c
 
 L 
 
 &<
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Author of "Truth Dexter," "The Breath of the 
 Gods," "Ariadne of Allan Water," etc. 
 
 
 ADAPTED FROM WILLIAM J. HTTRLBUT 8 PLAT 
 
 OF THE SAME XAMU 
 
 SYNDICATE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 NEW YORK LONDON
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1914 
 BY DODD MEAD & COMPANY
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I AT DAWN 1 
 
 II JACK TURNS His BACK UPON DELPHI AND ITS 
 
 SPARROWS 17 
 
 III THE " SEND-OFF " AT THE STATION .... 31 
 
 IV SUNDAY IN PARIS > . . 45 
 
 V WHAT BEFELL JOHN AT ROBINSON'S ... 56 
 
 VI WHISTLER'S PORTRAIT OF His MOTHER ... 71 
 
 VII JOHN ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT .... 87 
 
 VIII JOHN MAKES A CALL : . . . 102 
 
 IX JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 117 
 
 X THE FIRST LESSON 130 
 
 XI JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER AND MEETS A FRIEND 142 
 
 XII ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 155 
 
 XIII INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 167 
 
 XIV TWIN STARS AND THE PIT ...... 180 
 
 XV CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE . . 191 
 
 XVI CHANGES > ... 204 
 
 XVII JOHN GOES HOME . . 215 
 
 XVIII READJUSTMENTS 228 
 
 XIX INEZ IN DELPHI 239 
 
 XX THE DELPHI THEME IN VARIATIONS . . . 252 
 
 XXI DELPHI DECIDES TO CALL, AND INEZ MAKES A 
 
 FRIEND 267 
 
 XXII DR. KELSEY 281 
 
 XXIII WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 296 
 
 XXIV "YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND You OUT!" . . .308 
 XXV " FREE LOVE " AS INTERPRETED BY DELPHI . . 325 
 
 XXVI AT BAY 346 
 
 XXVII SACKCLOTH WITH A SILVER LINING . . . 366 
 
 2137472
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AT DAWN 
 
 YOUNG John Hemingway awoke, on this particular 
 May morning, with the first drowsy click of the first 
 sparrow. Consciousness, on the instant, clasped 
 him. It was as if he had suddenly been immersed in 
 water. He wondered, a little impatiently, that he 
 had been able to sleep at all. How could he, when 
 this was his Great Day, his Golden Threshold, the 
 beginning of the Adventure with all that it might 
 come to mean! 
 
 Dawn, a square grey cloth, hung at his window. 
 Behind it now more sparrows stirred, myriads of 
 them, in a shrill clamour. Their thin voices 
 sounded querulous, almost angry. 
 
 " And all the mornings to come, for four blessed 
 years, they are to wake and chirp like this," the man 
 thought. " What do they know or care about Paris ; 
 or the fact that, at last, I am to go? " 
 
 Pressing down into his pillow, he gave himself up, 
 deliberately, to the luxury of anticipation. 
 
 For years, ever since his college days at the state 
 university, and afterward, as he doubtfully, yet with 
 energy, perpetrated various architectural wrongs 
 upon his native town, the thought of Paris had been 
 
 his goal, his great incentive. Unlike his fellow 
 
 1
 
 2 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 architects, he grew steadily more dissatisfied with the 
 sort of work he found himself forced to do. The 
 new City Hall of Delphi, in spite of its inception at 
 the hands of a well-known Chicago architect, did not 
 loom up before him as an object for pride and re- 
 joicing. He felt, vaguely, that it was dispropor- 
 tionate and ugly, that the colours of the dust-hued 
 granite and the hard red bricks made an arid con- 
 trast, but his training had not been of the kind to 
 make these visual faults statable. His profession 
 had become the great, dominating factor in his life, 
 second only to the love of the quiet little mother who 
 tried so hard to understand his aesthetic repinings 
 and was so pathetically anxious to assist him in gam- 
 ing that broader outlook which, especially of late, 
 he had begun to feel a necessity. 
 
 At college he had heard, of course, of the lEcole 
 des Beaux Arts. To his untutored imagination the 
 whole of Paris was a sort of modern Olympus, 
 crowned and immortalised by a single temple, a 
 white and shining place of long cool corridors, and 
 happy busy minds, to which good young architects, 
 even from a place so far away as Delphi, Iowa, 
 were sometimes privileged to go. Already he was 
 well past the age of the average student. He had 
 tried, conscientiously, to adapt himself to Delphi 
 taste and Delphi standards, but somewhere within 
 him was a protest that would not be stilled. 
 
 His mother, one of those shy, intuitive souls who, 
 where love is concerned, know everything without
 
 AT DAWN a 
 
 asking a single question, soon perceived the facts, 
 and from that moment went quietly to work, with 
 the one motive of " sending John to Paris." 
 
 The death of her husband, now many years ago, 
 had left Emma Hemingway what her neighbours de- 
 scribed as " comfortably off." She had a large 
 two-story town-house, a reasonable amount of life- 
 insurance safely invested, one small business build- 
 ing in a rather poor part of the city, and, in addi- 
 tion, a farm six miles out into the country, which 
 had been inherited from her own people. The ren- 
 tal of this farm made, to her income, the differ- 
 ence between a mere living and the aforesaid 
 " comfort." 
 
 Now, without so much as a hint to her son, she 
 sold it outright and it was this money, ten thousand 
 dollars in cash and interest-bearing notes, which a 
 few weeks before, she had put into John's hands, mak- 
 ing the offering as casually as if she were passing 
 him a cup of tea, and saying, with her gentle smile, 
 " Here are the four years in Paris, John." 
 
 Yes, he was going I Nothing could hold him back 
 now. His railway ticket was bought, and his trunks 
 packed. Even his passage on the big trans- Atlantic 
 steamer was secure. Four years ! Four wonderful 
 golden, busy years, packed full and crowded down 
 with opportunity. When he stepped aboard the 
 nine-thirty train that very morning, he would be 
 entering on his Kingdom. 
 
 He closed his eyes in the sheer ecstasy of vision.
 
 4 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Again rose the shining Acropolis, the Temple of 
 Beautiful Arts ! Clustered beneath its supernal 
 walls were lesser glories, such as the Louvre, the grey 
 imp-set towers of Notre Dame, and the enamelled 
 jewel-casket of Saint Chappelle. Somewhere among 
 the " roots of things " flowed a grey river with the 
 sun upon it. That would be the Seine. To think 
 that he, John Hemingway, who had never been east 
 of Chicago, was soon to stand upon one of those 
 historic bridges, dreaming above the Seine! 
 
 There was something the " boys " called the Latin 
 Quarter. Their eyes always danced at the name. 
 But he felt little interest in this view of Paris. It 
 was suitable enough, he conceded, for the harlequin- 
 ade of near-artists and near-singers who, appar- 
 ently, made up its population, but would have few 
 allurements from an architect of the Middle West, 
 especially an architect with a Purpose, not to 
 mention a Mother. 
 
 " Paris ! I am actually going to Paris, and I 
 start to-day," he said aloud. The morning seemed 
 to shiver at his words. 
 
 " Paris, for four whole years," he repeated. 
 " And I am leaving mother utterly alone." 
 
 A penetrating chill crept in through the thinning 
 curtain of the dawn. All the gladness went from his 
 face. He moved restlessly, and reached down to 
 pull a coverlid over him. 
 
 " Suppose something should happen to her in
 
 AT DAWN 5 
 
 your absence?" a cold voice whispered. "What 
 would success mean to you then? " 
 
 He sat up quickly, flinging one vigorous young 
 limb, half-swathed in clinging blankets, to the floor. 
 To lie there longer and think, was impossible. He 
 would be up, and dress himself. Before the second 
 foot could reach the old rag carpet a second thought 
 checked him. 
 
 His mother's room was directly beneath. If he 
 turned on the water for his bath, and by now his 
 whole body had begun to clamour for the invigorat- 
 ing plunge, she would hear him. 
 
 Plumbing, even in large cities, is a precarious art. 
 In Delphi the bathroom pipes had all acquired a spe- 
 cies of banshee howl, intensifying with age. The 
 turning of a faucet on the second floor invariably 
 released sleeping demons, so that the reluctantly as- 
 cending water was apparently pursued by a spiral 
 mob of objurgations. 
 
 The early morning mist clutched at his bare an- 
 kles. With a sigh of disappointment he was with- 
 drawing them into the bed when a very slight sound 
 from the chamber below arrested him. He listened, 
 leaning tensely forward. It was a window being 
 opened very softly. 
 
 " Mother, God bless her ! " he cried. " She can't 
 sleep either ! " 
 
 He sprang up, and now that caution was not 
 needed, rushed across the floor. At the window-sill
 
 6 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 he leaned out until the two old-fashioned fasteners, 
 perkily upright like miniature croquet wickets, thrust 
 themselves upward into his straining flesh and, for 
 days after, kept their memory in blue bruises. 
 
 " Mother ! That you ? " he asked, in the vibrant 
 whisper which carries better than open speech. 
 
 " John ! " came the quick reply, muffled also, that 
 the neighbours might not be disturbed, but tremulous 
 with surprise and joy. 
 
 " I might have known that you could not sleep, 
 either," the upper voice triumphed. " I'm going to 
 take a plunge now, this minute. Then I'll run 
 down to you. 'Spose we have a cup of coffee, just 
 you and me, before the girl comes." 
 
 " That will be lovely. I'll slip on my wrapper 
 and start the water boiling. I just couldn't stay in 
 bed. I was too too excited ! " 
 
 " Same here. Oh, Mother! " There was a sud- 
 den note of despair. 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway vanished. John withdrew from 
 the sill, and sped to his bath, where he turned on all 
 the faucets with such feverish energy that howls, 
 gurgles and wails, hitherto unsuspected, burst from 
 the released element. 
 
 In an incredibly short time he was downstairs. 
 Already, in the kitchen, stood his mother, dressed in 
 her habitual black with a white fichu at the throat, 
 her silvery hair as complete and immaculate as the 
 petals of the white roses that stood in a little jar on 
 the oilcloth-covered table. Two of the " good "
 
 AT DAWN 7 
 
 china cups from the dining-room cabinet had been 
 placed near the flowers ; and from the coffee-pot on 
 the stove came a warm, aromatic fragrance. 
 
 At sight of the familiar little figure a queer con- 
 striction, unlike anything before experienced, came 
 into the young man's throat. Unable to speak, he 
 strode across the boards, lifted his mother bodily, 
 and strained her against his heart. 
 
 " My ! What a big boy you are ! " she laughed, 
 as soon as she could regain her breath. " Even big- 
 ger and stronger than your dear father," she added 
 softly, her brown eyes adoring him. 
 
 Again came that odd constriction in the throat 
 muscles. John scarcely remembered his dead father. 
 He knew that the little mother's love for him was of 
 a stuff as imperishable as the cameo pin she habitu- 
 ally wore. Yet it was seldom, indeed, that she could 
 speak directly of him, and this spontaneous, almost 
 joyful exclamation showed very clearly the strained 
 exaltation of her mood. Paris began to seem very 
 far away, and peculiarly undesirable. 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway patted his shoulder. " Sit 
 down, dear. The coffee is ready to pour. See how 
 the red day begins to show through the young maple 
 leaves. I am so glad that it is to be a fine day ! " 
 
 John took his seat heavily. 
 
 She caught a dish-towel from the rack near by, 
 and hurrying over to the stove, returned with the hot 
 coffee. " Smells good, doesn't it ? " she asked cheer- 
 ily. Fortunately he could not see the quiver of her
 
 8 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 lips as she bent over the dark, bowed head. His 
 hair, still wet from the bath, looked almost black, 
 and was fashioned into thick little half-curls and 
 wedges. Emma Hemingway did not trust herself, 
 just then, to lean nearer. 
 
 " Look here, Mother ! " he cried abruptly. " I'll 
 have to cut it out, after all. I can't leave you." 
 
 " Now, John ; take a good hot swallow of coffee 
 and you'll feel more like yourself." 
 
 John turned around, fixing tragic eyes upon her. 
 " But don't you see, that's just what I shouldn't feel 
 like, myself. I'm a selfish, blind brute. That's 
 what I've been all along. Somehow it's come over 
 me in a heap, with this quiet dawn about us. I've 
 let you sacrifice too much. Now it's the farm, 
 your individual piece of property. I was a bone- 
 head to let you know how I wanted these years of 
 study in Paris." 
 
 " You couldn't have kept it from me, John," she 
 said, pouring the two cups of coffee with a steady 
 hand. " Besides, who else would you have told ? 
 Who cares as I do ? " 
 
 " That's just it ! You do care. All along you 
 have cared too much, and I, like a mutt, have ac- 
 cepted everything ! " 
 
 " I won't have you calling my boy such ugly 
 names ! " she protested, with a little laugh that it 
 was hard to keep from breaking. " There never was 
 a better son than you, John. My ! but isn't this the 
 hottest coffee ! "
 
 AT DAWN 9 
 
 John joined, a little ruefully, in her laughter. 
 " You are one too many for me, Mother. You al- 
 ways have been. Well, lift the cup. We'll drink to 
 Paris, darn it ! " 
 
 They drank warily, the two smiling pairs of eyes 
 meeting above the cup rims. 
 
 " Speaking of darns," said the little mother, set- 
 ting her cup down, " I suppose the mails between here 
 and Paris carry things besides letters, don't 
 they?" 
 
 John looked puzzled. What on earth could this 
 very mild form of invective have to do with the inter- 
 national postal service? 
 
 " Why, of course ! " 
 
 " Well, then " she began, hesitated, and sud- 
 denly turned an imploring look. " Please don't 
 think me a silly, sentimental old mother, but there is 
 a troublesome little favour I am going to ask of you." 
 
 " Something that can be mailed? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " Anything you want, Mother o' mine, from 
 weekly stock reports to the head of the French 
 President on a charger." 
 
 " It's nothing of that kind, you may be sure," she 
 smiled. " It's it's I want you to send me back 
 your socks to darn." 
 
 As, for the moment, he was incapable of utterance, 
 she went on, still deprecatingly, 
 
 " I have always found them such a comfort. 
 While you were off to college I believe my very hap-
 
 10 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 piest moments were spent over them. Do you know, 
 John, I sometimes feel sorry for men because they 
 can never have that peculiar quiet of mind, that 
 serenity, that comes over you while you are sew- 
 ing, especially when you are darning socks for some 
 one that you love." 
 
 " They shall come regularly, Mother. I prom- 
 ise," he said, speaking rather thickly, and reaching 
 out for another gulp of coffee. 
 
 " And, John," she added, now with more definite 
 embarrassment. " When you do have to buy new 
 ones, don't trouble to get them of too durable a qual- 
 ity." 
 
 " There's the old sun out of bed at last ! He's got 
 into my eyes, somehow," cried John, blinking toward 
 the great red disc now appearing among the maple 
 branches, and crossed, like a map of the canals of 
 Mars, with black lines of twigs. 
 
 Instead of following his tear-dimmed gaze, Emma 
 Hemingway leaned forward, fixing her eyes on the 
 illumined, up-turned face of her companion, as if to 
 impress the memory forever on her heart. 
 
 John fumbled for his pocket handkerchief, blew his 
 nose vigorously, and then turned a smile to her. 
 
 " Well, the day is here all right. But we've had a 
 wonderful little dawn-party all by our lonesomes, 
 haven't we, Mother? " 
 
 " Yes, yes" she breathed. 
 
 " And you still insist on sending me out into the 
 big world to fight, and make you proud of me? "
 
 AT DAWN 11 
 
 " To fight, yes. But I am already proud of you. 
 There never was a better son, my John." 
 
 " Oh, Mother," the man almost groaned. " How 
 could a fellow help being decent when somebody be- 
 lieves in him as you do in me ? " 
 
 " They don't have to help it," she answered prac- 
 tically. 
 
 " All the same," he retorted, trying to speak more 
 lightly, " maybe you don't realise it, but you are 
 missing the opportunity of your life. Mothers in 
 novels always have a cart-load of advice to give sons 
 on such occasions as this. Well, I'm waiting ! " 
 He leaned back, and folded his arms in mock resigna- 
 tion. 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway merely smiled and shook her 
 head. 
 
 "What? No advice? No cautions? Surely you 
 have heard that Paris is a wicked city ! " 
 
 " Since you decided to go there I have heard very 
 little else," she replied, with composure. " Mrs. 
 Abbey and your Aunt Clara seem to know a great 
 deal about it." 
 
 John threw back his head with a laugh. It was a 
 gesture of his that she loved. " Oh, this is rich ! So 
 they have been trying to scare you. Come now, 
 Mother, tell me what you said to them." 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway folded her hands in her lap and 
 sat stiffly upright, with tiny lateral movements about 
 the shoulders that reminded one of a mother-bird in 
 a nest. It was a gesture that he specially loved.
 
 12 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Well, my dear, as far as I can recall it, my 
 words were something like these : * If my boy is go- 
 ing to be a bad man, he will be bad in Delphi. If he 
 is to be good, as I know he is, he'll be just as good 
 in Paris.' " 
 
 " Bully for you ! That's spiked their guns, I'll 
 wager." 
 
 " Not altogether. Clara thinks me very remiss in 
 my duty because I have not prepared a long list of 
 temptations which you are to avoid." 
 
 " Trust Aunt Clara for knowing 'em," he ex- 
 claimed, with a grimace. " I'll tell you what, 
 Mother. I'll bet a hat that her warnings would put 
 a fellow on to a lot of devilment that he might never 
 have thought of for himself." 
 
 " It is not impossible," conceded his companion. 
 She spoke demurely, but a twinkle of appreciation 
 made her eyes bright, 
 
 John laughed outright, then as suddenly scowled. 
 
 " Never mind other people," he broke out roughly. 
 "They don't count! Nobody counts, just now, but 
 you and me. Mother," speaking seriously, 
 " isn't there some sort of a promise you want me to 
 make you? Something hard, just to show you . 
 I'd like it to be hard." 
 
 She took his strong young hands in her withered 
 ones. " Just go on being your own straightforward, 
 clean, honest self, John. I couldn't ask anything 
 better than that." 
 
 The rough head, a bright brown now that the hair
 
 AT DAWN 13 
 
 was so nearly dried and the yellow sun upon it, went 
 over to the oilcloth table. The mother bent and 
 pressed her lips to it. He reached out an arm, and 
 drew her face to his. 
 
 " Then, if you don't care for promises, say some- 
 thing to me in your own dear way. Give me advice 
 that I shall always remember, and that will help me, 
 for I am just beginning to see what it means to say 
 * good-bye.' " 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway remained silent for many mo- 
 ments. She sat motionless, except for a thoughtful, 
 steady stroking of the bowed head. Behind them, 
 the stove snapped and crackled. Two sparrows, fly- 
 ing to the eastern window-sill, preened themselves, 
 making queer, animated silhouettes. 
 
 " I believe there is something," said the quiet voice, 
 at length. " Only, I have spoken this way so sel- 
 dom, it is going to be a little hard to find the right 
 words." 
 
 John raised his head, and set bright, listening eyes 
 on hers. " Fire away, little mother," he encouraged. 
 " I'm sure to understand." 
 
 At sight of a troubled little frown between brows 
 usually so tranquil, a new, strange tenderness stirred 
 in the young man's heart. With it came something 
 strangely like reassurance. There had been growing 
 about the little figure, so touchingly familiar in all 
 outward details, a sense of the unusual, almost of the 
 mysterious. Perhaps the early light had some part 
 in it, as music and voices have a new tone at dawn.
 
 14 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 But there was more. He had been vaguely conscious 
 of delicate withholdings, of depths hitherto unex- 
 plored. 
 
 The little frown, at least, was tangible and human. 
 He felt himself clinging to it. After all, she was 
 just his dear, home-staying little mother, engrossed 
 in and satisfied with the narrow life about her. The 
 forthcoming advice, whose utterance so perplexed 
 her, was sure to be something about underflannels, 
 or, at the worst, his regular attendance at the near- 
 est Protestant church. Whatever it might be, 
 however trivial, he would accede, and keep it to 
 the letter. Her opening sentence came with a shock 
 of surprise. 
 
 " Every one says this is a wonderful age of 
 thought, and inventions, and new things," she began, 
 timidly. " You feel it to be that way, don't you, 
 John?" 
 
 But the young man could only stare. 
 
 " I don't mean ordinary, everyday affairs," she 
 amended, noting his surprise, " but opinions, views 
 of life, the creating of beautiful and splendid things, 
 like music and painting and beautiful buildings, all 
 those wonders that you will be right in the middle 
 of, when you get to Paris. And and then 
 feeling that the beauty goes deep down into the liv- 
 ing of a person's life. Do you see what I am trying 
 to say?" 
 
 " I'm I'm not perfectly sure I do," he stam- 
 mered. " You have taken me off my feet, rather."
 
 AT DAWN 15 
 
 " I warned you that I wouldn't be able to express 
 myself," she said despondently. " I think these 
 thoughts over and over to myself, but I have never 
 tried to speak them." 
 
 " It's I who am the bone-head," protested John 
 with vehemence. " Now that I've caught my breath, 
 please say it again. You mean," he continued, as 
 he saw her troubled hesitation, " that creative beauty, 
 to be worth while, has got to strike its roots deep 
 into human life and character?" 
 
 Her face became irradiated. " Yes, yes ! " she 
 panted. " That puts it exactly. How smart you 
 are, John. I could never have found those words in 
 a hundred years." 
 
 " You don't have to find them. You are them," 
 John declared, with the brusqueness he often used to 
 hide emotion. " I understand it all, now. You 
 want me to keep myself decent, not from fear, or 
 convention, or even through the keeping of promises 
 to the best and dearest mother in the world, but 
 because good and beautiful work is in itself a con- 
 secration, and one must keep the Temple of the 
 Holies clean." 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway wiped her eyes. 
 
 " John," she faltered, " when I hear you talk like 
 that I wonder if I wasn't wrong in not trying to 
 persuade you to become a Methodist minister." 
 
 John sprang to his feet, laughing merrily. She 
 too rose. As they faced each other, he caught her 
 by her slender shoulders.
 
 16 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Look here, you strange, wonderful little mother ! 
 What I want to know," he demanded, " is how, in 
 your busy life, you ever found the time to work out 
 such a theory of life and aesthetics ? " 
 
 " Why, darning your socks, of course," she an- 
 swered, with a little toss of the grey head. " And 
 there's Molly, falling up the back steps. Our little 
 party has ended."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 JOHN TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI AND ITS 
 SPARROWS 
 
 MOLLY McGuraE, the " hired-girl," was of somewhat 
 recent Irish importation, and wore her acquired 
 Americanism like a pair of new yellow shoes. In- 
 dependence and aggression creaked at every step. 
 To enhance the effect, Molly, while of alert and even 
 sprightly build in the upper regions, moved, from 
 below, as if on three particularly unmanageable legs. 
 To take a direct step forward was for her, appar- 
 ently, to achieve the impossible. Her progress 
 across a given space could be rendered only in a 
 series of obtuse angles. She never, by any chance, 
 " entered " an apartment, but invariably fell or 
 broke in through the door. 
 
 This morning the usual procedure was announced 
 by a terrific clatter, as one of her three feet came 
 into contact with the fluted tin garbage can on the 
 back porch. At the crash, followed by the muffled 
 thud of her body against the door, Mrs. Hemingway 
 gave a low cry. John laughed. The girl, finally 
 bursting into view, paused in astonishment at this 
 unexpected invasion of her domain. 
 
 " Howly Mother!" she ejaculated. "Now 
 
 wouldn't thot beat you fer sure! You and Misther 
 
 17
 
 18 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Jan be the quare early risers the day, Mi's Hemin'- 
 way. An' I thot I was fair arly mesef ! " 
 
 " You are early, Molly," rejoined the mistress, 
 with her gentle smile. " It was very nice of you to 
 remember." 
 
 " An' how was I to f erget at all ? " retorted Molly, 
 " wid the very cobwebs in the corners dhrapin' 
 mournin' at Misther Jan's lavin' them ! " 
 
 John threw a quizzical glance around the four 
 corners, to satisfy himself and the girl that her 
 simile had been a fiction of the imagination. 
 
 " Can you have breakfast ready by seven, do you 
 think? " asked Mrs. Hemingway. " It is only six 
 now. I'd like to have it over before Mr. John's 
 friends begin to arrive." 
 
 " Sure I can," acquiesced Molly. " More particu- 
 lar, seein' thot the sthove is a'ready rockin' an' 
 spitthin' like an ould Tom-cat wid' the tooth-ache. 
 An' ye do well til yerselves to make haste against the 
 neighbours, fer on'y the jes' now, as I were peltin' 
 down Elm Strate, I seen that Miss Whitman, her 
 as runs so shameful afther Misther Jan there, 
 a-rubbin' the cowld crame off her thin nose." 
 
 " Come along, Mother," grimaced John, taking 
 the little woman's arm. " This is no place for a 
 modest youth." 
 
 " An' as I turned the corner forbye," pursued 
 Molly, her rich Irish voice growing louder as they 
 retreated, " Mi's Walther Hemin'way was all drest 
 up in her owld brown alpacky thot as if she'd had
 
 TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI 19 
 
 it off an underthaker's umbrella, feedin' them two 
 sick fowls o' hearn from the kitchen winda." 
 
 The dining-room finally closed upon her convulsed 
 audience. 
 
 Molly, left to herself, took up a potato slowly. 
 " Mi's Hemin'way do be puttin' up a classy bluff 
 the day," she remarked to it, mournfully. " She's 
 hung fresh winda curtains at her eyes, and swept 
 out all thraces of her weepin', but all the same, the 
 fond heart o' her will be afther squeezin' through 
 her ribs to follow afther Misther Jan. He has the 
 smile thot would snare ye." 
 
 " Mother, I do hope you will keep Molly," John, 
 in the next room, was saying. " She seems a good- 
 hearted girl, and her mixture of old Ireland and 
 new America is a vocal joy." 
 
 " I shall keep her," said the little mother. " I am 
 fortunate in having very little trouble with servants. 
 I should never have let old Rebecca go, but " 
 
 " * But thot she up an' died on ye,' as Molly would 
 say," concluded John, mischievously. 
 
 " Now, John. You do like to tease," she pro- 
 tested. "Where are you going now?" 
 
 He had made his way to the foot of the steps, 
 where he now paused, giving a slight explanatory 
 gesture upward. 
 
 " I'm going with you, then," she declared. 
 " Somehow, I don't want to let you out of my sight 
 a minute. Besides, I must see for myself that all 
 your little last things are in the bag. You know
 
 20 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 you always used to forget your tooth-brush." 
 
 " Being the one article that seemed to be entirely 
 unforgetable, I always did," admitted John, with a 
 grin. 
 
 They moved about John's room together, the little 
 woman stepping very softly. Now and again she 
 paused, letting a long thoughtful look caress the 
 familiar surroundings. She was telling herself that 
 all the little ornaments left behind should be kept 
 rigidly to their present places, and that the bed, with 
 its snowy sheets, should be always in readiness, as 
 if he might, after all, be only as far as " college," 
 and run home unexpectedly for the night. 
 
 Just now the bed resembled nothing so much as a 
 collapsed balloon. In the midst of it was a dressing 
 case, its jaws wide, as if clamouring for " last 
 things." 
 
 The two talked now in hasty commonplaces. 
 Their avoidance of deeper themes was obvious to 
 both. Each felt a sickening sense of Time's jeering 
 flight: but in the young man's heart there stirred, 
 deep below, the excitement of anticipation. 
 
 Molly's summons to breakfast was a relief to both. 
 It was answered by John's hearty, " All right, Molly ! 
 Be down at once." He hurried out after his mother, 
 and, overtaking her at the top step, caught her up 
 in his arms and bore her, laughing and protesting, 
 to her place downstairs. 
 
 At the table John talked cheerfully and persist- 
 ently. He made a mere pretence of eating and
 
 TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI 21 
 
 covertly watched his mother to see whether she noted 
 his lack of appetite and was troubled. 
 
 The small, pleasant dining-room, being in the na- 
 ture of a wing to the main body of the house, had 
 windows on three sides. The fourth wall, the solid 
 one, was occupied by a rather dreadful sideboard of 
 black walnut, flanked by a door which led into the 
 pantry, thence into the kitchen. 
 
 Through this door now came Molly's tousled black 
 head. " There be Mi's Hemin'way now, amblin' us- 
 wards along the pavement," she announced, in a dra- 
 matic whisper. 
 
 John sprang to one of the street windows ; not that 
 he was particularly keen on gaining an earlier view 
 of his Aunt Clara, but because any motion was a 
 relief. 
 
 " Good Lord ! " he said in consternation. " It's 
 Aunt Clara, all right. She's got a regular market 
 basket on her arm. It looks like lunch." 
 
 " I'm afraid that it is lunch," echoed the mother, 
 peering around John's bent shoulder. " She must 
 have put one up for you. I hope, John, that you 
 are not going to hurt your Aunt Clara by refusing 
 to take it with you. She has always prided herself 
 on her picnic baskets." 
 
 " But this isn't a picnic ! Far from it," lamented 
 John. " Now there, Mother, don't look worried. 
 I'll take the thing all right. But as soon as I'm 
 around the first railway curve I'll hand it over to 
 the porter."
 
 22 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Be sure to peep into it once," suggested his 
 companion, " so that you can write and tell me how 
 you enjoyed the different things." 
 
 " Even you are a hypocrite when it comes to hurt- 
 ing other people's feelings," said John, but the smile 
 he turned on her was tender. 
 
 Again came the thrust of Molly's head. " Mi's 
 McMaster, oop the other strate, wid a bigger 
 hamper on her arrum ! " 
 
 " This is too much," groaned John, and pretended 
 to stagger, as if in agony, toward the opposite win- 
 dow. 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway, now seriously disturbed, fol- 
 lowed swiftly. 
 
 " Oh, that's all right ! " she exclaimed in a tone of 
 fervent thanksgiving. " She is bringing me a basket 
 of fresh vegetables. I see carrot and beet tops hang- 
 ing out. Kate takes such pride in her little vegeta- 
 ble garden." 
 
 " Thank heaven it's no worse," muttered the 
 young man. Then returning to his former outlook, 
 he exclaimed, " Why ! Aunt Clara has vanished ! " 
 
 " Oh, she will come in through the kitchen. She 
 always does. It's a harmless little fad of hers," 
 smiled Mrs. Hemingway. 
 
 " Mrs. Walter," as she was generally called, to 
 distinguish her from the widowed Mrs. John Heming- 
 way, had been the daughter of a well-to-do farmer 
 in the vicinity. In country districts the " visiting " 
 is almost universally done through the service end
 
 TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI 23 
 
 of the house, and Mrs. Walter, in spite of having 
 been a town resident for more than twenty years, 
 had never outgrown the " back-door habit." She 
 was, to use her own words, a woman who " never put 
 on frills." Fashionable calls, the stepping from a 
 carriage to mince up cemented walks, push an electric 
 button, and send a card in by a smiling maid, seemed, 
 in this downright little woman's eyes, a frivolity that 
 bordered upon the absurd. 
 
 On the other hand, there was no kinder neighbour. 
 In times of sickness and trouble Mrs. Walter was the 
 first to arrive and the last to depart; but she fre- 
 quented, by choice, only those houses where she was 
 free to exercise the prerogative of " stepping in " at 
 the rear. 
 
 To hear Aunt Clara's firm, determined approach 
 and then catch an initial sight of her, gave the ob- 
 server a sense of paradox. She was small and slen- 
 der, several inches shorter than her most intimate 
 friend, Emma Hemingway, but she stepped like a 
 general reviewing troops. As might have been ex- 
 pected, she disdained all modern innovations in dress, 
 clinging to gathered skirts which, always scanty as 
 to gathers in the rear, made up in voluminousness 
 over the hips and across the front. Needless to say, 
 the hem of her garments soared into the air above 
 the toes of her " common-sense," heelless shoes, while 
 dejectedly caressing the floor behind. 
 
 On entering the dining-room where John and his 
 mother stood, smiling, to welcome her, she softened
 
 24 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 her tread as in a sick chamber, flashed one of her 
 swift, searching glances from one face to the other 
 and, advancing toward the breakfast table, set down 
 her burden carefully with the remark: 
 
 " Well, Emma. This must be a trying hour for 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, I would not say that. It's what John and 
 I have been wanting. Isn't it, John ? " 
 
 But John was incapable of a reply. The lunch- 
 basket, now in full view, displayed, from one wire 
 handle, a peculiarly flabby bow of black crape. He 
 turned away quickly, pretending to have been seized 
 with a violent coughing spell. 
 
 Aunt Clara's small, bright eyes rested on him 
 suspiciously. "What's the matter, John? Swal- 
 lowed a gnat ? " she queried, in her level, monotonous 
 tones. 
 
 " No, that is, yes ! " stammered John. " Some- 
 thing seemed to fly into my throat." 
 
 " It is too early for gnats. I've brought you 
 some lunch," pursued the monotonous, slightly rasp- 
 ing voice. It had always given John the effect of 
 a coarse cotton tape fed over rusty cylinders. 
 
 " I've put in all the nice things that you used to 
 like as a boy. There is a gold-cake with raisins, 
 and a pot of the currant-raspberry jam, and a little 
 chicken pie in a dish, and " 
 
 " Oh, this is too good of you, Aunt Clara ! " 
 
 " My pastry didn't turn out as short as it usually 
 does," she went on, exactly as if he had not inter-
 
 TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI 25 
 
 rupted. " It may be a mite indigestible, so I have 
 put a little bottle of soda-mint tablets next to it." 
 
 Again John was threatened by the non-existent 
 gnat. His mother threw him a warning look. 
 
 " You needn't bother about sending me back the 
 jelly glass or the pie dish," the cotton tape slid on. 
 " Both of them are nicked, but there is good use in 
 them yet. If you don't care to carry them to Paris, 
 you are pretty sure to run across some home-loving 
 woman on the train or the boat who would be glad 
 enough to have them." 
 
 " I'm sure to," agreed John, submissively. 
 
 " And, John," she continued, not changing voice 
 or manner by a hair's-breadth, " I trust that your 
 mother has been spending these last moments in warn- 
 ing you of the moral dangers you may be running 
 into." 
 
 " Now, Clara," protested Emma Hemingway, 
 going up to her tall son, and placing a loving hand 
 on his shoulder, " John doesn't need any advice. 
 Everything that he is going to do will be right." 
 
 " Of course you think so, Emma. You have never 
 been able to see a fault in John from his birth. But 
 John knows what I mean." 
 
 The entrance of Mrs. McMaster and her vegeta- 
 bles proved, for two of the company, at least, a fe- 
 licitous interruption. " Good mornin', Emma. How 
 are you, Clara," she exclaimed, with a brisk nod to 
 each. " Well," here, stooping a little sidewise, she 
 deposited her basket, with a dull thud, upon the floor
 
 26 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " I guess there ain't anybody ever saw finer beets 
 and onions for this time of year, not to mention 
 the spring greens. They are so tender, it was hard 
 to pick 'em." 
 
 " They are wonderful" agreed the hostess pleas- 
 antly, " and it was so kind of you to bring them over 
 yourself, Kate." 
 
 Aunt Clara, who had deigned nothing more than a 
 glance either at the basket or its conveyor hither, 
 now drew from a pocket, well-hidden in the brown 
 folds of her skirt, a half-finished table-mat of coarse 
 white thread, and a small steel crochet needle. 
 Crossing the room she drew up a rocking-chair to 
 one of the street windows, and, without further 
 words, set to work. 
 
 In a few moments old Silas Bartel, the hack driver, 
 appeared for " Mr. John's trunk," and the real bustle 
 of departure commenced. Other neighbours ap- 
 peared, most of them with gifts that both pleased 
 and embarrassed the recipient. 
 
 " Good Lord ! Mother," he protested, as he 
 checked her on one of her flying errands as she 
 passed through the hallway. " I feel like a preacher 
 with a donation party. What on earth am I going 
 to do with all this fool stuff? " 
 
 " Sh-sh-hhh ! " she cautioned, in a whisper. " You 
 simply must take everything with you. It will hurt 
 their feelings dreadfully if you don't." 
 
 Aunt Clara's voice, unraised but peculiarly pene-
 
 TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI 27 
 
 trating, reached them from the room within. They 
 sprang apart guiltily. 
 
 " By the way, John. Your Uncle Walter told me 
 to tell you that he would be here in time to drive 
 you to the station in his new buggy, with that Ken- 
 tucky mare he sets so much store by." 
 
 " Bully ! That will be fine," cried John, now re- 
 entering the room with his arm around his mother. 
 
 " I guess it would be better for Emma to go down 
 in Silas' hack," added the colourless voice. " I came 
 prepared to stay here and watch the house while she 
 went." 
 
 " Mother's not going to the station at all. I've 
 asked her specially not to," declared John. 
 
 Aunt Clara stirred. Her sharp gaze, uplifted, ap- 
 peared to scrape a semicircle on the floor. John felt 
 that he heard the metallic sound. Her eyes then 
 came back to the steel barb of her needle. 
 
 " Well, everybody has their own way of doing 
 things." Her accents were as unemotional as the 
 scallops she was now putting around the border of 
 her mat ; yet none of her listeners failed to recognise 
 her disapproval. 
 
 Just as Mrs. Hemingway was beginning to glance 
 anxiously toward the clock, Walter Hemingway and 
 his new buggy clattered up to the gate. 
 
 It was as inevitable that Walter should clatter, 
 as that his wife should crochet. He was a florid, 
 fine-looking man in the early forties, self-confessed
 
 28 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 as " something of a sport," and popular with every 
 one. He appeared to be several years younger than 
 his wife, which was not actually the case, and treated 
 her with a careless, good-humoured levity that 
 formed a striking contrast to the meticulous defer- 
 ence she received from every one else. 
 
 It was generally conceded that Clara took excel- 
 lent care of her showy husband. She kept his loud 
 garments in perfect order, and fed his large body 
 generously and well. What, in her heart, she felt 
 toward him, not even her closest friend could guess. 
 She was the type of woman who would have accepted 
 any sort of a husband with an air of resignation, as 
 one gets used to the shape of one's nose. There had 
 been rumours, from time to time, of Walter's " atten- 
 tions " to ladies younger and more attractive than 
 his wife, but the vague gossip never developed into 
 scandal, and if Mrs. Walter knew, she kept her 
 thoughts to herself. 
 
 " Hello, folks ! Hope I ain't late," cried Walter 
 now, breezing into the old-fashioned room. " Ready, 
 John. Lucky devil, you ! Here, let me lend a hand 
 to that grip." 
 
 Aunt Clara at the window had given an almost 
 imperceptible side-glance as her big husband entered, 
 but no word of greeting passed. 
 
 "Not goin' to the station, Emma?" the loud, 
 cheerful voice rang out, as he noticed that Mrs. 
 Hemingway was still without her bonnet, and had 
 evidently no intention of going out. " Sensible
 
 TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI 29 
 
 woman," he commended, nodding energetically. 
 " There's a regular mob at the station already. 
 Just saw little Tom Fleet, the reporter, John. I 
 promised to feed him up on some stuff about you. 
 There's going to be a classy send-off down there, I 
 can tell you ! " 
 
 " John," whispered the little mother, edging up to 
 her son. " Come upstairs. I am beginning to feel 
 very tremulous. I would rather say good-bye in 
 your own room." 
 
 As they hurried out together, Mrs. Walter slowly 
 laid down her mat. Her eyes met those of Kate 
 McMaster, and for once there was sympathy be- 
 tween them. Disgust and disappointment were visi- 
 ble in both faces. 
 
 " Now, the next thing, she'll be locking herself 
 in," snapped Mrs. McMaster. 
 
 Walter took her playfully by the arm, and twirled 
 her around until she stood directly before him. 
 
 " Want to view the remains, do you? " he bantered. 
 " That's Clara's star-play, too." 
 
 " Now, Walter, you stop. You're alwaj's teas- 
 ing," protested Kate with an elderly giggle. She 
 wrenched herself free and began to rub vigorously 
 the arm which he had grasped. Walter laughed. 
 Mrs. Walter remained oblivious. 
 
 In a few moments John came downstairs, flushed 
 as to face, and looking very sober. 
 
 " Come on, boy," cried his uncle, bestowing a 
 heartening slap on the shoulder. " Tell these old
 
 SO THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 girls good-bye and beat it, for there's a lot more 
 waiting at the station." 
 
 " Women are queer critters," remarked the elder 
 man as the two climbed into the high buggy. 
 " They'd rather gloat on their best friend's misery 
 than eat." 
 
 " I know one gentle soul who wouldn't," returned 
 John, rather thickly. 
 
 " By George, and there's another ! " supplemented 
 Walter as Molly McGuire, her eyes red with weeping, 
 leaned far from the kitchen sill to cry out, " Good- 
 bye an' good-luck til ye, Masther Jan. I'll be 
 lookin' afther the mother of yer heart." 
 
 The mare started off at a spring. John, looking 
 backward, saw up at the window of the room which 
 had been his shelter and his haven for so many happy 
 years a little grey-haired woman, smiling bravely, 
 and waving a somewhat sodden pocket handkerchief. 
 
 He hastily drew out his own, and waved an answer- 
 ing farewell. 
 
 Then the old home vanished.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE " SEND-OFF " AT THE STATION 
 
 WALTER, all during the short, swift drive, kept up 
 a high-voiced monologue, meant to cheer. The 
 young man at his side did not, at first, take in a 
 single word of it. 
 
 The shod hoofs of the mare struck off the increase 
 of distance in audible heartbeats. Each seemed an 
 impact on the quivering flesh. Should he have con- 
 sented to this long separation from his mother, no 
 matter what the personal gain? Was she not too 
 old ? How old, to face the matter clearly, was 
 his mother? To a growing lad his parents, though 
 technically young, always produce the effect of a sub- 
 dued maturity which passes easily into old age. He 
 could recall, now that his thoughts were deliberately 
 turned backward, when the grey hair was very 
 nearly brown; and once, in that long-ago time, he 
 had heard Aunt Clara say that " Emma had broken 
 something terrible since her husband's death." He 
 had wondered then, in angry though vague alarm, 
 what had been meant by " broken." 
 
 John had no memories of his father beyond a 
 misty impression of a huge, genial man who some- 
 times tossed him into the air as if he had been a 
 plaything, and whose coming always brightened the 
 
 little mother's face. 
 
 31
 
 32 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Then had come a day of whispering women in 
 the front parlour. His mother was not among 
 them, for " father " had been taken sick, and she 
 was somewhere in the house nursing him. John had 
 not been allowed to see either. His Aunt Clara had 
 gone upstairs and returned, carrying a little dress- 
 ing case packed with small-boy clothes. Later 
 Uncle Walter had driven up to the door, just as 
 he had driven this very morning, the same Uncle 
 Walter who now sat talking with such loud unmean- 
 ing beside him. He had been quite slender then, 
 but, as John now remembered, with the same bold 
 eyes, red cheeks, and hearty, strident voice. 
 
 He had called the child out to him, offering to 
 take him for a " ride," in the excitement of which 
 benefice, John had failed to notice that the dressing- 
 bag was being pushed under the buggy seat. 
 
 Aunt Clara, shading her reddened eyes, had 
 peered upward to her husband, saying, " Come back 
 for me at four. Yes, I'll be careful. You can 
 bring me a change of clothes and I'll leave these 
 here to be disinfected." 
 
 " Where are we going, Uncle Walter ? " the child 
 had asked. 
 
 " Out to the farm, my boy. You're to stay a 
 whole week, maybe longer." 
 
 " Isn't mother coming? " 
 
 " Not this trip, youngster. She's going to do her 
 house cleaning, and wants you out of the way."
 
 THE " SEND-OFF " 33 
 
 This was in early October. The leaves of the 
 soft-maples already had a touch of crimson. The 
 child knew well that house-cleaning came at a time 
 when leaves were young. But it was useless to ar- 
 gue with an Olympian. 
 
 " What's that funny yellow flag the man is put- 
 ting on my house? " he had asked, instead. 
 
 " Oh," answered the man, with a startled glance 
 around, " that's just to show that young John Hem- 
 ingway has gone on a visit to his uncle." 
 
 " I don't want to go. I want to stay with my 
 mother ! " the child had cried, stung by a sudden 
 terror. 
 
 " Here, you kid. Pull that foot in or you'll be 
 one-legged," commanded the man, brusquely. A 
 sharp flick of the whip started the old horse into a 
 gallop. 
 
 John had never seen the yellow flag again, and 
 he had never seen his father again. 
 
 The week at Uncle Walter's farm had lengthened 
 into a month; and then, one crisp, golden, Novem- 
 ber morning he had been told that his mother was 
 coming out to see him in the afternoon, and was to 
 make a little visit before taking him back to town. 
 
 All during that day the child had been in a state 
 of tremulous excitement. This was his first sepa- 
 ration from his mother, and now that she was com- 
 ing back, he knew what had made the nights so long 
 and dark.
 
 1 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 But when he finally caught a glimpse of her, and 
 was running toward her crying out his rapture, he 
 had suddenly paused and, as she hastily descended 
 from the buggy to clasp him in her arms, had 
 broken into violent sobbing, and had run to hide 
 himself. 
 
 In a few days the feeling of strangeness, almost 
 of terror, had faded, but he had never been able 
 quite to forget the agony of that first shock. 
 
 Now, again, it was " Uncle Walter " who was 
 bearing him away from the little mother. Would 
 their next meeting be a tragedy even deeper? 
 
 " Wake up, old scout ! " cried Walter, giving him 
 a. sudden thrust with his elbow. " You look like the 
 lost chord out of tune ! People are hailing you from 
 the sidewalk and you don't so much as notice them." 
 
 "I I just got to thinking," explained John, 
 with an embarrassed little laugh. " It's over now. 
 I'm all right." 
 
 " All right ! I should think you would be," said 
 the other with a deep note of envy. " Lucky young 
 dog that you are! Wish to gosh I was in your 
 shoes this minute." 
 
 " Maybe you'll come over later and join me," sug- 
 gested John, forcing himself into a semblance of 
 heartiness. 
 
 " Not a chance. Not a chance," responded Wal- 
 ter with a mournful shake of the head. " Couldn't 
 leave business for that long. And, besides," 
 here the jovial grin re-appeared "these fool boys
 
 THE "SEND-OFF" 35 
 
 around town have set their minds on running me for 
 major." 
 
 " I've heard so. You're sure to get it." 
 
 " Yep, I believe I've got it cinched if I choose 
 to take it. All the same, I'd rather go to Paree. 
 Gay Paree ! That's what you call it, don't you ? " 
 
 "7 don't," laughed John. "I'd be sure to get 
 the pronunciation wrong. How on earth I'm ever 
 going to make myself understood in that language 
 is a mystery. I hope they speak English at the 
 Academy." 
 
 " How about those flashy demmy-zelles we read 
 about ? " laughed Walter, with a sidewise leer. 
 "Don't you want them to know English, too?" 
 
 " Not in my present state of feelings," responded 
 the young man, soberly. " All I am looking for- 
 ward to is hard work, and getting back home. I 
 feel as if I were being carried off to a penitentiary." 
 
 " You'll get over that soon. Wait till Gabby 
 Dee-lees and her bunch begin to make goo-goos at 
 you ! Lord ! young fellow, but it's your chance ! " 
 
 A sudden turn, disclosing some blocks away the 
 railway station already thronged with people who 
 had come to see John off, spared him the necessity 
 of a reply to this nauseating observation. Instead, 
 he cried out, " Gee whiz ! Look at the crowd ! Do 
 you suppose they are down there for my benefit ? " 
 
 " Sure thing ! " chortled Walter. " I warned 
 you there would be a regular delegation. All they 
 need is a brass band."
 
 36 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " It's awfully good of them, but I wish I were 
 dead, and safely buried," muttered John. 
 
 " Cut out the coy and modest ! " chaffed Walter. 
 " There's nothing better for a young fellow than 
 to be popular in his home town." 
 
 " And have a popular uncle," supplemented John. 
 
 " Well," puffed Walter, his broad face growing 
 even redder under the excitement of the moment. 
 " I won't say that Uncle Walter hasn't some little 
 part in the ovation. Hullo! There's May Arm- 
 strong in her new car. Drivin' it herself, by Jove! 
 She's a sport all right ! " 
 
 They both waved a vigorous greeting in response 
 to Mrs. Armstrong's laughing nod. 
 
 " Good Lord ! " groaned John. " May has the 
 entire back of the car heaped with flowers. There 
 are enough to cover the grave of a baby elephant. 
 Have I got to carry all the flowers on board, too? " 
 
 Walter did not reply at once. He was watching 
 May, and his bold eyes narrowed as the young 
 woman, plump, comely but a little over-dressed, cut 
 with her shining car across their path, and sped 
 before them to the station. 
 
 " Needs must," said the man now, by way of an- 
 swer, as the echoes of May's arrogant siren-horn 
 died in the air. " You can chuck them out of the 
 window at the first railway curve. Wonder how 
 that marriage is going to turn out, anyhow ! " 
 
 " You mean May and young Armstrong? " 
 
 Walter nodded.
 
 THE "SEND-OFF" 37 
 
 " Well, he was the best catch in town. May went 
 for him and got him," remarked John, succinctly. 
 
 " Yes," grinned Walter. " But now that she's 
 got him will she want to keep him ? " 
 
 " Oh, May is a little vivid," protested John. 
 There was something in Walter's voice when he 
 spoke of women that always irritated him. " But 
 at heart she's all right. She'll play the game." 
 
 " Huh-h-m," Walter was beginning, when the 
 other, raising his voice, exclaimed : " Cora Whit- 
 man, in her electric runabout! Can you see 
 flowers? " 
 
 " Nary a flower," reassured Walter. " But then 
 she probably has a bunch of forget-me-nots tucked 
 away somewhere. .Cora is our sentimental number." 
 
 " And there's Mrs. Abbey, just landing at the 
 station platform in her basket-pony phaeton. No 
 floral display there, either." 
 
 " That old filly sure makes me tired," observed 
 Mr. Hemingway. " She wouldn't bring anything so 
 useless. But you just watch her hand you out a 
 little package of books, neatly tied." 
 
 " I shouldn't be surprised if you were right," ac- 
 ceded John with a grin. " They will probably be 
 a marked guide-book, and some of Emerson's es- 
 says. Mrs. Abbey has given me Emerson's ' Es- 
 says ' since I was five years old, but she's a good 
 sort, all the same." 
 
 " You're welcome to her and all of her kind," said 
 Walter, rudely.
 
 38 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 In a moment more they were in the midst of gift- 
 laden friends. 
 
 Tom Fleet, May Armstrong's younger brother, 
 wearing a reporter's button for the Delphi Oracle, 
 used the talisman as a lever to force him forward, 
 and keep him there. His notebook and pencil were 
 poised high, that all should see. His bright boyish 
 eyes snapped with interest and importance. " Now, 
 old man," he began, in a breathless tone which he 
 fondly hoped sounded " professional." " Just a few 
 pointers, briefly stated, as to your aims and object 
 in going abroad, what you hope to pull off, your 
 favourite schools of archy-tecture, how long you in- 
 tend to stay, what you expect to build when you 
 get back, and any old thing you'll like to see pub- 
 lished in the Oracle. I've got three columns prom- 
 ised, and I expect to fill 'em up with some stuff! " 
 
 Charlie Abbey, a clean-looking blond youth with 
 a face that should have been genial but which was 
 suppressed and discontented, made his way more 
 quietly through the crowd. He had disdained con- 
 veyance in his mother's phaeton, an equipage which 
 his young and modern soul loathed, preferring to 
 walk down. At John's elbow, he said in a plaintive 
 voice, " Can't you smuggle me in as your valZcw/, 
 John?" 
 
 " Wish I could, Charlie." He was one of the 
 younger set whom John, and indeed most other peo- 
 ple, sincerely liked. 
 
 " Of course that's no good," continued the boy,
 
 THE "SEND-OFF" 39 
 
 speaking more earnestly. " But if you could make 
 up your mind to write a series of Sunday-school arti- 
 cles back home, and get your mother to read them 
 to my mother, maybe she'd play out this string she 
 keeps me tied to, and give me a year with you in a 
 real town. I'm going to bust, or murder somebody 
 in Delphi, if I don't get away soon." 
 
 " I'll do it ! " cried John, sympathetically. 
 " And what's the matter with putting in a word for 
 you right now. I see your mother over there. I'll 
 go to her." 
 
 Laughing, and answering at random the many 
 questions put to him, John made his way, forth- 
 with, to a little figure which stood very erect, wait- 
 ing, with a somewhat fixed smile, until the Hero of 
 the Hour should remember, and seek her out. Mrs. 
 Abbey made advances to no one. She had been 
 born in Boston, Massachusetts, a fact which neither 
 she, nor her large circle of acquaintances, was ever 
 allowed to forget. She held, at right angles to her 
 stiff little bodice, a small parcel, neatly tied in white 
 paper with blue ribbons. Charlie Abbey remained 
 hidden behind his friend. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mrs. Abbey," began the latter 
 in his very best manner. He, in common with the 
 rest of masculine Delphi, always lifted his hat a 
 trifle higher, and kept his head bared an instant 
 longer, when in the presence of this gracious, yet 
 vaguely austere little lady. " I can't tell you how 
 I appreciate your taking the trouble to come."
 
 40 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " My dear John," she responded. She pro- 
 nounced the name crisply, at one bite, as it were, 
 giving the sound of " Jan." " It is not every day 
 in the year that a fellow-citizen adventures forth in 
 definite search of culture and improvement. It is 
 but right that your friends show sympathy and ap- 
 preciation. I have brought you a little gift." Here 
 she extended the neat parcel. John took it as a 
 child does a school prize. " You need not trouble 
 to untie it just at present," she went on, becoming 
 more condescending and impressive as she noted hoAv 
 those about her had fallen into silence, and were 
 hanging upon her words. " Wait until you have 
 recovered from the present tension of leave-taking. 
 In some hour of relaxation, when you feel the need 
 of consolation and of spiritual uplift, you may, per- 
 haps, find my little offering a solace." 
 
 John heard a smothered groan behind him. 
 
 " Thank you a thousand times. I'm I'm sure 
 to, Mrs. Abbey," stammered the recipient of these 
 lofty phrases. He wished more than ever to be 
 dead. " By the way," he jerked out, as Cliarlie 
 pulled his coat-tail sharply. " Isn't there any hope 
 of you and Charlie coming over this summer? " 
 
 " I fear not," came the quick answer. " I have 
 a special Chautauquan course planned out. The 
 Oriental Religions, you know, and their influence on 
 modern thought. I am not so young as you, Jan ; 
 and I have never had an opportunity such as this 
 brilliant one that now shines before you, but at least,
 
 THE "SEND-OFF" 41 
 
 in my own simpler way, I am determined to keep 
 my mind sympathetic, alert, and in touch with the 
 new things of this wonderful age we live in.' 5 
 
 "How about coming next summer, then?" per- 
 sisted John. 
 
 In his eagerness, Charlie stepped out HKO full 
 view. 
 
 " Yes, Mother," he seconded. " Couldn't we plan 
 to go next summer? " 
 
 " I'll be deathly homesick by then. It would be 
 an act of mercy, if you will," urged John. 
 
 Both pairs of eyes were fixed hopefully upc.i Mrs. 
 Abbey's small wrinkled face. That arbiter 'f des- 
 tiny appeared to hesitate. 
 
 '" I could scarcely commit myself to such a step 
 thus far in advance," she temporised. " SI )uld I 
 carry out my present half-formed intention if add- 
 ing a sleeping-porch and a sun parlour to my house 
 next summer " 
 
 " Then send Charlie over," blurted out John. 
 " I'll promise to look after him. Charlie is a good 
 boy, anyway. It will be a godsend to me." 
 
 " Oh, Mother," breathed Charlie, his youn^ face 
 radiant with a gleam of hope. 
 
 Mrs. Abbey's eyes, which had brightened a little 
 under John's enthusiasm, now, meeting those of her 
 son, concentrated into two small points of critical 
 regard. 
 
 " If Charles would only become interested in some 
 line of study or research " she complained.
 
 42 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " I'll become interested in anything you want me 
 to, Mater, anything! " promised the boy, reck- 
 lessly. 
 
 " That is just the trouble," said Mrs. Abbey, with 
 petty triumph. " Such a remark shows that you 
 have no special inclination." 
 
 " You know perfectly well that I am crazy to 
 try and be a painter," Charlie flared out, stung by 
 the injustice of this statement. 
 
 The mother's thin lips came together. " I do not 
 consider that you have sufficient talent to warrant 
 the expenditure of time and money which such a 
 vocation would entail.'* 
 
 Charlie flushed with mortification; but he still had 
 one plea to make, and in the hurt anger of the mo- 
 ment did not care how many listened. 
 
 " Oh, Mother ! " he cried despairingly. " You 
 won't let me be what I want, and yet you ridicule 
 me because I cannot make another choice right away. 
 How can I make a choice here? It's all so shut 
 in! You feel for yourself that it's a big thing for 
 John to go out into the world. Why not give me 
 the same chance? It isn't as if you didn't have the 
 money " 
 
 " That's straight, Mrs. Abbey ! " cried John, un- 
 heeding the cold disapproval in the little woman's 
 face. 
 
 Before Mrs. Abbey could rally her outraged sen- 
 sibilities, May Armstrong, big, hearty, with an enor-
 
 THE "SEND-OFF" 43 
 
 mous sheaf of hot-house roses nodding over her left 
 arm, came into possession of the scene. 
 
 Cora Whitman, who always moved with an effect 
 of secrecy, in some way gained John's other side. 
 
 " Here are some valley lilies, John," she whis- 
 pered, elevating the small, fragrant nosegay in a 
 wavering and oblique line, until it came into contact 
 with John's chin. The young man was, by this 
 time, on the verge of hysteria. The sight of some 
 sprays of blue forget-me-nots, nestling coyly among 
 the lilies, threatened to prove the last straw for his 
 over-burdened self-control. 
 
 Walter's booming voice, announcing the approach 
 of the train around " Turner's Bend," saved him 
 from exposure and disgrace. 
 
 He was literally pushed aboard. A mass of chat- 
 tering friends clambered in behind him. Each bore 
 in one hand some article of his hand-luggage, or an 
 individual gift of packages or flowers, and many 
 feminine squeals arose at the height of the step they 
 were called upon to ascend. 
 
 Aunt Clara's crepe bow fluttered with indecorous 
 excitement. The odours of sandwiches, flowers and 
 laughing humanity flooded the narrow Pullman 
 sleeper. Passengers already seated stared toward 
 the invasion with smiles, and began to look hope- 
 fully about for scattered rice and a giggling bride. 
 
 But when the conductor's long-drawn " All a-boo- 
 oo-a-rd ! " started a merry panic toward the exit
 
 44 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 door, there was left at the window only a solitary 
 young man, brideless, yet flushed, surrounded by a 
 precarious and tottering mass of offerings. 
 
 The train slowly moved upon its way. Cora 
 Whitman pressed a lace handkerchief to her pow- 
 dered cheeks. May Armstrong, standing on tiptoe, 
 with one hand on Walter Hemingway's broad 
 shoulder for better support, waved a last, aerial 
 " high-ball." 
 
 " Good-bye, John ! Good luck to you ! Don't 
 forget to come back home ! " rose the chorus of 
 friendly voices. 
 
 As the little station disappeared, John mopped 
 his brow, and sank back as if exhausted among the 
 shivering pyramid of gifts. Then he drew in a 
 long, long breath of freedom, not unlike that of a 
 walrus, held overtime in watery depths. 
 
 Now, at last, he was really on the road to 
 Carcassonne I
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 SUNDAY IN PARIS 
 
 AGAIN it was May ; and again the sparrows chirped. 
 John Hemingway, waking slowly from a somewhat 
 troubled sleep, heard, as from the other side of the 
 world, the medley of acute, falsetto voices. For one 
 blessed moment of semi-unconsciousness, he be- 
 lieved himself to be at home. 
 
 The delusion was but short-lived. " Oh, hang it ! 
 They are chirping French ! " he muttered, and 
 tossed about with disappointment and impatience. 
 
 He pounded his hard pillow viciously, turned it 
 over with a single motion of the arm, and, burrowing 
 his head into it, tried to re-capture sleep. To the 
 homesick American those hours abroad spent other- 
 wise than in hard work or hard sleeping, were wasted. 
 
 He had not grown to love " La Belle Paris." Her 
 much vaunted " glamour " left him cold. The lan- 
 guage was still a nightmare and a horror. He was 
 convinced that, even if doomed to live in France for 
 the rest of his natural life, which Heaven in its 
 mercy forbid ! he would never be able to under- 
 stand easily, much less to speak, the vivacious and 
 elusive tongue. 
 
 " If these people could or would ever answer a 
 question directly ! " he once complained to the young 
 
 45
 
 46 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Englishman whose draughting board stood next to 
 his in the Academy. " But no matter how hard 
 I work to frame it up so that the reply ought to be 
 a simple ' yes ' or ' no,' they only stare at me, look 
 disgusted, make me repeat myself, then suddenly 
 go up into the air like a jumping- jack, letting off 
 an explosion of vocables, at which I am so terrified 
 that I don't catch a word." 
 
 " Yes, I know, old chap," was the unsmiling re- 
 j oinder. " But the Frenchies are not such a bad 
 lot when you get to understand them." 
 
 " But that's just where I never expect to get," 
 groaned John, for which gloomy utterance the An- 
 glo-Saxon had no comment to give. 
 
 John had been away one year, and he felt as 
 though it had been ten. This was the anniversary 
 of his departure from Delphi. To make it worse, 
 the date had fallen on Sunday, and the exile hated 
 Sundays just a little worse than all the other days 
 of the week combined. 
 
 Then the " Ecole " was closed to him ; and though 
 he had set up an excellent draughting board in his 
 little fourth-floor suite just off the Rue Jacob, the 
 Sabbath training of his childhood withheld him from 
 doing regular work on a day which he knew his 
 mother kept inviolate. 
 
 During the first lonely weeks he had gone, with 
 faithful regularity, to the " nearest Protestant 
 church," but the effect had been so to deepen his 
 longing, that attendance finally became unendurable.
 
