
 Looking up the voice had carried him back years he 
 faced a young woman in nurse's costume, whose gray eyes, 
 just now starry soft as only Celtic eyes can be, were re- 
 garding him with nervous curiosity, further indicated by 
 the drawing together of her broad brows and by the quiv- 
 ering of her lips. The dark hair parted over the forehead 
 completed the image this young woman formed of a crea- 
 ture half-pagan Diana, half-gentle saint. Joy shone from 
 her. 
 
 "Patricia!" 
 
 " Ah, you do remember me ! " 
 
 The intonation of the words was almost elegiac, as if she 
 had sung a requiem forever over an ancient episode. But 
 her eyes were prophetic, were already searching his face 
 as if to discover the future. 
 
 " Remember you ! Why, I never forgot those days, and 
 our poor little society of the Rosicrucians." 
 
 He faltered, for suddenly it was all as if it had hap- 
 pened yesterday, the whimsical plans of five children for 
 an eternal and mystic bond suddenly and rudely interrupted 
 by Olympian adults. 
 
 " I cried over those notes, Patricia." 
 
 " I was hurt too much to cry," she said quietly. 
 
 " I want to hear all about you," he said eagerly, as if 
 glad to return to the present. " There's a park just beyond 
 here. Let's find a bench and chat a little. Have you 
 time?" 
 
 Time ! when all her years had been for this moment. 
 She was casting shy, happy glances at him, glad that he 
 was so good-looking. She wondered if he missed the 
 foreign land where he had lived so long, and if some woman 
 there had known his love-making. 
 
 " I had lost track of you so long, Patricia," Neal said, 
 when they were seated on a bench in the grubby little park. 
 
 " That wasn't my fault." 
 
 " Nor mine, altogether." Inquiring for James, he was
 
 84 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 told that her brother was now a bookkeeper, married, and 
 with a family of his own. Neal smiled over this sequel 
 to epic adventures. He demanded her life's history. 
 Patricia modestly related her narrative, so exclusively 
 American in its blossoming of opportunity. 
 
 Neal listened with kindling sympathy and interest. Her 
 beauty, her health, her vigorous mentality, her sure, clear 
 outlook, together with the nameless charm that made her 
 Patricia, all these elements were combining to reawaken the 
 admiration of her which he had felt long ago as a boy. 
 
 " We must have some talks and walks. I think you love 
 the Island as I do." 
 
 " I love it better than any place in the world," she an- 
 swered, not adding that it was because his home was there. 
 
 " I am on my way now to interview a man named Jim 
 Mahaffy just out of prison." 
 
 " Jim Mahaffy ! Oh, this is good luck ! " 
 
 " You know him ? " 
 
 " Lily does, and she's ill and wants to see him. I 
 watched the papers to see when he'd be out, and I wrote 
 the authorities, but I could get no information." 
 
 " Who is ' Lily ' ? " Neal asked. 
 
 " She used to be on the streets until she met Jim. He 
 was kind to her, the first man who ever had been, I im- 
 agine. Then he was sent up again Jim was a professional 
 burglar and poor Lily was starved back to the old life. 
 I found her ill and miserable one night, and I've kept 
 her off the streets since. She'll get well if she can see 
 Jim. I want him to marry her." 
 
 Patricia had become for the moment the practical trained 
 nurse, the eager philanthropist. 
 
 They went together to the address given, and found Jim 
 in a lodging-house, a pale, defiant-looking man, broken in 
 health through prison life, as society's method of fitting 
 him again for " honest toil." When they entered the 
 frowsy office he was seated in an armchair, his head sunk 
 between his shoulders, which were raised in an ineffectual 
 hump. Clearly the spirit of bravado or of burning resent-
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 85 
 
 ment, which had inspired him to send forth a challenge 
 to the world to listen to his story, had deserted him; or 
 perhaps an atmosphere saturated not only with the physical 
 effluvia of poverty, but with the moral taint of the discour- 
 aged and enfeebled, was infusing its poison into his spirit. 
 He looked up vaguely when Patricia entered, then a light 
 of happy recognition transformed him for a moment into 
 a good-looking man. 
 
 " Miss McCoy ! " he said joyously. 
 
 " James Brentwood, I am glad to see you again. This 
 is my friend, Mr. Carmichael. He comes from The 
 Courier." 
 
 Brentwood extended his hand, then made a motion of 
 drawing it back, as if he recollected his recent domicile, 
 but Neal was too quick for him. 
 
 " I'm glad to know you, Mr. Brentwood." 
 
 The words, the title seemed like an accolade to the man, 
 but his glance was suspicious, as if he feared satire. Neal's 
 look reassured him. 
 
 " And how have you been, Miss McCoy ? " asked Brent- 
 wood. " You're lookin' great." 
 
 " I am very well, James. I have just left Lily." 
 
 " Lil ! " 
 
 Again the illumination, the rising of a flame in the man's 
 soul. Whatever this woman had been to the mob, she was 
 to him the separated woman. 
 
 " Yes, she wants to see you." 
 
 " Do you know any trade ? " Neal interrupted. 
 
 " House painting." 
 
 " We'll get you work." 
 
 Patricia noted the pronoun, to her like a strain of music 
 out of the old sweet days when, incredible as it seemed, 
 she found herself at Neal's party and they were to be 
 playmates. How much more beautiful an association might 
 they not have now working in the service of humanity. 
 
 " Where is Lil ? " Brentwood asked. 
 
 " I won't tell you, James, unless you're going to do the 
 right thing by her. You'll have some real purpose in life
 
 86 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 if you have Lily to look after. I'll make a bargain with you. 
 When you get a job I'll let you know where she is, pro- 
 vided you two will get married." 
 
 " Give me the chance once ! " 
 
 " I want the story," Neal said ; " it may help get him 
 work." 
 
 Patricia looked doubtful. 
 
 " But no malice, Jim, no wanting to be revenged," 
 Patricia cautioned. " Just a story to help the boys you left 
 behind. After all, you weren't a martyr. You had broken 
 a law." 
 
 " Sure thing," he muttered. 
 
 With her clear, pure face, her authoritative accents, she 
 seemed to Neal a Portia of the tenements. Of what faith 
 was she possessed that gave her this clear and tranquil 
 insight? He knew her to be a devout Roman Catholic, 
 but something more than the creed of her church was at 
 work here. He wanted to see more of her, talk with her 
 on a hundred subjects. He would enlist Ada's aid for Jim; 
 perhaps Ada would again become friendly with Patricia. 
 
 A covenant was forming between them. Patricia felt it, 
 though nothing was said. When they parted, she to resume 
 her rounds of visits among the tenements, she walked with 
 winged feet, her thoughts entirely with him, roseate thoughts 
 like the little vague clouds of a spring sunrise. She went 
 through her day, dreaming of this recovered friendship; 
 and in consequence her poor people found her, what she 
 seldom was, abstracted, almost indifferent. 
 
 She was glad when at last the ferryboat started on its 
 journey across the harbor and she could give herself up 
 to her thoughts of Neal, which always ended in an inter- 
 rogation. Was he really sufficiently divorced from his 
 family in the big pillared house to choose his own friends, 
 plan his own life? Was he really democratic in his sym- 
 pathies? If he was sincere, the logic of his beliefs might 
 lead him far he might even join his life to that of the 
 people. Her cheeks began to burn with an anticipation 
 she dared not put clearly before her.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 87 
 
 Thomas Murphy, son of the estimable family physician 
 to the house of McCoy, and himself the owner of a pros- 
 perous wrecking yard and much real estate, was awaiting 
 the five o'clock ferryboat which often brought Patricia from 
 her labors among the poor. Thomas was proud of Patricia. 
 No girl in St. Margaret's Parish could hold a candle to her 
 in looks, bearing and education. On the other hand, not a 
 colleen under Father Carew's watchful eye could boast of 
 the devotion of a gentleman owning a wrecking yard. 
 
 " Hello, Pat." 
 
 At the sound of the voice Patricia started guiltily. She 
 wished that Thomas wouldn't haunt the ferryboats. Flush- 
 ing with annoyance, she drew away as he tried to link arms 
 with her. 
 
 " Tired ? You don't look so. You've a fine color. How 
 has the day gone ? " 
 
 " Splendidly." 
 
 They walked along in silence. Thomas cast about in his 
 mind for something of interest to say to her. 
 
 " Old Alec Carmichael got off the boat," he brought forth 
 at last. " He's brightened up considerably since his grand- 
 son got back. I don't believe he knows how near to merry 
 smash the family is. Jack's trying to patch up matters, 
 but when he makes something he can't help spending it on 
 himself to save his life." 
 
 Thomas enjoyed speaking familiarly of a member of the 
 Carmichael family. Jack Carmichael through his sins had 
 come into friendly relations with more sorts and conditions 
 of men than his nephew Neal seemed likely to do through 
 his virtues. 
 
 " I ain't blaming Jack," Thomas continued. " He's no 
 snob. The rest are." 
 
 " Not Neal ! " Patricia would have liked to answer, but 
 she did not wish Thomas to know of their renewed ac- 
 quaintance. She inquired instead why the House of Car- 
 michael was in financial difficulties. 
 
 " Jack's made ducks and drakes of the fortune," Thomas 
 explained. " They're sailing close to the wind, and if they
 
 SS BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 don't pay up, the house may come under the hammer, unless 
 Neal Carmichael makes a match with that stuck-up cousin 
 of Peter Fleming's. Delia told me he's mad for her." 
 
 Patricia felt the blood rush to her heart. Suddenly she 
 was wide-awake in hard, cold daylight. For five perilous 
 sweet hours she had been dreaming like a schoolgirl, build- 
 ing towers out of mist, transmuting mere politeness into 
 romance! What inherent weakness was in her character, 
 that one half-hour with Neal Carmichael should prove a cup 
 of intoxication to her? 
 
 She shivered like a sleeper awakening. Thomas regarded 
 her with solicitation. 
 
 " You're not working too hard ? Your color goes as 
 quickly as it comes. You look quite done up." 
 
 " The spring days are trying," she answered. 
 
 " I wish you'd marry me," Thomas said fretfully, ad- 
 dressing not Patricia apparently, but some ghost of re- 
 luctant womanhood in general. " You go on drudging when 
 you could have everything by just marrying me." 
 
 To his mind it was alluringly simple. Patricia would 
 bear his children, and keep his house, of course, but that was 
 what women were for. Patricia was obeying neither the 
 laws of nature nor of the church by adhering to this stub- 
 born, if seductive, virginity. 
 
 She answered with an irritation foreign to her. " I've 
 told you once, if I've told you a dozen times, that I don't 
 want to marry you for I am not in love with you." 
 
 " That's the biggest riddle of all why you aren't," 
 Thomas said gloomily. He thought of the wrecking yard. 
 
 " Don't urge me. We'll be better friends if you don't." 
 
 " All right. Pat," he said with resignation, adding as they 
 turned the corner, " There's your mother watching for 
 you." 
 
 Patricia waved her hand. Between her mother and her- 
 self existed the kind of sympathy often found between a 
 mother and her eldest daughter. The bond had become 
 sisterly. 
 
 Father Carew was on the porch with Mrs. McCoy.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 89 
 
 " What poor souls have ye brought ease to to-day, Pa- 
 tricia? " he said in kindly greeting; then as he saw she was 
 tired and resented the honest Thomas, he beckoned him 
 to his side. " I want a bit of a talk with you about the 
 church funds, me lad. Let's stroll homeward." 
 
 Out of hearing of the house the priest turned to him. 
 " A man who courts an unwilling maid is like a weather- 
 cock on a church spire pointin' west when the wind's east." 
 
 " That's all very well, Father Carew, but you can't under- 
 stand ; you're a priest." 
 
 " Faith, that's why I know so much," was the genial 
 answer. " In the theayter the audience knows more than 
 the actors. Cheer up, me boy. No woman with any sense 
 ever thought more highly of a man for his sighin'. The 
 sight of his heels is more like to make her wishful." 
 
 Meanwhile Patricia had set out upon a congenial errand 
 to carry Uncle Shamus some dainty, and to linger for a 
 little chat with him. Between them there was a tie which 
 the years only made stronger. 
 
 Finding the old sailor stumping up and down one of the 
 broad avenues, she joined her steps to his erratic walk. 
 He asked her how the day had gone. Patricia related her 
 meeting with Neal, conscious that Uncle Shamus's eye was 
 upon her, as stump, stump, his wooden leg hit the pave- 
 ment, rapping out a kind of telegraphic comment, not, she 
 felt, wholly sympathetic. 
 
 " He's coming to see me," she finished. 
 
 " Oh, he is, is he ! You'll be rale glad to be friends again." 
 
 She blushed. 
 
 He led her to a bench, took out his pipe. It was a signal 
 for narrative. 
 
 " I mind me of a lass in the old country," he said, " that 
 cast her blue eyes upon the Lord of the Manor an' was 
 nigh to illness for wearyin' an' wishin' for him, maid-like, 
 but niver a glance threw he her way. But a lad of her 
 own station in this life, he was followin' her footsteps, 
 waitin' to carry her pitcher from the well, an' bidin' in the 
 churchyard after Mass; an' niver a glance cast she his
 
 90 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 way, as the divil will change the luck sometimes, for she 
 was tormentin' herself that she weren't beautiful enough 
 to suit the noble Lord. So she begins a-gaddin' an' a-goin' 
 to all the wells in Ireland where maids mirror their faces 
 the better to see their charms. But no magic water helps 
 the lass, for niver a glance did that proud Lord cast her 
 way. An' one night she fell a-weepin' by the wayside. 
 Comes along the lad that loves her, an' he grows white 
 as altar lace at sight of her. 
 
 " ' Mary O'Hara ! ' he says. ' May God's Mother dry 
 your tears! Why be ye weepin'?" 
 
 " ' For that I have no beauty, Michael,' she made answer. 
 
 " ' Beauty ! Ye are the most beautiful colleen in the 
 parish. Was it for that ye fared to the magic wells ? ' 
 
 " ' What kind of a mirror is your mind, Michael ! The 
 Lord of the Manor never looks my way.' 
 
 " ' Och ! ye're no beauty to him ! ' 
 
 " ' With that she fell a-cryin'. ' What kind of beauty is 
 it that lives only in your foolish head, Michael ? ' she asked. 
 
 " ' What kind of beauty is it that can abide elsewhere than 
 in a lad's true heart ? ' he made answer to her. ' Sure, 
 I'll keep you beautiful till they knock at me door with the 
 candles an' God's oil for me goin', an' the wafer for between 
 me teeth when me eyes is too dim to see ye, an' after me 
 farin' I'll look at ye from Paradise an' ye'll be beautiful 
 still ! ' 
 
 " Then the lass she left off cryin' an' says she, ' I go no 
 more a-plodding to the faery- wells. I'll look in your heart, 
 Michael, me lad, an' be forever beautiful.' " 
 
 Uncle Shamus concluded this romance with much unc- 
 tion. Patricia sat very still, looking towards the channel 
 where some boats were making ready to go out to sea.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 PETER confided to Ada Neal's anxiety over the financial 
 state of his family a piece of news soothing to her pride, 
 since it explained in part his hesitant wooing of her. Went- 
 worth's intermittent proposals of marriage were far less 
 to her than Neal's silence, to the breaking of which she 
 applied all her arts. She scarcely knew why she favored 
 him except that from their childhood he had baffled her, 
 surprising her with some exhibition of power at the very 
 moment she had decided he was quite a simpleton. 
 
 Yet Wentworth had influence over her, the peculiar influ- 
 ence of the unobservant male creature possessed by one idea. 
 Neal's sensitiveness made him constantly aware of her 
 moods, which at times irritated her; but the Englishman 
 stolidly pursued his purpose regardless of her coldness, 
 her sarcasm, her indifference. He was very much in love 
 with her, and he didn't expect to understand American 
 women, who had a code of romance all their own. 
 
 " Does your ' no ' really mean no ? " he said to her one 
 evening. " Or is it the custom of the country ? You see," 
 he added with childlike simplicity, " you are the only Amer- 
 ican woman I ever cared for." 
 
 " And your countrywomen ? " Ada said teasingly. " Have 
 you discovered that they mean ' no ' when they say so ? " 
 
 Wentworth flushed. " A man makes love, of course, but 
 there is a point " 
 
 " At which he saves himself," Ada suggested. 
 
 " Or the girl, perhaps," Wentworth said with a touch of 
 humor. " English girls are too well guarded for a man 
 to get far unless he is serious. Here, there seems to be 
 a kind of trying-out process. You make me feel some- 
 times like a prisoner at the bar." 
 
 91
 
 92 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Ada stifled a yawn. " What have you been doing to- 
 day?" 
 
 " Seeing your city, your Whitechapel. A down-and-out 
 countryman of mine wrote me for help, and I looked him 
 up. By the way I saw Carmichael in that quarter." 
 
 " What had he to say ? " Ada asked, brightening. 
 
 " I didn't speak to him, for he didn't see me. He was 
 with a very handsome young woman. Looked like a trained 
 nurse." 
 
 Ada mused upon this. Who could this woman be? She 
 would find out this evening, for Neal was coming. To 
 her relief, Wentworth went away early. Neal encountered 
 him in the hall, and Ada overheard their curt exchange of 
 greetings. Their mutual antagonism was the best proof 
 she had of the sincerity of their emotions. 
 
 " He's not carrying you off to England ? " Their eyes 
 meeting, she read in Neal's something that quickened her 
 pulses, drew her from her watchfulness into a softer mood. 
 She had no desire to jest with him as she had jested with 
 Wentworth. Neal for his part longed to take her in his 
 arms, to hold her there subdued to his will, to his love. 
 Ada hadn't answered his question, but he felt that her 
 heart drifted to him, not Wentworth. Dreamily content, 
 he gave himself up to the influences of the hour to which 
 he had all day looked forward. 
 
 " Tell me about yourself," Ada said softly. " What have 
 you been doing?" 
 
 " Oh, it wasn't a bad day," Neal answered musingly. 
 
 " Were you down on the East Side ? " She watched him 
 attentively. 
 
 " The East Side? Oh, yes; I'm there every day." 
 
 " Wentworth saw you." 
 
 "Did he? I didn't see him." His mind suddenly re- 
 verted to Patricia. " Whom do you think I met on the East 
 Side ? Our old friend Patricia McCoy." 
 
 The softness in Ada's face vanished. Quite mistress of 
 herself again, and with a throb of keen jealousy in her 
 heart, she said, assuming indifference, " Patricia ? How
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 93 
 
 interesting! She was pretty as a child. Is she pretty 
 now ? " 
 
 " Beautiful, I should say even distinguished." 
 
 All unconscious of the effect he was producing, Neal 
 launched into a description of Patricia's charms, while Ada 
 listened with something close to pain in her heart. She 
 was impatient of banal lovers, and for once she was having 
 an original experience. Instead of a love-rhapsody ad- 
 dressed to herself, this incomprehensible suitor was dilat- 
 ing on the charms of an Irish girl she had thought safe in 
 oblivion. Of course Patricia would make the most of the 
 encounter, would claim Neal in the name of their mutual 
 interest in social matters. 
 
 " I should like to see her," Ada murmured. 
 
 " She is addressing a meeting to-morrow of the working 
 girls who are on a strike. You'd better come." 
 
 " Will you take me?" 
 
 " Of course, if you will let me meet you in town. I 
 am reporting this meeting." 
 
 Ada gave a little sigh of satisfaction. She never shrank 
 from a comparison of herself with other women, because she 
 was so sure of holding her own. She wanted, in addition, 
 to know with whom she was dealing, to measure Patricia, 
 see for herself if this Irish girl could possibly exercise 
 any feminine authority over Neal. As she remembered her, 
 she was too direct for that, too idealistic. Men, as a rule, 
 were not fascinated either by obviously good women or 
 romantic women. 
 
 Neal had forgotten Patricia. Ada could read in his face 
 that he was again thinking only of her, for his eyes were 
 tender and solicitous as their gaze was turned upon her. 
 Noting his change of mood, she sat very still, her eyelids 
 drooping. In her pale yellow gown, she had the appearance 
 of a spring flower whose chalice holds the light of tremu- 
 lous dawns. 
 
 A delight, half pain, stirred his senses, awakened the 
 conqueror in him. He moved nearer to her, invited to 
 abandonment by her beauty. She made a little gesture,
 
 94 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 nothing more than the slow unclosing of her hand that 
 lay languidly on the arm of the chair near him, a deliberate 
 opening until the pink palm lay exposed. Turning her 
 head, she gave him a long, still look. 
 
 His senses caught fire. Primitive passion was sweeping 
 him towards her with a force he had no will to resist. He 
 bent nearer to her; but at that moment the pendant she 
 wore dropped to the floor, a ruby rimmed with diamonds, 
 so suggestive of wealth that Neal, stooping to pick it up, read 
 his reminder in it. 
 
 He began to speak of a trifling topic, Ada listening with 
 a sense of defeat, a feeling as near to mortification as she 
 had ever experienced. What was he waiting for? Could 
 it be that Patricia but she brushed the idea aside as pre- 
 posterous! He was probably measuring the material gulf 
 between them, would wait indeed supreme folly! until 
 he could bridge it. But he was following the wrong road 
 for the attainment of such an ambition. Didn't he know, 
 didn't he realize, that if he lived to be a hundred he could 
 never grow rich following phantom problems of human 
 regeneration down the crowded streets? Why didn't he 
 tell her plainly what she already knew, that he adored her, 
 that he wanted her more than anything in the world ? She 
 would wring that confession from him despite all his 
 scruples.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE meeting-hall was in the congested quarter among 
 the homes of the striking girls. Neal and Ada found the 
 place crowded to suffocation, the assemblage being chiefly 
 one of youth. Neal, sweeping the audience with an apprais- 
 ing eye, fixed the average age at sixteen a very resolute 
 sixteen, a little pale about the lips, and bright-eyed from 
 deprivation, but not lacking in the graces of the blossom 
 time. 
 
 Looking at these girls, no one could believe that many 
 of them were hungry. The spirit of the strike, daring, 
 earnest and intermittently gay, carried them beyond the 
 thought of their personal needs. They were chatting, teas- 
 ing each other, comparing notes of militancy, commenting 
 shrewdly on the speakers and their clothes. 
 
 Patricia, in white linen, a sailor hat on her dark hair, 
 formed a link between the audience and the platform assem- 
 blage, among whom were some society women. 
 
 Neal awaited her speech eagerly. Though he was not 
 aware of it, he wanted her to justify herself and therefore 
 him. Ada must see what mental power this girl of the 
 people had, what innate refinement, what a poised outlook on 
 life. It did not occur to him that justification of his friend- 
 ship was precisely what would tell against him most, with 
 a woman who desired her own power over him more than 
 she desired anything. Ada, indeed, was sorry to find that 
 Neal's admiration of Patricia was so well founded, yet it 
 might be only a mental attitude on his part. She under- 
 stood how great a part of him his intellectual curiosities 
 were, how deep a vein of altruism was hidden in his nature. 
 Patricia might well minister to that side of him without 
 in the least touching his imagination as a man. But had she 
 ever touched it? 
 
 95
 
 9 6 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Despite her preoccupation with her own affairs, Ada was 
 not wholly uninterested in these girls who were defending 
 that ever-moving shadow on the dial which they called 
 their rights. Privately she thought their clearest right was 
 to be loved and married. If Labor were depriving them of 
 this, it was monstrous, unendurable a Frankenstein for 
 sinister deflowering instead of a husband. If Labor were 
 depriving them of youth and beauty, of love and children, 
 then the heavens should be moved to help them if Heaven 
 ever did succor women, which Ada doubted. She had al- 
 ways smiled cynically over the text, " And the earth helped 
 the woman," feeling that Eve had gotten the worst of it 
 on both sides of the gates of Paradise. 
 
 Neal felt the effect of the audience upon himself, as a 
 deep but helpless pity for these enmeshed ones struggling 
 in their webs of poverty a state which in its extreme 
 manifestations had come to seem to him as unnatural and 
 intolerable as disease and sin. These stories of trouble 
 were a terrible impeachment of someone, but of whom? 
 Was it the state ; was it society ; was it the poor them- 
 selves, was it their eternal tradition, as of something inevita- 
 ble and to be endured? Was it an impeachment of God 
 himself? Wealth was so understandable, an open secret 
 of the strong but the weak? Who had started them 
 weak? 
 
 At last Patricia arose to speak, a tense, superlatively 
 earnest figure, whose first words produced an instant hush. 
 
 " We are here," she said, " not to throw stones, but to 
 lay a foundation. The best foundation any human being 
 can have for his or her work and play and happiness is 
 health, physical and spiritual. Any institution which inter- 
 feres with this first of all human rights is criminal, and 
 must be fought until it consents to restore that founda- 
 tion which it has undermined." 
 
 She went on to speak of the abuses of certain factories, 
 and what illnesses had come under her observation as 
 the direct result of these abuses. She spoke without rancor ; 
 for a sure possession of facts is, in itself, a poison tip, and
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 97 
 
 she used her imagination only to make her subject very 
 clear. Neal felt a thrill of pride as he listened to her strong, 
 forcible descriptions, her pleas, not for a class, but for a 
 principle. 
 
 Ada never took her eyes from Patricia, photographing 
 her, but not using an artist's privilege to put away in her 
 heart Patricia's true portrait that image of a soul warm 
 for its kind and hating injustice. Perhaps the portrait 
 must have included Patricia's pride, for that, too, was 
 glowing in her eyes pride that Neal Carmichael was in 
 the audience listening to her, and that he was her friend 
 and they should be together after the meeting. She was 
 already drifting towards beatitude, yielding to a current 
 whose direction she only half realized. 
 
 Applause surged up to her as she sat down, intermingled 
 with personal cries of admiration from friends in the audi- 
 ence, " Good for you, Pat ! " " You are a winner, Pat ! " 
 " You're there with the goods, Pat ! " Some of these girls 
 owed their life to her and they did not forget it. 
 
 At the close of the meeting Neal and Ada went up to the 
 platform where Patricia was found in conversation with a 
 group of society leaders women who seemed to know 
 Ada well and who seemed slightly amused at meeting her 
 under such circumstances. 
 
 " What brought you here ? " one of them asked, with a 
 glance towards Neal, already known as a social idealist. 
 " Are you going to give the ball a toss, too ? " 
 
 " I am here to meet Miss McCoy," Ada gave back, " if 
 she can spare me a minute." 
 
 Her voice was cordial, but her eyes, level and incredulous, 
 held no warmth as she extended her hand to Patricia, whose 
 manner changed instantly. She had been talking with all 
 the unconsciousness of enthusiasm to these representatives 
 of Ada's world, because she believed they were really inter- 
 ested; but Ada Patricia detected a curiosity not wholly 
 friendly was an echo out of a long-ago childish adventure 
 which had ended in unhappiness. She felt an unreasonable 
 impulse to refuse the proffered hand, as years before Ada
 
 98 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 had refused hers. It was with an effort that Patricia 
 smiled her greetings. The two women measured each other, 
 flashing one of those glances by which the depths of 
 femininity are revealed. Patricia felt a certain confidence 
 born of her own attainments. She had appreciably dimin- 
 ished the distance between herself and this fair, cold woman, 
 so far as individual achievement was in the question ; but 
 no one knew better than Patricia that certain barriers could 
 never be bridged. This betraying knowledge was less hers 
 than Ada's creation. 
 
 Ada was now talking softly and intelligently of rough 
 problems. " There's a great chance for the three of us ! " 
 Neal put in, more glad than he knew that an old combination 
 of elements was again effected. If Ada and Patricia became 
 friends, what might not Patricia do towards inspiring Ada 
 with interest in social problems, leading her from a beautiful 
 but narrow world into the bracing illimitability of brother- 
 hood. 
 
 " What chance ? " Ada said, with her little skeptical smile. 
 
 " Oh, a chance to be Rosicrucians again form a society 
 for work and play. It wouldn't end in merry smash this 
 time." 
 
 " How is your uncle, Miss McCoy ? " Ada inquired, 
 " your uncle in the Mariner's Rest ? Wasn't that where our 
 so short-lived society was founded ? " 
 
 Patricia flushed a little, but Neal's eyes fixed upon her 
 were so full of kindness that she answered him, not Ada, 
 when she said : " He's wonderful ! As full of tales as ever. 
 He'd like to see you again some day," she added, directly 
 addressing Neal. " Visitors mean so much to him." 
 
 " We must go there some afternoon," he replied. 
 
 Ada weighed the little personal pronoun which long ago 
 she had refused tacitly as a shelter of three destinies. But 
 there were other combinations it could cover, as Patricia 
 must know. Turning to Neal, she said casually : " By the 
 way, Peter wants to know if he can count on you for his 
 house-partyMrs. Guthrie has accepted for Polly." 
 
 Neal looked troubled, recollecting a conversation he had
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 99 
 
 had with his cousin that morning, in which she had hinted 
 at storms, conflicts between her mother's will and her own. 
 She was already committed to great adventures ; predestined 
 to all the hardships of real love. Neal, responding to her 
 hopes, felt already the traitor to Ada, Peter's sworn assistant 
 in his romantic enterprise. 
 
 " He can count on me ! I'll break away somehow." 
 
 " We are to be very v grand down at Peter's farm, a farm 
 by the sea," she explained parenthetically to Patricia. 
 " Peter has secured a wandering title out of France, a rela- 
 tive of the Comte de Lafayette, I believe ; and there's a hint 
 of a prize from Newport, another foreigner." 
 
 She spoke lightly, not glancing at Patricia this time, but 
 drawing Neal's eyes to her own in a community of under- 
 standing, as to what might be expected at these house- 
 parties where a man as knowing as Peter was host. Ada's 
 voice held always a kind of magic when speaking of herself 
 or her circle, an intonation bestowing special privileges, 
 awakening the imagination to the esthetic value of a world 
 removed from struggle. Patricia felt as if a door had been 
 closed in her face, not harshly, but with the gentle finality 
 of those whose seclusions are automatic a matter less of 
 will than of circumstances. 
 
 But she was learning to act a part, and on the crest of 
 some light reference to the day's good fortune in pro- 
 ducing this reunion, she left them, ostensibly to go to the 
 settlement house ; but the crowded East Side streets seemed 
 suddenly intolerable to her, her mission emptied of directing 
 light. She did not realize that she was envying, not Ada's 
 world, but Ada's power to step from one world into another, 
 just as Neal Carmichael did. It hurt her to scorn him 
 ever so little, yet for a moment she wondered if his " love 
 of the people " could be submitted to any real tests. Was 
 there not always an amateurish element in the social labors 
 of those who at any moment could leave disorder for the 
 ministrations of their butler or their valet ? The world Neal 
 really valued was the one to which he retired at the end 
 of the day.
 
 ioo BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Instead of going to the settlement she went home, deter- 
 mined to put her restored acquaintances from the aris- 
 tocracy out of her mind, to go back to her own place, her 
 own people. The big shabby house near the docks was 
 after all her real setting; the easy, informal life, with its 
 occasional rough edges, was the real material upon which 
 she had to work. Yet she loved beauty, and the kind of 
 order wealth could command. She sighed a little as she 
 beheld her father in his shirt sleeves, tilting back his chair 
 on the porch in an abandonment of comfort before supper 
 and another excursion with the Mary McCoy. 
 
 " Hello, Pat," he said heartily as she came up the walk. 
 " How did your meeting go ? Are those poor girls goin' to 
 win out ? " 
 
 " I don't know," she said listlessly. " Perhaps if enough 
 money conies in to keep them from starving while they 
 wait." 
 
 " I heard Miss Fleming was there." 
 
 " Who told you ? " Patricia said, changing color. 
 
 " Father Carew. You're gettin' on, Pat when those on 
 the hill run to meetings to hear you speak." 
 
 " Mr. Carmichael was there, too," she said. Wild-rose 
 color bloomed on her cheeks now a riot of it. The ex- 
 cellent Thomas Murphy had never produced such beauty in 
 her. McCoy took a long puff at his pipe, and questioned 
 warily, " What was he doin' there just listening? " 
 
 II No, reporting. He he was with Miss Fleming." 
 
 " It would be a good match. She has money enough for 
 both." 
 
 Patricia was silent. How everything hurt her to-day 
 everyone's lightest word ! 
 
 " Eh ? " her father interrogated. 
 
 " I suppose so. Where's Mother? " 
 
 "Can't you smell fried potatoes, and coffee, and ham?" 
 McCoy said, grinning. " I guess supper's nearly ready." 
 
 " I'll go in and help her." 
 
 She found her mother in her own particular domain the 
 big roomy kitchen, where she reigned supreme over cooking
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 101 
 
 and over children. As far as Patricia's memoiy served 
 her, this sweet-humored mother, perpetually dealing with 
 the little indoor affairs of existence, had devoted her life 
 to child-bearing and rearing, and the omnipotent kitchen 
 range from whose sultry premises came the inspiration which 
 sent McCoy rejoicing to his labors on the tug, and lured him 
 home again, primitive man in his desire to feast and bask. 
 Patricia sometimes wondered how her mother could bear 
 the perpetual monotony of this tale, which for three hundred 
 and sixty-five days in the year had no more dramatic sequel 
 than James McCoy's pipe and sigh of repletion. Then there 
 were always babies, sturdy and strong, to be sure, but for 
 that very reason leading their elders a lively dance. 
 
 Mrs. McCoy, an egg-beater in her hand, smiled at her 
 daughter through the fumes of the kitchen. 
 
 " I am glad you had the sense to come home early, Pat, 
 dear. Tom's been here askin' about your evening. You'd 
 better telephone him you'll be home." 
 
 " I don't want to see him," Patricia said perversely, taking 
 the egg-beater and bowl from her mother's hands. " He 
 bores me, Mother." 
 
 Mrs. McCoy looked at her keenly. " If he bores you it's 
 a good sign you can rely on him," she said tersely. 
 
 Patricia looked surprised. It was not the habit of Mrs. 
 McCoy to indulge in epigram. She was too much alive for 
 such follies, but Patricia's mind was already drifting off 
 to a person upon whom she wasn't at all sure that she could 
 rely.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 RETURNING home late on the evening after the meeting 
 which had brought Ada and Patricia together, Neal found 
 agitation in the air, that electric tenseness which precedes 
 a storm. Hearing the click of balls in the billiard-room, 
 he went there and found Jack deep in a game with the 
 coachman's son, summoned to relieve an idle hour. Behold- 
 ing his nephew, Jack put up his cue as if reminded of a 
 more important matter. When they were alone, he an- 
 nounced succinctly, " Maria is losing her senses." 
 
 "What's the trouble?" 
 
 " Peter Fleming's house-party. Polly doesn't want to 
 go; and Maria, to retaliate, forbids her to see this young 
 man, Sidney, again, which is, of course, almost an infallible 
 prescription for a wedding ! " 
 
 " Why don't you reason with Maria ? " Neal inquired. 
 " You have more influence over her than anyone." 
 
 " I'd rather give her bromide," Jack answered. " I can't 
 mix up in this, for the Market is behaving like the deuce. 
 I want a clear head calm feelings." 
 
 " I'll talk to her," Neal said, with the confidence of youth. 
 
 Halfway up the stairs in pursuit of this mission, he 
 heard Jack whistle softly in the hall, and turned. His 
 uncle wagged his hand warningly. 
 
 " Oil and frankincense, gallant one. Family rows are the 
 deuce." Delia admitted him to the sanctuary of a frustrated 
 mother. Maria, looking pale and heavy-eyed, in a black 
 dressing-gown, reclined on a couch, sniffing salts. 
 
 " My dear boy, you can go elsewhere with your warn- 
 ings," she answered Neal's protests. " There was but one 
 course for me to take, and I took it." 
 
 Polly will care for him all the more if you oppose her," 
 Neal ventured.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 103 
 
 " Oppose her ! Must I let her ride roughshod over me 
 and she not yet nineteen! She doesn't know what she's 
 doing in throwing Peter over ! " 
 
 " But if she doesn't love him." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Look at the people one knows divorced, 
 separated, love matches, all of them! This Sidney is 
 no one at all a Methodist minister's son," she added fret- 
 fully. 
 
 " The name's good enough," Neal commented. " There 
 was once a Sir Philip 
 
 " Don't be satirical, Neal ; I have a splitting headache. 
 I am afraid you have no family pride." 
 
 Neal offered no defense to this impeachment, not being 
 wholly sure what family pride was ; but he knew what it 
 was to want someone, and his sympathies were with his little 
 cousin. 
 
 " Polly's fond of you ; I wish you'd talk to her," Maria 
 said plaintively. 
 
 "If you mean you want me to urge her to marry Peter, 
 I can't do it. I can ask her to be reasonable. Shall I talk 
 to her now ? " 
 
 Maria put her handkerchief to her eyes, waving a hand 
 feebly, as if to signify he could do as he liked. Delia 
 ushered him into Polly's bedroom, a place of faded chintzes, 
 smelling of sweet-brier. Polly herself was seated at her 
 desk, with her long hair hanging over her shoulders, her 
 eyes red as if she had been crying. 
 
 " Little cousin," he began, " you can't set a family by 
 the ears " 
 
 " You want me to marry Peter Fleming," she accused 
 him, " when I don't care for him ! " 
 
 " No, beloved, I don't. I don't want you to marry any- 
 body until you're sure." 
 
 A soft flush suffused her. Their eyes met in sympathetic 
 understanding. 
 
 " Will you do something for me, Cousin Neal ? " 
 
 " Whatever I can, Polly." 
 
 " Let William Sidney call and see you at the office."
 
 io 4 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " Certainly, he can call." 
 
 " You'll be nice to him." 
 
 " Nice to a friend of yours ? I should think so ! But, 
 Polly, you'd better give in and go to Peter's house-party." 
 
 She pondered a moment. " I'll make a bargain with 
 Mother. I'll go to Peter's party if she'll let me see William 
 sometimes." 
 
 He left her, feeling himself only half-satisfied. How 
 could she strike a bargain with inflexibility ! 
 
 William Sidney called upon Neal at the office of The 
 Courier a few days after the house-party, whose sequel 
 had been a disappointment both to Mrs. Guthrie and Peter. 
 The little Sidney said was straight to the point, the goal 
 to which all his perspective ran. He was engaged to Polly 
 that central fact could not be gainsaid or put aside. 
 They would marry because it was inevitable; but he was, 
 of course, willing to wait until he could assure the Car- 
 michael family that Polly would be well provided for, and 
 he had expressed this willingness in a letter to Mrs. Guthrie 
 just posted, which also signified his intention of calling 
 upon Polly's mother the next day. 
 
 Neal listened with some apprehension to this simple pro- 
 gramme, conceived out of a young man's invincible ignorance 
 of the true conditions. Did he not realize that he was 
 taking up arms against the power and dignity of a family 
 very much used to having its own way? But Neal prof- 
 fered neither advice nor warning, partly because they are 
 fuel to the ardor of lovers, partly because he realized that 
 the authority of destiny rather than William Sidney was 
 speaking. He doubted if this young man had the slightest 
 realization how deep ran the current of Mrs. Guthrie's 
 ambitions, the reason of them being now all too plain. 
 
 When he returned home on the evening of the day chosen 
 by young Sidney to put his fortunes to the test, Neal found 
 his grandfather reading in the library, and looking fatigued, 
 abstracted and somewhat stern, as if he had intrenched 
 himself where the sound of youthful pleading could not
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 105 
 
 reach him. The head of the house read interrogation in 
 his grandson's face, and braced himself for another judg- 
 ment of adolescence. Secretly he was proud that his two 
 grandchildren had independent wills, so long as these wills 
 only threatened and did not act. 
 
 " Well, how did your day go, Neal ? " he asked with an 
 assumption of carelessness. 
 
 "As usual. Yours?" 
 
 " Some trouble about Polly's foolish little love affair. 
 It's over it's quite over." 
 
 " What's over? The trouble or the affair? " 
 
 " Both, thank God ! Now, don't look alarmed. Maria 
 is a woman of sense." 
 
 Precisely what his daughter had done Mr. Carmichael 
 seemed reluctant to disclose, so Neal concluded to get the 
 facts from Delia, the fiercely faithful Delia, with her humor- 
 ous understanding of the foibles of the family she served. 
 
 A little before noon the next day an office boy approached 
 Neal with the intelligence that a young lady wished to see 
 him. She was waiting outside in the corridor. 
 
 She proved to be Polly, a Polly he had never known, 
 for her first announcement took away his breath. " I've 
 come to tell you, dear, that I am to be married in an 
 hour." 
 
 Her color grew riotous as she spoke, but her manner was 
 calm and mature. She had become a woman overnight 
 sure of what she wanted and determined to take it. 
 
 Neal stared, and ejaculated, " You don't expect me to 
 believe that ! " 
 
 " We have the license," she replied. " William is joining 
 me here in ten minutes. He is buying me flowers." 
 
 " But you've run away ! " Neal said helplessly. 
 
 " There was nothing else to do. Mother deceived me. 
 She had given her solemn promise that I could go on seeing 
 William if I went to Peter's house-party. Then the first 
 time William comes, she has the door shut in his face. 
 Graham, the coward, told the poor boy I was not at home."
 
 106 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 She spoke quietly, without anger, as if already her life 
 in the old Carmichael house had retreated to an incredible 
 distance. 
 
 " Of course," she concluded, " that ended it. I can't deal 
 with unfair people, even if they are my own blood. We 
 are to be married in old St. Stephen's at half-past twelve. 
 I wrote William last night, and he met me this morning." 
 
 " But, Polly, your mother ! " Neal stammered. " You 
 must give her a chance and grandfather ! " 
 
 " To take me home after a scene no ! " 
 
 Neal considered a moment, trying to gain time, to think 
 of some telling argument. 
 
 " But, Polly, can William support you ? " 
 
 " We'll take a small flat. I shall do my own work." 
 
 " But you have no furniture." 
 
 " William has something put by. We intend to be very 
 careful. We are so happy we can do anything." 
 
 This last statement was proof against even the logic of 
 an Aristotle. Polly looked an image of faith, a woman 
 prepared hurriedly, but surely, for whatever destiny might 
 flow from this union. 
 
 " Will you wait here for me a few moments, Polly ? " 
 
 She looked imploringly at him. 
 
 " You wouldn't trick me, Neal ? You know I trust you, 
 or I shouldn't be here." 
 
 " You are safe with me, dear ; but do you mind if I call 
 up Jack and Philip and ask them to come here without 
 telling them why ? " 
 
 Polly considered a moment. "Uncle Jack would never 
 stand in my way, and Uncle Philip is fond of me. Do they 
 both know what Mother did ? " 
 
 " I told them last night." 
 
 " Poor Mother ! " Polly said, but her pity indicated no 
 surrender. She also was a woman. 
 
 Neal left her. He was amazed, dazzled by Polly's be- 
 havior, which seemed beyond either his approval or dis- 
 approval. Children grew up, it seemed, and unless parents 
 had acted with wisdom equal to their love they were left
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 107 
 
 behind to mouth their bitter recollections and to prate 
 of ingratitude. 
 
 Before he telephoned, Neal asked a minute with Charles 
 Divine and related what was going forward. 
 
 " Are you going to church with Polly ? " Divine asked. 
 
 " If she goes I go with her. There'll be the devil of a 
 family row afterwards." 
 
 " A row, more or less, is hardly to be avoided when 
 people are not playing fair," Divine commented. 
 
 Neal summoned his uncles, and returned to Polly, who 
 now was not alone. William Sidney had joined her. She 
 wore his violets. The young man looked serious, but deeply 
 satisfied. He addressed Neal. " Polly has explained. We 
 think it best. I was willing to wait but yesterday " 
 
 " Yes, I know," Neal interrupted. " That shouldn't have 
 happened. I've sent for her uncles. I think myself you are 
 acting too hastily, but " 
 
 " There's no other way," Polly finished. 
 
 Tense and happy, the two stood side by side, looking 
 already far into their new life, feeling already the thrill 
 of the union that should place them in society as an inde- 
 pendent family. Neal thought of Ada, and wished that he 
 and she could as blithely step into bliss. This boy who did 
 not know he was poor had many advantages over one pos- 
 sessed of that chill knowledge. 
 
 Neal looked at his watch. Philip and Jack must soon 
 arrive. What would they do? Jack would splutter a bit, 
 perhaps, but would quickly get to the wedding champagne. 
 Philip might quote Horace's wistful lines: 
 
 "Life is short, 
 Too short e'en to begin hopes long and fair." 
 
 They arrived within a minute of each other. Neal, posted 
 at the elevator to break the news before the chief actors 
 were introduced, had Philip first to deal with. That gen- 
 tleman, wrenched from a lecture on the lost Greek drama- 
 tists, was scarcely prepared to deal with a modern comedy. 
 He looked bewildered, then despairing, asked if Divine had
 
 io8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 been told, seeing that events were transpiring on the very 
 threshold of The Courier. 
 
 " Maria wasn't wise," Philip added. " But shouldn't we 
 telephone Father ? " 
 
 " What mortal good would it do ? The hour's fixed. 
 They'll be married before we could get there. Maria's at 
 a large lunch-party, enjoying, I hope, good digestion after 
 yesterday's work. Here's Jack." 
 
 Jack " by-Joved," and " blessed his soul," and called on 
 heaven to witness that his niece was a girl of spirit. He, 
 too, went feebly through the stage of telephoning the august 
 head of the house, but soon abandoned the idea as likely 
 to lead to a family row, in the very home and haunt of 
 newspapers greedy for headlines. He got quickly to the 
 champagne stage, as Neal had expected. No, he wouldn't 
 go to church with Polly. He hated weddings, symbols 
 of romance ended and bills begun, but he would, oh, he 
 would go to Reynolds, secure a table, flowers, and his pet 
 waiter. Would Philip go to church with Polly? Philip 
 looked pained. He preferred to stay out of it, but he ex- 
 tracted from his pocket fifty dollars intended for a new 
 suit. 
 
 " She hasn't a cent, of course," he said. " She mustn't 
 be without money on her wedding-trip." 
 
 Then the uncles shook hands with Polly and William; 
 Philip sadly, for the hornet's nest about to be opened af- 
 frighted his gentle soul. 
 
 "They're not going with me?" Polly inquired. 
 
 " No, dear," Neal replied. 
 
 William looked at his watch. " It's twenty-five after, 
 Polly." 
 
 They started for the elevator. Neal suddenly halted. 
 " Polly, won't you reconsider, give them a chance to " 
 
 " Don't make it hard for me, Cousin Neal. You know 
 I can't." 
 
 He went with her then. They hailed a taxi-cab, and 
 Polly's bags were placed upon it. They were driven 
 through a network of business streets to the ancient and
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 109 
 
 well-nigh forgotten church of St. Stephen, selected by Polly 
 because she had been there once on a historical tour of 
 the city and had been impressed by its loneliness and old- 
 time grandeur. Despite the bright May weather, it was 
 cold as a vault and almost as gloomy. The curate, in a 
 cassock but not yet surpliced, was awaiting their arrival. 
 He seemed relieved at sight of Neal, for the glorious young 
 people who had sought him in such haste that morning 
 bore about them the adventurous atmosphere of runaways. 
 Polly requested him to put her violets on the altar, and, 
 obeying her, with saintly wonder at her glowing beauty, 
 the curate of his own accord lit two high candles that 
 revealed little but the penitential flowers at their base. 
 Then he went to robe, and Polly fell a-trembling, and her 
 color left her. Neal, taking her hand, found it cold. 
 
 The curate returned, the service began with its vowing 
 and its superhuman promises, its solemn ignoring of all 
 human frailties. The two forms knelt tremblingly, swayed 
 to each other, answered brokenly, invoked the Trinity with 
 voices grown weak and child-like, then rose man and wife, 
 Polly flower-white, her husband adoring. The curate 
 blessed them, shook their hands, gave Polly her violets. Her 
 husband leaned to kiss her. Neal kissed her hands. 
 
 They went to the vestry and signed the register, then 
 Polly walked down the aisle between the empty pews. She 
 paused at the door to look back at the two candles above 
 the silent altar, still shining in the dimness. The hush of 
 the mystic rite was so soon over. 
 
 The cab carried them swiftly to Reynolds'. Jack, in 
 his element where eating and drinking were concerned, had 
 done wonders in the short time allotted to him. Polly was 
 conducted by a little regiment of waiters to a table sweet 
 with orange-blossoms. Secular candles with white shades 
 glowed on extravagant linen and silver. It was to be the 
 child's last taste of such grandeur, but a cup of water 
 shared with William would have been as wine to her. She 
 scarcely knew what she ate. Jack was to be chief appreci- 
 ator of his own ingenuity, for Neal had fallen a-dreaming
 
 no BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 too, being stationed nowhere but at Ada's feet. Ah, mar- 
 riage should be in the name of the Father and of the Son 
 and of the Holy Ghost, since the mystic Trinity imaged in 
 heaven the blessedest three on earth, a happy father and 
 mother and their child. Each new marriage was an effort 
 to claim heaven and starry privileges. Polly's eyes at least 
 said so. 
 
 Neal hurried her departure when he found that the cham- 
 pagne had become of more importance to Jack than the 
 little bride. Her husband, understanding Neal's signals, 
 spoke of trains. They were to go to a farm known to 
 William's parents. Polly thanked her uncle, who was grow- 
 ing jocular, and who, Neal feared, might jest concerning 
 the torch of Hymen. But Jack loved innocence and limited 
 his humor to his own forlorn and dreary state of crushed 
 ideals, and the possession of a maltreated heart. Another 
 glass and he would begin to cry. A fat man crying is no 
 accompaniment of a romantic banquet, so Neal ended it. 
 
 The waiters swept the table of its blossoms and gave 
 them to Polly. Her husband and her cousin escorted her 
 to the taxi-cab. Neal put his head in the window for a 
 farewell look at her. She was crying a little now and 
 petting her blossoms. Neal withdrew abruptly and gave 
 the order to the chauffeur. 
 
 He had promised Jack to return, but he was in no mood 
 for the sentimentality that lurks in champagne. He sent 
 a message in by a page, then started on the next important 
 errand, to insert in The Courier and some other papers the 
 notice of the marriage of Margaret Carmichael Guthrie to 
 William Sidney.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THERE are many kinds of courage, but the intensity of 
 that emotion is not always in true proportion to the event 
 requiring it. As the ferry bearing Neal homeward made 
 its slip he felt that an announcement of war requiring his 
 presence at the front would have been most welcome. He 
 had telephoned Caecilia, and she had died away from the 
 telephone, to be replaced by a husband voicing vicarious 
 family alarm. Neal hoped that Csecilia would telephone 
 Maria, or that Jack would go babbling home in a golden 
 haze, or that Philip would make in Maria's presence some 
 classic allusion to Niobe all tears, and so intervene between 
 himself, Neal, and a family in the first bitterness of its 
 surprise. 
 
 But Neal did not belong to the class of the lucky, Provi- 
 dence intending him, for his soul's good, to know every 
 link between cause and effect. He descended upon an unin- 
 formed but agitated household, for Maria had returned 
 from the world of fashion to find that Polly had been absent 
 for hours. Mrs. Guthrie was crossing the hall when Neal 
 entered, and she bore down upon him, a tall, maternal mark 
 of interrogation, her youthful hat a little to one side, her 
 face puffed from the day's pleasure, but showing signs of 
 agitation. 
 
 " Neal," she said shrilly, as if through some divination 
 she at once suspected him, " where's Polly ? " 
 
 Glancing up the staircase, Neal beheld a back most ex- 
 pressive in its resolution to leave him to his fate. Jack was 
 toddling towards his bedroom to hide until the storm blew 
 over, as storms inevitably must. Philip had evidently lost 
 himself again with the lost dramatists, under the force of 
 a similar intention. Neal was alone with his aunt. 
 
 in
 
 U2 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " Where is Polly ? " he repeated, consciously avoiding 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Where is she ? " the mother said hoarsely. " Why don't 
 you speak?" 
 
 Neal squared his shoulders; lifted a chin expressive of 
 his ability to get through this without Jack or Philip. 
 " Polly's married," he said. 
 
 His aunt stared, her face gray, her mouth working. 
 " Married ! " she gasped. 
 
 "You drove her to it. You " He broke off. He 
 
 could not turn the knife. Maria's face alarmed him. He 
 started to ring for Delia. Maria raised her hand. " Come 
 into the library," she whispered hoarsely. 
 
 He followed her, and she shut the door upon him. Her 
 face was still twitching nervously, but she managed to 
 whisper, " What has happened ? " 
 
 He related what had happened. She heard him to the end 
 a frozen image now of incredulity, of hatred, he saw ; of 
 hatred, not of her lost child, but of himself. 
 
 " You went to church with her ! You stood up with her. 
 You ! ! " she exclaimed in a trembling metallic voice, her 
 eyes still blank and incredulous. 
 
 " I couldn't let her go to church alone." 
 
 " You could have stopped her." 
 
 " She trusted me." 
 
 Unconsciously he had thrust a barb into the already 
 wounded breast. Maria with a little cry put her hand to 
 her throat. 
 
 " This is terrible terrible! Where are they ? " 
 
 Neal spoke of the breakfast which Jack had provided. 
 Strangely enough, Jack's part in the matter seemed to make 
 no impression upon Mrs. Guthrie. It was always so, Neal 
 reflected bitterly. Whatever Jack did had about it the sav- 
 ing human trait that won him forgiveness. 
 
 " You should have brought her home," Maria wailed. 
 
 " And to what ! More unhappiness, more misunderstand- 
 ing ? She didn't want to marry Peter but you " 
 
 " Spare me. You've done enough to-day."
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 113 
 
 She had sunk into a chair and buried her face in her 
 hands. A Niobe indeed, but Neal was too young and too 
 idealistic to pity her, since she had carefully sown the 
 dragon's teeth which had brought forth this harvest. He 
 bowed and turned to the door, which, before he could reach 
 it, was opened hastily. Csecilia entered, flushed and out of 
 breath. One look from Maria to Neal confirmed her worst 
 fears. 
 
 " Oh, what made her do it ! " she cried. 
 
 " Ask Neal," Maria moaned. 
 
 Neal's anger flamed up. " My dear Aunts, you both 
 act as if Polly had married a stoker." 
 
 " She's married a poor man ! " 
 
 Caecilia looked helplessly at Neal. Under this ruling, she 
 also had committed a crime. Her sympathies began to flow 
 towards Polly. 
 
 "When how?" 
 
 Neal again explained. Upon his last words Alexander 
 Carmichael entered, with the look he always wore in a 
 family storm, of regarding it more fearfully than any battle 
 he had ever been in. He fixed stern accusing eyes upon 
 his grandson, his lips beneath his white mustache trembling 
 a little. 
 
 Neal had borne enough. The last scene had better be on 
 and over with. 
 
 The hush of extreme agitation fell upon them all as he 
 finished speaking, for under his defense was also an im- 
 plied arraignment of the family policy. Alexander Car- 
 michael, still angry, was about to utter a sharp rejoinder, 
 when suddenly from a room above them came floating down 
 in a thick, sentimental, carefree voice, a singular carol to 
 accompany a family fracas. Jack was warbling: 
 
 "Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
 And I will pledge with mine." 
 
 Maria broke into the laughter of hysteria. The grand- 
 father laid a hand on Neal's shoulder. 
 " Where did they go ? " he asked.
 
 ii 4 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " I didn't ask them. I didn't want to know." 
 " You wanted him to marry her body and soul, I sup- 
 pose, before we could bring them back. Well, you played 
 Don Quixote this day to the queen's taste. I think an 
 apology is due your aunt." 
 
 " If she didn't deceive Polly, I'll apologize." 
 The old aristocrat was answered. His hand dropped from 
 Neal's shoulder, but the anger in his eyes had been replaced 
 by unwilling admiration. This boy at least had the ancient 
 Carmichael spirit unknown to that soft, singing fool up- 
 stairs, or to his bookish brother. 
 
 The love carol of his carefree relative had the effect 
 upon Neal of summoning Ada to his consciousness, and as 
 an adjunct of Ada, Peter. Of course a disappointed lover 
 would share Mrs. Guthrie's sense of outrage, and would 
 be inclined to fix blame upon the innocent, as she had 
 done. The uneasiness which this reflection awakened be- 
 came at last positive alarm lest Ada should believe him 
 guilty of betraying Peter's hospitality, by hastening from 
 his house-party to promote Polly's nuptials. To quiet his 
 fears Neal dispatched the coachman's son with a note to 
 Ada, explaining how he came to be the Mercutio of this 
 comedy. The messenger returned without an answer.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 JUST what the Fleming household thought of his part in 
 the adventure of his cousin's runaway marriage was made 
 clear to Neal a few days later when, meeting Peter on the 
 ferry, his old chum deliberately turned on his heel and pre- 
 sented an offended back to Neal's outstretched hand. The 
 latter, walking moodily away, came face to face the next 
 moment with Patricia, in whose eyes was a light that 
 beamed comfort, invitation, understanding. He joined her, 
 not unobserved by Peter, whose heart was as lead within 
 him. Unceasing pain had racked him since Polly's marriage. 
 He couldn't forgive Neal! If Ada chose to pardon him, 
 that was another matter; but Neal had better be careful. 
 Of all persons in the world, Ada was the last to accept a 
 divided devotion ; and there was Carmichael pacing the deck 
 with a girl out of his class. It would serve Neal right 
 to lose Ada if he was so infernally clumsy with everyone's 
 affairs, including his own. 
 
 Patricia meanwhile was speaking of Polly's marriage, 
 which had appealed to the nascent romance in her own 
 heart. Her eyes were tender and clairvoyant as she said 
 in the tone of a champion, " Of course you couldn't do 
 anything but help her." 
 
 Her tone implied that he had played the part of a winged 
 Perseus, and Neal, whose nerves had been on edge ever 
 since two households had sent him to Coventry, accepted 
 Patricia's sympathy with gratitude. She looked very lovely, 
 he thought, with the soft color coming and going in her 
 cheeks, her eyes full of shining life. 
 
 His musing fancies concerning her brought questions to 
 his lips. Was she always to give up her life to the poor and 
 sick ? Patricia considered this a moment. Something in her 
 heart had echoed " no " to the inquiry " no," indeed, since 
 
 "5
 
 u6 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 no real woman could wed a cause or a pursuit, however 
 maternal. There were dearer joys than nursing people. 
 Much of this she couldn't convey to him. 
 
 " I suppose I shall want my own home some day," she 
 ventured. 
 
 Neal sighed, thinking of Ada. " Oh, yes, there's nothing 
 like it, if the man isn't poor." 
 
 Patricia laughed. " Even if he were poor, I should say! " 
 
 " But the struggle, Patricia." 
 
 " We all need discipline. Most of us get it. You don't 
 mind it so much when you're not struggling alone." 
 
 She was pleading for her happiness, but he translated 
 every phrase into his own problem with Ada Ada! She 
 was never out of his thoughts. She was with him when, 
 the parenthetical pause of the ferry at an end, he plunged 
 into his day's work. He meant to see her that evening. 
 He wondered what she would say about Polly's marriage. 
 During the day he planned a defense not only of his cousin's 
 position but his own. When he found himself in Ada's 
 presence, however, the lucidity of his argument was ob- 
 scured by doubts, by unforeseen embarrassment. He said 
 finally that Peter had no right to cut him. 
 
 " He has the rights of a deeply wounded man," Ada said. 
 " Hasn't he lost both a friend and the girl he loved ? " 
 
 " He hasn't lost me ! " 
 
 "Did you give him much chance this morning? Peter 
 seemed to think Miss McCoy was absorbing all your atten- 
 tion." 
 
 " She was," Neal answered brusquely. " She's the only 
 person who hasn't rapped me as a romantic fool." 
 
 Ada's face grew cold. " So you sought her for sym- 
 pathy?" 
 
 " I didn't seek her. We ran across each other on the 
 boat." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 Ada's intonations were full of meaning, but Neal failed 
 to receive all that she wanted to convey. For a moment
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 117 
 
 she felt near to tears. Did he really care for the Irish 
 girl? 
 
 " Is Peter never going to speak to me again ? " Neal 
 asked abruptly. 
 
 " He feels sore just now. He'll get over it. Let's go 
 out into the garden." 
 
 So into the garden they went, where moonlight was 
 creating lovely spells of still, pale beauty, the light lying 
 in silver sheets on flower-beds, lawns and distant hills. Ada 
 seemed ghost-like in her white gown, her fair face turned 
 to Neal's. He was keeping a curb on himself with difficulty. 
 They drew nearer together, walking more and more slowly 
 and speaking of trifles with voices that sank lower and 
 lower. 
 
 A turn of the path brought them into the deep shadow 
 of a high hedge. Neal suddenly stopped, and she could 
 hear his quick breathing as he made a gesture a holding 
 out of his arms to draw the world into them. But she drew 
 back quickly. 
 
 "Ada!" 
 
 " Not now not here ! " 
 
 " Ada, you know I love you." 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 The two little words held ice and steel the profound 
 skepticism of a woman longing to be convinced. Neal, 
 facing her, felt desire go from him, as if through some 
 paralysis of his will. Anger replaced passion anger that 
 she could doubt him, could look so calm while he suffered 
 from his sheer inability to tell her what he felt. 
 
 The occasion was prophetic. 
 
 Through the summer she carefully guarded against a 
 repetition of the scene; and Neal, bewildered by her, and 
 hurt by Peter's continued coldness, put romance aside in 
 favor of the practical matter of " getting on." Polly was 
 his only confidante, though to Patricia at times he spoke 
 of his ambitions because she was so responsive. But his 
 cousin knew his secrets, and her little home became a real 
 refuge to him.
 
 u8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " Cousin Neal," she said wistfully one day, " do you 
 
 think Mother " She broke off, avoiding his eyes, then 
 
 lifted up something of fine texture. Her broken sentence, 
 her shy imploring look drew his eyes to what she held. 
 
 " Polly dear ! " 
 
 "Do you think they'll forgive me now Mother and 
 Grandfather?" 
 
 She spoke as if such a miracle should bring them to 
 wonder and admire. Neal doubted it. Mrs. Guthrie had 
 retired into the citadel of her pride and did not seem likely 
 to capitulate. His grandfather still refused to consider 
 Polly's marriage anything but an escapade. 
 
 To evade the question Neal asked for her congratulations 
 on his promotion to the editorial staff of The Courier. 
 
 " That brings you nearer to Ada, doesn't it ? " Polly said 
 with sweet directness. 
 
 " Ada gets further and further away," he replied, for he 
 always spoke with frankness to his cousin. " Peter has 
 never forgiven me, and I see Ada she arranges it so 
 only when Peter isn't there : I rarely see her alone ! " 
 
 Polly hesitated. " There may be another reason," she 
 said. " Aunt Caecilia told me yesterday that there is gossip 
 in the Island about your friendship with with Patricia 
 McCoy. I understand, you know," Polly went on hastily, 
 " your work has thrown you together." 
 
 " Why of course," Neal answered. " Patricia has the 
 district where most of my reporting lies, or where I worked 
 before the promotion." 
 
 With the instinct to ( feel guilt where guilt is implied, his 
 mind went back rapidly over what had not been a happy 
 summer. But his review of his walks and conversations 
 with Patricia revealed even to his hypercritical mood only 
 what seemed the most impersonal relation. 
 
 " Patricia McCoy is a world too good for me," he com- 
 mented. "As for gossip it's ridiculous. Patricia would 
 be the first to " 
 
 But he broke off, for truth was not in the conclusion he 
 wanted to emphasize. Only the night before he had seen
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 119 
 
 a look in her eyes which at the time affected him as 
 heightening Patricia's beauty. Now the memory of it 
 stirred him, gave him a comfort to which he had no right, 
 as if, for an instant, a passing air had brought him the 
 scent of jasmine or the rose. The sense of romance was 
 so vague that almost in the same moment he was back 
 in the world which Ada dominated. Here all was clear, 
 hard daylight. Ada created passion without illusion. When 
 she appeared life became difficult, a challenge, a rapture 
 founded on dismay. 
 
 As it happened the first person he met at home was 
 Mrs. Guthrie, between whom and himself relations were 
 still strained. Should he tell her now that the House of 
 Carmichael was to be continued in the distaff line? 
 
 " I've seen Polly to-day," he announced. 
 
 At the sound of her daughter's name Mrs. Guthrie stif- 
 fened, tightened her lips. 
 
 " I think she needs her mother." 
 
 " I'm the best judge of that." 
 
 " She's expecting a baby," he said, despairing of a more 
 circuitous delivery of his news. 
 
 Maria's face worked painfully for a moment ; then, with- 
 out answer or comment, she turned and went into the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Neal went on to the library. His grandfather looked up 
 sharply. " I heard what you said. There was nothing else 
 to be expected." 
 
 " They are very much in love," Neal stated in extenua- 
 tion. 
 
 " A quixotic sentiment ! How about this East Side nurse ? 
 I thought there was some reason for your extravagant 
 interest in the poor," the old man commented, jealousy of 
 his grandson driving him to bitterness. " Do you expect 
 Miss Fleming to accept you, after your philandering all 
 summer with Patricia McCoy ? " he asked. 
 
 The shaft reached its mark, but the poison of injustice 
 was in the wound. Did they realize that Peter avoided
 
 120 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 him as if he had the plague, and that Ada had fitted every 
 meeting with him this summer to the exigencies of Peter's 
 hate? But was he losing her? He would seek her and 
 know the truth. Descending the stairs after dressing, he 
 met Jack, who spoke of Polly. Someone had told him 
 what the little girl was in for. 
 
 " You'll see her sooner than I will," Jack said, producing 
 some bills. " Give her these to buy what-you-call-'ems 
 for the layette. I'd send more but I'm hard up." 
 
 Neal melted. " That's awfully decent of you." 
 
 Ada, always more gracious to two than to one, watched 
 both Neal and Wentworth with her usual interest in psy- 
 chology. The rivalries of the two men, national and ro- 
 mantic, threatened to break through the flimsy web of 
 their assumed politeness at any moment. Wentworth was 
 talking of London, as if it were to be Ada's future home, 
 a vast background for her beauty. Had she ever met Lady 
 Helen Dunworth? No? The introduction must take place 
 some day. A fine woman, Lady Helen, and very knowing 
 on the turf. Her first cousin, Guy Castle, was bookish, 
 but one of the handsomest men in London. Ada must meet 
 him! 
 