 SUNDAY IN PARIS 47 
 
 After this he made half-hearted, solitary little 
 trips to well-known suburban places, usually con- 
 veyed thither on the top of those refuges of the des- 
 titute, the motor omnibuses ; but his ignorance 
 of the language, combined with his envy of the 
 happy, chatting family groups all about him, caused 
 the abandonment of this diversion also. 
 
 Gradually Sunday became his recluse day; its 
 one bright spot the writing of his long, weekly let- 
 ter to his mother. 
 
 Her corresponding scribal hour was Sunday after- 
 noon; and often, at night, the tedious day having 
 crawled away at last, John would lean back in his 
 chair and close his tired eyes, calculating the dif- 
 ference in time between Paris and little Delphi, and 
 say to himself, " There is eight o'clock striking. 
 That means it is just four at home. Mother is 
 sitting at her desk by the dining-room window, 
 the afternoon sunshine on her blessed grey head, 
 writing to * her boy.' ' More than once something 
 warm and round stole out from under the thick 
 lashes, and made its way unchecked along the man's 
 cheek. 
 
 The year had brought him no new friends. In 
 crossing the Atlantic his allotted place at table had 
 chanced to fall among a group of lively compatri- 
 ots, seasoned globe-trotters who, according to them- 
 selves, had been everywhere and knew everything 
 worth knowing. They soon became much interested 
 in John's " career," asking an astonishing number
 
 48 
 
 of questions and vouchsafing much unsolicited ad- 
 vice. Among other things they assured him, in 
 positive and convincing words, that Americans who 
 went to Paris with any more laudable intention than 
 that of scattering American dollars, were notori- 
 ously unpopular. After the recital of many dis- 
 turbing examples of official injustice and social per- 
 secution, given by way of establishing the truth of 
 their initial statement, they set forth, as explana- 
 tion, their opinion that it arose from " pure jeal- 
 ousy " ; the American student being invariably 
 " smarter " than those of other nations with whom 
 he was thrown into contact. 
 
 It was the fact, however, and not the flattering 
 explanation, that remained with John, causing him 
 to be not only shy in making advances, but sceptical 
 toward the few that were extended. 
 
 This isolation kept him enslaved, with an almost 
 passionate intensity of purpose, to the work for 
 which he had come; and his improvement had been 
 so marked that, especially of late, he had not been 
 able to blind himself to certain indications of envy 
 and dislike. He knew that among the " other fel- 
 lows " he was regarded as a " grind,'* a bit of a 
 prig, if not an actual " cochon," than which term 
 there was nothing more insulting in all the language. 
 Through their averted eyes he saw himself in the 
 light of an American hog, who having had the good 
 fortune to reach this classic clover-field, allowed 
 himself no distractions beyond those of acquisition,
 
 SUNDAY IN PARIS 49 
 
 and was steadily devouring more than his legitimate 
 share. 
 
 In his loneliness, and because of the morbid sensi- 
 tiveness it was slowly but surely engendering, John 
 felt, at times, a bitter sort of triumph. " If they 
 won't be decent, at least they can't prevent me from 
 doing better work," was his sneering thought. 
 
 But down in his heart he resented it keenly. At 
 home, and off at college, too, he had had so many 
 friends ! It was with a distinct and sickening real- 
 isation of his present forlorn and desolate condi- 
 tion that he lay awake this Sunday morning, cursing 
 the sparrows, and dreading the long hours that must 
 pass before he could again enter the now well-known 
 gateway at number 14, Rue Bonaparte, and, passing 
 through the somewhat amorphous " vestibule," enter 
 those halls to the daily scene of petty ignominy and 
 essential triumph. 
 
 His first glimpse of the Ecole des Beaux Arts had 
 brought a feeling of incredulous disappointment. 
 Instead of the gleaming white pillars of his dreams, 
 he saw a group of uninspired buildings, quite mod- 
 ern, and with no majesty even in the grouping. 
 Here and there were, indeed, wonderful bits of meo^i- 
 aeval architecture left over from the old Couvent des 
 Petits-Augustins, the site of which the Academy had 
 pre-empted; but even these relics, dwarfed and 
 cheapened by impinging innovation, had, each one 
 of them, the incongruous and pathetic appearance of 
 some grand seignior of the time and costume of
 
 50 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Louis XV, photographed in a company of up-to- 
 date French officials wearing frock coats and tall 
 shiny hats. 
 
 After half an hour of unhappy reflections, John, 
 seeing that sleep was irrevocably fled, rose and went 
 to one of the two small, square windows that looked 
 out almost directly into a similar fourth-storey pair 
 across the narrow street. By protruding his head 
 and giving it an upward slant, he was enabled to 
 command a strip of firmament. As now he pulled 
 aside the faded chintz and proceeded to execute the 
 gymnastic feat, he was conscious of an ungenerous 
 hope that the day was to prove a rainy one. 
 
 But no! The ribbon of sky was as blue as the 
 forget-me-nots Cora Whitman had given him at 
 parting. 
 
 John withdrew his head slowly. Caution was a 
 necessary adjunct to the small acrobatic perform- 
 ance. With a sigh of resignation he re-crossed the 
 room, skirting the sharp corners of his draughting- 
 board, and, jerking at the long, dangling bell-cord 
 which had once been crimson, threw himself down 
 again upon the bed, until the maid-of-all-work, an 
 over-driven slave most inappropriately called " Fe- 
 lice," should come pounding up the stairs with the 
 water for his collapsible rubber bath-tub. 
 
 He thought ruefully of the shining faucets at 
 home, and the ease with which the morning bath was 
 accomplished. Even the howls of the watery ban- 
 shee would now have been as music to his ear. After
 
 SUNDAY IN PARIS 51 
 
 allowing him more than sufficient time for his 
 " tub," Felice would re-ascend, conveying coffee, 
 or, to be more accurate, a dark, strange fluid known 
 to his landlady by that name, and with it would 
 be two rolls, one, invariably, of crescent shape, the 
 other, less certain as to contour, with perhaps the 
 smooth swelling exterior of a mushroom, or else of 
 a puckered and ingrowing regard, not unlike the 
 mouth of a tobacco pouch. 
 
 Just as he had reached the limit of his patience, 
 and was about to give a second and more peremptory 
 summons, the sound of heavy, slowly-advancing feet, 
 accompanied by rhythmic splashing of water, an- 
 nounced the coming of Felice. 
 
 The young man went through his morning rou- 
 tine with slow deliberation. On week days it was 
 usually a scramble, for ahead of him was the Ecole, 
 and work. But what need for haste to-day, when 
 there was nothing to do but live through so many 
 long, sunlit, empty hours? 
 
 When the coffee-tray arrived, upon it, lying be- 
 side the rolls, was a spray of lilac blooms. " With 
 Madame's compliments," explained Felice, nodding 
 toward them. " It is now the season of spring, and 
 these flowers may serve to remind the young mon- 
 sieur of home." The smile turned upon him, even 
 her plainness of feature and the unending drudgery 
 of her life had failed to rob entirely of youth. 
 
 John thanked her, and as long as she remained 
 in the room held the spray in careless, masculine
 
 52 
 
 fashion; but as the door closed upon her, suddenly 
 pressed it against his nostril and his lips. Remind 
 the young monsieur of home! If the kindly souls 
 only knew! 
 
 The light breakfast over, John commenced a rest- 
 less, if restricted, wandering. Sometimes he would 
 look again from the window, as if hoping that his 
 eyes had played him false and that the storm clouds 
 were really there; or, pausing within, would stare 
 unseeing at some familiar object, unconscious that he 
 scowled. 
 
 Before the old-fashioned French table with small 
 mirror hung above, which served him in lieu of 
 dresser, his eyes suddenly met the reflection of his 
 own troubled face. At the woebegone, almost tragic 
 expression, he laughed aloud. John was safe as 
 long as he was able to laugh at his misery. Pass- 
 ing on to the desk, he took up a framed portrait of 
 his mother, and flinging himself down into the re- 
 volving chair, studied it long and silently. 
 
 It was earlier in the day than he usually wrote, 
 but now an unconquerable desire to " have a chat by 
 mail," as she phrased it, made him reach out for pen 
 and paper. Her letters, neatly and chronologically 
 arranged, filled many of the pigeon-holes. Others 
 were still empty, waiting for precious visitors that 
 surely were to come. He read over several of the 
 more recent, and in a short while was interested and 
 immersed in the transcription of his adventure of the 
 week past. He seldom confessed that he was home-
 
 SUNDAY IN PARIS 53 
 
 sick, and now gave a description of student gaieties, 
 blue skies, and general well being, calculated to re- 
 assure the most anxious of mother hearts. 
 
 " Later on," he wrote, " when I have finished this 
 letter, perhaps I shall take one of the little local 
 trains or 'busses, and see whether I cannot find some 
 quaint, attractive suburb, not yet explored. I seem 
 to have been to pretty nearly all of them ; but there 
 is no harm to take another look in to Mrs. Abbey's 
 guide-book. She has specially marked nothing but 
 churches, libraries, picture-galleries and tombs, but 
 maybe I can dig out a new and untried ' pleasure- 
 resort.' I'll stop here, and let you know, later on, 
 what I have been able to find." 
 
 Under this last sentence he made a neat line of 
 asterisks, and smiling at his own childish pretence, 
 reached out for the guide-book. He knew he had 
 not the faintest intention of going. The very writ- 
 ing of the term " pleasure-resort " was accompanied 
 with a twisted smile, but it was worth while 
 " putting up a bluff " if it pleased his mother. He 
 opened the thin leaves at random. " Sevres," " St. 
 Cloud," "Meudon," "St. Germain," " Pontoise." 
 He had been to them all and, apart from a few in- 
 teresting bits of architecture, they remained in his 
 memory as little more than a collocation of unpro- 
 nounceable names. He would try for something in 
 a different direction. The pages went rapidly. 
 Suddenly, without quite knowing why, he checked 
 their flight. " Chatillon," " Fontenay-aux-Roses."
 
 M 
 
 At least " roses " was intelligible ; but on the page 
 opposite his eye caught the printed name of " Rob- 
 inson." He smiled at the incongruity. Of course 
 the French people would never speak it as it was 
 written. The vowels would slip and writhe like wet 
 eels, and most of the consonants be left suspended in 
 the midair of speech. But to him, at least, it was 
 free to remain just "Robinson." Toying with the 
 fancy, he uttered the word aloud, and then restated 
 it, with the name " Jack " in front. If ever he 
 should undertake another trip, it would surely be to 
 Jack Robinson. Poetic justice hinted that such a 
 starting should be quick. John laughed and shook 
 his head. Then he laughed again, without the 
 shake. " By George, I'll do it ! " he announced, 
 slapping his hand down upon the desk. " And I'll 
 go this very day ! " 
 
 The letter was finished in a vein of brightness that 
 did not need his tender hypocrisy to make it real. 
 He sealed and stamped it, then went into his great 
 mahogany amoire in search for real " Sunday 
 clothes." 
 
 The air blowing in through his flowered cur- 
 tains already breathed warmth. Surely he could 
 wear that grey suit, the one his mother had liked 
 best! As the new toilet proceeded, John was sur- 
 prised to find himself whistling. 
 
 A sprig of lilac, carefully detached, was placed in 
 his buttonhole. When all was finished, he could not 
 forbear a pleased glance into the mirror. Colour
 
 SUNDAY IN PARIS 55 
 
 had mounted into his cheeks, and the rich tones con- 
 trasted well with the soft, dull grey of cloth, the 
 grey-green necktie, and the fleck of mauve on his 
 left lapel. 
 
 " Why, I'm a regular sport ! " he told himself. 
 " I wonder what's come over me, anyhow ! I feel as 
 if something was going to happen ! " 
 
 After a hasty look through his pockets to see that 
 he carried sufficient change, he caught up the letter 
 and, still whistling, made his way down the three 
 narrow flights of stairs.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 WHAT BEFELL JOHN AT ROBINSON'S 
 
 AFTER some thought John had decided to avoid, 
 for once, his usual means of locomotion, the omnibus 
 top, and, instead, take the tram line which, his 
 schedule informed him, started from St. Germain- 
 des-Pres, just around the corner. He would go to 
 its terminal, the little town of Sceaux, from which it 
 was but a short walk to his destination. 
 
 The inexplicable feeling of buoyancy persisted. 
 Mrs. Abbey's guide-book had told him little except 
 that " Robinson " was " charmingly situated at the 
 foot of a wooded hill," was noted for its " garden- 
 cafes," and had platforms built up in its large chest- 
 nut trees. 
 
 Next to the homely magnet of its name, it was the 
 thought of these tree-platforms that had allured 
 him. How many years had it been since he, with 
 the " other boys " of Delphi, had built houses up 
 among branches? He found himself wondering a 
 little how a " grown-up " was going to feel in sur- 
 roundings so essentially those of childhood. 
 
 The little yellow car at St. Germain-des-Pres was 
 crowded before its initial start ; but somehow, to-day, 
 he felt neither impatience nor envy. He watched, 
 with interest, the various groups du famille, being 
 
 56
 
 WHAT BEFELL JOHN 57 
 
 particularly attracted to the children. Noting the 
 play of their red lips and the rapidity with which the 
 liquid, colloquial phrases poured through them, he 
 recalled, smilingly, the story of the English lad who, 
 having suffered under a French governess for some 
 years and being brought to Paris for the first time, 
 exclaimed in astonishment, " Why, even the babies 
 speak French over here ! " 
 
 To-day John almost wished himself a French 
 baby. The thought that when his luncheon hour 
 came he would have to order it in the native tongue 
 and partake of what the waiter chose to bring him 
 in a wordless solitude, dulled for a moment the bright- 
 ness which so far had accompanied him. 
 
 He frowned slightly, and stared out from his win- 
 dow. The entire country was in holiday garb. Li- 
 lacs and yellow 'acacias nodded -everywhere. The 
 young grass was starred with dandelions and the 
 small pink and white French daisies. Dominating 
 each group of station buildings stood great chestnut 
 trees in full bloom. Upon spreading, broad-leaved 
 branches were set thousands upon thousands of the 
 stiff little floral candelabra, crowding so thickly that 
 from a little distance each tree flashed like a pyra- 
 mid of snow. 
 
 Among them, John peered in vain for *' plat- 
 forms." These apparently had been reserved as the 
 special prerogative of " Robinson." 
 
 At Sceaux the tram was emptied. John loitered 
 about the small town for a glimpse of the grounds,
 
 58 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 now a public park, that once surrounded the famous 
 chateau of the Due de Maine, and then turning, by 
 guide-book direction, into the Rue du Plessis Piquet 
 (he could never have summoned up the courage to 
 ask for it) walked briskly forward. 
 
 Soon a cluster of trees so incredibly tall and white 
 that they seemed an aggregation of giant tents, told 
 him that his journey was nearing its end. " Jour- 
 neys end in lovers' meeting," came from somewhere, 
 singing through his brain. He laughed a little bit- 
 terly at the sarcasm. Let him get through the day 
 without a too-devastating attack of homesickness, 
 and back to work in the morning; that was the best 
 he could wish for. 
 
 The " wooded hill " rose, according to schedule, 
 just beyond. Groups of merry-makers, already pre- 
 paring for a sylvan dejune, were spreading white 
 cloths upon the grass and beginning to unpack neat 
 hampers. " The trees must all be full," thought 
 John, with dismay. A great chattering, as of hu- 
 man sparrows, from the shady spaces overhead cor- 
 roborated this apprehension. Looking up he saw 
 children hanging precariously over rustic balconies, 
 and noted, what had until then escaped him, that 
 about the great bole of each tree wound a flight of 
 narrow wooden steps. 
 
 From tree to tree he wandered, his chin hopefully 
 upturned, only to find them all pre-empted. A short 
 distance up the hill-slope stood several white, one-
 
 WHAT BEFELL JOHN 59 
 
 storey restaurants with golden signs of invitation, 
 disproportionately large. Before them were sanded 
 terraces on which round iron tables and spidery 
 chairs crowded thickly. Many of these also were 
 occupied. Waiters, with the inevitable snowy servi- 
 ette hung stiffly over the left arm, insinuated them- 
 selves smilingly among the seated groups. 
 
 John walked disconsolately to a far corner of a 
 terrace. No one appeared to be conscious that he 
 existed. He gazed, with even greater longing, into 
 the trees. Now he felt an almost childish petulance. 
 " These idiots must come out here at dew/break," he 
 muttered. 
 
 But there was no use loitering in the scene of his 
 disappointment. He felt no inclination for luncheon 
 so, throwing back his broad shoulders, he stepped 
 out upon the slope to the right and began an ascent 
 of the hill. 
 
 His path, which had been a clean-cut diagonal, 
 suddenly made a sharp turn upward, and appeared 
 to lose itself among overhanging shrubs. Making 
 his way slowly, he stumbled against the foot of a 
 very dilapidated stairway that twisted in wedge- 
 shaped, horizontal flanges up into a tree so old and 
 bent and huge that it might easily have been great- 
 grandfather to the flowering colony whose shining- 
 summits rose just beneath. 
 
 " What luck if this old behemoth should be 
 empty ! " the young man thought. He gave a quick,
 
 60 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 appraising glance aloft. The platform was indeed 
 devoid of tenants. He could just see that aerial 
 benches surrounded the great rough trunk. 
 
 " Good work ! " he cried aloud, and, unheeding the 
 danger of too precipitous an ascent, sprang upward 
 
 The shaky ladder had curved twice, so that he 
 emerged at a point just opposite that from which 
 he had taken his first survey; and it was not until 
 his entire six feet of Americanism stood upright on 
 the shivering floor that he became conscious of a 
 woman's presence. 
 
 She was seated, motionless and upright, against 
 the tree. She did not move or speak at his instan- 
 taneous recoil and suppressed cry of consternation. 
 On the bench beside her lay her broad-brimmed hat. 
 John, even in the first shock, was aesthetically con- 
 scious of the beauty of its wreath of dull pink roses, 
 and the long, drooping streamers of silvery grey. 
 The lady was all in grey, the colour of the tree- 
 shadows, and her face, with its pointed chin, was as 
 white and delicate as the blossoms above her. Her 
 mouth was straight, and had somehow a guarded 
 look, but he could see how the corners of it were 
 quivering in lurking amusement. 
 
 " Oh ! I I beg your pardon," he stammered, 
 feeling backward, with one foot, for the stairs just 
 quitted. " I had no idea that the tree was occu- 
 pied," he went on, as she vouchsafed no word. " I
 
 WHAT BEFELL JOHN 61 
 
 looked before I came up. I assure you that I 
 looked." 
 
 Still the lady did not speak. 
 
 John retraced, miserably, two more of the creak- 
 ing steps. His knees were now on a level with the 
 platform, so that he could look more directly into 
 the white, quiet face. Her lips had become grave; 
 but her eyes, shadowed by a great mass of gold- 
 brown hair, seemed to hold a smile of mockery. 
 
 " Darn the woman ! Why couldn't she say some- 
 thing to help me from feeling quite such a fool? 
 Even if she knew nothing but her own beastly, slip- 
 pery language, she could be decently courteous in 
 that." 
 
 Two more steps back and downward! John felt 
 himself retreating into a martyr's grave. His 
 waistcoat buttons rasped against the projecting 
 boards. With each inch of withdrawal he grew red- 
 der and more indignant. His straw hat, which had 
 been held deferentially in air, was now slapped back 
 into place. 
 
 " I can't speak your language, or I should have 
 apologised in that," he burst out, angrily. With the 
 words he wrenched his eyes from hers, feeling them 
 turned to more useful account in helping him de- 
 scend the absurd stairway. To pitch headlong to 
 earth, probably breaking a leg in the performance, 
 and having to lie there prone until some Samaritan 
 came along and carted him off to a hospital, and
 
 62 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 all the while that strange woman to sit overhead, 
 motionless against her tree, smiling like a sibyl and 
 staring out into space with great shadowed, mock- 
 ing eyes, no, this would be a little more than 
 human fortitude could stand! 
 
 He turned his back deliberately. A sudden soft 
 swish of silk told him that the Lady of the Tree 
 had moved. Her voice, with its trace of foreign ac- 
 cent, came softly. 
 
 " You are an American, are you not ? " 
 
 " Yes," said John, and paused. 
 
 " The men of your country are to be trusted," she 
 remarked thoughtfully, as if to herself. 
 
 John smiled by way of answer. He hoped it was 
 a cynical and worldly smile. He would not meet her 
 eyes again. On the other hand, he made no move 
 toward the next step lower. It was ridiculous 
 enough for a woman to be talking to his head and 
 shoulders; the head, alone, would be even more ab- 
 surd. 
 
 " This is the only tree in Robinson without the 
 very large party in it," the soft voice continued. 
 " If it is your desire to remain " A little French 
 gesture, careless and utterly devoid of coquetry, 
 completed the sentence. 
 
 John turned to her a little unwillingly. He did 
 desire to remain. He was conscious of desiring it 
 greatly, and yet 
 
 " I fear that I could not help feeling myself an 
 intruder," he said, stiffly.
 
 WHAT BEFELL JOHN 63 
 
 The grey clad shoulders shrugged. " It is as 
 monsieur wishes, of course," she rejoined, in a tone 
 of light amusement. " The tree is not mine." 
 
 As he still stared, frowning in indecision, she 
 raised the brim of her recumbent hat and, draw- 
 ing out a book, calmly opened it and began to 
 read. 
 
 John's face burned as if she had struck it. He 
 gave an angry downward thump. The board split 
 under him. He drew back hastily and, throwing a 
 hurried, angry glance to see whether his companion 
 had noticed it, caught her as she pressed a scrap of 
 linen against her lips to check their laughter. 
 
 " What an utter idiot you must be thinking me ! " 
 John blurted out. Any utterance, however crass, 
 would be better than this clownish avoidance of 
 facts. " The truth is, I'm an utter stranger here. 
 I have never spoken to a French lady before, and 
 am absolutely at a loss how to behave." 
 
 " An American, and at a loss ! " she murmured, 
 with a slight lift of the delicate brows. 
 
 " It's the truth." 
 
 She started to reply, checked the words that 
 parted her lips, and gave a low laugh. 
 
 " Don't stop ! " cried John, eagerly. Then he, 
 too, laughed, and all at once the constraint fell from 
 him. " You were going to say something ; and then 
 you stopped." 
 
 She drooped her white lids. The most fascinat- 
 ing, tiny of dimples showed at the upper left corner
 
 64 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 of her mouth. " I fear it would have the sound of 
 great rudeness." 
 
 " Never mind. You couldn't be any ruder than 
 I've been. I want to hear." 
 
 " Then you shall," she acquiesced, demurely. " I 
 was merely going to ask, monsieur, why, if you are 
 at a loss when you arrive, did you have the wish 
 to arrive? " 
 
 "Arrive where?" he fenced. "Here at Robin- 
 son's, or Paris? " 
 
 "Oh," she rejoined, with her delicate shrug, 
 " anywhere, that is away from America." 
 
 " It was not for pleasure ; you can be sure of 
 that," the young man asseverated. " I am here for 
 hard work only." 
 
 At this she gave a long-drawn " Ah-h-h ! " and 
 afterward questioned gently, though always with the 
 little undercurrent of banter, " and how long has 
 it been ? This coming not-f or-pleasure ? " 
 
 " A whole year," he groaned. " A year to-day." 
 
 She was silent, but her dark eyes rested on him 
 kindly. 
 
 " Then this day is by way of being the what 
 do you say the anniversaree ? " 
 
 " Yes," he clipped briefly, and began to stare out 
 among the branches. 
 
 He felt that she leaned closer. " And there are 
 at home in America those you miss and care 
 for? "
 
 WHAT BEFELL JOHN 65 
 
 " Only my mother." As an afterthought he flung 
 in, " and my friends." 
 
 She laughed softly. He had never before real- 
 ised what subtle suggestions and intonations could 
 be transmitted through a laugh. 
 
 " Ahe, the pauvre friends," she sighed. " They 
 do come so long a way after the mother ! " 
 
 " Well, they do ! " he muttered, rather thickly. 
 Something had suddenly risen in his throat. The 
 strange woman's voice, as she whispered the name 
 " mother," vibrated like a harp string that stretched 
 the length of his homesick soul. Through the deep 
 silence that now fell he could hear the echoes shiver. 
 He did not wish to speak, only to be there, silent, 
 and listen as the harmonies faded, one by one. 
 
 At length her voice came to him, that wonder- 
 ful, vibrant voice with its minor, upward lift. 
 
 " Do you chance to know well the Galerie du Lux- 
 embourg? " 
 
 John pulled himself together with a start. At 
 first her question seemed a discord. 
 
 " No," he managed to answer. " I have never 
 been there." 
 
 " I should have thought " she began, then again 
 checked herself. This was, apparently, a little man- 
 nerism of her own. 
 
 " Yes," he queried, politely. 
 
 " I asked, monsieur," she explained, gently, " be- 
 cause there is in the Galerie du Luxembourg the most
 
 66 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 tender and beautiful portrait of a mother in the 
 whole world. It is of the great artist, Whistlei*." 
 
 " I have heard of it, of course," he said with an 
 attempt at commonplaceness. As he spoke, he 
 passed his hand along his forehead and up through 
 the thick clustering hair. " Once or twice I 
 started, just to see that picture, but somehow - 
 Already he had caught her trick of stopping short. 
 
 To this she said nothing. John, seating himself 
 for the first time, looked squarely into the face now 
 on a level with his own. Was it his imagination, or 
 did she imperceptibly shrink away? And was that 
 a look of hurt, almost of fear, that deepened in her 
 eyes ? 
 
 " Are you too parted from a mother that you 
 love? " he broke out, as if impelled. 
 
 Now the shrinking was unmistakable. She took 
 her eyes from his, and straightened her shoulders 
 against the tree. " I have no mother," she answered, 
 in a colourless voice. " She is dead." 
 
 John bit his under lip, and cursed himself for a 
 clumsy fool. " I cannot tell you how sorry " he 
 was beginning, when she cut him short. It was but 
 a single gesture, an imperious lifting and downward 
 stroke of the hand. John fancied that he saw the 
 gleam of a dagger. 
 
 " Cause yourself no distress, monsieur." Her 
 words, too, had the glint of steel. " I did not love 
 my mother while she lived." 
 
 Again silence fell. A chill, as of autumn, crept
 
 WHAT BEFELL JOHN 67 
 
 into it. From a great distance could be heard the 
 chime of human laughter, the click of knives and 
 forks against porcelain, and the hoot of a motor- 
 horn speeding toward them on the road from Sceaux. 
 
 Unahle to endure the strain, John rose and walked 
 to the edge of the platform. 
 
 " That is well," the clear, icy tones encouraged 
 him. " Please feel yourself entirely at ease, mon- 
 sieur. I will now resume my book, a French 
 novel, of course." Her brief laugh was a sting. 
 
 The young man half circled the tree, taking his 
 place on the bench as far away from his companion 
 as was possible. He was repelled, and in some 
 vague, yet poignant way, cheated. Why should she 
 have said thus openly, to a stranger, that she had 
 not loved her mother? It would scarcely have been 
 worse had she stated a disbelief in God ! Probably 
 she was one of those " advanced " women thinkers 
 who take delight in outraging the creeds and sensi- 
 bilities of others. Certainly she did not look like 
 his preconceived idea of a suffragette, or even an 
 atheist. But what need to tell him that about her 
 mother? And the parting fling about the book was 
 almost childish. To John's western mind all mod- 
 ern French novels were merely text-books for sensu- 
 alists. She was evidently determined to foster no 
 illusions. 
 
 He sat very still. From time to time she turned 
 a page. As far as she was concerned, he had al- 
 ready ceased to exist. Once, as the breeze fresh-
 
 68 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 ened, there was a great flutter of paper, followed 
 by a slap, and an impatient French exclamation; 
 after which the rhythmic, slow turning went on. 
 
 The moments passed whether swiftly or tardily 
 he had no power to determine. The thought of 
 looking at his watch did not occur. In spite of what 
 he consciously termed his disappointment, there was 
 unmistakable excitement in knowing that she was 
 so near, that he had only to lift his voice and she 
 would answer him. But did he wish further speech 
 with so unnatural a woman? 
 
 A soft rustling of silk warned him that she had 
 risen. He held his breath to follow every sound. 
 The book was laid down with a soft thud, and now, 
 evidently, she was taking up her hat. The process 
 of readjusting this very charming article of attire 
 was a lengthy one. She seemed hours at it. Now 
 she was on her feet, moving across the boards. Was 
 it not a matter of sheer decency that he should offer 
 to assist her down the precarious wooden cork- 
 screw ? 
 
 He was bending forward to rise, when suddenly 
 she stood before him, tall, slender and grey-clad, 
 against the green and white tapestry of the branches. 
 
 " No, monsieur. Remain seated. It is my 
 wish,'" she commanded. The swift dagger-gesture 
 pinned him to the bench. " I am now to depart 
 alone. But first it is for my own satisfaction 
 I desire to say two things." 
 
 " You need not fear that I shall attempt to ac-
 
 WHAT BEFELL JOHN 69 
 
 company you," exclaimed John. " But in the part 
 of the world where I come from, men don't remain 
 seated while women stand." At the words he sprang 
 up, his hat held aside, his eyes, rather stern and 
 masterful, set squarely on hers. 
 
 " As you will," she shrugged. 
 
 " Well, I am listening." 
 
 She gave him a long look. Her flexible lips trem- 
 bled with something like scorn, but which quickly 
 changed to pathos. " This book," she began, ex- 
 tending it toward him. " It was silly and untrue to 
 call it a novel." 
 
 He took it into his hand. " ' The Divine Mys- 
 tery,' by Allen Upward," he read aloud. " And in 
 English!" 
 
 " Yes, it is such books that I read. But when 
 I saw I had given you the shock a foolish desire 
 came well, never mind! As to the thing that 
 shocked you " 
 
 In the pause, her eyes fell, and when she spoke 
 her voice held bitterness, but an intense sorrow. " It 
 has been the tragedy of all my life that I could not 
 love my mother. You are the happy one, mon- 
 sieur." 
 
 Swiftly as a shadow passes, she was gone. 
 
 Involuntarily the young man moved to the other 
 side of the tree. At the top step she paused, look- 
 ing around over one shoulder. "Perhaps thi "j is 
 a third thing to say," she smiled, though her eyes 
 were still dark and tragic.
 
 70 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " You took me for a Frenchwoman, but I am 
 American all all American ! " she laid one slen- 
 der hand upon her heart. "And I am as friend- 
 less here as yourself."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WHISTLER'S PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 
 
 IN reviewing through many hours to come the events 
 of that memorable day, John was never quite clear 
 as to the manner in which the remainder of it 
 passed. 
 
 There was a hazy impression of slowly gathering 
 darkness and a shrill tree-toad. Then he had me- 
 chanically descended, step by step, the winding lad- 
 der and, making his way to the well-nigh deserted 
 terraces, ordered the first articles of food that came 
 into his dazed mind. He had eaten mechanically, 
 without caring what it was his knife cut or his fork 
 lifted. 
 
 His brain was a forest in which all the shy hidden 
 denizens had been suddenly aroused. Thoughts and 
 startled imaginings peered, as it were, from secret 
 nooks, and a covey of the bolder stepped forth, fol- 
 lowing into the open the trail of a shadow-grey, 
 swaying figure, crowned with pink roses. If, for a 
 moment, the questing fancies paused, one turn of 
 the white, pointed chin over a shadow shoulder, and 
 they rushed forward in a more ardent pursuit. 
 
 Each word that had been spoken, the intonation 
 of every sentence, not only of the Strange Woman, 
 
 but his own halting, inadequate speech was regis- 
 
 71
 
 72 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 tered in memory as though upon the steel disc of a 
 phonograph. 
 
 Now he began to recast, in more telling phrases, 
 his share of the brief, unsatisfactory dialogue. 
 " Wit," according to the French cynic, " can be de- 
 fined as something brilliant one might have said, 
 and didn't ! " John was to prove for himself, many 
 times over, the truth of this discouraging axiom. 
 He grew bitterly resentful of his own narrow and 
 unsympathetic attitude. The disclosure which, at 
 the onset, had instinctively repelled him, became 
 gradually the source of an almost tender compassion. 
 How swift he had been to misjudge! 
 
 He had dared to think that high, free soul indeli- 
 cate when, from the first, it was he who had been 
 crude, a conventional prig, a dull, self-righteous 
 Pharisee ! Had he not shut his warped mind against 
 her as a hypochondriac, at the first breath of pure 
 air, hastens to lower his creaking window, he might 
 have found words of solace and of strength. 
 
 She, too, was lonely. How her dark eyes had 
 deepened as she said it ! Fate, itself, had perhaps 
 brought them together, and he, by his shallow 
 bigotry, had let the opportunity go by. With each 
 recurrence of this devastating thought, John cursed 
 himself. 
 
 Yes, she was gone! Gone as utterly and irre- 
 ^cably as the gleam of a bird's wing over water. 
 While he had stared at the bright reflection, debat- 
 ing whether or not it was quite to be desired, the
 
 PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 73 
 
 winged guest had vanished. Well, he deserved it. 
 Regret was worse than useless. She was out of his 
 grey life forever, and had left no clue, not even that 
 of a name. In this huge ferment of a city there 
 was not one chance in millions that they would meet 
 again. To attempt to do so would be as useless as 
 regret, and more humiliating. Yet at the moment 
 of making this despondent asseveration he was con- 
 scious, down in his heart, that next Sunday would 
 find him early at the chestnut tree. 
 
 He did not turn his care-laden shoulders away 
 from Robinson until the suburban arc lights had 
 begun to flash, and the sky above distant Paris trem- 
 bled into a dome of faint, ethereal radiance. During 
 the tram-ride home he found himself looking about, 
 like a love-sick schoolboy, for the hope of a glimpse 
 of long grey draperies and a pink-wreathed hat. 
 
 Alighting at St. Germain-des-Pres he made his 
 way to the pavement in such unseeing haste that he 
 very nearly overturned the wheeled booth of an old 
 flower-seller, just rearranging her wares for decamp- 
 ment. Among the blue ragged-robins and stiff yel- 
 low iris, his eye caught a mass of close-set roses. 
 Pointing toward them, he tried to ask the price. As 
 if released by a spring, the old crone wheeled about, 
 exploding into the geyser of liquid vocables that his 
 soul dreaded. John smiled deprecatingly and shook 
 his head, to let her know he couldn't understand. 
 At this her cracked voice leaped higher. She made 
 wild gesticulations toward her store, apparently giv-
 
 74 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 ing the pedigree of each separate bloom. John 
 drew out a franc which he held conspicuously in his 
 left hand while, with the right, he leaned over, select- 
 ing a modest posey. Far from being placated either 
 by John's franc or his restraint, the beldame's ex- 
 citement flared into a veritable St. Vitus dance of 
 rage. She tossed her lean arms like branches, and 
 seemed to be calling down the heavens as witness to 
 the effrontery of this American who had dared to 
 offer a daughter of France so paltry a coin. 
 
 A gendarme, wearing soiled red trousers and a 
 bored expression, sauntered up to them. By this 
 time a ring of amused, partly contemptuous onlook- 
 ers had gathered. John, now as red as the trousers, 
 though more cleanly, attempted to explain, by ges- 
 tures, the facts of the absurd situation. The officer 
 nodded, took the franc between a distasteful thumb 
 and a crooked forefinger, tossed it directly into the 
 woman's distorted face, and then gave a brief, per- 
 emptory command. Still muttering objurgations in 
 which the word " Americaine " was most frequently 
 to be heard, the old witch caught up the entire mass 
 of roses, which she held with obvious unwillingness 
 toward John, her small black eyes flashing fury. 
 The young man took about a third, thanked the 
 policeman, and fled down the nearest side street. 
 
 " Whew ! " he said aloud, as the last excited voice 
 behind him faded. " That was a hard-won victory, 
 and the reward isn't much, after all." 
 
 He glanced down at his doubtful prize. In the
 
 PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 75 
 
 dusk of the secluded street they made scarcely a blur 
 of white. He lifted them tentatively, half-minded to 
 fling them away; but, as if in protest, a faint, ex- 
 quisite odour began to rise. He had not noticed 
 there in the chestnut tree that the Strange Woman 
 had worn perfume. In fact, he was certain that 
 she was not the sort of a woman addicted to scent 
 bottles, and yet, when she had moved, especially 
 that time she had leaned so close and whispered the 
 word " mother," there had been about her a subtle 
 essence distilled in the same Persian garden where 
 these roses grew. 
 
 As he entered the hallway and began the ascent 
 of his narrow stairs, the fragrance mounted with 
 him. On reaching his room, he first turned on every 
 light and then stared about for some vessel or utensil 
 in which his now-cherished booty could be placed. 
 There was nothing at all but the washbowl and 
 pitcher. He took the former, placed it in the centre 
 of his draughting-board, filled it with water and ar- 
 ranged, with care, each separate spray. 
 
 That night John's sleep was restless. He 
 dreamed incessantly a series of disconnected hap- 
 penings chiefly concerned with gesticulating crones, 
 sneering gendarmes, creaking stairways and drifting 
 chestnut florets. For the first time in many months 
 his last waking thoughts had been neither of home, 
 nor a resume of the following day's work. 
 
 Next morning he woke early. There was an un- 
 familiar presence in the room. Lifting his head he
 
 76 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 saw the roses. He sank back with a smile. At least 
 he had caught a feather from the lost vision's wing! 
 
 When Felice entered with the coffee she, too, 
 sniffed the spicy air. At sight of the washbowl, a 
 gleam of Eve's knowledge flickered in her eyes, to 
 be at once smothered under discreetly drooping lids. 
 To her French mind the pink roses had but one pos- 
 sible meaning, and in her overworked soul she was 
 glad for the lonely young monsieur. 
 
 All during the week John worked as never before. 
 If, at times, the straight lines of an Ionic column 
 threatened to waver into soft draperies, he only 
 laughed, and held his ruler in a tightened grasp. 
 More than once his French instructor was surprised 
 into that potent word of commendation " gentile." 
 The other fellows may have scowled with added 
 ferocity, but John did not see them. The days went 
 by with incredible swiftness. 
 
 During the middle of the week the thought came 
 to him that he knew very little of Paris as a whole. 
 A few streets immediately surrounding his lodgings 
 and the Ecole formed his only familiar ground. It 
 was for convenience that he had chosen the district 
 west of the Seine, known as the Left Bank ; and while 
 the Bohemian Latin Quarter seldom saw him he was 
 well aware that the fashionable dwellers on the other 
 side of the river generally referred to their own 
 district as the " Right Bank," and that in which he 
 lived the " Wrong." 
 
 Topographically, at least, the favoured " Right "
 
 PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 77 
 
 one could be achieved by the mere passage on foot, 
 across the little iron bridge called " Pont des Arts." 
 Its farther end led almost to the steps of the Louvre, 
 from which a walk to the Jardin du Tuileries and 
 the Champs Elysee would occupy but a few brisk mo- 
 ments. 
 
 Having made this resolution, John left his work 
 an hour early and went to his lodgings where he 
 donned his " Sunday clothes," completing the smart 
 effect by a cluster of tiny roses in his buttonhole. 
 The perfect spring weather was in itself an invita- 
 tion. The young man swung along whistling, under 
 his breath, snatches of tunes learned at home. 
 Strangely enough, however, it was not of home that 
 he was thinking. In crossing the bridge he paused 
 to look down from the iron hand-rail to the crowded 
 " excursion boats " which spring brings out upon 
 the Seine as surely as it does the green leaves upon 
 the trees. At the very prow of a specially smart 
 and shining little craft his eye caught the upper sur- 
 face of a pink parasol. He frowned, and began to 
 watch it as a terrier does a rat-hole. The day was 
 suspended; he would know no peace until he could 
 see just what sort of a pleasure-seeker that bright 
 convex bubble hid. A sudden lilt of wind, and side- 
 wise dip of the parasol disclosed an extremely solid 
 French " maman " gowned in yellow. At this he 
 drew a quick breath, as of relief, and then, realising 
 the import of his emotions, coloured like a schoolboy, 
 uttered an impatient " T-s-c-h ! " and hurried on,
 
 78 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 not pausing again until the broad thoroughfare of 
 the Champs Elysees was reached. 
 
 Here, too, there were chestnut trees, a double row 
 of them at each side, but trees so meticulously 
 clipped, so identical in height, shape and apparently 
 in the number of stiffly upheld racemes of flowers, 
 that they hardly appeared to be a living growth, 
 rather as a sort of daylight candelabra stuck regu- 
 larly into the earth. 
 
 In the shade of one of these pretences, and quite 
 near to the curb, he acquired, for the sum of two 
 centimes an hour, one of the spidery iron chairs. 
 The inevitable small table was near. He ordered a 
 cafe au lait, tipped everybody within reach, and then 
 settled himself to the enjoyment of watching. A 
 slow-moving, incessant stream of open carriages and 
 motor-cars drove past him, making for the fashion- 
 able Bois de Boulogne. Exquisitely dressed women 
 leaned back among cushions, their faces set into white 
 and faintly smiling masks, but their eyes alert. 
 Often with them were children, charming children, 
 as composed and perfectly attired as their elders. 
 John's honest heart shrank a little to note how many 
 of the little girls were painted, and had about their 
 childish eyes the dark, outlining charcoal lines of 
 black. Sometimes there would be a man along, but 
 no one, especially in Paris, ever noticed the accom- 
 panying man. 
 
 In spite of this entertainment, John returned
 
 PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 79 
 
 home feeling that his venture had not been altogether 
 a success. 
 
 Again on Saturday afternoon he sought the arti- 
 ficial chestnut tree and the spidery seat, and again 
 returned unsatisfied. Sunday morning he dressed 
 early. Felice, noting that the washbowl had been 
 kept refilled during the week with fresh roses, felt 
 that she knew the reason of his haste. To himself 
 he admitted a curiosity to learn how early those 
 French idiots really went to Robinson, in order to 
 pre-empt the trees. But before starting out to solve 
 this perplexing question, there was a letter from his 
 mother that must be answered. 
 
 He drew it out from the allotted pigeon-hole, and 
 began a third reading. It was the usual gentle, 
 desultory chronicle of small domestic events, tran- 
 scribed in the old-fashioned, sloping hand that always 
 made him think of thin grass bent all one way in an 
 autumn wind. A bit of local gossip was occasionally 
 slipped in. " Walter has sold another factory site 
 down near the river flats. I understand it is for 
 making brooms. The last was cider vinegar. It 
 is a very good thing for the town to have so many 
 factories. Your Uncle Walter is becoming a very 
 successful man." 
 
 It was rarely that she transcribed unsavoury 
 news. John, frowning over the next item, felt that 
 matters were indeed bad with the Armstrongs, if 
 his little mother had allowed herself to speak so
 
 80 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 freely. " Delphi is full of disturbing rumours about 
 May Armstrong and her husband. Public opinion 
 is much divided. I have not been willing to listen 
 to details, for I wish to be friends to both, and if 
 possible, be able to do something toward their recon- 
 ciliation. But Clara tells me that May is on the 
 point of starting to Reno. I trust that this is a 
 mistake. Divorce is a terrible thing, no matter what 
 the cause. A woman who has taken a man for bet- 
 ter or worse, in God's sight, should cleave to him 
 through everything." 
 
 John sighed as he turned this page, and wished 
 that the Strange Woman had told him a little more. 
 
 On the third page was a statement which, a week 
 earlier, would have brought him a thrill of excited 
 pleasure. " Now I have something to say that will 
 really interest you. About an hour ago young 
 Charles Abbey rushed in. The lad is almost beside 
 himself with joy. His mother has practically prom- 
 ised to let him go abroad this year, starting in July. 
 I do not feel quite certain that she will do so, and 
 neither does Charles, but at least there is a greater 
 probability than ever before. Mrs. Abbey is a 
 worthy, intellectual woman, and I believe she means 
 to be a good mother, but I can't help feeling that 
 she treats Charles too much like a child. How can 
 she expect ever to be as proud of him as I am of my 
 boy, if she gives him no chance of developing his own 
 character ? " 
 
 " God bless that mother o' mine ! " exclaimed
 
 PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 81 
 
 John, fervently and aloud. " I wonder how it hap- 
 pens that she has so much more sense than all the 
 other women in Delphi ! " 
 
 But Charlie's coming! That needed to be 
 thought over. Even if old " tight-wad " for it 
 was by this opprobrious term that John usually 
 thought of Mrs. Abbey finally decided to unloose 
 her purse and apron-strings at once, it would not 
 be until July. A few weeks still remained to the 
 present month. 
 
 " Oh, well," said John, throwing back his head as 
 one does when a decision has been reached, " I hope 
 he will ! It will be bully to see somebody right from 
 home. And, by, say, the middle of July " 
 Thought and speech were checked by a single rein. 
 Even to himself he did not wish to say, " If, by the 
 middle of July I have caught no glimpse of her, I 
 shall feel the quest over." 
 
 He bent to his desk, and plunged into the letter. 
 The excursion of the previous Sunday was given at 
 length. He described the happy French groups, the 
 old trees, the wealth of snowy flowers and the quaint 
 tree-platforms. Of the Strange Woman no word 
 was written. When this was finished, he dashed off 
 a bright, cordial note to Charlie, urging him to 
 hurry over, and saying that doubtless lodgings for 
 him could be found under the same roof. 
 
 His scribal duties over, he leaned for a cluster of 
 the roses this rite was becoming a habit and 
 started off for Robinson.
 
 83 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 The big tree, so eagerly sought, was indeed un- 
 occupied, and all day long, except for his solitary 
 presence, remained so. At the luncheon hour he de- 
 scended gloomily. After the lonely meal he wan- 
 dered about, and finally achieved the intention, so 
 brilliantly frustrated the week before, of mounting 
 to the very summit of the wooded hill. 
 
 The following week crawled by slowly. Once 
 more he went to the Champs Elysees; and this time 
 *' blew himself," as he would have said, for a taxi. 
 Recklessly unheeding the regular tick of the taxi- 
 metre, he drove to the end of the Bois and back. 
 The exorbitant bill was paid without protest, and 
 the scowl accompanying the transaction was engen- 
 dered less by outraged thrift than sentient disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 On the following Sunday though he had as- 
 sured himself more than once that nothing should 
 induce him to take a trip in the direction of the now- 
 hated Robinson somehow he arrived there, again 
 at an early hour. By this, self-deception was 
 abandoned. Grimly he faced the facts, and even 
 more grimly promised himself that, against this 
 day's banality should be written, in large letters, the 
 words, " Never again.'* He returned to his lodg- 
 ings early and flinging himself upon the bed aban- 
 doned himself to the bitter luxury of homesickness 
 and desolation. 
 
 The third Sunday was ushered in with a steady 
 downpour of rain. While still in bed John heard
 
 PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 83 
 
 the patter against his windows and the dismal 
 gurgling in the corner down-spout. He told him- 
 self that he was glad. Of course it was not con- 
 ceivable that he should have started a third time for 
 that wretched, gnarled, ear-wiggy chestnut tree. 
 Nevertheless he was pleased to hear rain. 
 
 He did not leave his rooms until the luncheon hour. 
 It was hard work to make his letter for the day a 
 cheerful one. During the writing, however, he 
 thanked Heaven several times over that he had not 
 mentioned the Strange Woman to his mother. 
 
 A second letter was written to Charlie and after 
 that an urgent one to Charlie's mother. By now 
 the hope of the boy's coming seemed the one human 
 gleam in the dark social firmament above him. Even 
 were it but to be companionship at his lonely, de- 
 tested meals, the thought was enough to cheer. 
 
 He glanced toward the clock. Already it was 
 after one. He might as well go out to " feed " and 
 have it over. He threw on his tan raglan, caught 
 up the small waterproof hat that went with it, and 
 started out with the half-formed determination of 
 " turning in " at the first opened door, whether of 
 wine-shop, patissierie, or cafe. Eating was a bore 
 at best. 
 
 The carrying out of this desultory programme 
 found him seated near the door of a very modest 
 restaurant on the Rue Visconti. The rain now flung 
 itself down in flat sheets. He gained a melancholy 
 satisfaction in watching the streaming umbrellas
 
 84) THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 pass, and noting the bent, protesting shoulders of 
 the persons bearing them. In fancy he heard the 
 drip of rain among broad chestnut leaves. There 
 would be rivulets, black and tortuous, coursing 
 along the rugged bark, and a mournful chorus of 
 tree-toads overhead. On the sodden platform, dank 
 florets would be crushed as by a high-heeled grey 
 suede shoe. How foolish the old trees must be feel- 
 ing! If any one were mad enough to visit them 
 to-day, she could be sure of no intrusion. 
 
 All at once the rain ceased. The proprietor 
 ambled smilingly toward his one guest, rubbing his 
 hands together, and, to judge by the excited nods 
 he gave toward the doorway, congratulating John 
 that the unpleasant weather was coming to an end. 
 The young man achieved something in the nature of 
 a smile, and tried to look as though he understood. 
 By the time his bill was paid, and the sky again over 
 him, he saw that indeed the heavy clouds were part- 
 ing, and brilliant patches of blue showed here and 
 there. Instead of being pleased, John muttered 
 anathemas against the improved condition. Well, 
 at any rate it was now late in the day for Robinson. 
 There would be no driving in the Bois. He walked 
 on, with no sense of direction, until he saw the one 
 finished tower of St. Sulpice. He was in the little 
 Rue de Vaugirard, and down a short vista appeared 
 the open portals of some public building. The 
 Galerie du Luxembourg ! Of course it was here.
 
 PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 85 
 
 And what an ideal afternoon for his first glimpse of 
 the " mother picture " ! 
 
 Cheered by the acquisition of an objective, he hur- 
 ried forward. He had been vaguely aware that the 
 Luxembourg was a small gallery, but in spite of the 
 preknowledge, now paused in something like won- 
 der at the unpretentious, almost domestic appear- 
 ance of its low-fronted pile. The halls within were 
 not as large as those of many residence chateaux. 
 
 The corridor and its small, branching rooms held, 
 apparently, nothing but sculpture. In common with 
 other arrogant young men of his profession John 
 granted to this art a right to exist chiefly as an ad- 
 dition to, or embellishment of, architecture. The 
 one exception to this arbitrary rule was in the case 
 of portrait sculpture. He came to an involuntary 
 standstill before Rodin's marvellous personification 
 of Victor Hugo, and conceded, rather grudgingly, 
 a thrill at sight of the sensuous, exquisite " kiss." 
 Deliberately turning his back on further tempta- 
 tions, he strode into the picture gallery, moving, by 
 instinct, toward that long, cool western wall upon 
 which hangs one of Whistler's supreme creations. 
 
 At his first sight, John felt a little dizzy. He 
 closed his eyes, and stretched a hand out gropingly 
 toward the cushioned back of a long, red seat, placed 
 there for the benefit of those who wish to brood and 
 ponder on this picture. He did not sit, only, for 
 an instant, steadied himself, and then moved slowly
 
 86 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 forward. " Is it not one of the miracles," some- 
 thing at his elbow seemd to murmur, " that the hu- 
 man, the immortal note should be so sustained, and 
 yet the great creative impulse not be cooled or low- 
 ered? " 
 
 The tone was gentle, friendly, and as casual as 
 though resuming a sentence just interrupted. 
 
 John did not dare to look. He had been self- 
 tricked too often. Of course it was exactly the kind 
 of thing she would have said, granting for the mo- 
 ment the bodily presence of the not-impossible she. 
 
 The voice came again, this time in low laughter. 
 " Many have found it overwhelming. You are quite 
 pale, m'sieur! Will you not come to the bench until 
 your faintness passes ? "
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 JOHN ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 
 
 IT was all true, then, and no mere figment of an ex- 
 cited imagination. The enhanced perfume, rising 
 to his nostrils, came neither from his own small clus- 
 ter nor from the garden of his dreams. 
 
 At last he found courage to turn. The long, grey 
 lines were moving from him toward the couch ; the 
 pointed chin above the grey shoulder beckoned. He 
 followed, still walking like a man in a trance. 
 Again he heard the soft, slightly mocking laugh. 
 The sound pricked him. He squared his jaw, an- 
 grily calling himself a fool. What was the power 
 of this Strange Woman that the mere fact of her 
 presence should rob him both of manners and self- 
 control ? 
 
 She seated herself with her usual slow ease. Tak- 
 ing his position at a slightly ungracious distance he 
 leaned forward, and deliberately focussed his mind 
 and his thoughts upon the canvas. He found, much 
 to his satisfaction, that its power went far toward 
 nullifying the magnetic " pull " of his now silent 
 and motionless companion. His eyes fed hungrily. 
 This was not merely Whistler's mother, but a com- 
 posite, a magical transfiguration of all gentle, de- 
 
 87
 
 88 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 voted, home-staying mothers of all the world. The 
 picture might well have been painted in Delphi. 
 
 Now his attention, so strenuously set, began to 
 waver. He tried in vain to hold it to a focus. The 
 Strange Woman had not moved or spoken ; he could 
 see nothing of her but the pointed toe of a grey 
 shoe, yet he was poignantly conscious of the fact 
 that she was watching him. It was a brief struggle, 
 and the human presence won. He wheeled about 
 with disconcerting swiftness, but the steady eyes un- 
 der the wide hat-brim did not falter. His own flick- 
 ered once, and he felt the blood surge into his face, 
 but he forced himself into as steady a returning 
 gaze. There was just visible, through her thick 
 lashes, the faintly amused, ironic regard which 
 matched the tone of voice that always stung him. 
 This was the time, if ever, to prove himself a man. 
 
 " Since you were kind enough to speak to me just 
 now," he began, choosing his words carefully, " I 
 hope I do not presume too much in thinking that 
 you are willing to be friends, or, at least," he added, 
 " to be acquaintances." 
 
 Her eyes went to the picture. He felt a small 
 thrill of elation. This was his first triumph. Al- 
 ways, before, it had been his eyes that turned away. 
 
 " You know nothing at all of me," she said in an- 
 swer. 
 
 " I know enough. You are an American, and you 
 are lonely. Please say that we may be friends," he 
 pleaded.
 
 ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 89 
 
 Now she slowly faced him. Her lips had taken 
 on a straight line. 
 
 " I am John Hemingway. John Hemingway, of 
 Delphi, Iowa," he hurried on, as if wishing to retard 
 her decision. " Doesn't that combination make you 
 smile? " 
 
 She shook her head slightly. Her eyes were dark 
 and grave. " I am Inez de Pierrefond," the vibrant 
 voice stated. " Several years ago I left the man 
 to whom I was married. De Pierrefond was my 
 maiden name. I am called Madame de Pierrefond." 
 
 John held himself well in hand. Somehow, all 
 along, he had known that she was married. There 
 was something in the wistful, charming face that did 
 not belong to happy girlhood. 
 
 " Marriage is an experience yet before me," he re- 
 sponded, in a pleasant, commonplace tone. 
 
 The steady eyes continued to search his very soul. 
 
 " Among good, conventional women, such as 
 that " she gave a swift gesture toward the picture 
 " you know well how such a step as mine is re- 
 garded." 
 
 A certain phrase in his mother's last letter shot 
 through the young man's mind. In spite of it he 
 managed to answer, in the same even voice, " Each 
 person lives his own life." 
 
 " I deliberately left my husband. I deserted him," 
 she persisted. 
 
 John gave an impatient movement of the shoul- 
 ders. "What of it? It surely is no affair of mine."
 
 90 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Then, as she seemed determined to adhere to the som- 
 bre topic, he added, " Doubtless you had excellent 
 reasons." 
 
 " The world your world Monsieur 'Eming- 
 way, might not so think." 
 
 " For the present moment, at least, I have no 
 world but this. You and I are its only occupants. 
 Say that we can be friends." 
 
 " It is assured that still you wish it ? " 
 
 "Still wish it! Of course. Why not!" he re- 
 monstrated. Then, seeing that the shadow did not 
 lift, he broke out, vehemently. " Look here ! What 
 sort of a narrow-minded cad do you take me for, 
 anyway ? " 
 
 " You informed me, of Delphi, Iowa," she mur- 
 mured, and his heart gave a sudden leap at sight of 
 a tiny, recalcitrant dimple. 
 
 " That's enough to account for anything," he ad- 
 mitted, with a grin. " Now let's see if you are any 
 better off. I'll dare you to tell me the name of your 
 home town." 
 
 " Oh, mine," she smiled. " Mine is not by way 
 of being a town at all. It was a beeg plantation 
 a sugar plantation in southern Louisiana." 
 
 " A pretty far cry from Delphi, I must allow," he 
 laughed. " It doesn't sound like America at all." 
 
 " It is not America. It is the South," she an- 
 swered, composedly. 
 
 " Oh, come now. There's no North or South any 
 longer. We're just one big country."
 
 ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 91 
 
 " Yet it was you who just said, it had not the 
 sound of America." At his discomfiture she laughed, 
 a little shaking, gurgling laugh, like that of a child. 
 
 John looked like a sheepish schoolboy. " You 
 score one," he grimaced. " As you are strong, be 
 merciful, and tell me more about it. Was yours, like 
 mine, a happy childhood? " 
 
 " Yes, it was most happee," she answered, slowly. 
 " But it is very far away." 
 
 The brooding look stole back. John felt that he 
 could not endure another lapse into gloom. He cast 
 about, desperately, for some new, inocuous train of 
 thought. 
 
 " You mus not forget," the low voice beside him 
 now reiterated, " that I left my husband voluntarily." 
 
 He had been too slow for her. " Oh, hang 
 your " he burst forth ; then checking himself, stam- 
 mered, " I beg your pardon. I meant to say, never 
 mind him. You are free now." 
 
 " There was never a divorce." The crisp words 
 came like hail from a summer sky. 
 
 John scowled into space. His eyes fell on the 
 portrait which, for a few moments, had been forgot- 
 ten. Not realising just why he did so, he stood up. 
 The long, grey figure rose beside him. 
 
 " Ah ! It is not well for the good maman to hear 
 the uglee word divorce," she deprecated, mock- 
 ingly. With a little shrug she swept past and be- 
 fore him, making for the exit. 
 
 John strode in pursuit. He laid a detaining hand
 
 92 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 upon her arm. She wheeled, with flashing eyes. 
 " Monsieur ! " she exclaimed, giving a look downward 
 to the offending hand. 
 
 But John had a temper of his own. 
 
 " Madame de Pierrefond," he said sternly, " we 
 are going to have this out here and now. I asked 
 for your friendship ; but I don't want it at the price 
 of my self-respect." 
 
 " No? " she derided, as if in utter astonishment. 
 
 " You intrigue me, monsieur ! And what, if it is 
 safe to ask, do you consider the necessaree precau- 
 tions for your self-respect? " 
 
 He did not answer for some moments but, instead, 
 drew back, looking down steadily upon her. 
 
 To-day the grey draperies were subtinted and shot 
 through with silvery pink. At her belt she wore a 
 cluster of pink roses that might have grown on the 
 same vine with those in the buttonhole of the man 
 who now so sternly regarded her. She was more 
 charming, more graceful and more exasperating than 
 all his memories. 
 
 In spite of her icy composure, the strain began to 
 tell. 
 
 " Well, monsieur," she taunted, " having fully ap- 
 praised me " An outflung hand completed the 
 sentence. 
 
 " For one thing," he stated, " I don't care to be 
 called monsieur." 
 
 " I wasn't aware " she murmured, with super- 
 cilious brows.
 
 ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 93 
 
 An impatient exclamation broke from her compan- 
 ion. 
 
 " For another," he continued, " you are not to use 
 that tone of voice." 
 
 " It is my only voice, n'est-ce pas? " 
 
 " But not your only tone. Of those you have sev- 
 eral hundred thousand." 
 
 " Merci bien! You overwhelm me," she inter- 
 posed, the essence of provocation in her face. All at 
 once she drew her slender shoulders together and 
 began to laugh. 
 
 " I'm not specially keen on being laughed at, 
 either," blurted John. 
 
 She assumed the pretence of disappointment. 
 " So many restrictions ? I fear, monsieur par- 
 don Mees-ter 'Emingway, there are too much of 
 them for er friendship." 
 
 " That's up to you, of course. May I have the 
 pleasure of putting you into a taxi? " 
 
 " Merci," she shrugged. 
 
 They walked together through the halls. Pic- 
 tures and sculpture were alike ignored. John, 
 frowning more heavily than ever, looked straight be- 
 fore him. As they reached the exit, Madame de 
 Pierrefond spoke, making, in a casual tone, the brief, 
 astonishing statement, " My husband is dead." 
 
 There was nothing for John to reply. He tried 
 to assure himself that, for him, the unsolicited fact 
 held no interest. 
 
 They emerged into a glory of sunshine. The stiff
 
 94 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 little rose-trees leading up to the Luxembourg steps 
 were each a compact sphere of colour. On the first 
 terrace, Madame de Pierrefond came to a standstill. 
 John, perforce, paused with her. Half unwillingly 
 he turned to meet her upraised eyes. They were 
 smiling, but in a way he had not seen before. All 
 mockery was gone. " I like you, Jean 'Emingway," 
 she said, holding forth a hand. " Shall we now walk 
 in the small Renaissance garden? " 
 
 John hesitated. " Do you mean by this," he stip- 
 ulated, " that you are willing to accept my terms? " 
 
 She gave a spirited little toss of the head. " Still 
 guarding that threatened self-respect ? " 
 
 " I merely want to be treated like a human being 
 and not a clown." 
 
 " It shall be so. I promise. Here is my hand 
 upon it. I capitulate, and wave de w'ite flag." 
 Here she lifted a scrap of embroidered linen. " Now 
 I am friends wid you, and on your own terms." 
 
 " You can't possibly realise what it means to me," 
 said John, earnestly. " And only just now I 
 thought I had lost you." 
 
 " Only just now you have found me, John 'Em- 
 ingway," she corrected, rather gravely. 
 
 " After all," he vindicated, leaning toward her as 
 they strolled into the complicated garden walks, " I 
 wasn't demanding anything unreasonable only 
 sincerity, and square dealing." 
 
 " It is the best," she stated, soberly. Then, with 
 .a flash of the mischievous smile, " Was it not my
 
 ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 95 
 
 outspokenness, that first day at Robinson, that 
 shocked you ? " 
 
 " It was a little," he admitted frankly. " You 
 see, I had never met a woman like you before. I 
 was knocked off my pins. When I got home and be- 
 gan to think it all over, I saw that you were right. 
 I admired your honesty." 
 