 These offhand remarks made all the more impression on 
 Neal because he felt instinctively that the Englishman was 
 not putting on " side." He had come straight from such 
 associations, and meant to go back to them, not unaccom- 
 panied, if his masterful glances towards Ada signified any- 
 thing. Neal, feeling like a castaway, was fast getting to 
 the point when, if only for a moment, he must believe that 
 he owned the earth. She must acknowledge his mastery. 
 
 When the representative of imperialism had reluctantly 
 taken his departure, Neal addressed Ada with an unusual 
 note of self-assertion. 
 
 " He's not sure yet. I must be ! " 
 
 Ada, feeling that she had at last arrived at a goal for 
 which she had been long preparing, faced Neal with innocent 
 inquiry and inward excitement.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 121 
 
 "Sure of what?" 
 
 " Of you ! Ada, I've had a wretched summer." 
 
 Her soft, incredulous smile held a meaning he longed to 
 efface. 
 
 " Do you think," he cried impetuously, " that anyone in 
 the world matters but you ? " 
 
 " I have only facts to guide me," she said meditatively. 
 " I am not gifted with imagination." 
 
 " You are thinking of Patricia," he said boldly. 
 
 " Am I ? but you did you think of her ? " 
 
 Her tone was serious now. Her troubled eyes searched 
 his face, put him at the bar, a prisoner to his own record. 
 It was useless to explain, and he didn't attempt it. Return- 
 ing her look, he became conscious only of the fact that 
 he wanted her more than he wanted anything else on earth. 
 Passion flamed into action. With a smothered cry he 
 caught her roughly in his arms and covered her face with 
 kisses. To his incredulous delight she did not move from 
 him, but hid her face with some words he did not quite 
 hear, and touched his cheek, drawing his head down at last, 
 and offering her lips to his. 
 
 Neal walked home through the night, poignantly happy, 
 in a kind of waking dream, enacting over and over the scene 
 with Ada. The sleeping Island might have spoken to him of 
 other kisses and vows, since it had known generations of 
 lovers, but only the rapture of the present pulsed in the 
 far-off monotonous beat of the waves on the sands, sighed 
 from lonely woods and beckoned in every light. 
 
 Late the next afternoon he hurried from the city for a 
 chance of seeing Ada before dinner, as he knew her evening 
 was to be given to some friends of Mrs. Fleming's. In his 
 pocket was a letter from Patricia which had caused him 
 sore perplexity, since it contained a request that he should 
 accompany her on a charitable census of the Island : less a 
 request, indeed, than a reminder, for he had planned the 
 expedition with her some weeks before. Now that Ada 
 had accepted him, he wanted to run no risk of giving color
 
 122 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 to the reports of which his grandfather and Polly had 
 spoken. 
 
 He found her in the garden in a nook where the October 
 sunshine seemed to concentrate its warmth. 
 
 " My darling ! " he said eagerly. 
 
 She let him take her hands, but she turned her cheek 
 to his kisses. He was finding her already in another mood ; 
 and questions rose to his lips. Was she tired? Was she 
 regretting her surrender? 
 
 " Ada," he said impulsively, " I want to tell the whole 
 world ! When shall we announce our engagement ? " 
 
 " Why do you want to announce it ? " she questioned 
 languidly, though she knew what he meant. Her test of 
 him was precisely that he should give up everyone for her 
 without warrant, without price, without the simple expedi- 
 ent of an announcement. She must be absolutely sure of 
 his private devotion before a public stamp was put upon 
 it. " Do you want everyone to know you're the winner ? " 
 she added. 
 
 " Wentworth should know it," he gave back. 
 
 " You don't expect me to give up my friendship with 
 Mr. Wentworth just because we're engaged ? " 
 
 " Does the rule work both ways, Ada ? " 
 
 She flashed a keen glance at him. 
 
 " That's for you to decide," she said.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 PATRICIA had long ago passed her Rubicon, the ancient 
 tradition that a maid should never allow her heart to go 
 out of her keeping unless she was first sure that she herself 
 was desired. That was intolerable nonsense, she thought ; a 
 relic of days when ringleted women were serenaded by 
 lovers as foolish and insubstantial as themselves. Patricia 
 loved Neal with all her heart, and to herself pretended 
 nothing else. But her dogmatism ceased with herself. She 
 had no certainty that Neal cared for her, and her Golden 
 Treasury held as yet only blank leaves. The joy, as far 
 as she could tell, was all her own, though she watched her 
 companion keenly for signs of his response to her emotion ; 
 silent dignified watching, for Patricia's pride was strong. 
 She gloried in her love, but until it was returned she would 
 guard it from all eyes, and chiefly from his, who was master 
 of it all. 
 
 There came a time in the autumn when for several weeks 
 she did not see him; a desert stretch, since absence and 
 silence test the strength as well as the feebleness of an emo- 
 tion. Her days dragged. The family, marking her pale- 
 ness and preoccupation, told her that she worked too hard. 
 Thomas Murphy plied her in vain with invitations ; Patricia 
 declined them all. She would not give Thomas the slight- 
 est excuse for hope. 
 
 She sat at her desk one evening wondering whether to 
 send the letter she had just written to Neal, a business-like 
 epistle reminding him of a census they had agreed to take 
 together, and running scarcely to six lines. Her pen bal- 
 anced in her hand, she mused over the little note. Would 
 he think her forward? Would he be glad to be reminded? 
 Delia had intimated that he was often with Miss Fleming 
 these days. At the very thought a wave of passionate pro- 
 
 123
 
 I2 4 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 test swept over Patricia. Ada could never really care for 
 Neal Carmichael as she did. She was too cold, too treacher- 
 ous, too vain for true loving. 
 
 Patricia glanced across the room at her mother at her 
 eternal task of darning stockings for her brood; the rosy 
 boys and girls who were studying their lessons around the 
 evening lamp. How sure and sensible she was ! Could she 
 ever understand what Patricia felt? Conscious of her 
 daughter's gaze upon her, Mrs. McCoy looked up. " Stop 
 your writin', Pat, and talk to us," she said with a note of 
 affectionate impatience. 
 
 " Ain't she the quiet girl these days," McCoy com- 
 mented. " And never a bit of fun with Thomas, as he was 
 complainin' to me." 
 
 " I haven't time, Dad." 
 
 " Ease up on the work or you'll die an old maid, Patsie." 
 
 Patricia smiled. " I'll never feel like one even if I die 
 one." 
 
 One of her brothers rose from the study table. " I'm 
 going down the street. Give me your letter, Pat ; I'll mail 
 it." 
 
 He caught it up before she could protest, and read the 
 address. " ' Neal Carmichael, Esqr.' My, Sis, but you've 
 got swell friends ! " 
 
 Patricia blushed furiously. An explanation sprang to her 
 lips, but she decided it was best to say nothing. Her 
 mother's eyes were upon her, and she thought she detected 
 anxiety in them, but her father looked complacent, even 
 pleased. 
 
 After the manner of all pleasures that are carefully 
 planned, the trips with Neal over the Island proved an un- 
 certain joy, for he seemed abstracted, aloof and once or 
 twice she thought that he appeared to be impatient of these 
 expeditions of which the last came only too quickly for her. 
 Neal was in fact wishing them over. He was conscious of 
 being in a false position, for Ada still insisted on keeping 
 her engagement secret; and his intercourse with Patricia 
 had lost much of its spontaneity. He admired her, he
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 125 
 
 thought her beautiful, there were moments when he felt 
 drawn to her by some force more powerful than his own 
 will ; nevertheless he hadn't the ghost of a right to be with 
 her even under these business-like circumstances. He 
 wished he could impart his wonderful news to her, for he 
 felt sure of her friendly sympathy; but he kept strictly 
 to the letter of Ada's wishes, and Ada seemed in no hurry 
 to use her prerogative of announcement. 
 
 A dull November day, closing in upon their final labors, 
 found them far in the country, upon a hill which revealed 
 a leaden sea in the distance. 
 
 " It's a day to be indoors by a fire," Patricia said wist- 
 fully. 
 
 " With a good book." 
 
 " Or with someone you care for," she murmured, her 
 eyes fixed on the distant sea. Neal thought of Ada. Only 
 the night before they had played with a wood fire like two 
 children, building it up for the pleasure of poking it down. 
 
 As their faces were now set homeward he proposed that 
 they should turn down a lane which furnished a short-cut 
 to one of the stations of the little railroad skirting the 
 Island. 
 
 " Why can't we go back on the trolley ? " Patricia ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 " The train will get us there quicker." 
 
 She sighed. "Are you in a hurry?" 
 
 He looked at his watch. " I must be at the office by 
 four." 
 
 Her heart felt leaden. She would see him again, of 
 course, she reassured herself, but probably no definite date 
 would be set; and she would enter one of those paren- 
 thetical periods in which a woman doesn't really live, but 
 only kills time until reunion with her beloved again quickens 
 her spirit. The alchemy of love had changed her world 
 for her, had taken the value from old interests, rendering 
 her philanthropic work intolerably empty unless shared with 
 Neal. The penalty of finding gold in certain rare hours is 
 the filling of the others with lead.
 
 J2 6 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Perceiving her silence, Neal asked her if she were tired ? 
 Was she working too hard ? 
 
 Oh no ! I'm used to that ! " 
 
 She was not used to romance, she might have added, to 
 dreams made true, yet not wholly true. She was again 
 with Neal, but she was not sure she could make him love 
 her. The doubt darkened the darkening afternoon. 
 
 " There'll be snow," Neal said, glancing at the sky. 
 " We've had luck, Patricia, on these walks." 
 
 " I hope so," she said dreamily, and he smiled at her use 
 of tenses. What was on her mind ? 
 
 At that moment the sound of horses' hoofs in a gallop 
 rang sharply on the frozen road. Almost in the same mo- 
 ment two riders appeared, swept past them. Wentworth 
 raised his hat. In a flash Neal saw Ada's face, white, cold, 
 astonished. 
 
 On Christmas morning the Carmichael family followed 
 their usual custom of attending service in the old country 
 church of St. Anne's, of which Caecilia's husband was rector. 
 Even Jack slipped modestly into the square, roomy pew, 
 where generations of Carmichaels had entreated a mercy 
 which a few of them at least believed they needed. 
 
 The church being isolated and lonely, the congregation 
 asleep in its yard far outnumbered the congregation within 
 its walls, which even on high days was assembled gradually 
 and with difficulty. Both the Flemings and the Carmichaels 
 arriving before the service, lingered, the day being bright 
 and mild, along the sloping walk between the graves. Neal, 
 observing that Ada was not with the Flemings, waited until 
 Peter should go into church before approaching Mrs. Flem- 
 ing to inquire for her niece. 
 
 Mrs. Guthrie, who, with her father, was greeting friends, 
 glanced from time to time at Neal. When some expression 
 in his deep-set eyes or some humorous curve of his sensitive 
 mouth reminded her of Polly, she could have cried out with 
 the intensity of her pain. She longed to go to him, and, 
 begging his forgiveness for past harshness, ask him to take
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 127 
 
 her to Polly Polly who had refused her mother's invita- 
 tion to Christmas dinner because her husband was not 
 included. 
 
 As she stood irresolute Mr. Griffin approached her. His 
 sympathy for his sister-in-law was very great, but the priest 
 in him demanded something more of her than this soul- 
 excoriating pride. 
 
 " Caecilia tells me Polly won't be at dinner to-day because 
 you didn't invite William. There's time yet; you could 
 telephone from the parish house." 
 
 His voice was winning, urgent. Maria turned her face 
 away. " David, you don't understand." 
 
 " Remember what day it is, Maria," he said gently ; " you 
 can't approach the " 
 
 Her face hardened. " Don't remind me. I don't intend 
 to receive this morning." 
 
 A look of pain crossed his face, but he made no comment, 
 and continued on his way greeting other parishioners. 
 
 The walk had almost cleared now. Neal saw his oppor- 
 tunity to speak to Mrs. Fleming, who seemed herself waiting 
 to address him. Crossing to her side he wished her a 
 " Merry Christmas " and then inquired for Ada. Mrs. 
 Fleming looked embarrassed. 
 
 " I thought, of course, you knew. Ada sailed for Eng- 
 land yesterday. She asked me to give you this note." 
 
 Neal took it, murmured " Thank you," then stood as if 
 devoid of all power of further initiative. Mrs. Fleming had 
 only half forgiven him for his part in Polly's marriage, but 
 now all vicarious resentment for her son's disappointment 
 was swept away. She had seen that look before in the 
 faces of men with whom Ada had been trifling. As the 
 last bell was sounding she moved away, leaving him alone 
 in the churchyard. Mechanically he opened the note and 
 read these lines : 
 
 " DEAR NEAL : 
 
 " I am sailing for London to-day. As there are others 
 to fill your life, there seemed no reason why we should go
 
 i 2 8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 through the form of saying farewell. I am remaining away 
 for an indefinite period, and I have no plans. You have 
 my best wishes for your work, your ambitions whatever 
 it is you want most. 
 
 " ADA." 
 
 With numb fingers he replaced the sheet of paper in its 
 envelope. From his trance of suffering he was roused at 
 last by a touch at his elbow. 
 
 " Service has begun, sir," the sexton reminded him. 
 
 Caecilia, who occupied a place in the family pew upon 
 these high days, wondered why Neal knelt so long after 
 entering, his face buried in his hands. It was unlike him, 
 for he was scantily conventional in his religious observances. 
 When he rose at last he looked ashen, depleted of all force 
 and with an expression that filled Caecilia with questioning 
 anxiety. 
 
 He heard nothing of the service until it was far on its 
 way. Cruel ! Oh, cruel ! to lead him on, to lull him into 
 expectant peace, then to deal this blow, which in its sud- 
 denness resembled the treachery of a half-tamed animal. 
 Why had she done this? What was the offense that de- 
 served such a punishment? Across his mind flashed the 
 image of Patricia ; but he had explained it all to Ada after 
 that encounter in the lane, and she had seemed satisfied. 
 Wentworth was with her that day. Why should she have 
 resented his being with Patricia? She must have resented 
 it, or why this flight ? 
 
 Through his confusion he became aware at last that the 
 choir was singing, and gradually the refrain of the quaint 
 carol reached his inner sense : 
 
 "O, Jesu Parvulu! 
 My heart is sore for thee." 
 
 The spirit of mocking doubt arose in him. Jesus Par- 
 vulus ! What did this, or any congregation for that matter, 
 know of Him, swathed and mummied in their ambitions, 
 their worldliness ! Ada had gone, of course, to a man who
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 129 
 
 could add wealth to her wealth, after filling Neal's heart 
 with fool's gold. 
 The choir sang on : 
 
 " What shall suffice Him whom heaven and earth obey? " 
 
 He could have laughed aloud in his mockery of Ada, 
 himself and all his fellows, turning in despair at last to 
 a Figure beyond his mockery. Who was this Christ they 
 travestied weekly in their churches and daily in their lives, 
 this Man out of history whose wounds were remembered 
 when empires were forgotten? Nothing about Him could 
 be believed but His tragic death. Yet the legend flashed 
 out again with a strange tale of a Man comforting, after 
 His Crucifixion, the multitudinous generations of shadowy 
 genealogies, going to them into whatever portion of the 
 universe they had carried their sorrow, their wistfulness, 
 their frustrated hopes and joys. From that mysterious 
 communion with the spirits in prison, the record told of a 
 supernal recrudescence. He had returned to ask his apostle 
 Peter if he still loved Him, and to feed some hungry 
 fishermen. 
 
 No, it could not be believed! Neal's denials followed 
 hard upon these unaccustomed thoughts to which excess 
 of pain had driven him his first real approach to the mys- 
 teries of religion. 
 
 The communion service began. The words were familiar 
 enough to him, over-familiar, indeed, meaning less than 
 nothing. He had heard them from little boyhood. Month 
 after month he had communicated, following the long cus- 
 tom of his family ; but now, he said to himself, he would not 
 receive, not this day nor any day to come. This rite was 
 to commemorate suffering. He could at least keep away 
 from what he had never taken the trouble to inquire into, 
 or to follow with understanding. Jack had slipped out of 
 church as a matter of course before the communion service. 
 Whatever his sins, he was at least honest.
 
 I3 o BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 The church party arrived home with an expression that 
 said, " There ! that's over " ; an expression from which even 
 Csecilia was not altogether free. 
 
 The ancient head of the house, standing in front of the 
 fire, which in honor of Christmas had been lighted in the 
 great fireplace of the hall, looked about him with a tired, 
 puzzled expression in his blue eyes. 
 
 " Good sermon, David," he said, addressing his son-in- 
 law, " but old Benson went to sleep as usual. Large col- 
 lection?" 
 
 " So-so." 
 
 " I used to give liberally," the old gentleman said with 
 a sigh, " but you know what we are up against, David." 
 
 " Lord ! but Christmas is an awful day to get through," 
 
 Jack offered as his contribution to the small talk, " after 
 .t 
 
 He had meant to say, " after the children have grown 
 up," but checked himself in time, for his tact was infallible. 
 Instead, he added, " Let's have a glass of the ' eighty-three ' 
 port all round." 
 
 Everybody brightened a little, though Csecilia and her 
 husband drank no wine. The precious port being brought 
 up from the cellarage, Jack, as master of ceremonies, filled 
 the glasses and proposed the health of the head of the 
 house. Alexander Carmichael's response was short. He 
 had had a queer illusion for a moment that he heard 
 Polly's voice say " grandaddy." He wondered if the heat 
 of the fire was too much for him, and moved away a little. 
 
 They stood in silence, their glasses in their hands, feeling 
 a little awkward with each other, as kinsfolk often do on 
 high days from which the real significance has departed. 
 Neal gulped his wine down and poured himself another 
 glass. Jack, who had heard of Ada's departure, said warn- 
 ingty, " Go slow, old fellow ; there's lava in this vintage." 
 
 " Heady? " Philip remarked. 
 
 "You can say in Latin better than you can in English 
 what it would do to you," Jack commented, wondering why 
 all Philip's learning had left him so innocent.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 131 
 
 Maria, like Neal, had drained the glass quickly. A surge 
 of warmth went through her veins, crept to her heart that 
 had seemed for weeks to beat with faint pulsation. Her 
 eyes swam with tears as she remembered long ago Christ- 
 mases and her baby girl, like a white butterfly, dancing 
 about the great tree in which her older cousin Neal was 
 ashamed to take too much interest. She had an impulse 
 towards forgiveness, but the god of the ill-timed was lurk- 
 ing in that assemblage. Philip had begun to be voluble. 
 One glass of wine could spur his tongue, because he rarely 
 touched it ; so he was destined to be betrayed by his virtues. 
 
 " Where was Ada to-day, Neal ? " he inquired. 
 
 Neal turned white. Grandfather Alexander's anxious 
 look was focused upon him; he had known something was 
 the matter with Neal. 
 
 His nephew remaining speechless, Jack leaped gallantly 
 into the breach. 
 
 " Ada's taking a run over to London ; back in a month 
 or two, she told me; maybe to Paris for a trousseau," he 
 lied heroically, diverting all eyes to himself and away from 
 his nephew, who, with the literalness of the pain-stricken, 
 was about to say, " When did she tell you this ? " A warn- 
 ing glance from Jack said in effect, " Leave this to me ; it's 
 a fairy-tale, but it will give you a chance." 
 
 " Trousseau, eh?" Mr. Carmichael echoed, his expression 
 changing to one of pleasure. " How about that, Neal ? Has 
 the time been set ? " 
 
 " That's Ada's privilege," he answered with an attempt 
 at a smile. 
 
 Luck was not in the wine. The very sound of Ada's 
 name recalled to Maria the world of wealth and fashion, all 
 she had hoped would be Polly's through Peter. She went 
 into dinner with her face set in resolute lines.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 PATRICIA, who happened to see in a passenger list the 
 name of Miss Fleming, was by that information borne up 
 above her doubts and misgivings. Interpreting the event 
 by the desires of her own heart, she read in the departure 
 a warrant for believing that Ada's English suitor had won 
 her, and perhaps that Neal had ceased to feel her old 
 troubling fascinations. Hope had become the light by which 
 she lived. 
 
 Christmas Eve fell softly for her a white, hushed time, 
 with myriads of candles at St. Margaret's lighting the 
 manger-crib and, at home, a wealth of red and green on 
 the walls, the smell of spices in the air, and excited voices 
 of children mingling with rustle of paper and crisp ribbon. 
 Patricia was brightly in the midst of it all. McCoy's pride 
 in her had been greatly increased by the knowledge that 
 she was helping Neal Carmichael in his newspaper work, 
 but Mrs. McCoy was skeptical of any permanent happiness 
 to her daughter through association with Neal. She was 
 wishing that young Tom Murphy, and not Carmichael, was 
 producing the change so visible in Patricia's person a deli- 
 cate unfolding of the woman within her, a shy, sweet Eve, 
 as sequestered in thought, at least, as liable to sudden rose- 
 color in her cheeks, as if she hadn't gone up and down 
 among the poor and sinful, knowing, Mrs. McCoy reflected 
 sadly, more than any maiden should. 
 
 At the early Mass Patricia prayed earnestly for Neal, 
 with the feeling that the best-beloved should have their turn 
 on the greatest days ; going home later through the morning 
 twilight with flushed cheeks and joy in her heart. Christmas 
 was a happy day with the McCoys, entered upon with vigil 
 and confession, and ending with riotous fun, whose center 
 was their own Christmas tree and the miniature manger 
 
 132
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED . 133 
 
 beneath it. Patricia, after dinner, was playing on an old 
 rattletrap of a piano for the children to dance, when the 
 telephone rang and she was summoned. 
 
 " It it was Mr. Carmichael," she explained to the 
 family on her return to them. " His cousin Polly is ill 
 wants to see me." 
 
 " Not to-day ! " Mrs. McCoy said impatiently. " Where 
 is she ? Up at the Carmichaels' ? " 
 
 " No she's not forgiven even for Christmas." 
 
 " I call that inhuman but then what else could you 
 expect of them ! " 
 
 Patricia was silent. Neal's family was too identified with 
 Neal for her comment. She was already wholly possessed 
 with the joy of this unexpected opportunity. Perhaps he 
 would speak of Ada, or give some clew to the mystery of 
 her departure; for he was going to meet her at the ferry. 
 She would be able to read in his face, she thought, what 
 the news had meant to him. 
 
 In the moment before he was aware of her coming she 
 had time to note his pallor, his fagged look. He was far 
 from happy she knew that at once ! The old pain stirred 
 in her heart. Could she never break through his preoccu- 
 pation and impress upon him with silent insistence the fact 
 that they might be all to each other? Was he thinking of 
 Ada ? What spell did she throw over men, that they should 
 care more for her heartlessness than for the fidelity of 
 other women! 
 
 " You seem tired," she said as they stood together on 
 the deck watching the gulls about the stern of the boat. 
 
 " I've been through Christmas service and a family 
 dinner," he said with a ghost of a smile. 
 
 He roused himself to a forced animation, which she recog- 
 nized too clearly. Oh, if she might but charm him ! What 
 song did the sirens sing? Experience had taught her that 
 good works in themselves have little fascination, and that 
 in the mysterious ledgers of the universe the balance is often 
 handed to the debtor and not the creditor. Reading and 
 observation both had shown her that the magnetic forces
 
 134 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 which draw people together seldom proceed from ordered 
 righteousness, but are one with the wandering winds of 
 the spirit, charming and refreshing whomsoever they list. 
 Patricia longed for that enchanting power to breathe 
 through her. 
 
 " Tell me about Polly," she said at last. " What is she 
 like?" 
 
 His eyes grew tender. " She's like spring violets, or little 
 gay birds, anything sweet, or swift on the wing." 
 
 Patricia found this out for herself later ; found, too, that 
 Polly was depending on motherhood to effect a reconcilia- 
 tion with the aloof kinsfolk of Carmichael House. -They 
 might resist her. They couldn't resist a baby. 
 
 Of this dainty lever she spoke in hushed, excited tones 
 to Patricia, to whom her sympathies had at once gone out. 
 The nature of their conversation, the intimacy of their 
 meeting carried them far on the road of friendship. Pa- 
 tricia was already promising to be with Polly when she 
 should need her in that month of retirement and royalty. 
 
 It was Patricia herself who, on a day in the last week 
 of March, called Neal from The Courier office to perform 
 his part in the emergency of notifying the Carmichael 
 family that Polly was desperately ill. Their assembling 
 might be, indeed, for a farewell of her. 
 
 Neal, thoroughly frightened and filled with remorse that 
 his preoccupations had kept him away from his cousin 
 during the past few weeks, hurried uptown. William Sidney 
 admitted him. What Polly had met or was meeting, noth- 
 ing in the profound silence of the house told Neal. Sidney 
 whispered, " She's under ether now." 
 
 Out of one of the rooms Patricia emerged, with the air of 
 a person wearied by a long battle. Her face was pale, her 
 eyes hollow. She did not even glance at Neal, but he 
 caught at her dress like a child as she passed him. " Pa- 
 tricia, is there danger ? " 
 
 She made an effort for self-control before she replied, 
 " I am afraid there is. Have you telephoned ? "
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 135 
 
 Neal sent peremptory messages, first to Maria, then to 
 the others. " Come at once, or regret it all your life," he 
 said to Mrs. Guthrie. 
 
 When he had finished he found Patricia at his elbow. 
 She whispered to Neal that the child, a boy, had died a 
 few minutes after its birth. 
 
 Maria had brushed by Neal in the passage, her eyes rings 
 of fire, her face gray with some anguish deeper than grief. 
 They admitted her to Polly, who had not yet been told of 
 her child's death. Yet across the dim tides to which she 
 was now yielding, as to a cradle where all her pain could 
 be forgotten, there came to her the intimation that someone 
 was passing with her, or had passed. She turned her eyes 
 to Caecilia with the question in them it would take all 
 Caecilia's strength to answer. 
 
 " My Precious " she began, but could say no more. 
 
 She turned to Neal, half pushed him towards the bed ; and 
 now Polly was looking at him with the little feeble smile, 
 the unspoken, tender question. 
 
 " Darling," he whispered, then stumbled, as Csecilia had. 
 He looked imploringly at Mr. Griffin, who took his place, 
 and, bending over Polly, said : " Have you prayed, dear ? 
 Have you asked God to forgive you all your sins ? " 
 
 " Yes, Uncle David." 
 
 " Do you remember long ago it was asked, ' Is it well 
 with the child ? ' And the answer came, ' It is well.' " 
 
 She had been always quick to understand, and she under- 
 stood now. A strange expression passed over her face, a 
 long, eager mother-look, directed to nothing in the room. 
 She could but swiftly follow the little pilgrim spirit. 
 
 Her faltering breath seemed held only to welcome the 
 three absent ones who arrived at last, Mr. Carmichael, 
 full of woe, but erect ; Jack, gray and shivering, yet of stern 
 enough metal to bend over his niece and smile and say, 
 " Little Polly ! " while he caressed her hand. 
 
 She looked about her with a kind of exultation, for they 
 were now all assembled; but her growing weakness drew
 
 I3 6 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 her eyes back again to her husband's face, and on that com- 
 munion of husband and wife the scene ended. The boy 
 who had never known that he was poor, knew at last that 
 he was beggared. 
 
 The next day the house on the hill was thrown open wide 
 for her. Neal, beyond tears now, thought continually of 
 Peter. 
 
 Remorse kept her grandfather close to her bier, his eyes 
 fixed upon her inscrutable beauty. Polly, so recently a little 
 thing of curls and ribbons, was majestically compelling 
 homage, as she lay in the light of the candles, while prayers 
 were said that seemed to the listeners like a deepening of 
 the silence : " De profundis, Domine ! Lo, I go swiftly 
 out of this world who abided in it but a brief space, and 
 now I seek to know Thy further will, I and the child that 
 Thou gavest me. De profundis, Domine ! Lighten our 
 darkness, for upon our eyes the earthly sun has set." 
 
 Late in the evening a step was heard in the hall. Delia, 
 appearing in the doorway, beckoned to Neal. Going out, 
 he saw a haggard face. It was Peter. The two friends 
 extended trembling hands to each other, all rancor swept 
 away. 
 
 " Go in," Neal whispered. 
 
 Two days later the vault of the Carmichael family in the 
 church by the marshes received Polly and her baby. Neal 
 could not bear to return to the darkened house, and Peter, 
 linking an arm in his, asked that they might walk together 
 on and on through the bleak air on and on, away from 
 the dim church and its graves.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THEY followed a lonely road that led southward from 
 the church. For a long time neither spoke. Peter was 
 reserving what he had to tell until they could find shelter 
 somewhere. A few days ago he had regarded the news 
 he was soon to deliver as a well-deserved blow for Neal 
 Carmichael. Now, himself crushed and bleeding, his sole 
 desire was that his old friend should hear the facts gently 
 from his lips. 
 
 " Let's stop here," he said, as they came to a low stone 
 house by the roadside, one of the old French inns of the 
 Island. 
 
 Neal, chilled through, welcomed the snugness of the corner 
 where their host, a voluble Frenchman, ensconced them. A 
 bright fire was burning in the grate. They spread numbed 
 hands to it. Peter called for something to warm them. 
 
 The two were groping towards each other through their 
 grief, but they could say little. As people do who come 
 together after an estrangement, they spoke commonplaces. 
 Neither mentioned Polly. 
 
 " I've something to tell you," Peter said at last. " I 
 thought I'd better tell you than have you hear it from 
 others." 
 
 Neal knew what was coming and stiffened himself for 
 the blow. He had been expecting this news for weeks, 
 since no further word had come from Ada. 
 
 " Ada's engaged to Wentworth," Peter announced. 
 
 Neal turned a little so that Peter could not see his full 
 face. He made no answer. 
 
 Peter avoided looking at him for a moment to give him 
 time to recover himself; then as Neal continued silent, he 
 went on : 
 
 " It's tough luck, but, God knows ! I think you're better
 
 13 8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 off. I'm fond of Ada as a cousin can be, but she needs 
 somebody with a bit of the brute in him to master her. 
 Wentworth has that quality. You haven't. She'd wear you 
 
 out." 
 
 Though Neal might have answered that she had worn 
 him out already, had he been in a position to think clearly, 
 he 'scarcely thought at all. The numbness in which Polly's 
 death had left him was only deepened. 
 
 Peter reached a hand across the table. " Don't take it 
 too hard, old chap. Ada was always a flirt. I think she's 
 marrying Wentworth for his family connections. He's re- 
 lated to titles." 
 
 " So I understand." 
 
 She was gone forever! Her physical absence had been 
 well-nigh unendurable to him. Now a deeper pit was dug 
 between them, into which he must cast the wreck of his 
 whole romantic fortune. He had been a credulous fool, 
 creating out of his yearning fancy a woman who did not 
 exist. 
 
 " Forget her," Peter said. 
 
 Neal made 1 no answer. He poured himself another glass 
 and drank it down eagerly. 
 
 When Neal came out of the feverish oblivion next day 
 he was still at the inn and Peter was still with him, a 
 comforting presence. Fleming had done nothing to restrain 
 his friend, believing that a nature like Neal's had better 
 take its plunge into fire, and have it over with, than smolder 
 unhealthily for months. He had telephoned his own and 
 the Carmichael family that he and Neal were off for a short 
 trip, and this was the first thing he told Neal when the 
 latter struggled slowly back to consciousness. 
 
 Peter regarded him affectionately, with something like 
 remorse in his eyes. Neal, in his broken mutterings, had 
 said things that reproached Fleming, revealing states of 
 mind too sacred to be shared, and over which Peter intended 
 to draw a veil even from himself. 
 
 Putting his hands to his head, Neal encountered an object
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 139 
 
 smooth and cold an ice bag. There was a smell of strong 
 coffee in the air, and now Peter was approaching him with 
 a restorative. Memory returned, and with it pain and 
 acute concern for those he had forgotten. He had deserted 
 them all to drink from the springs of hell, that Ada's face 
 might be blotted out in flame. 
 
 He tried to rise, but felt too weak. He reproached him- 
 self for keeping Peter a prisoner, but Peter replied that he 
 was glad to be shut out of things. The stock market could 
 go to the dogs ! When Neal felt up to it, they would go 
 on to Endville, get to the city by a circuitous route and 
 return on the ferry. 
 
 Through the watches of the ensuing night, as Neal lay 
 wide awake listening to Peter's heavy breathing in the next 
 room, his mind went wearily over the events of the past 
 year. All pain was gone now. Ada had retreated so far 
 that she resembled the mist after sundown. Only one face 
 came clearly and with comfort to him Patricia's. It 
 steadied him to think of her, of her goodness, her simplicity, 
 her quiet work for others, her beautiful friendship for him 
 for him, so unworthy. He resolved to make amends to her, 
 to show her his deep gratitude for her ministrations to 
 Polly Polly ! little white flower ! Patricia would be sacred 
 forever to him because of her presence at that bedside. Ah, 
 good women left the soul tender, as an enchantress could 
 never do. Polly had been good! Patricia was good. He 
 linked them with a blessing in his mind, as at last he went 
 to sleep. 
 
 Entering the oppressively silent house next day, he was 
 met in the hall by Patricia. She put a finger to her lips and 
 led the way to the morning room. Her eyes were pityingly 
 upon Neal, whose haggard looks betrayed some grief greater 
 than that for his dead cousin. Patricia, who had that morn- 
 ing learned of Ada's engagement news to her like visible 
 sunshine in the grieving house could not but connect his 
 absence at this critical time with the announcement from 
 England.
 
 I4 o BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " You are staying here, Patricia ? " Neal asked in a voice 
 that expressed both surprise and pleasure. 
 
 " They wanted me to be with Mrs. Guthrie for a while." 
 
 "How is she?" 
 
 " She weeps continually." 
 
 Neal shrugged his shoulders. " And it is so useless ! 
 Did Mr. Sidney go back ? " 
 
 " Immediately after the funeral. I have asked Father 
 Carew to say a Mass for Polly," she added softly. 
 
 " Have you, Patricia ? That was dear of you." Then 
 he added, " You do believe, don't you ? " 
 
 She smiled at what seemed to her the innocence of the 
 question. " What would be the use of all this muddle if 
 they didn't go on didn't find their way back to God some- 
 how ? " 
 
 She spoke earnestly, her clear, pale face alight with some 
 inner conviction that he envied, he, the tool of hostile hands, 
 the sport of the Riddle not of God, but of woman. Ada 
 believed nothing; but Patricia might unite him, if not to 
 her own faith, then to faith in life again in the " going 
 on," that road traveled by the obscure majority, because 
 some Power not of their making had set their feet 
 upon it. 
 
 The sound of billiard cues striking against balls reached 
 them. Neal looked inquiringly at Patricia. 
 
 " It's Mr. Jack," she explained. " Mr. Divine dropped 
 in for a game with him. He has been so kind ! He under- 
 stands your people ; I mean, he knows what to say, to do." 
 
 " We are not much of a success as a family, are we, 
 Patricia?" 
 
 He was thinking how nobly human and impersonal she 
 looked in her white linen dress, above the throat of which 
 the delicately poised head seemed too small for the full, 
 columnar neck; the neck of a goddess. No wonder they 
 had kept her with them, this girl who suggested no rank 
 of life, only human efficiency, poised judgment and warm 
 sympathy. Prejudices must fade before her as a matter 
 of course.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 141 
 
 His remark seemed to puzzle her. She had dealt with 
 too many people not to see that this household was, in some 
 deep and critical sense, morally disorganized. Even Philip, 
 whose grave, gentle ways and abstracted air put Patricia 
 at her ease, even this mild scholar seemed to have found 
 no golden clew to existence on his wanderings through the 
 elder world. Pagan traditions had but brought to his mind 
 " visions unbelievable and fair." 
 
 " I am afraid there are more troubles ahead of us," Neal 
 went on. " Did you know the house was mortgaged and 
 may come under the hammer any time ? " 
 
 Patricia flushed, for she knew far more than Neal real- 
 ized of the financial state of the Carmichaels. Thomas 
 Murphy never allowed her to forget it. Only an hour ago 
 he had summoned her to the telephone with jealous inquiry 
 for her well-being, with veiled innuendo that her services 
 might not be remunerated. 
 
 To Neal she said earnestly, " Work to save it." 
 
 " I can't make money fast enough. I am afraid the crash 
 will come before I can do anything." 
 
 It was a relief to him to be talking to her thus confi- 
 dentially. With Ada he had always the sense that to speak 
 of difficulties would be as useless as to complain of nerves 
 to the Venus of Melos. She could not comprehend trouble 
 except as a piece of news, but Patricia had lived vicariously 
 the tragedies and struggles of many people. 
 
 " I wish I could help you ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 Unconsciously she had uttered the great wish of her life ; 
 but her eyes, dilated with yearning expectancy, told more 
 than her words. Neal, whose recent experiences had left 
 him a prey to every emotion, seized her hands impulsively. 
 
 " I'm glad you're here ! " he broke out. " I wish we could 
 keep you always." 
 
 She might have soared on the wings of his wish, but her 
 professional common sense told her that Neal was not 
 wholly himself these days. Electrifying words ! But she 
 wanted to hear them when the emotionalism of grief and 
 gratitude had passed. She knew Neal's family clung to her
 
 I4 2 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 just because they were not themselves. Grief, like joy, 
 has an intoxication all its own, in which people say strange 
 things, and give themselves to wandering impulses, and 
 pass, flame-like, to scorch other hearts through their own 
 pain. 
 
 " Don't you remember how you dismissed me when I was 
 a little girl?" she said with a look he did not altogether 
 understand. 
 
 " Surely, Patricia, you don't hold that against me ! " 
 
 " No ! but we can't be Rosicrucians again can we, Mr. 
 Divine ? " she added in a voice half-wistful, half-humorous, 
 for Divine and Jack had appeared in the doorway. 
 
 " Are you thinking of reviving your old society ? " 
 
 " Who were they, anyway, Divine ? " Neal asked. 
 
 Divine looked, not at Neal, but at Patricia, as he an- 
 swered, for in her sensitive face, just now luminous and 
 beautiful with emotions she could not conceal, he read 
 capacity for suffering as well as for love. 
 
 " The Rosicrucians ? They were followers of the Red 
 or Rosy Cross, blood-stained, I suppose, as most crosses 
 are. ' And they followed Christ to the stars/ as the in- 
 scription in one of the churches in Rome says of its own 
 saints. That sums it up, I think, unless you want to dig 
 into forgotten books. It was a secret order, mystic, Chris- 
 tian. You and Neal might play at it again." 
 
 He spoke as if they were little children, with a tenderness 
 in his voice drawn from no source known to them. 
 
 Patricia responded with a brightening of her eyes, a flush 
 of her cheeks which said as plainly as words that any game 
 played with Neal would be most pleasing to her. 
 
 " It doesn't sound lively to me," Jack commented out of 
 his usual irrepressible longing for immediate pleasure and 
 stimulus. He was living in a queer, sad, minor world these 
 days, but the shock of Polly's death had cleared his brain 
 wonderfully. He had done good work in the Market as 
 a consequence and beat Divine at billiards no mean feat ! 
 He, too, felt the exhilaration of grief, the contagion of high- 
 strung nerves ; was inclined to moralize and regret his life,
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 143 
 
 without being actually sorry for it. His meditations had 
 simmered down at last to a kind of quiet content that Polly 
 was out of a miserable world, and that the family could 
 cherish the image of one of its members, at least, whose 
 life had been, in Jack's judgment, perfect.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 WHEN Ada's cards of sympathy reached the family, Neal 
 saw, unmoved, her familiar handwriting. It was like the 
 chirography of one dead, unlamented and almost forgotten. 
 He told himself he was glad to be released from a love that 
 was half fever. 
 
 Patricia remained four weeks with the family. Though 
 he actually saw but little of her, the consciousness of her 
 nearness was comforting to him. He had many brief 
 glimpses of her as she went about the house with her 
 wonderfully quiet and sustaining manner. She fitted into 
 the singular household so perfectly that she seemed an 
 integral part of it. Delia, who loved Patricia, glowed with 
 satisfaction over this eminence to which she had been 
 raised, marshaling the servants to attend her slightest 
 direction. 
 
 After her return home, Neal had a more personal asso- 
 ciation with her, and they slipped easily to the old shoulder- 
 to-shoulder companionship. They discussed her poor, the 
 weekly progress of Jim and Lil on their road to rehabilita- 
 tion, and his own newspaper work, taking pleasure in cor- 
 relating their efforts that The Courier might voice certain 
 problems of municipal reform. Patricia had the pleasant 
 sense of being behind the scenes, stimulating, suggesting, 
 even contributing. Whenever she read an editorial of Neal's 
 which seemed to embody the results of some of her own 
 investigations, she felt a thrill of exultant pride. 
 
 She was glad that Neal, being in mourning, must absent 
 himself from social affairs. Beneath her happiest moment 
 was always a vague fear of the world Ada represented. 
 She hoped the fair-haired, statuesque woman would never 
 return to her own shores. 
 
 Whether Neal thought of her or not Patricia could not 
 
 144
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 145 
 
 tell. He seemed, as was indeed the truth, emptied of all 
 emotion. She scarcely realized how strongly he was in- 
 trenched in an abstract world during this period. Theory 
 was febrifuge to him. Father Carew, whom he met often 
 at the McCoys', tried gently to impress his imagination with 
 the authority and power of the Catholic Church, but Neal 
 as gently declined that aged influence. As far as he leaned 
 to any church at all, it was to the one in which he had 
 been reared. Something in his own reserved temperament 
 responded to that wistful institution, so averse to probing, 
 so aloof in its ministrations to the children it dared not 
 draw too closely to its bosom. But behind its ivied towers 
 stretched the inexplicable universe. Who among the grop- 
 ing, blundering children of men knew the secret of this 
 Universe's procreative pains? Surely, Neal thought, not 
 kindly, rotund Father Carew, amid his incense fumes and 
 his candles ; surely not gentle Mr. Griffin, treading so quietly 
 the circle of the church year. 
 
 Divine must have caught a glimpse of the secret, since of 
 all men he seemed to endure the universal loneliness with 
 the lightest heart. Neal would have liked to ask his chief 
 concerning these matters, for he knew Divine had from time 
 to time gone to the East for some light which he believed 
 dwelt there. He had studied with the Swamis in India. 
 He had traveled through Northern Africa, where he had 
 become acquainted with forgotten branches of the Eastern 
 Church the fantastic Church of Abyssinia, the brooding 
 Church of Egypt. He had written of them in the vein 
 of the casual traveler, but Neal suspected that Divine was 
 searching for more than historical evidence of the Christian 
 tradition. 
 
 Neal approached the older man these days chiefly on sub- 
 jects of more pressing importance, admitting him to full 
 knowledge of the family affairs and of his own ambitions. 
 It was easier to talk about money to Divine than to most 
 men, because he did not immediately begin to look askance 
 as if he were afraid one wanted to borrow of him ; nor did 
 he get jovial and excited, like Jack, as if one had mentioned
 
 ,46 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 champagne. He spoke of it as he did of the harvests or 
 the weather. 
 
 They were seated one June midnight, after the Sunday 
 paper had gone to press, in Divine's own office, to which, 
 through the open windows, came faintly the street sounds 
 of the city. Divine had been talking of a recent political 
 crime, but without rancor. He always seemed, in the very 
 heat of conflicts, to be quite undisturbed himself, as if he 
 were looking beyond the immediate issue. 
 
 Lighting a cigar, he passed his case to Neal. 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " I'm not smoking." 
 
 "Health?" 
 
 " Pocketbook." 
 
 Divine regarded him thoughtfully. " What are you trying 
 to do, Neal economize?" 
 
 " I suppose that mortgage has gotten on my fool brain." 
 
 "You don't think for an instant, old fellow, that your 
 personal economies are going to help any ? Let Jack whistle 
 the fortune back if he can. If he can't well, there are other 
 fortunes." 
 
 " I'd like to have some fun," Neal said. " There must 
 be a laugh in life somewhere." 
 
 " Take a playmate." 
 
 Neal's eyes brightened. He thought of Patricia. 
 
 " And forget the mortgage ? " he asked. 
 
 "I can't see what good you will do by remembering it." 
 
 Neal went home with a lighter step than he had had 
 for weeks, free of the suffocating sense of responsibility, 
 but synchronous with the dropping of his burden was Pa- 
 tricia's assumption of it. She debated with herself for some 
 days whether she should go to their old family doctor, 
 Thomas Murphy's father, and ask him the exact truth about 
 the mortgage, and whether he intended ever to foreclose. 
 Her hesitation in the matter was due to her fear of self- 
 betrayal. Dr. Murphy sympathized, of course, with his 
 son's ambition to marry Patricia, and would immediately 
 suspect her of undue interest in the Carmichael family.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 147 
 
 She could scarcely influence him to spare them if he thought 
 her concern for them was disadvantageous to the hopes of 
 his own son. 
 
 In this divided state of mind she went one day to see 
 Uncle Shamus, to whom she had spoken little of Neal since, 
 a year before, the old mariner had told her the story of 
 " the fairy wells." But she was conscious that all the pene- 
 trative strength of his good eye was focused on her when- 
 ever she carelessly mentioned the Carmichael family. To 
 his fancy, Neal was the mythical " Lord of the Manor." 
 
 Though it was a summer day, a drizzle had kept Shamus 
 indoors. Within his little den the damp was bringing out 
 strange, fishy, leathery odors, and Patricia sniffed doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " That's the trained-nurse look ! " Shamus chirped. 
 " Open the windey if you've a mind to." 
 
 " The air's close, dear." 
 
 " Wait ! I'll breeze it up for ye, girl, with a rose garden 
 out of the Arab land." 
 
 Patricia waited expectantly while Uncle Shamus stumped 
 his way to a mysterious black chest, from whose depths 
 he brought out a phial of milky glass. Uncorking it, true 
 to his promise, he released the imprisoned ghost of myriad 
 roses. Telling her to hold out her palm, he allowed a drop 
 of the oil to fall upon it. Patricia inhaled the fragrance. 
 
 " 'Twill bide by you a week or so. The Arab man that 
 sold it to me swore 'twas a royal oil. It's sweet enough 
 for God's Mother whether he lied or no and Solomon's 
 seal's on the wax. See ? " 
 
 Patricia having accepted this anointing, Shamus seemed 
 quite content to have her arrange the room as she would. 
 She came at last and sat down by him, drawing his with- 
 ered hand into hers. 
 
 " You're home again ? " he questioned. 
 
 " Yes, Uncle." 
 
 " Were they good to ye, on the hill there ? " 
 
 " Very good." 
 
 " Would you like to live there for the rest of your days ? "
 
 i 4 8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 A bright flush overspread her face. " Why do you ask 
 that?" 
 
 " Because you always were an up-goin' girl. Tell truth 
 
 now." 
 
 " They may come down to meet me, Uncle. The Car- 
 michaels are not as rich as you think." 
 
 " Ben't they ? But they'll not come down. Pride'll uphold 
 'em. The lad now is he a generous one ? " 
 
 " He is a fine lad. Listen, dear ; let us play the old game 
 of pretending. Let's pretend that someone loved me better 
 than anyone else in the world, and that I lived in a spacious 
 house with him, and there were gardens looking to the sea. 
 And at night we watched the ships and the stars, and lis- 
 tened to music, and walked through stately rooms. Other 
 people would be with us, some wandering off to read, 
 some to talk. Good-nights at last, with doors shutting, 
 like our old good-nights at home, only a bed for everyone, 
 warmth, and light, and no getting up for early breakfast but 
 lying lazily until one was really happy-awake, not tired- 
 awake, or duty-awake, but glad-awake ! " 
 
 " Millionaires ! " murmured Shamus. 
 
 " No, just people with leisure to be gay and kind." 
 
 "Be you tired, Pat?" 
 
 " A little tired of sorrow, of poor people. I want to 
 be with the rich and content. You never heard of Watteau, 
 dear. He was a painter, and one picture he painted was of 
 cavaliers and ladies getting into a boat to go to Cythera 
 some happy island." 
 
 " Never heard of it and sixteen times round this globe ! 
 Is it for that you're wishful ? " 
 
 " Yes, for those Silken ladies," Patricia said with a smile, 
 " and for little loves in the trees, and music, and a long 
 rest. Why, Uncle, I've never stopped since I was born; 
 always cases and trouble, and why did someone beat his 
 wife, and who wants soup or flannels just a nurse's day. 
 I want beauty." 
 
 " Ah, colleen ! " 
 
 He sighed and took a long whiff at his pipe. Then
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 149 
 
 another sigh. " Oireland's beautiful mayhap that's 
 Cythera. But when you gather flowers of the wind, they 
 sigh away through your hands. Best forget and marry the 
 lad Thomas." 
 
 " Oh, no ! no ! " 
 
 Almost upon her words Dr. Murphy entered on his 
 weekly visit to Shamus. 
 
 " Hello, Patricia ! " he said cheerily. " Glad to see you." 
 
 He shook hands with her, and they chatted for awhile 
 about Shamus and Patricia's work. Thinking to lead the 
 conversation to the subject uppermost in her mind, she 
 spoke of the Carmichaels. 
 
 " Is Jack Carmichael keeping up with the mortgage, Doc- 
 tor ? " she asked boldly at last. 
 
 " Jack gives me promises of interest," the Doctor replied 
 rather shortly. 
 
 "Will you ?" 
 
 She could not get the word " foreclose " out, but he 
 understood. He looked intently at her for a moment, then 
 said with some asperity, " Have they been talking to you, 
 up there ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; but they are in such trouble now." 
 
 The Doctor's mind was switched immediately to a pro- 
 fessional view-point. " I was talking to Godwin the other 
 day about Miss Guthrie's case," he went on. " I mean 
 Poily I don't know her married name; but complications 
 like hers shouldn't be. The girl was young, apparently 
 well. These old families play the deuce with their women 
 over-civilized, too fine-fibered. The Carmichaels need 
 new blood." 
 
 Suddenly the application of his words seemed to occur 
 to him, or he had noted Patricia's quick, penetrative look. 
 He began to speak of his son Thomas. 
 
 Late one afternoon in the last of June, Neal and Pa- 
 tricia were strolling through a lane that followed, at some 
 distance, the curves of the sea-marsh channels, into which 
 the tide, like overlapping sheets of silver, was now brightly
 
 I5 o BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 flowing. An old, dark tide-water mill stood like a heavy 
 shadow in the bright June sunshine, and Patricia suggested 
 that they go down and explore its interior as she had often 
 wished to. 
 
 So, leaving the lane, they followed a tiny path through 
 an old orchard. Beyond the orchard was a low, quaint 
 abandoned farmhouse, shingled all over with the broad, 
 handmade shingles of an early day. 
 
 " Did you know that we own this land ? " Neal said. 
 " This house and all these marsh meadows ? " 
 
 " Why, that's a fortune in itself, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Not in the least ; no good for real estate, and the sedge 
 grass is scarcely fit for bedding cattle. Jack had some wild 
 scheme to get the mill going again, but the channel would 
 have to be dredged. There's a whole menagerie of lions 
 in the way of the scheme, as there is in the way of all 
 of our plans. No one will rent this house, even; too 
 lonely." 
 
 " But what a view over the marshes ! How near St. 
 Anne's looks just a step." 
 
 " I wish one could live on views," Neal said ruefully. 
 " But these marshes are glorious. I don't think we Islanders 
 always appreciate them." 
 
 They entered the cool twilight of the mill, whose great 
 timbers seemed capable of holding it together another cen- 
 tury. Through its little-paned windows the sunlight en- 
 tered, a subdued radiance powerless to disperse the odd 
 chill of the place, which smelled of seaweed and rotting 
 sawdust. 
 
 Suddenly Neal caught her arm. " Take care, Patricia." 
 
 They had paused on the very edge of a yawning hole in 
 the floor a long oblong where the planking had given way. 
 About a foot beneath, the water ran in swift motion, a 
 green darkness flecked with foam. 
 
 He drew her closely to him and together they leaned 
 over it, peering into its depths with the curiosity of chil- 
 dren. Patricia was the first to draw back with a shiver. 
 
 "Afraid? "Neal asked.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 151 
 
 " I had the sensation that long white arms came up 
 and clutched at me, and drew me down." 
 
 Neal laughed. " That's the Irish of you, Patricia." 
 
 She did not smile. " When you see the Nameless Ones, 
 you have to go, Neal." 
 
 He whistled. " And you are the young lady that lectures 
 to the poor on germs and sterilization; but never a bit of 
 fairy-lore do you give to your idol, the East Side. You're 
 a deceiving colleen, for all your frank looks." 
 
 He had brought the smile to her eyes at last ; and, gazing 
 at each other, some deep longing in both their spirits spoke 
 hers for him, his for rest, for oblivion. If she could 
 give it to him was she not the appointed woman with 
 healing in her touch ? 
 
 When they went out again into the June sunshine, Pa- 
 tricia drew a long breath as if she would imbibe the last 
 glories of the day, its refulgence, its ineffable fecundity 
 of green and growing things. The smoldering fire within 
 her was ready, at a breath, to soar into flame. 
 
 Neal read her love in her eyes, in her soft, hesitant ges- 
 tures, in the dreamy inattention of her mood, as if some 
 inner sense was alert, seeking to lift the curtain of the 
 casual from their communion and find its heart and core. 
 His defeated passion was drifting towards her, and in her 
 devotion he was anesthetizing his spirit. 
 
 They returned to the lane whose sinuous windings ended 
 in a meadow foamed with daisies and fringed with old fruit 
 trees, bent like little ancient men. A bright vocal brook 
 crossed scimitar-fashion about an acre of the meadow, sep- 
 arating it from the crumbling walls of a deserted house. 
 The afternoon inviting them to further explorations, they 
 crossed the stream on a narrow swinging bridge and seated 
 themselves on the steps of the house, over which a syringa 
 bush, a mass of white blossoms, cast a wavering shade. 
 On the lintel of the door above them two robins were 
 discussing the affairs of housekeeping. 
 
 " Hear the fat rascals ! " Neal said. " You would think 
 we had asked them to take us as summer boarders."
 
 I52 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " It wouldn't be a bad location ! " 
 
 "And you say that to a commuter, with the trolley a 
 mile away. Oh, Patricia, you're getting to be a most im- 
 practical person." 
 
 " Look at that solemn frog on the bank with his clean, 
 cool white vest and green surcoat Oh, don't shy a stone 
 at him. Why ! you're nothing but a naughty little boy." 
 
 "Have you only just found that out, Patricia dear? 
 God knows whether I'll ever be anything else." 
 
 " Who wants to grow up on a June afternoon ! Just be 
 happy." 
 
 Her face was radiant with untempered hope, with tender 
 prophecies. 
 
 " My dear, I don't look for happiness." 
 
 " I do ! " 
 
 She voiced her declaration with gay boldness, the color 
 coming and going in the delicate oval of her cheeks. He 
 glanced at her admiringly, for he had never seen her so 
 sweetly confident of herself, so beautiful, with an elusive 
 disturbing value in her glances, a quality of the expectant 
 in her smile. It became her to relax, to forget, to drift 
 with the careless world of June and share its sunny insou- 
 ciance. Women won beauty that way, and robed themselves 
 in the mysterious habiliments of sex, as they could not do 
 through good works, with their sharp, literal outlines. 
 
 Neal watched her with brooding thoughts of her essen- 
 tial preciousness beyond and above the fleeting accidents of 
 mere beauty, such beauty as Ada possessed, for which one 
 must supply a soul. No- need for that in Patricia's case, 
 for the spirit was always signaling, inviting, leading on. 
 Seldom, indeed, did she follow the mood of the hour as 
 in this scented, bird-haunted, lonely spot, with its caressing 
 sound of water running smoothly over broad, worn 
 stones. 
 
 The robins went on with their domestic discourse. The 
 giant shadows of great trees stretched towards the empty 
 east where hung a moon thin as a wafer. The stream swept 
 on to the sea. A wind stole out of the wood and tossed
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 153 
 
 the syringa branches for a moment, then was still. In the 
 house behind them were faint noises. The meadow with its 
 drifts of daisies lay placid in the sun. The imperfect ac- 
 complishment of romance seemed to Neal in itself a guerdon 
 if not the skies, then the earth; if not exotics, then the 
 flowers of the field. 
 
 Patricia broke a long silence at last with a trivial ques- 
 tion. " How's Mr. Fleming? " She was a little jealous of 
 Peter, who was much with Neal these days, as if in hungry 
 atonement for lost time. 
 
 " He's well ; boiling busy as usual, and yet always so 
 casual. Peter knows the trick ! He's delightful old, crafty 
 broker that he is. I'm a mere baa-sheep beside him, Pa- 
 tricia, but we get on like a breeze." 
 
 "And Mr. Sidney?" 
 
 " He went West this week to establish himself in Oregon. 
 He couldn't stand the city after Polly's death. He came 
 to see my aunt, and she wept over him, while he endured 
 it, somehow, though the ironic quality of the occasion must 
 have been borne in upon him. I suppose he'll have to marry 
 again some day; he's so discordantly young to be a wid- 
 ower." 
 
 " Polly's a haunting memory, even to those who didn't 
 know her well. I don't think he'll forget her soon," Pa- 
 tricia commented. She liked to speak of Polly, through 
 whom she always seemed nearer to Neal. For a little 
 while they bent regretful heads over the asphodel, Neal 
 with the sudden, vivid thought that this girl by his side 
 was indeed his little cousin's legacy to him. 
 
 After a while they strolled on with the happy careless- 
 ness to which the afternoon was keyed, Patricia bearing an 
 armful of fragrant syringa blossoms. A lonely wood re- 
 ceived them next, through which the sun, near to its setting, 
 darted long arrows of light. The healing stillness about 
 them was reflected in Patricia's eyes, in her quiet on- 
 going, step by step, as if her patience could hold him poised 
 to the end of his days, her love preclude him from ever 
 again knowing desolation. They wandered on and on,
 
 i 54 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 feeling like two children who keep the dark away by whis- 
 pers and touches. 
 
 Their footsteps fell slower as the wood shut them in. 
 The world and its noises, the populace and its frenetic 
 problems, lay far behind them, who had need at least of 
 each other's courage and tenderness, and, one of them, of 
 the peace that follows tempest. 
 
 Neal paused at last in the path, at a point where the 
 trees shut them in with circular walls of green. His eyes 
 sought hers with grave inquiry, with a question, to answer 
 which her heart leaped in exultation. She faced him, pale 
 as the flowers she held, her throat strained back a little, 
 her eyes doubtful, yet ready to believe at a look, a sign 
 from him. 
 
 " Patricia," he said gently, " Patricia, dear, need we be 
 apart ? Couldn't we have each other " 
 
 Her face became as luminous as that of a saint at last 
 admitted and beatified in the heavenly courts of her aspira- 
 tion. Her lips parted to drink rapturously what was a river 
 of life to her his invitation to companion him through 
 the long, sweet stretches of all the time to come. She had 
 not dared to believe those words could be uttered, and now 
 they filled this forest with their resonance and witched her 
 soul out of her body to his feet. They were not the words 
 of a lover, but she only knew that through them she was 
 touching the summit of earthly bliss, and paradise could 
 hold no more. 
 
 " Will you have me, Patricia ? " he said with a humility 
 that was unfeigned. He did not believe himself worthy 
 of her. 
 
 She did not answer, but she stole towards him a maid 
 in ecstasy. He drew her into his arms and, scarcely breath- 
 ing, she put her hands clasped as in prayer against his 
 shoulder and hid her face a little.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 MR. CARMICHAEL received the news of his grandson's en- 
 gagement to Patricia McCoy without opposition, for he felt 
 none. Since Polly's death, some nerve in his nature had 
 ceased to vibrate to old ambitions, he having now only the 
 negative fear that he should live to see the downfall of his 
 house. Since Neal had not known how to conquer Ada 
 it mattered little whom he married, so that the girl was 
 healthy and honest. 
 
 Jack was inclined to be jocular, for he had always liked 
 Patricia, so he dubbed Neal " Peter the Great," declaring 
 that the House of Carmichael needed an infusion of the 
 blood of the people. What else it needed he refrained from 
 reminding his nephew, but Peter was keeping Neal ac- 
 quainted, at the latter's urgent request, with the financial 
 state of the family. He confided to him one evening that 
 to his certain knowledge all of the Carmichael fortune 
 or what was left of it was involved. The prosperous Dr. 
 Murphy down in the village, who had both inherited and 
 made money, had it in his power to foreclose the mortgage 
 at any time and compel Alexander Carmichael at the age 
 of eighty to leave his home. 
 
 Neal groaned over the recital. 
 
 " Your being married or not being married doesn't count 
 that," Peter said with a snap of his fingers. " Only a big 
 sum would be of use now ; I mean to cover everything and 
 start fresh, with a wall back of you. And who's to come 
 forward with it? There's no use of my lending money 
 to Jack. It would be like pitching it into the bay." 
 
 " I'll go to the Doctor myself," Neal said. 
 
 " And you proud as Lucifer, old boy. No ! Don't bite 
 the dirt to that Irishman." 
 
 Recollecting, too late, that Patricia was Irish, Peter col- 
 
 155
 
 i 5 6 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 ored, and shifted the subject, saying carelessly, after awhile : 
 " I had a letter from Ada to-day ; her marriage has been 
 postponed again." 
 
 He watched to see the effect of this announcement upon 
 Neal, who changed color, and with an effort at nonchalance, 
 said : " Any date set ? " 
 
 " No. I sometimes think it will never come off." 
 
 Neal rose, walked to the window, and stood looking out 
 into the night, his back turned to Peter. He was ashamed 
 of the emotions aroused by this prophecy, he just pledged 
 to a wonderful woman. He had believed his feeling for 
 Ada dead and gone. Now, at the mere suggestion of her 
 being free, he was quivering in every nerve, the prey of a 
 perfect pack of wolfish memories. 
 
 Patricia, meanwhile, like a lady in a fairy tale, walked 
 on gold and breathed a golden air. Before telling her 
 family the great news she went to church and, kneeling 
 at the shrine of the Virgin, thanked God's Mother for her 
 great gift and prayed to be worthy of Neal. 
 
 At home she was treated like a princess. James McCoy 
 had always been proud of his daughter ; but this surpassed 
 his most ambitious dreams for her. That Patricia should 
 be chosen by a member of one of the proudest families on 
 the Island seemed her right, yet scarcely credible outside 
 of the covers of a book. Her brothers and sisters hung 
 about her wide-eyed, gazed at her with new interest, to see 
 in what the magic consisted. Their Patricia was to be a 
 fine lady, to live in the great house on the hill, to have 
 carriages, servants. Neal Carmichael would be their 
 brother-in-law. Only Mrs. McCoy seemed to be outside 
 the general rejoicing; she already wondered how Neal's 
 aunts would receive Patricia. To be sure they had shown 
 her attentions since Polly's death, but that might be only 
 gratitude. To welcome her to the family would be a dif- 
 ferent matter. 
 
 But both Csecilia and Maria called upon Patricia within 
 a week. Maria could no longer fight against Providence ; 
 and to Csecilia whatever Neal did was right. Both had
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 157 
 
 the thought that after the marriage Patricia could be ab- 
 sorbed in the Carmichael family, leaving her own behind. 
 They could find no fault with her manner or her speech. 
 She was shy with them, but diffidence under the circum- 
 stances was a virtue. 
 
 Patricia, dining in state for the first time with the Car- 
 michaels, wore a simple but costly evening gown, which 
 her proud father had insisted upon her having in honor of 
 the occasion. Neal, full of admiration of her, thought she 
 appeared beautiful and distinguished enough for a royal 
 court. Mr. Carmichael watched her with growing appro- 
 bation. He had planned other things for his grandson, but 
 this girl looked as if she were cast in heroic mold. Some 
 element of strength in her nature appealed to the ancient 
 head's love of the eagle qualities. But Patricia's ablest 
 advocate was the remorse for Polly in which, like a trance 
 holding their blood from its accustomed channels, the family 
 still dwelt a remorse which for the time obliterated world- 
 liness. They had the temper of flagellants glad that the rod, 
 in Patricia's person, fell so mildly. 
 
 After dinner Neal and Caecilia conducted hr through 
 the house, making a kind of official visit to the great library, 
 the picture gallery, Polly's room, the old schoolroom, the 
 conservatories. Patricia's exalted vision saw no tarnish of 
 decaying grandeur. She loved, as did Neal, the mellowness 
 of the great mansion, its sweet, secretive, pensive air, as if 
 a perpetual Indian summer warmed the walls. She would 
 be content, she thought, to share one of its garrets with 
 Neal, so unwilling would she be to place alien symbols in 
 these faded, flower-scented rooms. She desired the day 
 when the house would absorb her, take her into its long 
 existence as another link in the chain that she hoped might 
 go on forever. 
 
 " You like it, don't you? " Neal said. " That will please 
 grandfather. He thinks it all sacred, even to the little 
 silver bowls they've used in the nursery for generations." 
 
 She flushed. Her eyes softened. " It is sacred," she 
 whispered.
 
 i 5 8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 She could scarcely credit her own happiness. That the 
 dream of her childhood should come thus wonderfully true 
 seemed to present all human life as a fairy tale in which 
 even sin and suffering were caused, not by the will, but 
 through the malevolence of fairy godmothers. Patricia, 
 who had dealt so long with ugly facts, allowed herself at 
 last a glorious recess, her mind intrenched in Utopia while 
 her hands ministered to trouble. This rosy cloud in which 
 she moved filled many a tenement with the tapestry of 
 dreams. Neal was scarcely a mortal man to her. She 
 linked him with forgotten knights and remembered saints. 
 
 At her earnest request the engagement was to be known 
 for a while only to the two families. She dreaded telling 
 Thomas Murphy the wonderful news, though of late he had 
 kept away from her home. 
 
 Meeting her by chance in the town square one day, her 
 rejected suitor was instantly aware of some subtle change 
 in her. By adroit questions he learned the truth. 
 
 The memory of his face haunted her afterwards, grim, 
 incredulous, threatening as well as his words. 
 
 " That man will never make you happy," he said. 
 
 No time had been given her to reply, for he flung away 
 from her, careless of her, of everything but his own pain. 
 He registered a vow that he would make the Carmichaels 
 suffer for the robbery of his girl. That she had never been 
 his made no difference to his heavy anger ; desire was fact. 
 