 " To be honest to make no pretence or disguise 
 of facts. That, too, is my idea of friendship. And 
 because of that belief, I possess few friends." 
 
 " Well, you possess me, now and forever, if that 
 means anything," cried John. 
 
 " Even though you are to have more shocks ? " she 
 queried, her eyes dancing. 
 
 " Oh, I'm beginning to like shocks. It's only ridi- 
 cule that gets me." 
 
 " That you shall not hear again," she pledged him, 
 softly. 
 
 Their conversation, for the first hour, was little 
 more than a series of questions and answers, dealing 
 almost entirely with the childhood of each. The 
 Luxembourg gardens filled quickly, now that the rain 
 had stopped, and it was at Madame de Pierrefond's 
 suggestion that they strolled toward the Boulevard 
 de St. Germain, in search of afternoon tea. 
 
 What she termed " the black spots " of her life 
 were touched upon with smiling lightness. " Some 
 day I shall tell you more," she said. " But not in 
 this first hour of friendship." She seemed to caress 
 the idea of a new, real friendship as a child does a
 
 96 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 new toy, long desired. The play of her fancies was 
 like silver gauze. John feasted eyes and ears upon 
 her. At times her beautiful voice which, as he had 
 stated, held a thousand modulations where most 
 women had but one, cast over him a sort of hypnotic 
 spell, so that he found himself dreaming to music, 
 rather than listening to spoken words. 
 
 Once when she chaffed him because of inattention 
 he flushed, and looking squarely at her with brown, 
 honest eyes, defended himself by saying, simply, 
 " Your voice is so exquisite that sometimes I can't 
 hear you just for the pleasure of listening." 
 
 " It must be that you have not known other South- 
 ern women," she mused. " We all have voices much 
 alike." 
 
 " No, I haven't," he answered. " The only girls 
 I've known at all were Western ones. But honest, 
 now, do you expect me to believe that any girl, just 
 because she happened to be born south of the Mason 
 and Dixon's line is bound to have honey and flowers 
 and harp-strings all mixed up in her voice? " 
 
 Her cheeks slowly grew a deeper pink. " Since we 
 are to speak only the truth," she replied, in obvious 
 embarrassment, " perhaps not every girl. You see, 
 I am partly Creole. Oh, this is no shock ! " she 
 laughed merrily, noting his somewhat startled glance. 
 " The real meaning of Creole, as we use it, has noth- 
 ing to do with negro blood. It is a term of pride, 
 meaning descent from noble French and Spanish 
 blood. My mother's family kept their strain pure
 
 ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 97 
 
 that is," she corrected, with a frown, " if any- 
 thing essentially degenerate should be called pure. 
 Unmeexed is a better word. She was very proud 
 that she kept her noble blood unmeexed until she 
 broke tradition by marrying my father." 
 
 " He was American? " John flung out eagerly. 
 
 " All all American, as I am in spite of his 
 French name. My mother's people thought it the 
 mesalliance." 
 
 The scorn with which she uttered this last word 
 gave John his cue. 
 
 " Then you must be more like your father." 
 
 " Oh, I 'ope so, I 'ope so," she cried, becoming 
 more Continental in her excitement. " That dear 
 farzer, he was my entire idol. I loved him greatly. 
 I was fourteen when he dies. I mees him to the now 
 
 every minute. Had rny farzer not died, all the 
 bad sings " 
 
 She caught herself together, looking up at him 
 with an apologetic little laugh. " You must pardon 
 me if I speak with such feeling. It has been a long 
 time since I could mention my father's name." 
 
 " I feel honoured that you can to me," said John, 
 with deep earnestness. " But you were telling how 
 your voice came to be " 
 
 She caught back a little sob, touched her eyes with 
 the handkerchief and, in one of her swift, bewilder- 
 ing transitions, turned a sparkling face. 
 
 " Ohe yess the voice ! It was of honey, you 
 said, and flowers, and the strings of a banjo "
 
 98 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 ** Harp, not banjo ! " he corrected indignantly. 
 
 " Yes 'arp," she amended, with contrition. 
 " Well, it was like so." The small clasped hands 
 went down into her lap as if to emphasise her state- 
 ments. " My mother, being an aristocrat, cared 
 much for a low-toned voice and a clear enunciation. 
 I was trained that way from babyhood. Also, as a 
 child, I must speak Eenglish only to my father. Al- 
 ways to la mere and les domestiques, it was French. 
 Domestiques mean servants," she explained, de- 
 murely. 
 
 " Even I know that much," laughed John. 
 
 " Besides this, there was, for another reason " 
 
 " Now don't hand out one of those shortstops of 
 yours," urged John. " You always do it at the most 
 interesting point. For another reason " 
 
 " Each summer of my life, as far back as I can 
 remember, my mother and I, with several servants, 
 came abroad, living in the old family chateau not far 
 from here, and in Paris I was given good masters 
 in singing. I still can sing, a little." 
 
 " I wish I could hear you," the young man cried, 
 impulsively. 
 
 " Mais out. And why not, since we are 
 friends ? " 
 
 " Then you are going to let me call on you? " 
 
 " Certainment, if you wish." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 She threw her head back, laughing. John could 
 not help thinking that even the magic of Rodin had
 
 ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 99 
 
 never evolved anything so white and graceful as her 
 slender throat. 
 
 " When do you wish, Jean 'Emingway ? " 
 
 " To-night. This very night," he asserted, 
 boldly. 
 
 At this she drew back a little. " Since you are to 
 be in Paris free years more, and I helas ap- 
 parently forever," she said, " why this need for so 
 great haste? " 
 
 " I suppose there isn't any, really. But you 
 asked me when I wanted to come, and I told you. 
 We have agreed always to speak the truth, haven't 
 we?" 
 
 " Yess," she smiled. " And you need not excuse. 
 I like the verve the what do you say ? the 
 impetuousness ; but I mistrust it, just a little. On 
 Wednesday evening you shall come, that is," she 
 added, graciously, " if by chance you are free." 
 
 " Free ! I'm never anything else. ' Me this un- 
 chartered freedom tires !' " he quoted, gaily. 
 
 " Ah, Wordsworth. My best-loved of all poets," 
 she murmured, with a glance of such sweet commen- 
 dation that the young man's heart quivered. " On 
 Wednesday it is to be, then. I shall be glad to wel- 
 come you, Jean 'Emingway." 
 
 " I'll show up on the stroke, even if I have to be 
 carried on a stretcher," declared John. 
 
 She looked puzzled. " Stretch aire stretch- 
 aire " she echoed. "It is new American slang?" 
 
 " No, only personal exaggeration. A stretcher is
 
 100 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 a sort of canvas and pole bed on which they carry 
 wounded men from a battle-field." 
 
 " How very ungallant," she teased. " Am / a 
 battle-field?" 
 
 " Perhaps. Who knows ? " he began, but at her 
 sudden change into gravity, hurried on. " No, I 
 didn't mean that. It was banal. You are Ponce de 
 Leon's spring, the original Elysian field " 
 
 She checked him by a gesture. " You do not know 
 everything about me. I have spared you the ' black 
 spots.' But some day, if we are to be sincerely 
 friends, you must hear them too." 
 
 " I don't need to hear them," protested John. " I 
 know you well enough now to feel that your friend- 
 ship is to be the greatest pleasure that I can have, 
 something that I shall prize second only to my 
 mother's love." 
 
 Suddenly she rose. " You have paid our small 
 V addition, yes? Then I must now return. You 
 are to have the pleasure at last " there was a mis- 
 chievous emphasis on the word " pleasure " " of 
 putting your friend into a taxi." 
 
 "But hold on!" curbed John. "You haven't 
 given me your address yet." 
 
 " Ah, I am the stupid ! " she apologised. " Take 
 out the pencil. You can write it on the edge of this 
 menu card." 
 
 " As if I should need to write it," he reproached. 
 
 " As you will," she shrugged, her eyes beginning 
 to dance. " Here then, Meester 'Emingway."
 
 ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 101 
 
 Speaking with incredible rapidity she flung out, in 
 French, " Madame de Pierrefond, nombre cent-cm- 
 quant-cinq Rue de Beau-Rayonelle, au coin nord- 
 ouest de la Concord de la Pleu, au rvcage droit de 
 Seine, Paris, France" 
 
 Long before the last liquid syllable died, John's 
 hands were in the air. He staggered as one sud- 
 denly overcome by heat. " Help ! Help ! " he be- 
 sought, in a quavering voice. " That has fixed me ! 
 Please write it down. No, print it, so that the cab- 
 driver may read."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 JOHN MAKES A CALL 
 
 IT was a private house at which the taxi-cab halted 
 that memorable night. " Wonder if it all belongs 
 to her? " John muttered, glancing up the four stories 
 of the grey stone fa9ade. In each window was a box 
 of growing flowers. Even by the artificial street- 
 lights the place had a look which set it apart. 
 Somehow it all should belong to her. Those flowers 
 ought not to trail so joyously for a mistress less 
 charming. But, if so, it meant that his new friend 
 was a woman of wealth, and this fact was not re- 
 assuring. 
 
 John frowned in a puzzled way, and hesitated be- 
 fore lifting his hand to the shining knocker. If she 
 was, as it now seemed, a rich and fashionable woman, 
 why had she not driven with the others in the Bois? 
 And would such a person condescend to seek out 
 little Robinson by way of a public conveyance? 
 When she had left him that first time she had moved, 
 on foot, in the direction of Sceaux. No motor-car 
 or carriage had been waiting. 
 
 " Well," said John to himself, with a little sigh, 
 " I am soon to find out." He raised the knocker, 
 
 and almost on the instant the door opened. A foot- 
 
 102
 
 JOHN MAKES A CALL 103 
 
 man in grey livery inclined his stiff neck for about 
 two inches, and then stepped back for the guest to 
 enter. John, not knowing what else to do, presented 
 a card, at which the servant, not deigning a glance 
 toward it, bowed once more and rattled off something 
 in French. 
 
 John still remained on one spot, feeling uncom- 
 fortable and a little ridiculous. 
 
 " Madame de Pierrefond," he repeated, giving the 
 name an emphatic upward slant. 
 
 " Oui, monsieur. Madame she ah at the 
 upstaire." He gave a stiff motion with one hand. 
 
 Seeing that the American still refused to stir, the 
 footman allowed scorn and disgust to spread, in a 
 thin yellow grease, across his wooden features. 
 Catching his padded grey shoulders together, he held 
 his head in an attitude as far removed as possible 
 from the human, and began a jerky ascent. John 
 followed meekly. 
 
 At home, in Delphi, all " parlours " were on the 
 first floor, and as near to the entrance as architec- 
 ture could make them. It was a new and disconcert- 
 ing experience thus to be ushered, on a first visit, 
 toward the presumably private regions of a lady's 
 " upstairs." At the entrance of what appeared a 
 long series of softly lighted rooms his guide halted 
 and again gave two steps backward. The long grey 
 legs had precisely the motion of a pair of scissor- 
 blades. 
 
 Looking within, John caught the effect of mist-
 
 104 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 grey hangings, wide floor-spaces carpeted with cool 
 grey, and many notes of a delicate rose colour, given, 
 as he afterward perceived, by vases, and jardineres 
 of growing flowers. Besides the prevailing tints of 
 rose, grey and silver which, left to themselves would 
 have been a trifle commonplace, there was a fourth, 
 one so unusual that only an artist could have dared 
 it. This was green, a peculiar, living, joyous green, 
 something like that of lily-of-the-valley foliage grown 
 swiftly under glass. It peered at the edges of 
 straight-hanging grey curtains, gleamed from a cabi- 
 net of cloisonne ware, and was concentrated in a 
 great square of Chinese brocade, flung across the 
 back of a settle. 
 
 All this John saw in a first hurried look. Then 
 externals vanished, for he perceived a rose-coloured 
 figure hastening toward him, and heard a low fa- 
 miliar voice which said, " Welcome, Jean 'Eming- 
 way." 
 
 She took his right hand in both her own. Her 
 upturned smile was not merely that of a friend, for 
 now she was hostess, making him feel that she was 
 glad of his presence. 
 
 He answered in some commonplace. 
 
 " Where is your chapeau, your 'at ? " she ques- 
 tioned, glancing around at his other hand. " It is 
 down-the-stairs ? Yes? That is good. You can 
 return now, Fra^ois " this to the wooden foot- 
 man. " Now you will come this way with me, Jean 
 'Emingway."
 
 JOHN MAKES A CALL 105 
 
 Releasing him, she moved toward the windows 
 overlooking the street. 
 
 " There are some few friends who wait, just long 
 enough to meet you," she smiled, waving a hand, as 
 she spoke toward a little group. John, in his delight 
 at seeing her, had not noticed that others were pres- 
 ent. There were two men, almost foppishly attired, 
 who stood in smiling expectancy, and a sumptuously 
 gowned woman, lounging back in a chair, who 
 watched the approach through half-shut lids. A 
 cloud of cigarette smoke enveloped her. 
 
 " Madame la Princess de Brieux," stated the host- 
 ess easily. Then more directly to the lady, " May 
 I have the honour to present my veree good friend, 
 Meester 'Emingway?" The Princess nodded, and 
 turned her face away to flick off an ash. 
 
 Inez laughed softly. " Monsieur le Prince," she 
 went on, " and Monsieur Carant-Dozie. These are 
 both very great names in France, Monsieur 'Eming- 
 way." 
 
 " I am very glad to meet you," said honest John, 
 shaking hands in the American fashion. 
 
 Again Madame de Pierrefond gave the little laugh, 
 but John felt, by instinct, that it was not at his ex- 
 pense. 
 
 Madame la Princess, having freed her cigarette 
 from its encumbrance, looked vaguely toward the 
 newcomer and made a vivacious remark. 
 
 " No French," cried Inez. " I warned you of it, 
 Clotilde. Meester 'Emingway scorns our language."
 
 106 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Look here," cried John, laughing off his embar- 
 rassment. " That's not fair. I don't scorn it in 
 the least. I envy it. But it's simply too much for 
 my tongue." 
 
 " 'Ow triste," sympathised the Princess, thinking 
 it was pure English that she spoke. " But, nevaire 
 min'. It is to be no good, even if you do spik 
 Frainch, m'sieur. For dat bad Inez " here she 
 shook her cigarette toward the hostess " she in- 
 form us we * geet out ' w'en Le Americaine arrive. 
 Now we geet out." 
 
 She rose, dragging after her an incredible accre- 
 tion of flimsy draperies. " Come, Arture, come, 
 M'sieur Carant-Dozie. You, aussi, mus' to geet 
 out." 
 
 " Please don't let me run you off," exclaimed John. 
 
 " 'Ip-pocrite ! " rejoined the Princess. "You are 
 glad to see the back of us, n'est-ce pas? " 
 
 Inez was gliding toward the nearest electric bell. 
 One of the Frenchmen reached it first. When it had 
 been pressed, he leaned toward his hostess, talking 
 rapidly. 
 
 The grey-legged footman appeared. " The car- 
 riage of Madame la Princess," Inez ordered. 
 
 As the three guests went down the stairway, all 
 chatting, and flinging backward various light re- 
 marks, meant for ears left behind, John faced his 
 hostess solemnly. 
 
 " I thought you said that you were lonely," he 
 challenged.
 
 JOHN MAKES A CALL 107 
 
 Inez waited until she heard the front door close. 
 
 " I am lonely." 
 
 " And that you had few friends." 
 
 " I 'ave few friends." 
 
 " But these people," he persisted, as if their pres- 
 ence had been a personal affront, " kings and dukes 
 and princesses and things. You even called her by 
 her given name." 
 
 " That comes easily in France," the other 
 shrugged. 
 
 " Do you mean that, in spite of your apparent in- 
 timacy, these people mean nothing to you? " 
 
 " Less than a chestnut blossom fallen from the old 
 tree at Robinson." 
 
 John gave her a searching glance. 
 
 As if fearing that she had flung out a tentacle 
 that might lead too far, she caught herself together 
 and amended, in an apologetic tone, " It is ungrate- 
 ful for me to speak in such way. Of course I am 
 fond of them, especially Clotilde. I do not think 
 her veree happy. Her 'usband he has no sense, 
 none at all." 
 
 " How about that other chap, the one with the 
 spliced name ? " 
 
 Madame de Pierrefond could only guess at the 
 meaning of the term " spliced." " Oh, Monsieur 
 Carant-Dozie^ He is a great man. I should be 
 honoured that he cares to come to me." 
 
 " And are you ? " 
 
 At this question, and the serious, almost belliger-
 
 108 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 ent voice in which it was uttered, Inez' laughter could 
 not be restrained. 
 
 " Of course you are thinking me a boor," said 
 John, flushing darkly. " Please forgive me if I have 
 been rude." 
 
 " Now, Jean 'Emingway," she chided merrily. 
 " You must not look like dat ! You have not been 
 rude. It is our compact that we speak right out 
 what we wish. Is it not our compact? " she insisted, 
 seeing that his face refused to lighten. 
 
 " Ye-e-es," he answered, doubtfully. 
 
 " Not ' ye-e-e-e-es,' " she mimicked, though her 
 eyes were full of kindness. "But yes! yes! yes! 
 Out, certainment to be sure ! You are to ask 
 any question zat you will, and say anything zat you 
 will, only " here she paused, and leaned her be- 
 witching face closer, " you must not look like the 
 thunder-storm if sometimes I laugh." 
 
 " All right then ! " cried John, his dark expression 
 flashing into one of boyish relief. " I am to say 
 anything I please, if only I don't get sore when you 
 laugh at me." 
 
 She nodded brightly. 
 
 " Then tell me why you consider that Carant man 
 great ? " 
 
 Inez bit her lips for control. 
 
 " Oh, go ahead and laugh, I don't mind. But when 
 you are through, please answer me." 
 
 " I think him great because he is great," was her 
 maddening reply.
 
 JOHN MAKES A CALL 109 
 
 'What does he do? " 
 
 " For one thing, writes great books." 
 
 " Novels, I'll be bound. I can see the yellow cov- 
 ers now." 
 
 " Then, my friend, you must better go at once to 
 the eye-doctor. He writes philosophee." 
 
 For an instant John was staggered. Then a 
 new gleam was vouchsafed. " I'll bet he is a social- 
 ist!" 
 
 " Pairehaps you would call him that. He is a 
 thinker, an idealist, an individ-u-a-leest 
 Oh," she broke off, with an impatient twist of her en- 
 tire flexible body, " I cannot say so many 'ard words 
 all to once. It makes my t'roat hurt." She clasped 
 both hands about her slender neck, and looked ap- 
 pealingly at John. 
 
 "Don't you ever speak English?" demanded the 
 young man. 
 
 " Until you climbed into my tree, not for years 
 and years." 
 
 John grinned. " Perhaps you are sorry that I 
 climbed?" 
 
 " That I will announce later," she murmured, with 
 a tantalising droop of the long lashes. 
 
 John stared at her in silence. Feeling rather than 
 seeing his steady scrutiny, a faint, slow flush began 
 to creep into her cheeks. She gave a little hyster- 
 ical, inward giggle. She was actually beginning to 
 feel embarrassed, a sensation so novel that it had its 
 charm. She raised her eyes suddenly, thinking to
 
 110 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 disconcert him. A child of four could not have 
 failed more utterly in producing the effect she had 
 desired. There was still one weapon, mockery. 
 "What! No more questions? Not even about 
 Monsieur Carant-Dozie? " she cried. 
 
 " How did you come to know a socialist ? " 
 
 " For one thing, he is my teacher. He lectures at 
 the Sorbonne. It is a what do you call it a 
 course I am taking? " 
 
 " You actually go to hear that that " 
 Words failed him. 
 
 " Tree times a week I go. Tree times, rain or 
 shine." Again silence threatened. Inez felt a thrill 
 of nervous apprehension. " He is a veree great 
 man," she reiterated, with emphasis. " He is a leader 
 of thought. All persons are reading his books." 
 
 " I'm not," said downright John. 
 
 " But you will." 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 " Fie," laughed Inez, feeling on safe ground once 
 more. " Such a silly little schoolboy. Of course 
 you mus' read. Did you not come into the great 
 world to learn and to test many things? How will 
 you discriminate if you don't know all? " 
 
 John gave a start. How exactly these words re- 
 lated to what his mother had said. 
 
 "What is it?" his companion asked, quickly. 
 " Another thought took you then. I could see 
 it." 
 
 " Oh, it was nothing," he answered, passing his
 
 JOHN MAKES A CALL 111 
 
 hand across his forehead. " Only I believe you are 
 right about my getting into touch with other points 
 of view." 
 
 " Ahe, that is good ! " she exclaimed, in genuine 
 pleasure. " I will lend you a book this very night. 
 But now there is something that I wish to show you." 
 
 She rose in her swift, noiseless way. 
 
 " Come ! " she said, looking back over her shoulder. 
 
 Wondering what new revelation was to be given, 
 he followed her down the long double salon, to the 
 threshold of a curtained door, dark within. A 
 strong and unusual perfume, coming apparently from 
 growing plants, streamed out toward them. 
 
 His hostess snapped on a whole switchboard of 
 tungsten lights, and together they faced a living 
 bower of verdure. The flooring was of a dull yellow 
 stone. Palms, thick stemmed as organ pipes, rose all 
 about them. Overhead, against the night, arched 
 twisted vines, set starrily with jessamines and great 
 primrose-coloured blooms that John had never seen 
 before. Behind the palms was a bank of tall olean- 
 ders bending toward them under masses of pink flow- 
 ers. This was the perfume he had noted. How it 
 recalled the one oleander which, through so many 
 years, his mother had cherished. From boyhood it 
 had been his special duty to move the green tub con- 
 taining it, from the front " porch " to the warm 
 night-shelter of the living-room. He closed his eyes, 
 feeling himself in a strange dream of home. If Inez 
 noticed, this time she made no comment.
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 His foot struck against a bamboo chair. There 
 were several about, and a low wicker table strewn 
 with French periodicals. Across one corner swung 
 a hammock, hand-woven of dull silk cords of an un- 
 usual blue. At the farther end of the space gleamed 
 a pond, its edges hidden by a ring of yellow irises. 
 From somewhere among the plants beyond came the 
 incessant tinkle of falling water. 
 
 " I don't believe it ! " was the exclamation liter- 
 ally forced from the young man's lips. 
 
 " You think it nice ? " she asked, in the deprecat- 
 ing tones of a possessor, but her face sparkled. 
 
 " It's the loveliest thing I ever did see," he avowed. 
 
 " Ah, there comes my pet petite tortoise, to 
 welcome you," she cried, stooping for a dark scram- 
 bling object which had just hurled itself over the edge 
 of the pond. 
 
 " A turtle ! A real, live turtle ! Please let me 
 hold it," pleaded John. 
 
 She watched, with caressing eyes, as he lifted the 
 small creature, and stroked its horny back. " I used 
 to have one at home," he explained, as if feeling that 
 he needed to account for his childish pleasure. 
 
 " Is it there now? " 
 
 " No. The first year I went off to college, it dug 
 its way out of the garden, and we never could find it." 
 
 " I love all pets," Inez told him. " In here are 
 even some crickets. It is a little early in the season 
 for them to chirp. Do you like to hear crickets 
 chirp?"
 
 JOHN MAKES A CALL 113 
 
 " You bet," said John. " But how on earth do 
 you feed them ? " 
 
 " On cucumbers, and little thin, white slices of 
 pear. I learned it in Japan." 
 
 " You've been to Japan ? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " And all around the world ? " 
 
 She nodded twice, to show how many times. 
 
 " I guess you've been about everywhere," he then 
 remarked, and did not attempt to disguise his 
 envy. 
 
 " Nevaire to Delphi, Iowa," she said, demurely. 
 
 " That was unkind ! I hope you'll have to live 
 there some day, just for punishment." 
 
 She shrugged protesting shoulders. " Can you 
 fancy it? " 
 
 " Why not ? You don't seem to think much of 
 Paris, even with your wonderful Monseer Quarant- 
 Dozee, and the Sorbonne. Perhaps in a more arid 
 habitat you could be more yourself." 
 
 " And p&ire-haps," she flashed back at him, " to be 
 myself is just what I do not wish." 
 
 John, lifting his fascinated eyes from the tortoise, 
 fixed them thoughtfully on her. " I begin to believe 
 that that's what you never yet have been," he sug- 
 gested, and was on the point of elaborating his 
 theory when, by a sudden change of voice and man- 
 ner, she checked him. Both hands went up to her 
 temples. Her brows arched in protest. " 'Elp ! 
 'elp ! " she laughed. " I am to be vivisect ! Come,
 
 114? THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 petite tortoise. It is not safe to remain wid this 
 Jean 'Emingway. You must go back to your waters 
 of oblivion." 
 
 Still laughing, she caught the little creature from 
 him, scratched the reptilian head, and then, gliding 
 over to the pond, slid it under the dark surface. 
 
 " There ! " she cried, again facing John. " He is 
 restored. And so must be his mistress. Now we go 
 back into waters of oblivion, aussi." 
 
 Leaving the conservatory still garish with light, 
 she hurried back into the drawing-rooms. John 
 overtook her at the piano. He had noted the beau- 
 tiful instrument when they had passed before. It 
 was a medium-sized grand, plainly finished, and 
 painted a deep silver-grey. It stood on crystal balls, 
 and in the centre of its upper surface was placed a 
 wide-mouthed vessel of dull pewter, heaped and top- 
 pling over with the same small pink roses destined 
 now, forever, to be associated with the woman at his 
 side. 
 
 He put out a tentative hand. " You promised," 
 he smiled. 
 
 " Ahe, yes, I will sing. The mood takes me. 
 But you, my frien', you will go way back an' seet 
 down You see I have not forgot all American 
 slang! You will go to some place where I cannot 
 see you. So I will sing best." 
 
 John obeyed, selecting an easy chair well out of 
 range, but one which gave him, nevertheless, an en- 
 chanting view of the singer's head, crowned with loose
 
 JOHN MAKES A CALL 115 
 
 masses of dark gold hair, and the slender throat 
 which held it up so proudly. 
 
 She took her seat slowly, and, after an interval of 
 silence, began to murmur, rather than to sing, a lit- 
 tle home-ballad in the patois of the New Orleans 
 Creole. 
 
 " That is the song of the red-wing in our bayou 
 marshes," she explained, without turning. " Now, 
 in the nex' verse, day begins to fade. Small pere 
 Red-wing, he says to la mere and the babies, a ' good- 
 night.' " 
 
 Again the long throat lifted. From it came 
 sounds as of low twittering; and these rose gradu- 
 ally, clearing into veritable bird-notes so true and 
 exquisitely sweet it seemed incredible that a human 
 creature uttered them. 
 
 When it was finished, the very silence thrilled with 
 harmonies. John did not jar it by a breath. A 
 swift flash of appreciation crossed the singer's face. 
 
 After a few chords on a different key, she began 
 " Suwanee River." It was to the listener as if he 
 heard a well-loved earth-song echoed by some high, 
 freed spirit in paradise. Toward the last he began 
 to swallow hard. He did not dare take out his 
 pocket-handkerchief. He called himself a sentimen- 
 tal, home-sick fool, and cursed inwardly the warm, 
 bright drops that persisted in gathering under his 
 half-closed lids. This time he was glad when the 
 last note faded. 
 
 As if knowing what he felt, and being determined
 
 116 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 to prove to the utmost all the magic of her voice, 
 Inez started the opening words of " Mother o' 
 Mine." 
 
 But this was too much for John's overstrained 
 nerves and heart. " No ! No ! " he protested, grop- 
 ing his way toward her. " I couldn't stand for that 
 right now. I am about to blubber like a schoolboy 
 as it is." 
 
 " Poor, homesick I'enfant," she comforted. 
 " Then here comme fa I will the bright rattle 
 shake." 
 
 Looking up into his face she broke into a merry 
 Parisian chanson. 
 
 " Thanks awfully. That dries them like a 
 sponge ! " he exclaimed gratefully, and, pretending 
 that it was pretence, at last put his handkerchief to 
 his wet eyes. 
 
 " It is enough for the one dose," Madame de 
 Pierrefond now declared. She rose and stood beside 
 him. 
 
 " And you've had enough of me for half-a-dozen 
 doses," rejoined the visitor. " I'll be going now. 
 But please " here he bent imploring eyes upon her 
 " please say that I may come again." 
 
 " You may come again, Jean 'Emingway."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 
 
 LIFE, with this wonderful new friendship to illumine 
 it, became now for John, a daily and a conscious joy. 
 On one pretext or the other, his visits to Madame de 
 Pierrefond grew closer as to intervals, as well as in 
 more subtle understanding. 
 
 He had not dreamed that women like Inez could 
 exist. All that belonged, by right, to her own sex, 
 delicacy, charm and intuition, she possessed in super- 
 lative degree, and to these gifts was added the intel- 
 lect of a man. Within a few weeks she had gained 
 from him a complete synopsis of his work at the 
 Ecole. He fell into the way of discussing with her 
 his architectural problems, and afterward submitting 
 the drawings. She pondered these gravely, looking 
 so girlish and utterly feminine as she bent over the 
 flattened scroll that the frown of interest seemed 
 almost in the nature of a farce. But after such si- 
 lent preoccupation, when the gold-brown head was 
 lifted and the frown displaced by a triumphant smile, 
 her forthcoming comment was sure to reveal keen 
 penetration. A little to his chagrin John found that 
 always she was the first to solve a difficulty, and that 
 her suggestions, when incorporated in his next at- 
 tempt, invariably brought words of commendation 
 
 from his instructor. 
 
 117
 
 118 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 The most unassuming of men possess small, secret 
 reservoirs of vanity. John, not realising his own mo- 
 tives of self-defence, fell into the way of repeating a 
 statement made early in their partnership, to the 
 effect that he did not assume insight or facility in 
 anything but just " plain architecture." When, in 
 her bright arguments she would use such terms as 
 " musical proportion " or " the fundamental inter- 
 relation of the arts," he would give a deprecatory 
 gesture and reiterate his ignorance of all arts but his 
 own. 
 
 Once, stung into retort, Inez flashed back at him, 
 " Your art! Architecture is not a single art, like 
 an island to be reached by a single bridge. Paire- 
 haps you think you have your one bridge, with a 
 sign over it saying * The cole des Beaux Arts 
 placed here for the crossing of Monsieur Jean 'Em- 
 ingway' ! Pouf ! It is the child talk ! Your art, 
 more than any other, must be a synthesis of them 
 all ! Have you not said, of yourself, that painting 
 of the best was mural, to decorate a given space? 
 What are the immortal figures from that Parthenon 
 but items in one superb decoration? No, my frien', 
 of all arts yours is the last that can be split apart, 
 like the church creeds in your little Delphi. Try to 
 cut it off, it is the breaking of a branch from the 
 Tree of Life. Soon it will be withered." 
 
 " But what can you expect ? Where I come from 
 there was no chance to study the others." 
 
 " I expect," she remarked, with entire reasonable-
 
 JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 119 
 
 ness, " that since it is that you have come, and since 
 you now get the chance, you will be intelligent 
 enough to accept it." 
 
 " You bet I'll accept ! Lead me to it." 
 
 " Stupid one ! " 
 
 " You mean," he cried, his face brightening, " that 
 you are willing to be my teacher? " 
 
 " I congratulate that you are at last able to see- 
 before your nose," she scoffed. 
 
 " Don't be hard on a fellow. The very thought 
 blinds me." 
 
 At this she laughed, relenting. " Then it is set- 
 tled. Behold in me your strict and awe-inspiring 
 mentor." 
 
 " And behold in me," he rejoined, laying one hand 
 on his heart, and bowing with exaggerated humility, 
 " your most grateful, zealous and docile pupil." 
 
 She tossed her bright head airily. " It is easy to 
 be all doze, for you are my one pupil onlee." 
 
 " If there were a thousand which, thank Heaven, 
 there are not, I would still be the most grate- 
 ful." 
 
 Madame de Pierrefond gazed upon him thought- 
 fully. " We go a little hastily. Before the bargain 
 is complete, there is one more Art, the greatest, 
 which we have not spoke of." 
 
 John wondered for an instant, then in her deep 
 eyes saw the answer. "You mean, Life?" 
 
 She nodded several times. " Yes, to be sure. 
 The Art of Life. All, all the Arts, if they are
 
 120 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 to live and grow, must strike root deep into that 
 cosmic soil." 
 
 John felt himself growing pale. Something like a 
 shiver of premonition went over him. The words 
 were almost identical with those spoken by his mother 
 that morning, at dawn, when they said their real 
 good-bye. But how was it possible that two minds, 
 so utterly dissimilar, two souls nurtured at the 
 very antipodes of experience, could feel and express 
 things in the same way? 
 
 "You do not like that thought! No?" Inez 
 questioned, leaning toward him in quick sympathy. 
 
 John pressed his hand upward along his forehead. 
 There was a sudden moisture on it. 
 
 " Yes, I like it well," he answered, laughing a 
 little unsteadily. " Only it rather took my breath." 
 
 It was his companion's turn to look puzzled. 
 
 " But never mind that spasm. It's over ! " he 
 cried, catching himself back into the present. " And 
 don't you forget that I'm your pupil, accepted and 
 enrolled. When am I to take my first lesson? " 
 
 Her wondering expression did not altogether 
 fade. 
 
 " Since the mention of Life has so queer an effect 
 upon you," she began, with an assumption .pf school- 
 mistress severity, " we shall make beginning with 
 some simpler form." 
 
 " Anything you say, Teacher," agreed John, 
 meekly. 
 
 " Then, let me see " she pondered aloud.
 
 JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 121 
 
 " This day is Jeudi pardon Thursday. On 
 Sunday afternoon we go to the Louvre. There I 
 shall let you see three t'ings, free only, do you at- 
 tend? " Here she held forth that number of white 
 fingers. 
 
 " I attend, oh, great, compelling One ! Is it in 
 order to ask what I am to be shown? " 
 
 " It is in order, after you remove the many twin- 
 kles from your eyes." 
 
 " They are cast to the winds of heaven," exclaimed 
 the young man, pretending to gather glances as if 
 there were overcrowded pins from a cushion. 
 
 His preceptress maintained an air of detachment. 
 " Now you look properly serious," she commended, 
 when the absurd gestures came to an end. " The 
 first thing you are to see is the Winged Victory. 
 The next, a Greek charioteer in bronze, and after- 
 ward, if the state of your mind permits it, a 
 scrap of marble in the basement." 
 
 John murmured humble gratitude. 
 
 " Another time," she went on, evidently satisfied 
 with the intent and adoring countenance turned to 
 hers, " you shall be led again to the Louvre, to stand 
 before just one thing." 
 
 "And that?" 
 
 " A very perfect, small model of the Parthenon." 
 
 " Don't you suppose I've seen that? " John pro- 
 tested. " It's part of our course. I've been half a 
 dozen times." 
 
 " I do not know or care about your stupid !Ecole
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 course," asseverated this Minerva, in crisp disap- 
 proval of his outbreak. " My methods are individ- 
 ual. Even if you have gone 'alf-a-dozen times, as 
 you say, I have no reason to believe that you saw 
 anything." 
 
 " I'm in the dust again," sighed John. " Sit on 
 me, trample me ! Only, Athene, retain me for 
 your disciple." 
 
 On his way home that evening, the thought per- 
 sisting in John's mind clinging to it like a scrap 
 of chiffon in a wind-tossed tree was the almost in- 
 credible similarity of Inez' words to those spoken, a 
 year back, by his mother. He was genuine in his 
 belief that the differences between them spanned the 
 full width of human temperament. Inez was a flower 
 of the present, her brilliant mind leaned forward, 
 gathering all new influences ; that of his mother was 
 conservative, restricted, tied back like her own 
 " porch " roses, to a stiff trellis of precedent. His 
 honest belief in this difference which might, if forced, 
 pass easily into antagonism, had been his chief rea- 
 son or so he now assured himself for never yet 
 having mentioned Inez in his letters. 
 
 Why he had been so reluctant to speak freely to 
 his new, delightful friend about the little mother, 
 called for a deeper self-analysis. He tried to think 
 it out now, but, as usual, it baffled him. Inez and 
 he had pledged themselves to speak freely on all top- 
 ics. Perhaps this was just the trouble. He could 
 not regard his mother as a " topic." At first Inez
 
 JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 123 
 
 had questioned him, and had even urged that he show 
 her a photograph. This he had never done. Grad- 
 ually he fell into the way of avoiding all reference 
 to his distant home. He could not be sure whether 
 or not Inez had noted his evasion. Her perfect tact 
 could be counted on to swerve the conversational 
 skiff from threatening rocks. 
 
 A letter from home was due this very day. He 
 would probably find one on the corner of his draught- 
 ing-board, that conspicuous ledge being the spot 
 chosen by Felice for the display of his meagre post. 
 
 He went up the stairs rather slowly. With each 
 step mounted his resolution to break through this 
 unnecessary wall of silence, and, should a letter from 
 his mother really be there, in answering it, to tell her 
 frankly of Madame de Pierrefond, and all that her 
 friendship meant. 
 
 There would be no need, of course, to relate the 
 facts of their somewhat unconventional meeting. In 
 Delphi one did not make new friends among tree 
 branches. Nor would it be quite fair, either to his 
 mother or to Inez, should he attempt, in this first 
 letter, to impart any of the new friend's advanced 
 ideas. No, he would merely state that he had 
 " met " Madame de Pierrefond, an American and a 
 widow. It was with a feeling of deep thankfulness 
 that he realised the entire truth and correctness of 
 this definite term. Suppose he had had to place be- 
 fore it that loathsome, cheap and verdant adjective 
 used by his countrymen to distinguish the false arti-
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 cle from the real ! Not that it would have mattered 
 at all to him. He was fast outgrowing narrow 
 prejudice, but for his mother! 
 
 This comforting reflection had brought him to his 
 door. Turning on the lights within he saw not one, 
 but three letters, arranged in stiff precision. Before 
 touching them he knew who had written each. Be- 
 sides the dear, expected missive, there was one from 
 Charlie Abbey, and one alarmingly thick ad- 
 dressed in Mrs. Abbey's small, spidery hand. John's 
 heart gave a disagreeable contraction. He had not 
 thought of Charlie Abbey for weeks. The last news, 
 conveyed through Mrs. Hemingway, had been that 
 Charlie's mother had " backed out " of her promise. 
 
 He took up the boy's first. It was in a large 
 square envelope. The address was scrawled as by 
 a person in a frenzy of joy. It could mean nothing 
 else but that Charlie was coming. 
 
 John gave an impatient sigh, drew up a chair 
 to his desk, and turned on the reading lamp. After 
 the first paragraph he groaned and dropped the let- 
 ter. Charlie was leaving Delphi that very day. In 
 ten more he would be at Boulogne, where he im- 
 plored John to " run down " and meet him. 
 *' Mother is sore because I won't stop over at Bos- 
 ton and visit a lot of her relatives," he had written, 
 " but no refrigerated beans for mine ! If my ship 
 is in port when I reach New York, I'm going to hide 
 among the cargo and chloroform myself, so that 
 mother can't stop my getting away."
 
 JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 125 
 
 Cruelly ignoring the following pages of antici- 
 pated rapture, John snapped off the light, and gave 
 himself over to troubled thoughts. Nothing could 
 be more disturbing at this particular time. " Why 
 on earth couldn't he have waited a little longer? 
 And why was he such a mutt as to refuse to visit his 
 mother's relatives ? " John growled aloud. 
 
 Within a short time the young man had worked 
 himself into a veritable passion of resentment. Any 
 boy who could treat his mother so badly did not de- 
 serve consideration. It would serve him " jolly 
 well right " as the young Englishman at the Ecole 
 was so fond of saying if he were altogether ig- 
 nored. 
 
 Then, all at once, the humour of it came, and 
 John laughed, if somewhat ruefully, at his own boy- 
 ish folly. Of course nothing was the matter with 
 Charlie's coming except that he, John, was losing 
 his head over Madame de Pierrefond, and didn't 
 want the delirious process checked. " It's time that 
 I was facing more than one fact clearly," he told 
 himself. " How can I hope to have a chance with 
 such a woman? She's rich and I am poor. This 
 one thing would be enough to keep me at a distance. 
 Maybe Charlie's coming just now is a godsend after 
 all." 
 
 Being thus restored to sanity, he turned back the 
 lamp into brightness, and opened his mother's let- 
 ter. At the first words his eyes softened. It was 
 like her own gentle hand upon his hair.
 
 126 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " How glad you will be, dear son, that Charles is 
 to join you at last! I know so well what the sight 
 of a home face will mean to you. I don't need to 
 write much news this time, as Charles will tell it in 
 his own cheerful way. He is bringing you a little 
 box from home. Molly and I cooked everything. 
 I hope it will all be fresh and palatable. He brings 
 also the last batch of socks. I like those silk ones. 
 They wear out so much quicker." 
 
 John pressed this last sentence to his lips. 
 " Heaven bless that Mother o' Mine," he whsipered. 
 
 The evening had brought already many conflict- 
 ing emotions. The little travelling clock on the 
 desk one of his mother's gifts pointed to 
 twelve. He took up Mrs. Abbey's still un-opened 
 screed, twirled it reflectively, and then laid it down. 
 It would need tremendous concentration to read 
 through all those finely written pages. " And what's 
 the use, anyhow? " he vindicated. " I know all she's 
 going to say. Aunt Clara's list of Parisian * don'ts ' 
 will seem like a Sunday-school chart beside it." 
 
 He gave a great yawn, then rose, and began pre- 
 paring for bed. As he moved about, his mind 
 in spit'e of the recent yawn began to grow clearer 
 and strangely vivacious. " Perhaps when the room 
 is good and dark, I'll feel sleepy," he muttered. But 
 once on his pillow a thousand winged fancies pricked 
 him. Almost he could see the glimmer of their on- 
 coming flight.
 
 JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 127 
 
 After half an hour of restlessness, he gave up all 
 hopes of sleep, and, attaching the reading lamp to a 
 socket near the bed, propped himself up and pre- 
 pared to read. 
 
 The book chosen was the most recent of Professor 
 Carant-Dozie's to be put into English. Several 
 days before Inez had loaned it, saying, with what 
 he now recalled an unusual gravity, " Please read it, 
 every word." 
 
 This was the first time he had opened it. He did 
 so now at random. The chapter thus disclosed was 
 called " The Injustices to Both of Legal Marriages.'* 
 He frowned, and made as if to turn the page, but, 
 somehow, his fingers clung. Inez had said that he 
 must read every word. " How in the dickens can 
 there be any marriage except legal ones," he grum- 
 bled. " This French idiot makes me sick ! " 
 
 But after all, the idiot was Inez' teacher, just as 
 she had promised to be his ; and Inez, as he was dis- 
 contentedly aware, possessed queer ideas about the 
 marriage state. Now and again she had flung out 
 remarks that made him wince. Heretofore a certain 
 reserve had withheld him from questioning her as to 
 the reality of her beliefs and disbeliefs. He now saw, 
 in this interval of unusual mental clarity, that his 
 present relationship with Madame de Pierrefond was 
 among the things to be dispassionately faced. Both 
 were still eager and suspiciously ready to refer to 
 their compact of sincerity, but John, at least, had
 
 128 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 begun to realise the paradox that with the increase 
 of intimacy there came a corresponding decrease in 
 the subjects discussed. 
 
 The " dark spots " in Inez' life, for instance, had 
 not yet been illumined. To do her justice, she had 
 more than once attempted it. It had been John who 
 checked her, saying, " Oh, don't let's bother about 
 it to-day. There's plenty of time." 
 
 If in her instant acquiescence there was a savour 
 of relief, who could blame her? No woman, however 
 intellectual or " advanced," can relish the displaying 
 of scars. 
 
 Now as John read, he fumed. No matter what 
 Inez' personal experiences, they could not justify 
 her in following the blasphemous, inhuman, unfemi- 
 nine logic of this modern iconoclast. Why! The 
 man left nothing sacred ! Motherhood was merely a 
 duty to the state. The accident of sex alone laid 
 the unpleasant duty at woman's door. If children 
 could be produced by machinery, so much the better. 
 All the traditions of hearth and home, all sweet do- 
 mestic habit were held up for ridicule. A man, and 
 equally his mate the brute at least granted the ra- 
 tionality of mating were of service only in pro- 
 portion to their intellects, and what those joint in- 
 tellects could achieve for the common good. Reli- 
 gious marriage he regarded as a relic of superstitious 
 barbarism, and legal ones as the act of moral cow- 
 ards. The one true union in these enlightened 
 times, so the writer declared, was when two free,
 
 JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 129 
 
 noble, earnest souls joined hands, pledging them- 
 selves and the community to live and work together, 
 always for the betterment of all mankind, until such 
 time as one, or both, of them began to feel a lessen- 
 ing of the physical attraction which was, indubi- 
 tably? of benefit in enhancing other faculties. 
 
 At this point the reader cursed aloud, and flung 
 the volume to the floor. Not until the dawn began 
 to steal upon him did he sleep, and then in a night- 
 mare vision beheld Inez in Athenian robes and a pair 
 of the socks his mother had darned, standing on the 
 steps of the Louvre and announcing in a shrill voice, 
 to the population of Paris that she chose Jean 5 Em- 
 ingway for her soul-mate, and intended having a 
 large family by machinery.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE FIRST LESSON 
 
 THE two days that needed to elapse before John 
 was to take his lesson, were not specially happy ones. 
 Facts, of the kind that have to be definitely " faced," 
 do net, as a rule, go garlanded in flowers. In com- 
 mon with another breed of " stubborn things," their 
 floral affinity is more apt to be a thistle. 
 
 On Sunday, as he and Inez drove toward the 
 Louvre, he struggled valiantly to keep at bay the 
 shadow of his heaped and menacing perplexities. 
 During the drive she chattered incessantly. Never 
 had she been more beautiful, or more becomingly ar- 
 rayed. She was like some merry-hearted schoolgirl, 
 out for a day of liberty. John, watching her, could 
 not help thinking of the incongruity between her ap- 
 pearance and the startling theories which she 
 claimed. More bitterly than ever did he hate Pro- 
 fessor Carant-Dozie, and under his breath cursed the 
 day in which Inez began to feel his sinister power. 
 
 As they went, side by side, up the Louvre steps, 
 the memory of his nightmare dream flashed back, giv- 
 ing him a sensation of treachery and shame. His 
 eager companion led him, as she had warned, straight 
 to the footstool of the Victory. After a moment of 
 
 silence in which he had felt, rather than heard, the 
 
 130
 
 THE FIRST LESSON 131 
 
 long, reverent intake of her breath, she began to 
 speak. At the first it required no effort for him to 
 follow. There were wonderful things she had to say 
 this afternoon. Dimly John felt that he would have 
 to " grow up " a good many intellectual inches be- 
 fore he could quite reach her highest branches. The 
 last thing she wished was to make him conscious of 
 this disparity, but there were times, as now, when the 
 sight of supreme beauty obsessed her. Impressions 
 and emotions flowed from her lips in a stream of 
 liquid fire, and she would forget that a listener was 
 near. 
 
 In spite of frequent self-spurring, the young man's 
 attention began to flag. His mind had been kept 
 too long on tip-toes. A few very human muscles be- 
 gan to ache. The thoughts of his personal vexa- 
 tions swarmed over him, stinging like insects, and 
 trying their malicious best to drag him back into 
 reality. 
 
 All at once Inez turned, giving keen scrutiny. 
 '"You are distrait, mon ami. Yes?" 
 
 "I am, a little," he admitted. "I'll tell you 
 .about it later." 
 
 " No," she said, with one of her quick, decisive 
 gestures. " It is better at once. I waste time of a 
 pupil who has other things on his mind. We will sit 
 here." 
 
 He followed submissively, seating himself on one 
 of the crimson velvet sofas that are to be found in all 
 European galleries.
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " It's disgusting of me to have shown you that I 
 was troubled," John began apologetically. 
 
 " As if you could 'elp the showing ! " she smiled. 
 
 " Then you noticed it all along? " 
 
 " Yess, at the once. I did not speak before, 
 for I had the belief that when we had reached the 
 High Gods " Her clear voice broke in air. She 
 bowed, and stretching out her hands, palms down, 
 made a little gesture of salaam, first to the poised 
 Victory arid then to the tall young charioteer in 
 bronze which stands quite near, and which, as all the 
 world knows, is one of the greatest treasures old 
 Time has left us. 
 
 " They are stunning enough to have made me for- 
 get," murmured John, contritely. " But somehow 
 they didn't." 
 
 " Voila! Then we climb down from Olympus and 
 enter the clinic. Let us 'ave the thorn out ! " 
 
 John opened his lips to declare it not one thorn 
 but several, thought better of the impulse, and stated, 
 simply, " A friend of mine from Delphi will soon be 
 here." 
 
 "A friend? Is it a ladee?" 
 
 " No. A chap named Charlie Abbey." 
 
 " That is a nice name, Shariee Abbee," she 
 mused. " Is he the nice chap ? " 
 
 The last question was put in a light, almost teas- 
 ing voice. 
 
 " Oh, Charlie's all right, as kids go."
 
 THE FIRST LESSON 133 
 
 She sent a swift side-glance upward to his scowling 
 countenance. Her own was now sparkling with mis- 
 chief. 
 
 " Fie ! Jean 'Emingway, that you do not wish 
 to see yo' friend from 'oine." 
 
 " Have I said I didn't want to see him ? " John 
 growled. 
 
 " As if there was the need ! " Her raillery was 
 now so evident that he faced her. 
 
 " Of course I'll be glad to see the boy," he cried, 
 almost angrily. " It's only " 
 
 " On lee? " she prodded. 
 
 " Look here ! You're making fun. You know 
 just as well as I do what's the matter. I don't like 
 the idea of his butting in." 
 
 " Butt ing in ? " she repeated slowly, and in 
 genuine astonishment. "Is Sharlee then a goat?" 
 
 John was forced into a laugh. " Not by any 
 means. I think I'm that. Now, don't look so puz- 
 zled. * Butt-in ' is only American slang. It means 
 intrude, interfere, come between. I don't want 
 Charlie or anybody else to come between us." 
 
 "Must Sharley come between?" she questioned, 
 with downcast lids. " Could he not stop on this 
 other side of me? " 
 
 " Not while I am on this," declared John. " You 
 are my teacher, and I don't propose to share you." 
 
 The merriment in her eyes sobered to a more tender 
 radiance, yet she could not forbear one further dart.
 
 134 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " I am hurt. You seem to be what they call the 
 monopolist. That is against all principles of mod- 
 ern sociology, friend Jean." 
 
 " I don't care a hang about modern sociology, 
 especially as set forth by that plausible idiot, Carant- 
 Dozie," he exploded. In the ensuing pause he felt 
 the pincers on another set of thorns. 
 
 In Inez' face all smiles had faded. 
 
 " You mus' not speak to me so of Monsieur Car- 
 ant-Dozie," she said in a low, distinct voice. " He 
 is my frien', and, as you know, I believe in his teach- 
 ing, and will follow it." 
 
 " Not all of it ! Good Lord, Inez, not all! " he 
 broke out with vehemence. It was the first time he 
 had used her Christian name. He, at least, seemed 
 unaware of the new liberty. 
 
 Madame de Pierrefond sat very still. She did not 
 answer for some moments. His hurt, eager eyes fed 
 on the white face near. She did not betray herself 
 by a tremor and yet he felt that her mind was a bat- 
 tle-field of warring impulses. 
 
 " I read all of that last fool book, each word of 
 it," he almost groaned. " I can't believe that you 
 subscribe in full to views like that." 
 
 Inez rose very slowly. " Our mission here to-day 
 was of Art, and not philosophee," she said. " And 
 our first lesson has not been the success. I am tired. 
 Shall we go back to my rooms for tea ? " 
 
 " If you wish me to," said John, stalking beside
 
 THE FIRST LESSON 135 
 
 her. He felt very much like a derelict schoolboy, but 
 as they paced, in silence, the long marble halls, he 
 was saying to himself, many times over, and with in- 
 creased vehemence at every repetition, that neither 
 Inez de Pierrefond nor any other woman should bam- 
 boozle him into accepting the Frenchman's impious 
 doctrine. 
 
 He called a taxi-cab and they drove home, but now 
 each was mute and heavy with self-consciousness. 
 Inez' gaiety had fallen like petals from a rose. At 
 her door the young man hesitated, " Do you really 
 want me to come in? " 
 
 Inez looked at him as at something, for the mo- 
 ment, forgotten, " Mais oui," she said politely. 
 "Did I not ask you?" 
 
 After a perfect tea, the strain between the friends 
 showed signs of relaxation. John, being a man, and 
 a singularly uncomplex one, made no effort to assist ; 
 but Inez, in her role of hostess, soon forced herself 
 back into a more ordinary state of mind. 
 
 " Suppose we now return to Sharlee," she sug- 
 gested, when John had refused to eat another of the 
 small, honey-sweet French cakes, and was lighting a 
 cigarette. " When does he arrive ? " 
 
 " On July eighteenth. This is the tenth." 
 
 " Eight more days," she murmured, counting them 
 off on the gilt arm of her chair. " It is the heaps of 
 time for you to get ready. You will meet him at the 
 steamer? Yes? "
 
 136 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " It's my intention to try it. I only hope I won't 
 get submerged in a whirlpool of French vocables on 
 the way." 
 
 " You cannot get lost from here to Boulogne, if 
 only you remain on the cars until the whole train 
 stops. Now, one more question. Is Sharlee, like 
 you, to study the architecture? " 
 
 " No, he's going to make a try for Art. He has 
 wanted to for years, but he is dependent, financially, 
 on his mother, and Mrs. Abbey well, Mrs. 
 Abbey is, as we say in Delphi, rather set in her ways." 
 
 "And only just now she has consent?" 
 
 John nodded. " But even now she has tied him up 
 with a whole string of conditions." 
 
 " Conditions? I do not understand." 
 
 " Oh, limitations, things he must do and, es- 
 pecially must not." 
 
 " But how can she know of it all, when she is not to 
 be here? " 
 
 "That little fact wouldn't phase Mrs. Abbey," 
 laughed John. " She thinks she can run Paris from 
 Delphi as well as she could from the Hotel de Ville." 
 
 " May I hear just one condition? " Inez requested, 
 with ice and disapproval in her tone. 
 
 " You shall hear all, if I can remember them. The 
 most absurd is that Charlie must get the cheapest 
 teacher he can find, until he has shown that he is 
 worth putting under a first-class one." 
 
 He turned to look at her, prepared for indigna- 
 tion, but not the burning fury in her eyes.
 
 THE FIRST LESSON 137 
 
 " Imbecile ! " she almost sobbed. " An' she would 
 not send her cook to a poor chef first ! Poor Shar- 
 lee." 
 
 " Oh, you mustn't be too hard on Mrs. Abbey," 
 palliated John. " She means well." 
 
 This innocent and charitable remark instead of 
 soothing, lashed his hearer into a new frenzy. 
 "Means well! Means well!" she repeated, pushing 
 the words out between clenched teeth. " That is the 
 slogan of the evil ones. What difference if she means 
 well, when the boy's spirit is bent, his young heart 
 silenced. Oh, if I could keel wid' my own hand, doze 
 'ippocrites who say ' mean well ' ! Don't think me 
 mad, Jean 'Emingway," she hurtled on, unconscious 
 in her excitement that all her English " h's " were 
 being left behind. " I know but onlee too well what 
 I now speak of. So it was my mother said, when she 
 took me from my convent, to make of me the the 
 creature of the foulest man on earth. Now you 
 understan' just why doze words are, for me, the Rus- 
 sian knout-lash." 
 
 John, tingling under another lash, gave a low cry 
 and sprang toward her. 
 
 " No ! No ! " she exclaimed, checking him by a 
 wild gesture. " Please come not. I mus' fight alone 
 for a little ! " 
 
 There was nothing for him bat a return to the 
 just-vacated chair. The room seemed packed and 
 charged with a sinister magnetism. No sound was 
 heard but a soft whipping to and fro of trailing
 
 138 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 silk. He bent over, hiding his eyes with his hands. 
 
 So he sat through the storm. After an interval in 
 which he seemed to himself to have grown ten years 
 older, he was conscious of tense silence, and knew 
 that Inez was beginning to win her battle for self- 
 control. 
 
 He ventured to look up. She was standing by 
 one of the front windows, her forehead pressed against 
 a closed pane of glass. Every few moments a shud- 
 der ran over her ; but they gradually became farther 
 and farther apart. At length she drew a long, long 
 sigh and turned. 
 
 " Inez ! " the man cried, and now she did not check 
 his swift advance. 
 
 " Do not be sorry," she whispered through lips 
 that still twitched. " I 'ave fight wid de beasts at 
 Ephesus." 
 
 " Inez ! " he cried again, brokenly. 
 
 She gave one upward frightened glance. " Not 
 now, not now," she shivered. " There are things 
 I cannot listen now." 
 
 " Then I must leave you," he said gravely. 
 
 Again she raised the terrified look. Now there 
 was pleading in it. 
 
 " No, do not leave me." 
 
 At that he took her in his arms and she, clinging to 
 him, wept as he had never thought to hear a woman 
 weep. Between her sobs could be heard disjointed 
 syllables, or at times entire words. More than once
 
 THE FIRST LESSON 139 
 
 he caught " impossible." Then came the broken sen- 
 tence, " You never could tolerate," and after it, the 
 hated name " Carant-Dozie." 
 
 Wisely he made no attempt to answer, only held 
 her close, pressing his lips again and again upon her 
 thick fragrant hair. 
 
 But how had it happened? He had assured him- 
 self so often that there could be nothing but friend- 
 ship between him and this beautiful Strange Woman. 
 He had felt so sure of himself, and now, all in a mo- 
 ment, she was in his arms, and he, a mad infatuated 
 lover, strained her to him as if he could never let her 
 go. And by God, he never would! She was his 
 mate, the only woman In the world for him. Why 
 should her money come between, or her queer opin- 
 ions? Once his own, he could win her around to san- 
 ity. Of course she was different from women at 
 home. She would be criticised by them misunder- 
 stood, perhaps affronted. There was no law com- 
 pelling him to keep his wife forever in one spot. His 
 wife! The rapture almost sickened him. Could it 
 be he, John Hemingway of Delphi, Iowa, thus think- 
 ing some day to possess that tropic, radiant spirit for 
 his own? With her beside him he could afford to 
 smile at Delphi's Pharisaical condemnation. There 
 was only one whose opinion really mattered his 
 mother ! 
 
 This thought came, like a physical blow, straight 
 between the eyes. Unconsciously his tense hold
 
 140 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 slackened. It was only for the fraction of an in- 
 stant, but in that fraction the woman, also, suffered 
 a subtle change. As he caught her nearer with an 
 almost desperate strength, he felt that she struggled 
 for release. One hand was set against his breast as 
 a lever. She turned her face away, crying out, 
 "" this, too, is over, Jean. You mus' not hold me. I 
 am quite now myself." She gave a choking little 
 laugh, meant to reassure him. 
 
 " You are not yourself," he declared, with tender 
 emphasis. " Why, you shake like an aspen leaf ! 
 Come over with me to the sofa." 
 
 " No, no ! " she protested, pushing still farther 
 away. " You have 'elp me, Jean, my Jean. But 
 now it is more kind if you go." 
 
 " You will send me from you, like this ? " 
 
 " Like this, and wort 1 ," she persisted. " The day 
 is passing. Soon servants will come to light the 
 rooms. I wish you not to see me wid red eyes." She 
 pressed the scrap of handkerchief, in turn, against 
 them. 
 
 " As if I cared about your eyes being red ! " re- 
 torted John. 
 
 " But I care. I care much. I do not wish to have 
 you see me look so uglee." 
 
 " Nonsense." 
 
 " You will not go? " she murmured faintly. 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 At this she drooped against him and began to weep 
 anew. This time there was no vehemence or passion.
 
 THE FIRST LESSON 
 
 Her sobs were those of an exhausted child who sees 
 there is no hope. 
 
 John stood it for two minutes. " Don't cry like 
 that ! " he pleaded. " Inez. Inez! Do you hear 
 me. Good God, I can't stand thisl I'll go if you 
 really want it. But first " 
 
 He put one shaking hand under her chin, lifting 
 the tear-wet face. 
 
 She made no resistance, only he felt the sob, sud- 
 denly checked, pass into a long, suppressed shudder. 
 His heart and head were both on fire, but through the 
 flame his good angel touched him. 
 
 " No, not like this," he muttered. " You were 
 right. I had better go." 
 
 At the door he gave one backward glance. She 
 had flung herself into his chair, her face buried 
 against the cushioned back. He thought of a bruised 
 white rose, wind-spent, and beaten to earth by sudden 
 storm.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER AND MEETS A FRIEND 
 
 JOHN bore, as if in upraised hands, his flaming 
 spirit out into the early night. He glanced a little 
 shyly at each passer-by. It seemed incredible that 
 he could be thus self-consumed, a veritable Horeb's 
 bush of incandescent thought, yet give no outward, 
 visible sign. It was with relief, mingled with vague 
 astonishment, that he realised his ordinary incon- 
 spicuousness. Not one curious glance had followed 
 him. 
 
 For hours he walked the streets, sometimes in drag- 
 ging reverie, or again swiftly, under the touch of a 
 leaping tongue of fire. More than once he crossed 
 his own doorway. With the instinct common to all 
 startled animals, he had made for the familiar lair, 
 but whenever he paused, sending a tentative look up- 
 wards, the thought came that man-built rooms were 
 too small to contain this blazing whirlwind which 
 lately had been himself. 
 
 Fatigue, clutching at last the pulse of his excite- 
 ment, drew him within, and up the narrow stairs. 
 Surely he must sleep now! He stumbled into his 
 room and sank, an inert mass, into the nearest chair. 
 
 All at once the bewildering excitation went. He felt 
 
 143
 
 JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 
 
 like his mother's scrap-basket, emptied by a single 
 turn of the wrist, upon a wide, bare floor. 
 
 He sat on in the darkness. A sort of stupor be- 
 gan to creep upon him. He got into bed, but, once 
 there, realised that normal sleep was not for him. 
 A wide-eyed staring, dulled by reaction, was the best 
 that he could hope for. 
 
 Dawn, planting lean elbows on the casement, held 
 forth another problem for his survey. " What ought 
 to be his next move in regard to Inez? " Silence 
 would be an affront. He thought of telephoning, but 
 he had never used a French telephone, and an initial 
 effort would surely be accompanied by ludicrous mis- 
 takes, peculiarly unsuitable to the present condition 
 of affairs. He could write her a note, of course. 
 Or he could send flowers. With this inspiration, he 
 sprang out of bed. It was the one perfect thing to 
 do. On his way to the Ecole he would stop at some 
 florist's and there select whatever blossoms that 
 seemed to commend themselves. One thing was clear. 
 This time it should not be the usual pink roses. 
 They belonged to that remote period of time before 
 he had held her in his arms. 
 
 This decision taken, he felt himself, emotionally, 
 upon his feet once again. The remainder of the day 
 could wait. Inez would surely thank him for the 
 flowers, and her message would be a clue for fur- 
 ther conduct. 
 
 He dressed quickly in order to give himself time for 
 careful choice. It was well that he did so. The
 
 144 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 fringe of the Latin Quarter held, as he was now to 
 discover, no showy ** establishments " for selling 
 flowers. There were many small, wheeled booths, 
 drawn up in ranks along the Quai aux Fleurs, and 
 presided over by ancient, hawk-like dames all, appar- 
 ently, of one family with the shrew who had con- 
 founded him, some weeks before, in the square of 
 St. Germain des Pres. Frowning, with eyes deter- 
 minedly bent to the stone flags, he ran their shrill 
 gauntlet, and then crossed on foot the little bridge d' 
 Arcole. 
 
 Here, hailing a taxi-cab, he was soon on the boule- 
 vards, where plate-glass windows, crowded with peer- 
 ing blooms, glowed out from every block. Within 
 the most pretentious of them all he hurried. The 
 width of choice bewildered him, until at length he 
 noted a tall vase filled with princess lilies. 
 
 He drew nearer, looking at them critically. The 
 petals were like whorls of warm ivory ; and near the 
 heart of each was a glow of pink. " Don't you see 
 that we were grown for her, and for this hour ? " their 
 fragrance whispered. 
 
 " I'll take those, all of them," said John ab- 
 ruptly, to the smiling proprietaire who stood beside 
 him. " I want them put into a long box of very pale 
 green, and tied with a silver ribbon. They are to be 
 sent " here he took out his card and wrote the ad- 
 dress. 
 
 "Young Monsieur is an artist, n'est-ce pas?" 
 the Frenchman ventured.
 
 JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 145 
 
 John, giving no reply, stalked out, at which the 
 other, chuckling, said to himself, " And not so much 
 the artist as the lover. Mon Dicu, if only once more 
 I could scowl like that ! " 
 
 John walked back to the Ecole. The day man- 
 aged to creep past. With something of the same 
 wonder he had felt the night before on realising that 
 the most terrific inward holocaust could bring no out- 
 ward change, he now smiled grimly to find himself 
 drawing straight lines and calculating " stresses ' r 
 as if there were no Strange Woman in the world. 
 
 On his way home he became conscious of a grow- 
 ing excitement. Surely a note would be lying on the 
 corner of the draughting table. The last flight of 
 steps were taken two at a time. 
 
 Yes, there it was ! He had never seen Inez' hand- 
 writing except on the edge of a menu card, and then 
 she was laughing so that the pencil shook. He had 
 never considered what sort of stationery she might 
 affect, but, long before he touched it, the plain en- 
 velope with its strong, unusual superscription, cried 
 out that it had come from no hand but hers. 
 
 As he caught it up, his knees weakened. He gave 
 an impatient exclamation at this folly, and stiffened 
 his lips into a straight line. Nevertheless the hand 
 that opened the letter trembled. 
 
 " Dear, dear friend," it began. " I thank you for 
 the exquisite flowers. They have spoken your 
 thoughts. As I write, two of them lie upon my 
 breast.
 
 146 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " I am leaving Paris. When you read this I shall 
 already be on the train, speeding very, very far 
 away. No one, not even my servants, know where I 
 am to go; and letters are not to be forwarded. In 
 one month I shall write to you again. Inez." 
 
 He had read standing. Now he seated himself and 
 read again 
 
 His first sensation was that of mere vacuum. The 
 air about him thinned as if the oxygen were being 
 stealthily withdrawn. His mind grew still and clear. 
 Almost he seemed to be looking through the window at 
 himself. With hands resting lightly on the two arms 
 of his chair, he sat motionless, waiting for more poig- 
 nant infelicity. Surely it was to follow. Pain, in- 
 dignation, anger, a screaming flock, should be 
 well on their way. 
 
 He bowed his head, but nothing happened. What 
 could be wrong? In the few novels John had read 
 the lover, on receiving such a shock, invariably 
 " stared straight before him as one dazed," and then 
 exploded into pyrotechnics of despair. Indubitably 
 he had received a shock ; and, with equal certainty, he 
 was a lover. What, then, was the significance of this 
 pleasant calm? 
 
 The puzzled look grew. He glanced around, as if 
 the tardy Furies might be hiding behind furniture. 
 Not one black feather showed. The atmosphere re- 
 mained tranquil. Even the truant oxygen stole back. 
 
 Then a voice, commonplace, but strangely cheer-
 
 JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 147 
 
 ing, lifted somewhere within him. " She could not 
 possibly have done a more considerate or tactful 
 thing," it asseverated. 
 
 John pondered for a moment. " By George, it's 
 the truth. She couldn't ! " he cried aloud, whereat 
 the two voices joined as two rills coursing down a 
 rain-beaten window, merging into a congratulatory 
 one. 
 
 The young man sprang to his feet, threw back his 
 shoulders to their utmost tension, and spread his 
 arms wide. In the instinctive, physical movement the 
 last filament of mental doubt snapped, and he realised 
 his chief emotion to be one of relief. 
 
 Having admitted, he now gloated over the convic- 
 tion. Thank Heaven that he and common sense 
 were not yet strangers ! Perhaps romantic hearts 
 would scorn him. Inez herself, could she know, might 
 feel it a subtle affront. 
 
 But was it certain that she did not know? This 
 thought, striking like a blunt spear, checked midway 
 a second luxurious spread of muscles. Inez was a 
 very witch for intuition. She could see, deep down 
 into a companion's mind, the play of half-formed 
 thoughts and impulses, moving and standing still like 
 silver-shadow fishes in a stream. Of course she 
 knew. She had vanished in order to produce this 
 exact result. 
 
 For some reason this last reflection jarred. No 
 normal man relishes the thought that his future state
 
 148 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 of mind had been not only predicted, but used as casu- 
 ally as one might a red brick in an architectural 
 foundation. Perhaps she knew already, or 
 thought she knew, what she would write in the 
 promised letter of a month, and what would be its in- 
 evitable effect. 
 
 Well, there was no use to trouble himself about 
 that now. At least the month was tangible, a 
 given fact. It was not too long a time for the lay- 
 ing out of his entire life-to-be. Of course he should 
 miss her horribly. Already he was missing her, but it 
 had been an inspiration for her to leave him free of 
 her bewildering presence. Who could think sanely 
 in a Persian garden? 
 
 Then there was Charlie. Without Inez, Paris 
 would be as empty as a synagogue on Sunday. After 
 all, it would be a rather pleasing sight, that familiar, 
 grinning " mug " of Charlie Abbey's at the syna- 
 gogue door ! 
 
 Arc lights from the street began to gleam and 
 sputter. John moved slowly to the window, and 
 stood, staring, upon them. Last night his heart and 
 soul had been each a globe of flame. By contrast he 
 now seemed cold, but it was only that the fire had 
 eaten deeper, and was burning with a steady and in- 
 extinguishable light. His love for Inez, startled into 
 being, and too suddenly revealed, was, nevertheless, 
 love, the sort of love a man can know but for a 
 single woman. He had not dared think out, as yet, 
 what might be the full measure of her love for him.
 
 JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 149 
 
 It was enough that she had told him that she needed 
 him, that she had let him hold her against his 
 breast. 
 
 Now he turned back into the room, into shadow. 
 He did not speak aloud, or even give the pledge a con- 
 scious form of words ; but, as deeply as it is given 
 man to make covenant with his own soul he swore that, 
 whatever the handicaps, Inez' wealth, their dif- 
 ference of opinions, opposition and prejudice of those 
 he loved at home, he would some day win this 
 woman for his wife. 
 
 Half an hour later he caught up his hat and went 
 out, searching for the small cafe where he and Inez 
 had had their first tea together. By good fortune 
 he was able to secure the same table. He ate what 
 was brought him. Across the table he could almost 
 see the vivid, delicate, ever-changing face. Yes, he 
 would miss her. God ! How much ! 
 
 Returning to his room, his eyes still soft with vi- 
 sions, he went to his desk and, for the first time, wrote 
 of Madame de Pierrefond to his mother. In conclud- 
 ing the letter, he said, " Madame de Pierrefond has 
 just left Paris for an absence of at least a month. I 
 shall miss her companionship greatly. On the other 
 hand it will give me lots more time to be with Charlie. 
 I am positively impatient for the boy to come and 
 know I shall talk the poor chap to death. There are 
 so many questions I want to ask him about home and 
 you" 
 
 The days preceding Charlie's arrival were filled
 
 150 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 and packed to overflowing with sunshine and with 
 work. If hours of reaction threatened, John fought 
 them back. He had been able to get from " Ma- 
 dame," his landlady, a cheerful front room on the 
 floor beneath his own. The more delicate matter of 
 finding a " cheap " painting-master would have to 
 wait. 
 
 John found that by taking an early morning train 
 on July fourteenth, he could reach Boulogne in ample 
 time. With the first glimpse of Charlie's red and ea- 
 ger face, peering out from the throng aboard his 
 steamer's " lighter," the universe held nothing for 
 John but thoughts and questionings of home. On the 
 short trip to Paris, they talked incessantly. If, once 
 in a while the newcomer ventured an interested glance 
 out of the window, John cruelly caught him back. 
 
 " The country is all the same along here," he ex- 
 postulated, laughing. " If you've seen any, you've 
 seen all. There's no hold-up for you yet. Now be 
 a good boy and tell me all over again that mother is 
 looking bully, and hasn't grown older by a day." 
 
 In the big front room on the Rue de Vaugirard 
 came the excitement of getting Charlie's " boxes " 
 into place. After this he had to run upstairs for an 
 inspection of John's apartments. " That blessed 
 mother of yours has made me promise to take some 
 kodaks of your rooms," he told John. 
 
 As if two floors were not enough, the excited boy 
 insisted on going into Madame's sacred haunt, the 
 kitchen, greeting the astonished matron with a
 
 JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 151 
 
 " Bonne jewer " so fervent, that her stiff mustachios 
 trembled, and she bowed the answering anachronism 
 without consciousness of the fact that it was well on 
 into the afternoon. 
 
 In another hour Charlie was on terms of friendship 
 with the entire household. He went about scattering 
 bright exclamations of approval as a canary splashes 
 water from its bath. 
 
 Next morning the two Delphinians had their coffee 
 and rolls together. There were many rolls, a 
 heaped-up golden dish of them, and a glass jar filled 
 with honey. John made no comment on the unsolici- 
 ted and disproportionate increase, but it hurt him 
 just a little. " What was the difference between him- 
 self and Charlie? " he wondered. These people under 
 whose roof he had lived for a year were still 
 strangers, while, in a few hours, Charlie had won 
 them for friends. Perhaps it was because Charlie 
 was glad to be away from home, while he, John 
 There was no need to finish. The faint chagrin had 
 already disappeared. If it takes little to sting the 
 vanity of man, it takes still less to soothe it. 
 
 Now John looked at his watch, declaring it time 
 to be off. Charlie, who had been toying with the 
 honey-pot, sprang up also. He wore an air of alert 
 readiness. " Can't shake me ! " he exclaimed, in an- 
 swer to John's expression of surprise. " I'm going 
 too." 
 
 " Going where? " 
 
 " To school with little Johnny."
 
 152 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " But you can't, you idiot," laughed John. 
 " You haven't entered." 
 
 " Neither had you until you went in first. Now 
 it's my time. Don't they teach painting in that 
 joint, as well as architecture? " 
 
 " Why, so they do," conceded John. This 
 thought had never entered his head before. What 
 was that remark of Inez' about his tendency to segre- 
 gate the Arts as one does church creeds? 
 
 " Look here, old horse," said Charlie, as they 
 started off together, " you've got a sort of hook-worm 
 stare at times, and a cupidy smirk about the gills. 
 I have a hunch that you're in love." 
 
 " Nonsense," cried John, " I know only one woman 
 in Paris, and she's not in it." 
 
 " Some Irish bull, that," meditated the younger 
 man. " But honest, now. do you really mean that 
 you know only one? " 
 
 " One only," reiterated John. " And that is quite 
 enough. I didn't come to Paris to play around." 
 
 " Bet that one's a pippin," remarked Charlie, hope- 
 fully. 
 
 John disdained reply. 
 
 They walked in brisk silence for a little, then 
 Charlie, in a sort of rhythmic croon, began to solilo- 
 quise. 
 
 " He's been in gay Paree a whole long year, and 
 knows but one fair dame, who is not in it. One 
 year, and one fair dame. There's safety in a multi- 
 tude we're told, yet Johnny knows but one, and she's
 
 JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 153 
 
 enough, oh, quite, some quite, enough. I won- 
 der what's the answer? " 
 
 He paused. No answer being vouchsafed, he now 
 began to whistle, " There's only one girl in the world 
 for me." 
 
 John stood it just three minutes. 
 
 " Now, kid, you listen here," he burst out, turn- 
 ing a face flushed with self-consciousness and 
 laughter. " I guess we'd better settle this and have 
 it over. This friend of mine, friend," he repeated 
 meaningly, " is not in the girl or pippin class at all. 
 I don't want her joked about. Get that? " 
 
 Charlie looked sulky, and flinging his head away, 
 muttered an unintelligible apology. 
 
 " She is an American, a widow," John went on, 
 " and has both position and wealth, worse luck ! " 
 The last two words were under his breath. " Her 
 name is Madame de Pierrefond." 
 
 Charlie's sulks vanished. " Madame de Pierre- 
 fond ! " he echoed. " I say, John, that's some high- 
 sounding title! Has she a real title? " 
 
 " I believe her husband was some sort of noble- 
 man," admitted John, trying not to wince. 
 
 " Gee ! Do you s'pose I'll ever get a peek at her ? " 
 
 " Of course. She knows all about you now. 
 When she gets back home I'm to take you to call." 
 
 "Now what do you think of that?" whispered 
 Charlie, in an awe-struck tone. The glamour of 
 high-life dazzled him. 
 
 " I'm on," he sighed, after a chastened interval.
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " It's Charlie-on-the-door-mat from now to never- 
 more." 
 
 If John had pictured himself beforehand, in the 
 role of guide, philosopher and friend to a Western 
 tenderfoot, he soon found that the position threat- 
 ened to be reversed. Where, in a year, he had formed 
 among his fellow-workers not a single intimate, 
 Charlie, in three days' time, was centring a group. 
 His gaiety was irresistible. He saw no faults in any- 
 thing, and was prepared to love everybody. John 
 watched him with a queer mingling of pride and envy. 
 There were times when he felt himself old, " stiff," 
 as Charlie, more than once, had frankly called him, 
 a self-centred prig whom the other fellows had 
 done well to ignore. 
 
 More from a sense of responsibility than any desire 
 to participate, he joined Charlie on several of the 
 " little sprees " that were beginning to be of nightly 
 occurrence. Already the boy was one of a congenial 
 " bunch," most of them American students, boys and 
 girls, in their teens or very early twenties, and all, 
 as far as John could judge, the same frank, joyous, 
 clean-minded young animals as could be found in any 
 Western village. 
 
 Having thus investigated, John gave himself over 
 to thoughts of Inez and her forthcoming letter.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 
 
 THE post that brought it was an early one. Felice 
 brought it up on the breakfast tray. The two young 
 men were already seated. John, with the prehensile 
 eye of the lover saw it first, reached out, and slipped 
 it hastily into an inner pocket. He hoped devoutly 
 that Charlie had not taken notice, but a glance at the 
 youth's too innocent countenance proclaimed, louder 
 than any words, the undesired fact. But at least the 
 observer was considerate and, true to his door-mat 
 policy, refrained from comment. 
 
 All the forenoon John worked, the letter still un- 
 opened in his pocket. The post-mark was Berlin. 
 Why, of all places, should she have chosen this scene 
 of her unhappy marriage? He could not fathom an 
 impulse so different from his own, yet he knew that 
 she had done it only after deliberate thought. 
 What its influence had been the letter would reveal. 
 Somehow, with the passing of the hours, John felt an 
 increasing dread of opening it. He grew more and 
 more restive. Concentration upon his given task be- 
 came an impossibility. A few moments before the 
 luncheon hour he slipped away. He could not meet, 
 again, the simulated unconcern in Charlie's eyes. 
 
 A sudden longing came to be off to himself, 
 
 among green fields. They would serve as a sort of 
 
 155
 
 156 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 antidote to Berlin. The vision of little Robinson 
 flashed into his mind. Surely that, of all places, 
 would be the most appropriate for opening her let- 
 ter. On an ordinary week-da}' like this the small re- 
 sort would be practically empty. 
 
 Making for the square of St. Germain des Pres he 
 was fortunate enough to find a car for Sceaux just 
 on the point of starting. His ancient enemy, the 
 flower-seller, spying him in flight, snapped derision 
 both with her fingers and her beady eyes, but John 
 did not even see her. 
 
 Sceaux was, as usual, a busy, lived-in town ; but 
 on the approach, by foot, to Robinson, there fell a 
 blight of emptiness akin to desolation. The leaves 
 of the huge chestnut trees were beginning already to 
 show the approach of autumn. Many were yellow, 
 and curled about the edges. Up in the old tree he 
 found the platform strewn with them, and had to 
 brush away a protesting armful to make place for 
 himself upon the wooden bench. Here in shadow the 
 air held an acrid odour of dissolution. He wished 
 that he had chosen some other and more genial spot. 
 But to return now, without having read, would be 
 childish. With a sigh he drew forth the envelope, 
 staring long at the strong, clear handwriting, the 
 German stamp and the ornate postmark, and finally, 
 after an impatient j og to his will-power, opened it. 
 
 The note was short. Almost it seemed a travesty 
 to have brought the few lines so far. There was no 
 beginning and no signature.
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 157 
 
 " On the first Sunday in September, at three in the 
 afternoon, I shall be at the foot of the Winged Vic- 
 tory. If you do not come, I shall understand." 
 
 He returned it carefully to the envelope. All at 
 once he felt both satisfied and strong. How little 
 her words had said, and yet how very much! In 
 modern American parlance it was " up to him," just 
 as it should be. There was no room left even for self~ 
 debate. That, too, was as it should be. Of course 
 he would be there. His great resolve, taken even be- 
 fore her first letter came, led forth, like a Roman road. 
 Now, more than ever he assured himself that there 
 need be no by-paths, no ambuscades of doubt. 
 They could face each other squarely, soul to soul, on 
 the broad highway of life, suiting their steps one to 
 the other. 
 
 In the ensuing weeks John, had he been self-ana- 
 lytical, might well have marvelled at the calm and 
 security of his heart. Inez was not yet won. He 
 foresaw obstacles other than the tangible ones al- 
 ready stated. It would take devotion, tenderness, 
 logic, and, perhaps, years to turn her away from the 
 pernicious doctrines which, in her loneliness, she had 
 acquired. 
 
 John had had practically no experience with 
 women. He was as far as possible removed from 
 the type of male braggart who thinks each woman 
 vincible to his spell ; and yet here he was, not only 
 daring to lift his eyes to the most brilliant and beau- 
 tiful of them all, but down in his nature, deeply,
 
 158 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 contentedly, integrally sure that she was some day 
 to be his wife. 
 
 Long before three o'clock, when the first Sunday 
 in September came around, he was at the Louvre, 
 taking his place on the broad landing at the top of 
 the main inner stairway, which, spreading to right 
 and left, lies as a threshold to the Victory. 
 
 Though the great entrance corridor was far, he 
 saw Inez as she entered it, a slim, swaying, grey- 
 clad figure that walked slowly, with down-bent head 
 and empty hands. Drawing back into the shadow 
 of the Charioteer, he watched her, feeding his hun- 
 gry eyes upon her loveliness. 
 
 She advanced without haste, not once raising her 
 lowered lids. Even at a distance he could see that 
 her face was pale. Her whole figure had a tense, 
 still look. She might, John thought, have been a 
 hushed novitiate nearing the altar of her final con- 
 secration, or and here his heart reeled a bride, 
 swept on a great, slow-moving tide of happiness, 
 toward her chosen mate. 
 
 As in a reverie she mounted the stairway, white 
 step on step. John's rapture almost hurt him. 
 Was there ever a woman quite so exquisitely poised 
 before! He thought of young poplars by a quiet 
 stream. As she reached the landing he met her, 
 holding out both his hands. She laid her own in 
 them, and, for a long moment, they looked into one 
 Another's eyes. 
 
 Still, without speaking, they moved toward the lit-
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 159 
 
 tie red velvet sofa where they had sat so many weeks 
 before. John kept one of the hands in his. Now 
 turning it palm-upward he raised it gently, press- 
 ing his lips into the little warm nest of pink that 
 the grey glove had left bare. 
 
 At this she smiled. " Why did you come, my 
 Jean?" 
 
 He, with grave, steadfast eyes on hers, answered 
 gravely, " Because I love you and shall win you for 
 my wife." 
 
 She turned her face, drawing in a long breath. 
 He waited without speaking. 
 
 " Yes-s, it is true. You love me," she breathed, 
 at last. 
 
 John steadied himself. " I do. Neither of us 
 can realise how much, just yet," he told her. 
 Then, feeling it should be said at once, went on, 
 " Of course, as you know, I have very little to 
 offer. I cannot ask you to become my wife this 
 very day, which is the thing my soul cries out for. 
 I shall have to make some sort of professional head- 
 way, get on my feet financially, before " 
 
 She lifted her head so quickly that he paused. 
 " You mean, monee ? " she questioned. 
 
 Seeing the answer in his face she gave a gesture 
 of disdain. " Ouf ! Monee in itself is nussing. I 
 'ave it, yes 'caps." 
 
 Her tone and manner would seem to relegate this 
 mainspring of existence to the negligible status of 
 a fallen leaf. Through his amused tenderness John
 
 160 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 was conscious of noting how, in these weeks of ab- 
 sence, her English had become newly blurred. 
 
 " For your sake I am glad to hear it," he replied, 
 " but the fact that you are well off can have nothing 
 to do with me." 
 
 Inez frowned " 'Ow, nussing to do wid you? " 
 she demanded. 
 
 " Why," stammered John, a little embarrassed be- 
 fore her challenging look, " it's so fundamental that 
 I shouldn't think you'd need me to explain. If you 
 have money, it is yours. That means it isn't mine. 
 Surely you must see that." 
 
 The frown flashed into relief. '* Oui, yes-s. I 
 pairceive. 'Ow stupid ! Then, I weel geeve it all 
 to you, my Jean." 
 
 John did not know whether to laugh or to wipe his 
 eyes. " You blessed, unworldly darling ! " he cried 
 out, restraining with difficulty his desire to catch her 
 to his breast. " I believe you mean it honestly, 
 but that is something I could not accept, least of 
 all from the woman who is to become my wife." 
 
 Inez, with an impatient twist of her whole flexible 
 body, drew back from him. Her face darkened, but 
 her eyes gleamed ominously. 
 
 " That is the speech of out-worn traditions," she 
 accused. " It comes not from the real mind of you. 
 Soon you shall begin to make the, what do you 
 say? the the distinguishment, for yo'self. 
 You would not hesitate to share wid de good com-
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 161 
 
 rade, no ! but when it comes to sharing wid yo' 
 wife! " She paused, breathless with a sense of cli- 
 max. 
 
 But her last word, outflung like a torch, blinded 
 her companion to all else. 
 
 " Oh, Inez ! " he cried, his voice breaking. " Say 
 it again. This is the first time you have spoken it." 
 
 "Spoken what?" stared Inez, in genuine amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " That sweetest, most sacred word in all our lan- 
 guage, the word, wife! " He leaned forward, 
 caught up both her hands, and began kissing them 
 impartially. 
 
 The eyes that watched him slowly cleared into full 
 apprehension of his thought. She gave a little 
 gasp, then bit her lips, as if to restrain impetuous 
 speech. Now she looked up, and around her. 
 
 " Be more composed, my Jean," she murmured, 
 stifling a nervous laugh. " Many peoples are en- 
 joying the watch of us." 
 
 He too glanced up, and then flushed angrily. 
 
 Quite a group surrounded them though at a 
 decorous distance. Some stared in frank amuse- 
 ment ; others, more considerate, sent covert smiles 
 over half-turned shoulders. John, with a smothered 
 oath, sprang up. 
 
 " Come, my dear," he said in a voice unnecessarily 
 loud and commanding, " let us leave this menagerie 
 of apes, and go home."
 
 162 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 He jerked, rather than drew, one grey-gloved 
 hand through his arm, and stalked in the direction 
 of the stairway. 
 
 Inez, a curved mass of suppressed laughter, could 
 scarcely keep pace with him. 
 
 " Stop giggling ! " he ordered. " I want those 
 fools to think we are already married." 
 
 " And 'ave you, my poor Jean," she asked, as soon 
 as she could speak intelligibly, " any 'ope that you 
 so deceive those fools? " Her eyes sparkled and 
 danced with the delight of teasing him. 
 
 " Why not? " he gave a brusque reply. John did 
 not enjoy being laughed at. 
 
 " I don't agree with you at all," returned the 
 young man stiffly. " When once you are my 
 wife " 
 
 " Well, well," she broke in, " we cannot argue a 
 question so intimate upon de Louvre stairs. As you 
 said, we shall now go 'ome. Home" she repeated 
 softly, and with a more careful enunciation, seeing 
 that he hesitated. " Will you not come home with 
 me, my Jean? " 
 
 No surly mood could last beside a bubbling spring 
 of joy. Before the taxi-cab had turned its first cor- 
 ner, John's offended dignity was merged in pure 
 bliss. 
 
 Within the beautiful and well-remembered rooms 
 it flared into excitement. Wheeling to his compan- 
 ion he strained her against his heart, kissing her 
 hair, her eyelids, and, for the first time, her mouth.
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 163 
 
 She yielded, shivering, but now the tremor was of 
 answering ecstasy. 
 
 " I can't believe it yet, it's all too wonderful ! " 
 John faltered, smothering the words against her lips. 
 
 " I'm drunk, dizzy, with happiness. Inez, 
 you have never yet said that you love me ! " 
 
 " I I love you, Jean," she panted, feebly at- 
 tempting escape, " but you do not allow me the 
 breathe to say annysing." 
 
 "And you have promised, that just as soon as 
 I make good, you'll marry me." 
 
 " Go 'way ! " cried Inez, fighting him off in a laugh- 
 ing pretence of fear. " I have not say so. I do not 
 care for hand-cuffs. Now you must let me get the 
 breathe." 
 
 " Then say so now. Promise me this minute, 
 then you shall breathe." 
 
 " First I shall breathe," asserted Inez, in bright 
 defiance. 
 
 He made a determined stride, but she eluded him, 
 and before he could prevent, had seated herself at 
 the piano. 
 
 He put his hands upon her shoulders as if to drag 
 her back. 
 
 " Now, Jean," she coaxed, " go over to your leetle 
 nook and sit down, like a good boy. I will sing." 
 
 " But suppose I don't want you to sing. It keeps 
 you too far away." 
 
 " It is a love-song I will sing my Jean," she mur- 
 mured. All the witchery and compelling power of
 
 164 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 all her sex was vibrant in the low, rich voice, and in 
 the one SAvift, upAvard glance she sent him. 
 
 John knew that he was vanquished. " Just an- 
 other kiss," he pleaded, " just one, and I'll go." 
 
 "Bandit! You said just one," Inez protested 
 indignantly when, at last, she was able to free herself. 
 " That Avas a whole constellation ! A constellation 
 of shooting-stars at zat. Now go at once, naugh- 
 tee!" 
 
 John obediently turned away. Inez began the 
 first notes of an old ballad, vaguely familiar. Be- 
 fore his allotted chair, John paused. There was no 
 use trying to sit still. Every nerve and fibre of his 
 body tingled. 
 
 The song grew more distinct. 
 
 " Look here, Inez," he interrupted boldly, " that 
 isn't any love-song. It's a dirge." 
 
 Inez and the piano-stool whirled as one unit. " I 
 am surprise at you, Meester 'Emingway. 'Ave you 
 no temperament at all? It is fitting for great hap- 
 piness to 'ave the minor strain along wid it. It is 
 for that I sing * Loch Lomond.' ' 
 
 " I'm sorry," said John in the tone one invariably 
 uses when one is not, " but I don't care for just that 
 sort of minor. Don't you happen to know ' Believe 
 Me if All Those Endearing Young Charms '? " 
 
 " Yes, I happen," answered the singer, struggling 
 heroically to preserve her gravity. " Also I know 
 * Darby and Joan,' and that chef-d'oeuvre, ' Silver 
 Threads among de GolV But never mind! You
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 165 
 
 'ave destroy my desire to sing." At these words 
 she sprang up, making toward the nearest electric 
 bell. " All now that I wish, is tea." 
 
 " Suits me," said John. " I'm radiating rapture 
 as a hot water bottle does heat. So long as I can 
 look at you, I don't care what else is taking place." 
 
 They played " tea-party " like two happy chil- 
 dren. Later on the hostess informed him that he 
 was to stop for dinner. In acceding John suggested 
 returning to his rooms for a change into more con- 
 ventional garments. 
 
 " No," Inez interposed. " There will be only our 
 two selves, and I like the grey clothes of you now, 
 particularly " here the mischievous gleam slid into 
 place " wid a pink rose in de button-'ole." 
 
 Pausing to regard, intently, the crushed pink 
 blur that now adorned it, she inquired innocently, 
 " now what could have so sadly demolish de little pink 
 rose of to-day? " After an interval packed close 
 with rainbow-stuff not easily described, Inez drew 
 away, and continued, demurely, " But even if you do 
 not, I wish to dress for dinner. I 'ave a new gown. 
 It is deeferent from my others, an' I think, beautiful. 
 I wish you to see it first of any. Will you remain 
 here while I change? " 
 
 " I'm afraid to risk it," he told her gravely, 
 though his eyes, too, were beginning to twinkle. 
 " One of these emotional brain-storms might take me 
 in the middle of your toilet, and I should burst in all 
 your doors."
 
 166 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Mon dieu! " cried Inez, with a tiny scream. 
 " An' think of the scandal. My maid, Celeste, 
 she was born wid no morals, an' de 'ole has got 
 deeper every day, yet she is so easily shock! Go 
 quick, my Jean. I 'ave begun to tremble. But 
 where at will you go ? " 
 
 "Not far," he laughed. "It doesn't matter 
 where. I shall see nothing but your face, feel 
 nothing but these dear lips that starve me even while 
 they satisfy." 
 
 " You you make me dizzy also, wid such 
 strong kisses," Inez said, hysterically, as, at last, he 
 let her go. " I think you had better walk to some 
 distance, Jean, while I make ready for our little 
 feast." 
 
 " All right," laughed John. There was a light of 
 mastery in his eyes. " Is the Garden of the Tuileries 
 far enough? " 
 
 She nodded, and as, once more, he stretched out 
 longing arms, fled through the long rooms and shut 
 a door.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 
 
 RETURNING, an hour later, with a second sheaf of 
 princess lilies and, in his buttonhole a fresh cluster 
 of pink roses, the door was opened to John's knock 
 by Fran9ois, the footman, in full livery. He pre- 
 sented the same wooden countenance which, on the 
 occasion of the American's first call, had unsuccess- 
 fully concealed contempt. Now, to the very angles 
 of his elbows there was servility, concession, defer- 
 ence. Each servant in a household is an emotional 
 thermometer, registering, with magic swiftness, the 
 varying favours of the ruling power. 
 
 Within the closed door Fra^ois even went so far 
 as to clear his throat, a demonstration so unusual 
 that John turned to look at him. A hand, depre- 
 cating, tentative, was stretched forth in the direction 
 of the box of flowers. 
 
 " Thank you. I'll carry them up myself," said 
 John, and assuaged the slight by a bestowal of his 
 straw hat. Fra^ois received it as a vessel of holy 
 water. 
 
 Mounting the long, polished stairway, John's lips 
 began to twitch. Evidently the servants were " on." 
 The thought was far from displeasing. But there 
 
 were other thoughts behind the visitor's smile. In 
 
 167
 
 168 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 the afternoon a maid had been in attendance upon 
 the door. The sudden exchange to Fra^ois, in 
 what appeared a brand new uniform, betokened a 
 deliberate access of ceremony. Inez was to dazzle 
 him in more ways than a new gown. 
 
 Well, he would take her cue. During the after- 
 noon they had been merely human lovers. To-night, 
 as hostess, she was to be in the role of grande dame. 
 He knew that she would do it beautifully, as she did 
 all else. Now that essentials were secure, it would be 
 rather a lark to meet her half way. 
 
 He straightened his shoulders and wished that he 
 had insisted on wearing dinner clothes. The large 
 box, too, offered impediment to dignity. A loaded 
 pack-horse could scarcely curvet like a racer. 
 
 At the top of the stairs an inspiration came. He 
 would leave the box in the hall. This done, he threw 
 his head still higher, and, assuming the air of a con- 
 queror, walked into the room. 
 
 Inez, from the far end, sped to welcome him. At 
 sight of her, his just-acquired part split like an over- 
 ripe pod, revealing, in an iridescent instant, the 
 amazed and delighted man. He was yet to learn of 
 all the subtleties concealed in the person of one 
 Strange Woman. 
 
 She came, noiselessly as moonlight sweeping across 
 a field of open primroses. She was gowned, from 
 shoulders to small pointed toes, in a luminous, pale 
 yellow. Later on he accused her of having phos- 
 phorus in the folds.
 
 INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 169 
 
 Around her slender throat was a string of topazes, 
 each separated by a diamond, and in her hair two 
 yellow butterflies close together, perched as if just 
 alighted on a flower. 
 
 The very mischief in her eyes was golden. The 
 rich, yet tender colouring made her face, usually 
 pale, glow like some tropic fruit steeped through 
 with sunshine. 
 
 "You, you witch!" he managed to get out, at 
 last. 
 
 " Madame de Pierrefond, at your sairvice," she 
 curtseyed, mockingly. 
 
 Routed by beauty, the young man turned away, 
 and went meekly back into the hall to fetch his flow- 
 ers. 
 
 " Here are some more of those same lilies," he said, 
 in a chastened voice, placing the unopened box upon 
 the piano. " I'm afraid they are not much of a 
 match for that star-coloured gown." 
 
 " Ah, but they are in themselves so very lovelee ! " 
 she exclaimed, when the lid at last uncovered them. 
 ** Bring to me, please, that old fat Chinese jar of 
 bronze. In it they will be mos' artistique." 
 
 He watched her as she arranged them. In the 
 spring salon had been more than one picture of a 
 beautiful woman bending above flowers. Not one 
 among them, John now thought, was fit to serve as 
 a footstool to the warm, living, animated vision here. 
 
 " Votta! " she cried, as the final whorl of petals 
 nodded into place. " It is the creation, yes ! Now,
 
 170 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 my Jean, leeft up and place on the piano, here near 
 the end, so we can view from every point." 
 
 " Who would waste time looking at earth-grown 
 flowers with you in the room ? " John declaimed, gal- 
 lantly. He was beginning to feel himself again. 
 
 " So you like it, the gown ? " she murmured, 
 looking up with eyes in which mischief, and a little 
 touch of shyness blent. 
 
 John took in a long breath. " Yes, I like it," he 
 said. " I believe it was spun in some moon-garden, 
 and you lured it down." 
 
 " Pouf ! " she laughed. " I would not 'ave it. I 
 like not the extinct planet. For me, it mus' be sum- 
 sing that glows and burns. Rather would I wear a 
 garment of deep orange-coloured poppies, grown in 
 the fire of Mars." 
 
 John did not echo her laughter. " Well," he said, 
 seriously, " if you ever got within sight of Mars, 
 you could have all he's got. No one could resist 
 you." 
 
 She was quick to note the slight despondency in 
 his tone. 
 
 " You are 'ongree ! " she now declared. " Such 
 silly talk means always that a man is 'ongree. We 
 shall 'ave diner at the once." 
 
 She hurried across the room to an electric bell. 
 John, as she passed, made a movement as though to 
 take her in his arms, but apparently she did not see. 
 
 " Do you know, Inez," he began, when she had 
 pushed the bell and remained standing in an attitude
 
 INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 171 
 
 of expectancy beside it, " sometimes it comes over me 
 all in a heap, how incredible, how almost impossi- 
 ble it is that you should really care for a common- 
 place, humdrum fellow like " 
 
 Inez emitted a silvery shriek. " Oh, but he is 
 veree, v eree 'ongree, my poor Jean ! There is Fran- 
 ois at the door. You do well to come queeck." 
 
 He followed her, but there was no spring or joy in 
 his measured steps. Beside the table she paused, 
 giving a pretty gesture that held both pleading and 
 a tinge of deprecation. 
 
 " It is fanciful, n'est-ce pas? Perhaps you think, 
 too fanciful. But when I planned our first diner I 
 'ad the the what is that fonnee American word 
 you teach me? oh, yes, the 'unch I 'ad the 
 'unch, to make it, too, of golden hue. You do not 
 hate it, no ? " 
 
 John, feasting his eyes upon the exquisite table, 
 answered honestly, " It is the loveliest thing I ever 
 saw, except just one." 
 
 "And that just one is me! " laughed Inez, 
 drawing her shoulders together like a gleeful school- 
 girl. 
 
 The round table was spread with old, ecru Span- 
 ish lace. In the centre stood a wide, flat dish of 
 water lying above yellow pebbles. About the edges 
 grew clumps of primrose-coloured irises, and through 
 the still water swam and curved a school of pigmy 
 Japanese gold-fish, each dragging its long, unneces- 
 sary three tails.
 
 172 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Above the table, and below the crystal chandelier, 
 translucent, yellow butterflies swarmed. One could 
 almost see them flutter, and only the closest scrutiny 
 revealed the hair-like threads of golden wire. The 
 porcelain was of white and gold, and the serviettes 
 bordered deeply with Spanish lace. 
 
 All the wines served were apparently of liquid to- 
 paz ; and even the courses of food, from the initial 
 grapefruit heaped with white cherries and little 
 cubes of pineapple, down to the ices moulded like or- 
 anges and having natural stems and sprigs of foli- 
 age, conserved, in some unexpected and always beau- 
 tiful way, the dominant aureate tone. 
 
 All through that wonderful evening John's soul 
 was played upon by alternating currents of exhilara- 
 tion and despair. At times, staring at Inez under 
 bent brows he would feel, with new poignancy, how 
 hopeless it was for any one man to attempt posses- 
 sion, utterly, of all moods, and thoughts and tender- 
 nesses of a rainbow-thing like this. She was indeed 
 made up of " spirit and fire and dew." As well 
 might one try to grasp a perfume! 
 
 Then instantly, rushing into the chill vacuum of 
 self-mistrust, would come the sirocco of masculine 
 possession and he would cry, now audibly to her, 
 again more fiercely to himself, " No, you have 
 granted me the right to win you. I'll do it, and 
 hold you, too, though all the devils in hell swarm up- 
 ward, and the stars fall, blocking my path to you." 
 
 It was not until he had reached the quiet of his
 
 INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 173 
 
 rooms, and had locked the door against intrusion 
 from the all-too-sociable Charlie, that he realised how 
 little Inez had bound herself. Beyond admitting the 
 supreme and glorious fact of loving him, she had 
 promised nothing. Whenever he urged anything re- 
 sembling a practical discussion of their future, she 
 would find some means of escape, dancing into new 
 topics as a wayward child, darting suddenly from 
 the highroad, plunges into a field of flowers. Here, 
 looking back at him she would beckon, at which the 
 young man, already half-dazed with rapture, lost no 
 time in following. 
 
 Once, literally forcing her to listen, he asked per- 
 mission to write of their engagement to his mother. 
 He got no further than the word. 
 
 " Engage-ment ! Engagement ! " she mimicked. 
 " That is so stupid a term, my Jean. One engages 
 a domestiqu-e, n'est-ce pas? A chauffeur, if you like, 
 or even an elderly companion. One does not engage 
 a a butterfly ! " Here she nodded airily until 
 the two perched on her head whirled into a tarantelle. 
 
 " But you're not a butterfly," protested John, 
 clinging desperately to his theme. " You're the 
 most intelligent woman on this earth, and we both 
 know it. Now you are deliberately playing with me. 
 Why," he urged, lowering his voice to pleading, 
 " are you unwilling to discuss the things you know 
 are so close to my heart? " 
 
 For answer, she nestled against him, and then, 
 after an interval, whispered, " Pairehaps that is just
 
 174 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 the why. I am jealous. I wish not anything but 
 me, just me, to be near your heart this night." 
 
 This, very naturally, put an end to the discus- 
 sion. John was defeated. He was always being de- 
 feated, and each rout brought more ecstasy than the 
 last. The male in him sounded a faint alarm, but 
 Inez soon smothered the cry in rose-leaves. After 
 all, as she had said, it was their first evening to- 
 gether as acknowledged lovers. 
 
 But here in his rooms, half a city removed from 
 the enchantress, the puzzled thoughts continued to 
 return. Why should she always shrink before such 
 words as marriage, wifehood, betrothal? She did not 
 even wish him to write home of it. In agreeing that, 
 next evening, he bring his friend " Sharlie " for a 
 visit, she had said, laughingly, " But I prefer that 
 first you do not confide in him. He will know in 
 good time." 
 
 It was with some trepidation, next morning at 
 breakfast, that John delivered the gracious invita- 
 tion. He was afraid that at least one fibre of his 
 pride and happiness would show through the spoken 
 words. But Charlie, excited on the instant at the 
 prospect of meeting a lady of title, heeded nothing 
 but the one joyous fact. All day long he was con- 
 cerned with the choice of what clothes he should wear, 
 whether his best was of the latest cut, and, above all 
 how, amid such " swell " and unfamiliar surround- 
 ings he was going to be able properly to conduct 
 himself. John's laughing asseveration that he
 
 INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 175 
 
 needn't worry, for Madame de Pierrefond was merely 
 a charming, unaffected American woman, brought 
 resentment, rather than confidence. Already he had 
 visions of gilded halls and an avenue of silk-legged 
 footmen. It was with a recurrence of the faint sense 
 of disappointment that he saw Madame de Pierre- 
 fond's door thrown wide by a single menial. Its 
 calves, indeed, dilated unmistakable silk, but the grey 
 tint seemed, to Charlie, unnecessarily demure. Up- 
 stairs, however, where the long vista of lighted draw- 
 ing-rooms, the mirrors, great jars of flowers, and 
 soft blending hues made a sumptuous whole, the situ- 
 ation began to brighten ; and from the moment of 
 Inez' cordial hand-grasp, smooth waves of self-con- 
 gratulation rocked his Western soul. 
 
 Later on, when the dove-coloured menial, with 
 voice and manner pitched to the finest edge of cere- 
 mony announced Monsieur le Prince de Brieux and 
 Madame la Princess, the waves frothed into jubila- 
 tion. At last he was seeing life, high life, the 
 kind he had read about in novels. How he would im- 
 press the " bunch " to-morrow night. In hopeful 
 anticipation of some such glittering eventuation as 
 the present one, he had already arranged for a Latin 
 Quarter " spree." Around the bare, though genial, 
 boards of their favourite cheap restaurant, he would 
 dispense condescension as heretofore he had handed 
 out French rolls. Charlie had still a few things to 
 learn about the Latin Quarter. 
 
 But when it came to writing home here, at
 
 176 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 least, his premises were secure, he did not overesti- 
 mate by one jot the pride and satisfaction of the Old 
 Girl, the term in which he was wont, most disrespect- 
 fully, to think of his mother. Almost he could see 
 her in her tight-fitting bodice, and elbow-length white 
 silk gloves, stepping into the basket pony phaeton 
 for a round of visits in which to disseminate the re- 
 flected glory. 
 
 With an impulse of unconscious criticism, his eyes 
 went again to Inez. She was standing, straight and 
 tall, her head thrown back a little, her red lips smil- 
 ing, as she waited for the approaching guests. It 
 seemed to add to her own importance that she did 
 not advance by an inch. Her gown this evening 
 was the favourite grey, but the undertones were of 
 pale, shimmering blue-green. She wore a girdle of 
 almost barbaric beauty, great flat planes of mala- 
 chite and lapis lazuli, woven together in dull Chinese 
 gold. Around her head was a similar band, and her 
 throat rose from a filigree of gold and smaller stones. 
 
 Scarcely had she presented Madame and Monsieur 
 le Brieux, and Madame, according to her custom, 
 was making for the silver cigarette box, when other 
 guests began to arrive. John, in spite of a lover's 
 impatience at this excess of interruption, could not 
 hold back a grin of admiration to see how well Inez 
 had " sized up," even before meeting, their young 
 compatriot. Several of the newcomers were pos- 
 sessed of titles, others were simply " Madame " and
 
 INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 177 
 
 " Monsieur." Ignoring the latter, Charlie, with 
 naive and child-like snobbery, confined his wide-eyed 
 interest to those who had. He had never quite re- 
 covered from the overwhelming instant in which he 
 had first bowed to the Princess, and several times had 
 to wrench his gaze away, lest she should think he 
 was staring. 
 
 She was still a pretty woman, with a long dissatis- 
 fied face, preternaturally white, and thin lips so 
 deeply tinted that she appeared to have just finished 
 a slice of blueberry pie. It never occurred to the 
 ingenuous lad that neither of these tones was the out- 
 come of natural processes. In his limited experience, 
 " ladies " did not paint. That was a vice restricted 
 to chorus girls, adventuresses and other unmention- 
 able females. Mrs. Abbey had always been strong 
 on the things that " ladies " did not do. 
 
 Cigarette smoking was the one, perhaps, most in- 
 sistently denounced; so now, as his fascinated eyes 
 watched the Princess take up a small tube of white, 
 lighting it with the dexterity of long practice, he 
 gave an involuntary gasp. 
 
 As it chanced the Princess, blinking through the 
 brief glare, caught full his horror-stricken eyes. He 
 dropped them guiltily, and his face slowly grew to a 
 purple that matched the smoker's lips. 
 
 Her match went out. A swift gleam of deviltry 
 came to the long, sleepy eyes. The dead face stirred 
 a little. Boredom ennui was the bete noire of
 
 178 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 the Princess' pampered existence. It clung to her 
 like an invisible old man of the sea. Even the loos- 
 ening of a leg-muscle was a boon. 
 
 She leaned toward the young American, beckoning 
 imperiously. " Come 'ere, leetle boy," she com- 
 manded, " you leetle pink boy wid' beeg eyes." 
 
 Charlie went, walking on hot ploughshares. 
 
 " My light it ees not light," she murmured, as he 
 stood beside her. " You weel geeve me one, yes ? " 
 
 Charlie's knees battered together. He took up 
 the match-stand nearest, but his hands trembled so 
 that each broke in hand as he struck it. 
 
 The Princess laughed softly. The old man of the 
 sea slid to the floor. 
 
 Flushed, miserable, ecstatic, the boy persisted, and 
 finally ignition was achieved. 
 
 " Voila! " the Princess cried. " You are the nice 
 boy. Now you shall smoke wid me. You do not 
 smoke, no? But you mus'. 'Ere is one of my spe- 
 cial own." 
 
 Charlie, tingling with delicious embarrassment, ac- 
 cepted the cigarette. It had a crown in gold 
 stamped on the paper. Now he felt not only fash- 
 ionable, but wicked. This part of his letter home 
 would need to be suppressed. 
 
 From this time on the evening for Charlie was 
 less a joy than a heated delirium. Every woman in 
 the room, except Inez and a young American girl, 
 was smoking. A great many men had come in, but 
 what were men to Charlie? The American girl had
 
 INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 179 
 
 been specially invited to entertain him in case the 
 older, more sophisticated women found him a bore. 
 But the most sophisticated of them all had appro- 
 priated him, and, as for the boy, it would have 
 taken nothing less than dynamite to remove him from 
 the enchantress' side. Already she had promised 
 to teach him French, and had given him permission 
 to call next afternoon for the first lesson. 
 
 On his way home he talked incessantly, but John 
 did not share his excitement. For the lover, it had 
 been an evening of torment. The hated Monsieur 
 Carant-Dozie had been among the guests, and, after 
 his arrival Inez had not seemed to be aware of any 
 other masculine presence. Carant-Dozie had imme- 
 diately changed one end of the salon into a lecture 
 hall, and John, being ignorant of French, was forced 
 to devote himself to the young American girl who 
 had been asked for Charlie. 
 
 Within a few days, however, his resentment passed. 
 Inez, on his next visit, was alone. She still avoided 
 the theme of matrimony, but had agreed for him to 
 write of their love to his mother. With this impor- 
 tant letter on its way he was, at least for the time 
 being, contented, and told himself it would be more 
 generous not to attempt further pledges; and the 
 woman he loved, and who dearly loved him, not 
 because he was overbrilliant, or compelling, but just 
 for the strength, and honour and cleanness of his 
 soul, set all her wonderful charm to work, that he 
 might realise her gratitude.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 TWIN STARS AND THE PIT 
 
 HE came to think of them as twin stars, these 
 two shining, dominant influences of his present life. 
 Scarcely could he tell which was the brighter, Inez 
 or his rapidly advancing work. Sometimes, under 
 his uplifted, adoring gaze, they would appear to 
 tremble, to waver, and slowly merge into a luminous 
 One. 
 
 John felt himself to be the happiest and most for- 
 tunate man alive. No need of heaven, if earth could 
 be like this ! 
 
 Inez, for her part, was gradually loosening all 
 other interests, focussing her brilliant intellect and 
 her heart on him. Under the stimulus of such a love, 
 new powers and insight came to the young man. 
 The once Strange Woman had become a dear com- 
 panion, John's muse and his constant inspiration. 
 
 But Inez was not a woman to be contented for 
 any long space of time with incense and a niche. 
 Her mind, a restless, eager octopus, flung out strong 
 tentacles to clutch the very essence of her lover's 
 need. She began a definite study of architecture, 
 reading voraciously; and, after a little, having sup- 
 plied herself with a draughting board and instru- 
 
 180
 
 TWIN STARS AND THE PIT 181 
 
 ments, insisted that he teach her how to draw. The 
 relative positions in which their friendship started 
 were thus reversed. 
 
 John accepted his tutorship laughingly, but within 
 a very few days amusement began to give way to 
 wonder and delight. All that he told her was ab- 
 sorbed as sand takes water. She never asked a sec- 
 ond time for an explanation ; and her questions often 
 staggered him with their direct precision. Drawing 
 presented no difficulties at all. She seemed to have 
 a childlike joy in it, as in a new and absorbing game. 
 When John marvelled, and, half- jokingly, half in 
 earnest, accused her of having already been under 
 skilful tutelage, she answered, with her pretty, dep- 
 recating gesture, " Not in the architecture, my Jean. 
 You are the first an' onliest master in that Art, but 
 when I was quite little, I showed some talent in 
 drawing. I always wished to follow it, but " 
 here she gave a petulant shrug " my voice, it 
 was thought good, also, and the voice, being con- 
 sidered a better asset in the barter and trade of 
 marriage, I was made to put all the time and 
 practice upon that. But for that bad voice," she 
 added, fighting back, as he could see, the dark mem- 
 ories her words had evoked, " I might by now, 
 who can tell? 'ave been the great artiste, like 
 Cecilia Beaux and Mary Cassatt." 
 
 " I am sure you could be anything that you 
 wanted to be," John told her, fatuously. " You are 
 a better architect than I am this minute."
 
 182 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " It is the dangerous admission for a teacher 
 to make to his little pupeel," she said to him, de- 
 murely. 
 
 " Even though you are? " he teased. 
 
 " More, much more, if I are." 
 
 The emotional passages of their intercourse, so 
 to speak, were not so invariably satisfactory. The 
 " pernicious doctrines " which he had set himself to 
 weed from his beloved's mind, had evidently grown 
 deep. A few of the feebler came up readily enough, 
 but when he laid hold of the more hated, those 
 definitely planted and nurtured by Monsieur Carant- 
 Dozie, his muscles ached in vain. 
 
 " You can't believe those absurd blasphemies, 
 Inez. You've got too much intelligence. You sim- 
 ply can't" 
 
 "And if it is that I can't" He flushed at her 
 attempt to reproduce the flat American " a " in the 
 word of denial. " Why do you trouble, my poor 
 Jean?" 
 
 "But do you?" 
 
 " 'Ave teacher not just said, I can't? " 
 
 " I want you to say it." 
 
 " Didn't you hear me try, so veree 'ard ? " was 
 her meek rejoinder. 
 
 John shook himself irritably. He was striving 
 not to laugh. " You're an eel, a wriggling, silver 
 eel ! " he expostulated. 
 
 Inez broke into smiles. " It is good. Now that 
 you 'ave called me a reptile, you will feel better,
 
 TWIN STARS AND THE PIT 183 
 
 yes ? Now, Jean, my Jean," she coaxed, " lean 
 once more to our lesson, and explain to me of the 
 modules in this Corinthian frieze." 
 
 In some such disastrous wise, his attempts at re- 
 generation always ended. In Inez' presence he was 
 unable to get past the foil of her flashing wit ; apart 
 from her he found himself, after each encounter, less 
 confident and, at the same time, more determined to 
 win. 
 
 There was no one who could help him. It was a 
 struggle that must go on between himself and the 
 woman he loved, alone. And yet, with an instinct 
 surviving from boyhood, his troubled heart reached 
 outward to the thought of his mother. If she could 
 only be near! If he could feel, just once, that gen- 
 tle mother-hand upon his hair! 
 
 Of course the real substance of the controversy 
 could not be disclosed. His soul revolted at the 
 thought of sullying that sweet and tranquil mind 
 with new-world nihilism. It was her very ignorance 
 that made his greatest need of her. 
 
 Before this she had received the letter telling of 
 his engagement. He began to count time back- 
 wards. Why, it was two weeks and over ! How had 
 the days vanished? He smiled, knowing only too 
 well. Now almost any post might bring his moth- 
 er's answer. 
 
 It came late one afternoon. He and Charlie had 
 planned to have a quiet dinner together, after which 
 the boy was to leave and join his rapidly increasing
 
 184- THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " bunch." John had, before him, the promise of a 
 evening tete-a-tete with Inez, but, as he was not 
 to arrive until eight there would be a long quiet 
 hour in which to enjoy his letter. 
 
 He read slowly, with deliberate retracing of many 
 sentences. It was such a one as only she could have 
 sent, eager, a little tremulous at times, and always 
 pathetically loving. There was not a single query, 
 and no thought of self. That her boy had, at last, 
 given his love, his man's love, to a woman ; that the 
 love was, in glorious measure, returned, these 
 facts enclosed for her the entire universe. She would 
 love Inez. Already she loved her. She sent God's 
 blessing to both her dear children. 
 
 More than once John lifted his eyes from the 
 finely written pages, staring out in a brown study, 
 and wondering whether it was not Inez' due that he 
 should place this letter in her jewelled hands. In 
 spite of their recent closeness, he had never shared 
 with her his mother's letters. Until now he had not 
 tried to analyse his feeling of reluctance. It was 
 with a slight sense of surprise and the fear of in- 
 ward disloyalty that he realised the persistence of 
 this attitude. 
 
 He sighed, and then diligently sought to find the 
 reason. After some moments of heavy thought he 
 could lay his hands on nothing tangible except the 
 presence, in Inez' mind, of certain doctrines of which 
 he disapproved. Even these were not clear, since 
 she continued to refuse discussion.
 
 TWIN STARS AND THE PIT 185 
 
 He looked again at the pages, read the last sen- 
 tence aloud, and then, springing up, put it among 
 the others on his desk. 
 
 As he did so, Felice knocked upon the door. It 
 was another letter, directed, also in his mother's 
 hand, and in his care, to Madame Inez de Pierrefond. 
 
 John placed it in an inner pocket, and in a few 
 moments was on his way. 
 
 After their greeting, he led Inez near a standing 
 lamp, and, without speaking, gave her the missive. 
 With a closer scrutiny than he realised, he watched 
 the changing, down-bent face as it read. She went 
 through it twice, the second time very slowly, 
 and then, Avordless as he, held it out. Her eyes were 
 bright and soft. He caught a gleam, as if of rising 
 tears. 
 
 " Dear Woman who is to be my dear son's wife," 
 it began. " My heart is so filled with this wonderful 
 and beautiful news that I fear I shall express myself 
 very badly. Perhaps it is better that I do not at- 
 tempt to say very much. John has been all his life 
 the best and dearest of sons. There is an old adage 
 that a good son makes a good husband. It will be 
 so with your John. I know you are already as 
 proud of him as I am. 
 
 " Have you thought of a definite time for your 
 marriage? I wish that it could be soon. It may 
 be selfish of me to write this, but I cannot help wish- 
 ing it could take place in the little church where
 
 186 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 John's father and I were married, and where our 
 boy was christened. 
 
 " But, after all, the place does not make a great 
 deal of difference. The beauty of the ceremony 
 will be the same wherever it is. 
 
 " You love my boy. That is enough. Already 
 I feel that you are my dear daughter. God bless 
 both my children is the deep and heart-felt prayer of 
 
 " JOHN'S MOTHER." 
 
 Raising his eyes John saw that his companion was 
 at some distance. Her head was turned from him, 
 and she held a handkerchief to her eyes. Inexpressi- 
 bly touched by this proof of her responsive tender- 
 ness, he hurried after, taking her into his arms. 
 She was weeping, not violently, but with a sort of 
 subdued passion. Her body yielded instantly to his 
 touch. It felt heavy, chill and flaccid. 
 
 " Don't cry so, rny darling. Don't cry. I love 
 you for it, but it breaks my heart." 
 
 " Your heart, your good, true heart, it is not 
 yet broke, my Jean," she sobbed, " and now it is me 
 that mus' break it." 
 
 " Why, Inez " he began to stammer. 
 
 " I knew it mus' come soon. I knew," she went 
 on more wildly. " And this dear letter of your 
 mother's, it has made it come." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean, darling. Try to 
 be a little quieter. Surely no more loving letter was 
 ever written."
 
 TWIN STARS AND THE PIT 187 
 
 " Yes, that it is. So loving, an' I will break 
 her heart wid yours." 
 
 " You are hysterical," said John more sternly. 
 " I insist that you compose yourself. Come over 
 here to this sofa." 
 
 She wrenched herself away, facing him with tear- 
 wet, resolute eyes. 
 
 " No ! I weel not sit. You stand there an' you 
 listen. It mus' be spoke now, the all of it ! " 
 
 He tried again to check her, but she waved him 
 back. 
 
 " Don't try to stop, Jean 'Emingway. I 'ave 
 been the coward and the 'ippocrite now too long. 
 I shut my eyes to keep my 'appiness ! Now I shall 
 be brave." 
 
 She was poised like a Valkyrie on a menaced peak. 
 Now at last, he realised, she was to make full decla- 
 ration of the doctrines which threatened their united 
 lives. He saw that she must not be opposed. 
 
 " I am listening," he said, curtly. 
 
 " It is of marriage ! " she began, more calmly. 
 " Always you speak to me in old conventions, de 
 marriage, de ceremony, de church! Now, your 
 mother, too, she thinks first and speaks first of dese 
 things." 
 
 Here she gave an outflung gesture toward the let- 
 ter, still in his hands. 
 
 " Me, I do not longer believe in church. My life 
 'as keeled in me all such superstition. I do not be- 
 lieve in marriage. I weel 'ave none of it. No, do
 
 188 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 not speak ! " she cried, her voice rising to a sort of 
 wail, " an' do not stare at me so wid fire eyes an* 
 dat white, hard face. I weel not 'ave bonds of mar- 
 riage, either by church or state. I 'ave 'ad it once, 
 
 yes, God ! I 'ave 'ad it. I will not again mate 
 wid man who mils' be tied. I love you. That much 
 you cannot doubt. I love you! I weel be your 
 mate, your 'elp, your comrade, your faithful love. 
 At any time you want me, I weel be all dese things, 
 
 but nevaire again, nevaire, do you onder- 
 stan', weel I put on for you or any other man, the 
 manacles of accursed, wicked marriage ! " 
 
 A silence as of death and, for John, with death's 
 hollow blackness, rose in the long, cool rooms. For 
 a few moments, Inez' deep, stifled breathing could 
 be heard, then it, too, was still. 
 
 John's eyes were on the floor. He was ashamed 
 more for her than for himself. The consciousness 
 of all that he had lost was to come later. Now his 
 one impulse was to escape, to put a universe between 
 him and the flaming, evil spirit that had lured and 
 degraded him. 
 
 He moved one hand mechanically. Something 
 rustled. He stared down to see his mother's letter 
 crumpled into a sharp-edged mass. He smoothed 
 it out with a distorted grimace meant for a smile. 
 As he put it gently back into his pocket, Inez gave 
 the cry of a stricken animal and hid her face. 
 
 Without a look at her, John turned away. A
 
 TWIN STARS AND THE PIT 189 
 
 woman's voice, a hungry beggar's voice, crept 
 after him, " I shall be here if ever " 
 
 It broke off in a sob. John stalked toward the 
 stairs. 
 
 Again, as if from an under world of torment, it 
 was lifted, " Pairehaps, Jean if you love 
 enough if you would try to make me see things 
 in your way " 
 
 John did not return to his rooms. All night, 
 storm-driven, devil-lashed, he walked the streets. 
 Instead of an upheld glory, he seemed now to bend 
 above a pit, fathomless in despair, and blurred with 
 the ashes of all happiness. 
 