 After a headlong walk he burst into his father's office, 
 where Dr. Murphy and Father Carew sat chatting. Alarmed 
 by his looks, they questioned him and he told them in 
 ugly snaps the hateful news. 
 
 " Well, bear it like a man, Thomas lad," the priest said 
 sympathetically. " Nothing but bad blood ever comes of 
 brooding." 
 
 " She's a world too good for that decayed family," the 
 young man groaned. 
 
 " The Lord may think the Carmichaels have need of her," 
 said Father Carew. 
 
 " She'll live with 'em in that house that ain't theirs and
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 159 
 
 get to feel that she's one of them," said Thomas fiercely. 
 " Father, you could foreclose that mortgage any day." 
 
 Father Carew turned sharply. " Don't revenge yourself, 
 boy. I am fearful for you, the way you are! Would 
 turnin' a family out of house and home give your girl 
 back to you? 'Twould be the road to her hatred, I'm 
 thinkin'." 
 
 " I've given my word to Jack Carmichael to do nothing 
 till Autumn, Tom," his father answered, "and your black 
 looks won't change me." 
 
 " Well, what I've seen of life, it's the way of curses 
 comin' home to roost that's remarkable," the priest said 
 musingly. " Cheer up, lad ! Make her admire ye the way 
 you be takin' it kind and hopeful for her welfare. Else 
 it wasn't love, but your own self-love." 
 
 Thomas, still savage, muttered his opinion of the whole 
 hill tribe interferers, proud-necked, ignorers of other men's 
 rights. The priest made a sign to his father not to stop 
 the current. 
 
 " Bottled up, he'd be worse," he said, and taking his 
 departure he addressed Thomas. " I'll be lookin' for ye 
 at confession to-morrow, me son, and you'll have some- 
 thing to confess this time." 
 
 Thomas scowled at this pious reminder. What difference 
 did it make whether he was shriven or unshriven now that 
 Patricia was lost to him !
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE summer crept on. Neal had asked Patricia to marry 
 him at Christmas, and she was already beginning her 
 preparations. 
 
 He told himself that he was perfectly happy. He was 
 rising rapidly on The Courier, being intrusted more and 
 more with editorials of importance. To his satisfaction 
 some of these were widely copied. Problems of labor 
 appealed to him chiefly, for he was haunted always by the 
 Utopian vision of a universal adjustment, from which 
 idealists are rarely free ; but his acceptance of all sorts and 
 conditions of men released him from partisanship. The 
 tyranny which is latent in all organizations, whether of 
 labor or capital, as well as the tyranny which is the natural 
 result of society's self-protections, was apparent to him. 
 His insight supplied, to a degree at least, his lack of ex- 
 perience ; the mind of youth, like the feminine mind, some- 
 times reaching, by this swift, straight road, the conclusion 
 towards which heavy-breathing middle-age toils circuitously. 
 
 Divine gloried in the success of his pupil. His own plans 
 included his resignation from The Courier some well-won 
 day to enter the ministry. Neal could then take his place 
 as a voice in the wilderness. 
 
 Hard work helped Neal to keep Ada always in that outer 
 twilight of the mind to which, after his engagement to 
 Patricia, he had relegated her as- a matter of honor. He 
 told himself that Patricia was his mate, that they so matched 
 one another in mind, in community of interests and ambi- 
 tions, that Patricia's very presence contented him. But in 
 the very act of repeating these formulas he found himself 
 watching with a curious dread the cable dispatches from 
 London, lest they should bring him the news that Ada was 
 married. Even his meetings with Peter were tinctured with 
 
 1 60
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 161 
 
 the fear that Ada had communicated to her kinsman some 
 definite news of her plans. Peter's own private opinion 
 was that Neal's engagement had recoiled upon Ada to the 
 disturbance of her peace of mind. 
 
 But the weeks went by and nothing happened. Neal 
 and Patricia walked and read together, or discussed the 
 daily problems, tasting quiet pleasures with a relish appar- 
 ently shared. Patricia because of her love, Neal because of 
 his absence of passion, scarcely realized how abstract their 
 intercourse had become. An Italian would have recom- 
 mended the cloister to them both. The romance was mar- 
 morean it never moved, but out of it Patricia continued 
 to carve a god. 
 
 Sometimes Neal seemed lifeless, a state she attributed to 
 his fatiguing work; but again she tortured herself with 
 doubts and questions. Was she satisfying him? Did he 
 regret the step he had taken? 
 
 Beyond that paralyzing word her imagination never dared 
 to go. Not even on the day of her engagement had poor 
 Patricia been free of a haunting, elongated shadow, stretch- 
 ing, indeed, a dark path across the ocean the shadow of 
 Ada. Her intuitions as well as certain things Polly had 
 let fall told her what the cold, fair, unmoved woman, who 
 had been a cold, fair child with power to hurt, had meant 
 to Neal; but Patricia, longing to be deluded, called it an 
 infatuation and believed that Polly's death had cleared her 
 cousin's vision. In the first wonder of being chosen by 
 Neal, Patricia had tried to forget that he had ever inclined 
 to Ada, but the thought came back. 
 
 If only Ada were safely married ! Patricia, to whose 
 faithful and Catholic mind marriage meant moral security, 
 watched for this news as Neal watched for it, but with a 
 fear reversed. So long as Ada was free she felt that she 
 could not be sure of her own happiness. 
 
 Neal never mentioned Ada to her. Patricia speaking 
 of her one day, he had quickly turned the subject. He still 
 relied on Patricia to guard him from that memory. 
 
 Besides his work and his engagement, he had another
 
 162 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 thing to take his mind the ever-present financial cloud over 
 the family. He had had one or two talks with his Uncle 
 Jack, but these had only resulted in Brobdingnagian 
 prophecies of miraculous recovery on Jack's part, madden- 
 ingly vague. From them he gathered that Maria's small 
 private means were lost, she had become a dependent upon 
 her brother. 
 
 Neal was impatient to make money faster, but the very 
 hopelessness of stemming the current kept him to his chosen 
 work. 
 
 Coming home one night he sat, back to back, on the ferry 
 with some workingmen who were talking of the Car- 
 michaels, not realizing who was behind them. Neal heard 
 one of them say : " It would go hard with the old man to 
 leave the hill-house." 
 
 The approaching crash was evidently a matter of common 
 gossip. That evening Neal went to Dr. Murphy's. 
 
 The door was opened by Thomas. Recognizing Neal, he 
 divined what his errand must be, and a thrill of triumph 
 went through him. But his hate was even stronger than 
 his sense of triumph, for Father Carew had not been able 
 as yet to exorcise that demon from the young man's 
 breast. 
 
 "Is your father in, Mr. Murphy?" Neal inquired, ig- 
 norant of being an offense to this sullen youth. 
 
 " No, he's out," was the abrupt answer. Thomas held 
 the door only partly open, as he glowered at his rival. 
 
 " May I come in and wait for him ? " 
 
 " I don't think you can," was the harsh reply. 
 
 Neal looked puzzled, then a light broke upon him. He 
 remembered that this man was an old admirer of Patricia's. 
 
 He was turning reluctantly away when something in his 
 pale face and passive manner touched a different chord in 
 Thomas, who flung open the door with, 
 
 " I guess you could go into the office." 
 
 Neal's remote, tired expression pleaded for him as an 
 unostentatious victor. Murphy, who had scarcely ever ex- 
 changed three words with him, felt a sudden curiosity to
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 163 
 
 study this young aristocrat over whom Patricia had always 
 been so crazy. He followed him into the office, which was 
 stuffy from the heat of an August afternoon, and opening 
 a window bade him be seated. 
 
 " Hot weather," Neal observed. 
 
 " Very hot," Murphy agreed. 
 
 " Mosquitoes pretty bad this year." 
 
 " Bad every year." 
 
 " There are worse things," Neal said with a little smile. 
 
 " Oh, hell ! yes," Murphy ejaculated. 
 
 His hate was cooling ; he was afraid now he couldn't get 
 it back to its proper pitch. This Neal Carmichael was a 
 strange fellow, to win an enemy, with two words on the 
 weather. Murphy studied him, thought him too thin, won- 
 dered if he knew as much jiu-jitsu as reported. 
 
 " Ever wrestle ? " Murphy asked craftily. 
 
 Neal, who had leaned back his head and closed his eyes, 
 opened them in some surprise. 
 
 " Haven't done much since I was at college." 
 
 "Want to try now?" 
 
 " Not particularly in these clothes." 
 
 " I have a kind of gym. upstairs." 
 
 " What do you want to wrestle for ? " 
 
 " I heard you had those Japanese tricks." 
 
 " Yes, I had a Jap trainer at Harvard." 
 
 Murphy's eyes grew round with appreciation. 
 
 " I wish you'd show me some." 
 
 " Can't in this rig." 
 
 " I've got trunks upstairs, if you care to strip shower- 
 bath near. Father may not come for ever so long." 
 
 " What do you want to wrestle for, this boiling after- 
 noon ? " 
 
 " I belong to a lodge. We're going to have a picnic 
 to-morrow, and I'm entered for wrestling in the games." 
 
 " Oh, that's it ! Come along, then, if I can have a shower- 
 bath afterwards." 
 
 " Sure, you can." 
 
 Murphy's freckled face was gay with anticipation. He
 
 !6 4 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 loved sports, had been known to leave Patricia once for 
 a cock-fight. 
 
 The gym. was a great bare room at the top of the house, 
 filled with all kinds of devices for developing muscles. It 
 was hot as Tophet. 
 
 " Let me throw you once or twice," Neal said when he 
 was ready for the encounter, " then I'll teach you the tricks." 
 
 " Can you throw me ? " Thomas said skeptically, his eyes 
 on Neal's lean body. 
 
 " Watch me." 
 
 They closed. Murphy was no mean antagonist and there 
 was enough of the devil left in him to long for Neal to bite 
 the dust. The two were silently at it for a minute, sway- 
 ing, pushing, twisting, interlocked so that their breaths 
 mingled and the sweat from their bodies. Suddenly Murphy 
 found himself at full length on the floor. Neal was panting ; 
 he was out of practice. 
 
 Murphy rose with enthusiasm. What Father Carew's 
 confessional had failed to do for him, this sweating business 
 at Neal's hands was accomplishing. 
 
 " Let me do it again," Neal said. " It's best to feel it 
 done to you once or twice ; you can sense the trick better." 
 
 It was harder work this time, for Murphy was grim- 
 jawed and wary. When Neal got him to the floor at last he 
 nearly went with him. 
 
 " Bully trick," Murphy gasped. " Now teach me." 
 
 They were in the midst of it when Dr. Murphy appeared 
 in the doorway. He was astonished to see Neal Carmichael, 
 whom he expected some day Thomas would knife, wrestling 
 amicably with his son. 
 
 The two wrestlers paused, panting. Neal advanced and 
 shook the doctor's hand. 
 
 " Did you come to teach Tommie a trick or two ? " the 
 older Murphy said cordially, for he had always liked Neal. 
 
 " No," Neal answered, " I came to ask you, Doctor, if 
 you're going to foreclose the mortgage on my grandfather's 
 house ? " 
 
 " He ain't," said a voice behind them.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 165 
 
 Young Murphy had spoken. Seven devils had gone out 
 of him in the wrestling match, and his heart felt lighter. 
 
 Neal walked home as if on air. For the time being, at 
 least, he could draw a long breath. It was good to have 
 won the doctor's son, and better yet to learn that Dr. 
 Murphy intended to do nothing hasty. He and Neal had 
 talked the matter over explicitly, with the result that Neal 
 learned more in half an hour than he had gathered from 
 months of Jack's vagueness. The doctor would be satisfied 
 with certain payments for the present, and Neal guaranteed 
 they should be forthcoming. He had made up his mind to 
 borrow from Peter. 
 
 He telephoned Peter that evening asking for an inter- 
 view, and in a few minutes was on his way to the Fleming 
 house. Peter heard what he had to say without comment. 
 Neal's proposition was for an indefinite loan at a high rate 
 of interest which, because of the recent increase in his 
 salary, he could absolutely guarantee. 
 
 " It's only a sop, I know, but if I can ward off trouble 
 from grandfather with sops until his death, I don't care what 
 happens then." 
 
 Peter considered the matter coolly, for he was too good 
 a business man to take chances even with such a dear friend 
 as Neal. He finally gave his consent. 
 
 " It's only a drop in the bucket, as you say," he com- 
 mented, " but it will keep the roof over your grandfather's 
 head." 
 
 Matters arranged, Peter proceeded to another subject 
 which he was rather reluctant to broach to Neal, since he 
 had no desire to see this recovered friend thrown to the 
 lions. Peter, who had been in constant communication with 
 Ada through the summer, had been able through his long 
 knowledge of her to read between the lines of her letters. 
 He had always felt that her visit to England was but a 
 move on a chessboard, a move that had not had the antici- 
 pated result. Ada's state of mind, if Peter judged rightly, 
 was just her realization that her revenge through Went-
 
 !66 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 worth had been overdone, and she had quitted her enter- 
 prise. Neal might as well be told. He would hear it sooner 
 
 or later. 
 
 Peter was no hand at circumlocution. He delivered his 
 news bluntly. " Ada's broken her engagement," he said. 
 
 Neal took out his cigarette case with an assumption of 
 indifference, but Peter, hawk-eyed, saw that his fingers 
 trembled, and that he blundered over his light. 
 
 " When did you hear that ? " Neal asked with a voice that 
 was not quite steady. 
 
 Peter handed him a letter. 
 
 Perhaps Ada had thought of just such a contingency, 
 for the letter was couched in phrases that cut Neal to the 
 heart; they breathed homesickness, wistfulness, failure to 
 be satisfied with existence. She would remain in England 
 awhile, she said, though there was no place on earth so dear 
 as the Island. She saw its hills in her dreams. 
 
 Peter didn't believe any of this, but to Neal it was the 
 voice of his old love crying for forgiveness. His whole 
 being responded ; theories melted as snow in spring. For an 
 instant he forgot Patricia; when he remembered her he 
 knew that the price of his honor would be almost the price 
 of his life. He loved Ada only, good or bad, temptress 
 or saint, he craved her as the damned crave heaven. 
 
 He could not even reproach himself, so tremendous was 
 the reaction towards her after the artificial stifling of his 
 true emotions these past months; he had never ceased to 
 love her ; he had only been in a trance of suffering. 
 
 He handed the letter back without a word. 
 
 " I thought she'd give Wentworth the slip," Peter com- 
 mented. " Ada never wants anything she's sure of." 
 
 " She's remaining away, she says." 
 
 " Yes. I'm rather glad of it ; she and mother didn't hit 
 it off this last year or two." 
 
 Neal scarcely heard him. He finished his cigarette, said 
 good-night and went away like a sleep-walker. 
 
 " I hope to God she stays away until he's married," Peter 
 thought.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 167 
 
 Neal went home and shut himself in his room. He was 
 miserably unhappy, but Patricia must not be made the victim 
 of his blunder. She was too true, too noble to be cast 
 aside because a fire raged in his breast that had been there 
 so many years. He would go on with it, marry her, make 
 of his marriage a code, a wall, a prohibition. He came at 
 last into the peace of a firm resolve, but his brain was 
 numb from its denials.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 WHEN Patricia saw in the papers the news of the break- 
 ing of Ada Fleming's engagement, she had a sense of loss 
 so keen that it was with an effort she remembered that 
 nothing was changed. She dreaded her next meeting with 
 Neal lest her sensitive fears should discover effects of these 
 tidings in him. Their community of interests, their common 
 ideals, were not sufficient to reassure her that she was all 
 in all to him. She knew enough of life to understand that 
 men do not marry for a similarity of tastes and ambitions 
 alone; that the inverted antagonism called passion, soon 
 over but while it lasts changing lives irrevocably, was a 
 thousand times more imperious. 
 
 She was growing conscious, indeed, that she had never 
 swept Neal out of himself, never provided him with the 
 stimulus of mystery or frustration, or whatever it was that 
 made a veiled Isis of a woman. Poor Patricia, knowing 
 that she had a masculine directness and clarity of nature, 
 now envied for the first time in her life those members of 
 her sex who steal and wind their way into the heart of 
 another, never losing their own. But she did not under- 
 stand how to do it. She told herself bitterly that the merest 
 schoolgirl knew the tricks of luring better than she. 
 
 In Neal's manner she could detect little difference, except 
 that he seemed at times far away. He called regularly 
 upon her, he sent her flowers, he observed every conven- 
 tion of courtship ; but after every meeting she was miserable. 
 
 She realized, too, that she was establishing no real bonds 
 with the family on the hill. After their first effort of kind- 
 ness they not so much changed as flagged. Their apathy, 
 partly the result of suspense before a crash, weighed upon 
 her spirits. Their indifference taught her much. Her inter- 
 course with them, slight as it was, showed her more clearly 
 
 168
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 169 
 
 the reason of class difference than all her social study. The 
 aristocrat was no shadow for the mob to blow away with 
 a breath, but the product of forces as real as those back 
 of the laborer, and perhaps more enduring, since his intelli- 
 gence and sensitiveness were, as a rule, keener. 
 
 Patricia faced melancholy facts, not the least of them 
 being the religious differences between herself and Neal, 
 who, when Patricia one day broached the subject to him, 
 had flatly refused to change his faith and had expressed 
 his desire that his children, if any were born of the mar- 
 riage, should be reared as Protestants. This in itself was 
 almost prohibitive of union, for Patricia, an ardent Cath- 
 olic, knew that she could not consent to such an arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 She opened the subject again one day when Neal had 
 called to leave a book for her. She could scarcely have 
 chosen a worse moment, for he was worn out with his own 
 doubts and perplexities, with his constant effort to keep 
 Ada out of his mind. Negation had its own torment ; the 
 stemmed torrent overflowed into irritated nerves. He 
 would ask Patricia to marry him in October instead of De- 
 cember. Once married, he would be safe. But before he 
 could open the subject, Patricia broached the religious 
 question. Neal, with a feeling of impatience, exclaimed : 
 
 " Can't we drop that, Patricia ! " 
 
 " You know what it means to me ; I can't share your indif- 
 ference on these matters." 
 
 There was a hard ring in her voice, the result of her 
 bitterness over a gulf of which this church topic was but a 
 symbol. 
 
 He spoke of other things, asking her prosaically at last 
 if she would marry him in October, since there was no 
 reason why they should wait. 
 
 For a moment her heart beat high. October was so near, 
 so divinely near ! 
 
 " I'll marry you whenever you want me to," she answered, 
 her voice joyous, her eyes suddenly alive again. 
 
 But gazing into his face she saw only abstraction there.
 
 1 70 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 It was all so inexplicable ! Why did he want to hurry the 
 marriage? And why did he appear so indifferent to the 
 delight the proposal gave her ? 
 
 Unconsciously he sighed. He was standing by an open 
 window looking out towards the water, his expression lifeless 
 and abstracted. Patricia, with the instinct of the unhappy 
 to blunder, said at last, " Why do you want the marriage in 
 October?" 
 
 " What is in the way ? " he returned. 
 
 " Nothing's in the way, only " she hesitated " only I'll 
 have to be certain of some things before I marry." 
 
 " I tell you, Patricia, I can make no promises. I should 
 come first, my dear," he added. 
 
 " It's not the same with you you are not a believer." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am ! Not in your way, perhaps." 
 
 The coldness creeping between them hurt her, tortured 
 her. She could not bear it. Father Carew might go the 
 Church might go her salvation might go! She wanted 
 Neal Carmichael ! 
 
 " It shall be as you like, dearest," she said suddenly. 
 
 She took a step towards him, her arms extended a little, 
 but he made no motion towards her, and she saw that his 
 spirit had slipped away again to something of far more 
 interest to him than the rival claims of the Latin and 
 Anglican churches. Jealousy scourged her. 
 
 " Neal, what makes you so far off so cold ? " 
 
 He faced her, startled out of his abstraction by the edge 
 in her voice. " October, then ! " he said. 
 
 His voice had a click in it as if he were shutting a door. 
 He set his mouth grimly. Suddenly she began to cry. To 
 his astonishment, to his embarrassment, he saw her quiver- 
 ing with emotion and inexplicable tears. The spectacle swept 
 him out of his self-absorption into penitent realization that 
 he must be hurting her or she would not weep so. With 
 a lover's protestations he gathered her into his arms, holding 
 her closely, murmuring soothing words over her. 
 
 " Patricia, darling, you shiver so ! Oh, never cry like 
 this again; it makes me feel like a murderer,"
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 171 
 
 At that moment Mrs. McCoy entered the room. She had 
 never been quite happy over her daughter's engagement, 
 partly because Neal was a Protestant, partly because of 
 her old theory that no real community of interests existed 
 between the hill and shore dwellers on the Island. Even 
 if Patricia were happily married, she must lose her as a 
 daughter, since her family must not become a source of 
 embarrassment to her in her new life. 
 
 Observing the traces of tears on Patricia's face and Neal's 
 anxious looks, she wondered if the two had been having 
 a lovers' quarrel, or whether the disturbance indicated a 
 real crisis. Neal hastened to reassure her. 
 
 " I've come to urge our marriage for October, Mrs. 
 McCoy," he said, as if to explain. 
 
 " And you're crying over that, Patricia ! " 
 
 " No, Mother ! It's all right ; I was just foolish." 
 
 " Can you get her ready, Mrs. McCoy ? " 
 
 " I'll have to, I suppose, if you are both bent on that 
 month," she replied with maternal stoicism. 
 
 Her calm eyes were studying Neal's face and their gaze 
 made him uncomfortable. 
 
 This was the beginning of Patricia's ordeal. Slowly to- 
 wards her crept the knowledge that Neal was not in the least 
 in love with her. For awhile she tried to make herself 
 believe that she could win him after marriage; that the 
 foundation of his respect, affection and esteem would serve 
 their mutual happiness better than storm clouds of passion. 
 But her attempt failed. Endowed with clear insight 
 sometimes more a hindrance than a help in human affairs 
 afflicted with a masculine sense of justice seldom possessed 
 by women in whom the luring instinct is strong, Patricia 
 could not deceive herself. 
 
 What was to be done? She knew that Neal would keep 
 his word, no matter how he felt ; but what joy could there 
 be in such a union ! She had hours when she reproached 
 him bitterly in her thoughts for ever leading her to the 
 gates of paradise if she was now forbidden to enter. Why
 
 1 7 2 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 had he done it? What was his motive in asking her to 
 marry him? 
 
 She judged rightly at last that it had been reaction from 
 some shock, probably the combined shocks of Polly's death 
 and Ada's engagement. Going over all the weeks before 
 the day in June when Neal had proposed to her, she remem- 
 bered little things that had made but slight impression at 
 the time and which now, in perspective, loomed significantly. 
 Neal, making a desperate effort of effacement, had used her 
 for the screen between his soul and his desire. 
 
 She told herself until her mind was weary with reitera- 
 tion that she must not substitute for Neal's happiness her 
 own intense desire of this marriage. If she loved him at 
 all, she loved him well enough not to cripple him but, 
 God knew, it was hard! 
 
 Yet better to give him up than to have him live to be 
 weary of her! Their religious differences were but an 
 incident. She knew that a great love bridges everything, 
 that to an unequal love every obstacle is magnified. 
 
 It was now the beginning of October, the month in which 
 she had promised to marry him, but that star of marriage 
 had been swallowed in chaos, Neal having said nothing 
 further to her on the subject. Patricia told her mother that 
 the date had been postponed and Mrs. McCoy was too 
 content to have it so to ask questions, though she suspected 
 that all was not going well between the lovers. 
 
 Patricia took a long walk one day in an effort to clear 
 her brain. The road she chose was an old lane leading to 
 the sea and ending near a lighthouse about which were 
 grouped a few fishermen's houses. Passing these, she went 
 straight to the beach where one could walk for miles on 
 the hard brown sand. 
 
 The sun was very bright, the sea blue, the sand glistening ; 
 but the glory mocked her inner darkness. What should be 
 her destiny, since life meant only Neal Carmichael, since 
 at the end of every avenue she saw his face? She could 
 become a nun, perhaps, offering to God, as so many nuns 
 had done, the ashes of earth's fires.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 173 
 
 " Dies irae, dies ilia, 
 Solvet saeclum in favilla." 
 
 The old Latin words knelled in her brain. Would not God 
 reject an offering bitter with disappointment? The blood 
 coursed too rapidly in her veins for the negations of the 
 cloister. 
 
 A curve of the beach brought her at last to a half- 
 rotting pier, close to which was a seaside hotel. As she 
 came opposite the long porch, now empty, a familiar figure 
 emerged from the main entrance and came down the porch 
 steps. She recognized Jack Carmichael. 
 
 The encounter was too direct for either to avoid it. Jack 
 lifted his hat; then, seized with genuine concern that she 
 should be off by herself in this lonely spot, he advanced 
 towards her. His errand to the hotel had been the rather 
 extraordinary one, for him, of paying a long-standing ac- 
 count for bygone fish suppers, so it was with a clear con- 
 science that he approached Patricia. 
 
 " You shouldn't be down here by yourself, Miss McCoy," 
 he said formally. 
 
 " I wanted a walk," she replied. 
 
 " You shouldn't walk in such lonely places." 
 
 " Nothing could hurt me and I shouldn't care any- 
 way." 
 
 She scarcely knew what impelled her to speak so frankly, 
 except that in Jack's battered personality there was some- 
 thing finely sympathetic. Whether through the touchstone 
 of his sins or of his neglected virtues, he understood more 
 than the other members of his family, even more than his 
 idealistic nephew Neal. 
 
 " May I walk with you ? " he asked. 
 
 As they proceeded he turned kindly, inquiring eyes upon 
 her, for he had always liked her with the kind of liking 
 he gave good women impersonal yet sincere. She was 
 miles beyond Ada in character and could hold her own 
 with that blond beauty in looks, but of late Jack had had 
 his suspicions that his nephew was again in the thrall of
 
 174 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 an old delusion. Was it a similar suspicion that had robbed 
 this girl's cheeks of their color, her step of its elasticity? 
 
 Patricia meanwhile was resolving to ask her companion 
 some questions that had racked her for weeks ; for she felt 
 instinctively that Jack could be trusted to hold his tongue 
 on a matter of real seriousness. By the circuitous route of 
 a man of pleasure he had attained a few, at least, of the 
 Christian virtues. 
 
 They plodded on together, Jack a little out of breath 
 in his effort to keep pace with this girl who seemed driven 
 along by some inner torment, like a black wind, in whose 
 spirals she was captive. Pausing at last, she led the way 
 to some timbers of a wrecked vessel protruding from the 
 sands. On one of these she seated herself. 
 
 "Tired?" he asked. 
 
 " No, I want to talk to you about Neal." 
 
 "May I smoke?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 She seemed doubtful how to begin, and sat in silence for 
 a while, her hands clasped rigidly about her knees. Jack 
 smoked and waited. He had admirable tact with women. 
 
 " Mr. Carmichael " she began at last. " Will you 
 
 give me a truthful answer if I ask you something? " 
 
 Jack looked alarmed. Truth was always associated in his 
 mind with trouble. 
 
 " I'll do my best," he answered. 
 
 " Will you tell me if Neal is in love with Miss Fleming ? " 
 
 Jack's first gallant instinct was to answer, " My dear, he 
 is in love with you " ; but Patricia's mournful, seeking eyes 
 forbade inappropriate gallantry. 
 
 He floundered a little, then came out with, " Neal doesn't 
 know what's best for him." 
 
 She was answered. The chill crept nearer to her heart. 
 
 " In that case," she said, " it is not for me to say what 
 is best for him." 
 
 Her voice sounded ghostly, faint and far-off. Jack's pity 
 was stirred, but he was himself a fatalist in the matter of
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 175 
 
 human passion. There was but one remedy for Neal's dis- 
 ease to marry Ada. Anything short of marriage was 
 merely to multiply illusions. 
 
 " You've not quarreled, have you? " he asked, for lack of 
 something better to say. 
 
 " Quarreled ? Oh, no ! Quarrels don't part people." 
 
 He waited again ; she would perhaps tell him more. 
 
 Patricia went on : " Since Miss Fleming broke her en- 
 gagement even before but very much since then, I've felt 
 we've made a mistake." 
 
 Jack was silent. In his opinion life was one long blunder, 
 anyway, damning you whatever way you cast your will. 
 
 " Tell me, don't you think he's miserable ? " she de- 
 manded. 
 
 " He doesn't know when he is happy." 
 
 " He's not happy with me," she said ; and her voice was 
 like a cry. 
 
 " The more fool he ! " Jack said hastily. 
 
 "Oh, no, he can't help it! There's the terrible part 
 he can't help it ! " 
 
 " Nobody can help anything," Jack muttered. 
 
 " What's to be done ? " she said. 
 
 " Lord, my dear, I don't know ! Marry him ! You'll make 
 a man of him if anyone can." 
 
 " But if he's not happy? " 
 
 " Ada Fleming couldn't make him happy/' Jack ventured. 
 
 " She's what he wants." 
 
 Jack looked out to sea. She had presented the only logic 
 that is everlastingly irrefutable. 
 
 " I am afraid she is," he admitted. 
 
 Patricia bowed her head. Her world crumbling about 
 her was inducing in her a merciful apathy. 
 
 " I shall break the engagement," she whispered. 
 
 " Must you do that ? " 
 
 " You know I must." 
 
 " I hope nothing I've said " 
 
 " Oh, no," she answered drearily. " You only made what 
 was clear clearer."
 
 i;6 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 She rose, but put out a detaining hand. " If you please, 
 Mr. Carmichael, I'd rather go back alone." 
 
 Something in her stricken face frightened him. Was it 
 well to let her go alone ? 
 
 " I'll be all right," she assured him. 
 
 " Don't take it too hard, Patricia," he said with sincere 
 kindness and pity. 
 
 She smiled faintly, and left him without a word. Jack 
 watched her until she was out of sight, wondering why a 
 good woman was never a match for the unscrupulous of 
 her sex. 
 
 About the second week in October Neal received a note 
 from Patricia asking him to meet her that afternoon at 
 St. Anne's Church. She had something of importance to 
 say to him, the note explained, and at that lonely spot they 
 would be more secure from interruption. He read the 
 message with apprehension. Their old happy comradeship 
 had vanished the day Patricia had ended her urging of the 
 church matter with a burst of tears. Ever since that day 
 Patricia had shrunk from his perfunctory caresses and 
 compliments ; and Neal, chilled, puzzled and self-accusatory 
 in his thoughts, had made no attempt to bring matters to 
 a crisis by asking her to name the wedding-day. That date 
 had become too much like the knell of all his aspirations. 
 The family, too, seemed to be affected by the news that 
 Ada's engagement was broken. With the exception of 
 Caecilia, they seldom spoke of Patricia. 
 
 Neal went at the appointed hour to the appointed place. 
 There he found Patricia pacing restlessly up and down the 
 walks, a slim, dark figure around which, like aerial flecks 
 of gold, the autumn leaves were swirling, blown by a gusty 
 wind. 
 
 She had reiterated her declaration in such a way as to 
 leave him no doubt of her meaning. Gazing at her, Neal 
 was troubled, wretchedly exultant, amazed at his deliver- 
 ance, yet he longed to effect his retreat in honorable surety 
 of the truth of her word.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 177 
 
 " You do not love me, Patricia," he faltered. " You 
 really wish to break our engagement ? " 
 
 She looked away over the sea-marshes, that she might not 
 meet his eyes. 
 
 " I do not love you," she repeated ; and while she spoke 
 the words she would have gladly died to feel his lips upon 
 her mouth. 
 
 " You really wish to release me ? " He could not keep 
 the relief from his voice. 
 
 " Yes, it must be ! This isn't true ! We can't go on." 
 
 She meant it was not true for him, that every day was 
 making him more of a coward, more of a falsifier. The 
 truth of it for her was severing her very soul and body. 
 A wild cry to God rose voiceless from her anguish, a prayer 
 to keep her hands from touching him, her eyes from telling 
 him that she was near death for love of him. 
 
 " Go now," she cried. " I want to be alone." 
 
 He hesitated a moment; then, seeing that she was about 
 to turn from him, he took both her hands and pressed them, 
 raised them to his lips and walked rapidly away through 
 the churchyard. 
 
 Suddenly she was alone with the huddled graves, the 
 solemn spire, the black crows beating their way through 
 the still air, alone with the wild sunset light over the 
 sea-marshes.
 
 BOOK III 
 ADA
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 " HAVE you seen the Giorgione portrait in the next 
 room ? " Ada's uncle drawled at her ear. " Don't miss it, 
 but remember the Leigh ton- Parks are coming for tea." 
 
 " Don't wait for me, Whitney," she said. 
 
 When he was gone she breathed more freely. Between 
 her and her uncle was only one bond, a mutual desire to 
 get through life with as little friction and fuss as possible. 
 Both hated to be too cold or too warm, or forced to hurry, 
 or obliged to meet enthusiastic people. 
 
 Her second winter in London had been a trying one. 
 Some congestion was in her life that she honestly believed 
 only Neal's return to her could abolish. Through Peter 
 she had learned of the breaking of the engagement with 
 Patricia; and reading his letter a wave of exultation had 
 swept over her, exultation that she could defeat her rival 
 from a far distance and by negative and passive meth- 
 ods. She did not expect to hear from Neal before the 
 New Year, knowing his fastidiousness in matters emo- 
 tional. 
 
 But when January had passed and she had no word 
 from him, she had begun to feel alarm. Was he suffering 
 from an attack of conscience? Ada always thought of 
 Neal's conscience as of a weak lung or a disordered liver, 
 liable at any time to make trouble. Was he drifting back 
 to the Celtic beauty? Was he going through a year of 
 conventional mourning for a virgin who had withdrawn 
 from him? Peter in his letter had carefully explained that 
 Patricia had broken the engagement, and Ada believed it, 
 for she understood Patricia's character better than Neal. 
 Here was a woman who made the mistake of glorifying the 
 man she loved, of desiring his happiness before her own. 
 Neal had evidently betrayed himself to the clear-eyed Irish 
 
 181
 
 1 82 
 
 girl, and she had done what one woman in a thousand 
 
 would do. 
 
 Remembering her uncle's injunction Ada moved slowly 
 to the next gallery. The Giorgione was all she expected 
 and much more, for something in the grave, steady gaze of 
 the young aristocrat of the painting reminded her of Neal. 
 Even the delicate hand laid so significantly upon the parapet 
 was like his in its combination of sensitiveness and strength. 
 The workmanship itself, the refinements of color, brought 
 to Ada's mind not the imperial city of Venice and Titian's 
 adaptations of his great master, but a chaotic American 
 island, with its breweries, its rambling trolley lines, the 
 ineffable beauty of its hills, the ineffable ugliness of its 
 built-up plains, the wide sad stretches of its salt sea- 
 marshes with their ever-changing colors. Oh, she was 
 homesick for it! She wanted Neal, with his sweet, be- 
 fogged spirit, his impossible ideals, his general awkward- 
 ness at the game of life, his proud timeless face like this 
 youth from the Renaissance. 
 
 A mist of tears shut out the painting, scorching her 
 spirit, for they symbolized to her a certain weakness and 
 submission alien to her character. She had wanted to rule, 
 but he was ruling with a slow, shadowy, yet strong insist- 
 ence like a command out of a dream. Would they be 
 happy together once she had proved her point to him that 
 he could not live without her ? 
 
 She turned at last from the Giorgione and her musings, 
 and left the galleries. At the first street corner she picked 
 up a hansom, an equipage she preferred in London be- 
 cause it furnished vistas of a city which, for all its smoke 
 and cold, she very dearly loved. Whitney Birrell's house 
 in Park Lane, despite its esthetic self-consciousness, de- 
 lighted her because it commanded the ever-changing pano- 
 rama of Hyde Park, a dissolving perspective of opalescent 
 lights. 
 
 Telling the driver to go home by a circuitous route taking 
 in St. James's and the Green Park, she leaned back in 
 the hansom to enjoy the jingling jog-jog of that vehicle
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 183 
 
 and the view over the broad fat back of the sure little 
 horse, nodding his head in perpetual acquiescence to some 
 equine problem. Life could never be dull in London with 
 its sooty universality, its perpetual congress of all nations, 
 its tawny Thames, its chiaro-oscuro of the present and 
 the past. But Ada wanted more than the simulacrum of 
 an old lover, in a loan exhibition. She wanted Neal to 
 walk these streets with her, to inhale London with her, 
 to make love to her again in his divinely awkward 
 fashion, amid the nascent greeneries of these far-stretching 
 parks. 
 
 The door of her uncle's home was opened to her by a 
 footman, who immediately handed her a little blue en- 
 velope. 
 
 " Mr. Birrell wishes you to have this at once, Miss ; he 
 'opes it's not bad news from your 'ome, Miss." 
 
 Ada, her heart beating fast, opened the envelope. It 
 contained but a line : 
 
 " Sailed, Lurania London twenty-fifth. Neal." 
 
 All Neal's perplexities seemed forever left behind when 
 he set sail for England. He had used the months of the 
 winter not only to make up his mind but to reassure him- 
 self that no ghost of his engagement with Patricia would 
 arise to haunt him after he had set his face again in Ada's 
 direction. He had written to ask her if she were per- 
 fectly sure of her decision. In his effort at self- justification 
 he had almost tempted her to reconsider her fiat; but to 
 his letter she had replied with calm directness that matters 
 could not be changed. Only in her last sentences begging 
 him not to question her choice had she betrayed emotional 
 insecurity. 
 
 " We would not have been happy," she had said. " Is 
 that not enough ? " 
 
 He had written again asking that some day they might 
 renew their friendship. To this she had replied that their 
 friendship was taken for granted, but must come naturally
 
 184 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 again out of what events the future might bring. She 
 could promise nothing. 
 
 With this rejoinder he had had to be satisfied, and the 
 incident had seemed closed without injury to his pride 
 or self-appraisement. He had dismissed his moments of 
 doubt with the assurance that Patricia had taken the initia- 
 tive in the matter. Back of that he did not choose to go 
 in his search for the god in the machine. He felt like a 
 liberated prisoner whose warrant of release has been written 
 in a foreign tongue and signed by an unknown name. 
 
 The family, with the exception of Caecilia, seemed frankly 
 pleased by the breaking of his engagement, but Neal had 
 received a rebuff from Divine which cut deep. When he 
 announced that his engagement with Patricia was broken, 
 his chief had said merely, " It is best ; you couldn't make 
 her happy ! " And then turned to his desk without further 
 comment. 
 
 When he had asked for leave of absence to go to Ada, 
 Divine had granted it immediately, but with a long, search- 
 ing look at him, in which strangely there was an expression 
 of mingled tenderness and pity. Neal resented that even 
 more than Divine's spoken words about Patricia. 
 
 Well ! Here he was in London at last, with the delicious 
 smell of soft coal again in his nostrils, the very essence 
 and reek of this incomparable city. From his windows he 
 could see the Nelson lions, great cat-like bulks, looming 
 through the saffron mist, while an apology for sunshine 
 filtered weakly into his bedroom. Almost he felt as if it 
 were the Easter vacation, and he would soon be going up to 
 Oxford, to his rooms at Jesus. He and Ada and her inevi- 
 table uncle must go up some day for a week-end. 
 
 Taking a final glance at his tie, he hurried out and 
 hailed a hansom, feeling gay as a bird as he flung into it 
 and tossed Ada's impressive address to the cabby, who 
 gave his hat rim a deeper dig than usual at the mention 
 of Park Lane. Through the square they jingled, into Pall 
 Mall, up the Haymarket to the Circus, then into Piccadilly 
 glorious route of entry to the West End splendors.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 185 
 
 Piccadilly with its clubs and shops evoked many memories. 
 He recollected that Ada had a club somewhere in its pre- 
 cincts. 
 
 Apsley House at last, and the formalities of Hyde Park, 
 then up the street of ambassadors, English titles and Amer- 
 ican millionaires that street of varied architecture. Neal 
 was cold with excitement now. Little tremors ran over 
 him, while throughout his frame he had a sensation of the 
 weakening and loosening of all his forces that queer feel- 
 ing of empty, fathomless space where should be flesh and 
 muscles. Suddenly, with the unerring accuracy of a 
 London cabman, the hansom was stopped before Ada's 
 door. 
 
 The footman ushered Neal upstairs to the drawing-room 
 whose delectable " effects " were wasted upon the eager 
 lover. He paced up and down the room, the burden of 
 longing in his heart forbidding passivity. At last a slender 
 white-clad figure entered, stood for a moment in the door- 
 way, then came towards him, both hands outstretched, her 
 eyes luminous and gentle, a very real embarrassment in 
 her manner altogether a different Ada from the woman 
 who had left him fifteen months before. He had planned 
 certain introductory formalities with her, now at sight of 
 her everything was swept away but his overmastering desire 
 of her. He crossed the room with an incoherent cry and 
 clasped her in his arms. She made no resistance, drooped 
 towards him an instant, breathing quickly, her face empty 
 of color, her eyelids quivering. So for a moment they clung 
 together, his lips finding hers. From that kiss he did not 
 release her until with a little cry, her face aflame, she 
 drew back. 
 
 " You are sure, Neal this time ? " 
 
 Memories stabbed him. He winced. Then as his answer 
 he put his arms hungrily again about her. 
 
 " My darling, I was always sure." 
 
 " But but Patricia ? " she urged gently. 
 
 " She's a noble woman," he faltered, " and I was a " 
 
 A chill shadow fell for an instant across their happi-
 
 186 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 ness, as if someone had invisibly entered the room and 
 slipped between them. 
 
 " She is a noble woman or a very foolish one," Ada 
 said carelessly, a little metallic ring in her voice. " Who 
 can tell ! " 
 
 Her tone, calm and level now, was assigning Neal's 
 aberration to the buried past. Her attribution of a choice 
 of qualities to Patricia did, by a fine shade, lay the stress 
 on the second. Ada possessed a marvelous gift of de- 
 traction. Neal was almost ready to believe that Patricia 
 had been foolish not to discern that he wasn't worthy of 
 her. 
 
 Ada said no more of Patricia, and as the best method of 
 banishing her, now that she knew the truth at last, she put 
 her cheek up to Neal's an instant her way of telling him 
 that she could compensate him infinitely for past pain. 
 She was really desirous of his devotion, with a feverish, 
 insistent longing to know that her power over him was 
 fully established. 
 
 " It has been so long ! such a hard way ! " he murmured. 
 
 " Over now," she said in a low voice. " We'll keep to- 
 gether now." 
 
 " Let's be married here in London, at once." 
 
 She smiled. " But you are in a hurry ! " 
 
 The servants bringing in lights and tea put an end to 
 intimate conversation. Then Whitney Birrell appeared, and 
 Neal, stammering a little, managed to convey the fact that 
 he was the happiest man in London. 
 
 Birrell took the news of his niece's engagement with 
 a mild show of interest and surprise, which hid 1 a very 
 real sense of satisfaction that the long London visit was 
 to come to an end. Though he was proud of his kins- 
 woman's beauty, and glad that she matched his fortune with 
 one of her own, Ada had a way of obliterating him in his 
 own drawing-room which was decidedly not pleasant. 
 
 Ada herself was thinking of the business talk she must 
 have with Neal after these first raptures were over. She 
 wanted to tell him that she would raise the mortgage on
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 187 
 
 Carmichael House, but she was by no means willing to 
 live in it. She could not be related even by marriage 
 to anxious people, but after she had set their anxieties 
 at rest Neal must not ask her to take them to her heart. 
 The oppportunity for this conversation came some days 
 later. 
 
 The date for the wedding within a fortnight had been 
 set, and plans made for a trip to Florence, thence to Genoa, 
 from which port they would sail for the United States. 
 Beyond that sailing they had not discussed their, future 
 movements. Even in the midst of his felicity the depress- 
 ing thought would obtrude itself upon Neal that he could 
 not spontaneously propose plans for their life in America 
 since Ada possessed the money. 
 
 He was speaking of his prospects on The Courier to her 
 one day, when, seeing her opening, she asked, " Where are 
 we going to live on the Island when we return ? " 
 
 Neal looked embarrassed for a moment. " I hope you 
 will go to Carmichael House." 
 
 Ada smiled. " Your family might not want me. ' 
 
 " Grandfather would be overjoyed." 
 
 " We should have to lodge under the leads ? " Ada said 
 with a mischievous smile. " Forgive me, I am a very 
 exacting person, Neal. I love comfort. We'd better go to 
 a hotel while our house is building." 
 
 " But Grandfather would be grieved hurt. Couldn't 
 you come to us just for a few months? " 
 
 Ada considered this a moment. " Mrs. Guthrie, of 
 course, directs the housekeeping? " 
 
 " Yes ; why do you ask ? " 
 
 " Because I really can't be at her mercy, Neal. I like 
 certain food prepared in a certain way. I like certain hours, 
 and serving-people about me different from old Graham 
 and Delia. Oh, I'm afraid it wouldn't work. When I am 
 not comfortable I am not agreeable to live with." 
 
 Neal raised her hand and kissed it. " My darling, you'll 
 be as good for us as young wine ; only come. It will work 
 out beautifully, I know."
 
 ,88 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " I am going to give you a wedding present. Now don't 
 look startled and protesting. This isn't a scarfpin. It's 
 a bulwark for my own peace of mind." 
 
 Neal waited expectantly. Living these days in the at- 
 mosphere of miracles, if Ada's lips, like those of the prin- 
 cess in the fairy tale, had dropped roses he would not 
 have been surprised. He could scarcely credit the fact that 
 they were to be married within two weeks. 
 
 " You see it's this way, Neal. I have a horror of pov- 
 erty; it seems to me as ugly as sin and almost more 
 damning. I have never been related to poor people or to 
 people with worries 
 
 She paused, but he had already caught the drift of her 
 discourse, and she perceived a stiffening of his frame as 
 if he were preparing himself to receive a blow. 
 
 " Don't look hurt," she went on, " but I am going to lift 
 the mortgage on Carmichael House as my wedding-gift to 
 you." 
 
 Neal rose abruptly and went to a nearby window, smitten 
 through with some agitation which he did not care to have 
 Ada witness. This was glorious of her, but how accept 
 such a gift ! 
 
 " Don't be tragic over it, Neal ! " Ada said, a touch of 
 frost in her voice. 
 
 " Tragic ! Why, you're wonderful ! It's a big sum ; per- 
 haps you don't know " 
 
 " I know to a penny how much it is. I have spared you 
 the necessity of a decision by writing yesterday to your 
 grandfather and Jack. Only the whole thing is to be put 
 in Peter's hands and under the charge of Peter's lawyer. 
 Between you and me I wouldn't trust Jack with a sixpence. 
 He has too much imagination to be a good business 
 man." 
 
 Neal listened in silence, emotions like conflicting cur- 
 rents surging through him. He had so longed to meet 
 her on equal ground, with his difficulties put under his 
 feet, his family steadily on theirs. Why should she do this 
 strange, great thing? Was her pride so intrenched that all
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 189 
 
 those who came in contact with her must share her well- 
 being of body and of mind? Was this the generosity of 
 overflowing love? 
 
 But a throb of exultation carried him beyond these 
 thoughts into exquisite relief. It was as if he had been 
 walking for months through a light-excluding tunnel with 
 its smooth monotony of imprisonment all about him, its 
 eternal circle of black always ahead of him ; and now he 
 was again in the air, the other prisoners with him. He 
 would have ease of mind to be gracious again, to look about 
 him and be sorry for people, to enjoy the sunshine and 
 his friends, to speak of Carmichael House without that 
 pulling at his heartstrings which was like physical pain. 
 
 " Neal, do you like your wedding present ? " 
 
 He wheeled about. " And what do I give you in re- 
 turn?" 
 
 " Your devotion," she murmured. 
 
 He went back to her then, drew her into his arms, held 
 her to him, charged with emotion, she melting to tender- 
 ness again by one of her quick transitions a languorous, 
 golden Ada, into whose fair hair he breathed his vows with 
 all the ardor of a knight or a novice. 
 
 " I must work to repay you," he said softly. 
 
 She drew away. " Don't think of money. You can get 
 yourself heard in many ways. Write your book on 'Phases 
 of Patriotism/ the one you told me of; make yourself a 
 name ! " 
 
 He thrilled to her imperatives. It would be glorious to 
 work, with the paralyzing money specter forever laid. He 
 had hated to be poor, but he hated even more the intense 
 egoism and self-absorption induced by poverty. To make 
 a move without counting the cost, to be able to dine a 
 friend in the city without wondering if the detestable ten 
 dollars would be needed in other ways! Oh, this would 
 be release indeed ! He had always wondered why the saints 
 had extolled poverty. In his opinion it was the most anti- 
 social, ugly, narrowing and freezing experience that one 
 could undergo particularly the poverty of the well-born.
 
 i 9 o BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 "Ada, if I'm not famous, it will be but a poor return 
 for your generosity." 
 
 " I am not generous. You don't know perhaps what 
 a very wealthy woman I am. I did not have to touch my 
 capital to fix matters up for you." 
 
 " You will live with the family a little while, dear, won't 
 you?" 
 
 " If I may take over the housekeeping." 
 
 " I am sure Maria would be glad to be relieved of it. 
 Ada, you've saved them! They'll be eternally grateful to 
 you." 
 
 Ada's smile told nothing. Neal left her with the sensa- 
 tion of a man who is suddenly introduced into too much 
 light. He had exchanged one kind of blindness for an- 
 other. 
 
 But softer, nearer experiences were to screen the future, 
 and after his first consternation over his munificent gift 
 from Ada, Neal, who hated the question of money at all 
 times, slipped easily back to his romance. London to his 
 eyes lost its inky coat and glowed, like a bridegroom's tunic 
 of Shakespeare's day, with white and gold. He scarcely 
 slept or ate, glorying in those midnights when his vague 
 promenades sometimes landed 'him on London Bridge, 
 sometimes on Hampstead Heath. 
 
 Characteristic letters were received from the family. His 
 grandfather was overwhelmed by the dual tidings of Neal's 
 engagement and the family's emancipation. Jack wrote, 
 " You are very clever, dear nephew, and I promise to be 
 good when Ada comes." Philip said it was well somebody 
 was marrying, and he hinted that Ada's presence in the 
 house might result in keeping the library warmer.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 ADA had been offered by one of her friends the loan of 
 a villa near Fiesole for the fortnight she and Neal were 
 to be in Italy ; and there on an April evening towards sunset 
 they arrived, being met at the gate by a voluble major- 
 domo, who gave them a typically Latin welcome. 
 
 The villa itself was a block-like structure, with heavily 
 shuttered windows and an extensive English garden just 
 now a foam of flowers. On the terrace before its entrance 
 door was a row of black, motionless cypresses in strong 
 silhouette against the molten sunset gold. The vast rooms 
 through which they were conducted had more mythology 
 fading on the ceilings than Neal had ever mastered at 
 school, and more pendent crucifixes on the bare walls than 
 he had ever seen collected in a church. 
 
 They went into the gardens to see the last light over 
 the domes and towers of Florence. Neal's waking dream 
 was almost too beautiful to credit to be alone with her 
 in the loveliest city in the world, to look forward to a 
 lifetime with her! Since their marriage he had found 
 within his arms a new Ada, a woman who tremblingly 
 responded to his passion, who seemed a slight, frail 
 feminine being, his to guard and protect all their days. 
 He wondered in the first exultation of his possession of 
 her what had become of the Ada whom he had feared al- 
 most as much as he had worshiped. Did all women need 
 the physical mastery to bring their spirits unto the zone 
 of tenderness? Why had he ever imagined that anyone 
 but she could satisfy him? 
 
 He poured his troubled rapture into her ears, as they 
 stood between the sentinel cypresses and saw Florence pass 
 from gold to nocturnal blue. Ada at last made comment, 
 " I wonder if you really love me ! I wonder what you 
 would give up for me." 
 
 191
 
 i 9 2 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " Everything ! " 
 
 She smiled. " I doubt it, but I am not going to put you 
 to the test. Dear, don't kiss me here ! I am sure the major- 
 domo and all his regiment are watching us." 
 
 " What do we care ! " 
 
 She leaned her head back for an instant so that her 
 cheek touched his, glad to feel him tremble, to see the 
 sudden whiteness of his face. This idealist, with his 
 stubborn reticences and uneasy romanticism, was hers at 
 last to fit into her ambitions if she could ; for Ada always 
 felt a latent power of resistance in Neal, which was one 
 of his chief attractions. 
 
 At dinner he faced, between the high-branched candelabra, 
 still another Ada a grande dame now, impressing to any 
 degree the warm-hearted Italian servants. Neal, with a 
 thrill of pride, saw how they watched her, how they at- 
 tended her lightest word, anticipated her faintest wish. Ada 
 accepted it all with her usual insouciance. Neal had often 
 speculated over this quality of hers, which drew to her 
 without effort what most people obtain only with much 
 expenditure of force. Mrs. Fleming's attitude towards her 
 niece had always been inexplicable to him; and Whitney 
 Birrell, to his surprise, had made no lamentation over 
 losing Ada, had seemed, indeed, most cheerful at the wed- 
 ding breakfast. 
 
 In the days that followed Neal had the sensation that 
 his own happiness had flowered into the frescoed walls and 
 airy towers of Florence, a city which seemed closely related 
 to Ada's beauty, of which he sometimes caught glimpses 
 in a haunting portrait of the early Renaissance. The hours 
 were full of satisfactions, so blended that he did not know 
 where the material charms became the spiritual privilege. 
 He was having his first introduction to Ada's exquisite 
 control of the outer courts of the senses her power to 
 draw to her harmonious environments, to exclude what 
 was jarring or inappropriate. In her bedroom or in the 
 streets of Florence, it was all the same she led a selected 
 existence, wonderfully free of hazard. Her genius for ar-
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 193 
 
 ranging material luxury and beauty amounted to an intro- 
 duction to a spiritual life equally free from the shocks of 
 accident. She seemed to avoid everything that was dis- 
 tressing or discordant in her topics of conversation, and to 
 regard life with a musing good-humor. The effect upon 
 him was to make much of his own past existence appear 
 fantastic in its Gothic struggles to understand human prob- 
 lems, and in its voluntary jolting over a rough road with 
 resultant fatigue and disillusion. 
 
 They went one day to the Certosa, where they were re- 
 ceived by a monk like a phantom of forgotten days, who 
 conducted them along endless corridors of echoing stone, 
 past cells empty forever of their occupants, and dark 
 chapels where no masses would ever again be said. 
 
 " The government is only waiting until the last of us 
 is coffined," he said mournfully. 
 
 " You are happy here ? " Neal inquired. 
 
 " Most happy ! I have a garden to tend. I have my 
 prayers at the altar ; I have no changes to dread, no losses, 
 for I have nothing to lose. Out in the world you are 
 always at the mercy of the things you desire. It is inde- 
 scribable, Signer the release into a world beyond owner- 
 ship. All things are yours ! Nothing is yours ! " 
 
 Neal listened as if to a voice from some forgotten aspira- 
 tion of his own. How far he was from this now, he 
 swamped with felicity, almost quarreling with his excess 
 of happiness. He had Ada, and a future full to the brim 
 of sweet earthly adventures. This man had a sunny garden 
 of herbs and a shadowy heaven and believed himself 
 blest. Was he blest, or was it only the poor boast of 
 negation, that its paralyzed limbs need no longer know 
 the exertion of travel ? 
 
 He read the answer in Ada's face in her amused, in- 
 credulous look, changing to one of animation as her gaze 
 was directed towards another party of sightseers. Neal, 
 to his discomfiture, recognized Wentworth, who was accom- 
 panied by two ladies. Beholding Ada, Wentworth colored
 
 194 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 violently; then with some words of explanation to his 
 companions, brought them to where she stood. 
 
 " My friend, Miss Fleming," he began. 
 
 " No, Mrs. Carmichael," Ada corrected gently. 
 
 Wentworth directed a lightning glance at Neal, as if to 
 assure himself that his former rival was indeed there in 
 the flesh and in the character designated. Then rather 
 pompously, he elucidated his own circumstances. 
 
 " Permit me to present you to Lady Clyde, and to Miss 
 Violet Clyde, my fiancee," he added with evident nervous- 
 ness. 
 
 Ada regarded with calm interest the tall young English 
 girl with her sweet, narrow face, abundant fair hair and 
 blue, child-like eyes. Violet Clyde bowed and looked rather 
 anxiously at her mother, a faded, angular woman, heavily 
 hung with trinkets and scarfs. 
 
 " Miss Fleming ! " murmured Lady Clyde. " Ah, yes ! 
 I remember Miss Fleming." 
 
 The situation threatened to be extremely awkward, but to 
 Neal's infinite relief Ada came to the rescue with a strange 
 tale it sounded to her anxious husband extremely like an 
 improvisation of having met Lady Clyde's nephew, the 
 Honorable Dale Winton, at a county ball in Surrey. She 
 went on to remark his resemblance to his noted ancestor 
 painted by Vandyke. Lady Clyde's smile was slow in 
 coming, but at last her long teeth were in full view, when 
 she commented with nervous graciousness on Ada's per- 
 spicacity. 
 
 Wentworth proposing that they should finish the Certosa 
 together, they all strolled on, and Neal found himself with 
 the English girl and her mother, while his former rival 
 walked ahead with Ada. They were talking intimately, 
 so absorbed in each other that they seemed to have for- 
 gotten entirely the group behind them. Neal, glancing at 
 Miss Clyde, saw that her child-like blue eyes were fixed 
 anxiously upon her lover, as if she knew something of 
 Wentworth's American romance and resented it. With 
 jealousy stirring in his own breast, Neal wondered what 
 devil of ill luck had brought Wentworth to Florence !
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 ON the day that she had sent Neal from her, Patricia 
 had wandered for hours through the byways of the Island, 
 seeing nothing, scarcely knowing at any time her direction, 
 conscious only of the inner torment that lashed her on. 
 What she had intended had come to pass. He had believed 
 her believed that she had ceased to love him, accepted the 
 falsehood ! How easily he had taken her word, as if her 
 change of heart were half-expected! 
 
 She called him cruel, she reproached him, as, long ago 
 in her childhood, she had named him a false friend but had 
 wounded herself, not him, by the description. Even now 
 she had to cease from her accusations of him, because she 
 could not bear the pain which racked her at the thought 
 that he was false. She might come to hate him ; and hate, 
 even more than love, would sap the strength of her spirit, 
 render her a castaway. 
 
 Night and its stars overtook her. The evening wind 
 was bringing the cold sharp odor of Autumn to her senses. 
 The withered leaves rustled as she walked. From time 
 to time there were sounds from the sea, ghostly whistles 
 of vessels sweeping out to unknown ports. What could she 
 do? Where could she go? 
 
 On this lonely road few passed her, but whenever a 
 figure emerged from the gloom her heart leaped in expecta- 
 tion, as she strained her eyes for the miracle of his return- 
 ing form. Only shadows went by her. 
 
 She remembered dully that it was Uncle Shamus's birth- 
 day, that at home they would be having the annual party 
 in his honor. She knew that he would never allow them 
 to light his birthday candles until she came. These thoughts 
 went through her mind, as if walking on some desolate 
 coast she had beheld driftwood from a long-forgotten land. 
 
 195
 
 i 9 6 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 She must return, go back to the old round, take up her life 
 again with her family, tell them that she was not to be Neal 
 Carmichael's wife. 
 
 She found her uncle by the sitting-room fire in the heavy, 
 mournful black suit of clothes sacred to this annual occa- 
 sion. A purgatorial collar lifted his chin slightly, giving 
 him a supercilious appearance. A new pipe he was trying, 
 for love's sake, was firmly wedged in his mouth. Oppo- 
 site him sat Father Carew, his hands stretched to the 
 blazing logs. Dr. Murphy and his son were coming 
 later. 
 
 At sight of Patricia, Uncle Shamus gave a little chirpy 
 wheeze and wagged a thin, welcoming hand. 
 
 " I've been wearyin' for ye ! The childer wanted to light 
 the candles on me cake, but divil a one, says I, shall be 
 lit until me grandniece comes, and here you are ! " 
 
 " You are lookin' peeked, Patricia," Father Carew com- 
 mented. " Is anything ailin' you, girl ? " 
 
 " Oh, her cheeks will bloom once she is married," Uncle 
 Shamus said jovially. 
 
 " And you've not told me the day," said Father Carew. 
 
 " No day set yet, Father." 
 
 " What's this weddings ? " a hearty voice asked. James 
 McCoy had entered and laid a fatherly hand on Patricia's 
 shoulder. Close behind him were Dr. Murphy and 
 Thomas. 
 
 She looked around upon them, knowing what satisfac- 
 tion her news would bring to three of them at least. 
 Thomas seemed even now waiting for it; with a lover's 
 keenness he was reading something in her face that the 
 others did not see. Why let them proceed with their jests 
 through a long evening? She was past feeling or caring. 
 They might as well know. 
 
 That she had told them, though in what words she was 
 never able afterwards to recall, she was made aware first 
 by the crashing of a dish on the hearth fallen from her 
 mother's hands. What they said was as dim to her as her 
 own declarations, but she was aware of her father's morti-
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 197 
 
 fied look, as if she had signed away a kingdom, of her 
 mother's attempts at tender, soothing speech, of Father 
 Carew's silence, and of Thomas's pale face and keen eyes, 
 in whose depths lurked triumph, prophecy and ill-concealed 
 joy. He could, indeed, scarcely believe that Patricia 
 the long-desired, the Patricia thought lost and snatched 
 away to mysterious elevations, was among them, theirs 
 to hold and cherish. Of course she had tired of Neal Car- 
 michael, who never seemed alive unless he was wrestling. 
 Of course she could never marry a stubborn Protestant 
 and she had had the sense to know it. She was now a 
 woman to be wooed again ! How pale and beautiful she 
 had looked, standing there to tell the good news ! 
 
 He watched her as she filled the vases on the table with 
 red carnations, and thought that he would not begrudge 
 her the largest diamond he could buy. 
 
 Uncle Shamus went home in a coach about nine, Patricia 
 with him to see that he kept the lap robe over his thin 
 knees. When they were fairly off he turned his good eye 
 to her. 
 
 " Do you want him, me own ? " he said. " There's a 
 charm I know to bring back love. I'll kill him if he's 
 wounded ye. Lave the others to believe the nonsense you 
 told 'em. I knew the truth; I read it in your dear eyes. 
 There's a charm I know rosemary dipped in Holy Water 
 and laid in the moonlight " 
 
 " Oh, Uncle, stop ! stop ! God Himself can't bring love 
 back." 
 
 James McCoy felt that Patricia should give some account 
 of herself, but he deputed the task of questioning her to 
 her mother. When Mrs. McCoy reported failure, her hus- 
 band had his first stirring of doubt regarding the veracity 
 of his daughter's statement. Had the break resulted from 
 some change in young Carmichael's feelings? What was 
 wrong in her, that she couldn't keep her man? Women 
 who didn't marry, or who failed to hold their husbands,
 
 i 9 8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 always seemed to McCoy eccentric, a departure from the 
 normal, nature's " seconds " or botches. 
 
 Instead of being sorry for her, a vague irritation was 
 aroused in him by her ill looks and silent manner. " If 
 you don't intend to take Carmichael," he asked her one 
 day, " who do you intend to take ? " 
 
 " I don't want to marry anyone, Father." 
 
 " What good are old maids ! " he said scornfully. 
 
 She thought of his words later and with a clearer appre- 
 hension of their meaning. Of course it would hurt his 
 pride if she did not marry someone, besides running counter 
 to his beliefs as a good Catholic. Women should be either 
 the brides of Christ or of earthly husbands. No other 
 position was for them either dignified or tenable. 
 
 Even Patricia herself had always regarded spinsters as 
 women but waiting to live, growing older and more slug- 
 gish as that postponed vitality receded every year further 
 and further, and occupying themselves with petty substitutes 
 for the supreme experience. Now she herself was to enter 
 that gray sisterhood of the ineffectual, for never could 
 she marry. Neal Carmichael was her mate no other. If 
 he hadn't known it, that was fate. She could scarcely 
 realize that, of her own free will, she had delivered him 
 over to another woman, the woman he wanted. 
 
 Ah, there was the mysterious way Fate worked. If 
 you didn't push a man towards what he wanted, but held 
 him to his bargain, he would hate you after a time. She 
 had at least escaped that hell. Neal could never hate her 
 now. Perhaps some day he might love her with that de- 
 layed autumnal love some men have for a woman who has 
 disappeared from their lives and can therefore never 
 trouble them. The romances of sentimentality and nega- 
 tion are to some natures the most pleasing of all, but they 
 must be paid for bitterly by either the man or the woman. 
 Patricia could pay. The rest of her life would be payment. 
 
 Divine met her in the street one day, the day on which 
 she had answered Neal's conscience letter, that letter of 
 platitudinous nobility, to which she had been obliged to
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 199 
 
 school herself not to send an edged reply. To meet Divine 
 was almost like encountering Neal. She would have passed 
 him by with only a greeting, but he detained her with some 
 question about her work. In an unofficial way he had 
 had dealings with sick souls. A malady of no minor order 
 looked from the girl's eyes. Her church had refuges for 
 the heart-wounded, but he did not believe her enough of 
 a mystic to accept them. This woman belonged to the 
 warm earth, not to the cloister. 
 
 He thought it best to speak plainly, for he saw that grief 
 had taken her far beyond the need of conventions. 
 
 " It was a big thing you did, Patricia," he said gently. 
 " Few women could have done it." 
 
 " God made me in anger," she said bitterly. " I have to 
 go on as I began." 
 
 When he had parted from her she went to the Mariner's 
 Rest, a place she now frequented to comfort herself a little, 
 since aside from Divine Uncle Shamus alone knew who 
 had broken the engagement. 
 
 He welcomed her with his usual chirp of happy expecta- 
 tion. Someone had sent him a pound of tobacco, but he 
 had postponed the joy of its first trial until she could be 
 by his side to whiff the aroma. She put on the kettle to 
 make tea for them both, then came and seated herself near 
 the ancient armchair of Shamus's daily use, taking his hand 
 in hers and patting it softly. 
 
 " I see a wish in your eyes, colleen. What is it ? " he asked. 
 