 When daylight, a wide grey mockery, began to 
 show behind Mont Martre, he crept back, and 
 under a sudden impulse started the packing of 
 his things. It was incredible that he should stay on 
 in Paris. There was but one place for him now, 
 and that was home. To be near the sweet, clean 
 presence of his mother, to see her smile, to listen, 
 once again, to the dear, deliberate voice, it was a 
 longing practically irresistible. 
 
 In the midst of his work he paused. Charlie, in 
 a few hours more, would be coming up to breakfast. 
 He could not explain himself to Charlie. That 
 would be more intolerable than to remain. 
 
 He sank into a chair, groaning aloud. Already 
 he was blocked. After a long, long time he lifted his 
 sunken head. There were cries from venders in the
 
 190 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 street and, in the room below, he could hear Charlie 
 moving. As if in panic, he sprang to his feet, shut- 
 ting down his trunk-lid, and hanging strewn gar- 
 ments back into the big amoire. The determination 
 to leave was still with him, only, he saw now, that it 
 must be done in a more rational way. 
 
 When the boy came up, exclaiming at his friend's 
 pallor, the tormented man was able to fling off sym- 
 pathy with the casual statement, " Oh, it's only a 
 beastly headache, brought on by too constant use 
 of the eyes. I didn't sleep at all. I'll be all right 
 after a cup of the hot fluid Madame calls coffee." 
 
 But the fluid produced no such result. It was 
 more than usually nauseating, and required positive 
 heroism to swallow. Charlie's solicitations were re- 
 newed ; but his companion, forcing a greenish grin 
 meant to indicate physical well-being, insisted on fol- 
 lowing the established routine. 
 
 Once within the Ecole, he remained only long 
 enough to be sure that Charlie had gone to work, and 
 then, excusing himself on the plea of illness, went 
 out again to interminable street-wanderings.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 
 
 FOR ten days he remained away from Inez. Twice 
 did he recommence the packing of his trunks, and 
 each time, as before, did the need of explaining the 
 submersive plan to Charlie Abbey check him. What, 
 after all, was it that he could say? Any fictitious 
 presentment perhaps, could he bring himself to 
 speak it, even the true one would be regarded by 
 the inexperienced boy as merely a lovers' quarrel. 
 To throw over his ambition, his career, everything, 
 in fact, that he and the little mother at home had 
 worked for, just because a love-affair was thwarted, 
 would seem to Charlie and justly, too a pro- 
 ceeding that deserved only contempt. 
 
 He must endure a little longer. Perhaps, out of 
 the void, some new happening would rise, giving him 
 a more logical motive for escape. Meanwhile he lay, 
 helpless and bound, upon the rack. Visions and 
 jeering thoughts, a pack of gaunt, grey wolves, rav- 
 aged him by night and by day. At times he could 
 feel the sharp teeth in the very flesh of his heart. 
 If only, for one hour, he could forget ! The picture 
 of her bending above white lilies, her exquisite, 
 plaintive voice as she sang, her suddenly upraised 
 eyes, her kisses ! how they came back ! 
 
 191
 
 192 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " I will not think of her. I witt not ! " he groaned. 
 " Or if I must, let it be only the memory of those 
 last terrible words that blighted us." 
 
 But even in these lurked echoes keyed to pleading. 
 " I shall be here, if ever " Then she had 
 paused. Afterward, as from one forsaken in a wood, 
 " If you loved enough, Jean. If you loved 
 enough " God! Was this torment not enough, 
 and more? 
 
 He could see the great, tear-lit eyes reproaching 
 him. Her head moved with a wordless " no," for 
 she had not left this sentence unfinished. " If you 
 would try to make me see things in your way." 
 
 After the first few days in which all things had 
 been blurred into a single consuming agony, it was 
 this last phrase that stood out. He would wake 
 from troubled dreams, repeating it. When Sunday 
 came, he went to church, hoping to exorcise phan- 
 toms ; but her words lurked in the refrain of each 
 familiar hymn. The sermon, a practical straight- 
 forward discourse, chanced to be on " Tolerance." 
 
 " How else," demanded the young minister, " was 
 the spread of truth to be accomplished ? Mere prose- 
 lyting was as narrow as the turning of a deaf ear. 
 Each soul had its own way of growth, its own lines 
 of development, and in proportion as one felt the 
 righteousness of his individual belief, so should he 
 use sympathy, understanding and, above all, toler- 
 ance, in efforts to draw less fortunate wanderers into 
 his haven of content."
 
 CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 193 
 
 Next morning the early sparrows chirped, " If you 
 loved enough ! If you would make me see things in 
 your way." But John, through muttered objurga- 
 tions at their noise, said to himself that he had no 
 arguments to convince an acknowledged prentice of 
 Monsieur Carant-Dozie. 
 
 The strain began to tell upon him physically. He 
 could not eat. His face grew thin, and his eyes so 
 dull and haggard that Charlie became alarmed. 
 Much to John's irritation, the boy gave up all 
 " sprees " and took to keeping his friend in 
 sight. 
 
 This espionage, so kindly meant, began to under- 
 mine the very foundations of the victim's self-con- 
 trol. With all the energy left to his spent mind and 
 body, he tried to " be decent." But his frequent as- 
 severations as to being " all right," and his almost 
 pleading importunities that Charlie go back to the 
 primrose path of the Latin Quarter, alike were with- 
 out result. He began to look furtively into Char- 
 lie's face. The boy's eyes, perplexed and commiser- 
 ating, were invariably set upon his own. The limit 
 of endurance drew closer. One morning, at break- 
 fast, the tense cord snapped. 
 
 The younger man, snubbed at every turn, had 
 gradually fallen into silence. It was not, however, 
 as John vaguely felt, a silence of resignation. 
 There was something about it that resembled " get- 
 ting up steam." Now the boy drew himself to- 
 gether, leaning slightly forward. John gave his
 
 194 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 quick look and, at what he saw, flung out a hand of 
 protest. 
 
 " Nothing doin'," said Charlie grimly. " It's 
 bound to arrive this shot. Old man, you've got to 
 see a doctor." 
 
 " See hell ! " said John, most rudely. 
 
 " Strikes me," reflected Charlie sapiently, " that 
 you've been enjoying that particular experience 
 for over a week. Don't you think you're due a 
 change ? " 
 
 " I do not," growled John. " And even if I 
 did " The hiatus crackled with insult. 
 
 " Got you, Steve," sang out the other cheerfully. 
 *' And if you did you would prefer to attend to it 
 yourself. But the point is, you don't attend. 
 D'ye s'pose I'd care a damn about it, if it concerned 
 you only? " 
 
 John looked up, fierce and startled. 
 
 " Well, I wouldn't. You're old enough to see to 
 yourself. I'm thinking of somebody else of Mrs. 
 Hemingway." 
 
 " Oh," gasped John, and dropped his head. 
 
 The other, perceiving his advantage, went on more 
 quietly. 
 
 " In this past year, I've seen a lot of Mrs. Hem- 
 ingway. I have always loved her, and somehow 
 lately she has seemed to be more of a real mother 
 than my own. When I was to join you here, she 
 made me promise, over and over again, that I would 
 tell her if you got down sick in bed. She didn't
 
 CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 195 
 
 trust you, and she was right. Now what sort of a 
 mutt d'ye s'pose I'd feel like," he asked, reprovingly, 
 " if you are taken with smallpox, or typhoid, and 
 I've done nothing to prevent ? " 
 
 John did not speak at once. His eyes were still 
 hidden, but at the mention of his mother's name 
 something warm and sweet trembled above his heart. 
 
 " You're a good kid, Charlie," he said in a low 
 voice. " And I know that I've been worse than a 
 sore-headed bear to live with. Something is the 
 matter. It would be absurd for me to pretend 
 there's not. But it is nothing where a doctor 
 could help." 
 
 The boy considerately turned his eyes away. It 
 hurt him to see John's head, usually so erect, bowed 
 over to the table. Gazing fixedly in the direction of 
 a window he suggested, " If it isn't real sickness, 
 John, if it's something on your chest, perhaps, 
 if you could manage to cough it up you know I'm 
 safe." He paused on a note of solicitation. No 
 reply followed. 
 
 Charlie cleared his throat. It is difficult to talk 
 sympathetically to a silent image, even though bent 
 by grief. 
 
 " You see " stated the boy, " I figure it out like 
 this. I may be only a kid in your eyes, but I'm 
 growin' every day. Then we're from the same home 
 town. I love your mother. And " he added with 
 more confidence, " I've had a few little troubles of 
 my own, and I tell you, it's only human nature, but
 
 196 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 you'll never manage to brace up alone. You've got 
 to tell somebody else what's eatin' you. Back home, 
 in Delphi," he added, with a wisdom greater than his 
 years, " I used to tell your mother." 
 
 John raised his eyes, and tried to smile. The 
 hunted look had already softened. 
 
 " You were lucky," he said, " to have her. But 
 even if she were in your place this minute, I could 
 not hurt her with the thing that is hurting me." 
 
 " Good Lord ! " cried Charlie. His round eyes 
 fixed themselves into a horrified stare. " You don't 
 mean to say, you " Echoes of the Latin Quar- 
 ter beat about his ears. 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing common or disgraceful," said 
 John with a bitter laugh. " That is," he corrected, 
 " nothing disgraceful in the way you are now think- 
 ing. It is only an er a, what the French call 
 an impasse, that she couldn't possibly understand." 
 
 " Now don't you go making any mistake about 
 what Mrs. Hemingway can understand," the other 
 was beginning eagerly, when John, with a scowl, 
 checked him. 
 
 " I guess I know my own mother ! It is something 
 I wouldn't leant her to understand." 
 
 " Then it's about you and Madame de Pierre- 
 fond," Charlie flung out, almost before he knew the 
 words were spoken. They were startling, even to 
 himself. He drew a sharp breath, and wished he 
 had a corner to back into. 
 
 John had a brief, fierce struggle. His face be-
 
 CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 197 
 
 came ghastly. " You've hit it," he said between his 
 teeth. " I've been fool enough to think that Ma- 
 dame de Pierrefond cared for me, that, some day, 
 she would be my wife." At the last word his voice 
 broke. 
 
 " John, old man," said the boy earnestly, lean- 
 ing forward to emphasise his statement, " I've seen 
 you two together. If ever a woman loved a man, 
 that glorious creature loves you. Why ! " he cried. 
 " When she's talking to you even the back of her 
 neck shows it ! " 
 
 " Don't ! " said John sharply. 
 
 But Charlie had gone too far to be suppressed. 
 
 " All of her friends know and speak of it," he 
 hurried on, ignoring tentative interruptions. " The 
 Princess de Brieux " 
 
 A burst of fury interposed. " Her friends! " 
 raged John. " Atheists, free-thinkers, devils, 
 all of them. They have poisoned and corrupted her 
 mind so that a decent man has to shun her. I know 
 the Princess is trying to make a fool of you. Maybe 
 she'll drag you into the same net. Has she ever, in 
 your presence, attempted to expound her tender, 
 womanly view on marriage ? " 
 
 " Why, yes," admitted Charlie. " She says she 
 doesn't believe in it. That's just a way of talking. 
 She says she wishes she had never married the 
 Prince, so that now she could shake him." 
 
 " And it doesn't fill you with disgust? " 
 
 " Well," said Charlie, fighting down a rising grin,
 
 198 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " after all, she is married, and she doesn't try to 
 shake him. The Prince believes exactly as she does." 
 
 Before John could arrange a retort sufficiently 
 annihilating, the other was leaning back with a long, 
 shrill whistle of enlightenment. " I see it ! Inez 
 has been trying the dope on you, and you, in- 
 stead of swallowing like a man, bolted ! " 
 
 " When you allude to Madame de Pierrefond," 
 cried John angrily, " I'd advise you to choose your 
 words more carefully." 
 
 His eyes flashed. A hint of colour, long absent, 
 stole into his lean cheeks. 
 
 His companion, revolving what he now realised to 
 be the cause of John's tragedy, had already bent his 
 agile mind toward feats of reconciliation, and was, 
 as a consequence, airily oblivious of scorn. The 
 other, becoming weary of this game of darting Par- 
 thian arrows into nothingness, fell to gnawing his 
 grey lips. 
 
 " The matter is, you take the thing too seriously, 
 old man," Charlie delivered himself at length. 
 " That fool talk is only a pose, a sort of intel- 
 lectual fad of the moment. Don't see it, and it isn't 
 there." 
 
 He spoke in a patronising, almost a fatherly way 
 which, at any other time, would have afforded John 
 amusement. Now in his overwrought condition it 
 goaded him to frenzy. 
 
 " You you ass! *' he hissed, between set 
 teeth. " Do you suppose, for a moment, that I
 
 CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 199 
 
 would let a mere fad come between me and a woman I 
 lo , I have loved, as I have Inez ? " 
 
 " No good bluffing yourself with that past tense," 
 said Charlie tranquilly. " It's love, not * loved.' 
 And, by way of answer to your courteous question, 
 I will repeat my sentiments in the form of a conun- 
 drum, * When is a fad not a fad? ' " 
 
 John gave a look meant to excoriate. " I should 
 think that even you would have better taste than to 
 joke." 
 
 Charlie essayed a shrug Franfaise. It was a 
 weird contortion, being more in the nature of a sup- 
 pressed sneeze, than the light, pitying, bagatelle of 
 grace intended by its performer. 
 
 " Was Moses joking when he smote the rock? " 
 he questioned, cryptically. 
 
 John emitted a snort, meant for a derisive laugh. 
 ** So you consider yourself Moses ! " 
 
 " No," granted his vis-a-vis, lighting a cigarette, 
 " but I consider you a pig-headed rock." 
 
 By this John had entered that inner zone of fury 
 where calm begins. He now took out his watch, con- 
 sulting it firmly. 
 
 " Time for little boys to go to school," he re- 
 marked. 
 
 " Are you sure you're up to it ? " was Charlie's 
 anxious query. 
 
 John caught his breath at the impertinence. He 
 felt that in a moment more he would knock his com- 
 patriot down.
 
 200 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " You'd better leave, Abbey," he said in a low, 
 controlled voice. 
 
 Charlie said nothing. He, too, had risen. For 
 a moment he seemed to hesitate; then, suddenly 
 flinging the cigarette toward the empty grate, he 
 deliberately walked up to John. The man, 
 meeting his eyes, saw there a new and unfamiliar 
 Charlie. The pink and white young face no 
 longer smiled; the blue eyes were dark with hurt 
 anger. 
 
 " It's good-bye then," he stated, without rancour. 
 " I tried to do my best, and I'm sorry for your sake 
 as well as my own that I have made a mess of it. 
 But I can't stand everything, not even for your 
 mother. I'll see that my things are moved this aft- 
 ernoon. Good-bye." 
 
 John, literally paralysed by astonishment, watched 
 him until he reached the door. Had the maid Felice 
 sprung up, browbeating him with some new theory 
 of the Fourth Dimension, he could not have been 
 more dazed. 
 
 " Charlie ! Hold on ! " he cried. 
 
 The boy did not seem to hear. John sped after 
 him, catching him by an arm. 
 
 " I apologise. I was a beast." 
 
 Charlie stood still, but his face did not soften. 
 
 " This is absurd. You don't want to break up a 
 whole life's friendship." 
 
 Young Abbey directed his eyes toward the stair- 
 way.
 
 CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 201 
 
 " Damn it ! " vociferated John. " I apologised. 
 Didn't you hear me? " 
 
 " I heard you, of course," said Charlie, speaking 
 as if against his will. " You probably think me such 
 a kid and a bone-head that apology takes little from 
 your manly self-respect." 
 
 John flinched before the note of scorn. 
 
 " Look here, Hemingway," broke out the other, 
 ilinging suddenly around, " you're begging for it and 
 you're going to get it. You think it's all self- 
 respect. You pride yourself on it, but it isn't. It's 
 only enlarged self-consciousness and conceit. You 
 used to be pretty bad at home, but you were such a 
 decent chap in other ways that the other fellows 
 overlooked it. Now, off to yourself, you're nothing 
 but self-consciousness. You never get out of your 
 own way. That's the reason you haven't made 
 friends at the Ecole. They've told me as much. 
 And now you're backing your ears at a woman a 
 thousand times too good for you because she's had 
 the spunk to tell you that she's done a little think- 
 ing for herself. 
 
 " I suppose it never has occurred ta you," the boy 
 went on pitilessly, " that there are still a few ideas 
 over here that haven't crept under your American 
 hat." 
 
 " But but " John stammered, feeling as if a 
 battering ram had been at work, " you do not un- 
 derstand " 
 
 " That's what you said about your mother.
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 You're a fool," and having delivered himself of two 
 sharp blows at once, the thunderbolt stalked away. 
 
 This time John did not attempt to overtake him. 
 If injured love can bleed, the added lacerations of 
 more deeply flayed vanity produce in the victim a 
 quality of torture that can be likened only to the 
 rubbing of saltpetre into the new-made, quivering 
 abrasions. 
 
 Until to-day John thought that he had exhausted 
 all forms of anger, resentment and despair, but, un- 
 der Charlie's vigorous use of the knout, he realised 
 that there were reserves of sensibility hitherto un- 
 touched. 
 
 Even in moments of his most poignant grief at 
 losing Inez, there had been, until now, the strong, 
 quiet presence of Righteousness to lean on. At least 
 he had thought it Righteousness. Viewed now, 
 through a boy's clear eyes it began strangely to re- 
 semble a dunce, wearing a priggish countenance 
 which, with reluctance, he began to recognise as his 
 own. 
 
 This last struggle, though cataclysmic, was brief. 
 The saltpetre of Charlie's frank remarks brought, in 
 their wake, a sort of Spartan healing. He emerged, 
 defeated but victorious. Had he ever read Mrs. Ab- 
 bey's gift of Emerson, he might well have quoted : 
 
 " Pride ruins the angels 
 Their shame them restores." 
 
 During the afternoon he wrote to Inez, sending it 
 by special messenger, to ask whether she were willing
 
 CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 208 
 
 to receive him. Her answering note had few words, 
 " To-night, at eight." 
 
 When young Abbey came home John met him 
 with a straightforward look and a hand inquiringly 
 extended. 
 
 Seizing the latter, Charlie gave it a mangling grip, 
 and remarked, rather hastily, upon the weather. 
 
 " You're all right, kid," said the older man. 
 " I'm going back this evening." 
 
 " Good work ! " grinned Charlie. " And while 
 you're there I'll celebrate with the bunch."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 CHANGES 
 
 INEZ did not, as had been her pretty custom, speed 
 down the long salon to greet him. He stared down 
 the length of them. Toward him came no visible 
 presence but a sort of heated cloud, a wavering 
 medium that beat upon his ears in muffled detona- 
 tions, turning him faint. He grasped at the door- 
 frame nearest and knew that, but for its timely sup- 
 port, he would have fallen. 
 
 " Jean ! " cried a low, frightened voice. 
 
 He groped his way toward it. Up through the 
 swirling mist a white face stared, a face like a 
 drowned white rose. He gave a single inarticulate 
 cry and fell to his knees beside her chair. 
 
 " Ahe ! Ahe ! " he heard her sigh. " You too have 
 been ill, my poor Jean." 
 
 She leaned outward, striving to pull his head 
 against her breast, but the effort proved too great. 
 Instantly the weak arms relaxed and fell helpless. 
 
 " Inez ! Inez ! " the man broke out in terror. 
 "You look like death!" 
 
 She tried to move her lips, to smile, but uncon- 
 sciousness had closed in. 
 
 For a moment he thought it surely death, and that 
 
 it had come to both. 
 
 204
 
 CHANGES 205 
 
 The need of summoning assistance finally got him 
 to his feet. He had opened his lips to call, when 
 the tug of a weak hand checked him. 
 
 " No, Jean, do not," she gasped. *' I have been 
 ill, but I am better. Hold me to your heart, my 
 Jean." 
 
 He caught her up as if she had been a child. 
 
 " It is nussing to frighten, nussing at all, now 
 that you are to me come back," she murmured, dis- 
 jointedly. "A leetle glass from de beeg bottle on 
 the stand, yes, you 'ave it. I will be well again, 
 com/me pa." 
 
 He placed her on the divan, then gave the glass 
 of cordial. A faint tinge of red showed, at once, in 
 lips that were now smiling. 
 
 " Oh, Inez. Oh, my darling ! " he almost sobbed. 
 " Why did you not tell me you were ill? Why 
 didn't you send me word? " 
 
 " It would 'ave not been better," she told him. 
 " Now it is the real Jean come back, my Jean, 
 my love." 
 
 " Your love ! " he echoed, in bitterest self-scorn. 
 " You mean your lackey, your door-mat. I'm not 
 fit to have you wipe your feet on. How is it that 
 you were willing to take me back at all ? " 
 
 " It is the question I 'ave often ask to myself," 
 she said, a glint of the old teasing in her voice, " I 
 ask it, yes, and always the answer, the same 
 answer " 
 
 She paused, looking deep into his eyes.
 
 206 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " The answer " he breathed, his own eyes like 
 two hungry wolves in leash. 
 
 "Always is dis, just dis " she whispered, and 
 drew his lips down to her own. 
 
 It was many weeks before either dared a refer- 
 ence to the issue which had so nearly parted them. 
 John, as it happened, took the initiative, prefacing 
 it by a recital of his verbal conflict with Charlie. 
 
 He did not spare himself a single word. As he 
 talked Inez drew one of his strong, slender, nervous 
 hands the hand of a practised draughtsman, 
 into her own, caressing it soothingly. At some par- 
 ticularly uncomplimentary phrase she cried, " Ahe, 
 it is the naughty one, he forget himself, so to 
 speak to my Jean, my poor Jean." 
 
 All the while she had kept her white lids dropped. 
 John, now craftily peering under them, caught the 
 suspected twinkle. 
 
 " Oh, I knew you'd enjoy it," he grinned. " And 
 you think I deserved it, don't you now ? " 
 
 She nestled against him for answer. 
 
 " Well, I did," he admitted frankly. " And I owe 
 a debt of gratitude to that same kid that it will take 
 me long to repay." 
 
 " Moi aussi" murmured Inez against his shoulder. 
 
 He bent to kiss her. " I understand, dear." 
 
 In a moment more she raised her head and bending 
 forward slowly, clasped her hands about her knees. 
 She often did this in thinking deeply. 
 
 John, watching her face change gradually from
 
 CHANGES 207 
 
 its sweet love-flush to the quiet of tender brooding, 
 wondered what was coming next. It was the chief 
 of his many delights in her, that he never knew. 
 
 " That Sharlie," she began softly, " is good. 
 From the first of seeing him, I felt it. Many of our 
 American men are so. It is our glory. To be good 
 and clean of heart that is of one great thing I 
 love you, Jean." 
 
 She turned to give him a long, beautiful, grateful 
 look at which John, blissful and embarrassed, could 
 only murmur some thick masculine denial. 
 
 " Pairhaps you 'ave not yet learned this of your 
 Inez," the speaker went on, her voice growing more 
 and more like harp-strings. " But of all things in 
 the world, of all things in all worlds, I care most 
 for that, for only goodness." 
 
 " Of course I knew it, darling," John answered, 
 huskily. 
 
 " But not de mere church goodness," she pointed 
 out, her earnestness being now too intense for the 
 risking of any misconceptions, " not merely de large 
 give to sharitee of some American millionaires, 
 not orphan-asylums or ole folks' 'omes, which are 
 of de devil, not anything wid labels paste, or beeg 
 brass drums to call attention, but the real good- 
 ness here, deep here, " she freed her hand to beat 
 with it, almost passionately, upon her heart. ** Dat 
 small white fire, dat crystal ball, dat small 
 bright pinch of God which, when it is there, no mis- 
 take is made of it. Pairhaps you 'ave think I do
 
 208 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 not believe in God." She paused, her dark eyes 
 burning into his. He could see how her nostrils 
 quivered. " I do, I do! " she blazed, before he 
 could speak. " And if I seem to keep the silence it 
 is because that the God I worship is too beeg for 
 my little talk of Him." 
 
 John drew her back against a heart so filled with 
 love that it hurt him. " Don't tell me any more, 
 you wonderful white angel! I understand you at 
 last. Now you must let me speak." 
 
 She leaned against him, closing her eyes. He 
 waited until the last excited tremor had passed, and 
 then, in commonplace words, redeemed by their utter 
 sincerity, he began, " I have done a lot of thinking 
 about all these things, as you already know." 
 
 She gave a little nod of assent and a long tremu- 
 lous sigh of content. 
 
 " And the way I've figured it out is this " 
 
 A second nod filled in the pause. 
 
 " Now, more than ever, the one safe path for us, 
 especially for me, since it is the only path you 
 have ever taken, is fearless truth." 
 
 She stirred impulsively, then forced herself back 
 into quiescence. 
 
 " I was a coward and a fool to run off at the very 
 first gun." 
 
 " No, no," she interrupted. " Not dose bad 
 names." She put her hand across his lips. 
 
 " But I was. I insist upon it," he said, kissing tho 
 hand. " I believe I've come to my senses now, thank
 
 CHANGES 209 
 
 Heaven, and it was due chiefly to the tongue-lashing 
 Charlie gave me. You may be sure that I shall 
 never make that particular sort of ass of myself 
 again." 
 
 She gave another gasp of protest. " Oh, my 
 poor Jean! I weel not 'ave you say such awful 
 names." 
 
 " The worst of them are over," he laughed, re- 
 assuringly. " Now I want to come down to prac- 
 tical ways and means." 
 
 " Mais, oui, but it is better," she murmured. 
 
 " From the first we have seemed to fall, partly in 
 joke, but very much more in earnest, into the posi- 
 tion of teacher and pupil." 
 
 " Yes. You 'ave been my grand mcutre du Archi- 
 tecture" she put in, smilingly. 
 
 " And don't think for a minute that I intend to 
 resign that proud position. But now I want you 
 to start me on a new and very different course." 
 
 She studied his face intently. " You mean, in 
 the new thoughts, the opeenions I 'ave that you 
 did not like? " 
 
 " Exactly. In other words, a course in up-to- 
 date sociology." 
 
 She looked out straight before her. Deep 
 thoughtfulness quieted the changing face. 
 
 " Whatever your theories, Inez," he went on, tak- 
 ing one of her hands into his, " I want to familiarise 
 myself with them. I want to read all the books on 
 this particular subject that you have read."
 
 210 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 She turned to him quickly. " But so many are 
 in the French." 
 
 " Oh, I've thought of that all right," he said, with 
 a groan. " It is simply one more obstacle that must 
 be overcome." 
 
 Spurred by her look of admiration he swaggered 
 on, " I'll tackle it, the written and the spoken, too, 
 and when it seems about to floor me, I just stop and 
 thank the Creator of all men that it doesn't happen 
 to be Chinese." 
 
 " And when you 'ave mastered all the Gallic 
 tongue ? " asked Inez, now doubling up with merri- 
 ment, " will you condescend to go wid me to the lec- 
 ture?" 
 
 " The lecture," cried John, as if affronted at a 
 task so far beneath his powers. " I expect to take 
 one after each meal. I'm going to reserve a front 
 seat at the Sorbonne, and most specially shall I 
 be there," he added, with a scowl of deep hostility, 
 *' when the lecture is to be given by your idol, Carant- 
 Dozie, damn him ! " 
 
 Inez laid her soft cheek to his. The odour of de- 
 fiance and brimstone, hanging about this last re- 
 mark, made him the more dear. 
 
 " You are never to regret this, Jean, my Jean. 
 It is the splendid thing of you. For my part, I will 
 ask of you questions in your thought. I will listen, 
 Oh, so 'ard. I will get under the skin of you, 
 comme fa." Here she made slight graceful motions 
 that suggested the donning of a wet bathing-garment,
 
 CHANGES 211 
 
 " I will take the point of view that you take, 
 if such is possible. But we will try, n'est-ce pas? 
 Each will lean close to the heart of the other one, 
 to count the beating, to love, to onderstand. 
 Shall it not be so, Beloved? " 
 
 And John, feeling that now indeed, heaven had 
 no better things to offer, found ways other than 
 speech, in which to answer her. 
 
 In after years John could never, in looking back, 
 recall the moment in which the thought of union 
 without the ceremony of marriage, lost its horror. 
 In the circles in which he and Inez moved, it was al- 
 luded to as casually as the weather, or the condition 
 of the crops. Familiarity is much less apt to breed 
 contempt than lenience. By the end of a year, all 
 arguments concerning it had ceased. When discuss- 
 ing their joint future, the terms "marriage" and 
 " open comradeship " were indiscriminately em- 
 ployed. 
 
 The one persisting thorn was the consciousness 
 of his mother's disapproval. He and Inez had 
 agreed that a question so delicate, so opposed to all 
 of Mrs. Hemingway's traditions, could not be dis- 
 cussed with her by letter. John would have to go 
 home first, and " talk it out." When the dear soul 
 had come to tolerate, if not to share, these new- 
 world views, then they could join hands openly, be- 
 fore " God and Man," as Inez phrased it. Deep in 
 John's heart the words ran, " Before God and my 
 mother."
 
 212 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Since, however, nothing could be done until his 
 course at the Ecole des Beaux Arts was finished, 
 John brooded as little as possible upon the vexed 
 subject, and was able consciously to enjoy his pres- 
 ent life. 
 
 In all essentials he and Inez were, even now-, a 
 wedded pair. Their thoughts and interests were 
 held in common. Friends spoke openly and with ad- 
 miration of their devoted love, and among themselves 
 whispered, with commiserating shrugs and lifted 
 brows, that the completion of the perfect union was 
 being delayed until John could explain and receive 
 the consent of his queer little Americaine la mere, 
 a weird, illiterate person, it was rumoured, who> hav- 
 ing refused to come to Paris, remained, sternly wait- 
 ing, in her home, an almost inaccessible ranch, some- 
 where among the mountains of the Far West. 
 
 Charlie, being necessarily cognisant of the whole 
 affair, would sometimes shake his blond head and 
 mutter that " Mrs. Hemingway would never ' stand 
 for it.' Never in this world or the next ! " 
 
 Once, to John, he burst out, " It's all right over 
 here, or, at least, it seems all right because every- 
 body thinks so, but, believe me, it's going to be 
 a grey horse of another colour when you get back 
 to Delphi." 
 
 The end of John's second year, and of Charlie's 
 first, in Paris, found the elder man busy and content 
 to the nth power of happiness. Young Abbey, who, 
 to use his own phrasing had " been too busy having
 
 CHANGES 213 
 
 a good time to fall in love," was scarcely less ecstatic. 
 He now spoke French with surprising fluency, and 
 an even more surprising lack of all grammatical con- 
 struction. He had friends everywhere. The Prin- 
 cess de Brieux continued to delight in him, and in 
 the Latin Quarter he had a clientele only to be lik- 
 ened to the bargain counters at the Bon Marche. 
 
 He proclaimed frequently, and in loud, cheerful 
 tones that he never wanted to go back. His pre- 
 tence at painting long since a joke was given 
 up, and the salary meant for the " under-priced in- 
 structor," used to more joyous ends. 
 
 At one particularly convivial banquet he an- 
 nounced the change, saying that he had come to 
 the conclusion that he was not meant for the 
 drudgery of painting, but preferred to study as an 
 operatic star. 
 
 The company grew uproarious in commendation, 
 and insisted that he render his entire repertoire of 
 American songs. Dizzy with applause and the mild 
 French wine, Charlie now stated his intention of 
 writing home that very night, in order to notify his 
 mother of the new and brilliant determination. 
 
 " At once. This moment. Allans enfant. Hop 
 to it, Caruso ! Bravo, men brave! " rose a medley 
 of laughter-shrill, encouraging young voices. 
 
 Charlie looked round upon them his blue eyes 
 filled at all this evidence of interest and good-will. 
 Why not, indeed? 
 
 Ink, pens and stationery were brought, the lat-
 
 214 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 ter heavily stamped in gold with the insignia and 
 name of one of the Capital's most spectacular re- 
 sorts. The screed was written, not without fre- 
 quent prompting from the merry crowd that hung 
 over his shoulders. Being sealed, it was handed to 
 the nearest grinning waiter with orders to put on 
 the necessary stamps, and get it off by the next 
 post. The waiter, who should have known better, 
 complied. In ten days, Charlie received a cable, 
 summoning him home.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 JOHN GOES HOME 
 
 DURING the third year Inez published a book. It 
 had been undertaken in something of a jesting spirit, 
 the basic material being the copious notes on Sociol- 
 ogy made by herself and John in their efforts to reach 
 a single point of view. 
 
 To create fictitious characters not strikingly un- 
 like themselves, to weave in a few dramatic love- 
 scenes and inevitable oppositions, followed easily. 
 
 " Why, Jean," Inez exclaimed one evening, ruf- 
 fling the pages of the thick note-book backwards, 
 " here is already a small volume of our thoughts and 
 arguments. We could make the sport of adding 
 imaginary persons, and voila! it would be the 
 modern novel all complete. Shall we attempt it?" 
 
 She looked toward him archly. John hesitated, 
 even while returning her smile. " Doesn't it seem to 
 you just a bit personal? " he fenced. 
 
 She laughed outright. " Ah, my Jean. That 
 crust of convention. Some of it will always cling. 
 If I make the book, but do not give to it my true 
 name " 
 
 She paused, leaving wide space for the interroga- 
 tion mark. 
 
 John did not attempt to conceal his satisfaction. 
 215
 
 216 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " If you're willing to use a nom de plume, why, 
 go ahead." 
 
 So it happened that the small craft, painted in 
 blue and gold, with the flag of the French language 
 flying, ventured out upon a public sea. The pen- 
 name, chosen after much debate was the modest one 
 " Jean Pierre." This, as Inez pointed out, served 
 well to represent them both. 
 
 To their delight and surprise the book was a suc- 
 cess. In a few weeks it threatened to become a lit- 
 erary sensation. The writers, for Inez insisted 
 that it was quite as much John's book as her own, 
 felt like two mischievous children who have played a 
 successful prank upon their elders. 
 
 Soon came demands for a translation into Eng- 
 lish. John began to feel less pleased. The title, 
 " New Sins for Old," which, in the original French, 
 had merely a sort of jaunty flair, appeared now, 
 when printed out in good plain English, much more 
 as a bully with a very large chip on his shoulder. 
 
 London, and then New York, went wild over it. 
 From these two centres westward to little Delphi is 
 a far cry, yet John felt increasingly thankful that 
 the author's real name had been withheld. 
 
 A second event, following close upon this, and even 
 more far-reaching in consequences, was brought 
 about through the medium of Charlie Abbey. That 
 chastened and rebellious youth, still kept by his 
 mother in the innocuous desuetude of Delphi, had 
 found, during the past year, his sole comfort in the
 
 JOHN GOES HOME 217 
 
 pursuance of a voluminous correspondence with those 
 more fortunate ones whom a kind Fate allowed to 
 remain in Paris. 
 
 Inez, who pitied him more than she let him 
 know, and who was justly indignant at the tyranny 
 and self-complacent ignorance of his mother, sent 
 him many sparkling screeds. The boy's apprecia- 
 tion was almost touching. Generally he answered 
 her within the hour. But his one important letter, 
 the one destined to bring about revolutionary 
 changes, was addressed to John at the Ecole. 
 
 There was to be an enormous hospital built in the 
 suburbs of Chicago. Architects from all over the 
 world were invited to compete. One of the instruc- 
 tors under whom John had studied while in Amer- 
 ica, and who had kept in some sort of touch with 
 his Parisian work, had taken the trouble to " run 
 down " to Delphi in order to meet his ex-pupil's 
 relatives and friends, and ask them to join him in 
 urging the young man to come home and bend all 
 his energies toward winning the splendid prize. 
 There were vague hints as to an " inside pull " and 
 " straight tips." In concluding Charlie wrote : 
 
 " You've gone ahead over there so fast that it 
 won't hurt you to cut the last year. You say you 
 won't marry Inez until you've made some chink of 
 your own. Here's your chance! Think of that 
 waiting angel. Gee! if it was me But I guess 
 I had better restrain this sort of talk. You are 
 dead sure to get the hospital if you work hard enough
 
 218 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 for it. I saw Mrs. Hemingway about an hour ago. 
 She made me swear not to tell you how she feels 
 at the hope of getting you back a year earlier, so of 
 course I can't. Pipe the virtuous grin." Here 
 was inserted a hasty sketch of the treed " Cheshire 
 Cat." " By the way, I suppose I ought not to tell 
 you this, either, but your mother is not looking as 
 well as she should. Nearly three years of separa- 
 tion from her only child is beginning to show on 
 her." 
 
 With this Machiavellian stroke, the letter ended. 
 
 That evening the two lovers talked until long past 
 midnight; and when John finally tore himself away, 
 he walked on light air. They had discussed the new 
 and startling possibility from every angle. Each 
 had tried to outdo the other in calm judgment, in 
 dispassionate analysis of the situation, and to both 
 had come the conviction that it was to John's best 
 interests to go home. 
 
 " To go home go home ! " How his heart beat 
 it! How his feet, speeding back along the hard 
 French pavement, fell into the rhythm, " Going 
 home ! Going home ! " 
 
 Inez would, of course, come too. She had grown 
 into the very fibre of his soul, into his daily life. 
 To leave her behind in Paris was not, by either of 
 them, considered for a moment. 
 
 The first practical step was to find some friend 
 of Inez who might be soon going to America. This 
 John insisted upon. When Inez smiled at his de-
 
 JOHN GOES HOME 
 
 mand for a chaperon, John explained, with some ve- 
 hemence, that, since their final union was to lack all 
 ceremony, it was doubly necessary that the prelimin- 
 aries should be above reproach. 
 
 By good fortune it chanced that the Prince and 
 Princess de Brieux had been called, on business, to 
 New York. The four friends took passage together, 
 and a happier party has seldom crossed even that 
 wide expanse of holiday-makers. 
 
 John remained in New York but for a single day, 
 forcing himself to take the midnight train to Delphi. 
 The other three came to the station to see him off. 
 At the moment of parting with Inez, a feeling of 
 cold terror came upon him. He seized her in his 
 arms, kissing her again and again. The low, horri- 
 fied protests of the outraged Princess, the wide grins 
 of observant negro porters, alike were powerless to 
 check him. He knew that he was leaving behind 
 him more than his immortal soul. But even in the 
 midst of this ecstasy of grief, a pang of remorse 
 shot through him. He was starting toward his 
 mother, the best, most loving, most unselfish 
 mother in all the world. Through her he had gained 
 everything, even love. For three years he had 
 not seen her, and now, on the point of starting, there 
 was no room for anything except his agony of separ- 
 ation from another woman. 
 
 In spite of the inner conflict, he slept soundly, and 
 woke next morning well into middle Pennsylvania. 
 There was a chaotic instant when he could not realise
 
 220 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 what had happened. The noisy vibration of the 
 train was that of a huge and predatory monster 
 who was carrying him away from everything he 
 loved. Still, but partially awake, he released one 
 of his berth blinds, and lay blinking under a brilliant 
 morning sun. 
 
 The scene without was typical of the farming dis- 
 trict, small, neat dwelling houses, great lengths of 
 wire fence, windmills with flanges of corrugated iron 
 and a skeleton frame of steel, and, to each enclo- 
 sure, the dominating, inevitable red barn. 
 
 He sat up, still blinking. How clearly, how 
 terribly clearly, it all came back. For three years 
 the aspect of his homeland had not been consciously 
 recalled. Life in the old, new world had been too 
 exigent, too brilliant for such external memories. 
 What was happening to his brain? He felt indig- 
 nant at the rude power of this ignored familiarity. 
 With each step in the process of dressing, the lurch 
 of the train at critical moments, the waiting his turn 
 in the dressing-room, for a chance at the mirror, the 
 florid vulgarity of the man who was then in the act 
 of shaving, the long walk, through other sleepers all 
 smelling of recently awakened humanity, until the 
 dining-car was achieved, the easy nod of greeting 
 from the steward, followed by the drawing back of 
 an allotted chair, the coffee, grape-fruit and cereal, 
 followed in most cases by the ham and eggs of an 
 American breakfast, the disturbing sense of help- 
 lessness before the accretions of familiarity grew.
 
 JOHN GOES HOME 221 
 
 The men in the smoking-room were already in a 
 heated argument over some national issue which he 
 did not understand. Their nasal voices chafed him. 
 Politics, stocks and bonds, money, always money, 
 
 formed their themes. He began to realise what 
 the Europeans meant when they spoke of his coun- 
 trymen as a race of money-mad gamblers. Several 
 of them made careless, good-humoured advances, but 
 when John admitted, in a hesitating way as if he 
 had begun to feel already that it was a misdemeanour, 
 
 that he was just from a residence of three years 
 abroad, they frankly turned their backs upon him. 
 After half an hour of this nai've ostracism, during 
 which time he had smoked more than one thoughtful 
 cigarette, John rose, and adventured down the long 
 swaying line of cars in search for his particular 
 " Pullman." The porter, genial and alert, was just 
 putting in the final touch of a freshly covered day 
 pillow, punching it dexterously to an upright posi- 
 tion in the red velvet corner. At sight of its ap- 
 proaching possessor, a broad African grin was lifted, 
 and a rich voice said, " Good maw-nm', Sir. Fine 
 mawnin'. Yo 5 seat's all ready fer you. Ennything 
 else I kin do, Boss? " 
 
 John thanked him in an absent-minded fashion, 
 using, unconsciously, the French term '* merci" 
 The porter stared. His grin faded, and then, with 
 a contemptuous expression he hurried off. John 
 was in his black books also. 
 
 As the train sped on, John felt himself being
 
 22 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 squeezed together like a concertina. He was con- 
 scious of an almost physical constriction. Paris 
 began escaping in a long nasal whine. This was the 
 real John Hemingway, this Western person in a 
 Western train. Paris, as an actuality, was still 
 somewhere far behind ; but three years of it had been 
 too short to stand before this one day of common- 
 place verities. Even the cole and all it had meant 
 now began to wheeze out from the ribs of the con- 
 certina. 
 
 The young man gave a low exclamation of annoy- 
 ance, and drew himself upright. It was absurd, this 
 yielding to a fantasy. If all else vanished there was 
 Inez. Inez ! The thought blazed like a star. Here 
 at last was something tangible, a necromancer's wand 
 to keep childish imaginings at bay. He closed his 
 eyes to feel her, more surely, within the circle of his 
 arms. He bent down, whispering to her of the 
 strange, unlooked-for apparitions. He could see her 
 reassuring smile, and feel the light comforting touch 
 of her sensitive fingers. 
 
 Throughout the morning he was able to keep her 
 presence near, but as the sun went lower, its long red 
 beams reaching toward him as if heralding the com- 
 ing hour of home, the gracious, tender image 
 gradually dissolved to make place for one less beauti- 
 ful, indeed, but no less dearly loved. 
 
 The time could be computed now in moments. 
 Constantly he drew out his watch, and more than 
 once held it, impatiently, against his ear. It began
 
 JOHN GOES HOME 223 
 
 to seem an incredible dispensation that he was to 
 meet his mother face to face in less than an hour. 
 It was impossible to read, or to sit still. 
 
 The porter, having been placated by a large tip, 
 hovered near with whisk-broom and dusting rag. 
 His efforts, at first wary, to engage the silent young 
 man in conversation, proved unexpectedly success- 
 ful. John was thankful to talk with anybody just 
 now. He asked questions about the country and the 
 development of the little town, which, here and there, 
 slipped past them. 
 
 It is safe to say that no Pullman porter knows 
 anything at all outside of the routine of his special 
 car, but this does not restrain glib and apparently 
 accurate replies. All at once John started, and al- 
 most ran his forehead through a window-pane. He 
 had seen, across the front of a cheap new building of 
 red brick the words " Delphi Canning Factory." 
 "We're here!" he ejaculated, and sprang to his 
 feet. The train lurched slightly, and he fell back 
 with a thud, hoping devoutly that the porter, as well 
 as other occupants of the car, would ascribe his pre- 
 cipitate action to the train and not, as was the fact, 
 to a strange and most unmanly weakening of knee- 
 joints. 
 
 Walter Hemingway alone was at the station. 
 John grasping the outstretched hands tried hard to 
 see only the broad, welcoming smile, and not the gen- 
 eral air of prosperous vulgarity. There was, at 
 Walter's loud-checked waistcoat, however, a pro-
 
 224 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 tuberance that could not be ignored. His black hair, 
 which had a way of growing in long locks slightly 
 curling at the ends, was thinner, but the bold, rov- 
 ing eyes and red cheeks were unchanged. Walter 
 would still, among the majority, pass muster as a 
 " handsome man." 
 
 " Needn't waste time lookin' round," he now said, 
 as he observed John's swift glance into the waiting- 
 room. " None of the others came, not even Cora 
 Whitman, though she wanted to." Here he bestowed 
 on John one of the lewd winks so well-remembered 
 and so heartily disliked. 
 
 " As for Charlie Abbey," he went on, laughing, 
 " his mother had to tie him in the barn to hold him 
 off." 
 
 John murmured something in the nature of a ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Well, you see," explained Walter in a voice 
 wherein heartiness and a certain pitying condescen- 
 sion were mingled, " all of us talked it over, and we 
 figured out that it would be more more con- 
 siderate to the old girl at home, if we let her get her 
 hooks on you first." 
 
 "Are you speaking of my mother?" asked John 
 haughtily. 
 
 "Sure!" 
 
 " She wasn't feeling too unwell to come ? " the 
 young man added swiftly, anxiety overcoming his in- 
 dignation. 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! She's as chipper as a tomtit
 
 JOHN GOES HOME 
 
 on a pump handle. Only she didn't want to meet 
 you first in a public place." 
 
 " Naturally," said John, with a great sigh of re- 
 lief. 
 
 A new thought had, apparently, come to Heming- 
 way. It was his turn to glance around. " By the 
 way," he cried, " where is the skirt? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon." 
 
 " Now look here, old buck ! " exclaimed the other, 
 with a ferocious slap of peace and good will. 
 " None o' them Frenchy fol-de-rol airs with Uncle 
 Walter, see ! The whole town knows that you're en- 
 gaged. Her picture's been in the Delphi Oracle. 
 It was understood that you were to bring her along 
 for your relatives to look over." 
 
 John was, for an instant, blinded with the passion 
 of his rage. His clenched fist stung with the desire 
 to go straight for Walter's broad-based nose. Then 
 his brain told him that he must not quarrel, that 
 it would be the worst thing possible for Inez to begin 
 their campaign of reconciliation with the enmity of a 
 man like Walter Hemingway. He fought in silence 
 for a moment, and was able to reply, with some de- 
 gree of steadiness, 
 
 " Madame de Pierrefond is to remain in New York 
 for a week, with friends who crossed on the same 
 steamer." 
 
 " A Prince and a Princess, ain't they ? " ques- 
 tioned Walter, eagerly. 
 
 " Yes," answered John. " The Prince and Prin-
 
 226 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 cess de Brieux." Under his breath he said, " That 
 snobbish ass, Charlie Abbey." 
 
 " Well, here's our equipage," announced Walter, 
 as he strode forward and paused beside a new and 
 highly coloured buggy, tied near the curb. " No 
 smelly gasoline trucks for mine! Just turn your 
 lamps on that chunk of horseflesh," he urged, giving 
 a proud wave of his hand toward a very beautiful 
 brown mare, who had moved her graceful head at the 
 approach of her master, and now whinnied softly. 
 
 " Kentucky thoroughbred, gentle as a lamb, 
 three years old this spring, and faster than a prairie 
 cyclone eatin' fire." 
 
 " I don't know much about horseflesh, but she 
 seems to be a beauty," said John. 
 
 The tone and the words were, alike, forced. All 
 at once the arid phantoms of familiarity had caught 
 him up anew. A black depression enveloped him as 
 in a cloud. 
 
 During the short drive home he closed his eyes 
 against the tawdry architecture, and his ears to his 
 companion's loud, vulgar, slightly nasal voice. 
 Would all his home people seem as remote and ut- 
 terly unlovable as Walter? 
 
 " Here, wake up ! " cried the voice. " There's 
 home, and your mother waiting on the porch." 
 
 John obeyed. He felt physically ill. He saw a 
 shabby, two-story building of wood which needed 
 painting badly. A corner gutter hung down like a 
 straw from under a farmer's hat.
 
 JOHN GOES HOME 227 
 
 In the doorway stood a little figure, grey-clad and 
 very still. He peered curiously toward it. Was 
 that indeed his mother? He had not remembered 
 that she was so small. Now she was moving, and 
 toward him. He must move too. That was his 
 mother. Time swept back in a scimitar flash, point- 
 ing the moment when a small boy on a farm had hid 
 his eyes and wept because they told him it was his 
 mother. 
 
 He advanced mechanically. A mist rose, blotting 
 everything but the small grey shape that neared 
 him. He heard a cry and saw two upraised arms. 
 
 " My son, my son ! " 
 
 His head went down to hers, and, at the touch of 
 her trembling lips upon his cheek, all strangeness 
 broke into a single radiance, shot with rainbow hues. 
 
 " Mother ! " he cried. " I shall never be parted 
 from you again, never in all this world."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 READJUSTMENTS 
 
 SOCIAL, Delphi prided itself upon its savoir-faire. 
 Mrs. Abbey, the unchallenged leader in all higher 
 culture, had bestowed the epithet. It was noticeable 
 how, within two years, Mrs. Abbey had begun to find 
 the homely English tongue inadequate. French 
 terms cropped up overnight like mushrooms on a 
 damp lawn. 
 
 When Charlie had finally set sail for Paris, the 
 devoted and heroic mother made, almost immediately, 
 the announcement, that she intended " polishing " 
 her sadly neglected French. Years before, in Bos- 
 ton, she had been almost fluent so she averred, 
 and had once taken part in a Moliere comedy, 
 expurgated. Now it was her plain duty as a parent 
 to regain the tarnished brilliancy, and Mrs. Abbey 
 never shirked duty, no matter how plain. 
 
 The intellectual processes of this worthy dame 
 were not carried on behind closed doors. Rather 
 did they resemble the nature-driven activities of cer- 
 tain bees, condemned to build and store within the 
 narrow confines of glass boxes, for all to see. 
 
 With somewhat less display, various other mem- 
 bers of her clientele possessed themselves of French 
 
 228
 
 READJUSTMENTS 229 
 
 text-books, and a few of the more passionately en- 
 thused, of Moliere. 
 
 In this movement, as in most others, Cora Whit- 
 man, still " unattached," became her aide, her first 
 lieutenant. At the end of six months the younger 
 woman, inspired by the smiling commendation of her 
 chief, inaugurated, in the big, showy Whitman home, 
 a series of " Friday Afternoons Fran9aise." On 
 these occasions no language but French was allowed. 
 Tea and all other refreshments were equally Gallic, 
 and, had the ambitious ladies eaten things as they 
 pronounced them, it is certain that there would have 
 been a single gathering, and no more. 
 
 But brains and digestive organs alike survived. 
 The little club became Cora's hobby. When John 
 Hemingway came back, especially if he were really 
 to bring that foreign woman he had picked up, he 
 should not find Delphi unprepared. 
 
 And now John was back: a John unaccompanied 
 indeed, but a John so improved, so genial and so al- 
 together glorified, that the most critical and reluctant 
 of observers could not fail to realise the aura of a 
 successful love. It was not a happy time for Cora. 
 Her heart became a bunch of grapes, extremely 
 green and sour, hung high out of reach of a fox that 
 never glanced toward them. 
 
 Meanwhile the young man's native town, true to 
 its policy of generous broad-mindedness, flung wide 
 its doors of welcome, and, with splendid restraint, 
 withheld even the most oblique allusions to " prodi-
 
 230 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 gals " and " husks." In the various banquets set 
 before him, no veal appeared. As Aunt Clara had 
 said, even a very lean calf might seem to John, under 
 the circumstances, as a reminder of the fatted one 
 mentioned in Scripture. Besides, John had never 
 liked veal. 
 
 Could delicacy of sentiment go further? Delphi 
 thought not. Many were the glances of self-con- 
 gratulation exchanged. If, in its noble attitude 
 there was a human flaw, it might have been found in 
 the unconfessed, but all-too-apparent misgiving as 
 to the recipient's entire apprehension. John could 
 not be said to enter with an air of grateful humility. 
 
 Emma, of course, was hopeless. To her besot- 
 ted mind all honour given to John shed lustre chiefly 
 on the giver. As Walter coarsely phrased it, 
 " Emma is worse begigged than ever. I honestly 
 believe she thinks that boy the only cock that ever 
 cracked a shell. The rest of us are simply piled up 
 for his dung-heap." 
 
 Invitations, none the less, continued to be re- 
 ceived. John, bored to death with most of them, 
 strove valiantly to simulate appreciation. His 
 mother had long since abjured anything in the na- 
 ture of social " dinings-out " ; but she was eager to 
 have him attend, and to question him next morning 
 as to " how it all went off." 
 
 Charlie Abbey, pathetically glad to have him home 
 again, followed the hero like Mary's traditional 
 lamb. John was no less glad of the congenial com-
 
 READJUSTMENTS 231 
 
 panionship, and the two soon fell into the custom of 
 walking home together. Once out of doors, under 
 the friendly stars, they would smoke and stroll along 
 contentedly for hours. Often it was in silence, an 
 aromatic, pulsating silence, which each could have 
 filled up with the other's thoughts. When they 
 talked, it was of Paris and of Inez. 
 
 As Walter had crudely informed his nephew, the 
 whole town was aware of the engagement and was 
 " on its nut " with curiosity and impatience to get 
 a first glimpse of the fair one in the flesh. Of the 
 actual personality of Madame de Pierrefond, Delphi, 
 much to its chagrin and disgust, had learned practic- 
 ally nothing. 
 
 Charlie had been discreet. Little had been " got 
 out " of that devoted ally. " And it wasn't for any 
 want of pumping, not so's you'd notice it," he now 
 told John with a grin. " Good Lord ! How the 
 Old Girl and Cora went for me! Cora Whitman 
 could talk a buzzsaw to sleep ! " His sole indiscre- 
 tion, if such it could be termed, was in showing Mrs. 
 Abbey a photograph of Inez. 
 
 " It was that lovely one, bending over a vase of 
 lilies. Somehow it seemed too beautiful to keep 
 locked up. Mother borrowed it for a day, and 
 when I had given in, she started on a regular stump- 
 ing tour with it. Some old cat popped it into the 
 Oracle" he said ruefully. " I don't believe mother 
 had anything to do with that. And, after all, no 
 harm was done," he added, hastily. " It came out
 
 232 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 in the papers so blurred that it could have passed, 
 just as well, for a photograph of a new statue to Lin- 
 coln with slaves crouching at his feet." 
 
 During this interval of social lionising John was 
 to experience, in full, that peculiar chastening of 
 spirit which is the lot of all travellers on a first re- 
 turn to a small home town. 
 
 John had prepared himself in advance against an 
 expected siege of questioning. Fearing that his in- 
 dividual adventures would not provide sufficient am- 
 munition, he had gone to the length of " reading 
 up " on Paris life ; and had rehearsed, in private, a 
 few descriptions of the more notable buildings, sup- 
 plemented by pictorial post-cards. It would be tire- 
 some to a degree but, as he resignedly told himself, 
 he could scarcely refuse to share with less fortunate 
 stay-at-homes, these crumbs of bounty. 
 
 He was soon to be undeceived. Questions were 
 asked, of course. In the case of men, it was gener- 
 ally, " And how did you like it over there among the 
 frog-eaters? " followed by some less decorous remark 
 about the feminine portion of the gay community. 
 The Delphi ladies restrained their queries to fash- 
 ions, often concluding the brief dialogue with a co- 
 quettish, " Didn't you used to get dreadfully home- 
 sick?" 
 
 No one at all showed desire to be instructed. 
 Apart from his mother, no one seemed to care how he 
 had lived, or what his work had been. At each of 
 the more formal dinings, it is true, the hostess felt it
 
 READJUSTMENTS 233 
 
 incumbent upon her to fling out a few hurried, casual 
 allusions to their " dinner-guest's " long absence 
 from their midst. If the word " Paris " had slipped 
 in, it had the effect of a small inward panic, to be 
 swerved from, as Nile dogs are said to lap water run- 
 ning, lest the crocodiles snatch them. No hostess 
 can risk a monologue. His careful preparations be- 
 gan to appear childish and absurdly vain. 
 
 But since, under Inez' tutelage, he had developed 
 a certain amount of humour, he was soon able to re- 
 gard these social manoeuvres with less vexation than 
 amusement. The processes, at each table, were the 
 same. 
 
 When the initial danger was past, the hostess, 
 with a relieved expression stating more clearly than 
 any words, " Now that is over, and we can talk of 
 something interesting," tossed high the light ball of 
 general conversation. Toward this, all hands were 
 stretched. John learned to keep his under the 
 table. The others, feeling it their privilege and 
 duty, rush in en masse, to entertain him. 
 
 There were times when it seemed to the bewildered 
 listener as if each of the company had been keeping 
 a diary which, for his benefit, had been recently 
 committed to memory. No incident of Delphi his- 
 tory, from May Armstrong's spectacular divorce to 
 the obstruction, a few days before, of Mrs. Mc- 
 Master's kitchen faucet by an eel, was overlooked. 
 
 Aunt Clara related in her monotonous, uninter- 
 ruptable voice, all minutes of all church meetings
 
 234 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 since the first Sunday after John's departure. 
 Mrs. Abbey, more painfully cultured and precise 
 than ever, gave him a complete synopsis of the vari- 
 ous Chautauquan courses she had been attending, 
 while Cora, eschewing abstract themes for the con- 
 crete, rallied him incessantly anent the " Fair Inez." 
 In the same breath with some overpointed question, 
 she would pretend to believe the foreign fiancee a 
 myth. John felt the claws under her giggling ob- 
 servations, and might have become indignant but for 
 the fact a realisation which came slowly to his as- 
 tonished ears that Cora was prodigally interspers- 
 ing her English sentences with what she supposed 
 French. Her shrugs and archly lifted brows, in 
 combination with the unique pronunciation, forced 
 John into a fingernail breaking grip upon his chair, 
 in order to keep himself from the disgrace of 
 laughter. 
 
 The airy persiflage chanced to be released at a 
 feast to which young Abbey had not been bidden. 
 John, almost gasping in his efforts after self-control, 
 found food for gratitude. With that rubicund and 
 mirth-distorted face across the table, social disaster 
 would have been sure. 
 
 Mrs. McMaster's engrossing interest of the mo- 
 ment was in Woman's Suffrage. Valiantly she had 
 announced herself as one of the " Militant." She 
 wore no colours but the purple, green and gold of 
 the English Sisterhood of Furies. No tones could 
 have harmonised less kindly with Mrs. McMaster's
 
 READJUSTMENTS 235 
 
 hard-bitten countenance and clay-coloured hair, but 
 vanity is a small sacrifice for a heroine to make for a 
 cause. 
 
 Henry, her meek and silent husband, had been put 
 into the same significant hues. His socks, neckties 
 and handkerchief borders all proclaimed his vassal- 
 age. Across his narrow chest, where, by rights, a 
 porous plaster should have lain, flaunted a wide 
 ribbon emblazoned with the words, " Votes for 
 Women." 
 
 The McMasters' dinner, loudly heralded in the 
 Oracle, needed only the four crouched lions of Tra- 
 falgar Square to make it international. John and 
 Charlie finally escaped with their lives, but each had 
 the sensation of a dog who has just shed a tin can. 
 
 In his own home which was becoming more and 
 more John's refuge and haven, the young man suf- 
 fered at least one encounter with provincialism. 
 Molly McGuire, more rosy and less three-legged 
 than he remembered her, had flung toward him the 
 single, reproachful query, " And you didn't be com- 
 ing back after all these years, Master John, widout a 
 kleek at old Ireland ? " 
 
 John hanging his head, confessed the misde- 
 meanour, at which, on the instant, Molly's one ray 
 of interest was quenched. 
 
 Even the little mother, insatiable listener that she 
 was, had made, against his coming, her own special, 
 tender hoard. She was passionately fond of chil- 
 dren, more especially young babies. John, groan-
 
 2S6 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 ing within, but conscious that he loved his mother 
 more for the infliction, found himself pinned into a 
 corner, while, before him, the narrator sat, telling of 
 all the recent newcomers to that special nook of 
 Babyland. According to her, each had been more 
 beautiful to look upon, and more marvellous as to 
 mental attainments than the well-nigh perfect being 
 that had just preceded it. As the little woman 
 talked, her cheeks grew pink, and her brown eyes be- 
 gan to glow. John had seen less excitement at a 
 sparring match. 
 
 " And oh, John," she broke out, as if the words 
 could not be withheld, '* when I see those happy, beau- 
 tiful young mothers, and the little warm, pink 
 bundles on their arms " She checked herself, a 
 hint of fright in her upraised face. 
 
 John leaned over, kissing her hand as he had often 
 kissed that of Inez. 
 
 " I know, you dearest of all mothers," he said 
 unsteadily. " I wish it just as much as you." 
 
 A draughting-board had been fitted up in John's 
 bedroom, and already he had begun work on his 
 plans for the big hospital. Off here, alone, his long- 
 ing for Inez grew insistent. He needed her each mo- 
 ment. He would never do decent, creative work un- 
 less she were beside him. There were a thousand 
 questions he wanted to ask her. 
 
 Sometimes he would glance up almost expecting to 
 meet her bright, intelligent eyes. Then his words, 
 half-formed, would stammer into silence, and he
 
 READJUSTMENTS 237 
 
 would drop his head, aching, as with a physical pain, 
 for a sight of her. 
 
 They wrote each other daily, and besides, made 
 frequent use of that boon for all lovers, the night 
 lettergram. Twice she had asked him whether he 
 had yet spoken to his mother of their " creed." 
 
 His first answer had been brief. " Just now such 
 a discussion is out of the question. My mother and 
 I are never alone. But things will settle down 
 shortly, and you can rely on my speaking at the first 
 possible moment." 
 
 His next answer, written three days later, was 
 longer and, as it seemed to the reader who bent 
 troubled eyes upon it, rather evasive. 
 
 " Don't bother that dear head about our theories. 
 They will take care of themselves. The main thing 
 now is that I can't live many hours longer without 
 you. I have made some sort of a beginning on the 
 hospital plans, but feel perfectly flat and helpless 
 without your inspiration. Can't you possibly make 
 arrangements to start west a day earlier? Mother 
 is almost as impatient as I am. Your room is ready, 
 even to the flowers. I can hardly wait for you and 
 mother to meet and know each other. She is the 
 dearest little trump. Everything will come right 
 just as soon as we can make her realise how serious 
 we are in our new beliefs." 
 
 Inez' reply to this was by wire. " Am too deep in 
 engagements to come earlier than planned. You are 
 doing all of us injustice by not making some tenta-
 
 238 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 tive effort to prepare the soil for seeds that must be 
 implanted. Inez." 
 
 After this there were, from her, no further letters. 
 On the following Tuesday morning, John and the 
 faithful Charlie were at the little Delphi station, try- 
 ing to hide, each from the other, an almost paralys- 
 ing condition of excitement as the train drew near.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 INEZ IN DELPHI 
 
 HAD John been an ordinary woman, instead of 
 what he was, a somewhat extraordinary young man, 
 clean of heart, right-thinking by instinct, still 
 troubled, occasionally by qualms concerning his im- 
 mortal soul, but clarified throughout, as it were, and 
 at the same time deepened by the two best gifts of 
 life: love, and a profession which enthralled him, 
 had he been, I say, instead of a composite of these 
 factors a mere ordinary woman of ordinary social 
 existence, he must have seen an underlying reason 
 in the unusual haste with which the home-coming 
 functions of welcome had been crowded into the first 
 short week of his return. 
 
 But John had neither time nor inclination for such 
 conjecture. He accepted the kindnesses, each with 
 cheerful good faith. The boredom that, indubitably, 
 he suffered, was, to his broadened mind, a sort of in- 
 ner equivalent. Through each hospitable door he 
 went, striving his best to be genial, concessive, and, if 
 not to feel, at least to simulate, interest in the cloud- 
 bursts of local manna, turned loose for his benefit. 
 At times he would catch himself smiling to wonder 
 
 what Inez was going to think of it all. A second 
 
 239
 
 240 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 round of these semi-family gaieties would, of course 
 be instantly inaugurated for her benefit. 
 
 So John thought, but his mother, in her quiet 
 domestic corner of the home living-room, knew bet- 
 ter. She was one of those creatures, all too rare, 
 who say little and see much. The meaning of all 
 this unusual haste had been, from the first, quite 
 clear to her. The women of Delphi were not going 
 to accept a strange woman in their midst, until she 
 had been, to use the local term " sized up." 
 
 For more than fifty years Emma Hemingway had 
 been part of little Delphi, a living fibre of its intri- 
 cate, commonplace social growth. It is only fair 
 to assert that, had she possessed on the instant, an 
 aerial dictograph to follow the words of a dialogue 
 then in progress between Mrs. Abbey and her satel- 
 lite, Cora Whitman, Mrs. Hemingway would not 
 have been surprised. 
 
 John and Charlie Abbey had left, some fifteen 
 minutes earlier, for the train. The short interval 
 in which the little mother was to wait, seemed to her 
 more crowded with emotion and excitement than any- 
 thing she had ever experienced. Of course the whole 
 town was aware of the particular moment in which 
 John's fiancee was to arrive. Ten o'clock was an 
 early hour for housekeepers to be abroad, but on 
 this particular day there was, by strange chance, 
 a veritable epidemic of shoppers. The little station 
 was not in either of the two retail districts of the 
 town, one " across the river," the other and smaller
 
 INEZ IN DELPHI 
 
 being on the more strictly residence side to the south, 
 but lay about midway between the two, and quite a 
 noticeable detour to the west. All the dry-goods 
 stores, bakeries, retail groceries, markets and drug 
 stores of Delphi could easily have been purchased 
 and removed, without necessitating so much as a 
 glimpse of the station at the end of High Street, just 
 beyond " New Bridge," and yet pedestrians as well 
 as those in motor-cars, found excuses for invading 
 unfrequented thoroughfares. The little basket 
 pony-phaeton of Mrs. Abbey was especially alert. 
 Never had the small horse turned so many corners. 
 The mistress, who was driving, sat up with her ac- 
 customed rigidity, an attitude which she felt due 
 her position as " social leader." Beside her, more 
 relaxed, her eyes keen and shrewd with excitement, 
 sat Cora. 
 
 " There go John and Charlie now" cried the lat- 
 ter. " Turn into that little side-street, quick, 
 please. I don't want John to think " She broke 
 off in a nervous, affected giggle. 
 
 " I see no reason why the streets of Delphi should 
 be forbidden us," said Mrs. Abbey icily, " just be- 
 cause an unknown woman is to arrive." Neverthe- 
 less she pulled the left rein sharply. 
 
 Once within the secluded street there occurred a 
 remarkable exhibition of psychic power, that of 
 the human over the brute mind. Neither of the 
 ladies had spoken since the vehicle was turned, and 
 yet the pony, having wheeled, came to a determined
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 and most intelligent pause, his nose toward the sta- 
 tion, his two ears, tilted slightly backward, each 
 pointing directly into an eager, concentrated face. 
 Just at the moment, the train whistled. Mrs. Abbey 
 dropped pretence with the reins. 
 
 Cora, by this time, could scarcely breathe. She 
 sat forward on the extreme edge of the seat, so pre- 
 cariously near, in fact, that only a wiry grasp of 
 two gloved hands restrained her from slipping to the 
 floor. 
 
 " It's stopped! '* she panted. " John did not 
 even wait long enough to engage a hack. I wonder 
 whether he is going to walk her home." 
 
 Mrs. Abbey did not see fit to echo the wonder. 
 Her lips were tight, her eyes like small green burn- 
 ing-glasses. 
 
 The train, whose terminal coaches alone could be 
 seen by the two spectators, shuddered and grated 
 to a halt. 
 
 " We are to be congratulated," Mrs. Abbey 
 stated crisply, " that all of Emma Hemingway's 
 friends have shown John a welcome. It was due 
 both John and her. But when it comes to throwing 
 wide one's door to an unknown person like this 
 Madame de Pierrefond " she paused, emphasising 
 silence. 
 
 " It seems a little queer that she is so unknown," 
 mused Cora. " I have written to everybody who's 
 been to Paris, and might have heard of her. Last 
 week I wrote again to Bessie Pierie, who was study-
 
 INEZ IN DELPHI 
 
 ing over there and is back in Chicago. I even en- 
 closed a stamp, and told her that it was very impor- 
 tant for us to hear something." 
 
 Mrs. Abbey lifted enquiring eyebrows. 
 
 " No," responded Cora to the eyebrows. " No 
 answer yet. It's funny how everybody avoids men- 
 tioning her. What seems to me queerest of all," she 
 went on, her frown deepening, " is that you've been 
 able to get so little out of Charlie." 
 
 " I am not the sort of mother who condescends 
 to force confidences from her son," said Mrs. Abbey, 
 " but I must admit that the unusual reticence he has 
 displayed is far from reassuring." 
 
 " How beautifully you always word things, dear 
 Mrs. Abbey," exclaimed Cora. " I wonder if I'll 
 ever have a vocabulary like yours." 
 
 " It takes time, my dear, and much thoughtful 
 reading," condescended the small great lady. 
 " Then, too, you must remember that I had great 
 advantages in my youth. I was born and bred in 
 Boston." 
 
 Cora sighed, presumably with envy. Her light- 
 coloured eyes, set rather close above a thin-bridged 
 nose, had never left the station platform. Now she 
 gave a convulsive start. " They are coming out ! 
 Charlie's got one of her arms, and John the other. 
 My, I did not think she'd be so tall and skinny. 
 That's her all in grey. Her veil's down." 
 
 " She's lifting it," said Mrs. Abbey, and then 
 added maliciously, " she's lifting it to kiss John."
 
 244 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " How disgusting! I didn't think that people 
 from abroad Heavens, she's kissing Charlie 
 too!" 
 
 " Impossible ! " gasped Mrs. Abbey. " She would 
 not dare ! " 
 
 " But she has! " It was Cora's turn for a mali- 
 cious chuckle. " And there are two negro porters 
 loaded with hand-baggage. They are piling them 
 into an express wagon. Yes, they are going to 
 walk home, all three of them. Heavens ! Suppose 
 they should come this way ! " 
 
 " I regret that we demeaned ourselves by paus- 
 ing," said Mrs. Abbey, with genuine sincerity. " But 
 now that we are here our only course is to remain 
 still." 
 
 " Yes ! " acquiesced the other, in a voice that 
 trembled with excitement. " They won't see us any- 
 way. They are going straight up High Street." 
 
 Their fears allayed, the two women gave them- 
 selves up to scrutiny. " If that travelling gown is 
 the latest French mode," remarked the elder, " then 
 all I have to say is that the French are more inde- 
 cent than they were when / was last abroad." 
 
 Cora's eyes fairly clawed the graceful, retreating 
 figure. " She hasn't a petticoat to her name! I 
 wonder where her corsets stop. You can see every 
 inch of her le " 
 
 " My dear! " 
 
 " Of her limbs, to her waist. Poor John ! " 
 
 " Poor mother, you had better say," reproved
 
 INEZ IN DELPHI 245 
 
 Mrs. Abbey. " It is always we mothers who suf- 
 fer." She shuddered, recalling the recent kiss be- 
 stowed on Charles. 
 
 Meanwhile the three friends, swinging along as 
 so many times they had tramped the streets of 
 Paris, oblivious of shoulder-stabbing looks and hos- 
 tile criticism, laughed and talked all at once, like 
 three ecstatic school children let out on an unex- 
 pected holiday. 
 
 " Yes, it's Delphi at last," John was saying. 
 "Rather dreadful, isn't it?" He nodded sideways 
 toward the line of cheap, new buildings they were 
 passing. 
 
 " Non! It is not dreadful," said Inez, indig- 
 nantly. " No place could be dreadful that is the 
 'ome of my Jean." 
 
 " Wish somebody'd say that about the 'ome of 
 her Charlie," exclaimed that youth. 
 
 "Ah, my poor Sharlie! Nevaire you min'! It 
 will 'appen some day soon," comforted Inez, giving 
 him a friendly little pat upon the shoulder. 
 
 This innocent gesture having been observed from 
 upper story windows by six typewriter girls, three 
 clerks and two bosses, and, from the pavement by 
 a sauntering contingent of as many more, became 
 instantly the sensation of the day. Within an hour 
 the whole town had heard of the shameless way in 
 which John Hemingway's Paris " girl " had first 
 kissed Charlie Abbey at the station, and then, while 
 walking along a public thoroughfare had suddenly
 
 246 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 flung herself into his arms. By noon, there were 
 graphic accounts, all from eye-witnesses, of a terrific 
 combat between the rival lovers. Rumour varied 
 only in which combatant was supposed to be the vic- 
 tor. Each was known to have lost at least two 
 front teeth, gaining, at the same time, a black eye. 
 
 The appearance, later on, of the two belligerents, 
 obviously unscathed, walking amicably together 
 along Main Street, did little to erase the lurid 
 images provoked by such unusual and pleasing gos- 
 sip. 
 
 By this time the three friends had reached the 
 corner of Maple Avenue, a wide tree-shaded street, 
 upon which the older and most firmly established 
 aristocracy of the town had, for the most part, its 
 dwellings. 
 
 " So that," said Inez, pausing at John's touch, 
 " is the 'ome, the life-time 'ome of you, my Jean. 
 Ah, it is quaint. There were no Mansard roofs, or 
 small turned pillars in the South which my child- 
 hood knew, only white gables, and long, long ' gal- 
 leries ' with columns heaped in rose-vines. I have 
 never seen houses just like these. But " she has- 
 tened to add, as if fearing that she had been too 
 critical, " I shall love the one of yours, Jean, just 
 as I shall love Delphi and the little mother, just 
 because they are yours." 
 
 " There's the little mother now, coming out of 
 the door," said Charlie. " Time for me to beat it ! " 
 
 He turned, hurrying back along High Street.
 
 INEZ IN DELPHI 24-7 
 
 Inez flashed one look at Jean, to show her cognisance 
 of the boy's delicacy, and then breathlessly said, 
 " Stop here, Jean. Not one step more. I wish 
 alone to go to la mere." 
 
 John nodded. He could not speak. His heart 
 followed the swift-flying grey figure. He saw the 
 little mother in the doorway shrink, give a startled 
 look as if for him, and then, like the thoroughbred 
 she was, advance toward the gate. 
 
 The two met there. For an instant a mist blotted 
 the watcher's vision. He dashed something bright 
 and warm from his eyes and then, to his relief and 
 satisfaction saw that Inez, instead of attempting a 
 melodramatic embrace, had merely taken the trem- 
 bling, outstretched hands in both her own. During 
 the first whispered sentences she held them close 
 against her breast. Then she loosed them, falling 
 back a little, and making the little beckoning move- 
 ment of the chin he knew so well. 
 
 Charlie, far down the street, could not restrain a 
 single backward look. The three figures were mov- 
 ing along the cemented path toward the house. Both 
 women were gowned in grey, and John had an arm 
 about each. Just before they entered, the man 
 stooped his head to kiss, first the mother, and then 
 the woman whom he wished to make his wife. 
 
 The boy broke suddenly into a rag-time tune. 
 His young heart was sweet and buoyant with what 
 he had seen. 
 
 If shopping had been a forenoon occupation in
 
 248 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Delphi, visits to Emma Hemingway obsessed the 
 afternoon. Clara came in to borrow sugar. Mrs. 
 McMaster had more vegetables to deliver. There 
 was scarcely a neighbour, with the single exception 
 of Mrs. Abbey, who did not manage to find some 
 pretext for " dropping in.'* 
 
 None of them saw Madame de Pierrefond. " Inez 
 is tired after her long trip," Mrs. Hemingway ex- 
 plained to each inquirer. " She is in her room, and 
 John wishes her not to be disturbed." 
 
 May Armstrong was not to be so easily put off. 
 " Huh ! Where's John? " she demanded, in loud 
 tones which carried to all parts of the big wooden 
 house. 
 
 Inez, stretched luxuriously upon a couch upstairs, 
 with John very, very close beside, lifted a sparkling 
 face, and pushed John back that they might listen. 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway's answer was a mere propitia- 
 tory murmur. There was a moment of silence from 
 May, then, rather meaningly, " Oh ! In that case, 
 I had better not keep you from joining them." 
 
 " First rendition of the Delphi theme," groaned 
 John. " Just wait until Aunt Clara finds out that 
 I am in your room unchaperoned." 
 
 Inez sat upright, pushing back the long shining 
 strands of hair. 
 
 " Do you really mean," she asked incredulously, 
 " that here in your mother's home, and we openly, 
 what you insist upon calling * engaged ' " at the 
 word she gave a little gesture of repudiation " that
 
 INEZ IN DELPHI 249 
 
 we would be criticised for being up here to- 
 gether? " 
 
 "Would we? You just wait. You've got a lot 
 to learn about Delphi." 
 
 " If it all is of this cheap flavour," remarked Inez, 
 " I do not face the prospect with rapture." 
 
 John looked hurt. " You know I warned you, 
 darling," he began, but she checked him. 
 
 " I do not believe you have ever mentioned our 
 beliefs to your mother." 
 
 The young man's eyes fell. 
 
 Inez gazed at him for a long moment, then leaned 
 back, her own lids drooping. " Ah," she mur- 
 mured, speaking as much to herself as to him, " it 
 is always so. You men will slay each other in the 
 field, you fight for finance and for commerce, but 
 women must battle for the moral issues. Yes, it is 
 we who fight the battles of the soul." 
 
 The young man kept silence for an interval, then 
 rallying his forces, he took her in his arms. " Now 
 look here, Inez. I'm not the shirk your words seem 
 to imply. I am going to stand by you and your 
 principles to the end, no matter at what personal 
 sacrifice, but when it comes to breaking a thing like 
 this to such a woman as my mother " 
 
 In his instinctive pause, she freed herself, leaning 
 backward with one hand on his breast. Her eyes 
 sought his almost fiercely. This time he did not 
 flinch. 
 
 " I have tried to speak to her, more than once ;
 
 250 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 but so far I have simply been unable to find words 
 that can make her understand." 
 
 " She is not stupid, your mother," put in Inez 
 quickly. 
 
 " It isn't so much a question of stupidity as of 
 utter readjustment," said John, frowning. 
 
 " You know it must be said some time. It is the 
 condition of our union." 
 
 " Yes, I know. And I do not wish you to think 
 that coming back to Delphi has changed me." 
 
 The ghost of a smile quivered across the woman's 
 tightly drawn lips. 
 
 " What, then, shall I think, my Jean? " 
 
 " The hardest of all things to you, dear, think 
 nothing." 
 
 At this her eyes flew open. 
 
 " I mean by that," he explained, in some embar- 
 rassment, " that I want us to have, say, a week here 
 together, as ordinary engaged people. Oh, I know 
 you hate that term, but Delphi knows no other. I 
 want my mother to have at least one week of happi- 
 ness in our love. Already you have charmed her, 
 as you charm every one. When she sees for herself 
 how fine you are, how sincere, how deeply moral " 
 
 " Jean ! Jean ! " gasped Inez, pretending to 
 faint. 
 
 " Well, you are. It's the thing about you that 
 I love most. Say you will grant me this, my dear- 
 est. One week. It is not much. We kept the faith 
 for years in Paris."
 
 INEZ IN DELPHI 251 
 
 " You say well, * we kept the faith.' There we 
 were under no false pretences. Here in Delphi you 
 deliberately ask of me to be the 'ippocrite." 
 
 To this John said nothing. The troubled look 
 on his face deepened. 
 
 " Don't you see, dear," began Inez softly, leaning 
 nearer, " that already you are asking me to violate 
 my own sincerity. If my truth is what most you 
 love, how can you wish to desecrate it? " 
 
 The young man drew a long, hopeless sigh. " I 
 can see, of course, that it might appear that way to 
 you. I haven't your gift of expression, but, in 
 my soul, Inez, with the memory of all the beautiful 
 hours we have spent together, and the hope of a more 
 beautiful life to come, I feel that I am not asking 
 you to do wrong." 
 
 Suddenly she put up her arms like a child. He 
 drew her to him, kissing her again and again. Then 
 he pressed her head against his heart, and waited. 
 Each knew of the battle that the other fought. At 
 last she said, " I yield. For one week, I shall be a 
 'ippocrite," 
 
 With a low cry of joy he snatched her closer, but 
 now she slipped away. 
 
 " You will go now, please. I am more weary than 
 I thought. Yes, I have come a long, long journey."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE DELPHI THEME IN VARIATIONS 
 
 BY tea-time among the conservative in Delphi 
 the six o'clock meal is still called " tea " Inez ven- 
 tured to appear. The afternoon had been spent 
 alone in her room. In response to Molly McGuire's 
 solicitous inquiries at the door-panel, she had de- 
 clared herself still resting, but already much re- 
 freshed. To Mrs. Hemingway she sent the message 
 that she would be downstairs at six. 
 
 John, forbidden the presence of the beloved, 
 sought out the sympathetic Charlie and went for a 
 walk. The little mistress of the house, between her 
 tide of visitors and the preparations for supper, had 
 little thought for other things. 
 
 Inez, in spite of her mouse-like quiet, Mrs. Hem- 
 ingway had found herself listening more than once 
 for the sound of stirring overhead, had done no 
 " resting." The first day in a new environment 
 is always trying. She had censured John's light 
 disparagement of his native town, but her challenge 
 had been quite as much against her own impressions. 
 She had come determined to make the best of things. 
 She had hoped sincerely to like the little town, to 
 find friendship among John's friends, and, above 
 
 all, to love the little mother whom he held so dear. 
 
 252
 
 THE DELPHI THEME 253 
 
 Though an American by birth, Inez knew less of 
 America than of any other civilised land. Her 
 training from childhood had been that of aristo- 
 cratic Europe. The great " West " had, until she 
 had met and loved John Hemingway, been to her a 
 region more remote and less interesting than Pata- 
 gonia. 
 
 Now she was in the heart of it ; and, through her 
 union with the man she loved would always be, in 
 some sense, part of it. A faint shudder ran along 
 her nerves. She shut her eyes that she might not 
 see the commonplace furniture that looked at once 
 shabby and new. All of the houses had had in her 
 eyes that same look of shabby newness. There was 
 no softness anywhere, no mellowing by time. The 
 people on the streets had been dressed with some 
 regard to recent modes, but their clothes, too, were 
 shabby. In the year of absence Charlie had, to the 
 outward eye, at least, changed and cheapened. His 
 necktie was too pronounced for the best taste, and 
 he wore yellow shoes of that unpleasant American 
 variety with bulging toes, tipped with a horn like 
 that of a young rhinoceros. Would John, too, 
 change? Was he already changing? 
 
 Inez lay back at this, her sick eyes closing. The 
 words she had spoken a few hours earlier came back 
 in a hollow knell. " I have travelled far." There 
 was a subtle difference in John. Delays and com- 
 promises were peculiarly distasteful to Inez, and yet, 
 on the first day of arrival John had forced a con-
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 cession. For a week they must play the parts of 
 conventional lovers, branded with the large, forbid- 
 ding sign, " Engaged." And at the end of that 
 week ? 
 
 She did not dare think further. Now, all alert 
 with restlessness, she got to her feet and began a 
 hasty unpacking. Her French maid had, at John's 
 suggestion, been left in New York. " There's very 
 little dressing done in Delphi anyway," he had told 
 her, " and I honestly believe that mother couldn't 
 stand for Paulette. You see, nobody speaks French 
 out here. Molly McGuire would certainly wreak 
 bodily harm upon her." 
 
 At the time it had seemed a simple luxury to 
 forego. The convenience of her drawing-room on 
 the Pullman had made the unusual self-dependence 
 easy; but here in the big, uninviting room, set about 
 with trunks and hat-boxes, she felt as bewildered as 
 if faced with an intricate piece of machinery. She 
 had no idea in which of the boxes certain things be- 
 longed. All had heavy straps, and the physical ef- 
 fort needed to unloose them, did not increase her 
 equanimity. 
 
 She threw a mass of scented, tissued stuff upon 
 the bed, then looked about for closets. There was 
 but one. No clothes hangers were visible; only a 
 row of rusty hooks that had evidently been in place 
 since John's infancy. When she attempted to open 
 the bureau drawers, the corner of one stuck, leaving 
 a long triangle of emptiness. With an exclamation
 
 THE DELPHI THEME 255 
 
 of annoyance she finally gave up the attempt to re- 
 adjust it, and leaned to the lower drawer. A handle 
 of this came off, nearly throwing her backward to 
 the floor. 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway, downstairs, heard the slight 
 stumble, and paused, half untying her gingham 
 apron strings. Just in time she recalled John's 
 parting injunction: "Above all things, Mother, 
 don't go near Inez' room unless she sends for you. 
 You'll learn her ways in time, but just at first I'll 
 have to coach you. She's not an ordinary woman." 
 The sweet old face remained, for a moment, immo- 
 bile in a troubled frown. Then she sighed, and 
 drew the apron strings together. Of course John 
 knew best, but she couldn't help wishing, just a 
 little, that he had brought home a woman whom she 
 did not have to learn about. 
 
 Exactly at six John, having had Inez' message re- 
 peated downstairs, knocked on her door. He was 
 the least thing uncertain as to what would be her 
 mood. He did not underrate the sacrifice to prin- 
 ciple that she had made for him. With relief, as 
 well as pleasure, he heard her light feet moving in- 
 stantly toward him. She flung the panel wide, and 
 stood still, smiling. John gave a gasp. " Good 
 heavens, Inez ! I should have warned you." Then 
 at her startled expression he laughed, saying, 
 " Never mind. It's all right." 
 
 " But what was it that at the first you thought 
 not right, my Jean? "
 
 256 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Your gown. Women here don't dress like that 
 even for dinner, and this is only a tea. You'll 
 knock mother off her feet." 
 
 " Shall I change into street clothes ? " 
 
 " Change ! Let me catch you at it ! " he cried 
 with such fervour that her smile returned. " You're 
 the loveliest thing on earth in that particular frock. 
 You know it is my favourite. You make me think 
 of a clear brook full of half-drowned roses." 
 
 " Yes, it is pretty," she admitted, looking down 
 with frank delight at the exquisite folds. " The way 
 the pale flowers in the chiffon seem to disappear and 
 then float back to the surface But your thought 
 is prettier than the dress, my Jean." 
 
 John, by way of acknowledgment, lifted her hand 
 to his lips. He did not seem in haste to move from 
 the door. 
 
 " Well," she questioned brightly, " do you en- 
 tirely forget Mamere and tea? " 
 
 " N-n-o," said John. Then with obvious effort, 
 " Look here, Inez. If you really don't mind my 
 suggesting it I wish you'd pin that, er open- 
 ing, in front just a little higher up. Mother is ter- 
 ribly old-fashioned." 
 
 Without a word she turned, crossed the room, and 
 stood before the dresser. It was perhaps as well 
 that he could not see her face. The beautiful, long 
 lines of the throat, once the ecstasy of a famous 
 Parisian " creator," were gathered in an awkward 
 bunch, and thrust through with the first brooch that
 
 THE DELPHI THEME 257 
 
 came to the impatient wearer's hand. All grace and 
 symmetry had vanished. Obliquely in the blue- 
 green mirror she could see how John, his head hung 
 in a boyish, shamefaced, yet obstinate manner, hov- 
 ered well beyond the threshold. 
 
 Still wordless, she recrossed, brushed by him and 
 commenced the descent of the shabby stairs alone. 
 The man hurried after. 
 
 " You don't think me a beast for asking? " he 
 implored. 
 
 " A beast? By no means." 
 
 " A prig then, which is far worse." 
 
 She did not answer. Her one thought seemed to 
 be the keeping just beyond his reach. 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry that you take it so," he per- 
 sisted, " but you know how very important first im- 
 pressions are." 
 
 " Yes, I know," she smiled icily, and there was 
 something in her tone which kept him silent. 
 
 In the lower hallway Mrs. Hemingway, inter- 
 cepted upon one of her countless domestic errands 
 between kitchen and dining-room, stopped short to 
 cry, " You sweet thing ! " Then, flushing at her 
 own impulsiveness, she went on, " I don't wonder 
 that John fell in love with you, my dear. I'd be 
 ashamed of him if he hadn't." 
 
 " Well, you've no need to be ashamed," answered 
 John, beaming. " I went down before the first 
 glimpse." 
 
 " Just step into the living-room, you two," now
 
 258 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 suggested the little housewife, the consciousness of 
 her duties suddenly returned. " Tea will be ready 
 the minute the buttermilk biscuits get brown." 
 
 " Buttermilk biscuit ! Come on, Inez. They're 
 worth waiting for." 
 
 Within the " best room," the pride of Mrs. Hem- 
 ingway's heart, Inez stood still, and began a delib- 
 erate survey. John with quizzical amusement in his 
 eyes, watched her changing expressions. He knew 
 well that the wide earth could not have yielded a 
 novelty more unexpected or complete. 
 
 The woodwork was all in black walnut, heavy, 
 machine-turned, and arching with triumphant gloom 
 above the doors. It continued around the room in 
 a jutting cornice, giving a singularly top-heavy ef- 
 fect, as of a jug partially filled with dark fluid and 
 turned upside down, its contents mysteriously sus- 
 pended. The wall paper which, like the hooks in 
 the guest-room closet, had evidently been in place 
 for more than quarter of a century, gave out hints 
 that once it had been a sort of arrested typhoon of 
 Japanese fans. A dingy plaster medallion centring 
 the ceiling, expressed its raison d'etre in a pen- 
 dent chandelier of cheap bronze. Originally in- 
 tended for gas, it still held aloft disused and yawning 
 globes of frosted glass, while underneath hung the 
 pear-shaped electric bulbs which had, so arrogantly, 
 superseded it. 
 
 Directly beneath this silent combat of the old and 
 new, stood a table, oval in shape, with a marble top
 
 THE DELPHI THEME 259 
 
 and astounding rosewood convolutions meant for 
 legs. These, near the floor, joined in a small round 
 disc which held aloft a rosewood urn. One of the 
 handles was missing. John, in his tottering infancy 
 had committed the depredation. Throughout his 
 boyhood it had been mended and been knocked off 
 so frequently that finally his mother's patience came 
 to an end. She threw away the recalcitrant mem- 
 ber, varnished the scar, and, not without a sigh, 
 abandoned it to an eternity of incompleteness. 
 
 Before the east window stood a single-legged oak 
 stand, supporting a glazed jardiniere and a sword- 
 fern. Up and down the sides of the window-frame 
 were flower-pot brackets, separately screwed in, and 
 on each a somewhat dejected growing plant; gerani- 
 ums, climbing asparagus, and a " crab-cactus," 
 which, judging from its flaccid pendency from the 
 edges of its pot, had kinship with that variety of 
 Crustacea known as " soft-shelled." 
 
 Inez' eyes softened at sight of the pathetic little 
 indoor garden. She wondered whether John, too, 
 were thinking of the exquisite conservatory in a dis- 
 tant Paris home, and of its presiding elf, the tor- 
 toise, which had been once their friendship's chap- 
 eron. 
 
 But a glimpse of a large, framed lithograph over 
 the mantel, representing " Rock of Ages," in the 
 form of a young female in her night robes, clinging 
 desperately to a mid-ocean cross, drove out the ten- 
 derness, and left only keen amusement.
 
 260 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Until this moment John had never thought to 
 criticise his mother's drawing-room. It was so 
 much a part of her and of a happy childhood that 
 he had accepted it without aesthetic questioning. 
 Now he was looking at it through the perceptions 
 of another, and that other the cultured, over-fas- 
 tidious soul of the woman whom he adored. As he 
 had spoken on the street, of Delphi, he now mur- 
 mured, " Rather dreadful, isn't it ? " 
 
 " It's quaint," said Inez guardedly. " Exactly 
 what period of interior decoration should you say 
 it belongs to ? " 
 
 John, assuming in his turn, the cautious, with- 
 holding manner of the appraiser, looked slowly 
 around. It all seemed now so tawdry, so trivial, 
 even so absurd. He was ashamed of the feeling as 
 it possessed him. The realisation that it was the 
 measure of his personal advance in taste, could not 
 rob him of the sense of treachery. In his boyhood, 
 and later, too, this drawing-room had been, for him, 
 a nucleus of comfort and desirability. It was al- 
 most as if he were about to criticise, feature by fea- 
 ture, his mother's faded comeliness. 
 
 " Well," he finally answered, with a wry smile, 
 " since you put it up to me professionally, I should 
 say it might be called * Early General Grant.' ' 
 
 Before the echoes of Inez' laughter died, Molly 
 McGuire thrust her tousled head in at the door to 
 announce supper. 
 
 Each dish upon the well-filled table was some-
 
 THE DELPHI THEME 261 
 
 thing by way of being a " special " for John. Mrs. 
 Hemingway explained them all in turn. She had 
 an endless fund of anecdotes concerning this one 
 idol of her life. There were little jokes between 
 mother and son, unintelligible to Inez except after 
 much laughing elucidation. The gold cake with 
 citron and raisins, for instance, was of a kind that 
 once in childhood, John had stolen, hiding himself 
 and his prize in the hay-loft, and eating with haste 
 and determination to get, for once in his life, an 
 overshare of this most coveted of dainties. Mrs. 
 Hemingway recalled the various remedies needed to 
 restore the youthful culprit, and how many months 
 it had been before he could be induced to touch cake. 
 In her fond eyes this hiatus was, apparently, the 
 most tragic feature of the episode. 
 
 She seemed to take it for granted that Inez would 
 be as much interested as herself in the fatuous re- 
 cital. John, pleased but uncomfortable, strove, for 
 some time in vain, to stem the tide of anecdote. 
 
 " You are sure that all the neighbours have been 
 in, Mother dear ? " he suddenly demanded, in the 
 midst of a detailed account of his experiences with 
 whooping cough. " I wish I could be sure that the 
 three of us were to have a long, uninterrupted even- 
 ing." 
 
 " Yes, the three of us," Inez put in, eagerly. 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway turned off, with evident reluc- 
 tance, the faucet of her favourite theme. " There 
 is no one else to come," she answered with convic-
 
 262 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 tion. " Every one of the friends who are intimate 
 enough to drop in casually, have been here. They 
 all asked for Inez, of course, but I would not let her 
 be bothered. Would I, my dear? " She turned a 
 sweet, triumphant face to the beautiful woman be- 
 side her. 
 
 " No, you wouldn't, dear mother of my Jean," 
 said Inez, with a bright smile. " And for it I thank 
 you. Merci bien. Do you suppose they will all be 
 back again to-morrow? " 
 
 " I fear they will," said Mrs. Hemingway, in a 
 deprecating tone, " and if you could make up your 
 mind, dear Inez " She broke off timidly. 
 
 " I shall see each one who calls to-morrow," de- 
 clared Inez, laughing. " I shall wish to, for I long 
 to meet all friends of my Jean. But to-night it is 
 more sweet and real, this little circle of our- 
 selves." 
 
 " You bet it is ! " cried John, catching the hand 
 nearest him and pressing it to his lips. 
 
 " They are the dearest friends and neighbours 
 in the world," said the old lady, " but even I am 
 glad that there are none to drop in upon us this first 
 evening." 
 
 All at once John sat erect, turning his head a lit- 
 tle toward the street. " Oh, Lord ! " he groaned. 
 " We congratulated ourselves too soon. Or is that 
 a cow coming up the front steps ? " 
 
 Before any answer to this ungallant query could 
 be made, the front door was heard to open, and de-
 
 THE DELPHI THEME 263 
 
 termined steps, firmly spaced as those of a grenadier 
 on parade, thumped toward them along the hall. 
 
 " Kate McMaster ! " gasped Mrs. Hemingway. 
 " Why, she's been here twice already ! " 
 
 " Three times for luck," quoted John in bitter 
 sarcasm. 
 
 Kate entered boldly. Her face was crimson with 
 excitement, and she was attired, even to the cotton 
 stockings that showed above her heavy, common- 
 sense shoes, in the green, purple and gold colours of 
 her Order. At a respectful distance in the rear, less 
 a shadow than a suppressed whisper of his militant 
 spouse, minced Henry. 
 
 " Good evenin', everybody," vociferated Kate with 
 loud cheer. "I was just on my way to a suffrage 
 meeting down at Temperance Hall " 
 
 John, by this, was on his feet. " Inez," he said, 
 interrupting further disclosures, " may I present 
 Mrs. McMaster. Madame de Pierrefond, Mrs. 
 McMaster." 
 
 Kate strode forward. " Pleased to meet you, I'm 
 sure." Then to John, with an attempt at archness, 
 " What's the matter with ' Cousin Kate' ? It always 
 used to be ' Cousin Kate ' when you ran in at my 
 back door for crullers." 
 
 " Madame de Pierrefond, Mr. McMaster," pursued 
 John, conceding the repudiated cousinship by the 
 faintest of smiles. 
 
 Inez, hastily freeing herself from the compelling 
 grasp of Kate, moved around the table toward
 
 264 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Henry. Perceiving her intention, the little man took 
 on a look of terror, and backed slowly off. His 
 small eyes, always furtive, now literally revolved. 
 Across his chest the purple diagonal with its slogan, 
 " Votes for Women," pulsed like the gills of a dying 
 trout. 
 
 Kate, wheeling to him, uttered one " tc'h'h ! " of 
 annoyance, then, catching up a flaccid wrist laid his 
 hand in the outstretched palm of Inez. 
 
 " Where's your manners, Henry? " she demanded. 
 " Don't you see Madame de Pierrefond is trying to 
 shake hands with you? 
 
 " You mustn't mind Henry," she went on con- 
 fidentially to Inez. " He means well, but he's timid ; 
 and he ain't very strong. I have to nurse him like 
 a sick cat." 
 
 " Come and take this chair beside me, Henry," said 
 gentle Mrs. Hemingway. " Maybe you'd like a slice 
 of gold cake." 
 
 " No cake for Henry," stated Mrs. McMaster, in 
 a tone that settled things. " He's been having in- 
 testinal indigestion terribly," she explained to the 
 company at large. " Nothing seems to give him a 
 bit of relief, though he tries everything. This morn- 
 ing I caught him taking my Peruny." 
 
 " You said you were on your way to a suffrage 
 meeting ? " put in Inez hastily. 
 
 "Yes," replied Kate, eagerly. "That's why I 
 came by. I felt sure that you were a progressive 
 woman, and would want to attend it. We have a
 
 THE DELPHI THEME 265 
 
 wonderful speaker, Mrs. Catt. It would be a dis- 
 grace to the town if we didn't get a full house for her, 
 and I knew that if you promised to attend " She 
 broke off, letting the genial glow of her smile play 
 about her victim. " Just say the word," she coaxed. 
 " The meeting doesn't begin for half an hour. I'll 
 send Henry right out to spread the news, and we'll 
 have such an attendance that people will be climb- 
 ing on the roof." 
 
 " I'm sorry, Cousin Kate," said John, before Inez 
 could speak, " but Inez doesn't happen to be a Suf- 
 fragette." 
 
 " John does not mean that I am widout sympa- 
 thee for your cause," Inez hurriedly amended. 
 " Onlee that I do not take the active part." 
 
 " And even if she did," John declared, " she is far 
 too tired to-night to attend a public meeting." 
 
 " She didn't look tired when I came in," said Kate, 
 suspiciously. 
 
 " That was because of the great pleasure of see- 
 ing you and Mr. McMaster," retorted Inez, with a 
 gracious little bow. 
 
 John fought with a grin. Even Mrs. Hemingway 
 put up a fragile hand to her lips. 
 
 " Then you've made your mind up not to go? " 
 
 " It is Jean who my mind has made up for me," 
 parried Inez, with a charming glance of appeal to- 
 ward John's set face. " You see the look of heem ! 
 He is the bullee. Yess, already he do bullee me." 
 
 " I don't consider it a joking matter," said Mrs.
 
 266 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 McMaster, in strong reproof. " You should take 
 your stand for individual freedom at once. It is 
 what I did. I should like to see Henry bullying 
 
 met" 
 
 " So should 77 " cried John, with such rude fervour 
 that Mrs. McMaster became an angry red. " Come 
 on, Henry," she exclaimed, taking him by an unwill- 
 ing arm. " This is no place for you." 
 
 As the door, and then the front gate, banged, John 
 drew a long breath. " And that," he said, thinking 
 of the cringing Henry, " considers itself a MAN."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 DELPHI DECIDES TO CALL, AND INEZ MAKES A 
 FRIEND 
 
 THE suffrage meeting was, in spite of Inez' refusal 
 to attend, a large success. Its executive leader, 
 Mrs. McMaster, had not been above disseminating 
 the advanced report that Madame de Pierrefond was 
 an ardent " Sister," and would almost surely be one 
 of those to sit upon the platform. 
 
 Kate, at the right hand of the great speaker, was 
 only too conscious of the many glances of baffled 
 hope, but she met them stonily. When the last ad- 
 dress was over, and the audience began a slow surg- 
 ing toward the exit door, she carried her head like 
 a defiant horse, and the steel-coloured eyes, never 
 concessive, literally flashed a challenge. " Don't 
 any of you dare to ask me why that French woman 
 didn't come." 
 
 Needless to state, there was none who dared. 
 Having produced her effect, Kate became more gen- 
 ial. To a specially favoured group upon the steps 
 she stated, abruptly, " Well, I've seen her ! " 
 
 Instantly a chorus of eager voices rose. " You 
 did! Oh, Mrs. McMaster, what does she look like? 
 Is she a Suffragette? What did she have on? Was 
 John with her? " 
 
 Moving majestically along the pavement, her in- 
 267
 
 268 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 terlocutors clinging like bees about their queen, Kate 
 vouchsafed replies. 
 
 " Ye-e-s, she's pretty in a way," she responded, 
 having, for some reason that will be easily under- 
 stood by all feminine hearts, selected that query. 
 " I s'pose she is what you might call pretty, 
 'specially men " A suppressed murmur of resent- 
 ment could be heard. 
 
 " But there's something queer about her. She's 
 foreign." 
 
 " She had on wonderful clothes, didn't she ? " ven- 
 tured a gum-chewing treble. 
 
 " Not to my taste," averred Mrs. McMaster. 
 " They were all clingy, sort o' flip-Happy, as if 
 they'd been thrown at her and caught. She trails 
 'em around like wet dishcloths. I like an upstand- 
 ing woman, myself." 
 
 " So do I," piped the treble, drawing back her 
 thin shoulders. 
 
 " She's got a bunch o' hair about the same colour 
 as mine," went on the narrator, tossing her un- 
 covered head. " It's piled up like it was done with 
 a pitchfork, and there's so much of it that I sus- 
 pect " She paused, feasting her ears on whispered 
 exclamations. 
 
 " They're great on false hair over to Paris, I've 
 heard," at last remarked a little woman on the out- 
 skirts of the throng. 
 
 All felt that that special point had been disposed 
 of neatly.
 
 DELPHI DECIDES TO CALL 269 
 
 '* But, Kate," now said Mrs. Droppers, the wife of 
 a leading Presbyterian elder, " I don't care so much 
 about how she looks. What I want to know is 
 whether she is stuck-up, or nice and chatty. Is she 
 what you'd call a homey woman? " 
 
 Kate sniffed. " I've never seen one of them for- 
 eigners yet you could call homey. And as I said, 
 she's foreign." 
 
 " Yes, but " parried Mrs. Droppers. " I am 
 certain Emma Hemingway told me she was Ameri- 
 can-born." 
 
 " I believe she does claim to be," admitted Kate. 
 " Her folks came from somewhere down near Noo 
 Or-leens. De Pierrefond is her maiden name. When 
 she was divorced from that German count, she took 
 her own name back." 
 
 Encouraged by sounds of excited interest, not un- 
 mingled with horror, Kate threw to the gathering 
 the general advice : " But if you want to know 
 about her, why don't you go and see for yourselves? 
 Emma expects it, and it ain't going to hurt anybody 
 just making one call." 
 
 Next morning, as Kate swept her already immacu- 
 late front " porch," she was greeted by a masculine 
 " Hello ! " from the street. 
 
 She looked up quickly, flung her broom handle 
 against the wall, put a few instantaneous touches 
 to her hair, and, stepping forward, responded, 
 " Hello, Walter ! What on earth you doin' walking 
 down town? Mare dead? "
 
 270 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Not on your life," grinned Walter. " Just 
 thought I would stroll around this way for a sight 
 o' you." 
 
 " Blarney ! " retorted Kate, her face a large red 
 peony of joy. " But come in, do. There ain't a 
 soul at home but me." 
 
 Walter, after certain furtive glances up and down 
 the street, opened the gate and moved, with a lighter 
 footfall than was usual with him, up the cemented 
 walk. 
 
 " Heard you saw the fiancee last night," was his 
 first remark, as together they entered the already 
 opened door. 
 
 A few of Kate's outer petals feil. " So that's 
 what you came by to hear, is it ? " she snapped. 
 
 " Oh, old gal, keep your hair on," laughed the 
 man, and, reaching out, gave a jerk to one clay- 
 coloured wisp. " You don't want to get jealous of 
 this one, too." 
 
 " I should say not! 'Specially since she's your 
 own nephew's girl. I didn't think any too much of 
 her on that first glimpse, but it was as plain as the 
 nose on your face that she's perfectly dippy about 
 John." 
 
 The last words were spoken acidly. 
 
 "Let's me out, eh?" said the man, good-hu- 
 mouredly. " Well, I've still got you and May." 
 
 Mrs. McMaster wheeled from him. The red in 
 her face was no longer joy, but anger. " I've told 
 you before, Walter Hemingway," she cried, " that I
 
 DELPHI DECIDES TO CALL 271 
 
 don't want May Armstrong's name mentioned in this 
 house. She isn't a fit associate for a decent married 
 woman. The way she follows you to Chicago every 
 single time you have to go up there for business " 
 Tears and indignation choked, for an instant, the 
 rush of words. The man, both hands in his pockets 
 and his feet well apart, watched and listened in con- 
 temptuous amusement. 
 
 " The whole town is talking about you two," 
 Kate went on, hysterically. " I'll declare, I don't see 
 how poor Clara stands for it. Somebody ought to 
 tell her." 
 
 Walter's face hardened. His full lips took on a 
 cruel sneer. " And that may be so, too" he said 
 slowly, " but, Kate, under the circumstances, do 
 you think you are exactly the one to go to my wife ? " 
 
 The woman gasped as if he had struck her. His 
 meaning was unmistakable. A low cry came, she 
 bent over, hiding her eyes, and, as the first loud sob 
 arose, Walter, with an oath, took flight. 
 
 During that afternoon, as Mrs. Hemingway had 
 predicted, the rush of formal calls upon her pros- 
 pective daughter-in-law began. How much of it was 
 due to mere curiosity and how much to Kate McMas- 
 ter's encouraging statement that one visit couldn't 
 hurt anybody, the gentle old lady was never to know. 
 It was, in her eyes, merely the proper and inevitable 
 thing that the better class of Delphi should pay 
 Madame de Pierrefond this courtesy. 
 
 Cardcases, long since fallen into disuse, were
 
 273 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 brought out and freshened. Those who did not pos- 
 sess engraved cards, printed out their names in neat 
 script. There was much neighbourly consultation 
 as to the latest and most correct way of stating the 
 various nomenclatures; whether, for instance the 
 elder Mrs. Nettles should use her defunct husband's 
 initials, or subscribe herself, as did certain arrogant 
 New York and Chicago dames, as merely " Mrs. 
 Nettles," leaving to her son's wife, the use of the 
 prefatory " H. T." 
 
 Special agitation ensued in a household of some- 
 what elderly, and all unmarried sisters. The dig- 
 nified written words, " The Misses Cranch," had 
 much, indeed, to commend them. On the other hand, 
 as Miss Bessie, the youngest, pointed out, a single 
 card from four perfectly good people seemed just a 
 trifle stingy. They might even be suspected of hav- 
 ing borrowed it. Along with the cardcases, that 
 elusive pose, known as " company manners," was 
 taken out from sundry moth-proof nooks, and given 
 a preliminary airing. 
 
 Inez, in an exquisite house gown of her favourite 
 pink and grey, met each newcomer with the ease and 
 grace which, in Paris, marked her as one of the most 
 delightful of hostesses. She smiled at herself in 
 feeling how strong and genuine was her desire to 
 have this charm of hers " make good," as John would 
 have expressed it, in this little Western town. But 
 from the first she felt herself baffled. The ladies, 
 singly or in pairs, stepped into Mrs. Hemingway's
 
 DELPHI DECIDES TO CALL 273 
 
 " best " room like so many neat little hens, perching 
 themselves warily on the edges of the stiffest chairs. 
 Their conversation, a series, for the most part, of 
 small staccato interrogatives, with breath-suspended 
 pauses for her reply, was not unlike the spasmodic 
 cackling of those estimable birds. 
 
 It soon became evident to Inez that they, no less 
 than herself, were frightfully constrained. They 
 showed it by nervous twitchings, the rigid clasping 
 and unclasping of the resurrected cardcases, and the 
 exchange, when they thought Inez unobservant, of 
 wondering and critical side-glances. Accomplished 
 woman of the world that she was, Inez had never, in 
 the thronged courts of Europe, known such a sense 
 of helpless embarrassment. The more brilliantly she 
 talked, the more aloof became her listeners. It was 
 soon demonstrated that between Mrs. Hemingway's 
 friends and herself, there was not likely to be a 
 single thought in common. 
 
 In the case of all but a very few of the elder lady's 
 intimates, Inez received alone. Each day they came, 
 bewildering her with monotony. There was, ap- 
 parently, an endless supply of curious-eyed, common- 
 place women, varying only in a slight difference of 
 clothing, and of weight. The stout ones talked most 
 freely of their children and their housekeeping, while 
 the meagre sisterhood appeared to have a vital in- 
 terest in church society and clubs. Since Inez was 
 unable to meet any of these points, and they, on their 
 side, were utterly indifferent to any part of the
 
 274 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 world east of Chicago, all conversation soon lan- 
 guished. 
 
 Inez began to look on her " afternoons " as a 
 species of Inquisition. It was difficult to hide the 
 chagrin and weariness from the loving eyes of John, 
 yet she accomplished it, and was aided in the fond 
 deception by his personal conviction of her success. 
 " Why, Inez," he cried one afternoon, as the last 
 pair of " callers " rustled down the cemented walk, 
 " you look as if you wanted to cry. Now, darling, 
 you mustn't mind being bored a little. It's got to 
 come to an end soon. But mother is so pleased. 
 She reads the cards over every night. And think 
 what a privilege it is to these shut-in lives, just to 
 have this chance of meeting a wonderful, brilliant, 
 beautiful thing like you." 
 
 Of them all May Armstrong alone had attempted 
 to take the citadel of friendship by storm. She 
 entered with a sinuous swagger meant for grace. 
 Her costume was a marvellous affair of black Span- 
 ish lace, through which her muscular arms and deep 
 pink neck gleamed boldly. On her head was an ex- 
 aggerated picture-hat, crowned like an English hearse 
 with feathers. As Molly McGuire opened the door 
 to her ring, she was heard to enquire, loudly, " Well, 
 Molly, how're you and Tim getting along these 
 days?" 
 
 Tim was the grocer's boy, a bashful Teuton who 
 had long worshipped at Molly's culinary shrine.
 
 DELPHI DECIDES TO CALL 275 
 
 The girl's answer came in a bashful murmur, to 
 which May cried, " Good work ! Keep it up ! It's 
 a lightning transformation from a best beau to a 
 husband. Is Madame de Pierref ond at home ? " 
 
 Within the drawing-room Inez had been sitting for 
 a long half-hour, before the dual, astigmatic lenses 
 of Mrs. Todd, the Episcopal preacher's wife. All 
 the Delphi topics had been tried, and all found want- 
 ing. The harassed cosmopolitan had just ventured, 
 as a last resort, a comment on the architecture of 
 the new Presbyterian church then in process of erec- 
 tion. But Mrs. Todd showed no response. Whether 
 it was that she did not care to discuss the edifice of 
 a rival creed, or felt that architecture was too friv- 
 olous a theme to be connected with any place of wor- 
 ship, Inez could not determine. 
 
 Though at any other time she would have felt only 
 disgust, the loud, vulgar tones of the newcomer, 
 breaking in upon a social vacuum, brought now a 
 promise of release. The hope deepened, as Mrs. 
 Todd, getting to her feet, said, in a hurried whisper, 
 "I I must be going." 
 
 May sailed into the room like a black hawk into 
 a hen yard. " How d'ye do, Mrs. Todd. Haven't 
 seen you at church lately." 
 
 Then, beaming at the neat thrust just given, as 
 well as in anticipation of an immediate meeting with 
 the much-talked-of Madame de Pierrefond, May, 
 darting just before her, exclaimed, " We don't need
 
 276 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 any introduction. I am May Armstrong, one of 
 John's oldest friends. Of course, everybody knows 
 who you are." 
 
 " Good-bye, Madame de Pierrefond," quavered the 
 little matron, extending a trembling hand. " Mr. 
 Todd and I should be much pleased to have you at- 
 tend divine service at our church." 
 
 Ignoring the smiling Mrs. Armstrong, the indig- 
 nant lady bore her small, stiffened spine from the 
 room. 
 
 " Now wouldn't that rattle your slats ? " inquired 
 May, jovially. " She avoids me like the plague be- 
 cause I got a divorce. The 'Piscolapeans are like 
 that everywhere. You have heard of my little trip 
 to Reno? " 
 
 She paused for the reply. Her eyes, bold, free 
 and utterly unembarrassed, were fixed on those of 
 Inez. 
 
 " I've heard of Reno," smiled the latter, tactfully. 
 
 " Well, I've been there. I'm completely Reno- 
 vated," vouchsafed the caller lightly, as she threw 
 herself down into the nearest rocking-chair. " You 
 smoke, of course?" 
 
 With the tentative question she began to detach, 
 from a mass of hardware that jangled at her belt, a 
 small silver cigarette case with a very large, staring 
 monogram " M. A." 
 
 " I'm sorry," said Inez, " but I have never taken 
 it up. Oh, please " she added quickly, at the 
 paused operations and crest-fallen look of her vis-a-
 
 DELPHI DECIDES TO CALL 277 
 
 vis, " do not stop. Nearly all of my friends abroad 
 are the great smokers. I do not know quite how it 
 happened that I, too, did not so become." 
 
 " Well, take it from me, you're losing out," de- 
 clared May, after her first luxurious puff. Inez 
 watched her with curious, yet pleasurable interest. 
 At least she was starting on something besides serv- 
 ants, children, spring cleaning, and currant jam. 
 There are as many ways of smoking a cigarette as 
 of wearing a hat. A tilt over one ear can make 
 the most rigid sailor brim indecorous. May's man- 
 ner of partaking of her small vice was something 
 halfway between the brazen puffs of a chorus girl 
 at a risque after-theatre supper, and the more re- 
 strained usage of New- York drawing-rooms. Inez 
 wisely decided that she had not been at it very long. 
 
 All at once, behind the light haze of smoke, a grin 
 of enjoyment broadened. Inez' eyes flew open. 
 She looked around over one shoulder, thinking that 
 something noiseless and humorous must have entered. 
 
 " You needn't rubber. There's nothing there," 
 laughed May. "I was just trying to picture old 
 lady Hemingway's face if you had been a smoker, 
 and she'd ever caught you at it." 
 
 Inez grew more astonished than before. " If I 
 did smoke, I should certainly not have attempted to 
 hide it from dear Mrs. 'Emingway. Why do you 
 think she would consider it so dreadful? " 
 
 May pitched the end of her cigarette across the 
 room into the open grate, and held up both hands.
 
 278 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Think ! I don't have to think. I know! There 
 isn't a sin in the commandments, this side of murder, 
 that would shock her so. They're all alike, too : 
 a drove of scratching, cackling old hens, always on 
 the other side of somebody's fence." 
 
 " But in a case which is so entirely one's personal 
 affair " ventured Inez. 
 
 May regarded her in solemn silence for a moment. 
 " Look here," she began, " I like you and I'm sorry 
 for you." 
 
 At this Inez raised her brows. 
 
 " Yes, I am," emphasised the other, " and I'm 
 going to tell you why. You're as out of place in 
 this burg as a gilded merry-go-round on a desert 
 island. You're up against it. Everybody is whis- 
 pering, criticising and gossiping, everybody, that 
 is, except old Mrs. Hemingway who never says mean 
 things about anybody, not even me. They're all 
 pulling and fingering you like a bunch of ragpickers 
 at a dump pile. It's a damn shame, that's what 
 it is!" 
 
 Inez, after a short, sharp conflict with her pride, 
 asked, "Do you mind telling me just what sort of 
 things they are saying? " 
 
 " Why," fenced May, looking for the first time a 
 little uncomfortable, " it isn't easy, though I am do- 
 ing it for your good. Mrs. Abbey and that cat, 
 Cora Whitman, are at the bottom of it. You know 
 Cora has been after John all her life ; and, when you 
 corralled him, well, naturally she got sore. It
 
 DELPHI DECIDES TO CALL 279 
 
 seems that she had an acquaintance who was in Paris 
 studying music while you and John were there. Cora 
 wrote herself stiff in the wrist, trying to get some 
 scandal by mail, but it didn't come. Now the girl's 
 back home in Chicago, and has been persuaded to 
 visit May. She's here, came yesterday, and al- 
 ready the town is buzzing." 
 
 Inez was very pale. The situation was already 
 intolerable. That she should condescend to listen to 
 such vulgar rumours was bad enough, but to en- 
 couraging them, as now she was impelled to do, 
 she might already be a Delphinian. 
 
 " I have nothing to conceal from Mrs. Abbey or 
 from this Miss Whitman," said she, through stiffened 
 lips. 
 
 " Oh, it isn't facts, it's the way these women put 
 things," cried May. " I ought to know. I've been 
 through enough." 
 
 " Do you mean, they are speaking of my mar- 
 riage? " 
 
 " Mostly, though there's something else I haven't 
 been able to catch on to. I don't pull in that team, 
 you know." 
 
 " What is it that you know the ladies of Delphi 
 are saying, please? " 
 
 May fortified herself with a second cigarette. 
 " Well," she stated, " the worst I've heard, was that 
 you got tired of marriage, and walked out of your 
 husband's house without warning." 
 
 " Ah, and they sympathise these kind women
 
 280 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 of my own race with, of course, my German hus- 
 band?" 
 
 " Sure thing," said May. " It would be the same 
 if he was a nigger. Anything to down another 
 woman." 
 
 Inez rose. She was unable to remain quietly 
 seated. A sneer curved her lips. 
 
 " And of course, too," she pursued bitterly, " the 
 good ladies picture the deserted husband as waiting 
 there alone in our beautiful 'ome, waiting and pin- 
 ing for the return of his errant wife. Is it not so? " 
 
 " They didn't hand it out on a silver tray like 
 that," said May, " but the meaning comes around to 
 about the same thing." 
 
 " Doubtless, then, they will feel the great chagrin 
 to be told that he is dead." 
 
 May, with a loud exclamation, got to her feet. 
 " Put it there, old top ! " she cried, extending a hand. 
 " That's good news. Guess I'll spike a few rusty 
 guns with it ! Well, so long. I want to get started. 
 And remember, I'M your friend." 
 
 At the gate she gave a large gesture of goodwill, 
 climbed into her waiting machine, and, pressing the 
 self-starter, fluttered away. 
 
 Inez, covering her face with both hands murmured, 
 " My first friend in Delphi, my first woman friend. 
 God! What is this dreadful place to make of me? "
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 DR. KELSEY 
 
 THROUGH the intense stillness there came, from May 
 Armstrong's big, red car as it swept into the nearest 
 side-street, the long, curved wail of her siren-horn. 
 It cut the air like the stroke of a scimitar. Inez 
 shuddered, and let both hands fall. 
 
 After a moment of quivering inaction she gathered 
 up her frayed nerves as she might a wind-tossed heap 
 of skeins, and sped across the room. Her one de- 
 sire now was to be alone. Even the uninviting guest- 
 chamber upstairs offered a longed-for refuge. 
 
 She gained the foot of the stairs. One white hand 
 was on the newel post when a rustle came from the 
 far end of the passage, and Mrs. Hemingway's voice, 
 thin, sweet, and now unusually tremulous, called, 
 "Oh, that you, Inez? I thought I heard May go. 
 John's on the telephone, waiting. He says he must 
 speak to you at once." 
 
 " Please say to him " Inez began, frowning ; 
 then, with a hopeless little gesture, stepped down to 
 the floor level and moved swiftly toward the box 
 telephone which hung in a corner of the dining- 
 room. Mrs. Hemingway kept at her heels. " I'm 
 sure it's something "very important," she fluttered. 
 " John sounded so so sort of excited. I'll declare 
 
 281
 
 282 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 I'm all of a tremble. It's something about the hos- 
 pital plans for Chicago." 
 
 The receiver hung at the full length of its green 
 cord, swaying at the indignity. Inez caught it up. 
 " Yes, it is Madame de Pierrefond. Ah, John " 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway's increasing perturbation de- 
 manded the relief of words. Inez found the double 
 listening not only difficult, but maddening. In an- 
 other moment she would be in hysterics. 
 
 " Yes, John. Why, of course. At any moment." 
 This into the funnel-shaped opening of the box. 
 
 " What on earth I am to get up for supper for 
 such a prominent man " panted Mrs. Hemingway. 
 " Has he told you yet, Inez ? " 
 
 " Not yet, Mrs. 'Emingway," said Inez as calmly 
 as she could. 
 
 " No, certainly I don't mind. It will be a pleasure 
 to go over the plans with some one who really 
 knows." This again into the funnel. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Kelsey is a wonder! " came John's voice 
 with such gladness, that it went past Inez, and out 
 into the room. 
 
 " What shall I have for supper? " came the house- 
 keeper's despairing question. 
 
 " All right, John. In twenty minutes then. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 Inez turned with some relief. She had not much 
 faith in a " wonder " bred in the Middle West, nor, 
 when she faced the tremulous, appealing little woman
 
 DR. KELSEY 283 
 
 behind her, did she have any helpful suggestions to 
 offer. How was she, Inez de Pierref ond, to know what 
 Chicago people liked to eat? But at least John was 
 buoyantly interested, and this Dr. Kelsey's visit 
 would give an opportunity to discuss something be- 
 yond the narrow personalities of Delphi. 
 
 Again she started up the stairs. At every step, 
 as it were, her skirt was caught by a nervously flung- 
 out remark of the old lady. 
 
 " It looks very hopeful for John, having this im- 
 portant man come all the way to Delphi. Doesn't 
 it seem to you very hopeful, Inez ? " 
 
 Inez, two steps higher, admitted that it did. 
 
 " I believe broiled chicken on toast would be about 
 as nice as anything. Don't you ? " 
 
 " Whatever you decide upon is sure to be nice, 
 dear mother of my Jean," asseverated the mounting 
 figure. Three steps, and she would be at the door. 
 
 " I wish you'd put on that dress with the pink 
 roses half hidden in it, Inez. That is, if you don't 
 mind my making the suggestion," the sweet old voice 
 pursued. 
 
 " Certainly I do not object. I will change at 
 once," smiled Inez, and was, at last, safe behind a 
 closed door. 
 
 But, even now, there was no time to " have it out " 
 with herself. The dear old soul wished her to put 
 on another gown. The one she already wore was of 
 later mode, but, if Jean's mother wished ! She
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 shrugged her shoulders, and went into the closet of 
 rusty hooks. She had only just begun to learn how 
 to find her things. 
 
 As the new toilet progressed she realised, with some 
 satisfaction, that the effect of May Armstrong's 
 words was already paling. 
 
 From the first line drawn by John for his hospital 
 plans, she had been his counsellor and coworker. It 
 was her suggestion that some one part of it should 
 be given a hint of the proposed interior decoration. 
 She had chosen, for the experiment, a series of rooms 
 meant for the children's ward; first a great, quiet 
 chamber for the very sick, a second, of equal size, for 
 convalescents, and an enormous sun-parlour, tiled, 
 with the glass panes all frosted in delicate designs 
 of vines in fruit or flower. The sick room she had 
 wished to do in soft grey tones, the colour of weath- 
 ered cement that held a hint of sunshine. The wide 
 frieze was to be painted in flat tones of the same 
 neutral colour, shading here and there into grey- 
 green, and in a soft lavender-blue, simulating a con- 
 tinuous row of the wonderful swathed children who 
 have made the name of the artist Luca della Robbia 
 a household word. 
 