 " I wish you and I were going on a ship together," she 
 answered, " a very strange little ship you captain, I the 
 crew all canvas crowded on and an off-shore breeze to 
 sail us straight down to the sea, away, away from the 
 Island, on, on to some sunny land; and we'd rest there, 
 you and I ; no trouble any more, or struggle." 
 
 Shamus took a long pull at his pipe. " It sounds like 
 Oireland to me." 
 
 " But the sun, dear ? A sunny island, I said." 
 
 " I've seen the sun in Oireland," Shamus proclaimed. 
 " Softer and goldener and coaxin'er than here ! "
 
 200 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " My island isn't on the map," she said. " It's the one 
 called ' blessed/ and no chart exists, Uncle Shamus all 
 lost long ago. So you and I can't get back." 
 
 It was not like her to talk this way, so he set about to 
 make her laugh, and she, divining his purpose and wishing 
 to please him, shook off her melancholy. 
 
 It was the wish to please him that drew her somehow 
 through the long days of the winter, each so uniformly 
 dark and uneventful that she felt at times like a person 
 walking in an endless dream. Each day brought its round 
 of district visiting ; each night its nursing or its hours with 
 the family, with whom she had never regained quite the 
 position she had held before her engagement with Neal. 
 
 Of Thomas Murphy she saw much, because he would 
 not let her alone. He belonged to the class of men who can- 
 not credit defeat in romance, and he waited for Patricia's 
 " yes " as a physician for signs of sanity in his patient. 
 Patricia's delay was but falsifying her version of the story. 
 
 But she evaded both him and Father Carew, who more 
 than once in the confessional rebuked her sternly for her 
 stubborn sadness and melancholy drifting, and placed before 
 her the advantages of marriage with a man of her own 
 faith, one well fitted to care for her and to rear a family. 
 Patricia had shivered at this, and had left the church 
 feeling she belonged to those hapless ones who are neither 
 for God nor for his enemies. 
 
 She heard in March that Neal Carmichael had sailed for 
 England, and she knew at once what mission took him 
 there. He had delayed a decent six months before depart- 
 ing, that no shadowy arms might be about him, no ghost 
 walk the decks of the ship with him. Patricia awaited the 
 news of the marriage, as in some infinitely prolonged mo- 
 ment of the victim bending beneath the raised axe. It came 
 in the form of a cable dispatch seen casually in a morning 
 paper. Patricia read it without emotion, but the thought 
 crossed her mind, " I must never see him again. I shall 
 live all my life within a mile of him, but I must never see 
 him again."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MR. CARMICHAEL had been in and out of the dining- 
 room more than once to see that the decorations of the 
 table were in keeping with the spirit of festive expectation 
 pervading the house like visible sunshine. Maria felt half- 
 relieved, half-resentful that the reins were to be hence- 
 forth in Ada's hands. Yet, of course, on the whole it was 
 best, for with Ada in command the keynote of luxury 
 would inevitably be sounded. Hadn't she sounded it already 
 by dispersing from over the heads of all of them that 
 fuliginous cloud of debt, for the curious reason, the rather 
 humiliating reason, that she wanted around her people with 
 easy minds. 
 
 " Aren't you putting off that black gown for this one 
 night ? " Mr. Carmichael said with a touch of impatience 
 to his daughter Maria. 
 
 " I can't ! You know how hard it is " 
 
 She broke off and turned away a moment. Like most 
 persons of feeble vitality, she lived more in the past than 
 in the present. 
 
 " Well, don't depress Ada, my dear. She's young, you 
 know, and fond of bright colors." 
 
 " I ? I couldn't depress Ada, could I, Jack ? " she added, 
 addressing her brother, who at that moment had entered 
 the room. 
 
 Jack said the usual peace-restoring word, though his 
 skeptical mind did not regard the new arrangements which 
 would follow Ada's arrival as a cote for the dove of peace. 
 They should probably all live handsomely and pay the 
 piper what was demanded. He was apprehensive that his 
 own toll might be a reformed life a blameless, shelved 
 existence. Already much of the direction of the family 
 finances was in Peter's hands, and Jack had the sensation 
 
 201
 
 202 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 of the door of his conjurer's cave being slammed in his 
 face. Maria's tribute would probably be total extinction. 
 As for Philip, if Ada could trace him through the mists 
 of the past she was more clear-sighted than her contem- 
 poraries. 
 
 Where was Philip, anyway? Somebody ought to see 
 that he had his dinner coat on. 
 
 Jack sought the library. In its furthest recesses, by the 
 light of a squat student lamp, Philip was bending over 
 his books, his shoulders rounded, his face, in juxtaposition 
 to the green glass globe, yellowed to pallor. Could nothing 
 ever arouse this brother from his eternal preoccupation with 
 the dead? Jack's Lesbias had always been alive; but as 
 he stood looking at his brother he had the ghostly feeling 
 that his own romances would never get into print (lucky 
 they couldn't!) and ladies as bright-eyed as Lesbia would 
 soon be dead and forgotten. Jack was not often intro- 
 spective ; but he had a moment of seeing the pageant of 
 the non-existent, and a simultaneous conviction that he must 
 join them one day in the stiff motley of mortality. 
 
 " Hello, Phil ! " he called ou-t of his depression. 
 
 Philip looked up, startled, for Jack did not often track 
 him to his lair. Between the two brothers existed that 
 perfect misunderstanding which almost approaches geniality. 
 
 " Time to dress ! " said Jack. " Our newly-weds must 
 be out of the Customs by this time. Poor Neal! he must 
 have had a bad half-hour." 
 
 " Would Ada throw down the glove to the Government ? " 
 
 " Glove ? No ! nor gloves either, nor laces, nor gawds. 
 I am sorry to tear you from your what ? " 
 
 " Merely a neo-platonist ! the Latin of the decadence." 
 
 He rose stiffly and began to screw down the light, for 
 Philip was always rigidly economical. 
 
 " Oh, leave it," Jack said. " Ada's here now ; we mustn't 
 be too stuffy." 
 
 Philip turned up the light again. 
 
 " Jack," he asked drearily, " did you ever think of getting 
 married ? "
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 203 
 
 Really Homeric laughter greeted this question. " Why ? " 
 Jack was able at last to ask. 
 
 " It strikes me," Philip said solemnly, " that there are 
 going to be too many people in this house." 
 
 " Shall you and I draw lots ? " 
 
 " I can't leave unless I marry. I'd be too lonely," 
 Philip said confidingly. 
 
 " You lonely ? and in Greece ! " 
 
 " I am sometimes very lonely," Philip affirmed simply. 
 " Divine Is my only friend. I have tried to push into real 
 life, but people frighten me. They seem so unreal and 
 insincere, when gathered together for social purposes. In 
 my books even their weaknesses are comforting, for they 
 are veiled by many centuries. Is dinner later? I hope 
 Ada isn't going to make too many shifts, or change the 
 menu much. I should have to marry in that case." 
 
 Jack laughed again, but he linked an arm affectionately 
 in his brother's and drew him towards the doorway in which 
 that instant Csecilia appeared. She looked astonished at 
 the sight of Jack and Philip together." 
 
 " I have been hunting you boys everywhere," she said. 
 " Ada and Neal are here. They're dressing now. You've 
 just time, Phil, to change." 
 
 When Philip had disappeared Jack drew mysteriously 
 close to Caecilia's ear. 
 
 " He confesses he's lonely, Ceil. How do you think Ada 
 and he will hit it off?" 
 
 Caecilia was always optimistic. " Oh, well, she'll only 
 be here a short time ; they're going to build, you know." 
 
 " M m m," Jack murmured. " I bet you a box of 
 gloves to a cigar, Ceil, that Ada will stay. She likes to 
 boss, and there are four of us, five counting Neal, to say 
 ' forward march ' to. Besides there isn't an architect living 
 who could get her up a house like this." 
 
 Caecilia's cheeks grew pink. " I hope she won't touch 
 Carmichael House," she said. " It was bad enough to have 
 an outsider rescue us. To me the mortgage is still ex- 
 istent."
 
 204 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " Of course, only Ada holds it ! Is David here ? " 
 
 " Oh, we're all here ! Now, Jack dear, don't " 
 
 He patted her cheek. 
 
 " I know, Ceil. You want me to be good. I suppose 
 Neal's radiant ? " 
 
 Jack's unspoken verdict was that his nephew was radiant, 
 for Neal never looked better. Pride in Ada was written 
 for everyone to read in his glances, his gestures, his 
 proclamation of the treasure he had brought from Europe. 
 For a person never constitutionally in high spirits, he was 
 in a most happy mood, rallying his uncle, complimenting 
 his aunts, even addressing some jocular remarks to Graham. 
 Ada said little, but she looked lovely, and her reception 
 had been effusive and flattering enough to put her in a 
 very good humor. Of course the rooms assigned to her 
 and Neal were hopelessly mid- Victorian, but they could be 
 torn out immediately and filled with furniture of her own 
 choosing. As she mechanically asked questions and an- 
 swered them, she was redecorating the dining-room. 
 Grandfather Carmichael looked enough like a French mar- 
 quis to be set off by a background in cool grays and rose. 
 She wondered if the family would stand for it. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Carmichael, I beg your pardon ? " 
 
 The head of the house was addressing her. " You are 
 glad to be back to your own country, Ada ? " he repeated. 
 " Aside from the pleasure of being with you all, I am 
 afraid I am not glad. I do not like the United States. 
 Why should one like a crucible? You feel bruised from 
 head to foot by the life here. We're young yet, neverthe- 
 less we are doddering with all the vices of decadent nations. 
 Neal, if you don't make yourself famous trying to establish 
 a real democracy, I'll not forgive you." 
 
 She threw him a glance to which he responded with an 
 eager upleaping of all his old ambitions. It was so de- 
 lightful, so singular in Ada, to want to push him the very 
 way he wanted to go. Decidedly it was piquant in her, 
 sitting there clothed like the sun and preaching simplicity; 
 the very picture of an aristocrat, and advancing democracy !
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 205 
 
 Mr. Carmichael looked puzzled; he had fought in the Civil 
 War; he had been a member of the Judiciary. Of course 
 the United States wasn't perfect, but in his opinion human 
 nature was pretty much the same everywhere. People 
 gambled, lusted, tricked each other, broke each other's heads 
 and reenacted in general the comedies and tragedies of the 
 Old Testament. Israel had been young when it did all 
 these things. 
 
 " Ada," Jack ventured, " I could have been a wonderful 
 reformer if I had had your fortune. Money is the root of 
 all virtue, good humor, charitable feelings. Why are you 
 so charming? Because you've lain in the lap of luxury all 
 your days." 
 
 Everyone laughed, Ada's luxury becoming in that moment 
 a kind of general possession. Only Jack would have dared 
 to mention it under the circumstances. Maria sighed, think- 
 ing that if she only had Polly back she would be content 
 with a crust and the tent of heaven for a roof. It was well 
 she did not utter this sentiment, for while it was in her 
 mind she was helping herself liberally to the alligator pear 
 salad. 
 
 Ada showed her practical nature by her easy mastery 
 of the routine of Carmichael House, and by her recon- 
 structive energy, devoted chiefly to epicurean innovations. 
 She loved luxury and would not be without it. If other 
 people's incomes weren't equal to such a table as she desired 
 to have, well, she would make up the deficiency. Jack, who 
 during the past lean years had counterbalanced the frugal 
 domesticity of his father's house by occasional excursions 
 to Reynolds', now basked in a perpetual summer of gas- 
 tronomical joys; but his meat was Philip's poison. He who 
 had shared many banquets of the Romans now looked 
 askance at Ada's entrees. 
 
 She provided, however, spiritual as well as material de- 
 lights. She played the piano with the skill of a profes- 
 sional, if not a virtuoso, and seemed glad to display her 
 talent to this family who floated off upon her nocturnes and 
 her preludes Alec into the past, Neal into the future, Jack
 
 206 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 into dreamy sentimentalism, while Philip was generally 
 landed in Sicily where Theocritus whispered classic secrets 
 to him. Divine sometimes dropped in, and occasionally 
 Peter, who would regard the scene with a shade of amuse- 
 ment in his skeptical countenance. 
 
 If questioned upon the subject, Neal would have asserted 
 his belief that he was the most fortunate man in the uni- 
 verse. With Wentworth left behind in Europe and Ada in 
 Carmichael House, where he had so often pictured her, life 
 resembled a madrigal. 
 
 He had taken up his work with fresh enthusiasm, with 
 an immense longing to " make good " for Ada's sake, to 
 get into politics, to labor for the coming religion which 
 he firmly believed was to be established upon the equities 
 of industrialism. The Church had failed to live up to the 
 socialism of Jesus, but men's hearts, still strong and hope- 
 ful, could be used as corner-stones for the modern temple 
 of adjusted relations between all classes. 
 
 But even the religion of industrialism paled these days 
 before the pleasure of going home, of finding Ada in some 
 new and bewildering costume put on for his benefit. Then, 
 when they were alone together, came the close intimacies 
 of which he had so often dreamed. They seemed the fruit 
 of stolen rapture, these kisses given and received in a room 
 so silent and so fragrant. 
 
 They had come up early one evening because Neal had 
 wanted her to himself. She had put on a shimmering honey- 
 moon robe and boudoir cap, and stretched herself on the 
 day-bed with little yawns and soft, sleepy invitations to 
 Neal to make himself as comfortable as she was. 
 
 " Where do you think I penetrated to-day ? " she asked. 
 
 " How should I know, Ada dear ! " 
 
 " I bribed one of the maids to let me see Polly's room 
 that Maria guards so jealously. My dear, I want it ! " 
 
 Neal looked bewildered. " You want it," he repeated. 
 Her word " bribe " had grated upon him as if it had been 
 slang from the lips of the Madonna, while he fervently 
 hoped that Mrs. Guthrie would not be told of the invasion.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 207 
 
 " I can't understand why a large, beautiful room, paneled 
 to the ceiling and overlooking the sea, should go to waste. 
 There's a bath opening out of it, which connects with two 
 unused rooms on the other side, looking south." 
 
 She was stroking his hair as she spoke, with fingers 
 delicately electric, and watched him with an air of faint 
 amusement. 
 
 " Really, you know," she continued, " it would be better 
 for Maria's health and spirits to have that room torn 
 apart." 
 
 *' But I couldn't possibly suggest it," Neal said in an 
 anxious voice, and wishing with all his heart that Ada 
 had not fixed her fancy upon the room sacred to his dead 
 cousin. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 Her voice had hardened a little. She leaned back and 
 scrutinized him, while he pondered upon his reply. The 
 whole family was reaping golden benefits from her, yet her 
 first request must be refused. He longed to give her every- 
 thing she wanted, but he was keenly aware of the tempest 
 which such a proposition would bring forth. Polly's room 
 was Maria's shrine, the locality of her vain unending pen- 
 ance. 
 
 " Ada, darling, it's impossible. Every, or any room, in 
 the house but that." 
 
 Two dark, little vertical lines appeared between Ada's 
 brows, lines that came there when she was angry or 
 thwarted of some desire. 
 
 " After all," Neal said, " we're only here for a little 
 while." 
 
 She remained silent. Lifting her hand, he put it to his 
 lips. " Sweetheart," he said, " these rooms are sacred now 
 to me." 
 
 She drew her hand away. " You are such a sentimental- 
 ist! If I had those rooms I might not care to build for 
 a while yet." 
 
 A thrill of satisfaction went through him at this hint 
 of postponement. He had not realized how passionately
 
 208 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 he had desired to bring Ada into the very heart of his old 
 existence in Carmichael House, and keep her there. He 
 wanted her to feel the caress of its memories, to come 
 under the spell of its autumnal fascinations, to love his 
 family, faulty and ineffectual as they were, an assemblage 
 of dreamers, indeed, but lovable through their very help- 
 lessness. 
 
 " Ada, darling," he whispered. " Let us stay on here 
 awhile. I I want my son born here," he faltered, and 
 again took her hand. 
 
 She looked at him in genuine astonishment. " What did 
 you say ? " 
 
 He repeated his words, drawing her to him, his eyes 
 upon her with intent, wistful inquiry. She returned a gaze 
 that was less a light breaking from under half-closed lids 
 than a hard, sealed, unspoken negative. Leaning back she 
 raised her arms above her head, and the chiffons of the 
 loose sleeves falling away revealed the firm, white, rounded 
 flesh. Her lips were pouted a little, and their deep, nat- 
 ural red increased their likeness to a rose. Her eyes, under 
 the drooping lids, yielded nothing to his asking spirit. As 
 she waited for him to speak again, her physical presence 
 arousing his pulses to the quick tempo of passion, her spirit 
 detached and wary, there flashed across his mind a vision, 
 hateful and unendurable, of the eternally sterile woman, 
 luring always, caring only for the kiss, the caress, detached 
 blossoms of the spring, never to round to fruit. 
 
 " Ada, some day you and I oh, darling, don't ! " 
 
 For she had laughed with drowsy satire and indulgent 
 mockery. Reaching for her little cigarette case, she drew 
 one out, lighted it, and blew ghostly rings of smoke towards 
 the ceiling. 
 
 " Neal, I may as well tell you, I could never endure pain 
 or ugliness; I am not heroic." 
 
 Her tone implied that she did not intend to endure it, 
 illiberal and ungenerous as this might seem. Neal scarcely 
 credited her words. For a moment doubt lay leaden on his 
 heart, then he struggled to displace it. Of course Ada was
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 209 
 
 not speaking seriously. In any case, nature might trick 
 her into motherhood, and, once secured and blest within 
 that glorious economy, she would yield to its master-magics. 
 So he laughed too and drew her closer, but she pushed 
 him away with a soft, petulant gesture. 
 
 " Oh, I mean what I say. I am modern, dear, and can't 
 see the virtue in physical fertility. I'd rather bring forth 
 ideas ; rather lead, draw, inspire. I want you to be famous. 
 I want that more than anything else in all the world. I 
 know you are seething with all kinds of plans for reorgan- 
 izing the universe. Go ahead! Let your genius burn. 
 You're free now." She drew his head down until his 
 cheek rested against the lace and silk of her robe. "You 
 dear, silly boy, you wanted to do it all yourself before you 
 married me. You wanted to be rich, as if anybody could 
 earn money while pursuing altruism or socialism, or the 
 vision of a perfect world ! But you don't have to think of 
 that now." 
 
 Something stirred rebelliously within him at her state- 
 ment of his case, yet it was all true, trenchantly true. His 
 perpetual thought of money matters had blurred his vision 
 of his brother's need. Now he could live all day in the 
 cosmos of the under-man if he wished, and return at night 
 to such silken havens as this, where she waited to per- 
 suade him through her perfect presentation of existence 
 that the poor and the suffering were but the fantastic 
 shadows of a grim mythology. Could he keep the balance 
 true between his days and his nights?
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 IN the old house near the wharves the McCoy family 
 were waiting with more or less impatience for Patricia to 
 realize that on the threshold a man stood ready to lead 
 her into the major mysteries of married life more impor- 
 tant to their way of thinking, and to Father Carew's, than 
 all the problems of poverty and illness. A woman so splen- 
 didly alive as Patricia owed both the church and the world 
 the tribute of her wifehood. 
 
 But Patricia held back, shielding herself in a reserve 
 which even Father Carew could not penetrate either by his 
 Irish wit or his ghostly admonitions. How could they 
 realize this family and the larger family of St. Margaret's 
 that her love for Neal Carmichael was the star of her 
 existence, a luminary which, whether in a placid sky or be- 
 hind storm clouds, controlled her will. It was not a matter 
 of choice. It could not be confessed away, vowed away. 
 They might as well ask her to vow away the coming of the 
 tide. The tide had its ebb, as Patricia had her days of 
 sheer forgetfulness of everything but her work. Yet back 
 would come the dark, mysterious force, to which she would 
 yield, or which she would fight, according to her convic- 
 tion of the moment. When she yielded she was less bitter ; 
 but then she would stay away from confession, not daring 
 to unbare her thoughts. 
 
 Bulletins concerning the newly married pair in Carmichael 
 House were often transmitted to her by Delia, though 
 Patricia never opened the subject and closed it at the first 
 opportunity. It hurt her pride that she should hear of 
 Neal through back-stairs gossip, yet she could not always 
 stop the tongue of the warm-hearted, voluble Irishwoman, 
 who had only half-forgiven Patricia for relinquishing the 
 honors awaiting her at Carmichael House. 
 
 210
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 211 
 
 Delia was coming to supper one summer evening after 
 Benediction, Sunday having been chosen that Patricia might 
 be at home. With the youngest of her sisters in her lap, she 
 sat on the porch awaiting the return of the family, and 
 watching the sailboats as they showed between the trees 
 down there beyond the edge of the shore where the masts 
 of idle schooners rose stiffly. How often she longed to 
 take herself away to foreign scenes, seeking in a new land 
 release from memories too identified with this Island to 
 insure escape from them while she was still upon it. 
 
 Her sister, sliding from her lap to run down to the gate, 
 drew her eyes to the church party now approaching in a 
 sociable yet straggling procession headed by Father Carew 
 and Delia, and rounded off by James McCoy and his wife, 
 their strong, handsome figures slightly stiffened by Sunday 
 habiliments. Patricia, remembering then that she had not 
 yet made the potato salad, hurried indoors, thankful that 
 Thomas had not accompanied the family home. 
 
 Delia had news to tell ! Patricia gathered this as they 
 were all seated about the supper-table, for the sharp yet 
 kindly gray eyes sought he.rs continually. Father Carew was 
 the first to convey it, though not with intention. He had 
 had hard work, he said, to get a man to do a bit of painting 
 at the priest-house. All the laborers on the Island seemed 
 to be working at the Carmichaels'. 
 
 Patricia looked down at her cup, hoping the remark 
 would pass without comment, but McCoy, always interested 
 in the Carmichaels because of his daughter's transitory 
 connection with them, said with a protesting flourish of his 
 fork: 
 
 " Don't tell me the new Missus is tearin' up that beautiful 
 old house. How about it, Delia ? " 
 
 Delia bristled. " Tearin' up the foundations of every- 
 thing," she muttered, " bad luck to her and beggin' your 
 pardon, Father." 
 
 " Well, if you feel that hard, Delia, you'd better clear 
 yourself by tellin' us what she's. done," Father Carew an- 
 swered placidly.
 
 212 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Patricia was quite white, but no one was noticing her, 
 all eyes being fixed upon Delia, whose own eyes were snap- 
 ping with anticipatory judgments. 
 
 " Mr. Neal's in a fool's paradise, as they all are up there, 
 except Mrs. Guthrie. If you could have seen her cryin' as 
 I did, in Miss Polly's poor, stripped room." 
 
 " She took Polly's room," Mrs. McCoy said indignantly. 
 
 " She's taken the whole house, drat her ! Up to the 
 garret has gone the old mahogany, an' she's puttin' in 
 wicked French furniture an' pictures," Delia explained with 
 righteous misunderstanding. " I don't fancy them bow- 
 knots, an' the gray-haired, red-cheeked women she calls 
 Nattways. She an' Mrs. Guthrie had a set-to about Polly's 
 room, an' Mrs. Guthrie wouldn't give it up, until Miss 
 Ada said somethin' about mothers that killed their children 
 an' then worshiped them. Mrs. Guthrie came to me all 
 white and tremblin'. 'Delia/ she says, 'did I kill Polly? 
 If I did God's judgin' me but say I didn't, or I'll go mad.' 
 I put her to bed an' held her like a two-year-old." 
 
 " Mr. Alexander himself came in to see what was wrong, 
 an' I told him straight. ' Mr. Carmichael,' says I, ' you've 
 been my master nigh thirty years. If you allow your grand- 
 daughter-in-law to take Miss Polly's room, you'll live to rue 
 it.' With that he began to shake, an' says he, ' We're under 
 terrible obligations to Mrs. Carmichael, an' we're glad to 
 keep her here among us.' After a bit Mr. Neal comes in, 
 lookin' distressed and unhappy. He sits down by his Aunt 
 Maria an' takes her poor tremblin' hand an' strokes it, an' 
 looks as if his heart was breakin' with pity for her, but 
 he can't do nothin' either. An' sure was I, that his wife 
 had it all fixed up without his say-so it's the way of her 
 an' him adorin' her makes it worse." 
 
 Delia paused for breath. Patricia was listening with a 
 sense of suffocation, ashamed of the blind, instinctive, 
 unholy joy in her heart which would surge up and drown 
 the nobler pity. Neal had what he wanted and he was 
 paying the price ! 
 
 "Tain't the way to win the hearts of Neal's people,"
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 213 
 
 Father Carew commented thoughtfully. A shadow was on 
 his face, for he did not like this news, nor the expression 
 in Patricia's eyes; nor her silence, nor her pallor beau- 
 tiful, baffling colleen that she was. 
 
 James McCoy looked at his daughter. " You'd have done 
 better than that wouldn't you, Patricia?" 
 
 Taken by surprise, Patricia flushed deeply. " Mrs. Car- 
 michael has at least kept the house from the market. You 
 should do her that justice, Delia." 
 
 " And turned it into a jail ! " Delia returned hotly. " She's 
 got an iron will but very smooth so long as she isn't 
 crossed. Mr. Neal will be the most wretched man on 
 earth when he knows the truth." 
 
 Father Carew felt he must stop this outpouring. Gossip 
 was all very well, but even innocent gossip had a malign 
 way of sowing seed in people's hearts which later brought 
 forth ugly, unrecognizable blooms. 
 
 " Do you remember little sandy-headed Michael Kelley 
 that used always to have a cold in his head and snuffle 
 over his Latin, till you had to bless yourself to keep from 
 hard thoughts of him ? Do you remember him, Delia ? " 
 
 " Sure, Father." 
 
 " Well, he's no hand to forget old friends and old bene- 
 fits. He never forgot the day you ran into the priest's 
 house with somethin' for his headache between Masses he 
 bein' just out of seminary and not used to fastin' until 
 midday. Well, he's sent you a medal from Rome, a beau- 
 tiful object of art in a velvet case and blessed by His 
 Holiness. Now, what do you think of little Kelley ! " 
 
 " Now, what do you think of that ? " Delia said, smiling 
 about the table. " Have you the medal with you, Father ? 
 Sure, I need it against me temper in Carmichael House, for 
 I was never one to like deceit an' smoothness and " 
 
 Father Carew sighed. Women were beyond even his 
 diplomacy! It took the Lord Almighty, and not a poor 
 priest, to stop their tongues.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE changes at Carmichael House once accomplished, 
 even Mrs. Guthrie had to acknowledge that its inhabitants 
 were, from every material standpoint, the gainers. Ada 
 said nothing more to Neal about building, since she was 
 herself realizing that Carmichael House was in its way 
 quite beyond duplication. No builder could replace its 
 paneling, provide a main staircase of such graceful spiral, 
 match its painted ceilings ; no landscape gardener could as- 
 semble such immemorial box-bushes, such hedgerows of 
 white and purple lilacs. 
 
 Another feature of the case influenced Ada in remaining. 
 She enjoyed her rule as the guiding genius of this outworn 
 family; was pleased both to dazzle them and to keep them 
 in order. After all, they were a presentable assemblage of 
 dependents, their marks of aristocracy shown in their odd, 
 handsome features, their erect bearing even Maria's shoul- 
 ders never drooped their deep-set eyes with some inde- 
 finable beauty of expression in them, their inability to do 
 what was crude or ungraceful. To her friends, Ada called 
 them "her collection," and only Mrs. Fleming did not 
 smile, perhaps because she had been herself on a shelf in 
 Ada's cabinet for so many years. 
 
 Mrs. Fleming went one day about a year after Ada's 
 marriage to see her niece on a matter of business she 
 avoided social contacts with Ada and, not finding her in, 
 inquired for Mrs. Guthrie, between whom and herself, since 
 Polly's death, a certain bond had been established, strength- 
 ened later on by their mutual, if unspoken, consciousness 
 that they both felt alike on the subject of Neal's wife. 
 Delia came down to ask Mrs. Fleming if she would go 
 directly to Mrs. Guthrie's bedroom. 
 
 On the way she encountered Mr. Carmichael and stopped 
 
 214
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 215 
 
 to chat with her old neighbor, who looked costly and well 
 set-up, though his mouth was fixed, she thought, in grim 
 lines. 
 
 " You are growing younger, Alexander," she said. 
 
 " Your niece has put me in a conservatory, Madam. I am 
 obliged to flourish. How is Peter's mother ? " 
 
 " Peter's mother is well, and dreading her son's marriage 
 to the loveliest girl in the world, of course ! " 
 
 " They are all that before marriage," Mr. Carmichael said 
 sagely. " This sex riddle, Madam, is the one which, if I 
 am permitted to survive death, I shall propound to Pluto 
 and Proserpine. I am beginning to believe it's all an illusion 
 these two unreconciled divisions called female and male. 
 Somewhere the two must be one, but not in this world," 
 he added with a mournful accent and a wag of his white 
 head. " There are changes here." He indicated the vista 
 of drawing-rooms, a perspective of light, graceful and im- 
 personal decoration. 
 
 " I preferred old Carmichael House," Mrs. Fleming said 
 with a touch of sharpness. 
 
 A mist clouded the patriarch's eyes. " No resurrection 
 for that, Alberta Fleming but then we're mighty com- 
 fortable ! Ada's a smart woman, as we used to say years 
 ago, before everybody was so clever." 
 
 " Yes, Ada is intelligent," Mrs. Fleming remarked 
 dryly, " but if she had been a little more so she wouldn't 
 have scoured the bloom of time off these walls." 
 
 " Well, the young like change." He shuffled off to the 
 library a strange library, with Ada's modern spirit re- 
 corded in violet decorations that offended Philip. He and 
 Ada had had a scrimmage over the green glass globe of 
 his student-lamp, in which, to the astonishment and secret 
 satisfaction of the family, Philip had won; it having been 
 generally believed that too much intimacy with dead poets 
 had sapped his spirit. Jack had ventured the explanation 
 that there must be some authority for green glass lamp 
 shades in the Greek Anthology, else Philip would never 
 have stiffened his backbone against Ada's encroachments.
 
 216 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Mrs. Fleming laughed and passed on. She found Mrs. 
 Guthrie in her room, now, it would seem, Polly's room also, 
 for the dead child's possessions had been transferred to 
 this sanctuary. It was one of the weapons of Ada's power 
 that her decisions had common sense behind them, and the 
 results of her arbitrations generally proved advantageous to 
 resisters of her authority. 
 
 Mrs. Guthrie, deprived of Polly's room, was cut off, per- 
 force, from a setting which, in its changeless rigidity, resem- 
 bled a marmorean record of death. Polly's little trinkets, 
 her pictures and books arranged in her mother's room, had 
 been rendered sweet and companionable by the change. 
 
 " I am marooned here," Maria announced to Mrs. 
 Fleming. " That's the reason I asked you to come up. I 
 don't feel at home in the rest of the house; I am always 
 afraid that my black gown isn't in the color scheme." 
 
 Mrs. Fleming laughed. " Oh, I lived through Ada's color 
 schemes, and you will, too; I shouldn't feel badly about 
 them, they may all be changed next year. You'd better 
 marry, Maria," she added. 
 
 " Do you think I'd make myself a laughing-stock on this 
 Island? No! but I'd like my own little house where I 
 could have my friends in to tea or dinner. I never feel 
 free to invite anyone these days. Besides, the house is 
 becoming a perfect hostelry. Ada has sometimes as many 
 as four men in to dinner; and I don't call them well-bred, 
 but then, of course, I am old-fashioned." 
 
 " How does Neal like that? " 
 
 " He doesn't like it ; I can tell from little signs." 
 
 " Oh, he needn't be afraid of Ada ; she's too cold ! " 
 
 " She seems to stir up these men. Young Carroll haunts 
 the house. You and I, Alberta, had to be content with our 
 husbands. I don't call it quite becoming in a good woman." 
 
 Mrs. Fleming smiled. " Ada would shriek with amuse- 
 ment if she heard herself described as a ' good woman.' 
 Why, here is Neal home so early ? " 
 
 Neal had come to the open door of his aunt's bedroom, 
 and Mrs. Fleming, fortunately, had seen him in time to
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 217 
 
 catch up his name easily. He said, in reply to this ques- 
 tion, " I have a public dinner on to-night. Can we have 
 tea up here, Maria? Graham tells me Ada is out riding." 
 
 Maria rang the bell with every evidence of pleasure. 
 She was always flattered when Neal came to her with a 
 request; and she enjoyed dispensing hospitality from the 
 only room in Carmichael House of which she felt undis- 
 puted mistress. As it opened upon a kind of broad bal- 
 cony shaded with an awning, she proposed that they have 
 tea out there. 
 
 " And, Graham, serve strawberries, and those little choco- 
 late cakes with soft filling. Alberta, will you have muffins 
 or toast ? " 
 
 Mrs. Fleming expressed her preference, secretly amused 
 at Maria's order. It was one of Mrs. Guthrie's daily per- 
 plexities that she should take so much pleasure in Ada's 
 abundant housekeeping. When tea was served Jack had 
 joined the company looking more blooming than ever. 
 His eyes, of that soft cornflower blue so often possessed 
 by men of his temperament, were placid as a baby's. 
 
 " Where's Ada?" he inquired. 
 
 " Riding," Neal answered laconically. He had been 
 afraid to inquire with whom Ada had gone to ride, since he 
 would be inclined to punch the fatuous head of young 
 Carroll, whom he suspected as responsible for the ex- 
 pedition. 
 
 "/ must ride, if I hope to walk with comfort," Jack 
 remarked. " Another cup, Maria, and don't forget the 
 sugar." 
 
 Tea-comforted at last, they all leaned back in their 
 wicker chairs to enjoy the distant blue of the ocean, the late 
 golden light in the treetops. Sweet garden scents came 
 to them. Carmichael House was rejoicing in its summer 
 glories, and for awhile it was easy for the dreamers 
 on the balcony to believe that they were creators, not 
 dreamers. 
 
 Only Neal was not responding to the influence of the 
 hour. That he worked early and late, only slipping home
 
 2i8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 occasionally at odd hours, was no excuse for Ada to be 
 off with young men who were making themselves fools 
 over her. He was beginning to resent this court of hers, 
 composed mostly of wealthy and idle boys not long out of 
 college, who seemed to think themselves privileged to drop 
 in any time with all manner of flimsy excuses, and who 
 were barely civil to him, their host. 
 
 Did they know, he wondered, that Ada's money was back 
 of all the luxuries of Carmichael House? Neal's flesh 
 tingled at the thought. He had moments when he visioned 
 himself begging Ada to come away with him and live in 
 the style his income warranted. But these reactions were 
 only temporary. She could banish his scruples and she 
 seemed to discover his thoughts through some mysterious 
 vibratory communication she could banish his scruples by 
 no greater magic than putting her arms about him, or 
 touching her cheek lightly to his, or inviting him to drowsy 
 midnight speech when kisses took the place of words. 
 
 He was apprehensive now lest what he feared should 
 come upon him the spectacle of Ada riding home with 
 young Carroll. The balcony commanded a view of the car- 
 riage drive, but those on the drive could not very well see 
 people on the balcony because of the low, deep awning. 
 Neal strained his ears for the sound of horses' hoofs on 
 the gravel, and, after awhile, he caught that for which he 
 listened, no commonplace thud of feet, but a mystic echo 
 of destiny. 
 
 The beginnings of unhappiness, often traced in many a 
 flowery scene, have about them always something elusive 
 and spectral : and disturb before they are understood. Neal, 
 listening and waiting on the balcony, felt a vague, far-off 
 suffering, a disinclination to look into the faces of the people 
 about him. The long avenue drew him like a mysterious 
 perspective of fate, for now the horses and their riders 
 came into view, Ada a lithe figure on a bay mare, the 
 sunlight crisping her hair to gold. A rose was tucked into 
 her linen riding coat. She was smiling, and apparently 
 silent; but Carroll seemed making the most of his oppor-
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 219 
 
 tunities, for he was leaning towards her in a boyish, eager 
 attitude, his face pale and intent. Neal watched the pair 
 with quick-coming breath and somber speculation in his 
 eyes. Jack, having no wish that his nephew should appear 
 in the role of the jealous husband, asked him to explain an 
 editorial in the morning's issue of The Courier. 
 
 Neal took the hint and became talkative; but no sound 
 of life, evidently, reached Ada from the balcony, or else 
 she didn't care, for reining her horse in the circle before 
 the porte-cochere she continued talking in a low tone to 
 Carroll, ending whatever she had to say by the withdrawal 
 of the rose from her coat. For a moment Neal's eyes were 
 all for her now she toyed with it, passing and repassing 
 it across her lips, then came what he was tormentedly 
 expecting, its bestowal upon Carroll. 
 
 Jack at this moment broke a plate, diverting the two 
 matrons who had flashed glances at each other. Neal took 
 advantage of the confusion to slip away. Descending the 
 stairs he met Ada. 
 
 "Hello, dear!" she said gayly. "You home? What a 
 nice surprise ! " Then stopped short, for his face was 
 stern. 
 
 " Ada," he said in a sharp voice, " I don't like this kind 
 of thing and " 
 
 " Don't make a scene on the staircase," she interrupted 
 him. 
 
 She swept past him, and he turned and followed her, 
 emptied of his wrath. Had his voice been loud ? He hoped 
 not. He accompanied her into her bedroom, closing the 
 door behind them, but she said nothing to him. Sitting 
 down before her dressing-table, she unbuttoned the elastic 
 that held her hat, patted her hair with her white fingers, 
 then turned and regarded him coolly. 
 
 " Have you eaten something that disagreed with you, 
 Neal ? you silly you old silly ! " 
 
 He did not answer. He had already discovered that 
 impulsive speech put him at a disadvantage with her. This 
 banishment of spontaneity had been one of the first signals
 
 220 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 of disillusion in his married life, but he still put the blame 
 upon himself. He had been always too outspoken, too 
 emotional, too much ruled by the moment. Now he waited, 
 trying to formulate clear, incisive sentences which would 
 put everything right at once. But Ada's eyes, fixed upon 
 him, were exercising their talent of destroying another's 
 self-possession while retaining her own. Neal, as she gazed, 
 was very near to begging her pardon. 
 
 But he rallied his forces in a last effort to stand his 
 ground. She had no right to be coquetting with other men. 
 
 " I don't like it," he burst out at last. 
 
 " ' Like it ? ' What are you talking about, rude one ? " 
 
 " Why is young Carroll at your heels every minute." 
 
 " Oh, it's Carroll you object to ! " 
 
 " I certainly object to your handing him a rose that you 
 have first kissed." 
 
 " ' Kissed ? " She gazed at him with the innocent aston- 
 ishment of a child. 
 
 " Well, you had it at your lips." 
 
 " Saint Jean Baptiste ! " she laughed. " Oh, but you are 
 droll. What do you wish me to do, milord, while you are 
 pursuing fame in yonder city sit and embroider with 
 Maria, or play chess with your grandfather? My dear, if 
 you wish to keep me in this house, you must let me out of 
 it; which is Irish, but I can't help it." 
 
 " Ride all you can, and with whom you please, but keep 
 them at their distance. Young Carroll is all but engaged 
 to Mary Faulkner." 
 
 " Am I depriving Mary of her man ? I am not responsi- 
 ble if she can't hold him. He's a nice boy, and she treats 
 him as if he were a lord of the universe. No wonder he 
 is bored." 
 
 " You could decline to go riding with him." 
 
 "Would that send his thoughts back to her? Oh, Neal, 
 you don't know anything at all ! " 
 
 He stood looking at her, quite discomfited, uneasy and 
 helpless. Then grim humor seized him. An image of him- 
 self as a connubial acolyte rose before his mental vision.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 221 
 
 Time to stop posturing and crooking the knee to this beau- 
 tiful wife! 
 
 " Oh, very well," he said lightly. " I am willing to learn, 
 Ada, and whoop it up to any extent. I'll be play-boy to 
 any disconsolate virgin whose man is wearing your rose 
 over his cigarette case pocket, and blowing kisses to you 
 between rings of smoke." 
 
 She stared at him, then frowned. " That wouldn't be- 
 come you at all. You are about as well fitted for the role 
 as Philip when he's lecturing to school-teachers on the 
 expurgated editions of Ovid." 
 
 " Aren't I a Don John ? Oh, well, Ada, I can learn. 
 For God's sake, don't let's take our marriage seriously. 
 That would be a great mistake." 
 
 " / am taking it seriously," she replied. " I love you 
 enough to put up with this whole family for your sake." 
 
 " Are they so trying? " 
 
 " They are not amusing. If they weren't so good-looking 
 I'd leave to-morrow." 
 
 " Well, let's leave." 
 
 " That sounds very well. You know you wouldn't go." 
 
 Neal reflected a moment. " I am not so keen on French 
 chefs I'd rather support you." 
 
 " On an income of four thousand a year ! You're crazy." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose I am. I've been crazy ever since I 
 first saw you." 
 
 " You had a sane interval, I suppose, when you engaged 
 yourself to Patricia." 
 
 " Don't, Ada." 
 
 The weary effort to jest was abandoned. He looked 
 hungrily at her, wondering when, jesting aside and quar- 
 reling aside, they would come at last into the unity for 
 which his soul was parched. He was always fevered these 
 days through some frustrated longing which nothing satis- 
 fied, learning indeed that neither the marriage service nor 
 his possession of Ada had really mated him with her. Bell, 
 book and candle were as ineffectual as physical union to 
 effect the unity of two who looked at life from different
 
 222 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 angles. He was always trying to see as Ada saw ; the result 
 was astigmatism. 
 
 Yet he remained hopeful because he was still wrestling 
 with the problem. He did. not yet realize that on the day 
 when pain was over he would come into danger. 
 
 His reception of her reference to Patricia did not please 
 her. Was the root of an old affection still in his breast? 
 Ada could not tolerate the idea. Her triumph over her 
 rival, to be complete, must be a rout in the region of Neal's 
 memory. That Patricia still loved Neal, Ada did not for 
 a moment doubt; and the thought sometimes gave her 
 uneasiness since a living love has magnetic power, and 
 even at a distance can work its influence. No seed must 
 be in Neal's breast to respond to that warmth. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " Ada asked, as he moved to- 
 wards the door of the dressing-room. 
 
 " Have you forgotten the Civic Federation dinner ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, and you are chairman ! What are they talking 
 about?" 
 
 " The poor, as usual." 
 
 "Develop their wills that will save them," Ada said 
 brusquely. 
 
 Neal shrugged his shoulders. " If I were God " 
 
 " Well, you are only chairman of a dinner. Come and 
 kiss me, sulky one ! You proud thing ! " 
 
 She tilted back her face, her eyes mischievous, her lips 
 pouted to receive his kiss. As his lips touched hers all 
 his scruples vanished, and he kissed her again and again, 
 on her throat, her lips, her forehead. 
 
 He took some bitterness with him as he went away, 
 wondering why he was willing to have Ada on her own 
 terms and thus earn her half-amused contempt. He 
 longed for equal shares in the game, not realizing that only 
 a community of feeling can provide this. 
 
 On his way to the city his thoughts were constantly with 
 her. Why was he so often unhappy? 
 
 She denied nothing to his passion, nothing to his demands 
 for her companionship; she seemed, indeed, pleased to be
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 223 
 
 with him. Yet her very compliance might spring from a 
 profound indifference. Was it true that if she were suf- 
 ficiently amused and physically comfortable, she wanted 
 nothing else ? 
 
 As usual he ended his questions by doubting himself, not 
 her. Gratitude alone should keep his thoughts uncritical, 
 but not even his abundant comforts lulled him to acquies- 
 cence. Of late he had the sensation of walking in a circle. 
 Life had become like the recurrent pattern of a wall paper. 
 Nerves rebelled at one more castle in the trees with the 
 eternal, simpering group. He had longed for the crisis of 
 parenthood as the initiation to a truer understanding be- 
 tween him and his wife, but Ada was refusing motherhood, 
 frankly declaring that she hated children. 
 
 Of what use then was their passion ! Neal shrank from 
 its self-involvements, its enormous devouring egoism. He 
 could not understand a fruitless love. 
 
 With this melancholy undercurrent to his thoughts, he 
 took his place as chairman at the dinner, which now made 
 ironical appeal to his sense of the incongruous. For a 
 dinner in the cause of the relief of poverty, it could scarcely 
 have been more extravagant ; the wines, especially, being of 
 a quality suitable to a campaign in favor of the under- 
 dog, for they were mellow enough to infuse even a re- 
 luctant breast with a sense of universal brotherhood, and 
 pity for those who could not afford them! 
 
 Neal looked at the scene as if it were a part of opera- 
 bouffe. Even the Cardinal's amethyst ring seemed to 
 preach the doctrine that to sympathize thoroughly with 
 misery you must be raised above it. He wondered what 
 the assemblage would say if, leaving his place, he should 
 go into the streets and return with the first scarecrow he 
 met, to listen to specialists discuss the scarecrow's problem. 
 Perhaps if they filled a plate and wineglass for him, the 
 scarecrow might even become a specialist on his own case, 
 so potent is a comfortable body for wise adjudication. 
 
 Going home late on the ferry he met Divine. " Why 
 weren't you at the dinner? " Neal asked.
 
 224 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " I can't talk about the needs of the poor over cham- 
 pagne. It's too absurd. Besides, they never go to the root 
 of the matter." 
 
 " I am going to have it out with you some day, Divine, 
 about the root of the matter." 
 
 " Come home with me now and have it out, as you 
 say." 
 
 Neal assented gladly. The encounter with Ada, the 
 banalities of the dinner, had filled him with restlessness, 
 with a sense of the gulf between his theories and his prac- 
 tice. As the ferryboat neared the slip he found himself 
 behind two workingmen, one of whom held a copy of the 
 morning's Courier and was evidently discoursing to the 
 other on an editorial Neal had written, a biting arraign- 
 ment of a certain railroad whose policy was always sacrifice 
 safety to dividends. 
 
 " Great stuff," one remarked. 
 
 " If Carmichael wrote it, he's got nerve," the other an- 
 swered. " My second girl is one of the maids up there, 
 and I know about that family. His rich wife's one of the 
 biggest shareholders in that road." 
 
 " Easy to fight when your belly's full." 
 
 They both laughed and slouched on their way, leaving 
 Neal with his flesh tingling as under the lash of a whip. 
 The diabolical incongruity of his position flashed across his 
 mind with a new vividness. Influenced by a too great sense 
 of delicacy, almost as fatal to mutual understanding as the 
 curiosities of the vulgar, he had never even inquired how 
 Ada's money was invested, though he knew that her father 
 had had large railroading interests. Peter handled all that. 
 And since Ada had elected to live at Carmichael House, 
 and to run Carmichael House on a scale commensurate with 
 her liberal American imagination in those matters, to probe 
 as to the sources of her income had seemed all the more 
 impossible. 
 
 Neal turned an amazed face to Divine. " Did you hear 
 that?" 
 
 " I did."
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 225 
 
 " Precious bounder they must think me, preaching one 
 thing, practicing another ! " 
 
 Divine was silent. He had had his own reflections con- 
 cerning Neal's situation as an idealist under enormous 
 obligations to a wealthy wife, but he had never made the 
 mistake having followed the course of the affair from the 
 first of charging Neal with mercenary motives. He was 
 doing the best he could with his compromises and not 
 fully awake to them! Divine had known for some time 
 that the moment of awakening could not be long in coming, 
 since Neal was too sensitive to the superior logic of life 
 to remain long unconscious of the discrepancy between his 
 doctrines and his practice. 
 
 Neal was facing himself, indeed, from a new angle. A 
 smile drifted for a moment over his irregular features, the 
 sign of some sardonic repentance, some shadowy action 
 which he knew would never transpire beyond the borders 
 of his brain. Ada's serene enjoyment of wealth, coupled 
 with her desire that he should gain glory through his ideal- 
 ism, would continue to produce confusion. 
 
 Divine's study on the ground floor of his old-fashioned 
 house was a comfortable shabby room, lined with books 
 and well stocked with armchairs. Two staghounds kept 
 guard on the hearthrug, while presiding over the sanctities 
 of the desk was a black Persian cat, by name Pompey, with 
 eyes like yellow globes and a fine plume of a tail, which he 
 waved majestically on Divine's entrance as he advanced to 
 meet his master with feline rumbles of pleasure. 
 
 " Divine, I've come to a deadlock ! " Neal said, when they 
 were comfortably seated. " I can't go on with The Courier! 
 I can't preach one thing and practice another." 
 
 " I want you to go on with it. I want you to take my 
 place before long." 
 
 Neal looked alarmed. "You are not giving up?" 
 
 "The paper? Yes, in a year or so. Did you know that 
 I am studying for the priesthood in the Episcopal 
 Church?" 
 
 Neal raised himself to an erect position.
 
 226 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " You ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Even I ! " 
 
 Neal was silent through sheer amazement. It seemed 
 incomprehensible to him that Divine, with his alert, modern 
 mind, his wealth of historical study, his experiences in India 
 as a student of a philosophy far more profound, as it ap- 
 peared to Neal, than the accepted Christian doctrine, should 
 put his neck under the yoke of tradition, accepting a lim- 
 ited service beneath a narrow rule. 
 
 " But why ? " he stammered. 
 
 " Because I have thought for a long time that the Church 
 has need of men who come to Her after an apprenticeship 
 in the world." 
 
 He began to speak more intimately than he had ever 
 before done of a search begun out of the depths of what 
 had seemed an unassuagable grief for a woman who had 
 died, and which had brought him, not to a creed, but to 
 a Life. His narrative was slow, deliberate, selected, as if 
 he were trying to avoid in the presentation of his case both 
 mysticism and a too literal confession of faith ; yet through 
 it ran a poignant appeal to something in Neal's own nature, 
 asleep for the most part, but stirring him at times into 
 wistful inquiry, into longing for some divine logic which 
 should knit the contradictory events of life with the order- 
 liness of the ideal world. Divine seemed more preoccupied 
 with a Person than a system, a Person still perpetuating 
 life through mysterious contact with the hearts of men. 
 
 They fell silent after awhile. Divine longed to comfort 
 Neal, for whom he foresaw a long ordeal before he entered 
 upon the Way. Ada was his barrier to the life of the spirit, 
 would be, indeed, until Neal crushed her or was crushed 
 by her. 
 
 Neal rose to go at last. " I'll hang on to The Courier as 
 long as I can," he promised. " As for these other matters, 
 I am yet groping." 
 
 Divine nodded. " We are all slain by our experiences 
 but we live again ! "
 
 BOOK IV 
 CARMICHAEL'S COMING OF AGE
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 " AND you do not intend to marry, then ? What keeps 
 ye from marryin' Thomas Murphy, a good Catholic like 
 yourself. Do you harbor a sinful thought in your heart?" 
 
 The speaker was Father Carew, who was addressing 
 Patricia within the precincts of St. Margaret's Church on 
 a December afternoon about four years after the events 
 which had sent Neal Carmichael to his marriage, and 
 Patricia into the loneliness of frustrated love. 
 
 Father Carew's question set her trembling. Would the 
 authority of the Church break down, at last, the authority 
 of her heart, which shrank from the thought of any union 
 but one. Since Neal was married to another, she could 
 but go widowed to her appointed end. 
 
 " a sinful thought in my heart ! " 
 
 She repeated his words, with a little catch in her breath 
 as if a sob lay beneath speech. Her hand groped out and 
 rested for a moment on a pew-door while her eyes, large and 
 mournful, looked towards the red glow of the sanctuary 
 lamp that hung before a high, dark painting of the Cruci- 
 fixion. 
 
 " I am not in the confessional, Father," she answered 
 with pathetic dignity. 
 
 " And you tell me nothing, when you are there," Father 
 Carew replied impatiently. " It's me fancy that you are 
 longin' for things forbidden God forgive you. You know 
 better than that, Patricia, for you are a good girl. Why 
 didn't you marry young Carmichael, if you felt that way 
 about him? Better that than this death in life." 
 
 She shrank back. All the color ebbed from her face, and, 
 seeing how he had hurt her, Father Carew turned and 
 left her. After a while her immobility gave way to a desire 
 to reach the sacred place where the red light hung, per- 
 
 229
 
 230 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 petually attesting a divine tragedy. She bowed herself at 
 last, before a Mystery which had ceased to comfort her. 
 Not to remember her lost love was death, and she subsisted 
 on transgression; yet pray she must to this Savior who 
 hung in eternal sorrow on the Cross, since prayer was as 
 much a habit of her life as the thoughts she could not 
 conquer. 
 
 She rose at last and went slowly down the aisle. By 
 the holy water stoup Thomas Murphy was waiting for 
 her. Their fingers touched as they reached their hands to 
 the water, then crossed themselves, their gaze upon each 
 other, far away from the rite they were performing. Rais- 
 ing the heavy leather curtain for her, they passed from the 
 thick incense-perfumed air into the cold vestibule. 
 
 "Which way, Pat?" 
 
 " I don't know. I ought to go and see how Uncle Shamus 
 is. He has a cold." 
 
 "May I walk along?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Her mood was humble and weary. Father Carew's 
 words were sounding in her ears " Do you harbor a sinful 
 thought in your heart ? " 
 
 Must she be forever confronted with that sin ? How end 
 it? Should she marry? Should she put this honest man 
 between her and the dark gulfs of consciousness which 
 threatened to overwhelm her? Must she marry as per- 
 forming a kind of supreme penance, burying joy in duty? 
 
 Thomas was equally humble. The old tyranny and 
 arrogance of his passion had been worn out by his long 
 waiting. He no longer thought of the wrecking yard and 
 the superlative taste of his neckties as avenues to a woman's 
 heart, now become more mysterious to him than the shrines 
 of St. Margaret's. He was solicitous of Patricia these days, 
 thought much of her health, wondered if she were over- 
 worked, wondered, half- jealously, if what she heard of 
 events at Carmichael House saddened her. 
 
 It was known to fnany dwellers on the Island now that 
 Mr. and Mrs. Neal Carmichael were not in accord. Ada's
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 231 
 
 meteoric flashes across the vision of the populace left even 
 the least observing with the impression that she was gay 
 and that she kept about her always a court of young men. 
 Because of his devotion to her, it was rumored, a certain 
 Carlton had broken his engagement and a girl's heart. It 
 was known that she and her husband were rarely seen to- 
 gether, and when together were like strangers. 
 
 Of course Patricia must know these things, though Neal's 
 name never crossed her lips. Murphy was jealous at times 
 of that very silence, troubled over what it might portend. 
 
 To-day the mood of both drew them into a kind of 
 weary accord. They walked on together through the gray 
 December day with bowed heads. Cross-streets gave them 
 glimpses of the harbor, steely beneath a snowy sky, and of 
 the distant city, a congestion of impossible towers. 
 
 "Pat?" 
 
 " Yes, Tommie." 
 
 His heart leaped at the word " Tommie." When they 
 went to public school together she used to call him by that 
 name. 
 
 " Pat, dear, can't you ever think of me again ? " 
 
 To his surprise she replied, " I do think of you often. 
 You've been very good to me." 
 
 " I'd like to be better. I'd like to take care of you. I 
 guess you don't know how tired you look some days." 
 
 " I am tired," she admitted. 
 
 " Pat, dear, won't you say you'll marry me some day?" 
 
 Again she was to surprise him, overwhelm him with the 
 unexpectedness of her answer. 
 
 " You can have me, Thomas." 
 
 He stopped short and seized her hand, then dropped it, 
 recollecting where they were. 
 
 " Patricia, dear ! I've waited so long for this." 
 
 There was no answering light in her face. She began 
 to speak slowly as if the words hurt her. 
 
 " I must be true with you. I am marrying you not 
 because I love you. That you mustn't ask, for I cannot 
 force my feelings. I'll be a good wife to you, but I don't
 
 232 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 love you as a wife should love her husband. If knowing 1 
 this you still want me " 
 
 But he scarcely heard the words, gazing at her like a 
 man transfixed. Passion again leaped up in him, the old 
 overmastering flame which would have its way. He 
 wanted to possess her, draw her into his life. Passion 
 which, unlike love, takes no thought of another's will, 
 again enthralled him, stopped his ears to her faltering 
 words, closed his eyes to her pallor, to the look, half- 
 frightened, which stole into her face at the fierce desire 
 in his gaze. Already she was dumfounded by her capitula- 
 tion, the result of a frightened mood, of her recognition of 
 an authority greater than her own heart, and which had 
 power to loose or to bind. But the word was inexorably 
 given. The very inevitableness of it might prove her anchor 
 of salvation. With quickened breath she hurried on, 
 Thomas scarcely able to keep pace with her. At the en- 
 trance to the Mariner's Rest she paused. 
 
 " I must go in alone, Thomas." 
 
 " May I call at the house this evening?" 
 
 " Yes you may come," she faltered. 
 
 " Give me one kiss, Pat." 
 
 She shrank from him. " Not on the street." 
 
 " To-night, then." 
 
 " I must go. It's late." 
 
 She hurried up the long avenue, her heart's pulses 
 sounding like the strokes of doom in her ears. It had 
 come at last the surrender she had long known was 
 inevitable despite her aversions, her resolutions. The 
 Church, her family, her environment, Thomas's will, each 
 was an element of a compelling force stronger than her 
 despair, which was now giving way to a kind of unnatural 
 buoyancy, the first effects of surrender. This was the 
 last supreme sacrifice. Father Carew would be satisfied, 
 her own people relieved, Thomas would know the mascu- 
 line victory of mere man over mere woman. 
 
 She shivered, thinking of the end of the logic that hour 
 had begun. She was Neal's, yet she had pledged herself
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 233 
 
 to Thomas. In her ears rang his exultant tones. She felt 
 again his assured, devouring gaze but the word could not 
 be unspoken ! 
 
 Half-dazed and weary she made her way to the familiar 
 door. 
 
 Uncle Shamus chirped at sight of her, and demanded a 
 slice of his favorite cake. While she was cutting it, his 
 good eye regarded her through its film of over ninety 
 years. 
 
 "You are pale, Pat, dear?" 
 
 " I'm so busy, Uncle Shamus." 
 
 " Be you niver goin' to rest ? " 
 
 " There's always something to be done." 
 
 " Give the Lord a chance, do, colleen ! Sure, you lave 
 nothin' to His greatness at all, at all." 
 
 She sighed. " There's work to be done," she repeated. 
 
 " The Lord don't mane ye to be thin and drear-eyed 
 for no causes of His'n," Shamus said, munching his cake. 
 
 She came and sat near him by the fire, her hands cupped 
 to hold her chin in the old fashion. 
 
 " Uncle Shamus, dear," she said finally. 
 
 " Yes, lass o' mine." 
 
 " Can you keep two people apart who love each other ? " 
 
 Shamus puffed at his pipe and reflected. Then he began 
 his answer with the old familiar preface, " The man that 
 war a Rosicrucian said " 
 
 At that point he was again plunged in a fog of brood- 
 ing. Patricia waited patiently, thinking that this Unknown, 
 whatever his titles, must have had the real spirit in him, to 
 be remembered through long years by an unlettered seaman. 
 
 "What did he say, Uncle Shamus?" she asked at last. 
 
 " He said two people who loved each other was stronger 
 than armies, and rocks, and high winds, and water come 
 freshet time; but they was strongest when " 
 
 He paused, his mind groping in the mists of the past for 
 the exact sense " when they was three not two." 
 
 "Three? Their child the third ?" 
 
 " The third wasn't their choild or childer but Him as
 
 234 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 trod the sea, and walked in Pilate's palace. Leastwise, 
 that's what I made out'n it, for I hearn him tell Bob 
 Rafferty one day about this other one. Bob, he loved a lass 
 that gave him the go-by and Bob one day was a-swearin' 
 to hurt her someways. 
 
 " ' The Third One,' says the Rosicrucian, ' warn't no 
 part of your bargainin' then, else you'd love the lass yet, 
 and long from the depths of your sinful heart to serve her.' 
 
 " ' Who be the Third One ? ' says Bob, ' ef it warn't that 
 damned Michael, that come courtin' my girl ? ' 
 
 " ' I don't mean him,' says the Rosicrucian, ' but the One 
 that stays with the mother when the child's in the grave; 
 and walks among the stars for all the world like a singer 
 ir. a field of June daisies Him's the one I mane.' 
 
 " ' You mane the Lord,' cries Bob. ' Sure I niver thought 
 to tell Him about the maiden ! ' 
 
 " ' Down on your knees now thin, an' ask Lord Christ 
 to tache ye the way of lovinV 
 
 " So Bob, after a whoile, he got down on his knees and 
 says he, ' I'll be afther knowin' that Third One yet, ef it 
 be the way of gettin' my lass back.' " 
 
 " Did he get her ? " Patricia asked. 
 
 " Their grandchilder lives up in the city." 
 
 She sat silent for some time, then reached out her hand 
 and covered the gnarled hand that rested on the arm of 
 the chair. 
 
 " I am going to be married, Uncle Shamus, but the Third 
 One won't be there." 
 
 Uncle Shamus took out his pipe and stared at her. 
 " You're foolin' me." 
 
 " No, it's true. I have just told Thomas I'd marry 
 him." 
 
 Shamus gave a sad grunt. " Did you look like that when 
 you said it ef you did he's no cause to feel chesty. Why, 
 lass! your eyes are mournful. What's amiss?" 
 
 " Nothing, Uncle ! I'd better be married. They all want 
 me to be." 
 
 " I just want ye to be happy and it's many a weary
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 235 
 
 month since ye have been happy. Thomas is a good lad. 
 I'm thinkin' you'll like the home he'll make for you." 
 
 Patricia shook her head. " I don't want to think of 
 that yet." 
 
 The old man regarded her keenly. A strong jealousy 
 for her well-being surged up in him. The thought had 
 often crossed his mind that she was still grieving for a 
 man now married to another ; and her acceptance of Thomas 
 only confirmed this suspicion, since it was mournful, nega- 
 tive, half-hearted. He felt troubled, uneasy at the turn 
 events had taken. Why had she admitted Thomas to this 
 new intimacy, when the pronouncement of his name brought 
 only the shadow of an incurable lassitude to her face ? 
 
 " Best not get married until you are sure." 
 
 " I am sure now." 
 
 " Of bein' miserable," he challenged. 
 
 She flushed. " There are very few happy marriages." 
 
 " And you plan to further rejuce the minority." 
 
 " I'll not make Thomas miserable." 
 
 " You can't give him joy, offerin' him husks." 
 
 To his surprise she suddenly bent her head to his knee 
 and wept. He stroked her hair and murmured soothing 
 words over her. After awhile, her composure regained, she 
 rose to go. His misty gaze was fixed wistfully upon her, 
 as she made her preparations for departure. 
 
 " I'll tell ye no more faery tales, Pat, dear, for ye'll be a 
 woman soon with children to fill your heart." 
 
 Again a shivering seized her. She clung close to him 
 at parting, wondering what tales he might have told her, had 
 she confessed to him the romance which had drained her 
 life of joy.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 PATRICIA was right in believing that the news of her 
 engagement would be most welcome to her family. In this 
 affair they could all co-operate, unchilled by a sense of 
 social difference too wide to be bridged by good intentions. 
 A match with a man of her own faith and of her own 
 station in life was practical, intelligible, and, best of all, 
 made no demands on their affectionate ambition. James 
 McCoy would not have to surrender his daughter to the 
 will of remote aristocrats. She would remain a part of 
 the warm world of the proletariat, yet with ample means to 
 exhibit power, did she so choose. Her mother, less exultant, 
 was still quietly gratified, since she could never entirely 
 sympathize with Patricia's interminable philanthropies. 
 Better to have her married and with children of her own 
 on her knees. Father Carew exhorted Thomas to urge a 
 speedy union. 
 
 This was more easily advised than accomplished. 
 Thomas, scarcely able to believe the miracle of his accept- 
 ance, was on the whole in the humble and patient mood of 
 one to whom the promise of a supreme favor has been ex- 
 tended. Since marriage had been conceded, and since 
 Patricia's word was almost as infallible as the Pope's, he 
 could afford to wait her pleasure. 
 
 He saw that she shrank from discussion of the subject, 
 though she allowed him the privileges of an accepted lover, 
 submitting to his caresses mutely, and without response 
 on her part. When he brought the plans of their house 
 to her, she looked over them and dutifully made some 
 practical suggestions, but when he went away that evening 
 it was borne in upon him that she had never even asked 
 him what site he had secured for its erection, or when the 
 building would begin? For a while he was chilled and 
 
 236
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 237 
 
 puzzled, then the realization that she was indeed his, and 
 would inhabit this house with him, overbore all other 
 thoughts. 
 
 Patricia carried on her work among the poor listlessly, 
 Only Jim and Lily had the power to awaken her old 
 enthusiasm, for they had held their ground in the midst of 
 poverty, discouragement and frequent illnesses. Patricia 
 had long ago realized that they should be taken out of the 
 city whose conditions they had neither the physical nor 
 moral capital to surmount. They themselves talked often 
 of a little truck farm, and Patricia longed to give their 
 vision embodiment. One day it occurred to her that the 
 Carmichael Estate included much waste land. She remem- 
 bered particularly the acres on the verge of the sea-marshes 
 below St. Anne's on which the ancient deserted mill stood 
 and the deserted farm-house. 
 
 What a spot of refuge for her pensioners if she could 
 only obtain it ! But the first steps meant an interview with 
 Neal, and that she shrank from. Her visits to The Courier 
 had ceased since Divine had left it to take orders, and 
 Neal had succeeded to him in the managership of the 
 paper. Sometimes she thought of going to Divine him- 
 self, who in the last month had been called to the 
 rectorship of St. Anne's, left vacant by the resignation of 
 Dr. Griffin, whose health demanded complete cessation from 
 his labors. But Divine in his new character of priest seemed 
 like a stranger to her. 
 
 With her work and her plans for others, she was able 
 to hold at bay the full consciousness of all that was in- 
 volved in her engagement to Thomas Murphy; yet there 
 were days when, sharp and distinct, the future loomed be- 
 fore her, as when he had brought for her approval the plans 
 of the much too large house he was building for her. She 
 had not even dared to ask in what part of the town it was 
 to be erected, lest her question should precipitate counter- 
 inquiries as to her own plans. But bending over the blue 
 sheets, she seemed to see written above the diagrams the 
 diabolic assurance that this edifice, though roomy, was a
 
 238 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 prison in which her life would slowly starve. The cry, " I 
 can't do it! I can't wrong you or myself," rose to her 
 lips, but she forced it back and said instead that the archi- 
 tect had been generous with bathrooms. Thomas's very 
 patience and reticence affrighted her, showing her how 
 sure he was of her, so sure that he could await his hour of 
 complete victory, hers to grant, but the beginning of his 
 life-long rule. No escape! For he would imprison her 
 forever in his love, the great Church back of him proclaim- 
 ing it a sacrament. 
 
 In her heart she knew that it could never be that though 
 Father Carew said a hundred nuptial Masses over her. She 
 was committing her spirit to an everlasting lie, yet a creep- 
 ing paralysis of her will made resistance impossible. She 
 drifted sorrowfully in the direction of her apparent destiny. 
 
 One night upon return from the city her mother met 
 her at the door. 
 
 " You are in the nick of time, Pat ! A telephone call 
 has just come for you. They want you on the hill at young 
 Carlton's. They're sending a machine for you." 
 
 " The Godwin Carlton's ? " 
 
 " Yes young Godwin has shot himself." 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 " I can make a guess why," Mrs. McCoy said with some 
 bitterness. " He's been succeeded at Carmichael House by 
 young Kenneth." 
 
 Patricia hurried past her and began collecting some 
 necessary articles. She must save young Carlton, save 
 Neal from the suffering that the scandal of the boy's death 
 would cause him. She quivered with returning life, with 
 the eagerness of one bent on victory. As she rapidly 
 changed her clothes she heard the chug of the motor at the 
 gate. Soon she was ready and hurried out, bag in hand. 
 The chauffeur was talking to a group of his friends and 
 Patricia caught the words, " Poor young fool ! She could 
 wind him around her finger." 
 
 The car sped through the town up the hills to one of 
 the large estates near the highest summit. The gates were
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 239 
 
 opened and the lodge-keeper was in the road looking out 
 for them. They were soon under the porte-cochere, and 
 doors were opening as by invisible hands to Patricia, while 
 she heard a voice say, ' Thank God, one nurse has arrived ! " 
 Then she was conducted up a broad staircase, past a door- 
 way from which issued the half-stifled sounds of weeping, 
 to another admitting her to a big room, in the centre of 
 which, on an improvised cot, lay a form extravagantly 
 long, it seemed, for its narrow width and meager contours. 
 
 This boy, who had been an athlete, looked now like some 
 anchorite wasted through consuming zeal, his outlines dis- 
 turbed grotesquely by certain bandages over the chest, 
 bandages which Dr. Murphy was putting into final position 
 by dexterous touches. He recognized Patricia and gave 
 her a summary direction, which she obeyed with the me- 
 chanical skill and automatic precision born of her years 
 of experience. She scarcely glanced at her patient, since 
 a more prominent, more appealing figure supplanted him 
 that of Godwin Carlton, the elder, who sat near the cot 
 with a face of ashen despair. Patricia had known him as a 
 correct conventional figure of a rather engaging worldli- 
 ness and insouciance. What disguises he had worn were 
 now stripped away. Though he made no sound, Patricia 
 had the sensation of hearing him moan. His eyes followed 
 every movement of the physician. 
 
 As Patricia bent over the patient to perform the office 
 requested of her, young Carlton stirred, if. a shudder of 
 his frame could be called movement, and opened eyes whose 
 penetrative, despairing vision seemed entirely focused on 
 some invisible scene of torture beyond the apprehension of 
 his attendants. 
 
 His blue lips formed two words " Ada ! Cruel ! " 
 
 The boy's father rose tremblingly. 
 
 " Godwin," he said hoarsely, " was that woman " 
 
 But Dr. Murphy silenced him with an imperative gesture. 
 " Go to your wife, Mr. Carlton ! She needs you. I can't 
 have her in here, you know. All that crying's bad for the 
 patient. Go to her."
 
 240 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 When he was gone Dr. Murphy glanced at Patricia. " No 
 hope, but work like hell, just the same ! " 
 
 The hours which followed were terrible. She knew that 
 the young man was slipping from them the bullet had 
 reached a vital spot but her thought of Neal, and of what 
 he would suffer if Carlton died, rilled her with zeal to 
 delay the coming of the last struggle. As she looked at 
 the pinched young face, set now in grim lines, she knew that 
 no will was there to aid her efforts; rather some sinister 
 triumph of escape from a coil too involved. Dr. Murphy 
 desisted at last. 
 
 " Poor boy ! " he muttered. " But we won't call his father 
 back. Better to have the going peaceful." 
 
 The two specialists who were ushered in shortly after, 
 breathless from their hurried journey, confirmed the verdict. 
 An hour later Patricia emerged from the room, her bag 
 again in her hand, a black cloak over her white uniform.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 PATRICIA hurried down through the brightly lighted 
 house, conscious from the startled looks of the servants 
 she passed that her figure, garbed for departure, was a 
 silent announcement of the end. 
 
 " Shall I call the car, Miss ? " the footman at the door 
 asked her. 
 
 "No, I'll walk," she answered. 
 
 She felt she must be alone for a while in the free air, 
 must have time to collect her thoughts, recover her poise, 
 before she faced her family and their questions. The 
 thought that filled her mind to the exclusion of minor con- 
 siderations was the blow this death would be to Neal, 
 since everyone seemed united in laying it at Mrs. Car- 
 michael's door. What had that cold, beautiful woman done 
 to the boy, who lay dead in his father's house for love of 
 her? What imprisoning spell had she cast upon him that 
 only death, self-inflicted, could release? Had he been 
 very weak, or was Ada very strong ? Would she care when 
 she saw the fruits of her magic of her dark mastery of 
 another's soul? 
 
 Once in the long driveway, Patricia breathed more freely. 
 The night was brilliant with stars, which seemed to hang 
 just beyond the gaunt bare branches of the trees. Another 
 constellation of lights was at her feet, indicating the string 
 of towns along the water-front. On the summit of another 
 hill Carmichael House appeared, as brilliantly illuminated 
 as the dwelling she had just left. 
 
 At the lodge the keeper came out, uttering a little cry as 
 he recognized her. 
 
 " Why are you going? " he asked fearfully. 
 
 " I am not needed." 
 
 "Dead!" 
 
 241
 
 242 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He went in quickly to tell his wife. Patricia hurried 
 into the road which belted the high ridge with many a 
 sinuous curve. The hour was not late, but the road, over- 
 arched by many trees, seemed deserted. Not until she 
 had passed from the glare of an arc-light into shadow did 
 she become conscious of a man's figure stationed beneath a 
 tree, his face turned in the direction of the Carlton house. 
 Something poignantly familiar in his outline set her heart 
 beating violently. Yet she was not sure it was Neal until 
 she was close to him. At the same moment he recognized 
 her. 
 
 " Patricia is it you ? " 
 
 She knew that he understood. They faced each other, no 
 sound disturbing the deep silence about them. Patricia 
 noticed that he had on no overcoat, but he appeared oblivious 
 of the sharp air. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " he asked. 
 
 He took her bag from her hand, then turned, not in the 
 direction that led to the towns, but the opposite one, diverg- 
 ing into the country. 
 
 " I've got to walk," he said, seeming to take it for 
 granted that she would not leave him. 
 
 They trudged on together through the semi-twilight of 
 the road, their footsteps echoed back to them from garden 
 walls and bare steep banks. Neal's head was bowed, his 
 shoulders drooped forward. 
 
 " It's awful," he said at last. " He wasn't twenty- four." 
 
 Something like a groan escaped him. Suddenly he 
 stopped in the road. 
 
 " Patricia, you know what will be said ! " 
 
 A passion of pity welled up in her, the first emotion 
 she had felt for months. Her eyes glistened. She put out 
 her hand and took his, with a tender, protective gesture. 
 For a moment he turned his face sharply away. 
 
 " The worst of it is, I can't shield her from tongues." 
 
 She felt that the woman he spoke of had become to 
 him merely an undeveloped person whom he must protect,
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 243 
 
 that the old glamour had departed, leaving him stranded in a 
 desert of dreary facts. He was no more alive than she, 
 Patricia, was, except as he was capable of suffering. The 
 record of the past two years of disillusionment was written 
 in his gaunt features, in his eyes, with their look of dumb 
 patience, in his curiously stilled and uncertain voice, in his 
 passive, indifferent manner. Patricia wanted to say, " No, 
 they must lay the blame where it belongs " ; but she could 
 not wound him more. 
 
 " It will soon be forgotten," she murmured. 
 
 He sighed, making no answer. Again they marched on 
 in silence. Grim despair walked with him, dawning hope 
 with her, hope that somehow, someway, she might com- 
 fort him. Passion was dead in her, she thought; but if 
 she could save him from utter defeat, life might not be 
 wholly a coast of rocks without a lighthouse. 
 
 He became conscious that they were walking in the wrong 
 direction, and wheeled about. 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me?" 
 
 She was sorry that he had made the discovery. 
 
 " I wanted to walk, too," she answered. 
 
 " But you look tired. You've just had a terrible strain. 
 How are you, Patricia?" 
 
 " I am well." She paused, then made herself add, " I 
 am engaged to be married." 
 
 He looked for a moment thoroughly incredulous, since 
 nothing in her face confirmed her statement, no dawn from 
 a new life, no joy, no hope. 
 
 "To whom?" 
 
 "Thomas Murphy." 
 
 " How long have you been engaged ? " 
 
 " It has only just happened." 
 
 He did not congratulate her. The news was restoring 
 to him the Patricia of their brief engagement, a woman of 
 unusual spiritual charm, whose beauty was as far removed 
 from the obvious as that of the women who haunt Leo- 
 nardo's shadowy drawings. He could not, by any stretch of 
 the imagination, fancy her married to the prosperous young
 
 244 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Irishman whom he had once thrown in a wrestling match. 
 Why was she doing this ? Was she tired of her work? Had 
 she found, at last, that an unmarried woman has con- 
 tinually to justify even a useful existence to the world, 
 which sees its ideal more nearly approached by the veriest 
 rag of a wife than by all the vague aspirations of a virgin? 
 
 And why did she not appear happy? Her matter-of-fact 
 pronouncement of the important change in her life aroused 
 an old ugly question in his mind had she spoken truth to 
 him when, breaking her engagement, she had said she did 
 not love him ? 
 
 A rush of conflicting emotions swept over him for an 
 instant a longing to know the truth concerning this 
 woman, a longing to save her from a blunder similar to 
 his own. 
 
 " When are you going to be married ? " 
 
 She looked away from him into the depths of the valley 
 below, " I don't know." 
 
 "Patricia!" 
 
 He was with her at last, fully with her, more near to 
 her, she was thrillingly conscious, than he had ever been 
 before. 
 
 " Patricia," he repeated, " are you quite sure? I've made 
 shipwreck of my own life. I don't want you to do the 
 same." 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " Why are you doing this ? " he insisted. 
 
 She turned sharply upon him. 
 
 " What right have you to question me ? You forfeited 
 that right long ago." 
 
 " You broke our engagement, not I ! " 
 
 Her mournful eyes met his, and he read confession in 
 them, the truth that he had not been brave enough to face. 
 
 "Patricia! if I had known." 
 
 " Did you want to know ? It would have made no 
 difference." 
 
 " No, I suppose it wouldn't." 
 
 He was beyond blinding himself now. For the first
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 245 
 
 time in her intercourse with him, Patricia knew the relief 
 of speaking to him without barriers, without false assump- 
 tions. He was no longer the hero of her youthful dreams. 
 The man she now recognized called to her from a deeper 
 chamber than the aerial idealism of immaturity from a 
 place as deep as life itself. 
 
 " You cared then ? " he said. 
 
 " Hush, don't speak of it." 
 
 In his mind a question followed hard upon that other 
 " Do you care now ? " He smothered it passionately, and 
 commanded himself to be still. No good could come of 
 knowledge. 
 
 They were again in front of the Carlton house. The air 
 of festivity lent by its many lights clashed with their knowl- 
 edge of its tragedy. Soon the road would descend the hill; 
 soon they must part. 
 
 The thought of parting from him hurt Patricia beyond 
 all belief. She wished then that they might walk on to- 
 gether, out of the dull, meaningless round of their lives, into 
 freshness and light and the old up-bubbling hope of youthful 
 feeling. To be with him, even for this little while, was to 
 breathe again and feel the blessing of long perspective, the 
 refreshment of great winds. Neal was sharing, though in 
 less degree, her sense of emancipation, realizing as they 
 went on together that for weeks and months he had scarcely 
 uttered one spontaneous word, nor had done anything with- 
 out first considering its effect upon Ada. To be with 
 Patricia was to move cramped limbs and to draw long, 
 free breaths. 
 
 From time to time he glanced at her with a kind of im- 
 personal admiration. What her beauty had lacked was 
 now supplied by some undefinable element of magnetism in 
 her glance. The comfort of her presence was like the actual 
 fragrance of flowers. He dreaded the moment of leaving 
 her. 
 
 As if in response to his feeling, she asked him if he would 
 accompany her as far as her home. She wanted to talk a 
 matter over with him that had long been in her mind. Did
 
 246 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 he remember her proteges, Jim and Lil? She wanted to 
 get them into the country. Would he let them have the 
 deserted farm-house near the old mill for a nominal sum? 
 
 " Does Jim want to become a farmer ? " Neal asked. 
 
 " He chafes continually in the city and his trade requires 
 better health than he can bring to it. He thinks the soil 
 is the place for him, and I agree with him. He wants to 
 start a truck farm. Could you help him ? " 
 
 " I can and will ; but I've no idea in what shape that 
 house is." He paused and hesitated a moment. " Couldn't 
 we go down and look it over some day soon ? " 
 
 A wave of happiness surged through Patricia. She 
 would see him again! 
 
 " I can go to-morrow if you are free," she answered. 
 
 Some quiver in her voice drew his eyes to hers. In the 
 still, deep look exchanged between them a flame leaped up, 
 and by its light he saw her as long before she had prayed 
 he might see her. 
 
 " I can go," he said. " Where shall I meet you ? " 
 
 " At St. Anne's. We can then go on and look the 
 house over. I shall bring my sister Rose with me. She 
 loves old houses." 
 
 " Rose ? She was one of the littlest ones, wasn't she, 
 Patricia?" 
 
 " Quite the baby when you were playing baseball, but a 
 big girl now." 
 
 Both saw the same perspective the opportunity to meet 
 again, to form a spiritual bond as between two exiles. When 
 he left her he took both her hands in his. 
 
 " Good-night, Patricia. You've helped me ! " 
 
 " It's what I long to do always." 
 
 This was her love-confession, at least that part of it 
 that was not written in her eyes, in the faint quiver of her 
 lips. When he had left her she hurried up the walk to 
 find Thomas on the porch. Had he seen Neal ? Well, what 
 if he had! She was willing to tell him her plans. 
 
 His first question answered her. " Were you nursing 
 up at the Carmichaels', not the Carltons' ? "
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 247 
 
 She shrank back with a pain that seemed actually phys- 
 ical. Then a flood of anger swept her for a moment into 
 unreasoning revolt. 
 
 " I was with poor young Carlton when he died," she 
 replied. " Mr. Carmichael was waiting outside the gates for 
 some news of him, and I came out my work over. He 
 walked home with me. He had need of a friend. I shall 
 see him to-morrow. He's going to let me have the old 
 farm by the mill for Jim and Lily." 
 
 She looked straight at Thomas as she spoke, her voice 
 quivering a little with indignation. Frightened by the 
 effect his words had on her, he began a lame apology, but 
 she cut him short. 
 
 " If you don't trust me," she said, " give me up." 
 
 Give her up! Not if the heavens fell! She was alto- 
 gether too desirable as she stood there, seductive even in 
 her indignation. Trust her? He would trust her if Car- 
 michael and she were cast on a desert island. But he could 
 be as jealous of her as he pleased. That was h\s right as 
 her accepted lover. 
 
 " Rose will go with me to-morrow," Patricia went on. 
 "You can come too, if you want to." 
 
 Thomas reflected upon this. He had no wish to invite 
 contrast by putting himself into juxtaposition with Neal, 
 yet he rather longed to watch him and Patricia together, to 
 set certain doubts of his own at rest. 
 
 " I'll come ! Where and when ? " 
 
 " At St. Anne's, at three o'clock." 
 
 " That cold, lonesome church ! " 
 
 " It's beautiful." 
 
 " Too many tombstones for my taste and each one over 
 a heretic," Thomas added piously. 
 
 " Saved, nevertheless." 
 
 " Not all of 'em. One of 'em owes me a bill yet." 
 
 Patricia smiled. Thomas could always win her by the 
 betrayal of the boy he was beneath his bluster. She did 
 not fancy his going to the farm; but he was within his
 
 248 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 rights, and after all it was best. Two friends should not 
 care how many people witnessed their conferences. 
 
 Meanwhile Neal was on his way to the rectory. Young 
 Carlton's death had crystallized in his mind a resolution 
 which had been in formation there for many months. He 
 must abandon The Courier; the gulf between his theories 
 and the practices at Carmichael House, to which his mar- 
 riage with Ada had compelled his sanction, had become too 
 wide to be bridged even by an idealist. 
 
 Then, too, Ada's preponderance of fortune, which had 
 both saved and enslaved his family, had become like a wall, 
 barring his way to moral liberty. The prisoners of her 
 bounty, over-fed and over-pampered, with the revolt in their 
 hearts which springs up instead of gratitude as the fruit 
 of dependence, had produced a constant friction at Car- 
 michael House which centred in Mrs. Guthrie. 
 
 Maria had made Neal her unwilling confidant, allowing 
 no slight of Ada's to pass unnoticed. These tearful crimina- 
 tions always ended with the same plaint, " If I only had 
 my own house ! " 
 
 To give her her own house, to provide her an income 
 sufficient for her to live comfortably and with some dignity, 
 had been Neal's desire for a long time; but he had not 
 seen his way clear to accomplish his purpose. He would 
 wait no longer. His plan was to ask Peter to take him 
 into the Street on borrowed capital, and then to enter the 
 enterprise of stock brokerage. Even in prospect, this change 
 of occupation gave him a sense of infinite relief. As a 
 juggler of stocks he would square at last with Ada and 
 her conception of existence. No longer would he have to 
 endure the pangs of self -mockery when he wrote of the 
 moral adjustments needed between labor and leisure, wealth 
 and poverty. He would be in the proper frame at last, and 
 a part of the perspective his marriage had created. 
 
 He found Divine in his study, a study new perhaps in 
 the annals of the rectory, for Divine's library included a 
 large proportion of books written by scientists and enough 
 of the classics to satisfy even Philip. Neal was scarcely
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 249 
 
 used to Divine in his sacerdotal character; and as he wore 
 the same old gray suit and was found reading Novalis, some 
 effort of imagination was needed to picture him as the new 
 rector of St. Anne's. What justified the new rector most 
 was the spiritual look of his eyes, which held both insight 
 and compassion. That Neal would come to him sooner 
 or later he had been sure, but he knew that on this occasion 
 Carmichael had not sought him as a priest. 
 
 After their greetings and some rather restrained con- 
 versation, for Neal scarcely knew how to open his subject, 
 silence fell between them. It was broken at last by Car- 
 michael. 
 
 " Have you heard yet of young Carlton's suicide ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " I have just been telephoned. I am going there in a 
 few minutes." 
 
 " I don't envy you. What can you say to that poor 
 mother ? " 
 
 " Nothing, but she will pray with me by his side. I ask 
 you to pray, too, Carmichael. Keep awake if you can to- 
 night and pray implore heaven for him, for us all." 
 
 Neal leaned over and took Divine's arm roughly. " Could 
 I ask my wife to pray for him ? " 
 
 A spasm of pain set him quivering as he spoke. He 
 buried his face in his hands. 
 
 " Listen ! " Divine said. " Carlton loved her. That will 
 count for his peace, not hers; but don't judge her too soon. 
 Ada has never been haunted as you are by invisible things. 
 She is strictly within her logic. She wants something, but 
 she refuses to look beyond herself for it. Be pitiful ! " 
 
 " She has no room for my pity." 
 
 "If she did she would not need it. You may never 
 weep together, but God grant both of you may at least 
 weep apart. Anything's better than the stone over the 
 grave. Ada's hard, but she'll have to face herself some day, 
 or bear the weight of the stone." 
 
 " I didn't come to talk of her ! It's like talking of a 
 ghost story. No one knows. I came to tell you I'm leaving
 
 250 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 The Courier. I've got to have money, Divine, and I've got 
 to leave off grimacing at myself when I write of justice." 
 
 " I think you are right." 
 
 This comment surprised and relieved him. He had ex- 
 pected Divine in the interests of The Courier to oppose the 
 project. He took up his hat. 
 
 " Well, I must go and let you go to those poor people." 
 
 " Wait, I'll run the car out and drop you anywhere 
 you like. Are you going home ? " 
 
 " No to the Club." 
 
 At the Club Neal found a grave-faced Peter. Since his 
 marriage Peter seemed to have turned a corner and struck 
 into a new road. Ambition was still in him, but tempered 
 by other considerations. He was simpler in his manner, 
 more neighborly, more friendly and sympathetic. The girl 
 he had married had perhaps wrought this change, or his 
 own observation of life. 
 
 Putting an arm in Neal's, he took him considerately to 
 a remote little card-room. Neal forced himself to nod as 
 nonchalantly as he could to a group of men they passed, 
 whose sudden, noticeable silence told him what their topic 
 of conversation must be. Of course the Club was buzzing 
 with it! 
 
 "Anything to drink?" Peter asked. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 Peter lit a cigarette. 
 
 " Don't take it too much to heart, Neal. That poor 
 boy never did have balance. It's his mother I pity most. 
 She had an awful time dragging him through childhood; 
 he was a sickly little chap." 
 
 " Divine's with her." 
 
 " That's good ! " 
 
 Neal then disclosed his plans. Peter heard him in silence, 
 skeptical as to the success of the new enterprise, yet 
 keenly aware of what was driving Neal to it. Peter's early 
 lack of illusion concerning his cousin Ada had been an 
 excellent preparation for his understanding of her married 
 life in Carmichael House. Knowing the reality of Neal's
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 251 
 
 passion for her, he had never condemned him; but he felt 
 a kind of contempt for the others, who, disliking her, had 
 been ready to accept her bounty. 
 
 " So Mrs. Guthrie wants to get out of it ? " 
 
 " Yes, and I want to help her." 
 
 " Pity to throw up your career. You're a writer, not a 
 financier." 
 
 " I can be a consistent broker." 
 
 " Well, I'm willing to take you under the wing of my 
 firm, if you think you can raise the capital." 
 
 " I think I can. It's this way." 
 
 He proceeded to elucidate his plans. They discussed the 
 subject for over two hours, and finally found themselves in 
 agreement. It was after midnight when he reached Car- 
 michael House, which was still brightly lighted, a fact, 
 however, that did not indicate the presence downstairs 
 of the household. It was one of Ada's few weaknesses that 
 she disliked the dark.- Certain lights burned all night on 
 the lower floors and on the landings. 
 
 When he entered Neal caught a glimpse of her standing 
 quite alone near the tall over-mantel of the hearth in the 
 drawing-room. She was in a trained gown of some filmy 
 blue stuff, and in her hand she held a great fan of black 
 feathers. There were gardenias in her fair hair. Their 
 heavy seductive odor filled the room. He paused and 
 greeted her. 
 
 " Well," she said, " where have you been ? " 
 
 " With Peter." 
 
 "How's Peter?" 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 "What did you talk about?" 
 
 " Many things." 
 
 She sighed, turning the pure profile of her face to him, 
 Had she heard, he wondered. 
 
 "Ada?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do you know ? " 
 
 "Know what?"
 
 252 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 A slight quiver went through her, but she made her face 
 a mask. 
 
 "About about Carlton?" 
 
 " I know what he tried to do." 
 
 " But he did it ! He is dead." 
 
 She took a step forward, then stood perfectly still, star- 
 ing at him, her eyes dark and burning, her face as white 
 as the flowers in her hair. 
 
 " Dead," she whispered. 
 
 A mocking impulse seized him. " Ada, Divine asked me 
 to pray for Carlton's soul. I ask you to pray for it." 
 
 His words broke the spell of terror that was upon her. 
 
 " I believe in cause and effect," she said coldly. " Pray- 
 ers are folly." 
 
 They gazed at each other. He was the first to lose 
 composure. 
 
 " Oh, Ada ! He was young." 
 
 " Don't look at me like that. I can't help it that young 
 fools care for me. I can't help it ! Don't look at me like 
 that." 
 
 He went on upstairs. A door opened. Caecilia came out. 
 She and her husband were spending a few days, by Ada's 
 urgent invitation, at Carmichael House, before sailing for 
 the Holy Land. Between Caecilia and Ada there had been 
 always a certain truce, compounded largely of Ada's gen- 
 uine respect for Mrs. Griffin. What Caecilia read now in 
 Neal's face confirmed her own fears, increasing in number 
 and strength through a miserable evening. Though Ada 
 was a good actress, she had not been able to hide alto- 
 gether her agitation over the news of Carlton's ?ct. 
 
 Neal told her briefly its sequel. 
 
 " Where is Ada ? " Caecilia asked. 
 
 " In the drawing-room." 
 
 " Isn't she coming upstairs ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 He bade her good-night and went on to his own rooms. 
 Caecilia hesitated awhile, then after a word with her husband 
 went downstairs. Ada was seated by the fire, in a still
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 253 
 
 intent attitude. Caecilia, crossing the room, took a chair 
 opposite to her. 
 
 " I am restless," she said. " I thought I'd come down 
 and read." 
 
 Ada flashed a grateful look at her. " Suppose we go 
 into the library," she said. 
 
 They went together to the great room with its store 
 of dead volumes. Philip was still in his corner, in a little 
 halo of light from his student-lamp. He, too, had heard 
 of Carlton, but he looked without bitterness at Ada. That 
 a youth had plucked the asphodel prematurely for her sake 
 was a part of the whole dark perplexity of life. 
 
 The two women seated themselves on the broad divan 
 before the fire, backed by a table on which stood electroliers. 
 Neither spoke. After awhile Philip, becoming more keenly 
 conscious of their presence, began to read aloud one of his 
 favorite Latin authors. His voice but half-alive in ordinary 
 conversation became resonant, musical and inspiring when 
 interpreting the classics. Caecilia listened with quiet 
 pleasure, and after awhile the strained look faded from 
 Ada's face. 
 
 A man in evening clothes appeared from the shadows, 
 who was presently identified as Jack. Slipping quietly 
 into a chair, he glanced from time to time at Ada, with 
 genuine concern in his face. Of course she had played 
 with fire, but, then, we were all miserable sinners! How 
 pale Caecilia looked. Poor dear! She took things hard. 
 Jack was glad she would have some fun at last, if only 
 in the Holy Land! He looked at his watch one A.M.! 
 These people would never forget the day's tragedy under 
 that roll of sonorous Latin. They ought to be fed. Noth- 
 ing like an empty stomach to keep conscience biting. 
 
 Jack tiptoed away. Being on excellent terms with the 
 butler and having the wine-cellar, by Ada's request, more or 
 less under his own supervision, he had little difficulty in 
 tracing an intelligent course through the shelves of pantry 
 and larder. Half an hour later he appeared with an at- 
 tractively arranged tray. True to his divination, they found
 
 254 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 themselves hungry, with the active hunger of people whose 
 emotions are stirring. The mundane process of eating 
 broke the spell that was upon them. Ada and Csecilia 
 soon after went upstairs, and Philip was left alone with 
 Jack. 
 
 " Do you think this will widen the breach Carlton's 
 death?" Philip asked timidly. 
 
 " Since it didn't create it, it can't widen it," Jack said. 
 " Ada will forget this, and Kenneth will be the next but 
 Kenneth will never kill himself. He's too lazy." 
 
 Philip closed his book. " I believe I'll get married," he 
 said. " This house isn't a comfortable place to live in." 
 
 Jack fixed round eyes on him. " Married ! Are you 
 mad, Philip?" 
 
 " No, but everybody else seems to be. Pour me another 
 glass of sherry." 
 
 Jack obeyed, chuckling. He had often wondered what 
 secret Philip would give forth when the wine imposed 
 verity, but Philip had no intention of yielding his tongue 
 to the Amontillado. He sipped it delicately, discussing Neal 
 and Ada, a riddle towards the solution of which Jack could 
 only contribute his pity. Condemnation was not one of his 
 fine arts.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE next day Neal, keeping his appointment at the 
 church at three o'clock, found that Patricia was accom- 
 panied not only by her sister but by young Murphy, in 
 whose ingenuous countenance distrust of the situation was 
 written. The two men shook hands, but their eyes meas- 
 ured each other with a far from friendly appraisement. 
 Neal with his lean outlines and air of reserve looked more 
 than ever the aristocrat in contrast with Murphy's stocki- 
 ness and self-assurance. Patricia felt a sinking of the 
 heart as she saw the two together. 
 
 They proceeded at once to the house, reaching it by 
 way of the long lane below the church, the lane down which 
 Patricia had fled after breaking her engagement with Neal. 
 The scenes of that day returned to her with poignant 
 vividness, and with them a recrudescence of old emotions. 
 Neal, walking silently beside her, read her thoughts. Too 
 late now that chance of happiness ! 
 
 Passing through an orchard of ancient apple-trees, they 
 came to the long, low house, roof and walls shingled with 
 the broad, handmade shingles of an earlier day. Neal, 
 drawing out a large, old-fashioned key, opened the door 
 and admitted the party to a low-ceiled comfortable living- 
 room, with corner cupboards and an old, broad fireplace. 
 Murphy reflected that a house with such timbers would be 
 difficult to " wreck," but Patricia was already furnishing 
 it and installing Jim and Lily within its protecting walls. 
 Exploring it, they found a larger number of rooms than 
 they had anticipated. Repairs would be necessary, Neal 
 said; and Murphy, mollified by Carmichael's business-like 
 manner, agreed that by April the house could be put into 
 shape for occupancy. 
 
 When they were all again in the open air, Thomas and 
 
 255
 
 256 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Rose went on together. " We'll have to talk over details, 
 Patricia," Neal said, joining her. " When can we meet 
 again?" * 
 
 In her face was reflected the pleasure the thought gave 
 her. She wanted not anything of him but just to hear 
 his voice, watch the changing expressions of his face to 
 love him from a far distance, with no craving, only bene- 
 diction. 
 
 " Come to my home some afternoon next week," she said. 
 " We must make an estimate of the entire cost, including 
 farm implements. I have some money of my own saved 
 up that I can advance to Jim for his experiment." 
 
 " I can lend him some, too, on easy terms. Together 
 we'll put it through." 
 
 " ' Together ! ' ' It was sweet in her ears. Might they 
 not recontract a higher bond than any the past had 
 brought forth ; one uniting their spirits in a harmony beyond 
 the ordinary, free of guilt because free of desire. 
 
 " We'll put it through," she echoed, " and how happy 
 they will be!" 
 
 " I have something to tell you," he said, falling easily 
 into the old confidential manner with her. " I am leaving 
 The Courier." 
 
 She looked blank. " Not giving up your editorship ! " 
 
 " Yes, I am going into brokerage with Peter." 
 
 " Oh, I am sorry ! " 
 
 She did not ask him why. She knew. She drew a long 
 sigh of apprehension. How would he fare in that new 
 life? What would be the effect upon him of the wire- 
 pulling of the Street? 
 
 " Don't look that way," he said. " It's my only course." 
 
 She sighed, making no comment. At the church they 
 separated, Neal getting into his car, the rest of the party 
 declining his invitation to be taken to their homes. Thomas 
 having an errand of his own in the village beyond the 
 church, Patricia went on home with her sister.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 NEAL delayed for some time telling Ada of the approach- 
 ing change in his affairs, for he dreaded the explanations 
 he should be called upon to make. It was one of the 
 dreary aspects of their union that they understood nothing 
 without words; and even when the words were uttered the 
 speakers remained hidden. 
 
 One evening Neal resolved to tell Ada and have it over 
 with. He was informed on his return from the Club that 
 she had guests in the drawing-room the usual retinue, 
 he divined, of young men. Telling the servant to let him 
 know when Mrs. Carmichael was at liberty, he went to the 
 library to read while he waited. 
 
 He took down his old friend Pepys, but for once that 
 delightful gossip had no power to hold his attention. His 
 mind would wander to his own bleak problems. Why were 
 Ada and he not happy? What was the secret of the per- 
 petual misunderstandings between them? They rarely 
 quarreled, but they nearly always irritated each other. He 
 rehearsed, as often before, their years together, in the en- 
 deavor to discover at just what point the discord started, 
 but it was a fruitless effort of memory ; for after the golden 
 fog of the honeymoon came the leaden fog of their settled 
 married life no clear vision from the beginning! 
 
 It was after midnight when he was summoned. Ada was 
 seated at the piano, looking very handsome in her trailing 
 dinner gown, the light from the candles falling on her 
 white shoulders and on her masses of fair hair. She was 
 running over a Chopin melody. 
 
 " Briggs said you wished to see me," she explained. 
 
 " I wanted to talk with you about about some plans 
 of my own. 
 
 as?
 
 258 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 "Plans oh?" 
 
 Ada had a way of saying " Oh " with the rising inflection 
 that made Neal feel clumsy and inexperienced. The effect 
 of this monosyllable now was to undermine his resolution 
 to talk confidentially to his wife, enlisting, if possible, her 
 sympathy for Mrs. Guthrie's desire to have her own home. 
 He hesitated, then brought out his news bluntly : " I wished 
 to tell you that Peter has consented to take me on in his 
 office."" 
 
 Ada's hands dropped from the keys. Her eyes opened 
 wide with astonishment. 
 
 " What on earth ? " she began. 
 
 Neal mentioning that he wanted to make money, she 
 looked more mystified than ever. 
 
 " But you are dropping the only thing in which you can 
 ever distinguish yourself," she said sharply, adding with a 
 nervous laugh, " What a figure you'll cut as a stock- 
 broker!" 
 
 She was genuinely annoyed, for she was proud of Neal's 
 career on The Courier and the notice his writings attracted. 
 What on earth did he want money for ! Hadn't she cleared 
 up everything, filled the house with decent furniture and the 
 larder with food? Money! He was a star-gazer, could 
 succeed at that business, having proved his pre-eminence 
 among other star-gazers. Had she jested too much over 
 that peculiar talent of his? 
 
 " I don't understand at all, Neal," she said plaintively. 
 " I really admired your work." 
 
 " You took a poor way of showing it, Ada." 
 
 " Oh, you take me too seriously ! Why do you take 
 everything I say as if it were gospel ? " 
 
 " I don't know," he commented. 
 
 " I am aware I've not lived up to the high pitch you 
 wanted. I'm human." 
 
 Neal made no reply to this. 
 
 Jack Carmichael, crossing the hall at that moment, Ada 
 hailed him with, " Come in and hear the news ! " 
 
 The touch of excitement in her manner was rare enough
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 259 
 
 to attract his attention. He came in, wondering what the 
 happy pair were up to now. 
 
 " You're going to have a rival," said Ada. 
 
 Neal explained. Jack admitted that his nephew might 
 need training in that difficult gymnasium the stock market. 
 
 " That's what I say," Ada proclaimed triumphantly. 
 Jack generally agreed with her to avoid trouble, but she 
 had a certain influence over him born of her drastic dealing 
 with his infirmities. He feared her now and wished to 
 keep the peace. 
 
 " Why don't you stick to the pen, Neal, now that you've 
 proved to The Courier how much they need you ? " he com- 
 mented. 
 
 " Well, for one reason I can't practice what I preach." 
 
 Ada turned impatiently to the piano. " I thought there 
 was some nonsense of that sort back of it all," she said. 
 
 Having rented a house for Mrs. Guthrie, Neal planned 
 to have it ready for her before the annual visit to town, 
 which took place about the middle of January. Ada's city 
 dwelling, though roomy, being in an old quarter, was 
 even less adapted to dependent Carmichaels than the home 
 on the Island. 
 
 Maria's delight over the new house told Neal much. 
 Ada ignored the subject; nor did she speak again of the 
 change in her husband's affairs, but she was bitterly 
 chagrined. Contempt for Neal's idealism had been curiously 
 blended in her mind with admiration of his gifts, which, in 
 Ada's opinion, reflected glory upon herself. She had en- 
 joyed the references at dinner parties to some editorial of 
 Neal's, or some magazine article of his more than usually 
 significant. 
 
 His reasons for this departure seemed inexplicable to her. 
 Since he had accepted so much, why should he hesitate to 
 take more? She would have provided Maria with a house 
 if only to be rid of her perpetual mourning for a child she 
 had treated badly when alive. 
 
 It was arranged that Philip should live with Maria,
 
 26o BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 and his precious books were already transferred to the new 
 home, one of the older houses of the Island, unpretentious 
 but comfortable. The family furniture was taken from 
 storage, and Maria saw each piece set up with a thrill of 
 pleasure. At last she would be again the mistress of a 
 home; no longer under Ada's invisible lash. 
 
 But on the very eve of removal Philip came to Neal look- 
 ing transfigured. He had great news to announce no 
 less than his engagement to one of the summer-school 
 students from New England ; a teacher herself in a woman's 
 college. They had read Greek together with this novel 
 result. 
 
 Philip's joy was unfeigned. Neal felt a throb of envy 
 of an experience forever closed to himself. 
 
 " Will it make any difference in your plans for living 
 with Maria ? " he asked after the congratulations were over. 
 
 Philip looked troubled. " I am afraid it will. You see, 
 when I consented I did not know this this happiness was 
 coming so soon." 
 
 " You couldn't all live together ? " 
 
 Philip hesitated, then abandoned himself to the blessed 
 truth. 
 
 " We want to be alone absolutely alone. In fact, Miss 
 Fairchild has made that one of the conditions of our mar- 
 riage. She doesn't believe in one roof sheltering two 
 families." 
 
 " She's right." 
 
 " We'll live in town near the University," Philip con- 
 cluded. 
 
 Neal then went to Jack to ask him if he would recon- 
 sider living with Maria. Jack returned a wistful negative. 
 
 " I'm fond of Maria," he said, " but she gets on my 
 nerves, Neal. And to tell the truth, Ada keeps my back- 
 bone stiffer." 
 
 Neal winced a little. It was one of the inexplicable 
 ironies of life that not Alexander Carmichael's admonitions, 
 Philip's blameless example, Caecilia's prayers and Maria's 
 tears had done for Jack what Ada's hard worldiness had
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 261 
 
 accomplished. She had cowed and fed him into a sem- 
 blance of righteousness. 
 
 Maria was plaintive over the fact that no one would 
 live with her, but her interest in the house was not lessened ; 
 and one day, not without tears, she removed her personal 
 belongings there. Neal had engaged two servants for her. 
 It seemed to him that one of his problems at least was 
 solved. 
 
 His launching with Peter had been accomplished, but he 
 was as yet only on the edges of the mystery finance was to 
 him. He had been obliged in his capacity of editor to know 
 theoretically much of its workings, but to attempt to juggle 
 the balls with stiff muscles was another matter. He had, 
 indeed, entered a new universe, where men warred, not 
 against principalities and powers, but for them; where the 
 eagle eye and the hawk beak were a necessary part of the 
 equipment; where gambling had become epic; and chance 
 Brobdingnagian. 
 
 Neal despised it for a time, then a keen desire to see 
 what it all meant was aroused in him ; together with a half- 
 cynical wish to learn if honesty could carve any path 
 through the savage jungle of the Street. He doubted it. 
 
 Even Peter played two parts two unrelated roles. The 
 Peter Neal knew as a citizen was a kindly, honorable man, 
 who passed the plate of Sundays at St. Anne's, listened to 
 sermons, and was a good fellow at the club. The Peter 
 Neal knew as a broker was playing hopscotch with the 
 devil. To be in the competition at all was to smell sulphur, 
 to match hoof with hoof. 
 
 Yet Neal, descending into the pit, was conscious that 
 its light explained more things than he had ever been able 
 to read by the pure rays of idealism. His whole domestic 
 situation seemed more intelligible, Ada's life more coherent. 
 The game explained her, or she the game ; men played with 
 such febrile intensity.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 JIM and Lil were seated together one evening, between 
 them on the table a photograph Patricia had left that after- 
 noon of their new home, a gift which actually confirmed 
 a well-nigh incredible report that they were to have a farm 
 and a house of their own. 
 
 "It's real pretty, isn't it?" Lil said lovingly. "Won't 
 it be a grand place to dry clothes? Miss Patricia said we 
 could have a boat, though it's tide-water and deep. Did 
 you ever row ? " 
 
 " Sure I did ! She said the house faced south." 
 
 " Straight south sun all day. I'm goin' to have a 
 garden." 
 
 " An' me a vegetable garden. We'll raise every blamed 
 thing we can raise. If I had had a chanst like this before 
 I'd never 'a' got in jail." 
 
 " Never mind ! We'll start fresh down there." 
 
 They talked of their plans until late in the night. They 
 were dreamily happy, like two children expecting a Christ- 
 mas tree. Patricia was furnishing the house for them, and 
 Mr. Carmichael was aiding her. He had been to see them 
 once or twice, and he and Patricia had done some shopping 
 together. The removal to the country was to take place the 
 following week, which would be the second week in April. 
 
 Patricia herself was looking forward to this migration 
 almost as eagerly as the two for whom it was planned. Yet 
 the shadow that fell across her joy was the fear that 
 the accomplished fact meant the end of her intercourse with 
 Neal. For four months she had seen him almost as fre- 
 quently as during the precious period of her engagement. 
 Not one word passed between them that all the world might 
 not have heard, yet she was thrillingly conscious of the deep 
 understanding which now drew them together with mag- 
 
 262
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 263 
 
 netic force. Thomas had made no further objection to 
 Patricia's seeing Carmichael, and his suspicions were laid to 
 rest by her very gentleness and preoccupation. Indeed, she 
 was so wholly with Neal in spirit that her old defenses 
 against Thomas seemed unnecessary. She gave him more 
 than in the days when her heart was hungry. 
 
 During these months Neal's hours with Patricia had 
 furnished to him the element of rescue from an almost in- 
 tolerable strain; for the breaking-in with Peter had been 
 complicated by an illness of his grandfather's, and by cer- 
 tain developments in his relation to Ada, who after Carl- 
 ton's death plunged into a round of gayeties, accompanied 
 on most occasions by Robert Kenneth, a young man not 
 only lazy but well-balanced. She avoided the Island and 
 the Islanders, because a large element there, through their 
 friendship for the bereaved parents of young Carlton, had 
 succeeded in keeping active the memory of the tragedy. On 
 more than one occasion Ada had been directly cut by people 
 powerful enough to risk snubbing Mrs. Carmichael. These 
 incidents had bitten deeply into her spirit, and she with- 
 drew as far as possible from all functions at which she 
 might meet Islanders. 
 
 Not even the ghost of an agreement existed now be- 
 tween Neal and herself. Even Peter's favorable reports of 
 Neal's astuteness in the money market failed to arouse 
 anything in her but contemptuous comment. She could 
 not forgive her husband for abandoning his career, for be- 
 coming one of the money-makers. 
 
 From this arid background Neal went to a woman whose 
 tremulous pleasure upon seeing him was like the flush of 
 April dawns, and he yielded recklessly to the comfort of 
 this intercourse which remained impersonal in everything 
 but the inner spirit. Their handshakes, their practical 
 discussions of ways and means, their formal partings, were 
 like the cloak 'of fustian over an embroidered robe. Each 
 was aware of those woven colors of crimson and glints of 
 gold. Though Neal saw her in her own home, he realized 
 how completely she had disengaged herself from that back-
 
 264 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 ground, and had become, indeed, an inhabitant of the cos- 
 mopolis of romance, experiencing all the refinements which 
 little by little are wrought upon the spirits and bodies of 
 those whom a great love possesses. Mystery entered into 
 her face, charm into her voice. What had remained of her 
 early training and associations was merged in the sweet, 
 indefinite culture of a loving woman. 
 
 One day in April he went across the ferry to keep what 
 he believed should be his last appointment with her, for 
 the intercourse had become perilously dear to him, a kind 
 of opiate for pain. That no comment upon it reached him 
 from any quarter, that his road held a sinister smoothness, 
 seemed strange to him, yet deepened his sense of responsi- 
 bility. Murphy, when they met, was always cordial, even 
 condescending, as a man having the upper hand might be 
 generous to an old rival. Patricia, her eyes these days 
 always dreamy, rarely clear, her face suffused with a tender 
 brooding light, walked like one in a trance between the man 
 to whom she was engaged and the man she loved. 
 
 On this occasion she was to take him to the farm to 
 see Jim and Lil, who had accomplished the miracle of 
 transfer to that vague region " the country " only a few 
 days before. Neal's interest in them had been more indeed 
 than a yielding to Patricia's influence. Though he had be- 
 come a stockbroker, he was still passionately concerned 
 with those problems which had haunted The Courier office 
 lively ghosts from the circumadjacent streets. As in 
 Patricia's case, the impossibility of grasping the many 
 aspects of the industrial problem had focused his atten- 
 tion all the more intently upon the two figures that had 
 emerged from the shadowy ruck of the masses. Jim and 
 Lil, one time thief and one time prostitute, but now eager 
 climbers towards better things, stood in their humble way 
 for the social evolution of the masses behind them. If two, 
 thus crippled, could win out, might not the race itself 
 win emerge at last from the savagery of lust and war 
 into . reasonableness, and fraternal warmth, and fruitful 
 self-control?
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 265 
 
 But he and Patricia talked of none of these things as 
 they went down the long lane below the church. Both 
 were silent, each feeling that a crisis had arrived far more 
 personal than the errand upon which they were bent. April 
 was sweet in the lane with hint of blue violets in the deep 
 lush grass where the fences ran crookedly, and a cloud of 
 blossoms on ancient apple-trees. In the distance, the tide- 
 water shone like a silver serpent winding its way inland. 
 
 " When are you returning to the Island ? " she asked 
 at last. 
 
 " Next week." 
 
 Her question sent them both back into silence, for what 
 could his return mean but a disappearance into Ada's 
 world. Neal longed to say something to indicate that he 
 and Patricia must see each other from time to time; but 
 words seemed so futile. He knew they should not see each 
 other; for the emotion, fair as dawn to them both, could 
 only in the end destroy their peace. Where could it lead 
 but to the cul-de-sac of " Thou shalt not." By one of 
 those flashes of insight which from boyhood had rendered 
 life for him a complicated matter, he saw that Ada might 
 have called her association with Carlton " a communion 
 of souls." The law-breaker is always a euphuist, a juggler 
 of vocabulary. 
 
 They turned into the little path that led through the 
 orchard, its blossom-laden branches showing delicately 
 white and pink through an azure curtain of smoke, from 
 a fire of brush that Jim was tending. Lil stood near him, 
 the light of the flames in ruddy play over her blue print 
 gown. Both seemed like two absorbed happy children. 
 Lil had a kitten cuddled in the curve of her arm. When 
 she caught sight of Patricia and Neal her face became 
 wreathed in smiles. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Carmichael, it's just grand ! " she said as 
 she advanced to meet him. " It's livin' real livin', the 
 genuwine article. Jim thinks he's dreamin'. He says he'll 
 wake up in the city." 
 
 James Brentwood put down his rake and held out his
 
 266 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 hand. " If I can ever do anything for you, Mr. Carmichael, 
 or Miss Patricia, I'll crawl from here to kingdom come to 
 do it." 
 
 " Do you find the work hard ? " Neal asked. 
 
 " My muscles ache, but it is a grand ache. I'm gettin' 
 somewheres with it 'tain't like city-tired, used up and no 
 more power comin', except what you get asleepin' in bad 
 air, with noise all about you. Here I feel like a fightin' cock 
 each mornin'." 
 
 " You've only been here three." 
 
 " Lord ! it seems like thirty days or thirty minutes. Let 
 me show you, Mr. Carmichael, where the truck patch is 
 to be." 
 
 Patricia went in to the house with Lil, who had whispered 
 that she had a surprise for her. Only a few rooms had 
 been furnished, for economical reasons, and Patricia, fol- 
 lowing Lil into what was supposed to be the unused wing, 
 wondered what she had to show her there. Mrs. Brent- 
 wood, pausing in the passage, threw open a door with a little 
 air of triumph. 
 
 " Yours," she said, " when you come visitin' us." 
 
 A fully furnished bedroom was revealed, a pretty har- 
 mony of blue and white. Beside the necessary furniture, 
 it held only a small crucifix Lil's tribute to Patricia's 
 " goodness " and a pot of primroses on the sill of the little 
 window. 
 
 Patricia's admiring exclamation was reward enough for 
 Lil, who had gathered the furniture, little by little through 
 secretive weeks of planning for this most important room 
 in the farm-house. Patricia examined it, praised the spread 
 drawn stiffly over the narrow bed, the filmy curtains and the 
 little dressing-table furnished with a blue celluloid " set " of 
 toilet articles. 
 
 " You'll come to it sometimes, won't you, when you're 
 tuckered out nursing ? " ran on Lil eagerly. 
 
 " It was dear of you to think of it," said Patricia, press- 
 ing her hand. Lil, taking her consent for granted, led 
 the way to the living-room, a cheerful place with its painted
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 267 
 
 wooden furniture, its chintzes, its reddened hearth, its two 
 old Boston rockers and a wheezy shelf-clock, found " up- 
 garret " in the farm-house and set going. 
 
 " I jes' can't believe it ! And the view ! Always 
 that runnin' water, runnin' to the sea, and that pretty 
 church across the marshes. St. Anne's? Well, some 
 day I'm goin' to it some day when I have that silk 
 dress." 
 
 The silk dress was a joke between them, but Lil's resolu- 
 tion to go to church was not. 
 
 " I'm thinkin' how nice the bells will sound next Sunday," 
 the new housewife went on enthusiastically. 
 
 " It's Mr. Carmichael's church," Patricia said shyly. 
 
 Lil observed the bright flush that stole up the girl's 
 cheek as she spoke his name. Lil had loved Jim that way. 
 She knew ! 
 
 Neal came for Patricia at last. " Shall we walk down 
 to the old mill?" 
 
 She assented gladly, for upon her spirits the burden was 
 heavy of what she deemed the inevitable parting from 
 him. Each minute was precious now. To Neal as he 
 looked upon Patricia's face, drained white with emotion, 
 words from a book once treasured came floating into his 
 mind : " Pale from the poison of the Maremma, Madonna 
 Pia passes before us, and Ismene, with the sorrow of earth 
 still lingering about her, is there." 
 
 He shivered a little in the serene April air for that touch 
 of something remote and pitiful about her, as if never- 
 more could she know the ways of happy women. For a 
 moment he had the impulse to turn sharply around and 
 take her through the bright sunshine back to the open road 
 and the towns; but twilight, that wooes all lovers, awaited 
 them in the ancient mill twilight and sheltering walls and 
 the seclusion for which they longed. The parting could not 
 be in the garish highway. 
 
 They entered the low door of the mill and stood together 
 in its damp, dark shelter. The hole where the wheel had 
 been still yawned above the rushing tide-water, which sent
 
 268 , BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 up a cold, brackish air. Both looked intently at it a moment, 
 then their eyes were drawn together. A flame of confes- 
 sion was in this deep look. Patricia clasped her hands 
 together. She stood in tense attitude as if resisting some 
 over-mastering impulse. Neal's face, gray and sharp, was 
 turned to hers. 
 
 " I couldn't say good-by," he faltered, " out there." 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 The words, like a sob from her over-full heart, conveyed 
 to him the mortal pain the parting was to her. For an 
 instant they hesitated. The next, they were clasped in each 
 other's arms with a cry of recognition or a sob of im- 
 pending anguish. Silently they clung together, their kiss, 
 sudden, swift, releasing their wonder, their mutual self- 
 arraignment. The moment was ecstasy, then a pain more 
 blinding even than joy smote them, forced them from each 
 other. Both had felt the sword. 
 
 " Patricia ! " he cried. " Oh, don't look at me so ! " 
 
 " Why have you made it harder?" 
 
 Her voice had the far-off sound of the coming of a 
 tempest. 
 
 " I needed you so." 
 
 " You've made an end of it now," she cried. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked hungrily. 
 
 " We can never see each other again. This is wrong/' 
 
 Her clear eyes were fixed upon him with an anguish of 
 appeal. No sentimentalities could blind this woman, no 
 fatuous speech of mating souls. Her words, " This is 
 wrong," struck lightning across the depth of the gulf upon 
 whose brink they stood. With all Patricia's modernity, 
 the roots of her being were deep in that ancient soil upon 
 which flourished a Church which recognized the Seven 
 Deadly Sins. He saw what she thought of herself as she 
 stood transfixed with realization. Yet as the consciousness 
 of sin rarely saves from sin, already her hands were 
 groping again towards him. The cry of her heart 
 drowned the cry of her conscience. Again they drew 
 together.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 269 
 
 " It is the last time," she murmured as her lips met his. 
 " Oh, just this time and then never, never, never in all 
 the world." 
 
 " Dearest mine nearer than anyone mine and I didn't 
 know ! " 
 
 " I love you ! God help me, but I love you ! " 
 Then silence and the drifting of their spirits into that 
 strange apathy of two near to the brink of disaster. His 
 words were low now and she did not speak at all, but 
 quiescent in his arms seemed in some trance of yielding. 
 But suddenly she drew from him in a last effort to re- 
 cover that ancient self which sat far off in high judgment, 
 amid the cold, star-like candles of forgotten shrines. 
 " I must go ! Good-by, forever. You know now ! " 
 Like a ghost she slipped from him, still and white and 
 guilt-stricken. But he remembered they would have to 
 pass through the garden, and followed close behind her; 
 while they waved stiff adieus from a distance to the occu- 
 pants of the farm. But in the lane, obedient to her wishes, 
 he fell behind her, and she went on before him swiftly, 
 impetuously, like one racing with death. The sound of 
 her quick breathing came to him at times. 
 
 He could not bear the thought of going back to the 
 city, and his restlessness took him at last to Maria's 
 modest little house. She welcomed him effusively, for 
 though she would never have admitted it her loneliness was 
 excessive. But her choice was made and she had sense 
 enough at least to abide by it. 
 
 " Why are you down on the Island ? " she questioned. 
 " I'll be glad to have Father near by again and Jack 
 will run in when you're all living here. Jack's good com- 
 pany. I've just had a letter from Ceil. The dear thing 
 is reveling in the Holy Land. I always thought it rather 
 barren and dirty, but of course this is like a second honey- 
 moon to her. Everything is couleur de rose. David has 
 met an old seminary chum, and they all seem like children 
 out of school. But here is the letter. You'd better take
 
 270 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 it up to Father. Neal, dear, are you working too hard? 
 You haven't a particle of color in your face." 
 
 " No, I am not working too hard." 
 
 "How's Ada?" 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 Maria hesitated. But in her eyes was the look of one 
 who has news to tell. 
 
 " Who do you think has taken the Hart estate for the 
 summer ? " she asked. 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure," Neal replied listlessly. 
 
 " Ada's old friend Wentworth." 
 
 "He!" 
 
 " Yes, and he's Sir Howard Wentworth now. He's 
 succeeded to a title. His wife would be ' Lady ' if she 
 lived." 
 
 " He is a widower then? " 
 
 " His wife died a year ago. Everyone wonders why he 
 is back. But here he is. I suppose he and Ada will meet," 
 she added significantly. 
 
 " I suppose so," Neal commented. Neither the news nor 
 its possible consequences aroused his interest. He was with 
 Patricia, living over and over again the priceless moment.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 PATRICIA, on the Saturday before Easter, was standing 
 in the nave of St. Margaret's Church awaiting her turn to 
 enter the confessional. The tenseness of her attitude as 
 well as her pallor betrayed inner conflict. From her infancy 
 her Church had been to her the symbol of supreme power, 
 controlling the mystic treasure of the saints as well as the 
 crepuscular destinies of the erring. However far afield 
 her mind wandered in modern speculations concerning the 
 affairs, temporal and spiritual, of men, her heart returned 
 always to the mysterious sanctuary where daily God was 
 garmented in mortality. This Church which had power to 
 bind or to loose afforded her access, as did no other force, 
 to the endless romance of the religious life to the presence 
 of Christ Himself with His mysterious allurements, out- 
 weighing even the world's wealth. 
 
 Once she looked towards the altar, crossed herself and 
 sighed profoundly. The Day of Supreme Pain was over, 
 with its long vigils, its cry, its supernatural darkness, its 
 final yielding to the fruits of heavenly passion. Already 
 was begun the preparation for a stupendous miracle the 
 showing forth of what the tomb could not contain. 
 
 But her mind shrank from the contemplation of Easter 
 Day, as a festival to which she must proceed unreconciled. 
 Through the days of Holy Week she had been torn between 
 the knowledge of her sin one of the Deadly Seven and 
 the curious fact of an exhilaration which transcended the 
 moral code. The remembrance of the scene in the mill, 
 though painful, held a thrilling sweetness, an element of 
 perfect harmony in which both good and evil were for- 
 gotten. She had been always his. That he should become 
 hers seemed only the reflex of a exquisitely balanced logic. 
 
 So much for emotion ! But when, with cold deliberation, 
 
 271
 
 272 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 she forced herself to tear away the veils of sentiment and 
 passion, and to look upon herself in the arms of a man mar- 
 ried to another, she knew that she was a sinner. 
 
 Should she confess? And if she held back the relating 
 of her sin, would not the value of her Easter Communion 
 be impaired? Could she receive Christ into a lying soul? 
 Better not receive! But then what would Father Carew 
 say to her? He might put down her omission on Easter 
 Day to some exigency of her nursing, but if she did not 
 receive in the octave of Easter, he would demand an ex- 
 planation. 
 
 Someone touched her elbow. Turning she saw Thomas, 
 his usual warm, proprietary manner veiled by his deference 
 to the time and place of their meeting. 
 
 " Father Carew can take you now, Pat, if you slip in 
 quick the moment Mary McCarthy appears. She never has 
 much to tell, just slavin' all day at home with her children. 
 Golly ! I wish my conscience was as clear." 
 
 Patricia flushed, then paled. " I'm confessing to Father 
 McCann." 
 
 He looked astonished. " Since when " 
 
 Patricia put a finger to her lips. At that moment some- 
 one emerging from Father McCann's confessional, she 
 slipped into it, her dominant thought being that she could not 
 tell even a priest of that kiss at the mill. It was sacred ! 
 It was sacred! 
 
 Thomas, who had already whispered his sins and received 
 absolution, waited for her to come out. Soon she joined 
 him, but she seemed grave, abstracted, with none of the 
 buoyancy that usually follows confession. Outside the 
 church, he asked her, " What Mass are you going to in the 
 morning, Pat? Six, I suppose?" 
 
 " I'm coming to High Mass." 
 
 " And fast till eleven ! I hope you won't do that the 
 day we're married. My legs get all shaky when I don't 
 eat and they'll be shaky enough anyway when I'm march- 
 ing up the aisle with you." 
 
 Patricia smiled faintly. She wanted to tell Thomas that
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 273 
 
 she couldn't marry him, but she found no words ; and they 
 walked on together through the moist warm air, heavy with 
 the smell of lilacs from many a door-yard. From time to 
 time Thomas stole glances at her looks from high hopes 
 and a full heart. The spring was in his blood which was 
 demanding a happiness already too long delayed. 
 
 "Pat?" 
 
 " Yes, Tom." 
 
 " Let's get married in June." 
 
 He saw a quiver pass through her. She set her lips a 
 moment, then opened them to say, " I can't." 
 
 " Why not? " His voice had an edge in it. 
 
 " I don't " she had started to say, " I don't love you " ; 
 
 but the words in her mind sounded like the banal echo of 
 inexcusable indecision. She couldn't turn back "how, again 
 to amaze and enrage her father and puzzle her family. 
 What she had begun she must finish, though now it seemed 
 to her that death was preferable. She must gain time. 
 June was too near. Perhaps before Autumn something 
 would happen to release her. 
 
 " I can't be married in June, Tom." 
 
 "When, then?" 
 
 He spoke sharply. These delays were getting on his 
 nerves. He had been very patient. For years he had 
 danced to her piping. It was high time she rewarded him 
 for his devotion. Suddenly he turned into a street that led 
 back to the hills. 
 
 "Where are we going?" Patricia asked instead of an- 
 swering his question. 
 
 " I want to show you our house ; it's nearly done." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 The little futile exclamation was like a misplaced cipher. 
 Turning, he regarded her with genuine curiosity. 
 
 " You are a strange woman, Pat. Since I showed you 
 the plans you've never once asked me about the house. I 
 might be building it upside down, and painting it sky-blue, 
 for all you've taken the trouble to find out." 
 
 " Houses are prisons, mostly," she replied.
 
 274 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " No bars to our windows," he answered good-humoredly. 
 " And you can't beat the view on the Island, not even from 
 Carmichael House." 
 
 To her annoyance she felt the color suffusing her fore- 
 head. Thomas cast a keen glance at her. For months, 
 or ever since his engagement with her, his jealousy had 
 been put to sleep by his perfect confidence in her integrity. 
 
 But this telltale color was like a flag of piracy. Would 
 she again destroy his peace, rob him of sleep, of joy, of 
 the zest of life, as during her brief engagement with the 
 pale Neal Carmichael? What hateful spell had he cast 
 upon her, that even the house that lodged him affected 
 her, in its very mention, like a living soul ? 
 
 " Ever see Mr. Carmichael ? " he said, trying to speak 
 casually. 
 
 Her candid soul hated a lie; but already she had lied in 
 the confessional. 
 
 " No," she said. 
 
 He accepted the negative, and a load was lifted from 
 his heart. He began to talk of " Overlook House," as he 
 wished to name their domain. 
 
 " The kitchens are in a wing by themselves, and so are 
 the maids' rooms, and they'll have their own dining, sitting 
 and bath rooms. I have a whole suite for you, Pat; your 
 own private bath and sitting-room, your your own bed- 
 room; fireplaces everywhere; woodwork all dark, so it 
 won't be so hard to keep clean. I've got a landscape artist 
 to adapt the garden to the house or the house to the gar- 
 den. None of these hill-people will have a thing on Thomas 
 Murphy, Junior, when he gets through. And I haven't any 
 cupolas, either, or gingerbread ornamentation. It will be 
 the quietest and richest house on the Island. I considered 
 you from cellar to garret your tastes, your dear, quiet 
 ways." 
 
 Her heart swelled with a feeling, half of pity, half of 
 resentment the resentment of a person committing an 
 injustice under circumstances which increase the sense of 
 debtorship.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 275 
 
 " It must be a wonderful house," she ventured. 
 
 " It is ! Can you walk there or will you wait on this 
 corner while I run the machine around ? " 
 
 " Let's walk." 
 
 She avoided riding with Thomas whenever she could, 
 for to be in the car with him gave her the sense of being 
 a prisoner taken hither and thither at his will. So they 
 toiled up the slopes together, passing on their way many a 
 porched house, many a garden gay with forsythia and 
 iris. In the distance the sea glittered, and white sails 
 caught the sun. 
 
 " We're going to Europe on our honeymoon," Thomas 
 said blithely. " You may not know it, but we are ! " 
 
 Patricia said nothing. 
 
 At last they were in the grounds of the estate. Passing 
 through a charming stretch of woodland they came to a 
 little blue lake, one of the many which, strangely enough, the 
 Island holds not in its hollows but on the summit of the 
 hills. The banks were thick with blue iris. 
 
 Soon they saw the house, a square, solid, substantial 
 building in the Georgian style of architecture, with high, 
 sloping roof, massive chimneys and high, little-paned 
 windows. 
 
 " Now look at the view. Then we'll look at the house." 
 
 Patricia turned obediently. The view was magnificent, 
 including a low range of mountains, the outside sea, the 
 inside harbor. But she saw no hope in the shining vistas. 
 
 Reluctantly she entered the house which was still to be 
 plastered, and which still held the cold of March against the 
 April sunshine that poured through the windows. Thomas 
 in an ecstasy of achievement, of exhilaration over his fore- 
 sight, led the way from room to room, guiding Patricia 
 around piles of lumber, pointing out to her the mechanical 
 contrivances for reducing labor to a minimum. 
 
 " Of course, the decorations are to be left entirely to 
 you and I'll eat my hat if you can't go twice around Mrs. 
 Carmichael on those matters." 
 
 This time Patricia did not blush. " I like simple furni-
 
 276 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 ture," she answered musingly. " Don't let's try to outdo 
 anyone." 
 
 " Perhaps you're right, Pat, but the hill-people make 
 me mad sometimes ; they act as if the Lord had given them 
 all the money and all the talents too." 
 
 They had completed the tour of the house and were 
 again in the entrance hall, when there was a sound of 
 trotting horses on the drive. Thomas opened the front 
 door and found that Mrs. Carmichael had reined her horse 
 close to the steps. She looked strikingly beautiful and ani- 
 mated. With her was a man whom Thomas recognized as 
 her old suitor, Wentworth. They were gazing at the house 
 with unfeigned admiration. Patricia shrank back into the 
 hall ; she had no wish to encounter Ada. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Murphy ? " Ada said with the 
 charm of address she was accustomed to exercise towards 
 every man she met, high or low. " Can you tell me whose 
 house this is ? " 
 
 " Mine," Thomas answered curtly, yet with an inevitable 
 thrill of pride. 
 
 " Yours ! " Ada could not keep the surprise from her 
 voice. " Are you going to rent it ? " 
 
 " I am going to live in it." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 " No, indeed ! I am engaged to Miss McCoy." 
 
 His voice had already the commanding ring of the proud 
 husband. Patricia came slowly forward, with what dignity 
 her resentment of the situation allowed her to command. 
 Her eyes beneath her dark lashes surveyed Ada with a 
 veiled, still, secretive look. 
 
 " How do you do, Patricia? " Ada said gayly. " I think 
 you are in luck." 
 
 " The architect knew his business," Wentworth threw in. 
 " You have a ripping view ! " 
 
 " Ripping," Ada echoed. 
 