 The second room was to be of a more golden tinge, 
 the walls covered entirely by a shadowy lattice, at 
 the foot of which great masses of flowers grew. 
 These, all chosen for the decorative beauty of foliage 
 as well as blossoms, were principally poppies, 
 heaped-up hydrangeas, goldenrod, hollyhocks, and
 
 DR. KELSEY 285 
 
 tall swaying grasses, all done in flat, soft hues, a 
 little less brilliant than nature. Among the stems, 
 climbed and peered small woodland creatures such 
 as all children love, bright-eyed chipmunks, squir- 
 rels, " bunnies " on haunches, or nibbling fallen seed, 
 green lizards, and phlegmatic toads, while off in one 
 corner, where a shadowy stream swept through ferns, 
 a family of otter was at work, and quite a colony of 
 tortoises sunned themselves on a fallen log. The 
 frieze for this room was a composition in birds, 
 all species of birds from Japanese storks hi flight to 
 a Baltimore oriole swinging in a pendent nest. 
 
 Inez, who had no small artistic skill, had taken de- 
 light in working out these four walls. She had made 
 countless studies, and before daring to put the four 
 sides together, had sought and gained the interested 
 criticism of one of France's most famous decorative 
 painters. What joy it had been! And, until now, 
 how hopelessly distant had seemed the old Paris 
 days of creative work and happiness. Of course it 
 was the same Jean here in Delphi, and presumably 
 the same Inez. But something was different, some- 
 thing wrong. 
 
 A sudden, almost terrifying longing shook her to 
 escape, to go back at once to that genial, busy, intel- 
 ligent Paris which she knew and which knew her. 
 She was parched in this sterile desert of the common- 
 place. That very day, as soon as the Chicago man 
 was gone, she would tell her lover that she could en- 
 dure this little town of his no longer. His people's
 
 286 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 ways could never be her ways. She could be won and 
 held only by his renunciation. 
 
 As in a vision she saw the astonishment and fol- 
 lowing distress in his eyes. She loved him, yes, 
 she would be faithful and so devoted that it would 
 more than compensate for all he must give up. But 
 life for her in America was out of the question. 
 
 Already he was falling back into old ways. She 
 recalled, with something like a sneer, how his voice 
 had thrilled as he spoke of Dr. Kelsey. A Chicago 
 " Important," probably just a larger piece of the 
 Delphi male fabric with perhaps, a louder pattern. 
 He was sure to be fat and rich and complacent. 
 What would such a man know of Delia Robbia, or 
 tracery on glass, of fairy, fragile vines. Most likely 
 he would demand a frieze of pigs, alternating with 
 American eagles. 
 
 She heard the front door open, and John's voice, 
 still with the triumphant ring, " Just step into the 
 living-room, Dr. Kelsey. I'll go call Inez." 
 
 So, already, to this Chicago magnate she was being 
 spoken of as Inez! 
 
 " Inez is coming," she said, a little caustically, as 
 she began the descent of the stairs. 
 
 John looked up radiantly. " You are the most 
 beautiful thing on this earth," he whispered, as she 
 joined him. "I'm so proud that I'm bursting!" 
 
 As they entered the living-room he still attempted 
 to retain his clasp of her left hand. Inez, gently 
 but decidedly removed it.
 
 DR. KELSEY 287 
 
 A small, unremarkable-looking man, still unseated, 
 turned toward them. 
 
 " Madame de Pierrefond, Dr. Kelsey," said John, 
 conventionally, mindful of his recent rebuff. 
 
 The visitor, meeting Inez' eyes, his own bright, 
 direct and entirely at ease, stepped slightly for- 
 ward, and bowed. 
 
 " Oh, come now ! " John protested. " This is no 
 Continental drawing-room. I want you two to shake 
 hands in the good American fashion. You are sure 
 to be friends." 
 
 " With pleasure ; if Madame de Pierrefond gra- 
 ciously permits," smiled the visitor, and as Inez, in 
 some wonder, extended her hand, he went through the 
 gesture of partially raising it to his lips. His whole 
 bearing was that of some old-world noble. 
 
 " Shall we sit here, near the open fire? " said Inez. 
 " I find these spring days still a bit chillee." 
 
 Dr. Kelsey stood directly behind the chair she had 
 indicated as her choice, and not until she was entirely 
 comfortable did he make a detour to seek his own. 
 
 " What do you think, Inez ! " cried John, unable 
 longer to conceal his exuberance. " Dr. Kelsey tells 
 me that the hospital committee has cancelled all other 
 competitions. They feel that ours is so satisfactory, 
 there is no need of looking further." 
 
 " I am pleased to hear the word * ours,' said Dr. 
 Kelsey. " Though, of course, my young friend has 
 informed me concerning his most delightful partner- 
 ship."
 
 288 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " This whole piece of good fortune is due to just 
 one man," cried John, beaming gratitude. " And 
 he's here with us now." 
 
 " I must not let you give me too much credit," dep- 
 recated the visitor. " It is true that the committee 
 were kind enough to take my point of view. On the 
 other hand " here he looked, with kind humour, 
 from one young face into the other, " the plans 
 were their own best advocate. Personality played 
 no part in my recommendation." 
 
 Inez did not realise how deep and thoughtful was 
 the look she had rested on the face near her. He 
 was so utterly unlike anything she had expected 
 that she kept thinking there must be a mistake. 
 This man, with his keen, dark eyes, his voice as 
 gently modulated and more correct than her own, 
 his perfect English clothes, and well-kept sensitive 
 hands, might have just stepped from one of the most 
 exclusive clubs in London. 
 
 She was brought to herself by a nervous little 
 clearing of the throat from John. " Dr. Kelsey is 
 most kind," she murmured. 
 
 " From the moment I unrolled these plans," went 
 on the doctor's quiet, assured tones, " I noted a dif- 
 ference. It was intangible, and yet unmistakable. 
 There are still a few suggestions I would like to 
 make," he interposed, but with a smile that robbed 
 his words of all hostile criticism. " In spite of 
 the slight faults, they caught and held me. The 
 others were all more or less clever manufactures;
 
 DR. KELSEY 289 
 
 these alone had an inner vitality. They had grown 
 from a first thought. It is the difference between 
 realistic scene painting and a growing copse." 
 
 Inez' eyes kindled as she leaned toward the 
 speaker. She felt a strange elation, a strange kin- 
 ship with this man, so recently unknown. " There 
 is life in those plans," she said eagerly. " We two, 
 we two together, have put love and work and hope 
 into them. It is as if they were our child." 
 
 " What wonder then," answered the man, his own 
 eyes glowing, " that the others had no chance? " 
 
 Inez unconsciously pressed her hand against her 
 throat. " Is that not in all things the great mys- 
 tery ? " she whispered. " The talisman that makes 
 unreality real, the vital principle that transmutes 
 even death into a resurrection ? Life, freedom, 
 the development of the individual soul, the power 
 to infuse even a fibre of that imperishable essence." 
 
 The doctor bowed his head a little. John waited 
 breathlessly to hear his words. 
 
 When he spoke it was in a tone of reverence. " A 
 great writer, one now passed into the Shining Be- 
 yond, but whom it was my inestimable privilege to 
 know on earth, once wrote, * Man is a pungent es- 
 sence.' That says it all." 
 
 There followed a moment of profound silence. The 
 air about them seemed to vibrate and to thrill. From 
 the kitchen came the muffled voices of Molly McGuire 
 and her mistress. They had the sound of a dull 
 thudding upon hollow wood.
 
 290 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 With an effort Dr. Kelsey roused himself. " But 
 we must not allow ourselves to wander too far into 
 Olympus. Our concrete bit of it is before us in the 
 form of plans. Shall I confess, madame," he said 
 more directly to Inez, " that my first interest wag 
 caught and held by your very beautiful mural sug- 
 gestions ? " 
 
 Inez flushed like a schoolgirl receiving public merit. 
 
 " Naturally," the doctor went on, his tone gather- 
 ing more assured lightness, " the general structure 
 and proportions were the final arguments. But little 
 children are my special hobby, and there was so 
 much of tenderness, of universal motherhood, so to 
 speak, in those wonderful drawings " He broke 
 off, gazed a little quizzically at Inez, and said, with 
 an effect of impulsiveness, " Surely, madame, you 
 must have studied to be an artist in order to have ex- 
 pressed yourself so vividly in mass and line." 
 
 " She could have been an artist, and a big one," 
 volunteered John, proudly. " Only she chose to put 
 the time for it on music." 
 
 " Ah, music, too ! " smiled the other. " I might 
 have known. There is music in her decorations." 
 
 " What do you mean by music in my decora- 
 tions ? " demanded Inez with growing excitement. 
 
 " Was not that bank of poppies sprung to the 1 
 thought of a sonata? " 
 
 Inez fell back, gasping. " You you are a 
 wizard ! While at work on that panel I played, con- 
 stantly, the * Appassionata.' By the strong open-
 
 DR. KELSEY 
 
 ing chords my stems rose ; the flowers and buds came 
 at the call of the tenderer passages." 
 
 " Am I wrong, too," asked the doctor, his own face 
 showing intense delight, " in hearing Chopin among 
 the swaying grasses, and the spirit of Grieg among 
 the feathery tips ? " 
 
 Inez had gone white, but her eyes were like living 
 stars. " Yes, you comprehend. It is all to music, 
 all, do you hear? I could work in no other way. 
 And you have felt it. Why, even my Jean " 
 
 " Oh, I confess to blatant ignorance," broke in the 
 younger man, as if he did not wish to let her impet- 
 uous speech go further. " Over there in Paris, Inez 
 was always trying to make me see that certain sorts 
 of buildings could be constructed on the lines of cer- 
 tain symphonies. But I could not grasp such sub- 
 tleties. I am no musician." 
 
 " Neither am I a musician," said the doctor, with 
 A kindly glance toward John. " I am even base 
 enough to find delight in a pianola. But even on that 
 I play good things. And I believe that, in some 
 measure, I understand Madame de Pierrefond, be- 
 cause " 
 
 " Because, yes, yes " cried Inez, intolerant 
 of the pause. 
 
 *' I am a surgeon, as perhaps you know," he con- 
 tinued, looking directly into her eyes. " I have had 
 some little success." 
 
 " He is the greatest surgeon in this part of the 
 world," interpolated John, with vehemence.
 
 292 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " If I am successful," went on the doctor, with his 
 first hint of embarrassment, " I ascribe it mainly to 
 my collection of Persian pottery." 
 
 John stared, incredulous. Inez' eyes grew even 
 brighter. 
 
 " Some years ago, under the stimulus of that friend 
 of whom I spoke, I began to see the beauty of old 
 pottery. My choice, wide at first, and, as is in- 
 evitable, a little self-mistrustful, gradually focussed 
 upon old Persian." 
 
 " I know. I 'ave seen, just but a few," breathed 
 Inez. " They have the look of molten rainbow, 
 and the feel the touch, mon Dieu! it is as if 
 the cream of the centuries has solidified an instant 
 before." 
 
 " Whenever there is a very difficult and hazardous 
 operation, I spend the half-hour just before it, alone, 
 in a locked room, with my treasures," said he, after 
 a look of deep comprehension toward Inez. " I caress 
 them, letting my fingers touch, first heavily, then to 
 an imperceptible lightness, the iridescent surfaces. 
 A sort of virtue seems to pass from them into me." 
 
 " And you, and you " whispered Inez, trem- 
 ulously, " are the rich man from Chicago." 
 
 John gave a horrified cry. 
 
 " Be silent, Jean," said Inez, quickly, her eyes not 
 leaving the doctor's face. " If you like not what I 
 am saying, you mus' go. As for me, I hear even 
 in dis Middle West I thought arid the waters of 
 a living spring."
 
 DR. KELSEY 293 
 
 " Thank Heaven Dr. Kelsey is a married man," 
 cried John, to cover his discomfiture. 
 
 Inez wheeled to him, her eyes flashing. 
 " Married ! Married ! It is all you think of, here 
 in Delphi. What difference if such a man do have 
 a dozen wives ! Is a pine tree less a pine, because of 
 the birds' nests in its branches? 
 
 " Tell me much of yourself, Dr. Kelsey," she now 
 pleaded, turning back to him. " I mus' hear it 
 may mean much for me to hear how a man of your 
 kind remain himself only, in such environment. 
 How you continue to make growth, for you grow al- 
 ways Tell me " 
 
 " Dear lady," said the doctor, leaning far toward 
 her in his earnestness. " First of all, do not make 
 the fatal mistake of belittling the new world because 
 it is new. Even its crudity is part of youth and 
 growth. I have been in most of the old-world cities. 
 It has been my good fortune to meet and talk with 
 great minds; and I assure you, with deep sincerity, 
 that nowhere on earth is there more natural intel- 
 ligence, more beautiful humility of spirit, more in- 
 tense eagerness to lay hold on the real things of life 
 and of immortality, than here in the Middle West. 
 I would be content to live in no other spot." 
 
 " But Delphi, a place of petty thought and 
 mean, small souls like Delphi " she cried in pro- 
 test, forgetting how the words might hurt her 
 lover. 
 
 " These small towns, being more beset with trivial-
 
 294 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 ities, grow slowly," said Dr. Kelsey, gravely. " But 
 even Delphi has John Hemingway and you." 
 
 With a swift, beautiful movement, Inez turned 
 and held a hand out to John. " But even he, even 
 my Jean, it was that he came to Paris," she tri- 
 umphed. 
 
 " All divine fire is transmitted from older shrines," 
 smiled the doctor. " And the greatest privilege, in 
 my opinion, that can be vouchsafed to a human soul, 
 is that of torch-bearer." 
 
 Inez' eyes fell. Her face quivered as if with 
 some inner struggle. 
 
 " And may I be permitted to say, also," added the 
 doctor, softly, " that your marriage, which I hope is 
 not to be long deferred, seems to me to give promise 
 of more beauty and of more world-betterment, than 
 any I have known." 
 
 There was another long silence. Daylight was 
 fading. The fire had been allowed to crumble low. 
 A sort of chill crept in between the friends. John, 
 of himself, released the hand he had been holding* 
 He moved uneasily, dreading Inez' next words. 
 
 " Dr. Kelsey," she asked with sudden clearness, " is 
 it not your belief that each individual soul has the 
 right, or, to put it more strongly, the sacred ob- 
 ligation to live according to its own convictions? " 
 
 The doctor kept very still. Through the shadows 
 his face gleamed like a flake of white flint. He real- 
 ised, and he knew that Inez intended him to realise, 
 the full import of her query.
 
 DR. KELSEY 295 
 
 " Is there such a thing as an individual soul," he 
 parried, " or do you mean, perhaps, an isolated 
 soul?" 
 
 The words brought an uncomfortable shock to 
 Inez. " Why," she stammered, taken aback, " I 
 meant what I said. It is an ordinary expression, 
 n'est-ce pas? The individual, the ego." 
 
 " Then," said Dr. Kelsey, " I can answer. There 
 is no such thing as a soul which is alive and rational, 
 being, in the sense you mean, individual. A soul or 
 an intelligence and in my vocabulary they are one 
 deliberately withdrawn from all others, must per- 
 ish. You might as well look for a suspended flame." 
 
 " And speaking of flames," cried John, springing 
 to his feet, " we need some coal on our fire ; and, if 
 I am not very much mistaken, the supper bell is going 
 to ring in just about two minutes. Don't you want 
 to run up to my room, doctor? " 
 
 The doctor agreed, with suspicious alacrity. 
 Inez, left alone, stared deep into the smouldering 
 grate.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 
 
 THE stream of feminine callers began, at last, to 
 show signs of diminution. Perhaps it was fancy, 
 born of the new sensitiveness engendered by May 
 Armstrong's frank avowal, but, to Inez, the later ar- 
 rivals appeared even more openly inimical. Rather 
 wearily she marvelled why on earth they had taken 
 the trouble to come. She made practically no efforts 
 now to win their good graces, granting merely a chill 
 courtesy. 
 
 Aside from Mrs. McMaster's initial effort to enrol 
 the brilliant stranger among her militant sisterhood, 
 and a casual invitation from Aunt Clara to " drop in 
 next Thursday evenin' for an informal home sup- 
 per," Inez had been asked nowhere. John's mother, 
 while prepared for a certain amount of reserve and 
 caution from her old friends, was amazed to note 
 what now appeared an organised hostility. This 
 grew steadily, and was so marked that, at times, the 
 old lady felt almost desperate. There were still 
 several of her special " intimates " who continued to 
 run in at unexpected moments, but even these began 
 to choose the hours when Inez was likely to be up- 
 stairs in her own room. Mrs. Hemingway got up 
 
 296
 
 WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 297 
 
 the courage to ask a few pointed questions, demand- 
 ing the reason for such an attitude toward her boy's 
 future wife. In all cases, the excuses and evasions 
 proved more alarming than more definite accusations. 
 
 Kate McMaster was, perhaps, the least elusive. 
 " The truth is, Emma," she declared, after a frown- 
 ing silence, " this Madame de Pierrefond ain't our 
 kind, and never will be." 
 
 " But if she's John's kind ? " protested the 
 other. 
 
 " Then why don't he keep her where she belongs ? " 
 Mrs. McMaster snapped. 
 
 At this the distress of the gentle old face before 
 her was so evident that the heart of the militant one 
 softened. " Don't look so worried. I didn't mean 
 just that," she revoked. " Of course it was only 
 right and proper for John to bring her here to see 
 his folks. All the same," she added, with a new 
 tightening of the lips, " it was a bad move. She 
 turns up her nose at the lot of us." 
 
 " Oh, Kate ! " cried Mrs. Hemingway. " How 
 can you say a thing like that? She's the gentlest, 
 sweetest, most considerate " 
 
 " She's got to be decent to you," Kate interrupted 
 rudely. " She's dead in love with John, and she's 
 got sense enough to know that with a man of John's 
 upbringing, his mother comes first. Oh, she's no 
 fool ! " The admission was made with a defiant toss 
 of the head. 
 
 " John has always been the best son in the world,"
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 murmured the little mother, almost now in tears, " but 
 when a man marries " 
 
 " Yes, when he marries ! " Kate broke in. " That's 
 one of the things the women here are talking about. 
 If you mention the subject to her, she's off like a skit- 
 tish horse. Even John turns red and avoids the sub- 
 ject, if his own relations ask about the date. There's 
 something mighty queer. You can't fool Kate 
 McMaster." 
 
 " Why, didn't you know? " the elder lady ques- 
 tioned, leaning forward eagerly, " that they have 
 waited until John could get a start? Inez is a very 
 rich woman," she stated, not without a certain com- 
 placency, " and John wasn't willing for them to 
 marry until he had something of his own." 
 
 She folded her thin hands in her lap. The 
 troubled look gave way to one of pride. 
 
 " He's got that Chicago hospital, I understand," 
 said Kate. " Have they said anything definite ? " 
 
 The pride faded. " There hasn't been time yet." 
 
 Kate set hard eyes upon her friend. Her expres- 
 sion was a mingling of pity, scorn and superior wis- 
 dom. "Hump!" she ejaculated. "I hear they 
 have queer ideas about such things in Paris." 
 
 Then, as if determined to pursue the inflammable 
 topic no further, she rose to her feet. " Well, I must 
 run along. I'm on my way to Mr. Crock to give 
 him a piece of my mind about the sort of meat he's 
 been handin' to us lately. He's gettin' so that he 
 pays no attention to the telephone."
 
 WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 299 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway followed the sturdy figure to 
 the door. 
 
 " I have never made any secret to Delphi of Inez* 
 unfortunate first marriage," she said. " It was not 
 her fault, poor child. If it is that they are holding 
 against her " 
 
 The sentence faltered. 
 
 "Oh, I don't think it's that," declared Kate 
 cheerfully. " Look at May Armstrong. It hasn't 
 seemed to hurt her much. But then she's got the 
 gall of an ox. Besides, there are a few By the 
 way," she asked suddenly, turning around, " has 
 Mrs. Abbey and Cora Whitman ? " 
 
 But Mrs. Hemingway, with a shake of the head, 
 had vanished. 
 
 Kate marched triumphantly down the cemented 
 walk. Her massive chin was set. Now she nodded, 
 as one who says, " It is as I expected." 
 
 The little widow, left alone, hurried to her special 
 nook in the corner of the living-room. The morning 
 sun slanted in upon the comfortable, upholstered 
 rocker, and made the various coloured scraps and 
 spools in the open work-basket near, gleam like a 
 section of a clotted rainbow. She sat down hesitat- 
 ingly, her slight figure expressing lassitude and an 
 unusual dejection. For once she had no instinct to 
 catch up a piece of work. When the comfort of 
 sewing failed, Mrs. Hemingway was lost indeed. 
 
 Kate's parting question had touched the sorest 
 nerve of all the perplexities. Why had not Sarah
 
 300 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Abbey called? For thirty years they had been 
 friends, good friends. Their two sons were insep- 
 arable, and, before Inez' coming, there had been, 
 as Mrs. Hemingway knew, quite elaborate intentions 
 to welcome her in the Abbey household. There was 
 no doubt that something was " going on," something 
 deliberately kept secret from John's mother. 
 
 At dinner time, John, before taking his place, gave 
 a quick, anxious look toward his mother and ex- 
 claimed, *' What has gone wrong, little mother ? 
 You look worn out." 
 
 Inez, following his eyes, said affectionately, " She 
 is worn out, Jean, this dear mother, wid the ar- 
 ranging of good things to fill our worthless bodies. 
 She remains too long in her kitchen. And what, after 
 All," she went on, with a smile, " do it matter what 
 we eat and drink, if onlee that we be merry ? " 
 
 " That sounds all right from your point of view," 
 laughed John, " but I have strong doubts as to 
 mother's. She's just a little proud of her house- 
 keeping, aren't you, Mother o' Mine ? " 
 
 " And well may dear Mrs. 'Emingway be proud ! " 
 exclaimed Inez, who had no intention of being so 
 easily put down. " She is the paragon of all 'ouse- 
 keepers. What I said was of ourselves, thou rude 
 one ! " she declared, with a wicked little grimace into 
 the very face of the delighted John. " Our lazy 
 bodees are not worth the great trouble that la mere 
 is taking." 
 
 At this, la mere, raising her eyes quickly above
 
 WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 301 
 
 the tea-things, cried, " Oh, Inez ! You know John 
 isn't lazy. He is one of the steadiest-working young 
 men that ever lived. And I am sure he didn't mean 
 to be rude. John is never rude." 
 
 " Un-umph! " triumphed John. " Now will you 
 be good! There's somebody who appreciates me." 
 Carried away by his high spirits, and in a voice more 
 remarkable for volume than for melody, he carolled, 
 " If I were hanged from the highest tree " 
 
 " Oof ! " cried Inez, shrugging away from him. 
 " You aire the detestable. I onlee 'ope that the tree 
 is very high." 
 
 " Inez ! " began the old lady in a horrified tone, 
 then, " Oh, I see you're just joking." 
 
 Inez sprang up, ran around to the other side of 
 the table, and gave the little grey-clad figure an im- 
 petuous embrace. " I insist that Jean is a pig of 
 conceit," she teased merrily, " but you, dear mother 
 of my Jean, you are entirely a seraph." 
 
 The family supper at Walter Hemingway's had 
 been set for this very evening. During the after- 
 noon, John and Inez, working over further details 
 in the now thrillingly important hospital plans, con- 
 tinued in radiant mood. 
 
 Several times the little mother, fearful that they 
 might be a moment late, stole in to them, suggesting 
 that they did not put off " getting ready " too 
 long. 
 
 Once John, a trifle impatient at the interruption, 
 flung over his bent shoulder, " Now don't you worry
 
 302 
 
 about our forgetting Aunt Clara's party, little 
 mother. There's no such luck ! " 
 
 He turned to give her a loving pat on the arm. 
 She tried to return his careless smile, but her heart 
 was heavy. 
 
 It was only natural, she reflected, that these young, 
 blissful creatures should take the opinion of Delphi 
 lightly. They had not to live always within the 
 compass of its self-established social boundaries. To 
 herself, whose permanent home it was, the good will 
 of friends meant everything. 
 
 In spite of her reiterated statement as to infor- 
 mality, Clara was apparently making great prepara- 
 tions. Twice she ran in to " Emma," always, of 
 course, by the back door, to borrow certain articles. 
 Her refusal, on both occasions, to " sit down and 
 rest a minute," and her obvious reluctance to be 
 drawn into any conversation which included Madame 
 de Pierrefond, added to the apprehension which the 
 elder Mrs. Hemingway was already beginning to feel 
 as a nightmare weight. Whatever the mysterious 
 cabal against Inez, Clara knew, and, in some measure 
 at least, shared it. 
 
 The supper hour was at seven. Exactly three 
 minutes before the old " grandfather " hall-clock 
 struck, Inez came running down the stairs. " Ah, 
 there you are," breathed the little mother, who, for 
 some time before, had been hovering near the foot. 
 " Clara thinks a great deal of punctuality. How
 
 WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 303 
 
 very sweet you look, my dear ! " This with an ad- 
 miring glance toward Inez. 
 
 " Isn't she a vision? " beamed John, now coming 
 up to them. 
 
 The three moved together toward the entrance 
 door. " Please be specially nice to your Aunt Clara, 
 John," pleaded the mother, as the young couple 
 stepped across the threshold. 
 
 There was such sincerity in the tremulous voice 
 that Inez could not restrain a glance of surprise. 
 Mrs. Hemingway, meeting her eyes, flushed faintly. 
 "I I hope you won't find the evening dull, dear 
 Inez," she said in the hurried way in which one fills 
 up a pause that might become embarrassing. " I 
 believe you haven't met Walter. He is very popular 
 in Delphi, and many people think him very hand- 
 some." 
 
 " I 'ave no eyes for other handsome men," declared 
 Inez gaily, slipping her arm through John's. 
 
 Clinging together, they moved down the walk. 
 They were both tall, slender and erect, and had the 
 free stride of joyous young animals. To the loving, 
 troubled eyes that watched them, they were the most 
 beautiful beings in all the world. 
 
 As they disappeared, she drew in a long sigh, and, 
 stepping within the hall had nearly closed the door 
 when the sound of rapid footsteps, coming along the 
 pavement from an opposite direction, made her pause. 
 It was young Abbey, entering with such haste that
 
 304. THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 the old lady had to spring backward to avoid a col- 
 lision. 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hemingway," the 
 boy gasped. " I didn't see you. John and Inez at 
 home? " 
 
 " No. They have just gone over to Clara's for 
 supper. I was closing the door after them." 
 
 Charlie turned. " All right. It isn't impor- 
 tant. I'll run in some time to-morrow." 
 
 " I would like to speak to you a moment, Charlie. 
 Won't you come in? " 
 
 Charlie was at the top step. " Aw-ful sorry, 
 Mrs. Hemingway, but I've got an engagement " 
 His reluctance was obvious. 
 
 " Yet you were coming in to see John," remarked 
 the old lady, not without a certain archness. 
 
 Charlie grinned, as he took off his hat and fol- 
 lowed her. His whole manner said, " Oh, Lord, I'm 
 in for it." 
 
 The hostess did not keep him in suspense. 
 " Charlie, have you any idea why your mother ha 
 not called on Inez ? " 
 
 The boy's face reddened painfully. His eyes fell 
 to his hat-brim which he now tormented and twisted 
 with both hands. 
 
 " I'm sorry to have to trouble you this way, dear 
 boy," said the old lady. " I wouldn't do it only that 
 I know you are John's friend, and hers." 
 
 " You bet your life I'm their friend," he cried, 
 with savage emphasis.
 
 WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 305 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway waited, trembling. She hoped 
 his vehemence would take the form of tangible state- 
 ments, but Charlie was apparently forcing himself 
 to silence, only a deep scowl betraying what he felt. 
 
 " Your mother and I have been good friends for 
 thirty years. I was with her when you were born, 
 Charlie. I feel that there must be some very real 
 cause, something she thinks a justifiable reason, 
 that makes her willing to put this slight upon me 
 and mine." 
 
 " There isn't any reason," the other burst out. 
 " It's just a contemptible, hatched-up plot of Cora 
 Whitman's. You know," he said by way of explana- 
 tion, as Mrs. Hemingway threw him a startled look 
 of inquiry, " ever since John's engagement was first 
 announced, she's been like a sore-headed cat. She's 
 got a chance now to do harm, and she's doing it." 
 
 " But," protested the old lady, piteously, " even 
 if Cora wishes to be so so unchristian " 
 
 " So devilish, you mean," interpolated the boy, 
 without apology for his expression. 
 
 " Even if Cora is willing to do harm, I cannot 
 understand why your mother " 
 
 Charlie's lips were again tightly compressed. His 
 eyes fell before the pleading of the sweet old face 
 before him. 
 
 "And you cannot tell me anything definite?" 
 she faltered. 
 
 " I'm sorry," choked the boy, looking as if he 
 would in another instant, burst into tears.
 
 306 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway rose to her feet. She realised 
 it was useless to prolong an interview so painful. 
 In her slight figure was a pathetic dignity. 
 
 " Something has got to be done," she said firmly. 
 " To-morrow I shall go in person with Inez, to begin 
 the return of her calls." 
 
 The boy gave a low cry and an uncontrollable 
 gesture of protest. " No, don't do that ! " 
 
 The old lady's eyes flew open. She stared, as if 
 unbelieving her senses, into the flushed and miser- 
 able young face. Slowly all colour drained from 
 her own, leaving it a transparent mask of fear. 
 
 " Why why do you say that ? And in such 
 a way? " 
 
 " I only meant," stammered Charlie, striving 
 hard to gain self-control, " that until we can get 
 hold of something real, something that the old 
 cats think they have on Inez, it's better to lay 
 low. Don't you remember the old saying ' when in 
 doubt, do nothing ' ? " 
 
 By this he, too, was on his feet. The last words 
 were spoken quite genially, and he forced the sem- 
 blance of a grin. 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," answered Mrs. Heming- 
 way, at last, in a voice that was like the whisper of 
 a ghost. " But the situation is even worse than I 
 thought. John's happiness is being menaced. It 
 is hard to do nothing when when " 
 
 " I know it is. But don't you break down," said 
 the boy comfortingly, with an arm around the bent,
 
 WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 307. 
 
 grey shoulders. " Now just you trust Little Willy 
 to find out everything, and we'll fix it up in a jiffy." 
 
 " You are a dear boy, Charlie," she said, wiping 
 her eyes. " I am very thankful that we have one 
 good friend." 
 
 " Holy cats ! " groaned Charlie, at last escaped 
 and out under the open sky. " If this isn't the rot- 
 tenest mess, ever! But how could I tell that shiver- 
 ing old angel that I saw a copy of Inez' book on my 
 mother's dressing-table, and that the fool talk in 
 it against marriage has turned Delphi into a hor- 
 net's nest? "
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 "YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!" 
 
 DURING her stay in Delphi, which, by to-morrow 
 would have reached the limit of its first week, Inez 
 had, more than once, caught fleeting glimpses of 
 John's " Aunt Clara." She had appeared, like 
 Mrs. McMaster, during the hour when the little 
 family was at tea. But with the hour, all similarity 
 ended. No dramatic contrast of studied " en- 
 trances " could have been more vividly opposed. 
 While Kate assaulted, as it were, and bore inward 
 upon their hinges the very gates of the quiet citadel, 
 Aunt Clara, integrally part of the domestic at- 
 mosphere, had the effect of a spontaneous mani- 
 festation of something already there. 
 
 Inez, as it chanced, had been the first to see her 
 enter; and, with the quick eye of a writer, had ac- 
 claimed her instantly as a " type." Throughout the 
 short visit, this conviction deepened. Inez found 
 herself watching, almost with eagerness, for the next 
 words spoken by this self-contained, neutral, and 
 yet impressive little woman. Nothing that she said 
 or did was of particular interest; yet, as Inez 
 shrewdly guessed, no one, in Aunt Clara's presence, 
 ever forgot that she was there. 
 
 On being presented by her tall nephew to 
 309
 
 "YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!" 309 
 
 " Madame de Pierrefond," she went forward, ex- 
 tended a small hand, somewhat stained and roughened 
 by constant household work, and with no more self- 
 consciousness than if she were speaking to a child, ad- 
 dressed the smiling stranger as " I-nez," giving the 
 first syllable of the name an American rendering. 
 From this pronunciation she never deviated. John 
 and his mother might enunciate " tf-nezz," till the 
 cows came home. Aunt Clara had seen it written 
 " I," and, for her, " I " it was to remain. 
 
 The hardly-veiled curiosity, the furtive " sizing 
 her up " which Inez had noted, and was beginning to 
 resent in other women, played no part in Aunt 
 Clara's impassive regard. Her nondescript eyes, 
 like her voice, were held at a monotonous level; yet 
 Inez felt instinctively and correctly that every 
 inch of her external self was being caught and regis- 
 tered as on a film. 
 
 The visitor, after some friendly urging, was per- 
 suaded to sit with them at table while John imbibed 
 his third cup of tea. 
 
 "I always find it hard to break off," the young 
 man explained, as if to apologise for his delay, " but 
 you don't realise what it means to a fellow who's 
 been in exile, to get back to these wonderful, home- 
 tasting things." 
 
 " I guess it must be," responded Aunt Clara, un- 
 emotionally. " By the way, John, what did you 
 ever do with my little pie dish and the jelly glass 
 I packed in the lunch you took awav ? "
 
 310 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 John stared. He had long since forgotten there 
 had ever been a lunch. Inez, catching his expres- 
 sion, raised her serviette to her lips to hide a smile. 
 But old Mrs. Hemingway was looking anxious, and 
 Aunt Clara, her eyes as steady as two imbedded bul- 
 lets, held him at gaze. 
 
 "I I'm afraid, Aunt Clara, that I can't re- 
 call now exactly what did become of them." 
 
 " Well, they are no great loss. The pie dish had 
 a crack in it, and I had been putting jelly into that 
 glass every summer since you have been born." 
 
 A few moments later she had issued the invita- 
 tion on which now, this Thursday evening, John and 
 Inez were on the way to fulfil. 
 
 During the interim, " Uncle Walter," so John 
 now informed his companion, had been on one of his 
 increasingly frequent trips to Chicago. By a pe- 
 culiar but also increasingly frequent coincidence, Mrs. 
 Armstrong had felt it necessary to betake herself 
 to the same metropolis. This latter fact, however, 
 John did not mention. In spite of his kinship to 
 the middle-aged Lothario, John had caught enough 
 of local gossip to realise that tongues were busy with 
 the new scandal. He resented bitterly that, just at 
 the present moment when his own affair hung, as it 
 were, in the balance of popular approval, there 
 should be further cheapening of the Hemingway 
 name. 
 
 On the other hand, Walter was mayor of the town, 
 and still accounted by the majority a " bully sport."
 
 "YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!" 311 
 
 His friendship and good-will were not to be despised. 
 
 So when Inez, apparently without premeditation, 
 suddenly demanded that John tell her more about 
 his Uncle Walter before she should meet him, the 
 young man could not conceal a start of embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Walter is all right ! " he declared, 
 with an obvious effort at heartiness. " You know 
 he doesn't want me to call him ' Uncle ' any more. 
 Says it makes him feel old." 
 
 " He is a vain man, then this Oncle Walter who 
 mus' not be called ' Oncle ' ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid he is," admitted John. " You see, 
 he has a big political following, not only in Delphi, 
 but all through the country near. And then " 
 
 " And then ? " encouraged Inez, smiling wisely. 
 
 " For some ungodly reason, women like him." 
 
 " I thought that was coming. And do you not 
 fear, my Jean," she persisted, teasingly, " to submit 
 an innocent like me to the charms of your Don Juan 
 of Delphi?" 
 
 John, looking down, returned her smile, but his 
 own was a little rueful. " I'm only afraid that you 
 are going to dislike him so much you can't help show- 
 ing it." 
 
 " Ah ! That puts a new face upon the matter. If, 
 as you now hint, I am to dislike so gallant a gentle- 
 man, is it better that I should hide it? " 
 
 " I believe it is, darling," he said, giving the arm 
 in his a loving pressure. " Mother is worrying her
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 poor little head already because well because 
 she doesn't feel that Delphi is appreciating you just 
 as it should. Aunt Clara is friendly, though, and 
 in her quiet way she is a force. It won't do to an- 
 tagonise her husband." 
 
 " Is she, then, one of the women who are in love 
 with her 'usband?" 
 
 John grinned. " It's beyond me to imagine Aunt 
 Clara in love with anybody. But she's religious, and 
 she'd fight for him." 
 
 " She may be religious," remarked Inez, sapiently, 
 " but that is not the reason she would fight. Ohe, 
 do not look troubled, my Jean. I will be nice to 
 Oncle Walter." 
 
 A moment later a front door was opened by that 
 person in the flesh, much flesh, clothed in so mar- 
 vellous a conception of male evening attire that, for 
 an instant, Inez was guilty of the rudeness of an 
 open-mouthed stare. 
 
 He wore grey trousers, creased until there seemed 
 to be a measuring rod down the front of each 
 leg. His waistcoat was starched to the likeness of 
 a white celluloid breastplate; and the long frock 
 coat had tails which swirled with each motion, like 
 the skirts of a modern dancer. As a crowning joy, 
 he displayed a necktie of geranium red, adorned with 
 a diamond horseshoe. 
 
 " So you've come ! " he shouted, j oyously. 
 " Walk right in. Glad to see you ! Gee whizz, 
 John ! But you're the lucky nut all right ! "
 
 "YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!" 313 
 
 His huge voice, booming past them into the night, 
 reverberated against the walls of the neighbouring 
 houses, where more than one oblique and listening 
 ear twitched, as to a battle trumpet. 
 
 " Clary ! " this, on sudden impulse to the shad- 
 owy far end of the hall " Our turtle-doves are 
 here." 
 
 Without waiting for his wife's verbal acknowledg- 
 ment of the fact so poetically stated, Walter wheeled 
 round again, his coat-tails standing out with the 
 swift motion. 
 
 " You haven't introduced us yet, John. But, 
 what's the diff ? We're kin. I'm Walter," he stated 
 beamingly to Inez, and held out his hand. " And 
 you're " 
 
 " Madame Inez de Pierrefond," enunciated Inez, 
 very clearly. 
 
 John gave her an imperceptible nudge. But he 
 need have felt no fear. Walter was not of a nature 
 to be easily rebuffed. 
 
 " Madame de Grandmother! " he vociferated, even 
 more heartily. " Not on your life ! A niece-in- 
 law, that's the winner you are," here his eyes 
 fairly deposited saccharine lumps of admiration 
 full in her upraised face. " She's goin' to be 
 * 7-nez ' from the start. That's right. Eh, 
 John?" 
 
 John, wincing slightly under the broad wink that 
 was half a leer, hastily assured him that it was right ; 
 at which Inez, perforce, attempted a smile, and re-
 
 314 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 linquished her chill fingers to what seemed a digitated 
 section of warm, red, butcher's meat. 
 
 Now, along the hallway, Aunt Clara's nasal tones 
 were heard. 
 
 " 1 told you to invite them into the livin'-room, 
 Walter. And shut that front door quick, or some 
 folks will be fallin' outer their second-floor win- 
 dows." 
 
 Inez, through her amusement at the words, was 
 conscious of noting the peculiar, carrying quality of 
 the voice that uttered them. It had not been raised 
 by the hundredth part of a degree, yet it pervaded 
 the house like an essence, sending its vibrations, it 
 would appear, through the very woodwork of the 
 now closed front door. 
 
 " Supper'll be on in a minute," Aunt Clara added, 
 though remaining all the time invisible. " Ask I-nez 
 if she don't want to lay aside her hat." 
 
 " Ain't got a hat. Come bare-headed," bawled 
 the master of the house. Even so commonplace a 
 remark seemed to afford him a sort of triumphant 
 satisfaction. 
 
 He strode before them into the " parlour," snapped 
 on the electric lights, and, placing himself on the 
 hearth-rug with feet unnecessarily far apart, dis- 
 tended the white waistcoat in a long, proprietary 
 sigh of well-being. 
 
 " Don't wonder you come bare-headed," he now 
 said, admiringly, fixing his bold eyes on Madame de 
 Pierrcfond's gleaming crown. " Your hair shines
 
 "YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!" 315 
 
 jest like the bottom of my wife's copper preservm* 
 kittle." 
 
 " Now Unc now, Walter," John put in, laugh- 
 ing. " Inez' head may look like a copper kettle, but 
 I don't want you to turn it." 
 
 " Shucks ! " exclaimed the other, in huge delight, 
 giving the words an interpretation John could not 
 have foreseen, " Inez wouldn't look twice at a staid 
 old married man like me." 
 
 " Ah, dear Mr. 'Emingway," murmured the wicked 
 Inez, " it is imposseble to keep from looking at you, 
 no matter how much I might wish not to do so." 
 
 " Ah, come on ! " he roared, ecstatically. " You're 
 kiddin'. Well, who knows, I may make John mind 
 his ' p's and ( q's ' yet ! " 
 
 Perhaps fortunately for all, Aunt Clara, at this 
 precise instant, materialised in the doorway, and as- 
 sured them, dryly, that supper was on the table. 
 
 Inez rose and moved toward her hostess. The lit- 
 tle woman apparently did not see her visitor's tenta- 
 tively outstretched hand. Inez bit her lip, wonder- 
 ing whether John had noticed, then followed meekly 
 the lead of Aunt Clara's narrow, but strangely un- 
 compromising back. 
 
 It proved, for two of the company at least, a most 
 uncomfortable repast. The table was loaded with 
 enough food for twenty. In dispensing this, and 
 urging her guests to eat far more than was physically 
 possible, Aunt Clara was evidently fulfilling her en- 
 tire ideal of hospitality. All " conversation " was.
 
 S16 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 left to Walter. He was accredited, in Delphi, with 
 being entertaining, and, to-night, spurred and in- 
 spired by the propinquity of the most beautiful 
 woman he had ever seen, he demonstrated himself not 
 only an orator but a man of sentiment. Byron was 
 quoted freely. Even a few lines of Shakespeare were 
 essayed, but this bard, being notoriously difficult to 
 remember verbatim, was soon abandoned. 
 
 Inez, true to her promise, forced herself to give 
 the appearance of a delighted listener. She kept her 
 dark, wonderful eyes fixed upon the host's increas- 
 ingly crimson face. Indeed, it soon became her chief 
 preoccupation not to see John. She knew only too 
 well what he was thinking. 
 
 Aunt Clara's withdrawn silence threw no cloud 
 upon her husband's loquacious geniality. He was ac- 
 customed, as he would have expressed it, for Clara 
 to take a back seat when her showy husband was 
 around. 
 
 Once only, and then in the midst of a particu- 
 larly florid declamation, did her ear-arresting voice 
 assert itself. She seemed to be speaking to the cen- 
 tre-piece, a small round dish of filagree silver, filled 
 with artificial ferns. 
 
 " This whole town thinks a lot of your mother, 
 John. There's not a better or more Christian 
 woman in it than Emma Hemingway, even if she 
 don't go to church as often as some." 
 
 Walter, amazed, scowled fiercely at the unwonted 
 interruption.
 
 "YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!" 317 
 
 " I don't know as I've heard anybody sayin' things 
 against Emma," he remarked, in a tone which he 
 intended to convey a mingling of sarcasm and re- 
 proof. 
 
 Aunt Clara ignored him as she might a piece of 
 furniture. Inez, sending a swift, uncontrollable 
 glance toward her hostess, saw only an expression- 
 less parchment-coloured face, with small, inscrutable 
 eyes fixed steadily upon the teapot she was now 
 lifting. 
 
 Walter, for a few moments longer, continued to 
 fume ; and then, emphasising the bravado of his 
 manner, plunged into a joke which, to say the least 
 of it, was not ever intended for a Delphi family 
 party. Aunt Clara sat on, a silent, almost motion- 
 less image of disapprobation. A sort of dry chill 
 seemed to emanate from her. 
 
 A little after nine the young guests, thankful to 
 be able to escape, made some trivial excuse and fled. 
 Walter's stentorian utterances of comradeship and 
 life-long affection followed them nearly out of sight. 
 
 " Lord, but wasn't that fierce ! " ej aculated John, 
 with a long sigh of relief when at last they were well 
 out of earshot. " I've never known Uncle Walter 
 to be quite so intolerably vulgar. And as for Aunt 
 Clara! It gave me the creeps just to be near her. 
 What on earth was the matter, anyway? Do you 
 suppose she felt ill ? " 
 
 " No," answered Inez, with a twisted smile that 
 he did not see. " Only virtuous."
 
 318 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Virtuous ? " echoed John, taken aback by the 
 unexpected statement. " Do you mean about Wal- 
 ter's silly gush and his jokes? " 
 
 " Oh, not at all. She must be used to him by 
 this time. It is something newer, a pleasing vari- 
 ety, as it were." 
 
 " Well, it doesn't matter," cried John, after a 
 moment of puzzled and frowning silence. " We 
 have wasted too much time on them already. There's 
 something a good deal more important I wish to 
 speak of." 
 
 He paused, but Inez made no encouraging sound. 
 
 " Of course," he began, with a hint of diffidence, 
 " you realise that with to-morrow morning, the week, 
 your week of, er of " 
 
 " Probation ? " suggested Inez. 
 
 " Well, if you want to call it that," he rej oined, 
 with an attempt at a laugh. " Anyway, it's up. 
 And you know, too, that with the certainty of this 
 big hospital job, I am, for the first time in a posi- 
 tion to to " 
 
 Still she kept silence. She scarcely seemed to 
 breathe. 
 
 " Inez," he burst out, passionately, " don't keep 
 your face turned from me. I want you for my 
 for mine. I need you, Inez " 
 
 " You have me," she put in. 
 
 " But not in all the ways I want. You must be 
 mine Before the world before our friends. In 
 each step of this work I shall need you. And even
 
 "YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!" 319 
 
 if I have to spend a while in Chicago, would it seem 
 to you now quite so dreadful since you have met 
 Dr. Kelsey, and realise that there are other men 
 and women too, of his fine calibre, living there?" 
 
 He had hurried on almost as if fearful of inter- 
 ruption, but now came to a deliberate stop, waiting; 
 for her reply. 
 
 " The long talk I have had with Dr. Kelsey has 
 made for me a great difference. That I admit," 
 said Inez, slowly. 
 
 " And the wife of such a man is sure to be inter- 
 esting! Through them you will make other friends. 
 Everybody will be crazy over you. And of all the 
 proud and happy fellows " 
 
 " Don't ! " came in a sharp cry from his compan- 
 ion. " You are flinging to the winds our real issue. 
 Above all things, my Jean, we must not blind our- 
 selves to what is real. Tell me, my Jean, tell me 
 wid your mind and not your heart, would even sa 
 great a man as Dr. Kelsey be our friend?" 
 
 " Why what do you mean, Inez ? You 
 know " he stammered, and then, before her seri- 
 ous gaze, fell silent. 
 
 " You have promised me that our union before 
 the world should be, when your position in finance 
 made it possible, the free, untrammelled, beautiful 
 companionship which in my soul I believe to be the 
 one way to exalted happiness. Have you not prom- 
 ised that, my Jean ? " v 
 
 " I have promised, Inez, and if you insist, I shall
 
 320 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 keep my word," he said, and his voice had the sound 
 of earth thrown on a coffin-lid. 
 
 She threw her head back quickly. Impetuous 
 words fought against her closed lips. Her strug- 
 gle for self-control was evident. Suddenly she 
 walked past him, and not until his gate was reached 
 did she pause for him to rejoin her. 
 
 Old Mrs. Hemingway, at the sound of the gate, 
 came running to the front porch. Under the single 
 electric light she fluttered like a grey moth in im- 
 prisonment. 
 
 " There's a telegram for you, John," she cried, 
 before the two had reached her. " It came a few 
 minutes ago. I'm so anxious." 
 
 " Why, little mother, there's nothing to worry 
 over," he said, tenderly, and before opening the mis- 
 sive stooped to kiss her. " It's probably, only, 
 yes, just what I thought, the hospital committee 
 want me to take an early train to Chicago in the 
 morning. They need me for some consultations." 
 
 " You will go, of course," said Inez, in a quick, 
 decisive tone. It was almost as if she felt relief. 
 
 " Well, rather ! " said John, in even greater relief. 
 " This makes things begin to look like business." 
 
 Before the little family separated for the night, 
 a ten o'clock train next day had been decided on. 
 Inez stated that, for once, she would give over her 
 lazy habit, and rise to have breakfast with her 
 " Jean." " Then, also," she added, charmingly, " I 
 will walk to the little station with you."
 
 "YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!" 
 
 John felt as if a wagon-load of wet clay had been 
 removed from his heart. From Inez' altered tone 
 and manner he inferred, and rightly, that the vexed 
 question of their " union " was to be deferred until 
 after his return. In spite of his consuming love for 
 Inez, he was guilty of an inward hope that the com- 
 mittee would keep him for several days. He did 
 not need to ask Inez to say nothing, in the interval, 
 to his mother. No woman with a spark of delicacy 
 could be so cruel. 
 
 Next day the breakfast proved something of a 
 high feast. Flowers were in the centre of the table. 
 Through the old-fashioned windows the sun poured 
 a river of intangible gold. Inez was, herself, like 
 some beautiful tropical flower, unfolding new petals 
 to the warm glow. All three felt as if, somehow, a 
 calamity had been averted. Even Molly McGuire, 
 in her kitchen, shared in the general exhilaration, 
 and her rich, throaty voice could be heard singing 
 a queerly interwoven medley of snatches, some from 
 the old ballads of her native Ireland, and others 
 from popular American ragtime tunes. 
 
 A loitering urchin from the street was lured, by 
 the double reward of a good breakfast and subse- 
 quently a " quarter," to take John's dressing bag 
 to the station; after which negotiation the young 
 man, untrammelled, except by a little grey-gloved 
 hand upon his arm, stepped merrily out into the sun- 
 shine, and proceeded in the direction of the station. 
 
 During the brief walk a puzzling incident oc-
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 curred. On the chief shopping street through which 
 they had to pass, Inez was certain that she caught 
 a glimpse of Charlie Abbey. The boy paused, 
 stared a moment, and then darted in at the nearest 
 drug-store. 
 
 " Why, what is it? " cried John, at her low ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 " Nothing," she answered quickly. " I nearly 
 turned my ankle. That was all." 
 
 " I've told you before that Delphi pavements were 
 not built for high French heels," said John, with 
 tender possessiveness, entirely satisfied with her men- 
 dacious explanation. As they stood waiting for the 
 train which was, as usual, a few moments late, Inez 
 gave more than one furtive glance backward to see 
 if Charlie had followed. This evasion was so utterly 
 unlike him. 
 
 The bright mood suddenly clouded, but when John 
 rallied her upon her woebegone expression she easily 
 set his doubts to rest by saying, " And how else 
 should I look when my Jean is leaving me ? " 
 
 At last he was off. Inez, turning from a final 
 wave of " good-bye," came face to face with Charlie. 
 For once at sight of her, he did not smile. 
 
 "Where's John going?" he asked, breathlessly. 
 
 "To Chicago. Why?" 
 
 "Will he be gone long?" 
 
 " Only a day or two, I think. What has gone 
 wrong with you, Sharlee? "
 
 "YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!" 323 
 
 " Well," the boy muttered, speaking to himself 
 rather than to her, " perhaps it's better without 
 him." 
 
 " What is better widout him? Why do you look 
 like like the funeral day ? I am frightfully in- 
 trigued. Tell me quick." 
 
 " Not here with all these idiots staring. Let's go 
 to some quieter street." 
 
 Inez could scarcely control her impatience. 
 " Now," she demanded, as their swift strides brought 
 them into a comparatively empty side street. 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " The devil's own mess," Charlie groaned. 
 
 " But how, in this little Delphi, could you manage 
 to get into great trouble? " she insisted, wonderingly. 
 
 " It isn't me at all, it's you! " he blurted. 
 
 "Me? Some new, bad thing of me?" she ques- 
 tioned, staring. " But I have done nothing, Shar- 
 lee." 
 
 " Listen, Inez," said the boy, placing one hand on 
 her arm and holding it tightly, as if to steady her 
 against what was to come. " There's no use minc- 
 ing matters. You have got to be told straight out. 
 The town is wild. Mother and Cora Whitman, and 
 that Chicago cat who's visiting Cora have flooded 
 Delphi with copies of your book." 
 
 " My book, my poor little onlee book," echoed 
 Inez, in a dazed way. " So my * sins ' " 
 
 " Yes, your sins have found you out, all right,"
 
 324 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 supplemented Charlie, with a grimace meant for a 
 smile. " But what you don't seem to catch onto 
 is the fact that, unless we find some way to stop 'em, 
 the women are going to hold you up to public dis- 
 grace."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 * FREE LOVE " AS INTERPRETED BY DELPHI 
 
 His hand fell away. In this lessening of the clutch, 
 Inez for the first time perceived how the boy was 
 trembling. They stared at each other for a long 
 instant without speaking. Tremulously her voice 
 broke the silence. 
 
 " But, Sharlee. I have done nothing to the 
 women of this village. Many have come to see me, 
 oh, I knew well it was as if to see a monkee in 
 its cage but they came. I was, to them all, 
 courteous. At the first I try quite hard to win them. 
 When I saw that it was not possible, still I re- 
 main courteous. And, as for my book, " here the 
 long throat straightened " it is not a bad book. 
 It is sincere." 
 
 " That's the worst thing about it, that it is sin- 
 cere ! " 
 
 She gave a startled exclamation. " Sharlee ! Is 
 it you, my frien', who will say a thing like that? " 
 
 " Forgive me, Inez," he stammered, " I was speak- 
 ing from the Delphi standpoint. You know I al- 
 ways thought it was a bully book. I've kept that 
 copy you gave me under lock and key. Your ideas 
 seemed fine over there. But here, now that we've 
 
 come to Delphi ! " He paused, then uncontrol- 
 
 325
 
 326 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 lably burst out, " Oh, Inez ! haven't you been here 
 long enough yourself to realise that your opinions 
 are like firebrands flung into a hayloft? You can't 
 blame ordinary home people like these for taking 
 fright. They simply will not stand for it; and un- 
 less we can find some way to prevent " He broke 
 off, unable to state in cold words the possible magni- 
 tude of her humiliation. 
 
 " You are absurd," said Inez, haughtily, though 
 her delicate nostrils had begun to whiten with anger. 
 " I have no fear. What, now I ask you, Sharlee, 
 you who have seen me among friends in my own 
 'ome, what could this illiterate feminine canaille 
 of Delphi, Iowa, do to such as me? " 
 
 " That sounds well," retorted the other, not alto- 
 gether delighted at her sweeping scorn. " Marie 
 Antoinette said the same thing ; and you know where 
 she got it ! " He made a significant gesture across 
 his throat, accompanied by a clicking sound. 
 
 Again Inez' lips twitched. There were times 
 when her sense of humour was a little inconvenient. 
 
 " Besides," the boy hurtled on, " they are not pro- 
 posing any personal attack on you. The quaran- 
 tine flag's waving over your head, already. It's 
 John they'll tackle, John, and through his 
 mother." 
 
 At last she blanched. " They would go to Jean's 
 mother ! They would denounce the future, wife 
 of my Jean to his mother's face. No, no, they 
 would not dare ! "
 
 "FREE LOVE" 327 
 
 " A bunch of females organised into what they 
 call a ' Moral Crusade ' will dare anything, and you 
 know it. Look at the English suffragettes ! " 
 
 The bravado was all gone. Her white face 
 twitched as if with a convulsion of fear. " I 
 begin to see yes, something must soon be done 
 for her sake, she must not be broken of 
 heart, Jean's mother. She is too gentle, too 
 kind." 
 
 " Let's go back to the house and talk it over 
 quietly," suggested Charlie. " I'm perishing for a 
 cigarette." 
 
 In utter silence they walked back toward the Hem- 
 ingway homestead. Now and again Charlie sent a 
 compassionate glance to the beautiful, set face be- 
 side him. His young heart ached for her. He 
 longed to champion her cause before the world, 
 especially his own small world of Delphi, yet he was 
 conscious now of a certain male satisfaction that she 
 had begun to " see reason." 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway was out on the " piazza," water- 
 ing her boxes of growing plants. She pushed her 
 spectacles back to smile at Charlie. 
 
 " I'm glad you have come back with Inez," she said 
 in her thin, sweet voice. " It will be good for her 
 to have young companionship, and not go off mop- 
 ing in her room. The house does seem so empty 
 without John." 
 
 With a sudden impulse, Inez leaned over to kiss 
 the fragile cheek. It always reminded her of a win-
 
 328 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 ter rose that had been touched by frost. Something 
 quick and hot stung her eyelids. 
 
 " You are dear and good, you mother of my 
 Jean," she whispered. 
 
 As she straightened herself to her full, slim 
 height, the older lady looked up adoringly. " Do 
 you wonder I'm proud of my new daughter? " she 
 appealed to Charlie. " Nobody knows how sweet 
 she is to me, how considerate of all my old-fashioned 
 thoughts and ways. Just at first I was a little bit 
 afraid of her," she confessed shyly, but with radiant 
 eyes. " She was so tall and beautiful, like a 
 strange lovely orchid among my old-fashioned gar- 
 den flowers. But now that we have come to know 
 each other " A loving pat on Inez' arm completed 
 the sentence. 
 
 " Oh, Inez is all right, all right ! " declared 
 Charlie, just a little huskily. " And John is the 
 luckiest fellow on the upper side of earth." 
 
 " John thinks so," nodded the old lady. " Well," 
 she added, with a change of voice and manner to 
 that of the preoccupied housewife. " I must be 
 running along. This is my busy time of morning, 
 as Inez knows. Make yourselves at home, young 
 people. The living-room and dining-room are both 
 cleaned up." She started in at the door, but paused 
 on the threshold to say, " There's a tin box full of 
 fresh cinnamon cookies in the sideboard, Inez. They 
 are the kind John likes so well. Try and make 
 Charlie eat some."
 
 "FREE LOVE" 
 
 As, finally, the light sound of her footsteps trailed 
 into silence, the two friends once more sought each 
 other's eyes. In those of the woman there was a 
 suspicion of tears. 
 
 She put her handkerchief furtively to them as 
 she moved into the darkened living-room. " Ahe ! " 
 she sighed aloud, " this is the queer life, Sharlee ; 
 and more especially so in your leetle hometown called 
 Delphi." 
 
 For more than an hour they talked. The sinister 
 problem was discussed from every point of view. 
 
 " The only thing / can think of that has a chance 
 of stopping 'em," said Charlie once, rubbing his per- 
 plexed young head into a yellow mop, " is for you 
 to write a letter, a sort of open statement, you 
 know, saying that you are willing to take back all 
 that stuff you wrote against marriage. That's the 
 part that's got 'em on the raw." 
 
 "Take back? 'Ow do you mean, * take back'?" 
 cried Inez, puzzled and frowning. " Surely you do 
 not wish me recant all the beliefs and opinions of 
 me?" 
 
 Charlie refused to cower. " You needn't really 
 do it, you know," he urged with such frank duplicity 
 that his listener gasped. " Just as a bluff . To 
 spike their guns, as it were. I don't see why you 
 should look so horrified. This English translation 
 makes you out a lot worse than you are. You told 
 me so yourself. John was furious when he first read 
 it."
 
 S30 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Sharlee Abbee," said Inez, when she could get 
 her breath, " what you now advise is simply the most 
 hideously immoral, soul-destroying thing that it is 
 in the human imagination to think up. I am 
 ashamed of you." 
 
 " That's all right about your being ashamed," an- 
 swered the boy, doggedly. " You're talking Paris 
 high-brow, and I'm talking little Delphi-on-the- 
 spot." 
 
 " I would rather," shivered Inez, as slowly she 
 got to her feet, " be chopped into small and living 
 bits than be so contemptible a coward ! " She cast 
 him a single, withering glance, and moved haughtily 
 across the room. 
 
 Charlie remained seated. He did not look at her. 
 Now deliberately he lighted a cigarette. 
 
 " I believe you," he said, pleasantly. " And I 
 admire your heroism ; but don't let us get away from 
 the important fact that it isn't you who'll be 
 chopped, but old Mrs. Hemingway and John." 
 
 There was an instant of silence, broken by a low 
 strangled cry. Both of Inez' hands went to her 
 temples. " Sharlee, Sharlee, you will drive me en- 
 tirely mad ! " 
 
 " I don't want to do that, Inez. Honest, I don't. 
 I only want to help you." 
 
 She flung herself slightly from side to side, her 
 head thrown back. It would seem that she strove 
 for more air than the crowded room could give her. 
 Charlie thought of a beautiful caged panther, newly
 
 " FREE LOVE " 331 
 
 trapped, that once he had seen. The bars against 
 which this brilliant and impetuous spirit now beat 
 were scarcely less tangible. 
 
 " Cela est impossible! Tres, bien impossi- 
 ble! " she panted, more to herself than to him. " To 
 bow the head and cringe, before such creatures, to 
 put on sackcloth for these narrow minds to jeer. 
 Sharlee, I cannot ! " She paused before him, white 
 and shaken. 
 
 " Sit down here, Inez," the boy cried, springing 
 up. " You're white as a ghost. We'll try to figure 
 out something else. Though, to tell the truth," he 
 added in a lower and intensely dejected tone, as he 
 drew a second chair near hers, " my bean is already 
 empty, I've thought so hard." 
 
 " But you see dis for yo' own sef, n'est-ce pas? " 
 she pleaded, the fine edges of her English blurring, 
 as always, under great stress of feeling. " For me* 
 Inez de Pierrefond, to make public confession of a 
 fault I do not admit to be de fault ? Is it not 
 beyond imagining? " 
 
 The boy frowned, looking very thoughtful. 
 " There is a question I want to ask you. It's from 
 the shoulder, Inez. It goes pretty deep, and you 
 may resent it." 
 