 "Would you like to see the house?" Thomas said 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I adore seeing new houses."
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 277 
 
 Wentworth did not look as if he did. Rather sullenly 
 he dismounted and assisted Ada, who went lightly up the 
 steps, the sunlight turning her crisp hair to gold, her 
 figure adorably tall and slender in her riding clothes. 
 Thomas reflected with jealous triumph that Patricia's figure 
 was equally slender and sinuous. 
 
 Patricia did not follow her unexpected guests into the 
 house, but stood on the steps wishing she could disappear 
 forever from the scene. She felt bruised and darkened by 
 her lie to Thomas, which had followed the lie in the con- 
 fessional. Life had become a tangle of interlacing paths 
 whose goals were invisible, instead of the straight, clear 
 perspective of an earlier day. Her own personality seemed 
 foreign to her, the Island a prison, Thomas a prisoner 
 with her. Would he not inevitably feel the chains, not of 
 her love, but of her indifference? She pitied him even 
 more than she pitied herself. Why could not people speak 
 truth to each other, even though the truth revealed their 
 utter frailty, their helplessness as of creatures buffeted by 
 doubts. If she could only say to Thomas, " I cannot help 
 this love for Neal Carmichael born in me so many years 
 ago. I want to play fair. Let me go my way ! " 
 
 But no! that wasn't the manner of existence. People 
 dodged, hid, covered their secrets with smiles, their heart- 
 aches with pretense, making a bad matter worse by their 
 invincible cowardice. 
 
 Ada came out. Her admiration of the house was real. 
 She looked curiously at Patricia, standing in the sunlight 
 with an indifferent manner which, Ada felt, was not 
 assumed. What quality in this Irish girl had drawn Neal 
 into his brief engagement with her, and this young Murphy 
 into a devotion of which this splendidly equipped house was 
 but a symbol? 
 
 " When are you to be married ? " she asked. 
 
 " I do not know yet," Patricia answered. 
 
 " Soon, I should suppose, as the house is nearly com- 
 pleted." 
 
 Patricia did not question the logic.
 
 278 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Ada, when she and Wentworth had ridden away, turned 
 an inquiring look upon her companion. 
 
 " What impression did you get of those two ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 He smiled. " It takes more than a house " he began. 
 
 " Exactly ! It takes more than a house. Do you con- 
 sider her pretty?" 
 
 Wentworth reflected. " I do not know. I do not see 
 other women when you are with me."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THAT Jack's card should be brought in to him seemed 
 to Peter like a direct answer to certain questions that had 
 persisted in his consciousness throughout the labors of an 
 oppressively warm June day questions of course sug- 
 gested by what had happened on the terrace of the Coun- 
 try Club the night before. It was lamentable that Neal 
 had shown such a lack of worldly aplomb, but on the 
 other hand Ada was enough to try the patience of a 
 saint. 
 
 Jack appeared. His usual gay manner had dropped 
 from him, and his blue eyes had the gravity of a judge's. 
 
 " Hello ! " Peter said. " Sit down. Cigar ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Cigarette?" 
 
 " No, thanks. Say, Peter, you were up there last night. 
 Just what did happen? Several garbled reports have 
 reached me. I expect to hear next that Neal knocked 
 Ada down." 
 
 Peter grinned. 
 
 " If he had done that once or twice, in the privacy of his 
 own apartments, she might have had some respect for him. 
 No, he didn't knock her down; I was there and saw the 
 whole thing. She and Sir Howard were dining d deux, and 
 along comes Neal. Now he may have been drinking, for 
 his face was flushed." 
 
 Jack nodded, looking worried. 
 
 " However, Ada hailed him," continued Peter. " She 
 called out, ' Neal, come here a minute.' " 
 
 " Yes, yes," Jack interrupted eagerly, " and then ? " 
 
 " He stopped short, looked her and Sir Howard over 
 with a good long stare, turned on his heel without a word 
 and went into the Club. Of course, the other diners nearly 
 
 279
 
 280 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 died from sheer satisfaction. I think everybody's secret 
 hope was that there'd be a shooting." 
 
 "That was all?" 
 
 " Nothing else but Neal's stare should have been photo- 
 graphed. It was ugly as a gun. I shivered myself. When 
 a man like Neal is at outs with life, there's hell to pay." 
 
 " Ada went a bit too far," Jack commented. 
 
 " Has she said anything ? " 
 
 " I haven't seen her. But things have been going from 
 bad to worse ever since we came back from the city. I 
 wish Wentworth had stayed on his own Island." 
 
 Peter mused. " I don't understand her, but, there are a 
 lot of things I don't understand. I used to think I knew 
 it all. I wish I thought that now." 
 
 " Comfortable state of mind," Jack murmured. " En- 
 viable not possible after thirty. Neal at work to-day?" 
 
 " Showed up this morning seemed a bit edgy. Ideal- 
 ists are in the forenoon. He and Ada ought never to have 
 married." 
 
 " Ought to be a law against it," Jack said, staring help- 
 lessly into space. " Neal never did see women right ; he's 
 the kind that thinks they are either angels or devils 
 dreadful mistake." 
 
 Peter smiled grimly. 
 
 Jack, going uptown to Neal's club in the hope of find- 
 ing him, reflected upon the incident related to him by 
 Peter, with his usual desire to take a fair and equitable 
 view of the situation. His own experiences had developed 
 in him a very real charity towards the failings of his fel- 
 lows; but, after all, Ada was less to him than Neal. For 
 this theoretical nephew whose spiritual farsight constantly 
 deflected his adjacent vision Jack had a very real affection 
 that he found difficulty in expressing. He had never gotten 
 very near to Neal, who moved in a world not altogether 
 intelligible to his Uncle Jack's frankly pagan tastes. 
 
 Peter's ventured explanation that Neal had been drink- 
 ing disturbed Jack most of all. It was in the Carmichael
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 281 
 
 blood, this tendency to become a superman through the aid 
 of wine. The old sea-captain ancestors of a hundred and 
 more years before had been hard drinkers on shore at 
 least; had gained unearthly ports and ravished fairy 
 treasure through the aid of the genii that rule in a clouded 
 brain. Until within the last three or four years Jack's most 
 marvelous achievements had been conducted on the vapor- 
 ous stage of stimulants, until it had occurred to him one 
 day that a headache is a paltry anti-climax to the con- 
 quering of imaginary El Dorados. 
 
 His knowledge of human nature told him that if Neal 
 " went to the bad," his fall would be greater, and fraught 
 with more serious consequences to himself, than that of a 
 man who had never felt the spell of Parnassus. Jack 
 wanted to put up some kind of a bulwark against the further 
 inroads of destruction. A wholesome desire to pound 
 Ada's beautiful head against a hard wall welled up in him. 
 She had no business to make her husband ridiculous in 
 public ; and Neal, on his side, had not been " a good sport." 
 He must have been drinking, Jack reflected, for Neal's 
 courtesy of manner was proverbial. 
 
 Jack was more pleased than he cared to show when he 
 found Neal sitting in one of the big windows of the Club, 
 a newspaper, The Courier, over his knees, the materials for 
 a highball on a little table at his elbow. Jack having a 
 moment for observation took in some details of Neal's 
 appearance that were not reassuring, the ashen pallor of 
 his skin, the dullness of his eyes, his general air of fatigue 
 and dejection. 
 
 He seemed neither pleased nor displeased by the sudden 
 invasion of his solitude by his uncle, but asked in a flat 
 voice, "Have something?" 
 
 " Too infernally hot makes you hotter." 
 
 " I was chilly. Say, Jack, that's a pretty girl no, the 
 one in blue! The man with her thinks so, too. What do 
 you suppose a woman said to me last night at the Club 
 ' If women weren't dependent on men for support, there'd 
 be such a sound of packing of trunks that you couldn't
 
 282 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 hear yourself talk.' But what of the men who are depend- 
 ent on women for support ? Funny, isn't it ! " 
 
 " What's funny ? " Jack asked warily. Neal in a jocose 
 frame of mind was rather a disturbing novelty to him. 
 
 " Oh, everybody, everything." 
 
 " Funny, as hell is funny. Say, you don't need another 
 glass." 
 
 " You're not my mentor," Neal said sullenly. " I never 
 noticed you stopping at two." 
 
 " Take a hundred if you like," Jack said good-humoredly. 
 
 Neal smiled. " Don't mind what I say. I have a beastly 
 headache." 
 
 " Whisky won't help it." 
 
 " I can forget it." 
 
 " You can hog yourself into oblivion. There's no law 
 against it that I know of." 
 
 Neal looked stealthily amused. " Oblivion ! It sounds 
 good to me." 
 
 " You can't be sure of getting to it easily. There are 
 animals on the way that the Lord never created in Genesis 
 things of the wrong color, with more legs than nature 
 allows, creatures not quite dry, with more ability to sprawl 
 than walk, and to stare than look, and to twist and 
 twine " 
 
 Neal grinned. " You're trying to frighten your nephew 
 with tales from the drunkard's dream-book. A yellow 
 elephant, with the head of a cat and the tail of a snake, 
 can be evoked by mixing three Martinis with four whisky 
 sours topped off by beer. I don't take fright. Leave me 
 in peace." 
 
 Jack sucked the top of his cane and stared at the avenue. 
 
 " Say, Neal." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Why do you give Ada the satisfaction of knowing 
 you're jealous? " 
 
 Neal turned a languid eye on his uncle. " I am not 
 jealous," he said gently. " But really I should like to 
 kill her."
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 283 
 
 Jack hid his uneasiness with a laugh. " Don't count on 
 it; Ada will never give you the chance." 
 
 Neal shrugged his shoulders. " If she did, I probably 
 shouldn't take it. Really I don't care. I'd like to get to 
 the end, that's all any end." 
 
 " I thought you were a better sport." 
 
 Neal raised himself in his chair, lit a cigar, watched 
 the smoke dreamily for a while. 
 
 " Do you know you were rude to Ada last night at the 
 Club?" Jack asked. 
 
 " Rude to her ? " Neal stared incredulously. " Oh, no ! 
 Just walked away from her table after I had stumbled 
 on her by chance. Two's company, three's none." 
 
 " Well, you didn't need to illustrate the proverb before 
 the entire Country Club. Never give people a real chance 
 to gossip ; they gab enough without it." 
 
 " I suppose you're right. But Ada shouldn't have called 
 out, ' Come here, Neal/ as if I were her page-boy, or 
 orphan taken to bring up. She's got to know I won't 
 stand for that kind of thing." 
 
 " Rag her in private, then," Jack said soothingly. " No 
 gentleman beats his wife in public." 
 
 " I'd beat up Wentworth first," Neal muttered, " with 
 his damned English insolence." 
 
 " No, shake hands with him, pat him on the back, ask 
 him to have a drink; that's the stuff," Jack said enthusias- 
 tically. " Then everybody will think everything's on the 
 square." 
 
 " Yes, join the mob of hypocrites the world's infested 
 with now," his nephew muttered. " Cover corruption with 
 starched linen and a correct tie." 
 
 " Ta ra diddle ! You've got common sense, Neal ; use 
 it." 
 
 " I'm going to pull out. If it weren't for grandfather 
 I'd pull out to-morrow and end this farce." 
 
 " Where would you go ? What would you do ? " 
 
 " I'd go and be an honest man with with some honest 
 woman."
 
 284 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " They are rare," Jack said sagely. 
 
 " I know one," Neal said, in a voice suddenly cleared 
 by some poignant recollection. A light passed over his face. 
 
 " You are lucky." 
 
 " She's a saint," Neal whispered. " Pure and strong and 
 beautiful ! " 
 
 " Keep her so then," Jack said gruffly. " Never see her ! " 
 
 " Don't worry. I've got her good-by letter. She plays 
 a square game." 
 
 Jack had his immediate suspicions that the marvel in 
 question was Patricia. Who else could it be? The very 
 thought of her reassured him. No chance for shipwreck 
 there. He rose. 
 
 " Where are you going? " 
 
 " Home to dinner. Better come along. Father will be 
 pleased. He hates a vacant seat." 
 
 " No, I guess I'll run in on Philip and his lady." 
 
 Jack looked suspicious, but he said merely, " Any message 
 to Ada?" 
 
 Neal blew a ring of smoke. 
 
 " No," he said. 
 
 Jack pondered over the situation as he went home. Some- 
 thing must be done ! He couldn't see Neal go to the bad 
 without an effort to save him, for when men like his nephew 
 started on the downward road they seemed to go faster 
 than those who had no ideals of moral development. Moral 
 development ! Was there such a thing ? Did people's souls 
 grow as their bodies grew, or long after physical frames 
 had matured ? Jack abandoned the problem as too deep for 
 him and went in to change for dinner. 
 
 Beside himself, Alexander Carmichael was the sole mem- 
 ber of the family present. Their number being now re- 
 duced to four, absentees were the more conspicuous. The 
 ancient head of the house, fretfully awaiting companionship 
 in the drawing-room, greeted Jack with the avidity of the 
 old and lonely. 
 
 " I thought it was pretty hard, if I had to eat all alone. 
 I was alone last night and the night before. Ada never
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 285 
 
 stays home any more. In my time women stayed at home. 
 Your mother and I never dined apart in thirty years." 
 
 To Jack's bachelor mind this announcement was about 
 as exhilarating as a curfew ; but he smiled and said, " Just 
 so," because the old do not like to be crossed. He patted 
 his father on the back. 
 
 " Well, don't let's scorn our good dinner because Neal 
 and Ada don't know enough to come home," he said, link- 
 ing an arm in his father's and drawing him towards the 
 dining-room from which the butler was emerging to an- 
 nounce the sacred function. 
 
 " I've had a letter from Csecilia," Mr. Carmichael qua- 
 vered. " She and David may stay over until next Spring. 
 I hope they'll get their fill by that time and come home 
 for good. But maybe I won't live until next Spring. I 
 guess Ada thinks I'm never going to die. She looks at 
 me in a queer way, but I can't die until my time comes, 
 even to please Ada." 
 
 " Die ? Nonsense ! " Jack shouted across the table. 
 " Easy with the soup, Dad, or you'll burn your mouth. It's 
 hot as a Pullman car on an August afternoon." 
 
 " I had a favorite porter once " and he launched into 
 
 a story. 
 
 After dinner Jack beguiled him with checkers, and kept 
 eyes and ears open for the return of the happy husband 
 and wife. Ada came in about ten o'clock. Jack heard 
 her murmured farewells to someone in the outer hall. She 
 advanced languidly into the room, bringing with her a faint 
 smell of arbutus, the perfume she was now affecting. 
 
 "Hello, Jack!" 
 
 "Hello, Ada!" 
 
 " Good-evening, Father." 
 
 " Good-evening. Been gadding again ? " 
 
 To Jack's surprise Ada flushed and looked annoyed. 
 
 " I hope I am not responsible to this family for my com- 
 ings and goings," she said. 
 
 Jack threw her a beseeching look.
 
 286 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " The old gentleman's fussing this evening," he whispered. 
 
 Ada shrugged her shoulders. " Oh, very well, but if 
 you knew how tired I am, Jack, of having everyone make 
 me the victim of his moods." 
 
 "That's a stunning gown and you look ripping in it." 
 
 " Don't try to divert my mind," Ada said, but her tone 
 was mollified. She glanced down at her draperies. 
 
 " Paquin," she said. 
 
 " Paquin for me," Jack announced. 
 
 It was a moment or two before they became aware of a 
 singular figure standing in the doorway a man whose 
 peculiar stiffness and immobility of carriage suggested the 
 wariness of one who suspects himself of intoxication. But 
 a smile of great geniality and good-fellowship wreathed his 
 face. Jack made a hasty movement, obeying an impulse to 
 remove Neal before Ada saw him, but it was too late. He 
 had already advanced with the rigid mechanical walk and 
 set smile of the obscured. His incoherent snatches of speech 
 betrayed a desire to confide in his family. 
 
 Ada had risen and was gazing at Neal with a look in 
 which fear and disgust were mingled, together with a subtle 
 something which Jack found difficult to interpret. Was it 
 self-reproach, was it curiosity? 
 
 "How dare you come before me this way?" she said 
 in a low, clear voice, vibrant with anger. " How dare 
 you!" 
 
 " Don't say anything to him," Jack commanded sharply. 
 " You'll only make matters worse. Go upstairs, Ada." 
 
 " I'll ring for someone to take him upstairs," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 Jack stepped in front of her. " I'll attend to him, Ada. 
 Don't forget you have some responsibility too in this." 
 
 " The Carmichael way never shoulder their own sins, 
 their own debts ! " 
 
 Jack made a grimace as if he had tasted something 
 bitter. Mr. Carmichael had risen and was looking in be- 
 wilderment from Ada to Jack, and from Jack to his grand- 
 son. Fortunately his failing sight and hearing concealed
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 287 
 
 from him the cause of the disturbance. Ada, with a 
 contemptuous look at her husband, left the room. Jack, 
 gripping his nephew's arm, led him to the library, forced 
 him down on a couch, loosened his collar and removed his 
 shoes. 
 
 " You stay there," he commanded. 
 
 Neal fell asleep almost immediately, and Jack locked the 
 library door and put the key in his pocket. Returning to 
 his father, he explained that Neal had a headache, and 
 went on with the game. 
 
 Upstairs Ada was pacing the floor, a look of victory in 
 her face, as if destiny by its little surprises was assisting 
 some scheme of her own. Anger still lingered in her eyes, 
 twitched her mouth momentarily from its impassive lines. 
 She went at last to her desk and wrote. 
 
 " He's making it easy for me to do as you wish ; I'll 
 tell you what happened when I see you but I can say this 
 much now. This evening is a repetition of last, only to- 
 night it is a certainty. Beyond doubt the Carmichael taint 
 is in him, too, for all his high-flown theories. If I stay 
 much longer under this roof with him, I shall hate him, 
 but we must go slowly. I dislike scandal. He must 
 create it, not I." 
 
 She looked long at what she had written, then deliber- 
 ately tore it up. The written word was always dangerous. 
 
 Jack waited until the house had taken on the midnight 
 quiet before going to the library. Neal was still asleep. 
 Already was creeping into his face the likeness of his own 
 personality. He looked young, boyish, defeated. He 
 stirred uneasily as Jack gazed at him and murmured one 
 word, like a sigh from a fairer country. It was " Patricia."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 WHEN Neal awoke in the library the next morning he 
 had the sensation of having returned home unexpectedly 
 from a long and uncomfortable journey. The nature and 
 character of that journey were next borne in upon his con- 
 sciousness, as a result of rout and defeat in an enemy's 
 country where certain sciences of warfare had been hope- 
 lessly misapplied. To become a beast in order to solve the 
 problems of a man seemed an act of faulty logic. 
 
 It must not happen again, he thought dully; not par- 
 ticularly because it was wrong, but for the reason that it 
 was stupid, unedifying, nauseous allied with soiled linen 
 and vulgar jokes, not a gentleman's role. 
 
 Sitting up on the couch, he looked about the great room, 
 into which the early sunlight of a June morning was now 
 stealing, at the placid rows of books imparting, as books 
 do, an atmosphere of serenity and aloofness, of intimate 
 consolations. Among them all, was there one to show the 
 way? 
 
 Later in the day he sought Ada. She was at her writing- 
 desk, looking very fair and fresh in a summer morning 
 dress. At sight of him her brows were raised in somewhat 
 impatient inquiry. 
 
 " Ada," he said, " I want to apologize to you for last 
 night." 
 
 " Yes," she replied indifferently. 
 
 " And for the night before." 
 
 " You realize, then, that you made a fool of yourself." 
 
 " I realize that I was rude to you in public. There was 
 no excuse. It shall not happen again." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. " Don't let's talk of it." 
 
 Before the interview he had reminded himself that what- 
 ever she said he must not get angry. Putting the curb on 
 
 288
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 289 
 
 now, he replied quietly, " I think I appreciate what you 
 have done for us, but I hate to be publicly reminded of it." 
 
 " Your vanity is hurt, I suppose." 
 
 " Perhaps I could wish you were more discreet." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Your flirtations are getting you talked about." 
 
 She winced. " I suppose your thoughts never wander to 
 other women." 
 
 The scene in the mill was evoked by her words. She 
 saw the change in his face and her heart leaped exultantly. 
 If only she had some proof! 
 
 " My thoughts wander a good deal towards anyone, 
 anything that will guide me out of this tangle." 
 
 " Why not go to headquarters ? " 
 
 "Headquarters?" 
 
 " A divorce court, of course. The law has solutions for 
 people like you and me." 
 
 " Do you want to divorce me ? " 
 
 " The experiment has not worked out well. That you 
 will admit." 
 
 " What is there between you and Howard Wentworth ? " 
 he demanded suddenly. 
 
 Her eyes flashed fire. Her white fingers closed for a 
 moment tensely on a little ivory paper-cutter lying on her 
 desk. 
 
 " That is a question I do not feel bound to answer." 
 
 " Ada, why can't we try again ! " 
 
 The appeal in his voice was sincere and poignant. For 
 a moment a simulacrum of his old fascinating, elusive 
 self returned to her, with a vision of what she had once 
 believed he could accomplish. Did he realize that he had 
 lost his hold on her by setting up a stall in the money 
 market ? 
 
 " Will you give up that senseless stock brokerage, for 
 which you are about as well fitted as an eighteenth century 
 poet, and take up a writer's life again ? " 
 
 " I'd like to, but I can't." 
 
 " Why not ? " She looked moodily at him, biting the
 
 2QO BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 end of her pen with her small white teeth. " You don't feel 
 these days that you can settle the affairs of the universe ? " 
 she said with faint satire. 
 
 " No ! Since I am not even able to settle my own. The 
 most I can promise you, is that you'll never see me again 
 as I was last night." 
 
 " The matter is closed then." 
 
 She turned from him to the desk. For a moment he 
 stood looking at her, trying to revive in his heart a van- 
 ished Ada, that some salvage from the wreck of their 
 married life might even yet be obtained. But nothing stirred 
 within him. He might have been looking at the painted 
 image of a woman, a dainty drawing from some Paris 
 atelier. 
 
 He went from her, pondering over her words. That she 
 could speak so calmly of divorce told him much, but he 
 shrank from the idea. To give the spirit to the law, to 
 hand human souls to the judiciary that their emotions might 
 be judged, had always seemed to him farcical in the extreme 
 an inversion of the proper order. What could the law 
 do for him and Ada? Separate them, of course, but what 
 a senseless solution for two human beings a confession 
 before the world that they had neither the grit nor the 
 patience nor the affection to work out their problem. Yet 
 perhaps it was better than this lying farce of a marriage, 
 this sterile bond, this union founded on mutual disrespect. 
 If he were free? 
 
 The image of Patricia floated towards him, the woman 
 who all night long had been the center of his feverish 
 fancies. Since that moment when she had clung to him, 
 he could not banish her from his thoughts. He hungered for 
 her, wanted her, cried out to her from the starvation of both 
 body and soul. The light in her gray eyes moved him to 
 some overwhelming answer. Yet she had put him from her 
 with stiff phrases, with the gestures of renouncement. 
 
 Knowing her intensely religious nature, he knew that 
 no other course was open to her. They must never meet 
 again, who had missed happiness through his own blind
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 291 
 
 folly. He revered Patricia too much to tempt her, to ask 
 her to heal his wounds by surrender to their passion. 
 
 He went to his work thinking of her, and returned 
 home thinking of her. When he was tired, the temptation 
 was very great to allow to his thoughts what could not be 
 permitted to his actions. As he sat on the ferryboat, 
 weary from the day's work, from the long hours of sultry 
 heat, his imagination played about the forbidden. He had 
 entered St. Anthony's cave without St. Anthony's armor. 
 
 That night Ada was giving a dinner. She had up the 
 choicest wines from the cellar. Jack watched his nephew 
 anxiously, but was gratified to see him drink only water. 
 Ada, too, watched him. A feeling of disappointment pos- 
 sessed her that Neal kept his word absolutely. His virtues 
 could be in future of no possible use to her.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 THE days of summer slipped by, each bringing to 
 Patricia perplexity and struggle. Before the scene in the 
 mill she had been able to control her thoughts, but since 
 her confession of her love Neal accompanied her through all 
 her waking activities and even stole into her dreams with 
 persistent appeal. She knew herself a sinner because in 
 those shadowy meetings her arms would not push him 
 away but drew him to her heart instead. Patricia bul- 
 warked herself with the thought that they should never 
 meet again except in the safety of a crowd, and when, 
 perhaps, she would be the wife of Thomas Murphy. But 
 some fatality of circumstance seemed to be in league with 
 her true desires. The laying on of the water for the new 
 house was unexpectedly delayed, and the marriage was 
 postponed until fall. 
 
 One sultry day in July a message reached her to go to 
 a small village in a remote quarter of the Island, to the 
 aid of a family one of whose members was ill with typhoid 
 fever. While she was packing her satchel her mother came 
 into the room with a manner half- worried, half- resentful. 
 Patricia seemed to her in no state to undertake heavy nurs- 
 ing through the hot weather. 
 
 " I'm not carrying much," her daughter explained. " If 
 I'm in for a siege Tom can bring me over things." 
 
 " Don't take the case if you can help it. You look 
 fagged out these days. I hate to think of you in stuffy 
 rooms. How are you going over ? " 
 
 " In the trolley, as far as I can. Maybe some farmer 
 will give me a lift after that." 
 
 " Why didn't you telephone Tom ? " 
 
 " I didn't want to take him from the office." 
 
 "As if he wouldn't be overjoyed!" 
 
 292
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 293 
 
 Her mother didn't understand Patricia now, who seemed 
 to be always avoiding the man she had promised to marry 
 strange proceeding on the part of an engaged girl ! Mrs. 
 McCoy had pondered the problem through many a wakeful 
 night, but dared not accept the solution which most fre- 
 quently presented itself, a solution fitting in well with 
 Patricia's tired and abstracted manner. 
 
 The journey to Grandville was a tedious one. The 
 trolley bumped along over stretches of hot road which now 
 and again passed between rows of cheap frame houses, 
 whose shabby gardens drooped under the glare of a July 
 sun. A smell of dust and baked grass was in the lifeless 
 air. The occasional glimpses of the sea showed it leaden- 
 colored. Along the horizon was a thick heat-haze. 
 
 " There'll be a thunder-storm this evening," Patricia re- 
 flected. 
 
 At the trolley terminus a dejected wagonette was wait- 
 ing, the stage to Grandville, in which she took her place 
 in company with the mother of two restless children. The 
 driver, plucking out a wisp of a whip, clucked to the 
 bony horse, which immediately set off with creditable brisk- 
 ness of pace, considering the heat of the day. The white, 
 staring road ran between marshes. In the distance sails 
 appeared the sails of boats motionless or drifting with 
 the tide. High against the inflamed sky two tall chimneys 
 rose, with black smoke issuing from their mouths. Dis- 
 cernible near their bases were huddled houses the ap- 
 portionment of dwellings inappropriately called Grandville. 
 
 " Warm day," the mother of the two children said sym- 
 pathetically. 
 
 " Very warm," Patricia answered. Then she added, 
 " Do you know a family called Henley ? " 
 
 " They live two doors from us. Somebody's sick there, 
 they say." 
 
 "Yes, I was telephoned for. What kind of a place is 
 Grandville?" 
 
 " Nothing much there but the works. My husband's a 
 foreman," she added with a touch of pride.
 
 294 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 They passed a cross-road which cut across the marshes 
 in the direction of the hills. 
 
 " Where does that go ? " Patricia inquired. 
 
 " Over Summit way." 
 
 " It must come out near St. Anne's Church," Patricia 
 commented. 
 
 By this time they had entered the one long street of 
 Grandville, which, as an embodiment of the town's only 
 excuse for existence, led straight to the works. The 
 village looked poverty-stricken and dejected. In the heart 
 of it lay a small burying-ground, the stones awry, the paths 
 full of weeds. Dogs lay stretched on the sidewalks in the 
 sunshine, too oppressed even to snap at the flies which 
 buzzed about them. In the open sewers stagnant water, 
 glazed with scum, steamed menacingly. Patricia's heart 
 sank. No courage was left in her to face such conditions. 
 
 The stage deposited the mother and her children; and 
 drew up next before a shabby shell of a house, its front 
 yard an expanse of baked mud on which a circle of clam 
 shells protected some nondescript foliage. A few hens 
 were pecking, half-heartedly, at the uncompromising soil. 
 
 A woman came to the door to meet her. She had a 
 narrow face and a high, bony forehead from which the hair 
 was pulled tightly back. Behind her was a cluttered room. 
 A smell of cooking mingled with the odor of disinfectants. 
 
 "You're Miss McCoy?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Sorry, but one of the Borough nurses is here sorry 
 you had your long trip for nothing." 
 
 " It doesn't matter," Patricia murmured. " I'd just as 
 soon not have the case." 
 
 " Won't you come in ? " 
 
 " I'll rest awhile. May I have a glass of water ? " 
 
 The water might be unfit to drink, but her thirst was 
 extreme. She seated herself in the rocking-chair the 
 woman pushed towards her, and looked about the dirty 
 room. The remains of breakfast were still on the table 
 though dinner was cooking. Flies buzzed over the greasy
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 295 
 
 oilcloth that showed between the heaps of dishes. On the 
 settle, near the open window, was an amorphous bundle 
 of gray blanket ends. A wail proceeding from it, Patricia 
 tiptoed over and descried a very young baby sparring at 
 the heat and the flies with ineffectual fists. By this time the 
 mother had returned with the water. 
 
 " It's my brother who's down with the fever," she ex- 
 plained in a lifeless voice. " He boards with us." 
 
 " I'll wash the baby before I go, if you'll give me an 
 apron," Patricia said. 
 
 "Oh, I wish you would; I'm just tuckered out. I was 
 up all night with Sam." 
 
 Patricia proceeded to wash the baby. A cool vision 
 passed through the room, the Borough nurse in spotless 
 white. She nodded with professional approbation at 
 Patricia's ministrations. 
 
 " How are you going home ? " the woman asked, when 
 Patricia had finished her task. 
 
 " I think I'll take the stage to the cross-road over the 
 marshes, and then walk. I have a friend living near the 
 end of that road; I could stop with her for the night." 
 
 The stage was hailed and she departed, with relief, from 
 the miserable house. Even to trudge through the burning 
 sunshine was preferable to its confusions. The heat and 
 humidity were increasing, but relief was promised by a 
 dark bank of clouds along the western horizon. 
 
 "Do you think it will storm before evening?" Patricia 
 asked the driver. 
 
 He shook his head doubtfully. " That same bank of 
 clouds has come up same time every day for the last four 
 days, and nothin' happened." 
 
 " Then I think I'll walk across the marshes." 
 
 " Pretty hot for walkin'." 
 
 " I can take my time," she said. 
 
 The stage deposited her at the cross-roads, and drove 
 off in a cloud of white dust, leaving her gazing after it, 
 half regretfully. She had not realized how intense the heat 
 was. The sea-marshes all about her threw up a brackish
 
 2 g6 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 steam of vapor from the mud and ooze. The sun beat 
 down with stinging vertical rays. Not a breeze stirred. 
 Nothing moved in the landscape except the black smoke 
 from the tall chimneys of the factory. Even the insects 
 were silent. 
 
 Very slowly she walked along, for the stretch of white 
 road before her called for the conservation of her strength. 
 Her legs felt tottery; she wondered once or twice if she 
 were going to faint. 
 
 But she toiled along, reaching at last the other side of 
 the marshes and the shelter of some giant willows. From 
 now on the road would begin its ascent, at first gentle, then 
 steep, but where it was steepest were woods. She would be 
 out of the sun at least. 
 
 So she pushed on, for an ominous mutter had roused 
 her from the lethargy of fatigue. Thinking how cool and 
 quiet and refreshing her room at the farm would be, she 
 was glad now she had taken this road instead of returning 
 by the trolley through long unlovely stretches of the Island. 
 
 She passed few houses, then the road became quite 
 lonely. Patricia remembered she had been over it once 
 before, a long time ago. 
 
 The air was very still. The sun had gone behind the 
 bank of clouds. A queer grayish-yellow twilight reigned. 
 The storm was probably coming at last, but she didn't care. 
 She had no fear of thunder-storms ; a drenching would 
 refresh her, for her skin felt parched and dry. 
 
 Halfway up the hill she looked back. A tenebrous 
 spell held the landscape. One watery gleam of sunshine 
 struck across the marshes, making a vivid green path of 
 vitreous quality. In the far distance willows were bending. 
 A low moaning sound reached her ears, commingled of 
 many aerial whispers through sedge and reeds and dry 
 foliage. Puffs of dust rose smoke-like from the road. 
 
 In the distance she saw what appeared to be a deserted 
 farm-house, standing amidst tall trees whose upper limbs 
 were tossed by a furious draught from the oven-heated 
 landscape. She thought she might reach this house before
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 297 
 
 the rain fell and she began to run before the approaching 
 storm. Lightning was gleaming now and spreading in 
 transparent sheets of reddish light over the fields. A 
 drop like the fall of a metal disc in the dust of the road 
 heralded the rain. The storm was about to break. 
 
 Pushing through the gateway of the yard she arrived 
 panting at the little porch, then realized with a shock that 
 she had not been the first to seek shelter there. Neal Car- 
 michael was standing in the doorway, in riding clothes, his 
 face chalk-white against the darkness of the room behind 
 him. For a moment he gazed at her as if the ministrants 
 of his dreams had brought him to her, out of the wild 
 wreck of sky behind her white, transfigured face. Then 
 he called her name, and she answered, amazed, trembling, 
 overjoyed, yet shrinking back as he held out his hand. 
 What destiny compounded in dark preceding ages had 
 brought them perilously together in this lonely spot? Joy 
 alternating with fear racked her like physical pain. She 
 stood in amazement, as if he had been an image evoked 
 by the necromancy of thunder. 
 
 " I was riding," Neal explained. " I lamed my horse 
 just as the storm came. And you? " 
 
 " I walked from Grandville." 
 
 "In all this heat?" 
 
 The rain was coming down in furious torrents which 
 penetrated the worn roof of the narrow porch. 
 
 " Better come inside," he said. 
 
 His hand on her arm drew her within. The wave of re- 
 sponse to his touch blinding and overpowering her, she 
 followed him, conscious now only of their being together, 
 shut in by the tempest and curtained from the world. A 
 silence fell between them, heavy as death, the silence at- 
 tendant upon an irresistible longing, weighing them down 
 with more than the storm's pressure of black magnetic 
 cloud. They scarcely dared to breathe. Neal closed the 
 door softly and came back to her. 
 
 Patricia looked furtively about her. Through the gloom, 
 now almost of midnight thickness, she distinguished a
 
 298 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 rickety chair, a long settle, some fragments of china on a 
 shelf. The oppressive air held a curious blended odor of 
 hay and mold. 
 
 The storm pressed closer. The wind screamed through 
 the trees like a tormented spirit. By the flashes of light- 
 ning they gazed upon each other's white, apprehensive faces. 
 
 A crash of thunder shook the house. In the same instant 
 the space between them was crossed and they were clinging 
 to each other with groping hands and lips, with the gestures 
 of those who drown together, rather than draw apart. 
 She had the sensation, though he said nothing, that Life 
 itself was imploring her, calling her, drawing all the 
 strength from her limbs, wooing her into passivity, into 
 rapture, into tranced submission. One pulse controlled 
 them, darkened their eyes. 
 
 Patricia thought she had been floating through space for 
 a period beyond mortal brain to measure. From ecstasy 
 which was also unthinkable, unbelievable pain, her spirit 
 slowly came back. Neal was kneeling beside her, his face 
 buried in his hands. Full realization returning at last, 
 she wished she had died with the dying storm. In her 
 brain was the lucidity which is the severest torture that 
 can follow a moment of madness. And this had happened 
 to her! 
 
 The wind had fallen. The rain was nearly over. Streaks 
 of light were in the west? The earth was washed clean 
 but she? 
 
 Horror descended upon her. Blind, mad horror of her- 
 self, of what had happened ! She wanted to run out of 
 that door, to run till she fell exhausted, till she died of 
 exhaustion. But he was barring the way now, and in his 
 face, as in a mirror, she saw her own anguish reflected. 
 
 " Patricia ! " 
 
 " Oh, God ! " she moaned. " Let me out ! Let me go ! " 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 His voice, guilty, sepulchral, shaken with remorse, 
 reached her as from a great distance. Suddenly they were
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 299 
 
 calm, facing each other in a dreadful banality, a tawdry 
 emptiness. The desolate room had witnessed too much. 
 They stepped outside together, horridly at ease with each 
 other. She began to walk up the road. He walked with 
 her, their feet dragging heavily through mud, through 
 water, through more mud. He was afraid she was going 
 to faint. 
 
 She stopped abruptly. " The horse ? " 
 
 He nodded, and returned to the stable. She waited for 
 him, staring intently at nothing. Once or twice she looked 
 down at her skirt, pulled it a little, opening and shutting 
 her lips. 
 
 He came along with the limping horse, and they set off 
 again. The top of the hill was soon reached. Neal's lips 
 v/ere shut in grim silence. He felt unfit to speak to her, 
 to look at her. A vision of the unequal sentence imposed 
 upon mutual passion was beginning to beat upon his mind. 
 
 They trudged on. The woods opened. Before them 
 stretched a valley. They saw the tide-water channels, the 
 dark bulk of the old mill, the slender spire of St. Anne's 
 Church. Then he spoke, pointing to the distant farm- 
 house. 
 
 " Can't you rest there? " he asked. 
 
 "I? Go there?" 
 
 Mortal anguish shook her. She trembled under the sense 
 of her abasement. Go to those poor things to whom she 
 had been preaching amendment of life and triumph over 
 the flesh ! 
 
 He saw what she meant and groaned out of his misery. 
 " Oh, Patricia, can you forgive me ? " 
 
 " I was with you," she answered dully. " It was my 
 fault, too." 
 
 " Patricia, where are you going? " 
 
 She paused, a frightened look in her eyes. 
 
 " I can't go home," she murmured. 
 
 Nothing was too intimate to tell him now. The supreme 
 barrier was down. 
 
 " Patricia, my darling ! "
 
 300 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 "Don't!" 
 
 The love words were dreadful to her. She could not 
 bear them. 
 
 " What will you do ? " he whispered. 
 
 " I don't know ! I don't know ! I'll go back to that 
 house in Grandville." 
 
 He looked pitifully at her face, white as that of the dead, 
 at her hollow eyes, her twitching lips. 
 
 " You need a nurse yourself." 
 
 The misery in his voice stirred her for a moment. 
 
 " Don't think of me," she murmured ; " I'll get along." 
 
 " I'll take you to Grandville. You can never walk there. 
 The horse is lame and he can get lamer. Nothing matters 
 but you ! " 
 
 She nodded. He lifted her into the saddle, turned the 
 beast's head westward, spoke to him coaxingly. The poor 
 creature stumbled onward in the direction he was led. They 
 had to pass the deserted house. Both averted their eyes 
 from it and gazed ahead of them at the glowing western 
 sky. 
 
 " If you can get me across the marsh, I can wait by the 
 road for the stage," she said in a faint voice. 
 
 They crossed the marshes, meeting no one. Patricia 
 looked at the sunset, looked beyond it, into inconceivable 
 despair. Occasionally Neal put out a hand to steady her. 
 She shrank from his touch. 
 
 He put her down at the cross-roads. 
 
 " Leave me now," she whispered. 
 
 He gazed at her, misery too poignant for speech in the 
 long farewell look. He turned the horse's head to go back 
 over the dreadful road, to pass that house again! 
 
 He went a few paces, returned. 
 
 " Patricia," he said, peering into her face, his voice 
 shaking, " promise me, for God's sake, if " 
 
 She nodded dully, whether in assent or negation nothing 
 in her eyes told him. He took the horse's bridle again 
 and went slowly away from her. She saw him for a long 
 time. The horse was limping badly. Sometimes the animal
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 301 
 
 stumbled, sometimes the man. Their figures, dark against 
 the wide sunset light over the marshes, moved slowly, very 
 slowly, but the wood at last swallowed them up. 
 
 The stage again received her, deposited her at the for- 
 lorn door. The Borough nurse answered her message in 
 person. 
 
 " I call this a direct reply to prayer," she said briskly. 
 " I was just going to telephone that I'd have to have help 
 after all. It's a bad case. You look tuckered out with 
 the heat. I don't wonder. You were a sport to come 
 back!"
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 THE Borough nurse had been listening to delirium for 
 six long, stuffy hours, delirium of a singularly monotonous 
 sort, quite in character with the spirit of Grandville itself 
 if a village so controlled by the " Works " on the muddy 
 banks of the Kill could be said to possess spirit. She was 
 tired, but she knew that Patricia must be even more 
 fatigued; for Patricia had owned up to wakefulness when 
 off duty, and when on duty she seemed possessed with 
 feverish energy. Even her excursions into the forlorn 
 streets of Grandville for a breath of air generally ended in 
 unnecessary expenditure of force Her team-mate had 
 found her one day weeding the horrid little burial-ground, 
 half a score of sallow children helping her. Patricia's ex- 
 pression had puzzled the Borough nurse on that occasion, 
 for she appeared as if she had set in motion something of 
 which she then became quite unconscious, bending over 
 graves and pulling at weeds with the fatalistic hands of 
 some mythological figure; the children about her like a 
 puny race from some forgotten cosmos. 
 
 Cordelia Ward had grown very fond of her alternate, 
 aside from admiring the skill of her ministrations and the 
 fidelity of her service, but she was puzzled by this girl's 
 lack of response to anything about her. 
 
 A hot summer grew hotter. Patricia went through her 
 days and nights without comment or complaint. Her 
 fellow-nurse was thoroughly astonished when, through the 
 apparition of a prosperous young Irishman in a touring- 
 car, with an offering of a big basket of fruit, a case of 
 Apollinaris, and a bundle of new magazines, she was first 
 made aware that Patricia was engaged to be married. If 
 this were true, why did she look as if even the announce- 
 ment of the judgment day would fail to move her? There 
 
 302
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 303 
 
 were times when her features appeared to be carved in 
 marble. About her was none of the mobility or spon- 
 taneity of a happy woman. 
 
 The hour to awake Patricia, if that ceremony would 
 really be necessary, had come. The two nurses shared a 
 room on the ground floor which they had scrubbed and 
 emptied of everything but cots, a washstand and a small 
 mirror that made their gray faces look even grayer. 
 
 When the nurse entered the room Patricia, in a spotless 
 uniform, was seated by the open window, her eyes, with 
 rings of fatigue about them, staring apparently at nothing. 
 
 " How long have you been up? Did you go to bed at 
 all ? " Miss Ward asked sternly. 
 
 "I couldn't sleep. It was too hot. How is he?" 
 
 " Still babbling. He'll either die, or we shall." 
 
 "Oh, no! We won't die," Patricia said, as if regretting 
 that they would not. She rose to leave the room, but the 
 nurse blocked the way. 
 
 " Miss McCoy, what's the matter?" 
 
 " What's the matter ? " Patricia echoed. " Nothing." 
 
 " Don't lie to me," Cordelia Ward said warmly. 
 
 She attempted to slip her arm about Patricia's waist, 
 but Patricia shrank away. The other woman looked at her 
 wistfully. " You don't like me, after all." 
 
 " Yes, I do. I do indeed. Don't mind me. Please don't 
 watch me. I'm never a good sleeper." 
 
 The distress in her voice seemed out of all proportion 
 to the incident of this little encounter between them. Miss 
 Ward began to take the pins out of her sleeves. She 
 glanced at the sky, already white with heat-haze. 
 
 " We're in for another scorcher. Thank God for the 
 green shades and the screens. That man of yours thinks 
 of everything." 
 
 " Yes, he's thoughtful," Patricia said. 
 
 Miss Ward looked at her curiously but held her peace. 
 
 Patricia entered the sick room with the only sense of 
 satisfaction the days ever brought her, that for twelve hours 
 she would be steadily occupied. Her patient, turning and
 
 304 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 twisting, his eyes filled with the darkness of fever, ex- 
 pressed to her a means of escape from her thoughts from 
 her appalling thoughts. But to-day, with her best efforts, 
 she could not stifle memory. 
 
 Neal was at once less to her than he had ever been, 
 and more; but he appeared to her utterly divested of the 
 cloak of romance, an embodiment of actuality, a symbol 
 of excoriating fact, a link of passionate significance with 
 dark confusions, with a world emptied of all recognizable 
 features. 
 
 Patricia knew that her naming was yet to take place, that 
 out of the tumult of her thoughts must come at last the 
 distinct word defining her, placing her forever in a new 
 category. She thought at times of the men and women of 
 the city's streets, with whom she had held lengthy argu- 
 ments for the salvation of their souls; of the girls she had 
 chided, enforcing their return to the lonely struggles of 
 clean living. 
 
 In her dazed state she thought little of her future plan 
 of action, not even of the time when she must tell poor 
 Tom that marriage between them had become forever im- 
 possible, nor of the time when she must confess to the 
 Church that she had sinned mortally. She wondered 
 vaguely sometimes of what use absolution would be to her, 
 since it could not restore to her the soul of a maid. She 
 was a new person, a creature unrecognizable as Patricia 
 McCoy of an earlier day. 
 
 She did not say her prayers or tell her beads, because 
 she was not sure of the rights of this new creature. Her 
 sense of transformation was so keen that at times she 
 wondered that she still retained the memory of how to 
 administer medicines and how to change a bed. 
 
 From Neal she did not hear, nor did she expect to. The 
 separation had become automatic; the extreme logic of the 
 will to possess, which, through subtle paradox, changes 
 inevitably to the necessity of relinquishment. To climax 
 her happiness, she had lost it. 
 
 The hot day, so like all others preceding, wore along.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 305 
 
 The sick man tossed and muttered, the flies buzzed against 
 the screens. Downstairs the children quarreled and cried. 
 Odors of greasy cooking floated into the room. Once Mrs. 
 Henley looked in with a wan smile. 
 
 " I hope you're savin' him," she said. " Sam's been a 
 good brother to me since Zeck died; said he'd stick by me 
 till the children were raised." 
 
 " We'll save him," Patricia said. " Don't worry." 
 
 The woman hesitated. She stood more in awe of Miss 
 McCoy than of Miss Ward, yet she was moved and held 
 by her, wanted to understand her. 
 
 " You don't let people die, do you ? " 
 
 Patricia smiled. " Not as long as I have an ounce of 
 strength to fight for them." 
 
 " You're awful strong, but so gentle ! I can't bathe baby 
 as you do; I've watched you. Well, you'll have babies of 
 your own some day ! " 
 
 Patricia bent over the bed to hide her face.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 NEAL sat in the study of St. Anne's rectory awaiting 
 Divine's return from a ministerial errand. It was early 
 in September and summer still lingered with a persistent 
 sultry air, thunder-laden, which enveloped Neal as a con- 
 science, a memory, a physical continuation and reminder 
 of a July hour. 
 
 He lived with one dominant hope, that Patricia would 
 not make a tragedy of a matter in which a diabolical accident 
 of solitude and opportunity had, like the personifications of a 
 mystery play, assisted too well in the undoing of the chief 
 actors. This concern for Patricia was like a perpetual 
 sword in his breast, for he knew her temperament, the 
 intensity of her emotions, the depth of her religious con- 
 victions. She called things by their true names, made no 
 excuses for herself, if for others. And they who cannot 
 excuse themselves in this world are apprenticed to pain. 
 
 Fear attended him night and day, fear of what she might 
 do to protect him, to shrive herself ; fear of something else, 
 something more material which could not be hidden like the 
 fires of conscience. What trouble might not come upon her 
 because he, after the manner of his kind, had been ruthless ? 
 
 He dared not write to her. Whatever his opinion of 
 these dark forces which set people groping and stumbling 
 and it was astonishing how emptied of theories he was he 
 had no shadow of doubt as to his having set Patricia and 
 himself in defiance to the social order. A letter had become 
 a trap, the mails a sinister risk, names and dates sly emis- 
 saries of retribution. Was this the real sin, this necessity 
 to skulk and hide, this play of pretense, this serving of 
 subterfuge ? 
 
 Sometimes he wondered if Ada knew or suspected any- 
 thing. She was alarmingly quiet and complaisant these days, 
 
 306
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 307 
 
 though she and Wentworth were much together; and by 
 that curious law which out of the customary breeds in- 
 difference, Ada's continued coquetries were out-tiring gossip. 
 People had ceased to expect defiance of the social order 
 from her direction. As well expect a hammer from a 
 vanity-case ! Ada, riding and dining with men, was simply 
 looking in a mirror to admire herself; and her circles 
 ceased to be interested in the process. 
 
 Neal came often to the rectory these days, since Divine 
 had for him the fascination which the man who suspects 
 wrongdoing has for the wrongdoer. Whatever Divine had 
 found of spiritual certainty in a mysterious universe, the 
 processes of the search had made him abnormally clear- 
 sighted. 
 
 He expressed pleasure at seeing Neal, but no surprise. 
 For this man Divine was waiting with the indomitable 
 patience of one who knows how long is the process of the 
 soul's unfoldment. On altars both visible and invisible he 
 had prayed for the soul of Neal Carmichael because he 
 loved him, and knew there was but one goal for such as he. 
 
 " Been waiting long ? " Divine asked. 
 
 " Not very long." 
 
 " How's everything ? " 
 
 " How's everything with you ? " Neal parried. He 
 dreaded questions these days, as a dweller in a lonely house 
 might dread a face peering in through a window. 
 
 " Very well. I'm getting my grip on St. Anne's." 
 
 " Rather different from editing The Courier? " 
 
 " No ; the two things have many points in common, only 
 the news I get these days isn't through print. By the way, 
 I'm starting a mission at Grandville. I saw Patricia in the 
 street there yesterday." 
 
 Neal, off his guard, gave a start of surprise, paled, then 
 forced himself to look at Divine. 
 
 Divine was looking at him with an air of saying, " You 
 will inevitably come to me. When the burden presses 
 harder you will tell me." 
 
 Neal longed to tell him. He had always thought of the
 
 3 o8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 confessional as a place where weak souls were made 
 weaker, through their shifting of their moral judgments 
 and decisions to the brain and will of another. Now some 
 inkling of its significance reached him. Confession might 
 save the soul from a kind of moral gangrene, might unite 
 it again to its kind. Humanity was, after all, only united 
 through its efforts towards ennoblement. Sin was the 
 anti-social force. The murderers, the adulterers, the 
 thieves, ran alone through the night. Neal was knowing 
 loneliness. 
 
 " How is Patricia ? " he asked. 
 
 Divine moved the candles a little. His sensitive, priestly 
 face was shadowed for a moment. 
 
 " She looked tired ill. She tells me it's a stubborn 
 case relapses, unexpected crises, death out for quarry 
 every morning between three and five, the low hours." 
 
 " Patricia's a wonderful nurse," Neal muttered. 
 
 " I should say she needs rest. Do you do you know 
 if she intends to marry soon?" 
 
 " I know nothing of her plans," Neal said, averting his 
 eyes. 
 
 " How is your grandfather ? " Divine asked, to change 
 the subject. 
 
 " Very feeble from the heat. He misses Ceil, I think, 
 but she'll be back in another six months. Jack relieves me a 
 good deal with him. I'm tied pretty close these days." 
 
 "And Ada?" 
 
 " I think she will eventually divorce me," Neal said 
 quietly. "After all, I can't blame her. She has spent a 
 lot of money on us, and we don't amuse her." 
 
 " Poor Ada ! " Divine commented. " Her turn will come 
 after yours, Neal." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " She's too intelligent not to ask why of this universe 
 some day." 
 
 " I wanted to ask the question with her when we were 
 married first but I had to give it up. I never expect to 
 ask it now."
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 309 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " I'd get no answer if I did," Neal said moodily. 
 
 " Don't be too sure." 
 
 " We've made a mess of our lives anyway, but I'm the 
 bigger sinner; she never made any pretenses." 
 
 He spoke with a bitterness that drew Divine's eyes again 
 to his face. What had happened? Where had Neal Car- 
 michael wandered in his efforts to gain happiness ? 
 
 " It's queer about women," Neal went on, as if talking 
 to himself. " They get it in the neck one way or another. 
 They're lucky when men don't care for them yet they 
 hate that too, I suppose." 
 
 " The trouble is most of us can't help ourselves when it 
 comes to the emotions," Divine commented ; " we can only 
 keep a tight rein." 
 
 " A tight rein ! " Neal echoed. He rose and began to 
 pace up and down the study. " Well, I've no right to keep 
 even a loose one on Ada. If she wants to decamp I can't 
 say her nay. I asked her the other day to wait for my 
 grandfather to die first, it can't be long; I don't care then 
 what becomes of Carmichael House. The line will be ex- 
 tinct anyway unless Philip has children, and that doesn't 
 seem likely." 
 
 " I'm sorry you haven't a son." 
 
 " I thank God I shall never have a son ! What's the 
 use of bringing children into this miserable world?" 
 
 " No use at all unless they're created in love." 
 
 Neal wanted to change the subject, for it roused the 
 dread that was never long absent from his mind. He went 
 to the window and peered out. As he stood there a low 
 rumble of thunder broke from the western horizon. 
 
 " Another storm ! How many we've had one after 
 another." 
 
 Divine looked at him in amazement. " There were only 
 two the whole of July ; only two in August. I thought we 
 had been remarkably free from them ! " 
 
 " Well, I must be off before this one breaks. Good- 
 night, Divine."
 
 3io BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Divine gripped his hand. " Play the game to the finish ! 
 Remember there are witnesses." 
 
 " If I only knew a reason for playing it. If you know 
 the secret, for God's sake why don't you tell me ? " 
 
 " I cannot speak until you are ready to hear," Divine 
 returned quietly. 
 
 Ada and Wentworth were seated in the library of Car- 
 michael House, which, since Philip's marriage, had been 
 used by the family for informal receiving. Both had been 
 silent a long time. These silences in common were fre- 
 quent with them of late, growing out of the completeness 
 of their understanding. Wentworth's brief married life, 
 which had been neither happy nor unhappy, had shown him 
 beyond all argument that there was only one woman for 
 whom he cared completely. Ada, whatever her faults, satis- 
 fied him, companioned him as no one else did. He liked 
 her cool, unemotional ways, her keen mind, her ability to 
 manipulate the material things of life, without being domi- 
 nated by them, as were most Americans. 
 
 He broke the silence at last. " Are you going to give 
 me a positive answer soon ? " 
 
 Ada blew a ring of cigarette smoke before replying. " I 
 shall never give you a positive answer about anything; it 
 isn't my way. I'll act when the time comes." 
 
 " And when will the clock strike ? " 
 
 " I rather object to talking divorce in this house. After 
 all I am still Mrs. Carmichael." 
 
 " Sometimes I think you still care for Carmichael." 
 
 Ada smiled. " I have no quarrel with him, but we are 
 temperamentally, totally incapable of understanding each 
 other." 
 
 " I am going back next month," said Wentworth. " Is 
 there any possibility of your visiting your uncle this 
 winter?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 " When are you going to reward me? " 
 
 " I'm waiting."
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 311 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 " Never mind. We missed each other once, Howard ; 
 each tried another partner. I think we might be happy 
 together if married people are ever happy, which I doubt." 
 
 A figure appeared in the doorway, erect and soldierly, 
 but with an air of hesitation as if from failing eyesight. It 
 was Alexander Carmichael. 
 
 "You in here, Ada?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Neal with you?" 
 
 " No ; Sir Howard is with me." 
 
 Wentworth had risen and was advancing, somewhat 
 shamefacedly, to shake hands, for he liked the old gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " Did you want anything, Mr. Carmichael ? " 
 
 " I want Neal for a game of chess. No use asking Ada 
 where he is; she never knows." 
 
 " I'll play chess with you. Will you excuse me, Mrs. 
 Carmichael ? " 
 
 " I suppose I'll have to," she said languidly. " Set the 
 chess table near the green electrolier, Briggs," she directed 
 the footman who presently answered her ring. " He needs a 
 strong light," she explained to Wentworth. 
 
 He nodded, the ever-recurring wonder returning to him 
 that she never forgot the slightest detail that affected peo- 
 ple's comfort. She might hate them, but even if she killed 
 them she would see that they died at ease on a box- 
 mattress and with the softest of down coverings. 
 
 She sat in the shadow watching Alexander Carmichael 
 and the man who was to be some day her second husband. 
 What she was waiting for was for destiny to place, as it 
 had so often done, the cards to her advantage. Neal must 
 give her some excuse for a divorce aside from the inane 
 reason of incompatibility a reason so universal in her 
 opinion as to be pointless in particular cases. Since nobody 
 was compatible with anybody, why make a lever of an 
 inclusive cipher? 
 
 Neal had adhered to his rigid code of total abstinence,
 
 3 i2 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 so there was no danger of his beating her little danger, 
 indeed, even if he had followed Bacchus. The Carmichaels 
 remained gentlemen under all circumstances. 
 
 And women? She had little hope in that quarter. If 
 Patricia were again her rival nothing could come of it. 
 A woman of Patricia's nature suffered, but did not yield. 
 She would remain according to her narrow code, virtuous, 
 a good Catholic. She would marry Thomas Murphy and 
 live in the handsome house he had built for her, as lonely as 
 people are who build out of their class and can establish 
 no connection with their environment. 
 
 Ada yawned over this perspective of another's dullness. 
 Poor Patricia! It would have been just as well if Neal 
 had not invited her to his party long years ago. 
 
 There was a distant mutter of thunder. Ada did not 
 like thunder-storms. They were the only phenomena that 
 ever made her feel helpless. She glanced through the 
 window. A wild moon rode high amid ragged clouds, the 
 mass of thick black vapor beneath, threaded at times with 
 ripples of lightning. There was a louder peal, but the 
 two men at the chess-table never raised their heads nor 
 looked around. Chess-players wouldn't heed the Last 
 Trump, Ada thought contemptuously. 
 
 The darkness outside increased. The moon was swal- 
 lowed up. Lightning ripped open scene after scene of 
 scurrying rain, bending trees, flying leaves. Shutters 
 banged and Ada could hear the servants running about 
 closing windows, but for some reason they did not come 
 to the library to put down the shades. Ashamed of be- 
 traying nervousness, she sat motionless in her chair. The 
 two men at the chess-table seemed a part of the furniture 
 of the room. She had the feeling that not even had she 
 shouted could she arouse them from their trance of calcu- 
 lation. 
 
 The storm pressed closer. Carmichael House seemed in 
 the saffron center of it. Crash after crash splintered about 
 it. Ada's heart was thumping violently. 
 
 Suddenly Neal appeared in the doorway. In all her
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 313 
 
 life she had never been so glad to see him. He looked at 
 the chess-players, then his eyes searched the shadows for 
 her. He knew her fear of storms. 
 
 Crossing the room he took her hand silently. It was 
 ice cold. He held it and spoke in whispers of the storm. 
 She nodded, comforted. Little as she had in common with 
 her husband, a kind of superstitious feeling possessed her 
 that Neal's very idealism, so aggravating in daily life, was 
 admirable to ward off thunderbolts.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 THE Borough nurse was packing her trunk preparatory 
 to leaving her patient, now so well on the way to recovery 
 that only one attendant was required. Patricia had volun- 
 teered to stay, and as Miss Ward was more than ready 
 for a vacation she accepted the offer. Yet she had her 
 doubts that Patricia was fit even for convalescent nursing, 
 since she looked pale and worn, spoke sometimes of head- 
 ache, though she slept better. 
 
 The door of the room opened, Patricia looked in. 
 
 " I'm going down to the Kill for a breath of air," she 
 announced. " He's asleep. I'll be back before you go." 
 
 "Don't hurry! I'll join you to say good-by. Greave's 
 wharf?" 
 
 " Yes, Greave's," Patricia said with a little smile. 
 Greave's wharf was a kind of joke between them, since 
 it was the only spot in Grandville that seemed to possess 
 even a fragmentary beauty, being a wharf so old and so 
 long forgotten that wild flowers grew among its timbers. 
 On its extreme edge Patricia and Miss Ward were accus- 
 tomed to sit and breathe the air, and watch the ships go by. 
 
 To-day a day in late September the air was chilly, but 
 to Patricia the chill was grateful. The anguish of mind 
 she had suffered in the first weeks of her stay at Grand- 
 ville had passed away, leaving her too apathetic even to 
 apply the moral lash. Dread of the future and of what the 
 future might bring forth possessed her days now rather 
 than remorse for the past. 
 
 Seated in her nurse's costume on the wharf, Patricia 
 had become a familiar figure to the captains and crews of 
 passing tugs; and as some of them knew of her heroic 
 fight for the life of Sam Grippen, she was not infrequently 
 saluted by a short whistle as the craft swung by. To-day
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 315 
 
 the Kill seemed deserted of ships. Its broad, muddy waters 
 flowed exuberantly, for the tide was in. Their lapping 
 against the timbers of the wharf soothed her fatigue. She 
 could even have moments of forgetfulness, when to her 
 subconscious mind she was again the Patricia of that ex- 
 traordinary engagement with Neal, a happy, expectant maid. 
 
 Scene after scene of that old life used to rise before 
 her Polly's death and Polly's funeral in the ancient 
 church ; the silent, grief-stricken house, in which she had 
 read aloud to Alexander Carmichael and to his daughter; 
 her walks with Neal through the pretty lanes of the Island ; 
 her mystical betrothal to him, so unreal, so vague, so 
 sweet; the brief period of their acknowledged engagement 
 and the efforts of his family to make her one of them. All 
 so long ago, so far away, like a tale from a forgotten book. 
 
 A dizziness came over her. She hid her face in her 
 hands for a moment to see if she might conquer the weak- 
 ness ; then, raising her head, she opened her eyes. The Kill 
 seemed swelling up to meet her. 
 
 Somone caught her about the waist. " Patricia, what's 
 the matter?" 
 
 She looked up dully. " I was dizzy," she said. 
 
 " Then why in heaven's name do you risk leaning over 
 the edge of the wharf? It's awfully deep down there. 
 Now, see here, I am going to telephone your man to come 
 for you and I will go straight back and unpack my trunk." 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 " I will ! You look like a ghost and no wonder, con- 
 sidering what you've gone through." 
 
 Patricia wanted to protest, but the thought came to her 
 that if she went home now it would be easier for her to 
 leave home, as she would have to, before Christmas. 
 
 " Very well," she murmured. 
 
 Miss Ward sat down on a fallen timber and drew 
 Patricia down beside her. Patricia was shivering. 
 
 "Cold?" 
 
 " No, dear." 
 
 "Just done up?"
 
 316 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " Yes, Cordelia." 
 
 " That's right, call me Cordelia. I want to say something 
 to you. Don't get huffy; it isn't to swear eternal friend- 
 ship, it's just this that if you should ever need me I'd 
 come to you from the ends of the earth." 
 
 Patricia made no answer, but at last the shivering ceased. 
 She sat very quietly holding Miss Ward's hand. 
 
 " I don't see how I can give you a room to yourself, 
 Pat, dear," Mrs. McCoy said, when after the first joyous 
 reunion with the family Patricia and her mother had gone 
 a little aside from the others to talk of practical matters. 
 " Let me think. Rose might go in with Meg." 
 
 " She'll have to, mother ; I'm worn out ; I want to sleep 
 and sleep." 
 
 " You poor dear ! you look it. I wish to goodness Tom 
 had tucked you away safely in that fine house he has for 
 you. You wouldn't be wearing yourself out over day- 
 laborers." 
 
 " Mother ! And, besides, I saved more lives than one I 
 mean Miss Ward and I together, for she worked just as 
 hard. The man had a widowed sister dependent on him." 
 
 Mrs. McCoy pursed her lips deprecatingly. " You stay 
 home until you're married now." 
 
 Patricia gave an involuntary start. 
 
 " Tom's not ready," she said. 
 
 Her mother looked keenly at her. " You act, Pat, some- 
 times as if you didn't want him. Here he comes now! 
 He'll tell you about the house." 
 
 Tom crossed the room and greeted Patricia quietly, be- 
 cause he knew she disliked much demonstration. The 
 thought passed through her mind that something was re- 
 fining this man of the people out of his old moral habili- 
 ments into a newer vesture. His speech had lost its boastful 
 quality. The refinements wrought by patience and per- 
 sistence seemed in the very texture of his flesh. She had 
 wronged him grievously ; she would have to hurt him more. 
 Her heart sank as he approached her.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 317 
 
 " We were talking about the house, Tom," Mrs. McCoy 
 said briskly. " Patricia wants to know when she's to have a 
 home." 
 
 Tom frowned, in impatient perplexity. 
 
 " Our luck's against us, Patricia. Such shilly-shallying 
 I've never encountered. I've been haunting the Borough 
 Hall to hurry those fellows up ! " 
 
 " Oh, well," James McCoy put in, " set it for next 
 Easter, and give the winter a chance to test everything 
 before you paper. Fall's a bad time to move into a new 
 house." 
 
 Patricia looked wonderingly at her father. She did not 
 know that he had missed her these weeks more than he 
 cared to admit even to himself; her absence prefiguring to 
 him the time when she would leave his roof forever. In 
 addition to this anticipation of the final loss of her, his 
 pride in her had been reawakened by the reports of her 
 achievements at Grandville, which had reached him through 
 more than one 'longshoreman. 
 
 " How about Easter, dear ? " Tom said. 
 
 She nodded mutely, for the words of assent seemed like 
 the knife of a traitor. Long, long before that time she must 
 be in hiding. And then after that time? Her wearied 
 brain refused to travel so far. Was there any place in the 
 world for an unmarried woman with a child? Better that 
 they should enter eternity together! Only there too was 
 torment. 
 
 " Easter it is ! " James McCoy said, as if the matter was 
 settled to everybody's satisfaction. 
 
 " And what are you goin' to do on Easter that's so 
 grand ? " a hearty Irish voice was heard to trumpet from 
 the doorway. Father Carew was entering the room. 
 
 " I heard you were home, Patricia, me dear. Good news 
 travels fast. And you've saved a good man's life. The 
 Lord save yours ! " 
 
 " How are you, Father ? " 
 
 " Fit as a fiddle. Is it that you're marryin' come 
 Easter?"
 
 3 i8 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " That's what we've settled on, Father," Tom answered. 
 " The house has held us up." 
 
 " I'll marry ye both in the octave of Easter, if ye have 
 to camp in a tent afterwards. Let's see, Easter comes 
 the eighth of April. How about Easter-choosday, the tenth ? 
 How about it ? Why, lass ! " 
 
 He peered at Patricia, his eyes wide with alarm for 
 he could see the color ebb from her face. Her mother 
 was the first to understand what was happening. 
 
 " Quick, Jim, she's fainting ! Get water ! " 
 
 But Patricia was struggling back to consciousness before 
 the water came, for with the darkness was also the horrible 
 fear of what she might say when not in full possession of 
 her senses, a fear which bulwarked her from the final sub- 
 merging. 
 
 " I'm better," she said weakly, looking at the pale faces 
 about her. 
 
 " You'll go straight to bed and stay there," Mrs. McCoy 
 said indignantly. " You're worn to a frazzle from that 
 wretched case." And the circle around Patricia echoed 
 the verdict. 
 
 " 'Tain't like her to faint," her mother declared to the 
 others. " It just shows how she had been pulled down." 
 
 Tom pressed her hand. " You do as your mother says, 
 dear ; you stay in bed a week, a month if necessary." 
 
 Patricia was only too glad to be treated as an invalid. 
 Her room afforded her some shelter from the family. Even 
 her mother was too busy to come to her much. Rose waited 
 on her assiduously, for she adored Patricia. Even her 
 hard-worked brother James came down from the city to see 
 her. For James, Patricia had a special affection born of 
 the fact that long ago he had introduced Neal Carmichael 
 to her; but James never mentioned his name now, con- 
 sidering him perhaps an episode, over and done with, in his 
 sister's life. 
 
 Dr. Murphy, puzzled by Patricia's listlessness and ap- 
 parent inability to gain strength, insisted on her remain- 
 ing in her room through the month of October. He had
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 319 
 
 never felt very near to this girl who was to marry his 
 son, but he admired and respected her. Whether or not she 
 could make Tom happy, time alone would tell. 
 
 Patricia was content to lie quiet, though there were 
 times when her mental anguish seemed to propel her spirit 
 on long, insufferable journeys whose fatigue was felt in the 
 quiescent body. To keep her thoughts clear and in sequence 
 was difficult to her, yet clear thinking had never been so 
 necessary. She must plan a campaign more strategic than 
 any by which she had kept death at bay from another 
 sufferer. She must prefigure a drama to its last details 
 setting, actors and climax, with a final fading of the scenes 
 in some eternal obliteration of her own identity. For what- 
 ever she suffered or might suffer her family must not be 
 put on the rack. 
 
 It never occurred to her to apply to Neal for advice or 
 aid. To take money from him would have seemed to her 
 only degradation. To hold the situation above the last, 
 sordid logic she must pass into eternal silence and oblivion. 
 Two ideas dominated her uneasy dreams and her exigent 
 waking thoughts to save the child's life and to pass her- 
 self where familiar voices could not reach her. 
 
 She had decided that she must go to Lil, must seek 
 refuge in the little room prepared for her. What hurt 
 Patricia most was her fear of the effect of her downfall 
 upon those two natures which had clung to her as the 
 pledge of their return to clean, straight ways; who had 
 imbibed from her all they knew of society's mystic tradi- 
 tion of a higher Providence. Would they not distrust 
 either her sincerity or the ability of the God she worshiped 
 tc hold her in His keeping? But whatever the influence 
 upon them of this revelation, she knew they would be faith- 
 ful to her, would hold her wishes sacred. 
 
 Sometimes she thought of Ada, the lawful wife, in the 
 great house on the hill Ada who played with men's emo- 
 tions as a child with colored balls. Why had the world 
 decreed such forms of marriage right, while stoning exterior 
 manifestations of sincere emotion ? Patricia questioned, but
 
 320 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 rather in bewilderment than in revolt. By temperament, 
 by training, she did not belong to the modern generation 
 of self-excusers, or to those who sin against society in the 
 name of temperament, and even of religion, as two beings 
 bound mystically from the beginning of time under laws 
 and rules of their own. No such cheap and tawdry ex- 
 cuses comforted her, yet she had her moments of confused 
 interlocution, when she addressed the very cosmos itself 
 for the answers that are never given. 
 
 Through her invalidism she could avoid the confessional 
 for some time to come, its peremptory demand upon her 
 being indeed not due until the holy feast of Christmas. 
 Before then she would be gone. 
 
 Early in November word was brought to her of Uncle 
 Shamus's declining health and of his continuous desire to 
 see her. Weak from her long domiciling, she went to the 
 Mariner's Rest a rest soon to be his profoundly, as she 
 was apprised by his little sunken face looking feebly at hers 
 from his pillow. His chirp was very hollow, his tired hands 
 had scarcely strength to fondle his old treasures, the ruby 
 once declared spurious, and some other gewgaws from 
 strange lands. He would arrive shortly at another coast on 
 no known map, be greeted by the Master of an uncharted 
 port. 
 
 The same day she went to see Lil, who received Her with 
 delight, gathered her into warm arms, looked at her with 
 pleased, anxious eyes. 
 
 " Jim and I have been so worried. We was afraid you 
 were never comin' here again." 
 
 Patricia drew in her breath with a little sobbing sound. 
 " I'm coming soon I'm coming to stay. I'll tell you be- 
 fore I go." 
 
 Lil accepted these announcements with her usual un- 
 questioning faith. Life had taken from her the normal 
 instincts of interrogation. Nothing seemed strange to 
 her. She petted Patricia, hovered over her, gave her tea. 
 Jim came in to shake her hand and to speak of his 
 cabbages.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 321 
 
 When the twilight was falling Patricia asked Lil to come 
 out of doors with her and to accompany her a little way 
 through the orchard. It was a mild, warm evening already 
 lit with a few stars. In its sinuous channels the tide-water 
 gave back an engraving of the sunset's afterglow, aspiring 
 to the zenith in thin rose flames. These were reflected on 
 Patricia's features. From her dark eyes another sunset 
 looked. 
 
 " Lil," she whispered, " I've something dreadful to tell 
 you." 
 
 Putting her mouth near to her friend's cheek, she 
 breathed out her story with many tragic pauses, which in- 
 dicated a physical inability to proceed. Lil could feel the 
 violent beating of her heart; and already Patricia was 
 holding out supplicating hands, which the woman she had 
 befriended caught, kissed, wept over, as the significance of 
 those broken sentences suddenly reached her like the trans- 
 mission of an electric shock. 
 
 " When are you coming ? " Lil asked after a while. 
 
 " Just before Christmas." 
 
 Lil asked only one other question, was she to tell Jim ? 
 
 "Yes, tell him," said Patricia. "He'll have to know 
 sooner or later." 
 
 " Jim'll fight for you like a bulldog." 
 
 Lil s*tood beneath the apple-trees watching Patricia's 
 figure until the twilight received it, hid it from her eyes. 
 Even then she lingered, desperately planning for the woman 
 who had planned so much for her. 
 
 Jim looked at her expectantly when she entered the 
 sitting-room. " Miss McCoy doesn't look fit to be out of 
 bed," he said. 
 
 "Jim, can you keep a secret?" 
 
 He smiled grimly. " Can I ? You remember that time 
 when I was cooped an' I could 'a' had my freedom if I'd 
 squeal on Burnie Mahone." 
 
 " You'll pass ! What do you think ! Miss Patricia's 
 gone an' got married private." 
 
 She told the lie without blinking. Not one of the preda-
 
 322 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 tory race of men, not even her own husband, should ever 
 know the truth from her about Patricia's trouble. 
 
 " You don't say so ! " 
 
 " I do, and there's a child comin', an' she wants to keep 
 her marriage private. I've offered to see her through." 
 
 " You bet we'll see her through," Jim said fervently. 
 " It's a lucky man's got her but he ought to be man 
 enough to own her. Who is he ? " 
 
 " I don't know. People have good reasons for keepin' 
 their affairs private sometimes," she said. 
 
 Jim nodded, and helped himself to a lump of sugar from 
 an adjacent bowl. There had been long periods of his 
 own career when the value of secrecy seemed superlative.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 " You are not going into town this winter ? " asked Neal. 
 
 Ada smiled, noting the relief in her husband's voice. 
 " No, I shall stay on the Island. Does it please you ? " 
 
 " I am glad on my grandfather's account." 
 
 " And on your own ? " 
 
 Neal did not reply, for he lived these days under the 
 shadow of the fear of self -betrayal. Ada's half-mocking 
 eyes were not easy to meet when his thoughts were full of 
 Patricia, when his heart was hungry for her. He had 
 heard that she was ill in her father's home, news that 
 racked him with apprehension, yet he could make but the 
 most cautious inquiries. For her sake he must keep out 
 of the perspective. Secrecy coupled with anxiety corroded 
 his spirit. He was infinitely relieved when he heard that 
 the winter migration to town was not to take place. But 
 Ada's decision puzzled him. Everything about her puzzled 
 him these days, for she seemed reversing all her old cus- 
 toms, staying at home most of the time and entertaining 
 very little. Wentworth had returned to England. Of him 
 she never spoke. 
 
 On this dark November day Neal, just returned from 
 the city, had found Ada in the library and she had told him 
 her plans. She watched him now, faint curiosity stirring 
 in her own breast, as he stood with one arm on the mantel, 
 his face abstracted, careworn and singularly indifferent. 
 His life apparently had dwindled to an effort to keep up 
 with his partner, Peter. 
 
 She still asked herself what folly had caused him to 
 throw away his position on The Courier that he might 
 merge himself in the general insignificance of money- 
 making? The paltry excuse of providing a home for his 
 
 323
 
 324 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 lachrymose aunt did not convince her. Was his deeper 
 reason a desire to keep a balance of power between himself 
 and her ? Soon that necessity would be over. The marriage 
 was about frayed through, was going to pieces out of sheer 
 inability to hold together. Ada had almost made up her 
 mind to get a divorce on the ground of incompatibility or 
 any other trumped-up nonsense. Real cause, she feared, 
 Neal would never give her. 
 
 "May I ask why you want to be here this winter?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 Ada yawned. " I'm tired of opera, of exhibitions, of 
 concerts, of people who say the same inane things to each 
 other about the same inane subjects. I'm tired of reformers 
 and society leaders. I'm tired of working girls, and child 
 labor, and the white-slave traffic. Human nature will go on 
 being beastly no matter what they do to whitewash the 
 outside of it." 
 
 " I'm not tired of these things," Neal said, " because 
 they're not really fads. You know they're facts ; I'm tired 
 of being unreal." 
 
 Ada leaned back a little in her chair, relaxing her body 
 into long, soft curves, and watching Neal from under her 
 drooping lids. His growing indifference to her piqued her 
 vanity at times, aroused in her the old desire to make him 
 feel, to make him suffer rather than that he should give 
 her no tribute of emotion. Even during the period of her 
 completest domination over him she had always the con- 
 sciousness that some part of his nature escaped her, 
 thwarted her, as by the sight of fleeing wings. 
 
 " What do you call being real ? " she asked. 
 
 " Being at ease with life with one's self." 
 
 Ada laughed. " I'm the realest thing in this house then. 
 Jack comes next, though even poor old Jack acts lately 
 as if he had premonitions of a higher life. And he was such 
 a complete pagan." 
 
 Her eyes were mischievous, provoking. Neal met them 
 with a smile, as if he were quite ready to share any joke 
 she chose to produce.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 325 
 
 " You serious people are a restless tribe," Ada went on. 
 " By the way, do you ever see anything of Patricia ? " 
 
 Ada launched this arrow at random, but to her surprise 
 Neal reddened violently. His voice was not quite steady as 
 he answered. 
 
 " I haven't seen her since last July. She was returning 
 on the Southmarsh Road to Grand ville. I gave her a lift 
 on White Star." 
 
 Ada glanced at the hand which rested on the mantel. It 
 was trembling. A sudden wave of jealousy swept over her; 
 jealousy of this woman of the people who haunted her 
 horizon like an accusing ghost. 
 
 " What a life for a woman," commented Ada. " Always 
 dealing with sickness and death! But then Patricia likes 
 it, I suppose. She's as serious as you are. I wonder how 
 she'll put in her time when she's married to the Murphy 
 person. I suppose she'll hate money as you do ; think it sin- 
 ful ; try to make a St. Francis of her husband. I'm afraid 
 she'll bore him to death." 
 
 The merry inference was lost on Neal, who was wonder- 
 ing whether he had said too much in his efforts to appear 
 easy and natural on the subject of Patricia. It was entirely 
 unnecessary to speak of the Southmarsh Road. Few people 
 had seen them that day, and probably no one who recog- 
 nized them. 
 
 He changed the subject, but Ada's sharp eyes were 
 searching his face where the telltale color still lingered. 
 Did he really care for Patricia? Much good it would do 
 him ! She was as likely to return any overtures he might 
 make as some pictured virgin-martyr seen remotely through 
 incense fumes. She wondered whether Neal would marry 
 Patricia if she, Ada, divorced him. The thought was not 
 a pleasant one. She was glad that she had not posted a 
 certain letter lying upstairs on her desk. She would destroy 
 it. She must know more of the cause of Neal's sudden, 
 overwhelming embarrassment when Patricia's name was 
 mentioned before she declared to some lawyer that she 
 and her husband were " incompatible."
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 " AND ye are goin' before Christmas, Pat dear, to take 
 another case ? To-morrow, you say ? " 
 
 Uncle Shamus whispered these questions feebly to his 
 favorite niece who sat by his bedside holding his hand. He 
 knew that he was drifting, drifting with a deep content, 
 which even the news of another long absence on Patricia's 
 part could not break. The Rosicrucian had told him it was 
 nearly always so when the ship was making port, a fair 
 wind blew and angelic hands took the helm. And indeed his 
 mind was now endowed with the clairvoyance that not in- 
 frequently comes to the dying. He would never really part 
 from Patricia any more. 
 
 "Dear love, dear heart, you won't forget me? You'll 
 pray for me often?" Patricia whispered. 
 
 " Night an' mornin'. Father Carew was here to-day. 
 He takes it hard that you're goin' to nurse again. I don't." 
 
 "No, dear?" 
 
 " No ! He give me the holy oil. He's sayin' a Mass for 
 me, come mornin'. Since me anointin' many things are clear 
 to me ; and just before you come, Pat dear, I had a vision." 
 
 "Yes, Uncle Shamus." 
 
 " I dreamed of a ship. She warn't a schooner and she 
 warn't a barque, and she looked light for sea travel, but 
 I swarmed aboard over her side for I liked the looks of her. 
 Says I, ' I'll take a chanst on the Captain.' An' I asked for 
 her charts an' her course, but she went on into bright 
 weather with no answer to me. You mind those Islands 
 you an' me ust to talk of ? " 
 
 "The Blessed Islands?" 
 
 " Yes. Colleen, I guess I was sailin' there." 
 
 Patricia drew his withered hand closer. " When you get 
 there, dear, will you ask God to be merciful to me? " 
 
 326
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 327 
 
 Uncle Shamus smiled, relapsed into silence, into the deep 
 contentment that no human voices could ever break again. 
 Even Pat's request seemed scarcely worth answering. Of 
 course God would be merciful to her. 
 
 Patricia waited until he was fast asleep and then, softly 
 withdrawing her hand, stood for a moment looking about 
 the poor little room which in all probability she would 
 never see again; for it was not likely that more than a 
 month of life remained to the old mariner. Some night 
 he would slip out with the tide after the manner of those 
 who have followed the sea and whose souls depart on the 
 ebb. He would not miss her nor anyone at the end, for 
 Jesus Christ would be with him. Patricia crossed herself, 
 looking through the little windowpanes at the tall, dark 
 trees in their December bareness, at the old men walking 
 feebly up and down the long avenues, at the white sails of 
 the ships in the channel beyond. Peace, and yet deeper 
 peace, and hope for Uncle Shamus even in the purgatorial 
 fires where the stains of his earthly travel, his nautical in- 
 dulgences in hard swearing and hard drinking, would melt 
 away, leaving only the brave, kind heart to go forward to 
 his Lord. There was hope in the end for him, whom already 
 the Church had pardoned and anointed and prepared for the 
 supernal journey. But for her? 
 
 The result of her body's restoration to health had been 
 the greater activity of her brain, an activity difficult to 
 endure because of the destructive nature of her thoughts, 
 which placed her as an outcast, a wilful outcast from the 
 great church of Christ on earth. The past month had been 
 one long struggle between her desire to confess and her 
 conviction that not even to escape eternal torment would she 
 utter Neal Carmichael's name in the confessional and the 
 name might be demanded of her ! That Father Carew was 
 worried by her abstaining from this sacrament she was 
 aware by his questions when he met her, for he watched 
 over his flock with true pastoral care. But she could never 
 go to him now. She was shutting the door slowly but 
 surely on her old life and its associations. What woman
 
 328 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 would emerge from the dark avenue of transition she could 
 not know, but it would be a stranger and a wanderer. 
 
 The process preparatory to her hiding had been made 
 difficult, for her family had opposed violently her going to 
 this mysterious " case " to which, a few days before, she 
 announced that she had been summoned. Mrs. McCoy had 
 looked fearfully at her daughter when like a thunderbolt 
 the news came. It was uncanny, such a course of action. 
 A woman, soon to be married, to go away, and just before 
 the holidays! And for what? That Patricia refused to 
 give either the name of the " case " or its locality was not 
 in itself singular. Once or twice before, in dangerous 
 diseases, she had cut loose completely from the family, 
 declining all communication with them. What hurt the 
 worried mother was that Patricia, just recovered from a 
 siege of nursing, should risk her health and perhaps her 
 life again. James McCoy shared his wife's anxiety. 
 Thomas felt distinctly injured. Patricia was well again. 
 They might have some of the pleasures of an engaged 
 couple, going together to theaters or to dances. 
 
 Patricia lingered in Uncle Shamus's room until the 
 twilight had almost hidden the little shrunken figure on 
 the bed, then she slipped away and hurried, a dark, bowed 
 shadow, through the echoing corridors. 
 
 Her way home taking her past St. Margaret's Church, 
 she could not resist the impulse to enter it, not knowing 
 when again her feet might cross its portals, nor under 
 what circumstances. The great nave was almost in dark- 
 ness ; but there being the vigil of a feast, lights were burn- 
 ing before some of the side altars. Where the shadow was 
 deepest Patricia knelt. She prayed for many people, for 
 her father, her mother, her sisters, for Thomas and Uncle 
 Shamus, but she could utter no petition for herself or for 
 Neal Carmichael. Her heart felt filled with dust, and 
 wearily she rose at last to continue her journey. The door 
 of the church closed in the altars, the lights, the worshiping 
 figures, and she stood again in the street, one of the lonely. 
 
 As she neared her own home she was aware of an un-
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 329 
 
 wonted atmosphere of festivity, which radiated from lighted 
 windows and the opened front door, through which Father 
 Carew's figure was passing. What was the meaning of it 
 all? She quickened her steps, and her mother, who had 
 seen her coming, ran out to meet her. 
 
 " Here's Pat ! " she called over her shoulder to the 
 others. " Patricia, dear, Tom's here. We've made a party 
 for you." 
 
 " Oh, Mother, why did you do that? " 
 
 Mrs. McCoy frowned, sighed. " Why can't you look 
 pleased ! You're a lucky girl, and you don't know it." 
 
 Patricia forced herself to smile, as she slid an arm around 
 her mother's waist. 
 
 " It's good of you, dear ! I've been with Uncle Shamus, 
 you know ! " 
 
 " Oh, he'll last another month," Mrs. McCoy said 
 briskly. " Here she is, Tom." 
 
 She delivered her daughter to the waiting lover, who 
 looked singularly like a bridegroom as he stood in the 
 brightly illuminated sitting-room, a white flower in his 
 buttonhole, his lips in an expectant smile. He was an all 
 too ready conspirator of the group which included his 
 betrothed's parents and spiritual pastor. Patricia, with a 
 sinking heart, looked about upon the assembled faces, each 
 wearing that expression of sly humor which usually accom- 
 panies a quickly planned, hilarious solution of a difficulty. 
 To take Patricia by storm, they had concluded, was the 
 best method of checkmating her insane resolution to nurse 
 another case. 
 
 Some premonition of their scheme reached her, mani- 
 fested in the vague uneasiness that filled her. A bleak 
 loneliness about her shut her from their craving love. She 
 stood white and mute, a tragic figure, her smile contradicted 
 by the apprehension in her dark, heavy eyes. 
 
 " You're tired as you can be," McCoy said with affec- 
 tionate harshness, " an' you talking of another case to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " All folly ! " Tom whispered.
 
 330 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " If you go anywhere to-morrow, 'twill be to St. Mar- 
 garet's," Father Carew said cheerfully, " an' I'll lay the 
 care-cloth over the shoulders of the two of you." 
 
 The meaning, the intention of this assemblage broke 
 upon her in a slow wave of light as hard as that which 
 ushers in the day of execution. To gain time she mur- 
 mured something about changing her dress and hurriedly 
 left the room. When she reached her own bedroom she 
 was panting like a hunted thing, while a cold perspiration 
 matted her hair against her forehead and made her hands 
 clammy. She stood for a moment looking wildly about her, 
 then locked her door, putting her ear against it to be sure 
 that no one followed. 
 
 Sitting on the edge of her bed she tried to collect her 
 thoughts, to line out quickly a course of action before she 
 again faced those loving confusers of her destiny. Had she 
 strength, either moral or physical, to oppose negatives to 
 their persistence? A negative unaccompanied by a reason 
 was like an unloaded weapon. To flourish it was to invite 
 ridicule, and the final tearing down of defenses. 
 
 One circumstance was in her favor. She had sent her 
 trunk containing her nursing clothes and her plainest dresses 
 away that morning, Jim having called for it at the express 
 office. If she were cornered by their affectionate entreaties 
 to celebrate Yuletide with a wedding, she would acquiesce, 
 then slip away early in the morning before daylight. 
 
 Her plans made, she put on a dress suited to festivity. A 
 murmur of admiration went through her assembled family 
 when she reappeared among them, for there was a touch 
 of wild beauty about her which they attributed to the 
 heightening of her natural charms by the gown she wore, 
 but which was really the reflection of the tragedy and of 
 the necessity to play a high part for the last time. 
 
 " I never saw that dress before," Tom said, stretching 
 out an admiring hand to touch its laces. They had seated 
 Patricia by the fire in an armchair while the banquet sup- 
 per was in preparation. Against its crimson back, her head 
 was resting. The only color in her face was in her full red
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 33 1 
 
 lips. The firelight threw strange shadows over the rosy 
 dress, in the lap of which her hands lay idle. They would 
 not allow her to help, so she sat in symbolic state removed, 
 as she knew, forever from their activities. Her sister Rose 
 leaning over the chair's back pinned a flower in Patricia's 
 piled-up tresses. When he was sure no one was listening 
 Tom bent to her. 
 
 "How beautiful you are, Pat! Wait till I have the 
 chance to buy you dresses. Not a woman on this Island 
 will be able to hold a candle to you, not even Mrs. Car- 
 michael ! " 
 
 His voice seemed to come from an immeasurable dis- 
 tance from her long-forgotten lands of childhood and 
 hours of sunny play in vanished springs, sounding as unreal 
 in her ears as astral music. 
 
 "Do you know what they are up to, my dear?" he 
 whispered confidentially. " Father Carew is going to 
 make us one to-morrow! He means to confess us and 
 say Mass over us at ten. I can't wait and if you are 
 willing! " 
 
 He expected the old protests from her. She only sighed 
 a little, and then whispered, " But the banns have not been 
 read." 
 
 " Father Carew said he has published them on the last 
 three Advent Sundays at one of the early Masses. He's a 
 great one! I've got the license all ready." 
 
 He tapped his vest-pocket and beamed upon her, but 
 with none of the old-time proprietary spirit. In this hour 
 of his approaching triumph he felt humble. 
 
 " But the house," she whispered. 
 
 " We'll go to a hotel in town for the winter. I guess we 
 can stand hotel cooking for three months." 
 
 Mrs. McCoy, coming through the room with a dish, 
 looked approvingly at the pair in the firelight. Tom was 
 bringing her around at last, this high-spirited, stiff-necked 
 beautiful daughter. Father Carew was watching them out 
 of his eye with warm priestly approval. It was high time 
 those two children were united in the sacrament of mar-
 
 332 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 riage. Why wait for such earthly gewgaws as handsome 
 houses ? 
 
 " And now he's told you, Patricia, my dear," he said 
 jocularly, in a pause in the conversation. " Your bright 
 cheeks say so." 
 
 " Yes, he has told me, Father," she said in an even 
 voice, her eyes not quite meeting Father Carew's friendly 
 gaze, but he put it down to a girl's embarrassment. 
 
 " I'll expect you at nine, Patricia. We'll have low Mass in 
 a side chapel, seein' it's a sudden, very quiet weddin'." 
 
 " Yes, Father." 
 
 " Benedicite," he murmured. 
 
 Supper being announced, Patricia was made to take the 
 head of the table, which was gay with candles and flowers. 
 She found it easy to act her part, because already she had 
 gone so far from this circle that their voices came to her 
 as through the mystically tapestried curtains of a dream, 
 voices with scarcely enough authority in them to seem 
 familiar to her. They did not know with what stranger 
 they were dealing! Of them all, James McCoy alone 
 seemed silent and abstracted. He glanced from time to 
 time at the daughter who had been the source of so much 
 pride to him, seated in quiet dignity opposite him. The 
 odd thought crossed his mind that already she appeared to 
 have the air of a matron, calm, assured, initiated. 
 
 To Patricia's infinite relief, the party did not last long, 
 everyone being more or less conscious of some strain in the 
 situation, attributable perhaps to the mechanical character 
 of any " plan " suddenly concocted. Even Father Carew, 
 so jealously sure of doing his duty in this matter, was 
 glad to say good-by to the betrothed pair and to go home 
 to his rectory. Tom kissed Patricia good-night before them 
 all, promising to call for her in his car at a few minutes 
 to nine. Then James McCoy went off to bed. As each 
 figure vanished, Patricia had the sensation of reading a 
 name on a headstone. After awhile, Mrs. McCoy followed 
 her husband. 
 
 Rose left alone with Patricia wound her arms about her
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 333 
 
 sister's waist. " I'll miss you, Pat," she whispered. " I 
 don't think they ought to have forced it. You haven't even 
 a dress ready and all because they were afraid you'd take 
 that case. You've been awfully sweet about it. I should 
 have made a fuss." 
 
 Patricia clasped her sister closer. 
 
 " Rose," she murmured, " whatever happens in future, 
 you'll always love me, won't you?" 
 
 " How can you ask ! Even if I didn't want to, I couldn't 
 help loving you. It is because you have a way with you. 
 That's why I forgive poor Tom. He can't help himself 
 either. Of course he wants you." 
 
 " I'm not worth it, my darling." 
 
 " Patricia, may I sleep with you to-night? It's our last 
 night." 
 
 "No, dear!" 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " I'd rather not. I am very tired. Now kiss me." 
 
 She put the clinging arms from her, and they slid to her 
 knees in a long embrace. 
 
 " We must go to Uncle Shamus from the church to- 
 morrow," Rose said. " He'll want to see the bride. We'll 
 surprise him." 
 
 The tears filled Patricia's eyes. She was putting her 
 sister from her with a gentle good-night. Once safe in her 
 own room she locked the door and wrote three notes one 
 to* her mother, one to Tom, and one to Father Carew, the 
 burden of each being like the others. She must go to the 
 case. She asked their forgiveness. She had not opposed 
 their wishes earlier, because it seemed less difficult to go 
 away quietly. In no one of the notes did she speak of 
 Easter, or of the future keeping of her promise. That 
 would have seemed to her duplicity. To her mother she 
 promised an early letter. 
 
 Putting off the pink dress she stretched herself on the 
 bed without further unrobing, but her sleep, long delayed, 
 was broken and uneasy. Time after time she started up, 
 thinking that morning had entrapped her. At last when it
 
 334 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 was five o'clock she rose, and, dressing hastily, went down 
 through the sleeping house, heavily cloaked and veiled. 
 Before six she was on her way to Lil's. 
 
 As the gray December morning was breaking, she made 
 her way through the old orchard, glad of the silence, the 
 solitude, the friendly twinkle of lights in the ancient farm- 
 house. Lil was standing on the steps, looking not in 
 Patricia's direction but towards the sea-marshes through 
 whose winding channels the tide was now rushing. In the 
 opposite horizon the morning star hung. Against the deli- 
 cate grayish-yellow light of the eastern sky, the spire of 
 St. Anne's rose. From the orchard no neighboring house 
 was visible, only this church Neal Carmichael's church. 
 
 But Lil had seen her now and was running towards 
 her, an embodiment of welcome. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, you're early but the earlier the better. 
 The room was ready last night. We've put a little stove 
 in it." 
 
 " I am glad to be here. I want to be shut in from all 
 the world." 
 
 Jim had come out to greet her and to take her bag, 
 a silent deference in his manner. Lil preceded her to the 
 room, where a candle was burning. By its light Patricia 
 perceived a little velvet case on the dressing-table. Lil 
 shut the door with a mysterious look. 
 
 " I got you a wedding ring," she whispered, " because 
 I've told Jim you're married. He's never to know anything 
 else while I have breath in my body. You'll put it on, 
 won't you ? " 
 
 Patricia opened the case. In its bed of velvet the ring 
 lay, a shining half-circle of its surface visible; but she 
 made no motion to put it on. Lil looked anxiously at her. 
 
 " Won't you wear it ? " 
 
 Patricia shook her head. " It was good of you, but I 
 can't. It's a sacred thing. I can't put it on."
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 ON a warm sunny day towards the last of March, when 
 to expectant senses the air seemed impregnated with the 
 odor of violets, Patricia and Lil were seated together sew- 
 ing, the hour a replica of many that had preceded it, a 
 type of many to follow. The garments they held were 
 diminutive, of finest texture, and embroidered with the 
 elaborate care denoting abundant leisure. Into these in- 
 numerable stitches Patricia had put a concentration of 
 thought intended to exclude problems with which she 
 was incapable of dealing. Set adrift by one supreme mal- 
 adventure from her church, her family, her lover and her 
 normal occupations, she had not yet sighted the solid 
 earth of fresh convictions and obligations; and had de- 
 spaired indeed of any future permanency. 
 
 Two aspects of her condition interchanged from time to 
 time with a corresponding reflex effect upon her spirits and 
 her mental tone. She had detached hours of a life un- 
 related to the world, or to the teachings of the Church ; 
 and in these periods of abstract consideration of herself 
 she was so wholly under the rule of nature that she felt 
 neither a sense of guilt nor of remorse, rather a wonder of 
 anticipation, a stirring passion, both for her child and its 
 father. When she accepted frankly her state of mind un- 
 deflected by any artificial or imposed standard, she knew 
 that far from her love for Neal Carmichael being im- 
 paired by what had happened, it was increased and deep- 
 ened. The mysterious bond of the flesh was acting pre- 
 cisely as it would within marriage. She had hours of in- 
 tense yearning for him. He dominated her thoughts. To 
 herself she called him husband. 
 
 Her situation in the lonely farm-house, shut up with two 
 people utterly delivered by their own past sins from the 
 
 335
 
 336 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 judging of others, aided this recurrent feeling of detach- 
 ment, which might have been defined as a return to primi- 
 tive standards, or perhaps manumission from any stand- 
 ards whatever. Patricia, following the courses of the sea- 
 marshes, a tall cloaked figure, or sitting silently by the 
 hearthfire, was at times an innocent Eve in a cosmos 
 newly created. 
 
 But into the comforting emptiness would pour back, by 
 the inevitable law of moral gravitation, the flood of com- 
 plex tradition, both secular and religious, which had sur- 
 rounded her from birth. Then, again the Magdalen, pale 
 and dejected, Patricia would suffer torment. Two objects 
 of the material world, one an earthly radiance, the other 
 a symbol of heaven's lucidity, steadied her mind in these 
 periods of assailment from conscience and the circum- 
 scribing world a great lighthouse on the hill behind St. 
 Anne's and the spire of St. Anne's itself like an angel's 
 finger. On dark and stormy nights, when the heavy mists 
 or the black rain over the marshes shut her in with the 
 finality of an inferno, the broad avenue of light from the 
 tower to the sea, spanning magnificently the intervening 
 gloom, was like a path to the rational world. There was 
 sorrow on the sea and in her heart to be assuaged by 
 that beacon. 
 
 Sometimes she woke in the early winter mornings to 
 see a light in the east window of St. Anne's. Then she 
 knew that Divine was celebrating on the altar of the 
 " Church in schism," the sacrament, whose full power she 
 doubted that he could ever experience. To her mind this 
 remote and wistful church of which Neal was a member 
 had long ago forfeited its divine authority. But she loved 
 it for Neal's sake as she loved the dark, rugged contours 
 of St. Anne's and its ethereal spire. 
 
 With her own people she kept in wary, intermittent com- 
 munication. Their first anger and disappointment over her 
 flight abated, they had accepted the inevitable, though not 
 without pointed inquiries as to the date of Patricia's re- 
 turn. Jim took her letters to the city to mail, receiving their
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 337 
 
 answers at the general postoffice. Her presence at the farm- 
 house was not known beyond it. 
 
 In February Lil had been taken ill and Patricia had 
 nursed her, glad of an occasion that lifted a little from her 
 the burden of her deception. Between the two women a 
 strong, warm bond existed, born of their hourly association, 
 their mutual helpfulness to each other. Patricia was con- 
 tinually surprised by the delicacy of feeling this one-time 
 woman of the streets exhibited. Neither by questions 
 spoken nor implied did she seek to uncover Patricia's past 
 or her plans for the future, content with rendering her 
 the service of the present. 
 
 Beyond her confinement Patricia often looked; but the 
 perspective, offering to her choice an interminable series 
 of lies, or an equally extended shadow of shame, she 
 averted her eyes from it in desperation. She had neither 
 the physical nor the moral strength to live more than 
 twenty-four hours at a time. Sometimes she wondered 
 if she should become a nun, but already the premonitive pas- 
 sion of mother-love prohibited separation from the child. 
 
 Lil, who on this afternoon had been watching Patricia 
 anxiously, leaned over at last and took the work from her 
 hands. 
 
 " Go out for a breath of air," she said. 
 
 " I believe I will. The muscles of my back ache so." 
 
 Throwing a long cloak about her she went into the 
 orchard, drawing in grateful breaths of the warm air which 
 held the unmistakable odor of loosened earth and rising 
 saps. The great willows near the old mill were faintly 
 yellow. In a warm, sheltered angle of the garden white 
 violets had sprung up. The grass was green in patches 
 the vivid Celtic green that comforts the inner eye as 
 well as the outer. Soon the world would follow the Easter 
 moon to the grave of Christ, while through all the ancient 
 forests would be a stir and a movement, as many little 
 quivering things awoke with their Lord. From that 
 gracious revival and triumph she would be excluded, for 
 she knew of no other than sacramental access to Him.
 
 338 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Yet instinctively she prayed, adoring Him, as the forgotten 
 might adore Him from the circle of their banishment. 
 
 Through the orchard she went, on up the lane, approach- 
 ing nearer and nearer St. Anne's, which on this day seemed 
 quite deserted; but she could see that one of the doors 
 had been left open as usual for the sake of the chance sight- 
 seer or worshiper. On Patricia's hat was a thick veil 
 which she now drew down over her face, preparatory to 
 entering the church. 
 
 She went slowly up the long nave, paused before the 
 altar, but did not kneel. The Catholic tradition was strong 
 upon her and this Church was in schism. Happening to 
 look down, she saw that she was standing on a great slab 
 which bore the word " Carmichael." She was then above 
 the vault which held the bones of a long-continued race. 
 Wherever she looked the name caught her eye, on memorial 
 tablets and at last in the blood-red fantastic letters beneath 
 the east window, recording the death at sea in 1828 of 
 Captain Richard Carmichael. " All thy waves and thy bil- 
 lows are gone over me," came like a sigh from the sea. 
 Beneath, proudly, were the arms of the Carmichael family 
 running greyhounds proper on a field argent, the motto 
 in Latin. 
 
 She had put back her veil the better to read the inscrip- 
 tion; and forgetting for the moment her need of secrecy, 
 she permitted herself an unclouded survey of the church. 
 Its melancholy beauty fascinated her, its solitary altar 
 where no one knelt seemed a pathetic confirmation of an 
 historical fact. But she loved this building, which had 
 companioned so many of her thoughts through so many 
 hours. 
 
 She had paused before a window to admire its color. 
 Turning away she gave a startled cry, for face to face 
 with her in the aisle was Jack Carmichael, his blue eyes 
 more grave and puzzled than she had ever seen them. 
 
 He extended his hand to her. " I was looking here for a 
 scarfpin I dropped last Sunday," he explained. 
 
 Now that he had seen her, there was no further need to
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 339 
 
 pull down her veil. Patricia waited as if for some verdict 
 from his lips, and trembling seized her. The whiteness of 
 her face was her excuse for seating herself in the nearest 
 pew. 
 
 Realization of her tragedy came to Jack as by a flash 
 of lightning. As so often happens, the scattered events 
 and circumstances of many months were suddenly collected, 
 interrelated and explained by one significant occurrence. 
 He remembered having heard that Patricia had gone away 
 to nurse a case, on the eve of a suddenly planned marriage ; 
 that she had been absent many weeks, not even appearing 
 at the funeral of her uncle from the Mariner's Rest. He 
 remembered that his nephew had seemed abstracted by 
 some trouble unconnected with Ada and her whims. Lastly, 
 here was Patricia herself, changed, transformed, unmis- 
 takably in trouble. 
 
 He had but one impulse to help her if he could. To 
 blame or to judge her would as soon have occurred to him 
 as to strike her with his hands. Jack had wasted much 
 time in life, but never as a judge over his fellows. As for 
 women, he thought Nature, or whoever was back of the 
 comedy, had dealt rather severely with them. If they did 
 go wrong, they generally got the worst of it men having 
 short memories. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you, Patricia ? " he said. 
 
 The solicitude in his voice, the genuine earnest kindness 
 in his eyes, set her trembling again. 
 
 " No," she whispered. " Only forget that you've seen 
 me." 
 
 " No one shall know, but you must let me help." 
 
 Without an open word between them the situation was 
 understood, and a great weight slipped from her. If the 
 time should ever come to reveal certain events to Neal 
 Carmichael, this man would be faithful. 
 
 " There is nothing now ! Later, I am going away. I 
 should be glad if you at least knew of my plans and cir- 
 cumstances. I don't need material help. I should never 
 need that, either for myself or for my " she paused,
 
 340 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 unable to finish the sentence. " What I long for most is to 
 protect my family. I am in hiding below the church at 
 the Carmichael farm which James Brentwood and his wife 
 have." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " And I want to get away as soon as " 
 
 " I see." 
 
 His eyes were infinitely grave, yet gentle and solicitous 
 as a woman's. The evil she had heard of him surely 
 could not be true. 
 
 " I shall keep in communication with you, if you will 
 let me," he said, then gave her some brief instructions. 
 "I am very sorry, but I believe, Patricia, that Mrs. Car- 
 michael will soon seek a divorce." 
 
 Her eyes grew big with fear. " I've not brought trouble 
 on him ! " 
 
 " There's not a whisper." 
 
 " Ah ! " She sighed her relief, and then added, " I pray 
 they may continue married. I am a Catholic. There is 
 no hope for me, whatever happens." 
 
 He looked wonderingly at her a type of woman new 
 to him. What fascination had Neal Carmichael exercised 
 over her that she had so gone against the grain of her 
 nature? Jack felt profoundly moved and troubled; for a 
 moment the dark mysteries of life shook him out of his 
 kindly cynicism. There must be help somewhere for 
 stumbling humanity a solution for the dreadful muddle 
 life was. 
 
 He shook hands with Patricia, who now rose to go, 
 escorted her to the door which he held open for her, bowing 
 as she passed him. This was terrible terrible to happen 
 to her, of all women ! 
 
 When she was gone he stood in the aisle of the church 
 a moment, resolutions welling up in him so fast that they 
 mingled in torrential force. Protect her! God helping 
 him, he would never rest until she was somewhere safely, 
 where the cloak and the black veil could be put aside. 
 This was no woman for skulking, for evasions and the
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 341 
 
 pitiful falsehoods of the fallen. Great heavens ! what 
 wiles had Neal practiced upon this girl. What taint 
 was in the Carmichael blood that such a puritan as this 
 aloof nephew had yielded to temptation. Jack began to 
 quiver as if with an ague chill. What had Divine said? 
 " Pray ! " Well, pray he would. The Carmichael pew was 
 near and he entered it, and sank upon his knees, his mind 
 groping for the long familiar and suddenly evasive petitions 
 of the Litany. " Miserable sinners ! " That was it ! " Have 
 mercy upon us miserable sinners." The phrase rang in 
 his brain like the summons of a bell. That poor girl ! And 
 he had pledged his silence. He rose and as he left the pew 
 faced his astonished nephew.
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 To Neal's surprise his uncle made no reference to the 
 extraordinary posture in which he had been discovered. 
 Not the ghost of an explanation was forthcoming. Jack 
 demanded, indeed, why his nephew was at St. Anne's. 
 
 " I am generally sure of solitude here," Neal answered, 
 " but if the congregation takes to praying on weekdays 
 I'll be driven elsewhere. In fact I was down at our old 
 farm, calling on the Brentwoods. I met a woman heavily 
 veiled in the lane; looked like one of the sisters of 
 charity." 
 
 " Probably was," Jack murmured, relieved. " How are 
 your proteges, or, more properly speaking, Miss McCoy's ? " 
 
 " They look remarkably well. They've made a snug place 
 of that farm-house. My particular errand there was to 
 inquire for Miss McCoy. She generally keeps in touch with 
 them, and I thought they might be able to tell me where 
 she is." 
 
 "Were they able?" 
 
 " They seemed to know nothing whatever about her, and 
 that surprised me." 
 
 " Do you wish to see her ? " 
 
 Neal studied his watch-charm attentively. 
 
 " I should like to know how she is getting on. We have 
 always been friends, you know." 
 
 His face looked drawn and anxious, and Jack softened 
 towards him in spite of himself. 
 
 " Her family might tell you." 
 
 "Oh, I shouldn't think of going to them," Neal said 
 hastily, " I shouldn't dream of it." 
 
 " Where's Ada this afternoon ? " 
 
 " At somebody's card-party, the man told me. Want to 
 walk home, Jack?" 
 
 342
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 343 
 
 "Walk! Oh, well, I don't mind trying it. We might 
 look in on Divine, then on Maria, and break it up by easy 
 stakes." 
 
 Together they walked in silence along the road that went 
 from the church back to the town, turning into the drive 
 that led to the rectory, when they had traversed about one 
 half-mile. 
 
 Divine was in his study, the man servant announced. 
 Hearing voices, he himself came out to meet them. 
 
 " Two Carmichaels at once ! This is too good to be true," 
 he said, extending his hands to them. 
 
 "Aren't we intruding?" Neal asked. 
 
 " I'm glad to have you. I've been trying over the tele- 
 phone to explain to a rather bewildered matron why I do 
 not wish the Athanasian Creed recited on Trinity Sunday. 
 I thought the best reason I could bring forward was that 
 it's not in the American Prayer-book; but she's the kind, 
 poor dear, who carries an umbrella when it's raining in 
 London." 
 
 " I suppose they come to you with strange requests." 
 
 " With their headaches, heartaches, pew-rents, theologi- 
 cal scruples and theories on ventilation." 
 
 Neal shrugged his shoulders. " I feel as if you had been 
 put to sweeping rooms after managing a nation." 
 
 " I've been put where I belong. If I can make them 
 see, it's worth it." 
 
 " See what ? " Neal ventured. 
 
 " Some vision ! To help them endure each other and 
 life itself." 
 
 Jack said nothing. His nephew looked for mockery in 
 the weary blue eyes, but they were acquiescent. Endure 
 each other ! How difficult it was to endure even one's own 
 sins and stupidities! 
 
 The talk drifted to other subjects. They were inter- 
 rupted by a servant bringing in a card, which Divine 
 scrutinized with some astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, show him in. It's Thomas Murphy," he explained 
 to the Carmichaels.
 
 344 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Neal's face blanched. He would rather have met any 
 man in the world just then than Patricia's fiance. 
 
 Murphy's astonishment upon seeing the Carmichaels had 
 the effect of throwing him into the old rigid rusticity of 
 manner. He advanced awkwardly towards Divine, with 
 curt greetings to the others, who were already in attitudes 
 of valediction. Neal, feeling as if he should bare his breast 
 to this man's pistol-shot, went from the room with a hurried 
 good-by to his host, Jack following. 
 
 " Sorry to interrupt," Thomas addressed Divine. 
 
 " You didn't interrupt, and I'm very glad to see you. 
 Sit down." Divine drew a chair into the circle of firelight. 
 He was secretly wondering on what errand this young 
 Irishman had come, for their previous intercourse had 
 been of the slightest. 
 
 Murphy took the chair, looking awkward and miserable ; 
 but Divine's warm, friendly gaze upon him had at last a 
 relaxing effect. He plunged without preliminaries into the 
 subject of his visit. 
 
 " I suppose you've heard," he said, " that the young lady 
 I'm engaged to, Miss McCoy, has been gone a long time on 
 another case ? " 
 
 Divine nodded. 
 
 " It's a craze with her this nursing," Thomas said, a 
 note of bitterness in his voice. " I think she'd leave para- 
 dise to take a case; at any rate, she left me on the eve of 
 our wedding, not the one we'd planned for Easter, under- 
 stand, but the quick one, with low Mass, that Father Carew 
 thought of as a kind of check to her running off again. 
 But bless you, it didn't work ! She gave us all the slip and 
 stole away. It's probably an infectious case; seems like 
 consumption, it's taken so long." 
 
 Divine made no comment. He had his own secret 
 theories and fears about Patricia's absence. 
 
 " Well, I came to ask you, Father I mean, Mr. Divine 
 if you ever run across Patricia in any of the homes you go 
 to, that you'll tell her Easter is nearly here, and the house 
 is all ready now. The water is in, but I'm waiting for
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 345 
 
 her to choose the furniture. We write to each other, of 
 course, but she doesn't say much about the house, so that 
 I've a notion she didn't get some of my letters." 
 
 " Why of course I'll tell her, my boy, if I should see 
 her," Divine promised, his heart suddenly heavy and appre- 
 hensive. " I've always been interested in Patricia." 
 
 " I know that ; I came for that reason, and Patricia al- 
 ways thought a lot of your work on The Courier. Patricia 
 admires intellect." 
 
 " She is a very bright woman very capable," Divine 
 answered. 
 
 " I sometimes wish she were like other girls," Thomas 
 commented, " taken with a bit of jewelry, and more ready 
 tc dance than to eat, but she was never that way. I have 
 a beautiful house for her. I'll be pleased to show you over 
 it some day if you have the time." 
 
 " I'd like to see it ; I know it from a distance, of course." 
 
 " I'll marry her the moment she returns if it's Good 
 Friday," Thomas said darkly. " We'll have a civil mar- 
 riage and a church marriage later." 
 
 " I hope you'll see her soon. Have you any idea where 
 she is?" 
 
 " Her letters come from the city, but sometimes I think 
 she's on the Island. She's terribly queer about her bad 
 cases. She did let us in on the typhoid at Grandville, but 
 then typhoid isn't catching ! " 
 
 He rose to go. He seemed happier, but the strained, 
 searching look in his eyes hurt Divine and impelled him to 
 put a fatherly arm about the young man's shoulders. 
 
 " Be patient. Be brave. Keep caring always, then you 
 lift your love above selfishness." 
 
 " Oh, I've been disciplined all right," said Thomas. " I 
 expect it's not done yet." 
 
 " No, it's never done; it's as long as life itself." 
 
 They shook hands at the rectory door, and Divine 
 watched the young fellow as he strode away down the 
 carriage drive. A warm wind came up the valley, caressed 
 the priest's cheek, and brought to his senses the half-
 
 346 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 melancholy wonder of the Spring. In its vital resurrections, 
 typified by the great Feast of Life, how few of his flock 
 were sharing! 
 
 Divine was suddenly conscious of a black cloud about 
 him, of a horrid depression of spirits, of a sense of some- 
 thing irremediably wrong. Where was Patricia ? And why 
 did Neal Carmichael turn so white when Murphy was an- 
 nounced ? Did Neal know where she was and why she was 
 in hiding? Divine was always more solicitous and more 
 watchful over those members of his congregation whom 
 he knew to be unhappy than over the care-free. Unhappy 
 people sinned more easily than the joyous, were farther 
 from the life of the Spirit. 
 
 " God be with you, Thomas Murphy," he said, half- 
 aloud, for the trudging figure was still visible. " You may 
 have to suffer; as for Carmichael suffering isn't in the 
 future for him." 
 
 Patricia, upon leaving the church, had remembered to 
 pull down her thick veil and to draw her cloak closely about 
 her throat. Thus screened from chance observation, she 
 began her walk down the long lane in the direction of the 
 marshes. Her step was lighter than it had been for days, 
 as if an actual physical load had been lifted from her 
 shoulders. Whatever happened, Jack Carmichael would 
 aid her design to protect her family, would keep in mind 
 her history. To talk with him had been to open a window 
 in her prison. Until then she had not realized the full dark- 
 ness of her isolation, her utter removal from the outside 
 world. With gratitude she remembered his deference to her, 
 a deference so undeserved, yet all the more appreciated for 
 that reason. What she was Patricia no longer knew, for 
 she had passed beyond the simplicities of nomenclature. 
 
 As she walked along the lane, the apparition of a figure 
 approaching her from the opposite direction suddenly turned 
 her cold, set her heart thumping. His hands were back of 
 him, his head was bowed, he walked in entire indifference 
 to his surroundings, very swiftly, as if pursued. Would
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 347 
 
 he recognize her? Not in that black cloak and veil. Yet 
 she feared that her own overwhelming consciousness of him 
 might, like an aura, surround her, betray her, forcing him to 
 pierce her disguise. She quickened her footsteps, for the 
 impulse to cry out to him, to tell him again how wildly 
 she had loved him, was almost like an audible message al- 
 ready given to the transmissive air. But she had no words 
 for him save those of love, and sin must not be added to 
 sin. Pushing on, she passed him, her ears strained for the 
 cry, " Patricia ! " But silence enveloped her. Had she 
 seen a vision? 
 
 A little curve of the road disclosed the agitated form 
 of Lil. Patricia wondered if Neal had seen Mrs. Brent- 
 wood or talked with her? 
 
 These questions were soon answered with some lack of 
 coherence by Lil herself, who seized upon Patricia and drew 
 her into the orchard. " Oh, my dear, the lies I've told ! " 
 
 "Lies? Oh, Lily!" 
 
 " He's come after you after your address, I mean. He's 
 plainly worried. But don't think I told. Not I! I faced 
 him down that we hadn't had a letter from you for weeks, 
 was anxious ourselves ! " 
 
 " What did he say ? " Patricia whispered, her face color- 
 less. Lil was sure now of what she had before only sus- 
 pected. 
 
 " He didn't seem satisfied. Maybe he knew I was hidin' 
 somethin'. He looked worried. But he went off at last, 
 just before you came." 
 
 " I'm glad you didn't tell him anything," Patricia fal- 
 tered. With a sad smile she added, " I'll leave you before 
 long, then you won't have to do these things for me 
 these wrong things." 
 
 " As if it could hurt me when it's done for you, my 
 dear!" 
 
 She was crying a little now and caressing Patricia's 
 hands. " I am worried when you stay away long. Mr. 
 Carmichael looked awful bad. It was hard not to tell him 
 you was safe here, safe with Jim and me who love you ! "
 
 348 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Patricia soothed her. " Don't cry ! Only promise me 
 that if anything happens to me, you 11 not give up the 
 child to anyone but its father, or let it be known whose 
 it is! Promise, Lil!" 
 
 She lifted the woman's right arm solemnly. A flare of 
 sunset light enveloped them like a sacrificial flame, invest- 
 big their figures with a transient mystic glory. 
 
 " I promise by the coming of the tides and the rising of 
 the sun. Oh, you'll be happy yet You haven't seen the 
 end of joy yet." 
 
 After supper that night Patricia wrote a letter, as the 
 only way to quiet the agitation that had racked her since 
 her brief vision of Neal and the news that he had come to 
 inquire for her. To write his name released her for a 
 moment from the tyranny of emotions too powerful. 
 
 " Dearest," she wrote, " I saw you this afternoon. It 
 was like a sword in my side to go by you without speak- 
 ing; but, Neal, only my being forever out of your life can 
 make that time on the Southmarsh road even bearable in 
 our thoughts. I loved you so ! I never meant to go wrong ! 
 I just wanted you ! 
 
 "Dearest, I still love you. I shall go out of life when 
 my time comes, loving you. Perhaps if I am faithful God 
 may pity me. You see, I can't pray much these days, but 
 I do pray for you! 
 
 "I can hear the tide coming in. Sometimes it sounds 
 cruel, as if it wanted what it could grind and crush. Life 
 is like that My dear, I hope you at least will be happy 
 some day. We missed the road. 
 
 "Good-night I must stop, for I will write wrong 
 things. I will write of my need of you. I will call you 
 mine. 
 
 " PATRICIA." 
 
 She did not read over what she had written, but after 
 a while she took the letter into the sitting-room and placed 
 it upon the burning embers of the hearth.
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 " Do consider it, Ada," the letter ran. " I am not writ- 
 ing to you as I did years ago, because we are both older; 
 and you at least never cared for fine phrases. But you 
 know I care for you more than ever. 
 
 " That diplomatic post is mine for the asking, I have 
 influence with the Government. For God's sake, before 
 the Liberals get in, say you'll be divorced. I'll join you out 
 West when the decree's granted, and we'll go on to China. 
 You'll like the East. It's a good place to forget trouble. 
 It's a good place to take up a new life. I think you'll 
 find a Legation amusing. The East would be a novelty 
 anyway." 
 
 The letter ended with precise particulars for her guid- 
 ance. Ada, half amused, half flattered by the bold, con- 
 fident tone Wentworth had assumed, put the sheets on her 
 desk where a soft Spring air fluttered them, drew from them 
 a little whispering voice of temptation. It did sound allur- 
 ing the East and the cosmopolitan society of a legation, 
 with the ineffectual Carmichaels left behind forever. 
 
 Though it was Easter Sunday, no one had gone to 
 church. The senior Carmichael was too feeble. Jack had 
 started on a walk, giving as a reason that he felt " de- 
 pressed." Neal was mooning somewhere in the library. 
 Ada, of late, had dropped even the conventional observances 
 of religion. Divine made her uncomfortable with his ser- 
 mons that were sometimes like a sword in the poignancy of 
 their appeal. Since she could neither forget nor combat 
 them she was resolved not to hear them. They were too 
 much as if Neal's gropings, cleared of clouds, were con- 
 centrated in a final elucidation. 
 
 Why not get the divorce? Why not leave this house 
 where nothing happened, where the experiment of one mar- 
 
 349
 
 350 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 riage had ended in shifting sands and shallows neither 
 land nor sea? She had nothing to give this family but 
 money ; they had nothing to give her but the resentment of 
 those who have experienced a rescue from material ship- 
 wreck without a corresponding gain of spiritual advantage. 
 Neal had shown how sharp his sense of disadvantage was 
 by throwing over the only career for which he was fitted. 
 Maria had retired in tears from the ill-adjusted circle. Jack 
 had played fair according to his lights. 
 
 But she was weary of all of them weary of the Island, 
 weary of a blameless husband who would never give her 
 " cause " for a divorce. Perhaps if she left him the apathy 
 of his days might be broken. He might again write, or 
 return to those general problems of humanity, so fascinating 
 as a rule, Ada reflected contemptuously, to people who 
 couldn't run one day of their own lives successfully. 
 
 Csecilia was coming home. She might as well be mistress 
 of Carmichael House and comfort the last days of the 
 senile Alexander Carmich'ael. 
 
 Ada rose and went to her window, humming a little tune 
 an old French chanson which she had learned as a child 
 in Paris about May flowers, and skipping lambs that wore 
 blue ribbons around their throats. The prospect of this 
 divorce had actually made her light-hearted. 
 
 Beneath her gaze the gardens of Carmichael House un- 
 folded mistily green. She had grown to love them, and 
 to understand, to a degree, the charm of the mansion they 
 surrounded. Yet there was something about it, like the 
 palace of the Sleeping Beauty, that held its inhabitants in a 
 day-dream, a spell she wanted to throw off in the solid 
 sureties of Wentworth's British presence. If she remained 
 longer she might be bewitched into a love for these old 
 walls and wandering garden paths, as Neal had been when 
 she saved for him his inheritance. 
 
 The morning was too beautiful to be indoors. Going 
 down to the library, she appeared, to her husband's sur- 
 prise, before him, laying her hand over the pages of the 
 book he was reading.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 351 
 
 " Come and ride," she said. " Don't stay in this dark 
 room. I want a breath of air." 
 
 He rose with alacrity, for his thoughts had not been of 
 the pleasantest. " That's a good idea, Ada. How long 
 will it take you to -change ? " 
 
 " Fifteen minutes. And you? " 
 
 " Even less. I'll call up the stables and tell them to 
 bring the horses around." 
 
 He got into his riding clothes, wondering what had come 
 over Ada; but he was glad of her summons. As once he 
 had sought Patricia to forget Ada, so now he sought his 
 wife to forget a woman whose image was with him night 
 and day, of whom he could not think without depression, 
 dark, formless, menacing. 
 
 Ada came down, on time to the minute, looking extraor- 
 dinarily well in her riding clothes. She thought the same 
 of Neal as he stood feeding his favorite mare sugar. Went- 
 worth had not Neal's distinction of bearing; but then no 
 husband summed up all advantages! Wentworth was at 
 least free from the melancholy taint of those who hunger 
 for the unseen, forgetting life's present joys. 
 
 Neal assisted her to mount, then rode off beside her in 
 the bright April sunshine. 
 
 " Let us follow the lanes," she said. 
 
 He nodded ; and putting their mounts neck and neck, they 
 went on into the byways of the Island, coming out at last 
 near the house which Thomas Murphy had built for 
 Patricia. 
 
 Ada drew rein and gazed at it thoughtfully. On one 
 of the porches a little group was assembled, whose mem- 
 bers were distinguishable even from a distance as com- 
 posing the McCoy family and Dr. Murphy and his son. 
 
 " Ah," Ada said, " I wonder when Patricia means to 
 live in it." 
 
 Neal was silent. Even the most casual answer might 
 betray the tumult he was trying to hide behind a set face 
 and an indifferent manner. 
 
 " Where next, Ada ? " he said, at last.
 
 352 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " Anywhere ! How would the Southmarsh road do ? " 
 
 He felt as if he were choking, but he managed to answer, 
 " Quite all right." 
 
 They entered it at a point below where the ascent of the 
 hill began. 
 
 " Which way ? " he questioned, hoping she would indi- 
 cate the marshes. 
 
 " Uphill, of course, we'll get more air." 
 
 They rode on. He had, since that day in July, avoided 
 the Southmarsh road as if it were plague-infested. Now a 
 prank of destiny was sending him again past the fateful 
 house ! 
 
 Ada had reined in her horse and was gazing at him with 
 alarm. " What's the matter ? Do you feel faint ? " 
 
 " My head aches." 
 
 " You are working too hard. Why do you work so 
 hard?" 
 
 " I want to make money." 
 
 " Your voice sounds like a parrot's when you say that. 
 Money! Forgive me, but you shouldn't have tempted the 
 gods. I had money for us both, but you were proud. It's 
 the sin of angels, I know; but you had better taken what 
 I had to give, so that you could have given me what I most 
 wanted of you." 
 
 She spoke with a simple directness in which for once 
 was no coquetry, no second intention. For a moment the 
 whole landscape was lifted into a clearer air. The two 
 were an instant together in that perfect understanding 
 which his soul had once craved as the thirsty crave water. 
 
 " I have disappointed you, Ada. Well, I have disap- 
 pointed myself." 
 
 The words, " We'll be better apart," sprang to her lips 
 but she did not utter them. He would know soon enough 
 that he was free free and provided for. She would as 
 soon have thought of leaving him without provision as of 
 leaving his old grandfather without a roof. No charity on 
 her part; merely another manifestation of the something 
 in the Carmichael character which demanded an argosy
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 353 
 
 from the concealing mists of life; something that looked 
 out of their dark eyes and aloof faces. They were a help- 
 less, fascinating race, whose good looks had saved them 
 blows. 
 
 The riders proceeded up the hill. Ada never even 
 glanced at the ruined farm-house. Neal had recovered his 
 self-possession, not again to lose it. 
 
 That same morning Patricia was seated in her little room 
 with no deeper thought than a mental expression of relief 
 that her sister-nurse, Miss Ward, too sad and solicitous on 
 her account, had left her for a while to herself. Even the 
 ringing of the church bells had failed to arouse her from her 
 physical lassitude ; for now she had arrived at that crisis in 
 which natural, material conditions dominate and obscure 
 the spiritual aspects of personality. For the present at 
 least even the mental warfare incident to her anomalous state 
 was hushed to rest. Subdued, heavily patient, incapable of 
 sustained thought, she awaited her hour the hour beyond 
 which she must resume difficult problems involving two, 
 not one. 
 
 A faint noise of horses' hoofs in the lane drew her eyes 
 from the indoor scene. Proceeding up the road towards 
 the church she saw two figures on horseback whom she 
 instantly recognized, Ada shining out with the bright clear 
 detachment that Patricia remembered when, as a little girl, 
 she stepped proudly across the lawn at Neal's party. 
 
 She watched the two as if they had been a part of a 
 pageant moving across a wide remote stage. They rode on 
 and on, their voices coming faintly to her. They were to 
 ride on forever side by side in open married state approved 
 by the world, while she ! With a cry she rose, stagger- 
 ing, holding her arms out in the form of a cross. 
 
 " Christ, oh, Christ ! " she moaned. 
 
 Upon the utterance of the words her brain cleared a 
 little, but a mortal weakness seized her and she sank upon 
 the side of the bed. Suddenly the door opened and Miss 
 Ward came in.
 
 CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 ON a day in April when Spring had put on the abundant 
 verdure and warmth of Summer, Patricia walked beyond 
 the doors of the farm-house for the first time since the 
 birth of her child, and looked upon a world that bore a 
 face of smiling indifference to her and her problems. 
 
 Clasped closely in her arms was the baby, upon whose 
 little face she would from time to time direct a look of 
 poignant interrogation mingled with passionate tenderness. 
 In these moments when the maternal instinct dominated 
 her, to the exclusion of all accompanying shadows, her face 
 became clear, vivid, almost sexless in its detached, mournful 
 beauty. 
 
 Some days of fever, added to her continual mental anx- 
 iety, had taken from her all traces of the experience of 
 maternity. She appeared tall, slender and virginal as she 
 stood, white and tremulous, in the searching sunlight, which 
 she shielded from the child's eyes with her hand. The 
 curves of her mouth were resolute ; her eyes, around which 
 were faint blue shadows, held a concentration of purpose 
 connected with a plan of obliteration, soon to be carried out. 
 
 The coming of the child had invested her with a new, 
 solemn authority, which had nothing to do with ethics or 
 the terms of its entrance into the world an authority in- 
 creased by the fact that, for the time being at least, it 
 could know but one parent. Patricia represented its endow- 
 ment, its universe, its bridge to its future life. 
 
 She had accepted the trust with passionate courage. As 
 soon as her strength had fully returned she meant to leave 
 the Island. The few hundred dollars she had saved would 
 secure her from want until she could find work. She 
 desired that Neal's son should have some of the finer 
 privileges of existence, should be educated, if not for the 
 
 354
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 355 
 
 place of a gentleman, then for that of a good and useful 
 man. Perhaps God would accept her years of service for 
 this child as penance, as a kind of vicarious purgation. If 
 she could not pray for herself, a sinner, she could pray for 
 the soul of her little son. God might hear her through his 
 voice, discern her spirit through his, and have mercy upon 
 her. 
 
 Miss Ward had gone, after invaluable service, which 
 included the registry of the birth without betraying details. 
 Though Patricia had never asked her silence, her fellow- 
 worker had promised it with something of the solemnity of 
 a religious rite. 
 
 Jim and Lil lived in a state of perpetual wonder over 
 the newcomer. The circumstances of their former lives 
 having removed them both from contact with children, 
 Patricia's baby had for them a miraculous importance, 
 drawing from them vows that the mother never heard, 
 vows of protection, of cherishing, of fidelity to Patricia's 
 wish that its existence be revealed only to the father. 
 Lil had already named him in her mind, with mental adjura- 
 tion to come and claim such a treasure of a woman as 
 Patricia was to right her wrongs, who was so silent and 
 defenseless. 
 
 Patricia herself never expected to meet Neal again. 
 The coming of the child had pushed back into the closed 
 and finished past the image of the man for whose sake she 
 had known shipwreck. In the future she and her little 
 son alone were accounted for. 
 
 Seeing that the child had fallen asleep, she carried him 
 to a room under the eaves of the farm-house, an im- 
 provised nursery, which, to guard against accidents of 
 discovery, was kept locked. Then she returned to the 
 garden to frame mentally the letters she must soon write. 
 
 As she paced up and down between the beds of iris, 
 Patricia thought with sharp anguish of her father and her 
 mother of the poor lover who had waited in vain for her. 
 Far as she was severed from them by her guilt, remote as 
 their faces were, they still had power to smite her with
 
 356 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 reproach, to turn the light of the fairest April day to 
 heavy darkness. 
 
 To have strength to go on at all she must by a distinct 
 effort of the will close the doors of her mind upon the past. 
 Already she had experienced the destructive power of re- 
 morse like the suction of a hidden tide undermining the 
 very foundations of her being. Whatever had happened, 
 she must proceed from its logic, not from the premises of 
 her former life. 
 
 Someone was approaching the house through the or- 
 chards. She turned to go indoors, but, recognizing the 
 visitor in that instant as Jack Carmichael, she advanced to 
 meet him. 
 
 Their conventional greetings over, Patricia answered the 
 unspoken questions in the face of this kinsman of Neal's, 
 whose real solicitude for her had brought him to the farm. 
 The news she had to give him he received almost without 
 comment, but with an earnest scrutiny of her as if to in- 
 terpret her in this new character. 
 
 " And your plans ? " 
 
 " I shall go away somewhere in another fortnight." 
 
 " Don't you haven't you need of money ? " 
 
 " I do not need anything, Mr. Carmichael." 
 
 " And you forbid me to speak to my nephew ? " 
 
 " Absolutely unless in the event of my death." 
 
 " You will keep me informed of your address ? " 
 
 " I will keep you informed." 
 
 " And you will let me know if you are ever in want? " 
 
 " I shall never be in want." 
 
 " Don't say that, Patricia ; life takes queer jumps some- 
 times." 
 
 " I am strong. I can work. I have a little money saved. 
 But indeed I thank you ! You've been very good to me." 
 
 " You are much in my mind," Jack said. " You are 
 a noble woman, Patricia." 
 
 " No," she said simply. " I have done wrong, and I must 
 take the consequences." 
 
 There was a finality in her statement that he did not
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 357 
 
 question. To Jack's semi-pagan mind, this woman had 
 obeyed a natural impulse, controverting society, but rang- 
 ing herself after all with the force that brought the buds 
 to flower and the flower to fruit. Yet he saw that she 
 acknowledged some deeper law, and believed in her trans- 
 gression of it. 
 
 He shook hands with her, and went reluctantly away, 
 with a sense of something unfinished, hauntingly abbre- 
 viated; of words that could never now be uttered, assur- 
 ances that could never be given. Once he had an impulse 
 to turn back and beg her to let him be of service to her; or 
 else to entreat her forgiveness in the name of his race. 
 Something more than faith in her own powers of recon- 
 struction withheld her from accepting bounty of the Car- 
 michaels. Jack had read in her eyes that, under what her 
 lips had named sin, there lingered, for her, even in the midst 
 of desolation, something sacred. 
 
 The ascending sun brought with it increased heat until 
 summer temperature reigned. A lazy air stole from the sea, 
 salt, hot and sleep-inducing. The flowers in the garden 
 looked as if put into a kind of trance, so still were their 
 stalks and their wide-opened petals. The scent of the apple 
 blossoms, oppressively sweet, mingled with the odor of 
 drying grass which Jim had lately cut and spread to the 
 hot sun. Patricia sought the cool interior of the farm- 
 house, where Lil was at her household tasks. Her face 
 brightened upon the entrance of her guest. 
 
 " I've been thinkin' how much I'd miss you," Lil com- 
 mented, " when you go for good and all. I miss you now 
 when you're just a little ways off in the garden." 
 
 " We must write to each other. And you will tell me 
 about going to church in the new dress." 
 
 They both smiled. The shining lengths of silk were 
 already in a drawer awaiting Lil's convenience to 
 " make up." 
 
 Patricia returned after a while to her child's nursery, for 
 she was never long happy away from him. His helplessness 
 gave her courage to go on. When he was not in her arms
 
 358 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 her sin was ever before her. Lying upon her breast, he 
 absorbed her by his utter need of her. 
 
 Towards the middle of the afternoon she took him and 
 went out to an old deserted wharf near the mill, the last 
 of a series, marking certain deep places in the channel and 
 the only one no longer used, though boats came but seldom 
 to the others. 
 
 Jim had made a broad wooden seat with a comfortable 
 back on this wharf, and here Patricia sat, her long cloak 
 about her, which she arranged so that the little body on her 
 lap was concealed and the sleeping eyes were shielded from 
 the sun. Patricia was not wholly in possession of her 
 strength, for the child was scarcely three weeks old, and 
 she drooped in the heavy air, as the garden flowers were 
 drooping. The waters of the marsh-channels, reflecting the 
 heat-haze, appeared of a metallic blue, sullen and sluggish, 
 though beneath their deceptive surface the tide was already 
 stealing. The lap of the waters against the timbers of the 
 wharf sounded pleasantly in Patricia's ears ; and she drifted 
 off into dreams, waking occasionally to assure herself that 
 the child slept, and that the waters of the marsh-channel 
 were empty of craft. 
 
 James McCoy had directed his tug to a certain brick- 
 yard on the mainland side of the Kill, there to take in tow 
 a flatboat whose contents were to be delivered in the in- 
 terior of the Island. These operations, begun in the heat 
 of an abnormally warm April day, had been carried on 
 with some delays and with unusual hesitancy and uncer- 
 tainty on the part of the captain. 
 
 McCoy, a man of regular habits and set ideas, was some- 
 what surprised at his own recent rickety temper and general 
 inclination to explode over trifles. He could not inform 
 his crew that the day had begun inauspiciously with a dis- 
 pute between himself and his wife that had almost assumed 
 the proportions of a quarrel. 
 
 Patricia's absence without sufficient explanation had be- 
 gun to tell on his nerves, to fill his mind with vague, miser-
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 359 
 
 able conjectures. He was for ending the suspense with 
 peremptory summons to her to return and give account of 
 herself. Mrs. McCoy had opposed this scheme on the 
 ground that Patricia, being of age and self-supporting, had 
 a perfect right to absent herself as long as she saw fit; 
 and, furthermore, that she probably had good reasons for 
 so doing, which they would know when the proper time 
 came. 
 
 McCoy had given a grudging promise to take no steps 
 in the matter, then had gone heavy-eyed and heavy-hearted 
 to his tug. 
 
 It was of Patricia he was thinking now as he stood in 
 the bow of his boat and gazed over the muddy waters 
 of the Kill. The tug steamed through the marsh-channel, 
 in her wake a long series of subsiding waves that swept the 
 sedge, and then retreated, leaving a deposit of mud and 
 ooze. The broad marshes stretched calmly away from the 
 lonely channel, until they met the hills, an opening in which 
 revealed the spire of St. Anne's against the narrow valley 
 that led to the towns. In the foreground was the old tide- 
 water mill with its disused wharf, whose solitary situation 
 was emphasized by a lonely figure upon it the figure, as 
 McCoy made out, of a woman in a long, dark cloak, so mo- 
 tionless as to attract more attention than if her person had 
 not been in intense repose. 
 
 Reaching for the glass, he scrutinized her, the result being 
 a sudden paling of his face, a trembling of the hand that 
 held the spyglass. He recovered himself by an effort of 
 the will, for the tug was now edging by littles to its destina- 
 tion, poking its nose carefully through winding channels on 
 half-steam. A half-hour of adjustments followed before the 
 flatboat was comfortably tied up to its dock, and the cap- 
 tain was free to approach the figure on the deserted wharf. 
 
 His heart leaped exultantly as he drew near and cer- 
 tainly recognized her. She seemed to be in the sleep of 
 exhaustion, for she was huddled in a corner of the bench, 
 her cheek resting against the hard wooden back. Her deli- 
 cate profile shone with cameo clearness, yet even in repose
 
 36o BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 the features betrayed some intricacy of feeling which, like 
 the hieroglyphics of a monolith, could be read only by those 
 possessing the key. Nothing in McCoy's knowledge of his 
 daughter gave him that key. 
 
 McCoy tiptoed nearer, his face at once joyful and hag- 
 gard, drew close enough to see that what Patricia sheltered 
 beneath her clinging hands was a tiny infant upon which 
 he gazed at first without realization of its relationship to 
 her who held it. Patricia had stood by some woman in 
 her need that was all ! 
 
 Upon the heels of this supposition came ugly questions. 
 If this were merely a confinement case, and not one involv- 
 ing infection, why had she hidden her address? Why had 
 she ? 
 
 A horrible fear gripped him, seemed to leap up from the 
 tide itself, like a shapeless obscene monster born of the 
 mud. Good God ! What if ! 
 
 In his agony he cried aloud. The sharp, guttural sound 
 awoke her; and her very first gesture, the drawing of the 
 cloak over the baby's face, betrayed her like a declaration. 
 She stared helplessly at her father, her cheeks still pink 
 from sleep but giving up their color fast, as she realized 
 that the figure towering above her, devouring her face with 
 silent tragic intensity of interrogation, was not a figment 
 of a dream. To confirm his identity the black funnel of 
 the Mary McCoy was silhouetted in the distance against 
 the setting sun. 
 
 " Patricia ! " he said in a terrible voice. " Whose child 
 is that? Where are you living?" 
 
 She made no answer, though he saw the muscles of her 
 throat move convulsively. Her hollow eyes stared at him 
 with a fear in their depths that he was to remember until 
 he died. A queer, weak sound came from her lips at last, 
 like that of a small animal caught in a trap and bleeding 
 to death. She put out supplicating hands ; he struck at them 
 blindly. 
 
 " You ! You ! " he cried. 
 
 He knew. He understood. She read it in his look of
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 361 
 
 horror, in his accusing cry, then in the bowed, retreating 
 back aged into the semblance of senility, in the odd, totter- 
 ing run, as if his trembling limbs were being forced by 
 shame of her and of what she had become to bear him 
 quickly from her guilty presence. 
 
 She tried to cry out, to call him back, but no sound came 
 from her despair. With dilated eyes she watched him 
 going down the towpath, and when he neared the tug she 
 saw him straighten his body, and knew it was his effort 
 to conceal the effects of what he had seen from his crew. 
 
 Mortal weakness seized her. Horror like a palpable black 
 cloud rose from the water, enveloped her, hid the child 
 from her sight. She thought that she had gone blind, 
 and instinctively clutched the baby to her breast with such 
 force that he cried out. Hidden away here, she had half 
 forgotten what kind of a woman she was but her father 
 knew. His accusing cry, " You ! You ! " like an anathema 
 from the altar, brought her out of her dreams of recon- 
 struction into a dreadful sanity. 
 
 She tried to pray, for she felt herself already swinging 
 above a gulf; but God had forgotten her. Never now 
 could she work out that penance. Her father's face had 
 become the world's face. She knew at last what she was. 
 
 Whether she stood there hours or moments, she did not 
 know ; but she was aware at last that the sun had set, and 
 the Mary McCoy was steaming away to the west. 
 
 In despair she withdrew her gaze from it to the swift, 
 smooth current of the tide-water, letting her will follow it, 
 obedient to the strange power which quickly running water 
 has over the heart and mind of the unhappy. She thought 
 of the ocean to which it returned, as mysterious and in- 
 scrutable as death itself, its caverns sacred from the visita- 
 tions of time and the accidents of fate. Her oppressed spirit 
 seemed sinking to those untrodden floors where lost ships 
 pointed ghostly fingers to the light they should never know 
 again. 
 
 Death drew her, a whisper of the illimitable water to 
 which this tide now surged. Flecks of foam like white eyes,
 
 362 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 through which no mind looked, showed for a moment on 
 the surface, then disappeared. 
 
 The warm body pressed against her heart stirred faintly. 
 Lifting one of the little hands, she kissed it passionately, 
 as if he were dying with her. Their time was short together 
 in the deluding brightness of the Spring, for the dreadful 
 simplicity of suicide lured her beyond the condemning 
 voices, beyond even the great voice of her Church with 
 its authority over her in the shadowy landscapes of an 
 unseen world. Seduction was in the thought of this quick 
 mastery of circumstance. 
 
 Raising her eyes, she saw that the tug was now but a 
 black speck in the distance. She pictured her father's return 
 home, his broken, despairing story to her mother, her 
 mother's incredulity and grief as she was forced to believe, 
 to understand. 
 
 Leaving her seat, she advanced slowly to the edge of the 
 pier, her eyes staring at the self-created vision of her inevi- 
 table end, the climax of a logic which, from the beginning, 
 had held the seeds of destruction. Step by step she drew 
 near the brink, her face emptied of color, of emotion, of 
 thought at last, as if her will was slowly changing all her 
 usual aspects in a prefigurement of the grave. Something 
 of the blankness of eternity overspread her features. 
 
 On the edge of the sea-worn timbers she paused, listen- 
 ing to the water as it sucked in and out of the slimy green 
 crevasses of the ancient woodwork. Far away the smoke 
 of the tug hung in the warm air. In an hour he would be 
 home her father with his incredible tale, but she would 
 never know of their suffering in the merciful securities 
 of oblivion. 
 
 The child stirred and began to cry faintly. As it stirred, 
 her arms, tense with her agitation, seemed for an instant 
 to be letting her burden drop. With a convulsive gesture 
 she strained the baby to her breast, her heart beating vio- 
 lently at the thought of the accident that might have been. 
 
 The accident! yet she had meant to take its life. Reac- 
 tion from that horror set her trembling, brought her again
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 363 
 
 into normality. Pressing him closer, she kissed again and 
 again the soft cheek, the hands, the downy head. His need 
 of her, his right to live was overcoming her own need to 
 die. She could not chill his warmth, nor put the little 
 moving mouth and the sweet, unseeing eyes into that water. 
 His dependence upon her was sweeping everything before 
 it, even the vision of shame, even the thought of the suffer- 
 ing that she must endure, and with her, all those who loved 
 her. He must live, and he must have his mother. 
 
 To whom could she turn ? The bell of St. Anne's tolling 
 brought to her mind Charles Divine.
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 FATHER CAREW was seated in his study pondering over 
 a letter from his Bishop which had reached him that even- 
 ing, a comfortable letter on the whole, with nothing in it 
 to disturb the few leisure hours before bedtime. To this 
 period the priest had been looking forward all day a warm 
 April day with after-Lent languor and pagan revivals in its 
 hot sunshine and scented air. Someone had loaned him a 
 novel, a gay and innocent novel, and Father Carew loved 
 a good story, though for his discipline he read but frugally. 
 
 A knock at the door presaged invasion, immediately con- 
 firmed by the housekeeper's announcement that Mr. McCoy 
 wanted to see his pastor ; and McCoy himself brushed past 
 the woman with uncouth haste and the manner of a man 
 under strong excitement. 
 
 Father Carew took one glance at his visitor's pale, agi- 
 tated face and then closed the door of the study. 
 
 " What's the matter, man ? " 
 
 " Oh, Father ! How can I tell you? " 
 
 " Sit down and compose yourself ! " 
 
 " I came straight to you. I haven't seen Mary. I had to 
 tell you first." 
 
 Father Carew's heart began to beat violently. For weeks 
 he had lived in perplexity and dread concerning a member 
 of his congregation, who as a spiritual daughter was very 
 dear to him. The ghosts of all these apprehensions rose, 
 a pale crowd, to answer the look in McCoy's eyes; but 
 true to a training that forbids anticipatory judgment, the 
 priest waited. He must know that he was dealing with 
 facts, not theories. 
 
 " You did well to come straight to me, James, and not 
 frighten women with your eyes. What have they seen? 
 What have they looked on?" 
 
 364
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 365 
 
 " Patricia in shame ! " 
 
 The answer resembled a groan of despair, but Father 
 Carew held himself calm. The two ideas were not easily 
 correlated Patricia and shame ! 
 
 " How do you know ? " he asked sternly. " What are 
 you goin' by ? " 
 
 In disjointed sentences, interrupted often by a sob, Mc- 
 Coy told of his journey that afternoon to the old wharves 
 of the marsh-channels, and of what had happened there. 
 Father Carew's pulses still recorded his human impulse 
 of fear and apprehension, but his affections were on the 
 side of those great laws of his Church that forbade hasty 
 judgments. Putting a quieting hand on McCoy's shoulder, 
 he said, "And that's all, is it?" 
 
 "All? Her disgrace! All?" 
 
 " But, man, you talk wild. What proof have you ? " 
 
 "A baby in her lap!" 
 
 Father Carew looked at him sternly. "And hasn't Pa- 
 tricia had babies on her lap for the last twelve years ? She's 
 a nurse ! An' the best on the Island ! " 
 
 McCoy stared, hesitated. The suggestion was like red 
 blood in his veins, giving him life. But the memory of 
 her frightened eyes, of her shrinking figure, of her appalling 
 silence soon reasserted itself. 
 
 " Why didn't she say so then ? If you'd have seen her 
 face, Father ! " 
 
 " You probably frightened her with your rough ways, 
 man ; then you come runnin' to me in a panic, with your 
 foolish talk that I'll not believe without proof. If you are 
 so ready to think ill of your girl, I'm not ! An' I know 
 Patricia as you don't. Didn't I prepare her for confirma- 
 tion? Didn't I give her first communion? Haven't I seen 
 the struggles of her noble mind an' her true soul in the 
 confessional for years back? Who's the better judge of 
 her, you or I ? " 
 
 Father Carew had drawn himself to his full height. His 
 eyes were flashing, but he did not realize that his defense 
 of Patricia was a desperate effort to hold at bay his own
 
 3 66 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 fears concerning her. In his breast was a weeping, a long 
 cry to God that this distracted father might be mistaken. 
 
 McCoy shrank back as if the blows of a penance had 
 been struck across his shoulders. But he doggedly went on 
 to justify his theory. 
 
 " Never before was such secrecy such silence ! And 
 not in the city at all, but on this Island ! And no notable 
 case of sickness like the typhoid at Grandville. Did you 
 communicate her at Easter ? Did you confess her ? " 
 
 " I did not," the priest answered sharply, " but that's 
 not sayin' that Father Hennessey down Green Branch 
 way didn't confess her, or Father Miles over at Fair Hill, 
 or Father McGovern over at St. Helen's. People nursin', 
 like Patricia, have to make their communions when they 
 can an' where they can, for poor sick folk can't be left; 
 an' sometimes, as you, a good Catholic, ought to know, 
 the spiritual intention has to count, like the baptism of 
 desire, where there is none to pour on the water." 
 
 McCoy had seated himself by the table and buried his 
 face in his hands. Father Carew's breast was heaving with 
 emotion. He had spoken, but to the end of time, never as 
 long as he lived, would he ask Father Hennessey or Father 
 McGovern, or Father Miles if Patricia had made a good 
 Easter. Snatches of the penitential psalms went through 
 his mind. " De profundis, Domine ! Oh, save me," he 
 added, " from beholdin' evil. Save her who began a good 
 work in this world. Cover her with thy righteousness and 
 pity, O merciful Jesus." 
 
 His prayers calmed his mind. Until she came to him in 
 the confessional he would form no judgments. Silence 
 fell in the study. Father Carew, tiptoeing out, sought his 
 housekeeper. 
 
 " Tea for Mr. McCoy," he said, " an' make it strong." 
 
 The old woman nodded. She was used to these forti- 
 fyings of the bodies of those who sought the priest in 
 trouble. 
 
 Returning, Father Carew found McCoy still in the same 
 attitude. " It's a good thing McCoy, you didn't go home
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 367 
 
 to your good wife with your foolish babblings, ain't it now ? 
 You must promise me to say nothin' until I've seen Patricia 
 meself." 
 
 " I'll promise," McCoy sighed. 
 
 When the tea came he drank it eagerly. The magic of 
 the priest's words was working in him. Of course he had 
 frightened her ! Of course it could not be true ! The hot 
 tea sent the blood coursing through his veins. He looked 
 penitently into the priest's face. 
 
 " I've been so worried, Father," he said. 
 
 " And then you fly off the handle. Well, April's a bad 
 time of the year for the nerves," the priest admitted sooth- 
 ingly. " I always expect troubles in the Spring months, 
 when nobody's satisfied either with their clothes or their 
 situation in life. It's the great annual breakin' out of dis- 
 content an' movin's and house-paintin' an' family quarrels, 
 and lilacs. The birds seem to be enjoyin' themselves, but 
 nobody else. Whatever St. Francis taught them in that 
 famous sermon they've never forgotten it which is more 
 than I can say of me own congregation. Now, will you go 
 home like a sensible man an' say nothin' to Mary until 
 I give you leave ? " 
 
 " Yes, Father," McCoy promised meekly. 
 
 " An' trust your girl. Maybe we were too anxious for 
 that marriage. Maybe the Lord intends somethin' else for 
 her." 
 
 " But the house the big, beautiful house ? " McCoy 
 groaned. 
 
 " Stop thinkin' of worldly advantage an' pray for your 
 daughter." 
 
 The telephone rang sharply. With a hand that trembled 
 a little, Father Carew took down the receiver. His face 
 blanched as he caught the message, but he gave back an 
 unconcerned affirmative. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Divine, to-night, then an' thank you kindly. 
 I'll be there at eight ; prompt at eight. Good-by." 
 
 He turned to see McCoy's eyes fixed anxiously upon him. 
 
 " Your supper will be cold, man run along," he said,
 
 368 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 and McCoy, only half satisfied, took his departure, won- 
 dering what a heretic priest could do for Father Carew that 
 the latter should thank him. 
 
 When he was gone Father Carew remained for a long 
 time on the spot where McCoy had left him, lost in thought, 
 troubled, profoundly anxious. Divine's message, though 
 veiled, was as good as a confirmation of a dread suspicion. 
 That Patricia should emerge from her long eclipse to ask 
 through a stranger the privilege of confession was tanta- 
 mount to a declaration of her guilt. Yet the best effort of 
 his imagination could not picture her as a sinner, since 
 Patricia had the faculty of transforming anything she did 
 into a manifestation of her growth, of her strength, of her 
 imperious will, of anything, indeed, but shame or weakness. 
 
 Yet he must be prepared to deal with her as with a 
 sinner. Her life unrolled before him, beautiful in its con- 
 sistency, its coherence, its strong web of good works, of 
 charitable deeds; remarkably free from impulse or the 
 mystic fervors of the unhealthily religious. But what had 
 produced her consistency? What if, after all, she had bent 
 her will to a supreme emotion, her unchanging days the re- 
 flection of an unchanging passion? He thought of her 
 engagement to that abstracted aristocrat, Neal Carmichael, 
 and of her confessions at that period luminous recitals 
 of happy aspiration rather than a categorical summary of 
 a good woman's peccadillos. He recalled the lifeless con- 
 fessions that followed the breaking of her engagement, 
 avowals of petty faults in which she seemed only half inter- 
 ested, related in a voice emptied of vibrancy. 
 
 The housekeeper came to call him to supper, but he de- 
 clined to appear in the supper-room. 
 
 " Not eatin' again ? " she glowered. 
 
 " Lave me alone, woman." 
 
 The distant slamming of a door was her comment upon 
 this not unusual vagary ; but Father Carew scarcely heard. 
 He looked at his watch ; it said six-thirty. An hour and 
 a half until he was wanted at St. Margaret's an intolera-
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 369 
 
 ble time ! Snatching up his hat he sought the outdoor world. 
 Thank the Lord, the Island had always its hills to offer 
 to people that must forget they were jumpy and nervous. 
 He knew a tough road, almost straight in the air between 
 perched houses. Up that he toiled with labored breath, 
 his thoughts becoming calmer as his physical exertions were 
 the more strenuous. Pausing for breath at last, he saw far 
 beneath him the spire of St. Margaret's, and beyond the 
 crowded channel. 
 
 " Good-evening, Father Carew." Neal Carmichael stood 
 before him holding out his hand. The priest hesitated a 
 moment. It might be the last time he should ever care to 
 take this man's hand. 
 
 " On a parochial visit, Father?" 
 
 " No just walkin'. The Spring evenin's are fine. How 
 are you, Mr. Carmichael? You look sort of thin an' care- 
 worn to me." 
 
 Neal flashed a quick glance at him. " I don't find life 
 easier than my neighbors," he said with a smile. " And 
 you?" 
 
 " A priest can't be concerned with easy or hard. Rough 
 an' smooth, it's all alike to him. Mrs. Carmichael well?" 
 
 " As usual," Neal answered. 
 
 " An' the old gentleman ? " 
 
 " Not very brisk." 
 
 " Ah, it's the time of life. But you must excuse me. I 
 have a service at eight." 
 
 " An evening service ? " 
 
 " A poor woman wants to make her confession." 
 
 His eyes searched Neal's face. The two men looked at 
 each other. Neal's thoughts were with Patricia. He longed 
 to ask the priest if he had heard from her, but he did not 
 dare to speak her name for fear of self-betrayal. 
 
 When Father Carew had left him he remained for a long 
 time gazing down on the valley. Ada was having a dinner- 
 party from which he had excused himself on the plea of 
 a headache. Whenever he could he escaped from the house,
 
 370 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 whose elaborate routine had become as effective a jail as 
 so much stone and iron. Out of doors he could at least be 
 free of the traps which all dealings with Ada seemed to 
 create automatically. 
 
 The evening deepened. The spire of St. Margaret's, 
 recognizable at a long distance by its lightness and grace, 
 still caught the last afterglow out of which stars were 
 emerging Patricia's church from which by his supreme 
 selfishness he had exiled her. Could love, true love, be 
 born of that hour of passion ? The ultimate sacrificial love, 
 love free from the poison of personal desire, seemed too 
 high for the frail hearts of men. When they had attained 
 it they would call nothing their own, but would lose them- 
 selves in the universal. How far he was from that goal, 
 he craving warmth, fresh experiments in fidelity, the em- 
 brace of life. 
 
 In the valley below a poor woman was coming to relate 
 her sins. Neal's mind dwelt idly a moment on who she 
 might be some tradesman's wife, perhaps, or a servant 
 wearied with the day's muddle of work. Whoever she was, 
 Father Carew had dignified her confession by the name of 
 a service. 
 
 Neal thought of her with a faint envy, since he himself 
 had only the universe to which to whisper his secret a 
 cosmos profoundly cryptic, containing all mysteries and 
 revealing none. The stars above the spire of St. Mar- 
 garet's glittered coldly in the emptiness of the night sym- 
 bols of the inaccessible. He looked towards his own bril- 
 liantly lighted house, then again at the church, its windows 
 faintly illuminated not one light that he could follow, 
 whether of stars, or altar lamps, or the beacons of home. 
 Feeling outcast and desolate, he resumed his walk, choosing 
 the loneliest roads. 
 
 Late that evening Patricia returned to the farm. In her 
 mind, like the fabric of a dream, was the sacred environ- 
 ment in which she had told her story to a priest, whose 
 voice, filled with suppressed sobs, had been scarcely recog-
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 371 
 
 nizable as the voice of her old pastor. The odor of incense 
 clung to her clothes, a reminder that she had really been 
 to St. Margaret's, had really knelt in the familiar confes- 
 sional, and had parted there finally with her traditional 
 personality by the acknowledgment of her guilt. 
 
 Father Carew was coming in the morning to baptize the 
 child. He approved of Divine's plans for Patricia, and 
 declared that the seal of the confessional should be observed 
 in more than the letter. Concerning Neal Carmichael he 
 said nothing, but Patricia felt that even his priesthood had 
 not saved him from some moments of anger and bitterness. 
 It had been altogether a terrible half-hour if purification, 
 then by fire of agony. 
 
 Before going to bed Patricia wrote a note to Charles 
 Divine asking him to take under his protection the man 
 and woman who had befriended her, and telling him some- 
 thing of their history. " Take them into St. Anne's, if 
 possible," she concluded. " It is a church dear to me." 
 
 The spectral mists had hidden the mill from her sight, 
 when putting out her bedroom candle she raised the shade 
 to look for the last time at a landscape interwoven with the 
 most exalted moments of her existence with her supremest 
 joy, her blindest grief. The passion of the afternoon that 
 had brought her so near to death had given place to the faint 
 stirring of new hope ; but something of the chill of the grave 
 still benumbed her, and saved her from the last griefs of 
 her departure. Before the mists rose again she would be 
 forever out of the lives of her family and out of the life 
 of Neal Carmichael. Her farewells to them, breathed from 
 her heart to the silent air, held no hope of reunion.
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 IN the house by the water-front Patricia was hauntingly 
 present. Her father had kept his promise to Father Carew, 
 had even lulled to rest his suspicions; but his daughter 
 swayed his thoughts, filled his d?ys and nights. Some riddle 
 of sinister circumstance obscured her a mystery which he 
 dimly felt was interwoven with the qualities of Patricia's 
 nature he had most admired, her faculty of progress, her 
 ambitions, her sensitiveness to aristocratic standards. What 
 final link was between her and that world which, years ago, 
 for some fantastic reason, she had refused to enter? 
 
 One evening Father Carew came to the house, accom- 
 panied by Thomas Murphy. Mrs. McCoy listened silently 
 to the news that Patricia had fled from an uncongenial 
 marriage to the mountains of Tennessee there to assist an 
 old physician who had labored for years among the moun- 
 taineers. Avoiding her husband's eyes, she asked to see 
 the letter Patricia had written Father Carew from the 
 South. After reading it, she withdrew without comment. 
 
 Alone in her bedroom, she allowed the slow tears to fall 
 over her furrowed cheeks. What Patricia had not revealed 
 was the true story, interwoven, she was sure, with Neal 
 Carmichael's own failure to achieve happiness. Her grav- 
 est task in the future would be to keep her suspicions from 
 her husband that more than a disinclination to marry 
 Thomas was back of Patricia's flight. This reflection, like 
 some dark charm, brought James McCoy to her a poor, 
 hurt figure, his face working like a child's about to cry. 
 
 " What do you make of it, Mary ? " he asked. 
 
 " Nothing more than what Patricia writes," she replied 
 quietly. 
 
 " What'll we say when folks asks us about her ? " 
 
 " Tell 'em what she has done gone to Tennessee." 
 
 372
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 373 
 
 His mind still filled with futile, stumbling questions, 
 James McCoy returned to the visitors. Thomas declined 
 to discuss Patricia's case with him, and went away with 
 Father Carew. In place of the fiery, boastful lover of an 
 earlier day was a man who appeared to be groping through 
 a labyrinth of pain, with little knowledge of what had 
 placed him there. 
 
 " Where are you goin' now, lad ? " the priest asked as 
 the two emerged from the house. 
 
 " I don't know, Father." 
 
 " Well, if you won't pray, you'd best work. The Lord's 
 puttin' you through purgatory in this world, as is His way 
 sometimes." 
 
 The priest left him at the gate of the wrecking-yard. 
 Thomas shut himself in his office, and made a pretense for 
 a while of going through some orders on his desk. But 
 the grinding ache in his breast was scarcely to be endured. 
 This mummery of work seemed only to increase it. Closing 
 the lid of his desk, he swung about in his chair and gazed 
 listlessly through the window at the yard, with its litter of 
 salvage from the wrecks of many buildings. The over- 
 mantels of vanished hearths were propped against the doors 
 of bedrooms now open but to the tenantry of the air. Ban- 
 nisters fantastically poised suggested ghostly stairs to in- 
 visible heights. Old pillars, which once had supported 
 porch roofs, now stood without a burden. Everywhere 
 wreck ! The world was a wreck. 
 
 He could bear the place no longer. Jealousy was scourg- 
 ing him to intolerable conclusions. What was the real 
 reason of Patricia's flight? What secret of love or shame 
 was she hiding in the wilderness? Did Neal Carmichael 
 know that she had gone? Had she bestowed upon him 
 the farewell that she had not sent to her betrothed lover? 
 Thomas longed to face him, to demand some assurance that 
 Patricia's flight involved no other history than the open 
 events of the past years. 
 
 When he left the office he had no clear idea of what 
 direction he should take, but walked on for a while with
 
 374 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 unseeing eyes a mere mechanism of strained muscles and 
 taut nerves. The idea haunted him that Carmichael knew 
 something about Patricia which he didn't know. A feverish 
 longing seized him to confront his old rival ; and he turned 
 at last towards Carmichael House, resolved to end the 
 uncertainty of years, the jealous torments from which he 
 had never been free. As he entered the spacious grounds, 
 the timidity of old habit seized him, for that great, aloof 
 house high above him there on the hill seemed the visible 
 embodiment of an aristocracy whose very failures triumphed 
 over the successes of lesser folk. It would take all his 
 courage to put through his purpose, but he went doggedly 
 on, stimulated by some fever in his veins. 
 
 The door was open, revealing the perspective of the hall. 
 He was about to ring when a figure emerged from one of 
 the rooms Mrs. Carmichael herself. Ada's cool, clear 
 gaze had a way of restoring people to sanity, and Murphy, 
 meeting it, felt like a man who wakes from a dream to find 
 himself where he doesn't want to be. But he could not 
 turn back now, so he inquired for Mr. Carmichael. Ada 
 replied, " He will be in any moment. Will you wait ? " 
 
 Thomas was undecided. 
 
 " Come in," she said, with an imperative note in her soft 
 voice. 
 
 He followed her to the library. She settled herself in 
 a chair, and motioned him to be seated. Her curiosity was 
 aroused. This man, betrothed to Patricia, looked ill, hag- 
 gard, mentally burdened. What was the matter ? Why had 
 he come to see her husband ? 
 
 She might discover something if she gained his confidence, 
 and she exerted herself to be agreeable to him, using the 
 many arts she possessed to hold his attention. After some 
 desultory talk, she inquired for Patricia. 
 
 " Miss McCoy is in the South," Murphy answered. His 
 heavy eyes veiled further information. 
 
 " In the South ? You surprise me. Is the marriage post- 
 poned again ? " 
 
 " Our engagement is broken."
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 375 
 
 Ada darted a keen glance at him. What was back of 
 this ? Nothing more, perhaps, than the same incompatibility 
 that existed between herself and Neal. No real community 
 of feeling could link this man and Patricia, who had prob- 
 ably run away from an impossible situation. Ada, about 
 to run away herself, felt a certain sympathy for Patricia, 
 as mere woman threatened by the eternal masculine with 
 its limitations. There were crises when women ceased to 
 be rivals and understood each other, if through nothing 
 more than sheer weariness of the male world they had to 
 deal with its demands, its impenetrabilities, its dominant 
 genius, its inevitable rights of conquest. Even with Went- 
 worth she didn't expect to be quite happy, but it would 
 be a change. 
 
 " I am sorry," she said kindly. She felt as if she would 
 like to help him why she scarcely knew, except that her 
 mood this day was one of complacence, since to-morrow all 
 the weary reiteration of her life with Neal would be over. 
 Feeling towards even him a certain far-off tenderness, she 
 experienced already the charity of distance. 
 
 She asked Murphy what he knew of the shipwrecking 
 business. His eyes brightened at once, for one of his latest 
 enterprises was the opening of a shipwrecking yard. As 
 he talked to her upon this subject, the fever seemed to leave 
 his veins. She had the power to help people, he reflected. 
 What a calm, beautiful woman she was, and how much 
 more kind than he had judged her ! 
 
 The great room, holding so much violet in its shadows, 
 was restful to him, though he scarcely observed its fur- 
 nishings. Ada dominated the scene, held him to his task 
 of telling her all he knew of the shipwrecking business. 
 In the midst of one of his sentences Neal entered. 
 
 His look of astonishment when he saw who his visitor 
 was did not escape Murphy, but before the two men could 
 shake hands Ada had called Neal to her with some little 
 intimate speech which produced the effect upon Murphy 
 of a thoroughly good understanding between husband and 
 wife. The sight of Ada's hand lingering for a moment
 
 376 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 on her husband's arm made Murphy feel that he had 
 found his way to Carmichael House in a kind of delir- 
 ium. 
 
 " Well, Murphy, how's business ? " Neal had turned to 
 him with an assumption of cheerful nonchalance. Secretly, 
 he was wondering why Patricia's lover had called. An 
 apprehension from which he was never free filled him with 
 an awkward self-consciousness. 
 
 Murphy, whose chief desire now was to leave the house 
 without betrayal of the purpose that had brought him 
 to it, answered Neal's question by inquiring if Mr. Car- 
 michael intended to rebuild certain tenements on land be- 
 longing to the estate the first excuse for his presence that 
 he could snatch from his bewildered thoughts. Neal was 
 surprised, but his relief was intense. He answered with 
 a cordiality not assumed. 
 
 " You want the wrecking job ? " he asked. " You may 
 begin to-morrow, if you like. Those rookeries should have 
 been pulled down long ago. They are only a refuge for 
 tramps." 
 
 Ada went away, leaving them to a conversation which, 
 from the nature of the case, did not continue long. Murphy 
 eyed his man warily during their talk together, but Neal, 
 as usual, disarmed him by his impersonal manner, his kind- 
 ness that seemed wholly without effort. 
 
 Neal, on his side, was with difficulty keeping from his 
 lips certain interrogations that haunted his days and racked 
 his spirit with an anxiety never allayed. Had Patricia 
 returned? When would the marriage take place? 
 
 But he was afraid to ask these questions, lest his voice 
 should betray him. He had wronged this man too terribly 
 to be able to speak with calm of the woman who dominated 
 both their lives. 
 
 When Murphy had taken his departure, Neal sought Ada 
 to tell her what had been agreed upon in the interview, 
 for he knew her fondness for business detail. She was 
 seated at her desk, a sheet of paper as yet blank before 
 her, her pen delicately poised as if the first words were
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 377 
 
 already mentally indited Whatever they were, they had 
 brought an unusual look of gravity upon her features. 
 
 " Has the wrecker departed ? " she asked. 
 
 " Just gone." 
 
 " What a solemn soul he is. When he asked for you he 
 had a face of tragedy. I suppose he takes wrecking hard." 
 
 " You were kind to bring him in and talk to him, Ada." 
 
 " Oh, I had nothing else to do," she said good-humoredly. 
 " And I like types. I believe he has some excuse for look- 
 ing serious. Patricia has run away from him." 
 
 Neal turned sharply to the window and stood for a mo- 
 ment with his back to Ada, his hands fumbling nervously 
 with the curtain cords. 
 
 " What's the matter ? Do you want more light or less," 
 she said in an amused tone. 
 
 " What do you mean by her running away ? " His voice 
 was uncertain. He was still handling the cords. 
 
 " You're pulling the wrong one if you want more light. 
 Patricia's gone South wherever that may be. I suppose 
 Murphy got on her nerves one can easily see how he 
 might and she bolted." 
 
 " Rough on him," Neal muttered. 
 
 " Rougher on both of them if she had stayed," Ada com- 
 mented. " Now, run off like a good boy. I've letters to 
 write important ones," she added with a ghost of a 
 smile. 
 
 Neal betook himself to a distant part of the gardens to 
 consider in quiet the news he had just heard. Upon its 
 meager skeleton he might hang any theory, but the one 
 that seemed most probable was that Patricia's conscience 
 would not allow her to continue in marriage the wrong 
 against her betrothed lover wrought that fatal day upon 
 the Southmarsh road. Wave upon wave of remorse, dark 
 and bitter, swept over him as he thought of her. His 
 uncompassed life had ended in shipwreck, in a disaster 
 whose supreme selfishness had devastated even the heav- 
 enly virtues of a most faithful heart. 
 
 Another possibility presented itself as the cause of this
 
 378 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 tragic flight, but he would not consider it. He had not the 
 courage to entertain that thought, nor its miserable logic. 
 
 When he returned to the house Ada was still seated at 
 her desk, but her writing materials had been put away. 
 Something in the pallor of her face, the tenseness of her 
 attitude, betrayed unusual emotion, and an interrogation 
 sprang to his lips that he did not voice. One of the signs 
 of the gulf between them was an inability to speak with 
 directness to each other. 
 
 After a while she looked up, recognizing his presence 
 with a silent nod and a wistful, fleeting look, which passed 
 from him to the Spring landscape of an Island that neither 
 had found blessed. Something trembled on her lips that 
 she could not say to him, because of the emotion in his 
 own eyes. If she spoke they might in another minute lose 
 the courage of their self-possession and become poor, 
 drowned waifs mistaking their desperate clutch for a real 
 need of each other.
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 " You do not need me this week at all ? " 
 
 " No you'd better plant your garden seeds and get some 
 color in your face." 
 
 An old man on a young horse that he had difficulty in 
 keeping quiet was addressing Patricia, who stood at the 
 door of her mountain cabin, her year-old baby in her arms. 
 Her attitude was grave, attentive, emptied of personal pref- 
 erence a complete detachment from the claims of self that 
 sometimes puzzled Dr. Malcolm, who traced it, however, to 
 the same mystery that had brought the most efficient helper 
 he had ever had to these solitudes. Even her name was 
 unknown to him. She was merely " Nurse Patricia," and 
 by the same simple cognomy her letters were addressed. 
 That she wore no wedding-ring he judged to be a matter 
 of caprice on her part, for it never occurred to him that 
 she might not be married. There was a quiet dignity in 
 her manner, a matronly balance, a gravity that seemed the 
 inevitable qualities of wifehood. Her beautiful child was, 
 it was evident, her substitute for what married life had not 
 brought her. 
 
 The baby's hands were about her throat, and his head, 
 thickly covered with light brown ringlets, was resting for 
 a moment on his mother's shoulder. Looking down at 
 him, a smile came into her eyes. She touched a stray curl 
 lightly. The physician gave an approving nod. 
 
 " He thrives." 
 
 " Yes wonderfully. Neal's heavier than most babies of 
 his age." 
 
 " Neal ? Named for his father, I suppose." 
 
 Flaming color flooded her face. She drew her breath 
 in with a kind of sob; then, raising dark, troubled eyes to 
 the physician's face, she answered in the affirmative with- 
 
 379
 
 380 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 out comment. Dr. Malcolm gave a comprehending nod, 
 having himself known tragic vicissitudes. He was reflect- 
 ing that it was well that Patricia's beauty was of the sort 
 that won her only respect. So much of the feminine beauty 
 in the world had no protecting soul back of it. 
 
 " Well, I must be farin' on. Good-evenin', Nurse Pa- 
 tricia. That sunset's too gorgeous looks like we might 
 have rain by mornin'." 
 
 In another moment he was far down the rough moun- 
 tain road, hidden from sight by a cloud of dust kicked up 
 by the mare's hoofs. Patricia remained where he had left 
 her, looking across the immense violet sea of air in the 
 deep valleys to peaks whose amethyst darkened against a 
 red sunset. The wild grandeur of the scene was like the 
 trumpeting of a church organ. These vast impersonal 
 mountains had been as living prayers to her when she could 
 not pray herself. Never had they been twice alike. She 
 loved them as she loved the great pines -that stretched from 
 rocky eeries, the headlong mountain torrents, the eagles 
 flying against the sun. 
 
 She loved, too, the meek, dreamy people whose genera- 
 tions had been dulled by eternal monotony into an acquies- 
 cence so un-American as to suggest an alien race. The 
 lank men guiding their oxen, the women never old and 
 never young, the barefooted children with their white hair 
 and faces empty of juvenile initiative, they were all dear 
 to her through their very inefficiency, their complete assent 
 to their vague destiny. In no other community could she 
 have found such opportunities for alleviating labor and 
 such perfect freedom to pursue them. The native lack of 
 understanding of all worlds outside of these mountains cov- 
 ered her with a veil. 
 
 Few of the women had wedding-rings, though honorably 
 married by the circuit preacher; so Patricia's deficiency in 
 that respect was unquestioned. They relied on her like 
 dumb animals, grateful for the ease she brought to their 
 bodies. To their souls she did not attempt to minister, 
 despite Divine's charge to her. That she should follow
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 381 
 
 Christ to the stars seemed a task as yet beyond her powers, 
 though in these mountain heights she thought often of that 
 journey, for the stars crowded close to her from the velvety 
 blue of the deep night. She prayed often for the child, 
 sometimes for Neal, but scarcely ever for herself, when she 
 knelt before the rude wooden crucifix above the window 
 that faced the East. 
 
 Her infrequent letters to her family were chiefly accounts 
 of her cases and of Dr. Malcolm's skill. She had to abstain 
 with an effort from relating the pretty ways of her baby 
 the mother's wonder and joy overflowing naturally into the 
 desire of proud recital. 
 
 The mountains had healed her spirit of feverish remorse. 
 Patricia was, indeed, too healthy a creature for continual 
 wailing over a fact that could not be changed. Her face 
 was to the future, not the past. 
 
 She went in after a while to prepare her simple supper. 
 The great fireplace of her cabin delighted her, inconvenient 
 as it was. Day and night, through all weathers, the fire 
 burned there, a friendly eye in the deep darkness before 
 dawn, a comfort when the chilly rains beat on the cabin 
 roof. Her doors and windows she kept wide open to the 
 wash of mountain air, and she saw with delight how the 
 child thrived in it. His beauty hurt her sometimes, like 
 a strain of music whose inspiration she would fain share 
 with another. He had the Carmichael eyes and features 
 and a smile that brought Neal to her, a vivid presence. 
 
 Having eaten, she put the baby to bed ; then changed 
 her blue linen frock to one of white, and pinned some blue 
 gentians in her belt. This change of costume was a daily 
 rite, clung to she scarcely knew why, except through a 
 desire not " to run down." For the same reason she kept 
 books on her little shelves, and flowers on her table; and 
 scattered lavender and sweet-grass on the folded sheets of 
 her scanty linen-store. One could live like a princess in a 
 cabin, she thought, through cleanliness and efficient labor. 
 
 Lighting her candles, and placing a book between them, 
 Patricia began to read. The volume was a modern soci-
 
 382 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 ological work, which she had taken in preference to an 
 edition of Browning by its side. Poetry belonged to her 
 lost girlhood. 
 
 Upon the writer's intricate scheme for human regenera- 
 tion she had difficulty in fixing her thought, for the Spring 
 night wooed her. Little puffs of soft air fanned her cheek, 
 awakening in her the wonderful will to live, the curiosity 
 which this season above all others has power to bestow. 
 Not in books would she find the secret of the Riddle, but 
 in the mysterious recesses of her heart, which now beat 
 in revolt against her solitude. It was not enough ! it was 
 not enough ! this lonely watching of a little life, this im- 
 personal service of a world whose wounds would never be 
 healed until the end of time. It was not enough ! 
 
 She pushed the book impatiently from her at last, and, 
 going to the door, inhaled deep breaths of the sweet air. 
 The night, dark and beautiful, seemed pregnant with all 
 the flowers and fruits of summer. Wistfully she turned 
 her face to the wide zenith with its pointed traceries of 
 constellations whose names she did not know. To follow 
 the Highest to the stars was a task one could not accom- 
 plish alone. The road to the finding of Christ, though it 
 ended in celestial light, must surely wind first through 
 the lovely valleys of earth. 
 
 If she must not think of Neal Carmichael on this Spring 
 night, of whom could she think, since no other human 
 being had stirred her spirit to its depths, endowed her 
 with pain, with joy, with the necessity for this terrible 
 journey to the feet of God? 
 
 As she stood there musing over her problem, the heavy 
 grating sound of wheels told her that an ox-cart was 
 approaching; and soon the heads of the creatures came into 
 view, slowly swaying as their great lumbering bulks 
 strained to their yokes. A lean, tow-headed boy walked 
 beside them with monotonous directions for their guid- 
 ance, to the accompaniment of flickings of his thin whip. 
 
 Opposite her cabin he stopped his team, took off his 
 ragged hat.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 383 
 
 " Letter, Mis' Patricia," he announced. 
 
 "Thank you, Si. How's your grandmother?" 
 
 " Mighty poor calling for snuff most of the evenin'." 
 
 " I'll bring her some to-morrow," Patricia said with a 
 
 smile. 
 
 The letter was from Father Carew, a thick letter, full of 
 
 news about St. Margaret's and the people Patricia had 
 
 known from childhood; but at the end was a paragraph 
 
 which robbed her face of all color : 
 
 " Mrs. Carmichael has been granted a divorce from her 
 husband non-compatibility the cause. She is traveling on 
 to Japan, they tell me." 
 
 That was all ! The sheet of paper dropped from her 
 hands. She rose, left the cabin and began pacing up and 
 down the road in front of it up and down, up and down, 
 her face white in the moonlight. The moon set after awhile, 
 but she was still in the road, her face now to the dark East, 
 now to the dark West.
 
 CHAPTER LI 
 
 / 
 
 CECILIA, making up certain household accounts at the 
 desk of the library, had difficulty in keeping her thoughts 
 upon the task before her. Though she was now the mis- 
 tress of Carmichael House, with none of the drawbacks 
 of her girlhood under its roof, she sometimes felt inade- 
 quate to her new position. Ada was gone, but Ada's spirit 
 still lingered mockingly, it almost seemed to Caecilia, when 
 a silent family gathered for dinner, or drooped together in 
 the drawing-room. Even Jack's good spirits were not in 
 evidence, though he surprised Caecilia by remaining much 
 at home, enduring long, blurred hours with his father, or 
 talking politics with Mr. Griffin. 
 
 Neal was the member of the family to whom Csecilia's 
 sympathies went out, since she could scarcely forgive Ada 
 for divorcing him under circumstances which could only 
 add to his humiliation. It was hard, indeed, that the tenure 
 of Carmichael House should be the gift of a woman who 
 had left the family forever, but collectively they had not 
 the courage to refuse the benefits. " It would kill Father 
 to leave the place," had become their shibboleth of ac- 
 quiescence. 
 
 Csecilia wrote a check, then found that wandering 
 thoughts had produced an error in the number. She leaned 
 back in her chair before writing a fresh check, as if to 
 dismiss distraction from her mind. It was difficult. The 
 house was an embodied memory of Ada. This library 
 proclaimed her. She had chosen the very ink-well into 
 which Caecilia dipped her pen. Would she always steal 
 through these rooms, dominating their inhabitants even from 
 far Japan? What a country for Ada! Caecilia reflected. 
 How much pleasure she would take in choosing dresses 
 to blend with the color schemes there ! gold and rose and 
 
 384
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 385 
 
 the white of cherry-blossoms and the beautiful black of 
 old lacquers. 
 
 " Whatever Ada was, she was never commonplace," 
 Caecilia said, speaking aloud, as she sometimes did when 
 alone. Jack overheard her. He had come seeking Neal. 
 
 " What's this about Ada ? " 
 
 " I was thinking that whatever else she was, no one could 
 accuse her of being commonplace," Caecilia answered. 
 
 " Heavens, no ! not Ada great woman, Ada ! " Jack said, 
 adding with mournful reminiscence, "And what a dinner 
 she could set before you. Her spice of the devil had a 
 culinary reaction. When Neal comes in, say I'm in the 
 billiard-room, Ceil. I want to see him about an important 
 matter." 
 
 " I wish you could rouse him a little," Caecilia sighed. 
 
 " He needs to get away." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " South, I think," Jack said meaningly. 
 
 " I wish we could all go. I wish we could all leave this 
 house," she said with sudden fervor. " But Father " 
 
 " It's not Father," Jack interrupted. " We're cowards. 
 We can't break away from this place." 
 
 " Who's to inherit it? We're all childless." 
 
 Jack deliberated a moment, then summoning his courage, 
 for he had never quite understood this religious sister of 
 his, he said gravely: 
 
 " Caecilia, we're not all childless. Neal has a son, and 
 the mother is Patricia McCoy." 
 
 The color left Caecilia's face. She looked as if she could 
 not believe the testimony of her senses. Jack saw that she 
 was trembling, and, going to her, he put an arm about her 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I wanted you to know, my dear. Neal should know 
 now that he is free." 
 
 Caecilia put her hands before her face. 
 
 " Poor Patricia ! Oh, poor girl ! " 
 
 " God bless you, Ceil, for taking it that way ! " 
 
 She began to ask questions. He told her what he could.
 
 3 86 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " Neal will marry her," Caecilia said solemnly. 
 
 " If she'll let him ! There's not much hope of it in this 
 letter I've just received from her in answer to one of mine. 
 I can't say I blame her ! " 
 
 " Oh, she can't refuse ! For the child's sake." 
 
 " That's just it ! Patricia's too fine a woman to go 
 hiding through the world. She can't stay forever in her 
 wilderness ! " 
 
 Caecilia sighed. 
 
 " I don't understand life," she said naively, and turned 
 again to her desk. 
 
 Jack, waiting for his nephew in the billiard-room, specu- 
 lated as to the effect of his news on Neal. Would this 
 idealistic kinsman rush away, as he should, to Patricia, 
 or would he take vows and scourge himself in the lifeless 
 paddock of some brotherhood, peopled from the failures of 
 the world? Jack's nervous apprehension had almost read 
 him a monk, when the subject of his fears appeared in the 
 doorway. Neal looked expectant, as if prepared for news 
 of importance. 
 
 " Well, Jack ? " he questioned. 
 
 " I've news for you Patricia " 
 
 Neal straightened himself to receive the blow that 
 was coming. He thought he knew what Jack had to tell 
 him. 
 
 " She has a son born a year ago." 
 
 Neal stared at his uncle, misery in his face so acute that 
 Jack felt sympathy for him against his will. 
 
 " Why wasn't I told before ? " he said harshly. " What 
 right had you to keep this from me ? " 
 
 Jack felt relieved. There could be no question of what 
 this man would do. 
 
 " What good would it have done with you tied to Ada ? 
 Besides, Patricia didn't wish you told. She doesn't wish 
 it now." 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 " In the mountains in the South nursing poor whites.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 387 
 
 Divine sent her there. You're out of her life. She wants 
 to keep you out of it." 
 
 " She can't." 
 
 " Read this letter." 
 
 Neal read it, jealousy stirring in his heart of all that had 
 been held from him, of all the people who had helped her 
 while he knew nothing. Keep him from her the mother 
 of his son ! He would follow her, demand that she marry 
 him, if for no love of him, then for this everlasting link 
 between them. He questioned Jack closely. His uncle left 
 him at last satisfied that the next important steps were 
 assured, no matter what the outcome. 
 
 Patricia with a son ! His son ! The amazing fact blotted 
 out everything, even the long winters of his discontent and 
 defeat. What he was or what he did seemed to matter 
 now only as it touched upon another life, as yet but hearsay 
 to him, yet bearing dynamic power as the still small voice 
 had once been the vehicle of God. His son! He thought 
 of the mother's anguish, of the long months of mental 
 and physical suffering that must have preceded this birth. 
 
 He paced the floor, pausing at times to look upon the 
 Spring landscape, the symbol of resurrection beyond the 
 budding of the leaves and flowers. Now he could go on. 
 The next generation always gave absolution. His child 
 should be his hope. Solemn thoughts filled him. If, as 
 Ada said, he would be always dissatisfied, was it not that 
 some goal was worth the search? But he could not find 
 that goal alone. He and Patricia must seek it together. 
 
 A knock came. He looked up, expecting to see Jack, but 
 it was Divine. He had been much with the Carmichaels 
 of late, as Father Carew was often with the McCoys. 
 
 " They said you were here," Divine explained, adding 
 after a pause, " Jack has told you." 
 
 " I'm going to her, Divine." 
 
 The two men faced each other solemnly. Something in 
 Divine's gaze drew faltering words from Neal's lips. That 
 this priest should confess him, should give him absolution 
 before he started on his journey, seemed now quite natural.
 
 3 88 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Divine listened with the deep compassion which was the 
 only sentiment he ever felt towards sinners. 
 
 " Let nothing keep you from her," he said solemnly when 
 Neal had finished. " Go with her to her furthest sanctu- 
 ary to her altar, if she will not kneel at yours." 
 
 It was a voice from the Universal, but it brought to the 
 listener's vision the long aisles of St. Margaret's, the gray 
 walls of the dim church by the sea-marshes; and beyond 
 both the illimitable sky.
 
 CHAPTER LII 
 
 THE mountain road leading continually into wilder and 
 wilder regions seemed about to lose itself in a primeval 
 forest. It was incredible that Patricia should be in a still 
 deeper wilderness; or that a settlement should find an 
 excuse for being in these grand but mournful solitudes. 
 Neal, trudging along by the ox-cart, could elicit but frag- 
 mentary information from his guide. He desisted finally, 
 and contented himself with long surveys of the picturesque 
 scenery afforded by openings in the forest. Patricia's 
 hiding-place was spacious, as if she had fled to the uni- 
 verse for shelter like some goddess out of a perished 
 mythology. This buoyant air sweeping in an everlasting 
 flood from peak to peak must lift the mind insensibly out 
 of despair and grief. 
 
 Divine's letter introducing him to Dr. Malcolm was in 
 his pocket. The physician must be his host, unless he 
 made his own camp in the forest. Beyond this first 
 stopping-place he dared not project his thoughts, since a 
 profound humility ruled him, a deep reverence that made 
 his pilgrimage to Patricia like the stations of some Via 
 Crucis. Marriage after all solved nothing, was but a social 
 palliative for a past offense, bringing honor least of all to 
 the woman unless her love demanded it. Patricia, ceasing 
 to love him, might well turn in disdain from such a cheap 
 solution of her difficulty. 
 
 If he were still identified with her past defeats, with 
 her shipwreck of illusions, if he were one with memories 
 that held no joy, then his task would be hard indeed. What 
 compulsion must he exercise to gain her belief in herself, 
 in him, in their common future? The days of romance 
 were over. They were facing difficult facts, the humanity 
 of each clear to the other and, alas! the weakness never 
 
 389
 
 390 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 again to be glossed over. Man and woman they were, not 
 hero and maiden man and woman, with scars on their 
 souls and misery in their hearts, incredibly removed from 
 the youthful pair that had wandered through the forests 
 of the Island. What ideals remained to them? What 
 warrant of better things ? 
 
 He remembered then that they were three, not two 
 forming that mysterious group, a family. Hitherto family 
 life had meant more or less the wearisome reiterations of 
 the day before, the monotonous exchange in daily life of 
 the non-essential, a traffic in surface preferences or dis- 
 likes. But in the center of this new family was a child 
 whose presence was the authority for fresh departures and 
 experiments in the difficult business of living. The ideal 
 of this son and of what he might mean flashed across his 
 mind, but his heart called only for Patricia. The child 
 was as yet a mere expression of her tragedy, and the spirit 
 of fatherhood was only just waking in him. She was first. 
 Her needs dominated all others. Would she reject him? 
 Would she send him away to prove himself again? That 
 must not be! He was too weary, too downcast. She 
 must take him with all his sins and failures, to go on 
 with him to some fresh hope. 
 
 " That's where he lives the Doctor," Si announced, 
 pointing his whip to a clearing. 
 
 Taking his suitcase from the cart, Neal followed a foot- 
 path towards the cabin indicated. A wild-grape vine lent 
 a certain picturesqueness to its low door. Beneath this 
 vine an old man sat smoking. Neal introduced himself. 
 Dr. Malcolm took the letter eagerly, as if even a formal 
 message from Divine gave him pleasure. Neal waited, 
 giving himself to the friendly inquiries of half a dozen 
 hounds, rolling the soft flaps of their ears between his 
 fingers. The physician read the letter through twice, then 
 flashed a keen glance at his visitor. No further conjecture 
 as to the paternity of Nurse Patricia's son was necessary. 
 Here unmistakably was the father. The clearly defined 
 features were the same, the deep-set eyes.
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 391 
 
 " Come in, Mr. Carmichael, come in ! " the doctor invited 
 cordially. " It's a treat to see anybody that was in civiliza- 
 tion two days ago. Clear out, you rascals," he stormed 
 amicably at the dogs. " Come in. Some Scotch and spring 
 water? Here, take a seat. I'll have supper in no time." 
 
 Neal seated himself in a corner of the fireplace, refusing 
 the offer of Scotch. He wanted no blurring of his mind 
 when he went to seek Patricia. For a similar reason he 
 declined to smoke, but opened his suitcase and presented 
 his guest-offering to Dr. Malcolm, a box of cigars of a 
 brand that caused the old man's eyes to glitter. Neal felt 
 shy as a schoolboy. He was glad that the heat of the fire 
 accounted for the flush in his face, when, after a while, 
 Dr. Malcolm spoke of Patricia. 
 
 " I hope you're not going to take her away from me, 
 Mr. Carmichael," he said simply. " I don't know what I'd 
 do without her." 
 
 A wave of relief swept over Neal, that the bridge had 
 been crossed with so little effort. 
 
 " I mean to take her away or remain with her," he 
 answered. 
 
 " I suppose I couldn't expect to keep her," the doctor 
 commented. What he thought or what he suspected was 
 as successfully hidden behind his shrewd gray eyes as if 
 he had been an attache of a legation. Perhaps this was 
 his court, this unseen assemblage of dependents in the sur- 
 rounding forest, whose secrets he guarded as jealously as 
 if the fate of a state hung upon them. Neal thought of 
 the intense loneliness of his life, cut off from his kind by 
 the wilderness. Would he die here at last among his moun- 
 taineers, and be buried in some high grave which no one 
 would ever visit? This existence was as near to the can- 
 celing of a personality through environment as could be 
 imagined. Yet how fiery real the old man was as he moved 
 about the cabin, preparing supper, interspersing his con- 
 versation with Neal with adjurations to the melancholy 
 hounds, as near to excitement over Neal's visit as their tem- 
 perament allowed them to be.
 
 392 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 At supper Neal found himself talking of Patricia. Was 
 her cabin far away? Only half a mile? He would make 
 it while it was still light. 
 
 " Straight up the trail you can't miss it second on the 
 right. Does she know you are coming ? " 
 
 " No. I didn't write." 
 
 " She'll be powerful glad to see you, I reckon." 
 
 Unable to comment on this conjecture, Neal turned the 
 subject. As soon as he could, he left the cabin, his host 
 accompanying him a little way, with silent, wistful cour- 
 tesy. Neal divined that the prospect of losing his treasure 
 of a helper depressed the old doctor. When he went on 
 alone he had the feeling of observant eyes upon him, and, 
 turning, he saw the physician still standing where he 
 had left him, his figure drooping a little, an attitude 
 that linked him oddly with the gloomy hounds about his 
 knees. 
 
 Night would soon fall. A half-seen splendor of sunset 
 flamed behind the forest trees. Neal walked rapidly on, 
 a chill of expectation upon him, his heart beating with a 
 violence that sounded at times a muffled drum in his ears. 
 He could scarcely believe that within a few moments he 
 should see her, speak to her. 
 
 How brave she was to live alone in this wilderness ! He 
 prayed that his son might have her virtues, unalloyed by 
 the inheritance of his father's traits. 
 
 Suddenly an abrupt turning of the road brought her cabin 
 into view. She was seated on the great stone that formed 
 its doorstep, a child in her lap. Her back was half turned 
 to Neal. The vision of her with her baby checked for a 
 moment his steps, while over him swept such a torrent of 
 love and longing, of pride and misery that he felt for the 
 moment like one drowning. If he should lose her now, he 
 would taste the full bitterness of his punishment. But he 
 could not lose her. She would not turn from him when 
 she knew how great his need was of her. Fearing to startle 
 her by appearing too suddenly before her, he called softly, 
 " Patricia ! " He saw her turn a little, saw the color leave
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 393 
 
 her face, which had an expression at once listening and 
 incredulous. Then rising, she saw him. 
 
 For a moment she stood quite motionless, the child 
 clasped in her arms, her eyes dilated, yet with no expecta- 
 tion in them, no hope. She simply waited, as if some dark 
 image of despair still enthralled her brain, held her from 
 the motions of life. If he read anything in her face at all 
 it was distrust of his coming, fear of him. That hurt him 
 most of all. 
 
 " Patricia, speak to me," he said imploringly. " Are you 
 angry that I've come." 
 
 " Angry ? " she whispered. 
 
 Then, as if the words between them released her from 
 a spell as intolerable to herself as to him, the color returned 
 to her face, a shining light kindled in her eyes a far-off 
 reflection of the old worship, the old wonder. Her breath 
 came quickly. Joy contended with despair in her breast 
 joy at beholding him again, at being closed in with him 
 thus solemnly in this primitive wilderness : despair lest this 
 meeting should prove to be but the shadow of restoration. 
 The old love throbbed in her with new significance. 
 
 He was close to her now, could see the beauty of the child 
 she held so jealously. With a convulsive clasp of his 
 mother's neck, the baby turned his head away, burying his 
 face on her shoulder. 
 
 " He's shy with strangers," she explained. 
 
 Strangers ! The word released the pent-up torrent of 
 his feeling. With a cry of longing he put his arms about 
 mother and child and gathered them hungrily to his heart ; 
 and held them as if he feared even in that supreme moment 
 that he would again suffer loss. A sob of faint momentary 
 protest came from her lips, then she pressed closer to him 
 and he felt her tears against his cheek. 
 
 " Patricia ! my Patricia ! " 
 
 His need of her was in his utterance of her name. His 
 voice stirred her to the depths of her being; and vistas 
 opened of a fairer felicity than she had ever known not 
 the impossible landscapes of youthful fancy, but the hope
 
 394 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 of two who understood each other at last after a great and 
 final forgiveness. A new warmth filled her eyes as she 
 gazed at him. Her soul yearned to him. 
 
 " Do you think I could leave you now, Patricia ? " he whis- 
 pered as if divining her thoughts. 
 
 She shook her head. The question was beyond her power 
 to answer. She led him to a seat beneath a forest tree. 
 The afterglow lit up the two faces and the bright curls on 
 the bended baby head at their knees. The child was strug- 
 gling to his feet, catching at his mother's skirts. Neal 
 put out a hand to support him, and like an electric shock 
 some vital fire from the soft flesh ran through his veins. 
 Impulsively he leaned over and drew the baby to his knee. 
 The child held out frightened arms to his mother, but 
 Patricia made no offer to take him. 
 
 The sight of Neal holding his son was awakening in her 
 a passion unlike all the emotion of her past life the inde- 
 scribable force of the everlasting Trinity. There was in her 
 heart a new love the love for her baby in company with 
 him who had an equal right to love him. This right was 
 obliterating the past, obscuring the future, girdling three 
 souls in a communion from which they could escape only 
 at the peril of their individual salvation. She was a 
 prisoner to these two. They were in chains to her! 
 Chains ? 
 
 The evening wind swept solemnly up from the valley 
 with a whisper of freedom, but she turned from the wide 
 prospects of the soulless mountains to the man and the child. 
 If they were to bring this child to its maturity, they must 
 work together as equals mutually helping each other in the 
 great task. 
 
 He touched the soft hair as if some alchemy was in its 
 gold. 
 
 " He is large for his age," she whispered. 
 
 " He's beautiful wonderful ! Dearest, I think he looks 
 like you." 
 
 " Oh, no ! He is exactly like you the nose, the mouth 
 see?"
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 395 
 
 " I want him to look like you I want him to be like you, 
 Patricia." 
 
 She shook her head with a faint smile. " No something 
 better than we are always on and on." 
 
 He reached across the child and took her hand in a 
 strong clasp. They said no more. Time enough, Neal 
 reflected, on the morrow, to tell her of his talks with Father 
 Carew, of the steps he had taken to insure their marriage 
 in the near future. It was a foretaste of a purer joy than 
 they had ever known, to sit thus silently together, while 
 above them myriads of stars came into view, and in his 
 arms their child slept. The constellations blazed above them 
 the lamps of an infinite goal, towards which three, not 
 one, must travel if the journey was to be endured. 
 
 THE END
 
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