 " No, no, I do not resent anything from you. 
 You are my bes* frien', Sharlee, my onlee frien', 
 now that my Jean is not near." 
 
 " Tell me then," he demanded, his straight-for- 
 ward eyes on hers ; " since you have been in Anaerica t
 
 332 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 and especially since you've been here among 
 John's own surroundings, haven't your own opin- 
 ions begun to look a little different ? " 
 
 Inez' lids fell. She caught her breath sharply. 
 
 " You know," he hurried on as if to give her more 
 time for answering, " even over there I warned 
 you that such theories would never go down at 
 home." 
 
 " Somesing is different, I have felt that some- 
 sing in myself was changing," she murmured, tremu- 
 lously, " but until now I did not suppose it might 
 be de opinions of me." 
 
 The face before her cleared with sudden bright- 
 ness. " You are a thoroughbred, Inez," he cried. 
 " If this is a fact, I believe everything's going to 
 come right." 
 
 " Can it come right, an' yet me not be seated in 
 de public pillory ? " she asked with such naive child- 
 ishness that it was all the boy could do to keep from 
 laughing. 
 
 " It won't be as bad as a pillory," he smiled, lean- 
 ing forward and taking one of her restless hands in 
 his, " but see here, Inez. If your theories are 
 changing, and a statement of them would save all 
 sorts of trouble for John, wouldn't you be selfish, 
 as well as insincere to hold them back for the sake 
 of your personal pride ? " 
 
 " Sharlee, Sharlee, you should 'ave been the 
 preacher," she cried, with a little gleam of fun that 
 encouraged and delighted him.
 
 "FREE LOVE" 333 
 
 " Now, let us go back a leetle," she suggested, 
 withdrawing her hand that she could fold them both, 
 sedately, in her lap. " I know you tell me once, 
 but this poor bean, is it not? of mine, " 
 here she touched, laughingly, her white forehead, 
 " it was so confuse, I do not remember clear. You 
 saw my poor book in your 'ouse, for the first time, 
 las' evening, is it not so? " 
 
 " Yes. But I'd been suspecting something wrong 
 for days. I couldn't understand my mother's re- 
 fusing to call on you. She had intended to. I 
 knew it wasn't what Delphi speaks of as your 
 * past,' for she'd been told all about that, and be- 
 sides, she poses for being rather broadminded about 
 such things. Then I began to notice that the 
 women who did call made a bee-line for mother after- 
 wards." 
 
 " Be'old the coming Arsene Lupin of Delphi," put 
 in Inez, teasingly. 
 
 " Once or twice I ran into a whispering bunch, 
 and it caused such a commotion that Mother took 
 to locking her visitors and herself up in the library. 
 When I went to Mother and asked her up and down 
 what on earth was hatching, she shut her lips to- 
 gether like a thin-shelled oyster, and when I per- 
 sisted, and told her that she was being influenced 
 not to be decent to you, she only said, ' If I do not 
 call upon your friend Madame de Pierrefond, you 
 may be sure I have my reasons.' ' 
 
 " And then, las' night " reminded the listener,
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 smiling a little sadly at the boy's mimicry of his 
 parent. 
 
 " I had to go up to her room for something. I 
 never move very slow, as you may hare noticed, 
 and before she could hide it I saw your book lying 
 open on the dresser. A pencil was near it, and I 
 saw that several passages were heavily marked." 
 
 " Now I wonder just what passages? " the author 
 murmured, her mind speeding to her unfortunate 
 first-born in literature. 
 
 " Oh, you may be sure they were the most im- 
 moral ones she could find ! " 
 
 Inez winced. No reproof, she knew, had been in- 
 tended. It was the boy's confident tone, rather than 
 his words, that hurt her. She had not thought any- 
 thing in the book immoral. " Then ? " 
 
 " Of course, when I saw that," said Charlie, lean- 
 ing back, " I understood everything. I went for 
 Mother like blazes. At first she wouldn't talk, 
 only ordered me out of the room. I said I'd be 
 damned if I went, and it gave her such a shock that 
 she let out everything." 
 
 " And the * everything,' " said Inez, slowly, " is 
 that I am to be denounced to the gentlest, kindest 
 woman in the world, as an unfit person to be her 
 son's wife." 
 
 "That's it. It don't sound pretty, does it?" 
 
 " Have you gained any idea of the time when 
 these pious furies expect to make an attack on Mrs. 
 'Emingway ? "
 
 " FREE LOVE " 335 
 
 " I don't believe they've fixed a time. They enjoy 
 the preparations too much. But, from what I know 
 of them and their methods, I imagine that " 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " That they will come to her while my Jean is 
 away ? " 
 
 He nodded. " They've always been a little afraid 
 of John." 
 
 Inez rose suddenly. All timidity was gone. She 
 moved like a young tree in the wind. " Perhaps we 
 shall yet subdue these 'ippocrites and their Moral 
 Crusade. Now, Sharlee " 
 
 Charlie got up, but without noticeable alacrity. 
 Inez saw the doubt in his face. 
 
 " Have no fear, I shall do nothing without your 
 knowledge, and your approval, too, my good friend. 
 But there is a possibility that has just come to me. 
 No, I cannot explain now. First of all, I must 
 know whether indeed they will come this very day. 
 You will find it out, even if again you must swear 
 before your good mother." She gave a charming, 
 mischievous smile. " And when you have found out, 
 run quick queeck back to me, please, an' tell 
 me. It is most important that I know before they 
 have lef' your 'ouse. You think they will start from 
 there in a body, yes ? " 
 
 " I guess they will. Our house is evidently the 
 base of operations. I'll declare, Inez, it makes 
 me perfectly sick to think " 
 
 " Never mind about getting sick ! " said Inez,
 
 336 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 gaily. " Find out when the enemy is to charge, and 
 let me know." 
 
 She literally pushed him from the room. He 
 started off a good deal puzzled, but secure in her 
 promise to do nothing without first informing him. 
 
 When he was out of sight, Inez ran, singing, 
 through the hallways, until she found Mrs. Hem- 
 ingway and Molly in the kitchen. Here she flut- 
 tered about, asking questions, making remarks so 
 quaint and unusual that both her listeners were on 
 the verge of hysterics, and then declaring that she 
 wanted to put on a different dress, and, perhaps 
 take a short walk before dinner, went, still singing 
 gaily, up the shabby stairs. 
 
 In her room she began to pull about her various 
 gowns. She was searching for one that she had not 
 yet worn in Delphi. It had been designed for her 
 to wear at the Longchamps races. At last it was 
 on the bed, complete. As usual it was grey, but 
 the contrasting tone was, this time, a pale luminous 
 yellow. In the sparse embroidery was a hint of 
 bronze and gold. The small toque that went with 
 it, a mere cap of grey with a topaz ornament and 
 a single attenuated spray of yellow feathers, was 
 as chic as only the most noted of Paris master mil- 
 liners could make it. 
 
 She changed swiftly, betraying in every movement 
 a subdued excitement. The toque was tentatively 
 tried and Inez could not restrain a smile of pleas- 
 ure at the effect then laid, again, on the bed.
 
 "FREE LOVE" 337 
 
 Near it was a sort of wrap, part scarf, part man- 
 tle, made all of grey crepe, with a great ruche about 
 the throat, and exquisite, pendent lines that had the 
 look of mingled mist and rain. " It is well," said 
 Inez, aloud. 
 
 Now she went over to the window, taking a low 
 rocking chair. She had no desire to look out, but 
 crouched a little forward, one elbow on her knee, 
 the hand supporting her chin. Here she fell into 
 a sort of reverie, or rather, a deep withdrawal into 
 thought, for her face was tense and her brows knit- 
 ted; from which she was aroused by the tinkle of 
 the silver dinner-bell. 
 
 During the meal she was so sparklingly bright, 
 that old Mrs. Hemingway could scarcely eat for 
 looking at and listening to her. 
 
 Immediately after she went into the living-room, 
 going to a front window to see if, by any chance, 
 Charlie should be on his way. 
 
 The loud clatter of hoofs announced the approach 
 of a spirited driver. Inez drew back, but not before 
 Walter Hemingway, seated high in his new red- 
 wheeled buggy, had caught sight of her and waved 
 an exaggerated greeting. To her dismay he 
 stopped. There was no escaping him. She sighed 
 and moved restlessly. Never was a visitor less wel- 
 come. 
 
 He burst in at the door, a cyclone of geniality. 
 
 " So Johnny's left you, eh? Well, it's up to the 
 rest of us to see that you don't get lonesome ! " She
 
 338 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 submitted with what grace she could muster, to the 
 immense, enveloping hand-grasp. Seen in the clear 
 afternoon light, the Don Juan of Delphi was even 
 less attractive than, at first, she had thought him. 
 He was covered, hair, hands, face, boots, even in his 
 garments, with a thinly-spread sheen, as of grease. 
 Also, but was this partly her fancy ? his bold 
 eyes were more searching, and less veiled with con- 
 ventional respect. 
 
 " Say," he broke out abruptly. " How does a 
 ride in my new buggy strike you? " 
 
 He had placed himself directly in front of her, 
 his feet wide apart, and was looking down steadily, 
 with an unpleasantly familiar grin on his highly- 
 coloured face. 
 
 " Your buggee? " she echoed. " I do not onder- 
 stan' Ah, pardon, but I am stupid. The vehicle 
 out there," she nodded toward the window, " is, I 
 believe, called the buggee. It is a very gay buggee." 
 
 " There's a cracker-jack of a road along the 
 river. Quiet as a church this time of day. Come 
 on." 
 
 Were her senses leaving her, or did the man actu- 
 ally attempt a knowing wink ? In any case, her only 
 course was to ignore it. 
 
 " I thank you, kind uncle of my Jean," she an- 
 swered, forcing a chilly smile, " but I do not see 
 why you should suppose I would care to go along 
 a road where there are no other persons." 
 
 " Aw, cut it ! " he exclaimed, laughing in apparent
 
 339 
 
 delight. " You needn't put on any of those frills 
 with me. I'm safe." 
 
 " I am glad to hear that you are safe," said Inez^ 
 opening her eyes still wider. " I would be triste 
 to think that the Oncle " 
 
 " Can that Uncle business, will you? " he inter- 
 rupted rudely, though the wide grin did not lessen. 
 "We'll forget John, too, just while he's gone. 
 When the cat's away, you know." 
 
 Yes, it was insult, deliberate, calculated insult. 
 Inez' heart sickened, but externally she remained 
 ignorant and composed. 
 
 " I am sure that you mean to be kind," she re- 
 plied to him, choosing and pronouncing her words 
 with care, " but I cannot accept your invita- 
 tion." 
 
 " Previous engagement, eh ? " he queried, with an 
 intonation that she did not relish. 
 
 " As it happens, yes. I am expecting a 
 friend." 
 
 " It must be that young snipe Charlie Abbey. 
 He's the only Oh, rats ! He don't count any- 
 way. He's a waster. Gone all to the bad." 
 
 " How can you say so ? " flared Inez. " He is not 
 bad. He is a clean, nice boy." 
 
 " So you defend the cub ! Well, now, you've got 
 to come with me. I owe it to John to break up this 
 little party." 
 
 " Take your hand from my arm instantly 
 do you hear," said Inez, in a tone so low and dan-
 
 340 ' THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 gerous that, before realising it, he had obeyed. 
 
 At last his leering smile was gone. A dull purple 
 mottled his face. 
 
 " There's no use keeping up this bluff," he said. 
 " Do you know how I spent last night? " 
 
 " No, and I do not wish to hear." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you do ! I sat up reading that little 
 book of yours." 
 
 He paused, his expression that of an archer who 
 has just pierced the centre of his target. Inez, her 
 attention arrested, stared at him. As his meaning 
 dawned on her she threw back her head, and with 
 all the scorn of which her wonderful voice was capable 
 said to him : " The real meaning of my book would 
 be utterly impossible of comprehension to a mind 
 like yours." 
 
 " Don't try to flatter me," he grinned, the anger 
 of his face disappearing before other and more 
 nauseous traits. " I may live in Delphi, but little 
 Walter knows as well as any other man that the 
 world is round." 
 
 " Oh, oh, " gasped Inez, looking from side to 
 side for escape. 
 
 " Be a sport now," he urged, again seizing her. 
 " John will never know." 
 
 " Mr. Hemingway," said the woman, her great 
 ej'es blazing full on him, " you must stop these in- 
 sults, or I shall have to throw myself upon the pro- 
 tection of your wife." 
 
 "My wife, eh? my wife!" roared Walter, as
 
 " FREE LOVE " 
 
 if at some specially good joke. " Why, Clary, 
 she's read it too! " 
 
 He still held her arm. Inez, dizzy and stunned 
 by all that his last words suggested did not, for the 
 moment, realise his touch. 
 
 " You foul and unclean beast," she whispered 
 but her lips trembled so violently that she could not 
 be sure he heard. " You " 
 
 " Free-love ! That's a great doctrine, ain't it, 
 kid ? " she heard the thick lips murmur, and in an- 
 other instant his arms held her in a dreadful grip, 
 the flushed face was bent down, seeking hers. She 
 struggled silently. From the back of the house came 
 the low buzz of the front door's electric bell. 
 
 " Are you entirely mad ! " panted Inez, terror giv- 
 ing her new strength with which to keep him at bay. 
 " Some one is coming ! " 
 
 " Great bluff er, ain't you, kid ? " he chuckled 
 thickly, and again the odious arms encircled her. 
 
 The door of the living-room flew open, and on the 
 threshold stood May Armstrong. Fortunately 
 Molly, after admitting the visitor, had sped back to 
 the kitchen to rescue a threatened cake. 
 
 " Pardon me! " said May, clearly. " I didn't 
 dream I was running into anything like this. Guess 
 I'll butt out again." 
 
 She wheeled to go, but Inez, overtaking her, cried 
 out hysterically. " No no I thank God you 
 have come ! Do not leave me, I entreat you. It 
 was a mistake."
 
 342 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Such things generally are," retorted the woman 
 with a coarse laugh. " Especially when you're 
 caught with the goods." 
 
 " You must not leave, I say you must not 
 leave " implored Inez, seizing one of the plump 
 white-gloved hands in both her own, and literally 
 dragging May toward her. " It has been too ter- 
 rible!" 
 
 May suddenly flung off the clinging hands, and 
 facing the man, said between her teeth, " Well, and 
 what is your version, Walter Hemingway ? " 
 
 There was not only anger in her voice, but such 
 authority, such certainty of her right to demand, 
 that Inez turned to see how it would be taken. 
 
 To her amazement, the man's whole figure had 
 undergone a swift transformation. The great shoul- 
 ders bent together. His eyes, downcast, followed 
 the nervous movement of a heavily-shod foot, drag- 
 ging sidewise, back and forth upon the carpet. No 
 schoolboy, caught red-handed, was ever more pal- 
 pably delinquent. 
 
 All at once, with a nauseating pang of insight, 
 Inez understood. 
 
 "Well?" reiterated Mrs. Armstrong, on a higher 
 key, " I'm waiting." 
 
 " Now, don't you get huffy, May," stammered the 
 man, and sent her a sheepish, conciliatory look from 
 under his heavy brows. "It was only a joke 
 honest. I read her fool book last night, and I just 
 took a notion to find out for myself "
 
 " FREE LOVE " 343 
 
 He broke off, with a foolish laugh. 
 
 " Whether she carried her Free-love theories into 
 practice ? " 
 
 " Something like that. It was only a joke, May." 
 
 " Don't you think that particular brand of j oke 
 is up to your nephew? " she asked, but with less 
 acerbity. 
 
 " As for you," she burst out, flinging herself 
 around to Inez, her face one blaze of jealous fury, 
 " I came here to do you a good turn, to put you 
 wise before it was too late. Now the old cats may 
 claw you to a fare-ye-well, for all I care." 
 
 " Go ! only go. Both of you dreadful dread- 
 ful people. I wonder that you dare come into a 
 house like this," said Inez, covering her eyes with 
 both hands. 
 
 She heard May Armstrong gasp. When she 
 spoke it was to Walter. Astonishment had sobered 
 her voice to an unusual quiet. " Well, what do you 
 know about that? " she queried, blankly. " And 
 she been living openly with John Hemingway for 
 three years ! " 
 
 " She's not goin' to do it much longer. Not in 
 this town," declared Walter, leading his companion 
 toward the door. 
 
 " Of course she led you on," was May's last com- 
 ment. 
 
 When Inez, sick and trembling, looked up again, 
 she saw them moving slowly down the walk, their 
 bodies very close. Holding May tenderly by the
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 arm with his left hand, Walter was using his right 
 to make emphatic gestures of explanation. 
 
 So engrossed they were that, at the gate, they 
 narrowly escaped collision with Charlie Abbey. 
 
 " Hi, Charlie. You seem in a hurry ! " shouted 
 Walter, as he drew back. " Needn't run. She's 
 waitin' ! " The loud voice and louder laugh were 
 evidently meant to be overheard. 
 
 Inez rushed to the door. " Good Lord, what's 
 the matter with those two? " Charlie began ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 " Never min* those two. They are swines of the 
 gutter. What is your news ? " 
 
 " The whole bunch is in the library now. I lis- 
 tened at the door, yes, I did. I don't care a hang 
 if it was low. They are getting ready to start." 
 
 " Around here, to Mrs. 'Emingway ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Go into that living-room, Charlie, an' don't 
 move till I come back." 
 
 " What on earth ? " the boy wondered, but he 
 spoke to flying heels. Already Inez was half way 
 up the stairs. 
 
 " Now ! " she cried, whirling down again before 
 he had fairly caught his breath. " The one great 
 question is, " 
 
 " Where do you think you're going, with your 
 hat and cape? " 
 
 " Straight to your mother's house, and face them 
 all."
 
 " FREE LOVE " 345 
 
 The boy started and blinked as if a charge of 
 dynamite had just exploded. "Are you crazy?" 
 
 " No, but a few others soon will be. It is the 
 onlee thing for me to do, Sharlee. I do not fear 
 them, no ! An' the one question, which before I 
 started, is 'ave you the courage to go to dat 
 'ouse wid me? " 
 
 An instant longer he stared, then his face cleared. 
 " Of all the plucky " he half whispered, and after- 
 ward, with grim determination, " Come"
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 AT BAY 
 
 BEHIND the massive, carved, pseudo-Italian table 
 that dominated her library, sat little Mrs. Abbey, 
 rigidly enthroned. 
 
 A cushion had been placed beneath in order 
 that she might be given the appearance of more 
 inches than those granted by nature. In front of 
 her, ranged in a thick, irregular semicircle upon a 
 medley of chairs brought indiscriminately from din- 
 ing-room, bedrooms, hall, and, in one instance 
 (Henry McMaster was, at the moment, squirming 
 on the instance) from the kitchen, sat a company of 
 about fifteen people, the gentler sex predominating 
 largely. 
 
 Most of the books in this celebrated library 
 often referred to as the " Pride of Delphi " were 
 in sets. In long, unbroken rectangles they shone 
 out, olive and red and blue, with here and there the 
 softening of a more neutral grey, each book as im- 
 maculate as if it had come, that instant, from the 
 binder's press. 
 
 The wall-space left between the " sectional " book- 
 shelves was crowded with neatly framed Braun pho- 
 tographs of European masterpieces. These were 
 
 all of the same subject, the smiling young Madonna 
 
 346
 
 AT BAY 347 
 
 and the Child. Mrs. Abbey spoke fondly of them 
 as her " Collection of Virgins," and, Bostonian 
 though she was, admitted to something resembling 
 plebeian pride in them. 
 
 Besides the women whose long friendship with 
 Emma Hemingway, or kinship, either with her or 
 with John's father, warranted participation in so 
 serious a convention, there were present the Rever- 
 end Mr. Todd, " Elder " Droppers and, in a far 
 corner, penned in by his wife's uncompromising bulk, 
 the scared and rabbit-like countenance of Henry Mc- 
 Master. 
 
 Mrs. Abbey cleared her throat slightly. It was 
 the signal that she was about to resume an harangue 
 just interrupted by her own overwrought sensibili- 
 ties. The ladies all stirred, fixing expectant eyes 
 upon their leader. 
 
 " As I said," she began her voice low and pre- 
 cise, indicating the return of her self-control " there 
 is no need for me to repeat how inexpressively pain- 
 ful we all feel this necessity to be " 
 
 She paused again. Murmurs of sympathetic ap- 
 proval swept round the shell of the temporary si- 
 lence. 
 
 " But, friends, it is our duty." The noble word 
 rang clear. " And in the thirty years of my resi- 
 dence among you, I have never yet known the wives 
 and mothers of Delphi to shirk a duty! " 
 
 " Hear ! Hear ! " boomed the ecclesiastical tones 
 of the Reverend Mr. Todd.
 
 348 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Hear! Hear! " shrilled the excited ladies. 
 
 " Say ' Hear ! Hear ! ' Henry," commanded Mrs. 
 McMaster, giving her husband an indignant nudge. 
 
 " Here, here," faltered Henry, shrinking before 
 the eyes he felt would be turned upon him. To him- 
 self he added wretchedly, " But I wish to gosh I 
 wasn't." 
 
 Mrs. Abbey now rose majestically to her feet. 
 There was a wooden stool beneath them. 
 
 " We are unanimous, then, in our resolution to 
 band ourselves together, and, so far as it is within 
 our power, to expel, from our midst, the evil influence 
 which has so unexpectedly confronted us ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed! " piped Cora Whitman, barely 
 saving herself from the nervous little giggle that had 
 become habitual. 
 
 " What gets me," remarked Kate McMaster, " is 
 the nerve of the woman in coming here at all." 
 Then, mindful of her dignity as Leader of a Cause 
 for Women, she added, sharply, " Not that John 
 Hemingway isn't just as bad, bringin' her." 
 
 "No, no," protested Cora. "You can't judge 
 men by the same standards." 
 
 From a little distance where she had been seated, 
 occupied as usual with needle work, came Clara 
 Hemingway's flat, vibrating voice. 
 
 " If you did," she corroborated, " there wouldn't 
 be room in Delphi for all the indignation meetin's." 
 
 For some inexplicable reason Kate McMaster 
 flushed. After a moment of restless indecision, she
 
 AT BAY 349 
 
 cried out : " Well, that's neither here nor there. 
 Let's keep to business. We're all agreed that John's 
 got to be saved if we can save him, and there ain't 
 any time to lose. Mrs. Abbey has suggested that 
 we put the facts before John's mother." 
 
 " There seems no other way," said Mrs. Abbey, sor- 
 rowfully. "As usual, it is the mother's heart that 
 must be crushed." She sent a lingering, appealing 
 glance along the wall of smiling Madonnas, claiming, 
 as it were with them, a spiritual identity. 
 
 " It seems right hard on Emma ; and John her only 
 one," commented Clara, as she held up a needle to 
 thread it against the nearest window light ; " but I 
 guess it's about like Mrs. Abbey says ; it's the only 
 way to reach him." 
 
 " But, dear Mrs. Abbey," parleyed Cora Whitman, 
 her thin face eager, " but suppose even then he re- 
 fuses to believe. You know how men are ! " 
 
 Several of the elder women exchanged, behind 
 the ardent speaker's back, glances of pity, not un- 
 tinged with scorn. Their eyes said to each other, 
 " Poor, faded thing. I wonder if she thinks she 
 may land him, after all? " 
 
 " Well, well," remarked Mr. Todd, impressively, 
 " it has been discussed and agreed, I believe, that 
 the mother of this misguided young man is to be the 
 lever which, as we all prayerfully hope, is to turn 
 him from darkness back to light. The only remain- 
 ing question is when and how the unfortunate lady 
 is to be approached."
 
 350 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Under cover of the pause of admiration following 
 this ornate speech, Cora, who was an Episcopalian, 
 leaned confidentially toward Aunt Clara to observe, 
 "Hasn't Mr. Todd a wonderful gift of words?" 
 
 " He can talk," admitted that downright person, 
 " but I have heard our Mr. Meigs pray for twenty 
 minutes and never call the Lord by the same name 
 twice." 
 
 The low, nasal voice was uncompromisingly audi- 
 ble. Mrs. Abbey looked annoyed. The Reverend 
 Mr. Todd's Adam's apple could be seen to work 
 violently over the top of his starched clerical col- 
 lar. 
 
 " You said you were going to take a copy of her 
 book along," reminded Kate McMaster, with un- 
 necessary abruptness, and nodded first to Mrs. 
 Abbey, and then toward the condemned book, lying, 
 Exhibit A, for the prosecution, in plain sight on the 
 table. 
 
 " I feel it to be necessary," said Mrs. Abbey, with 
 a resigned sigh. 
 
 " Nothin' like seein' things in black and white," 
 put in Elder Droppers, at which his wife, and sev- 
 eral other ladies besides, turned to give him com- 
 mendatory glances. 
 
 " Then," cried Mrs. McMaster, " let's go now and 
 get it over." She sprang up, her voice a trumpet 
 call to arms. 
 
 Several rose. Others looked anxiously toward 
 their elected leader, or else, toward the still flushed
 
 AT BAY 851 
 
 Mr. Todd. On both of these faces could be seen 
 strong disapproval of Mrs. McMaster's sudden as- 
 sumption of authority. The situation threatened to 
 become intense, when all at once, the sound of hurry- 
 ing footsteps without, followed by a loud masterful 
 knock on the door, caused all else to be forgotten in 
 a new and common consternation. 
 
 " Is the door locked ? " gasped Mrs. Abbey. 
 
 " It is," asseverated Mr. Todd, and rose with slow 
 dignity. 
 
 " One of 'em's Walter," remarked Clara Heming- 
 way without looking up. 
 
 " But the other? " panted Cora Whitman. 
 
 " She wouldn't dare ! It can't be," came from 
 various feminine lips. 
 
 " Here ! What do you think you're doin' in there 
 anyway? " came Walter's excited voice. 
 
 " Who's with you, Walter ? " questioned his wife, 
 not very clearly, for she was biting off a thread, 
 but Walter heard. 
 
 " May Armstrong. Who'd you think ! " Here 
 came a hoarse angry laugh. " Not her. She's 
 fixed. We've just come from there." 
 
 " Oh. Open it quick! " vibrated Cora. 
 
 As the key was turned Walter flung wide the door 
 so violently that the reverend gentleman who had 
 performed the service was nearly thrown upon his 
 broadcloth back. May Armstrong pushed by them 
 both, and stood still, surveying the room like a con- 
 queror.
 
 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Well ! " she exploded. " I've seen with my own 
 eyes ! That woman's bad as you make 'em ! " 
 
 " What did you see ? Tell us. We ought to 
 know," came in a shrill chorus. 
 
 May opened her lips, shut them tightly, and sent 
 a long, slow, meaning glance in the direction of Aunt 
 Clara. That sphinx-like person had started a new 
 hem. She had shown no excitement as the newcomers 
 made their dramatic entrance. Not once had her 
 small, inscrutable eyes been lifted. 
 
 " Oh, don't mind me," she now said, her voice un- 
 emotional, unmodulated, and quite as usual. " I 
 know a great deal more about my husband than folks 
 think I know." 
 
 At this a gasp went round. Mrs. Abbey rapped 
 sharply on the table. 
 
 " At least, Mrs. Armstrong," she declaimed aus- 
 terely, for it was common property that May was 
 not persona grata in those Madonna hung walls, 
 " give us as er as guardedly as you can, 
 some idea of your grounds for this new accusa- 
 tion." 
 
 " Well," began May. She seldom started a sen- 
 tence without this introductory exclamation. " Since 
 Mrs. Hemingway is wise already " 
 
 " Here! " broke in Walter. " Let me talk." He 
 pushed her aside with no gentle hand, adding, with 
 an attempt at jocosity, "When a bunch o' you 
 wimmin-folks get together " 
 
 " It is, indeed, more suitable that you should
 
 AT BAY 353 
 
 speak, Mr. Hemingway," agreed the Lady Chair- 
 man. 
 
 " Hear ! Hear ! " gave forth, respectively, the 
 Reverend Mr. Todd, and Elder Droppers. 
 
 May, with a large, fat shrug, sat down in the near- 
 est chair. 
 
 " It all came out of my readin' that book o' hers," 
 said Walter, looking round upon the interested faces. 
 " I had never seen the thing until last night. Clara 
 made me read it." 
 
 " Kate made me," volunteered Henry from the kit- 
 chen chair, but no one noticed him. 
 
 "And it's some book! Believe me!" he ejacu- 
 lated, rubbing the back of his neck with a gesture he 
 felt to be both arch and humorous. " I couldn't 
 help thinkin' it over. I guess the rest of you have 
 been in pretty much the same fix." 
 
 Subdued murmurs of acquiescence brought to his 
 lips a pleased smile. 
 
 " And, this mornin', when I heard of John's 
 bein' out o' town, it come to me all of a sudden 
 that it wouldn't be a bad stunt to go around there 
 with my buggy and see for myself whether 
 any woman would be gam be fool enough, I 
 mean, to live up to the sort of dope she handed out 
 in writin'." 
 
 " I don't see why you had to take your buggy" 
 snapped Kate McMaster. 
 
 Mrs. Abbey's face had grown severe. " My dear 
 Mr. Hemingway," she protested, clipping her words
 
 354 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 like separate bits of wire. " Surely you did not in- 
 tend to use the term ' live up to ' ! Rather, you 
 should have said, ' sink down to.' ' 
 
 " The drinks are on me ! " grinned Walter, waving 
 a concessive hand. 
 
 "Oh, don't interrupt him!" put in Cora, fever- 
 ishly. 
 
 " / went," said Walter, in a deep, resounding 
 voice, and closed his thick lips tightly, letting the si- 
 lence speak. One could hear, almost, the heartbeats 
 of his audience. 
 
 "Well well? Go on. Don't stop," came at 
 last from various parted lips. 
 
 Walter allowed his countenance to assume an ex- 
 pression of mournful regret. " It's jest as May 
 says. She's bad as you make 'em." 
 
 " But that's not telling anything," persisted Cora, 
 " What happened? What did you see? " 
 
 Her small eyes, darting like shuttles about the 
 room, finally imbedded themselves in the amused ones 
 of Mrs. Armstrong. 
 
 " My child," said May impressively, speaking 
 from her height of superior worldliness. " The real 
 question to ask is what would have happened if I 
 hadn't blown in when I did." 
 
 " Say, May ! " bellowed Walter, in huge delight. 
 " Never mind about makin' things out worse than 
 they are." 
 
 " Oh, Oh! " Cora had faltered, cowering down 
 in her chair. While yet the virginal unit flushed,
 
 AT BAY 
 
 paled and palpitated in the wake of May's more than 
 suggestive comment, that buoyant person, turning 
 her back, leaned to a group of matrons. 
 
 " Of course I don't set up for one of your timid 
 ingenues" (she pronounced the word "inge-jee- 
 nooze"), she confided, quite superfluously. "But 
 the minute I set foot in that room, the situation 
 was as plain, well, as plain as the nose on my 
 face." 
 
 Mrs. Walter Hemingway paused, for the first 
 time, in her sewing. She raised her eyes to let them 
 rest, with calm deliberation, on May's somewhat 
 thick-set nose. It was obvious that the scrutiny 
 brought satisfaction. 
 
 Since her abortive attempt at domination, Mrs. 
 McMaster had not resumed her chair. Her large 
 face, under its thatch of untidy clay-coloured hair, 
 had been growing steadily larger and more intense 
 of hue. It had now acquired blotches of angry 
 purple. 
 
 " Ain't we wastin' a whole lot of time in talk ? " 
 she now challenged. " What / want to ask Walter, 
 is, is Emma Hemingway at home? " 
 
 " Is she ever anywhere else ? " remarked May, flip- 
 pantly. 
 
 Kate ignored her, keeping her belligerent eyes on 
 Walter. " And, I suppose," she went on, " that if 
 you've jest come from that de Pierrefond woman, 
 she's downstairs, and not in bed, as she generally 
 is, mornin's."
 
 356 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Let's hope she's not," said May, with an at- 
 tempted drawl. " Charlie Abbey's with her." 
 
 Mrs. Abbey struck the table so sharply that most 
 of the women jumped. 
 
 " As Mrs. McMaster has just remarked, we're 
 wasting time that might be better spent. I move 
 that we adjourn, going at once to Mrs. Heming- 
 way." 
 
 Aunt Clara began to fold up her sewing. " Sup- 
 pose when we get there," she suggested, " 7-nez in- 
 sists on bein' in the room ? " 
 
 At this, several of the excited faces showed a hint 
 of doubt. Strangely enough, it was upon the mascu- 
 line countenance of Walter Hemingway, that con- 
 sternation found its most noticeable resting place. 
 He opened his mouth for a protest. Clara, now 
 standing by his side, cleared her throat, and he was 
 silent. 
 
 " Let her be present then ! " cried Mrs. Abbey, 
 after a moment of conflicting thoughts. " Let her, 
 if she wishes, drag in my son to witness her humilia- 
 tion. Perhaps it will be as well for Charles to real- 
 ise that his mother, at least, is striving to uphold 
 the dignity and morality of his native town." 
 
 " Excellent. .Etf-cellent ! " carolled the Reverend 
 Mr. Todd. 
 
 Elder Droppers began unfolding his long legs. 
 Henry McMaster, in his corner, alternately stood and 
 sat in an agony of indecision until his wife, reaching 
 out, snatched him to her elbow.
 
 AT BAY 357 
 
 Now Mrs. Abbey descended from her footstool. 
 Her eyes were downcast, her face pale under the 
 spiritual pressure of her Cause for Righteousness. 
 With the faintest quiver of repugnance, she leaned 
 over to take up the anathematised book. 
 
 " Permit me, dear lady," murmured Mr. Todd in 
 her ear, and unflinchingly gathered the Thing of 
 Evil into his own fat hands. It was a delicate com- 
 pliment, and Mrs. Abbey gave him, for reward, a 
 particularly cordial, if slightly tremulous, smile. 
 
 He stepped aside, that she might precede him. In- 
 stinctively the standing company fell back, making 
 a clear passage to the door. The Reverend Mr. 
 Todd offered a large and flabby arm. The little 
 lady took it gratefully, while the eyes of the neglected 
 Mrs. Todd moistened with pride, and a sort of chas- 
 tened humility, that she should have been found 
 worthy to be the wife of such a man. 
 
 Walter stepped forward, unlocked the door again, 
 and closed his red fingers tentatively around the 
 handle. Mrs. Abbey nodded, and he flung the panel 
 wide. On the threshold, a vision of delicate, feminine 
 loveliness, stood Inez de Pierrefond. 
 
 Without speech she walked past them all to the 
 centre of the room, wheeled around slowly, and faced 
 them. Charlie Abbey, his blond head high, his cheeks 
 on fire, followed her closely, and, as she turned, stood 
 by her. 
 
 Mrs. Abbey was the first to regain the power of 
 speech. " To what am I indebt "
 
 358 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " Kindly refrain from platitudes, or any stereo- 
 typed remarks," said Inez, interrupting. " I am 
 making you no social visit, as all are well aware." 
 
 " How dare you intrude into my private house ! " 
 cried Mrs. Abbey, in a shrill voice pitched by no 
 Boston tuning-fork. 
 
 "How dare you intrude into my private life?" 
 asked Inez, not by way of retort, but putting the 
 question sadly. 
 
 There was an interval of silence. All the women 
 looked at one another. 
 
 " This whole town thinks a heap of Emma Hem- 
 ingway," came in a grating echo, from Aunt Clara's 
 lips. 
 
 " So ? " said Inez, looking squarely into the in- 
 scrutable eyes. " And to prove it, you will try to 
 break her kind and gentle heart? " 
 
 " Nobody wants to hurt Emma" asserted Kate 
 McMaster. " But I might as well tell you right out 
 to your face, that John Hemingway's friends intend 
 to save him." 
 
 " * To save him ! ' 'Ow very interesting ! " She 
 paused to take in, more securely, a fact which ap- 
 peared so novel. " And pairhaps," she added, with 
 an amused glance in the direction of the uneasy Wal- 
 ter, " it was in the speerit of self-sacrifice that, re- 
 cently, the Oncle Walter of my Jean has made of 
 himself a vulgar fool." 
 
 The man, turning aside his head, muttered an 
 oath.
 
 AT BAY 359 
 
 " You needn't swear about it, Walter," remarked 
 Aunt Clara. " The barn is the place for that." 
 
 May, on his other side, gave a fierce dig into his 
 heaving ribs. " Why don't you up and tell her it 
 was? " 
 
 Don Juan, thus emboldened, made a single stride 
 into the arena. " Well, Madam, since you ask for 
 it, that was exactly my reason, to find out for 
 my nephew's sake whether you were as bad as your 
 book ! " 
 
 " Your disappointment must 'ave been severe," 
 smiled Inez. 
 
 " You needn't try to brazen it out, you 
 you " choked the man, his veins standing out with 
 fury. " You know well enough what I found out. 
 May Armstrong here's a witness." 
 
 "Bravo!" cried Inez. "The Big Chief at last 
 finds courage ! And why not indeed ? " she quer- 
 ied, with a slight shrug and a pretty gesture of ap- 
 peal, " wid so manee of his squaws behin' him? " 
 
 Deliberately, insultingly, she raised her monocle, 
 holding it daintily by its jewelled stem, and let her 
 scornful eyes rest, for an instant, on May's crimson 
 face, passing to that of Kate McMaster, and, last 
 of all, to Clara. The latter alone, showed no con- 
 cern. 
 
 " I wouldn't say things like that if I was you, 
 I-nez," she observed, without emotion. 
 
 Inez could not withhold a flash of admiration. Al- 
 most she nodded acquiescence.
 
 360 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " I'd have you know that John Hemingway's fam- 
 ily is the oldest in Kishwaukee County ! " now bel- 
 lowed Walter, with less relevance than vigour. 
 
 " Is it so ? " cried Inez, pretending to be overcome. 
 " And the poor familee of me, being only of direct 
 descent from Bourbon royalty Ah, the mesal- 
 liance," she sighed. 
 
 " And your German husband ! I guess he was 
 descended from royalty, too," sneered Kate McMas- 
 ter. 
 
 " Alas ! " said Inez, plaintively. " My 'usband 
 was noble but only in his name. The morals of him, 
 they were much like those I 'ave observed in Del- 
 phi. Therefore I left him." 
 
 Now Cora Whitman spoke. " We know all about 
 that part of your life. We've been told as a fact, 
 so it's useless for you to attempt to deny it, that 
 you simply put on your hat and walked out of your 
 husband's house." 
 
 " Would it 'ave pleased you better if I had not 
 worn a hat? " suggested Inez, innocently, as she 
 turned her monocle on Cora. While the assailant 
 fumed and fidgeted, striving in vain to find an ade- 
 quate retort, Inez asked pleasantly, " You would not 
 'ave left him, no ? " 
 
 The insult was so poignant, so subtle, that Cora 
 went white. Her ashen lips stammered inarticulate 
 nothings, and finally she turned despairing eyes to 
 Mrs. Abbey. The appeal stung that small person 
 to a renewed attack.
 
 AT BAY 361 
 
 " Leave my house, woman," she commanded, step- 
 ping directly in front of Inez. 
 
 " Mother ! " cried Charlie, at that. 
 
 " Don't you dare speak to me ! " now cried his 
 mother, her face distorted with rage. " How you 
 have dared to bring a person like this into my house ! 
 All of your life you have been a disappointment. 
 This is the last straw. I have done with you ! " 
 
 " And still the Madonnas smile," murmured Inez, 
 looking round upon the pictured walls. 
 
 " Inez," the boy cried, brokenly, " can even your 
 generosity and friendship pardon me this ? " 
 
 Inez turned to flash him a reassuring smile. 
 " Now, Sharlee," she said, caressingly, " do not you 
 worry about me. As you used to say in Paris, I 
 am ' 'aving de time of my yong life ' ! I do not fear 
 dese shadows. Already I hold dem, so." One 
 slim, ungloved hand was outstretched, palm upward. 
 She clenched the fingers, then opened them disdain- 
 fully, as if releasing winged vermin. 
 
 " Well, here's one you don't hold like that, my 
 lady ! " shouted May Armstrong. " I'm going." 
 
 She made a rush for the door. Most of the 
 women rushed with her; then, as suddenly, all 
 stopped. The brief stampede had the absurdity of 
 fowls in a barnyard. Inez made not the slightest 
 effort to restrain them. 
 
 " Yes, we had better go," chattered Mrs. Abbey, 
 between her teeth. " This is no place for ladies. 
 We will go at once to Mrs. Hemingway."
 
 362 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 Again they started, and again stood still. 
 
 61 You weel not go, not one step weel you go to 
 the mother of my Jean," came the low, tense voice 
 of Inez. 
 
 "Oh, won't we!" ejaculated Walter, essaying a 
 defiant laugh, "who's goin' to stop us?" 
 
 " Not one leetle step weel you go," repeated Inez, 
 inflexibly, " until you 'ave heard, from me, de pen- 
 alty." 
 
 v " Penalty! You threaten us? " shrilled Mrs. Ab- 
 bey. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Todd, looking very nervous, 
 leaned down to her, whispering. She answered 
 quickly in the same tone, at which the reverend gen- 
 tleman stepped forth. He got no further than an 
 impressive clearing of his throat, when Inez' fine 
 smile checked him. 
 
 " Ah, small, fat one," she commented, cheerfully, 
 " so now de Church is to intervene ! " 
 
 " Madam ! " he vociferated, indignantly, " this ex- 
 cellent lady, my hostess, gives you this last oppor- 
 tunity for a dignified retirement. Will you or will 
 you not, remove from this house, the contamination 
 of your presence? " 
 
 Inez bowed gravely. " You may say to that ex- 
 cellent lady," she returned, " that de contamination 
 of my presence will be remove when I 'ave said what 
 I came to say, and not before. Also," she added, 
 as her interlocutor seemed to be threatened with 
 apoplexy, " you may say to that excellent lady that,
 
 AT BAY 363 
 
 at the moment, this 'ouse cannot be regarded as a 
 private 'ome. It is a Council of Witches, direct 
 from her Salem of two 'undred years ago." 
 
 May Armstrong flung round to the white and star- 
 ing faces. Her low cry was a snarl. " What is the 
 matter with you, idiots! that you stand here 
 listening. Why don't you turn your backs, and 
 get out?" 
 
 " Exactlee what is de matter wid you, Mrs. Arm- 
 strong," replied Inez, her voice clear, sharp and cold, 
 like hail. " De consciousness of 'ipocrisy and guilt." 
 
 " Walter ! " May cried, hysterically, now quite 
 beside herself. " Did you hear that? Are you 
 goin' to stand for it ? " 
 
 " Scarcely could de man defend his mistress before 
 his wife," observed Madame de Pierrefond. Even 
 Charlie gasped. 
 
 " The woman is mad! " now broke out Mrs. Abbey. 
 " This accounts for everything. As for her threats, 
 what can so depraved and unfortunate a creature 
 do to a sober, decent, God-fearing community like 
 ours ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! " cried Inez, quickly, " if, indeed, you 
 were decent and God-fearing. But since you are one 
 mass of festering, and hardly hidden rottenness " 
 She came to a deliberate pause, knowing, at last, she 
 had her audience secure. 
 
 " You'll get nothing by tryin' to blackmail! " 
 raged Walter, striking out blindly against her tone. 
 
 Apparently she did not hear him. " I am a writer^
 
 364 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 as you know," she stated, clearly. " It is because 
 of my book, which the Reverend Mr. Todd still holds 
 so tenderly," here came the loud detonation of a 
 book hurled to the floor " that you 'ave planned 
 this cowardly attack. Whatever you may think in 
 your cramped and narrow minds of my opinions, the 
 more intelligent among you will not deny that they 
 are vigorously set forth." 
 
 There came another pause, one so packed-down 
 and tense with silence that the wheels of a vehicle far 
 down the street seemed to pass across shivering nerves. 
 
 " Only this morning," the speaker went on, " I 
 'ave received from a great newspaper syndicate, the 
 request that I write up Western types." 
 
 " I told you blackmail was her game," panted Wal- 
 ter, excitedly. 
 
 She flung him a contemptuous smile. 
 
 " I 'ave not yet consented, but should I do so, 
 the articles are to appear simultaneously in London, 
 Paris, New York, Chicago, and many smaller towns. 
 It may even be," she shrugged, with her first hint 
 of malice, " that the Delphi Oracle weel subscribe." 
 
 " This is intolerable! " faltered Mrs. Abbey and 
 sank down, half fainting, into a chair. " Can no 
 one stop her ? Charles ! " 
 
 " I'm sorry, Mother," replied the boy, gravely. 
 *' But you've brought it on yourselves." 
 
 " Fortunately we have a law protecting us from 
 blackmailers, and Free Love as well," put in Mr. 
 Todd, in a sepulchral voice.
 
 AT BAY 365 
 
 " I care little for the names of things," retorted 
 Inez. " It is always de realities I seek. An' I say 
 to you, all of you, that if one member of this con- 
 spiracy," her eyes, suddenly taking fire, swept 
 round them like a searchlight " if even one that 
 Meeses Abbey whose soul is a shrivelled lemon, and 
 whose maternal milk long since has soured to gall, 
 or that low bully, Walter 'Emingway, a beast of 
 sensuality, unfaithful alike to 'is wife and to his 
 paramours, or sharp-tongued Mrs. McMaster, 
 Leader in Woman's Cause, wid her po' 'en-peck 'us- 
 band de laughing stock of town, or dat pale, blink- 
 ing, old-yong thing dat I recognise as Cora Whitman, 
 or de fat parson, or long, thin Elder Droppings, 
 if any or one of you " she had scorched each in 
 turn " dare cross de doorsill of de one sweet, gen- 
 tle, hones' soul among you to do her hurt, den 
 weel I write such letters to dat syndicate, sparing 
 no names, yielding no mercy, dat Delphi an' its 
 self-righteous 'ipocrites weel go down in literature as 
 de type of provincial village hid from God's sun- 
 light by the fumes of its own depravity. And now," 
 she concluded, with the hauteur of a young Empress 
 dismissing a band of unruly servants, " it is what I 
 came to say." 
 
 She threw her head back proudly, caught the 
 diaphanous grey draperies more closely about her 
 throat and, with a gesture to Charlie asking him not 
 to follow, walked, in dead silence, to the door, and 
 out of it.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 SACKCLOTH WITH A SILVER LINING 
 
 ONCE in the open street, beyond the range of curi- 
 ous, hostile eyes that might be following, the proud 
 head, with its chic grey cap and jaunty feather, 
 suddenly went down. The overwrought nerves, held 
 for so long in mastery, claimed their reaction. 
 
 Sobs fought in the long, white throat, and her 
 eyes stung with tears that must not yet be shed. 
 There was one more fortress to be taken. 
 
 No time had been given her to plan this final at- 
 tack. At least there would be no further need of 
 scorn and invective, weapons which seared her even 
 while they brought ignominious victory. To fight 
 the devil with fire would have been clean compared 
 with it. But these canaille of a Western village 
 here her flexible lips curled with bitterness had 
 forced her to stoop for mud and offal. She threw 
 both hands out to the air, as if hoping to fling off 
 clinging soil. She felt herself debased contami- 
 nated. The sense of superiority, inherent though it 
 was, counted for little in this hour of deep humilia- 
 tion. One knows oneself superior to a scorpion or 
 a skunk, and yet the power of those unclean beasts 
 to lacerate and to envenom is none the less secure. 
 
 Suddenly she laughed. It was not a pleasant 
 366
 
 A SILVER LINING 367 
 
 laugh, either to see or to hear. How yellow they 
 all had looked ! How white the staring eyes ! And 
 Charlie Abbey had actually thought it possible that 
 she would bend the knee to such as these ! Her anger 
 blazed anew. She felt the flesh upon her cheek- 
 bones tighten, and tingle sharply, as if assailed by 
 tiny electric sparks. Not even to old Mrs. Hem- 
 ingway would she cringe. The facts should be 
 stated plainly, that was all. What effect the dis- 
 closures would produce, why, that was no affair of 
 Inez de Pierrefond. 
 
 In her engrossing indignation even her love for 
 John seemed to have disappeared. He and his com- 
 monplace old mother were alike, part and parcel of 
 Delphi, and, in her present mood, this spirited young 
 woman had, for sole desire, the intention to put as 
 much of the world as possible between herself and 
 Delphi, and that, at once. She was already plan- 
 ning to take the next train to New York, when the 
 old Hemingway homestead came into view. She 
 paused for a scornful scrutiny. A Mansard roof 
 in warped wood that needs painting, is a sight to 
 make aesthetic angels weep. She refused to see the 
 softening touch of rose-vines on the porch, or the 
 geraniums staring brightly from the living-room 
 window. All she wished now was to have this last 
 battle ended. 
 
 She swept up the cracked, cemented walk, a grey 
 wraith of determination. First she looked into the 
 living-room. The old faded rocker was empty, and
 
 368 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 a shaft of afternoon sun fell across the crocheted 
 " tidy " on the back, and lost itself in an open work- 
 basket, heaped with John's socks. A China egg 
 rounded the heel of one of them, and on the upper 
 surface was stuck a large darning-needle, with a trail 
 of silken floss. She moved across the floor in the 
 direction of the kitchen. A patter of light footsteps 
 coming nearer, made her pause. John's mother, her 
 spectacles pushed upward, and a black silk sewing 
 apron shielding her grey skirt, swung back the pan- 
 try door. At sight of Inez she started. " Mercy ! 
 What a fright you gave me, Inez ! I didn't know you 
 had come back," she laughed. 
 
 " I 'ave onlee just now come back. Are you very 
 busy, Mrs. Hemingway? I wish to talk wid you." 
 
 " Why, no. I'm not busy at all, if you don't 
 mind my going on with these socks," answered the 
 old lady, in a pleased voice. " And even if I was 
 busy," she added, with the little shy, humorous 
 twinkle Inez had begun to know so well, " I'd stop 
 anything to talk about John. Of course it's about 
 John." 
 
 " Not onlee my Jean, but myself, this time," 
 said Inez. 
 
 " That's even better! " Mrs. Hemingway ex- 
 claimed, leading the way across the room. " Do you 
 know, Inez, I've been hoping that you would want 
 to talk a little more about yourself, like real 
 mother and daughter. I I don't like to seem 
 curious, or have you think I wanted to question
 
 A SILVER LINING 369 
 
 you," she went on with a hint of nervousness, as she 
 prepared to take her accustomed seat. " It's only 
 affection. Apart from John, my dear, I have 
 come to love you very dearly." 
 
 " You are most kind " began Inez, in a con- 
 strained manner, when the old lady, having heard 
 something in her apron-pocket rustle, sprang quickly 
 to her feet. 
 
 " How could I have forgotten," she cried, in self- 
 reproach. " Here's a telegram that came not five 
 minutes ago from John." She held the yellow slip 
 out, in fingers that trembled with eagerness. 
 
 Inez, taking it, read at a single glance. " Will 
 be home to supper. Everything went splendidly. 
 Dear love to my sweetheart. John." 
 
 " That's the reason I was in the kitchen," ex- 
 plained the old lady. " I wanted to help Molly with 
 one of those Marlborough puddings John likes so 
 much. Molly doesn't always get it exactly right." 
 She seated herself contentedly, stooping sidewise for 
 her darning. 
 
 " Socks puddings servants ! Such things 
 hang the horizon of this woman," thought Inez to 
 herself. " She will surely be as narrow as the rest." 
 
 " Oh, I should have placed a comfortable chair 
 for you ! " now cried the elder lady, looking up in 
 some surprise at Inez' continued silence. 
 
 " No no ! " protested the other. " I weel fetch 
 one for myself." With a single impatient gesture 
 she reached out and, twirling a straight-backed chair
 
 370 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 from its place against the wall, sat down, facing the 
 rocker. 
 
 " I'm sure that's not comfortable," deprecated 
 Mrs. Hemingway. 
 
 " It does not matter. I can speak as well from 
 this," declared Inez with a hint of irritation. 
 
 The old lady, realising at last the presence of 
 something surcharged and unusual, looked through 
 her spectacles into the lovely, storm-tossed face. 
 
 " How bright your eyes are, Inez ! And your 
 cheeks are as pink, as pink " But metaphor 
 failed her, and she ended with the impulsive ex- 
 clamation, " I just wish John could see you! " She 
 gazed for a moment longer, her sweet old face beam- 
 ing with naive delight, then bent down to her darn- 
 ing. 
 
 " I have often thought, during this past week," 
 she continued placidly, as Inez seemed in no haste 
 to begin, " what a wonderful gift beauty is. Just 
 by being yourself, to be able to give pleasure to 
 every one around you! Now I was never what 
 you'd call real pretty, not even when I was young. 
 My! how I used to long to be pretty. I even used 
 to say my prayers for it." She paused, shaking 
 her grey head and sighing to recall such youthful 
 vanity, but her smile was deeper than her sigh. 
 " Of course," she added, a little shyly, " John's 
 father thought I was sweet-looking." Here a tinge 
 of pink crept into the faded cheek. " But that's 
 different. I never realised, till you came here, that
 
 A SILVER LINING 371 
 
 a woman's face could be like a beautiful spring morn- 
 ing, or a vase of roses that do not fade." 
 
 " You are beautiful now, you mother of my 
 Jean," cried Inez. " It is the gentle spirit shining 
 through that makes, and will keep you so." 
 
 " Now now, my dear," fluttered the elder 
 woman, in pleased embarrassment. " I wasn't fish- 
 ing for compliments. I am an old, old lady. But 
 if you and John still think me sweet-looking 
 Why, where is Charlie Abbey," she exclaimed, thank- 
 ful to turn the conversation from herself. " Didn't 
 he come back with you ? " She looked hurriedly 
 about the room as if suspecting Inez of having con- 
 cealed him. 
 
 Inez recalled the unlovely present with a start. 
 " He did not return with me," she answered, her 
 face growing dark. " I did not wish him to come 
 back. What I have to say is for you alone." The 
 vibrant excitement in her voice was unmistakable. 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway slowly drew out her needle, 
 trailing a long back thread. 
 
 " I have just come, as pairhaps you already 
 realise, from the 'ome of Meeses Abbee. Sharlee 
 accompanied me." 
 
 The listener gave a slight start, but, wisely, she 
 said nothing. 
 
 " You weel pairhaps wonder at my going to dat 
 'ouse, yes ? " dashed on Inez, her English blur- 
 ring, as usual, in the vehemence of her speech. " It 
 was undeegnified gauche that anything should
 
 372 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 take me to dat 'ouse when she " The impetuous 
 words halted. It was difficult to find a phrase in 
 which to state the personal affront. 
 
 " You may be sure that I shall not wonder or 
 criticise anything that you do, Inez," was the gentle 
 re j oinder. " You are my guest, and the woman 
 who is to be my dear son's wife." 
 
 " They 'ave been to me unkind, ungenerous, 
 detestable! these people of your leetle town ! " cried 
 Inez, feeling a strange relief in thus voicing her 
 pent-up indignation. " Forgive me dat I must say 
 such t'ings, but I 'ave cause." 
 
 " I know it well, my dear," said the old lady, 
 sadly. 
 
 " Of course I am different from dem ! My whole 
 life 'as been different. I do not 'ave their thoughts ! 
 Mon Dieu! I do not wish such thoughts, so nar- 
 row, so mean, so 'ippocritical ! Eeef they not like 
 me, well, there is no 'arm in dat ! " commented 
 Inez, with a shrug and gesture straight from Paris. 
 " But dat deed not satisfy such peoples, no ! They 
 mus' whisper and spy. They mus' band demselves 
 together against me for de making of great troubles. 
 They 'eld meetings, always in de libraree of dat 
 shrivel-hearted Meeses Abbee, wid her collection 
 of virgins on de walls ! " 
 
 At the tone of scorn, Mrs. Hemingway laughed 
 softly. 
 
 " De beegest meeting was dis day, when dey 
 had 'card my Jean was lef ' me. De cowards all
 
 A SILVER LINING 373 
 
 of dem! But Sharlee is our frien'. Sharlee has 
 told me. And when he say to-day of dis beeg meet- 
 ing, I answer Sharlee, ' Sharlee, eef you 'ave de 
 courage to accompany, I weel go now, and face 
 dem all ! ' " 
 
 The darning egg fell with a thud. Mrs. Heming- 
 way could not restrain a single, frightened breath, 
 then, all at once, her face quivered into a thousand 
 tiny wrinkles of admiration. 
 
 " You did? You splendid girl! " 
 
 " It was not so much to defend myself," Inez went 
 on more quietly, her eyes softening under this some- 
 what unexpected sympathy. " It was not, eeder, 
 for the sake of my Jean. We are both yong, we 
 could well defy them. But when I heard that their 
 plan was to come to you, to my Jean's mother, 
 here in her very 'ome, bringing deir scandals to turn 
 your heart and mind against me Den " an 
 eloquent silence finished the sentence. 
 
 The old lady deliberately drew out another thread. 
 " If they had come*," she remarked, " I think they 
 would have had their pains for nothing." 
 
 Inez stared. "But, why? 'Ow? You couldn't 
 have kept them out." 
 
 " Perhaps not, but I could have refused to lis- 
 ten." 
 
 " They would not let you refuse ! " asseverated 
 Inez, her excitement flaring up. " You do not know 
 dose peoples. Dey are like Weetch Burners. Dey 
 would 'ave forced demselves upon you. It is not
 
 374 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 only women, no! De fat leetle minister is wid dem, 
 and the long Elder Droppings, and, worse of dem 
 all, de wide, red faced bullee, Walter 'Eming- 
 way." 
 
 " I should have found a way to stop them," re- 
 iterated the other, with a confident nod. 
 
 Inez gazed at her in amazement. Was this in- 
 deed the neutral-tinted housewife she had known? 
 In the silence, the old lady gave two sharp taps with 
 her thimble on the. shrouded egg. 
 
 Inez jumped. 
 
 " I have kept friends with all the folks here in 
 Delphi," the placid voice pursued. " It was best 
 for John that we should have good friends. But 
 I have not been blind." 
 
 After a long pause in which Inez remained, ap- 
 parently, incapable of speech, the other said, " Yes, 
 they have been good friends and neighbours; yet by 
 this time I should think they would realise that I 
 have never let anybody else's opinion weigh with me 
 when it came to what I felt was best for John. You 
 never heard such an outcry as there was when I de- 
 cided to send him to a Chicago school instead of 
 the high school here at Delphi." She smiled rem- 
 iniscently. " And when we sold the old farm so he 
 could study architecture in Paris! " Here the 
 speaker laughed outright, flinging up both hands by 
 way of emphasis. From the right one dangled the 
 almost-mended sock. 
 
 " But tell me," she now urged, changing her key
 
 A SILVER LINING 375 
 
 to one of present interest. " What sort of things 
 did you say to Mrs. Abbey? I'm really curious to 
 hear." 
 
 " What didn't I say? " cried Inez, her face glow- 
 ing with reflected smiles. Then again she remem- 
 bered what was to come. The brightness vanished 
 like a suddenly extinguished flame. The sombre, 
 hunted look crept back. 
 
 " There, there," said the old lady quickly. " It 
 does not matter. I should never have asked. Of 
 course you don't want to recall so soon what must 
 have been a trying ordeal." 
 
 " I do not care for that," was the slow response. 
 " It is too recent for forgetting and, besides, what 
 I went there to do, I did. I silenced them; but the 
 victoree was one of which I am not proud." 
 
 She hesitated, and after a moment rose, and began 
 to move restlessly about the room. 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway was putting the last stitch in 
 a sock. She held it up, turning it this way 
 and that, to see if the interlacing threads were 
 smooth. 
 
 " What I said to dem was necessary," Inez went 
 on gloomily. " And what I now mus' say to you 
 is necessary, but I shrink, because my words will 
 'urt you." 
 
 " Can you be sure then, that it is necessary? " 
 questioned the old lady artlessly, as she folded the 
 sock, and laid it on the top of a neat pile of its 
 fellows.
 
 376 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 " I am quite sure. Please, you will listen. Two 
 years ago, in Paris, I wrote a book." 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 " You have never seen my book, or heard of 
 it?" 
 
 " Why, no ! " The gentle, brown eyes looked up 
 in astonishment. " I wonder why John " 
 
 " You will soon know dat," Inez broke in, with 
 a bitter laugh. " He did not wish hees good mother 
 to hear of it. Ah, now I see, too clearly, dat even 
 in dat time, my Jean was faint-hearted in upholding 
 me. But now " she flung round suddenly, her 
 whole manner instinct with defiance. " Now you 
 are to hear That book was written to state my 
 disbelief in marriage, dat wicked screen of cruelty 
 and vice which modern societee is so anxious to pre- 
 serve." 
 
 Standing straight and tall beside the seated 
 figure, she now threw down a quick glance. Mrs. 
 Hemingway, her hands folded in her lap, remained 
 as motionless as Whistler's mother in her painted 
 chair. 
 
 " It shocks you, yes ? as it weel shock all good, 
 conventional women who have never known the touch 
 of the branding iron. But / have known ! There- 
 fore I take my stand and say to all that I believe a 
 bondage which can be used in such a way, is, of it- 
 self, evil." 
 
 " Poor child. Poor unhappy child," the old lady 
 whispered, her eyes filling with the slow tears of
 
 A SILVER LINING 377 
 
 age. " How you must have suffered to make you 
 feel like this." 
 
 " Yes, I 'ave suffered, but it is now all past," 
 declared Inez, with a vibration of resentment in her 
 voice. Something untamed within her flinched at 
 the obvious compassion. " An' because I have suf- 
 fered, I came to believe it my duty to all other 
 women, that I should try to keep them from stum- 
 bling into the same pit of fire." 
 
 " Then it is this book of yours that Mrs. Abbey 
 and the others ?" the old lady began, in 
 tremulous questioning; but her voice broke, and she 
 could not finish. 
 
 " Mais oui," shrugged Inez, lightly. " What 
 else? Not only 'ave they read, they 'ave glutted 
 in it, seeing obscenity, where there was none at all, 
 smacking their lips over situations created by 
 deir own prurient minds. All of such passages are 
 marked ; and it is this weapon against me which they 
 weel bring to you." 
 
 " Of Of course John knows of your 
 book " The mother ventured, but the tone was 
 so uncertain, so utterly unlike her usual placid 
 speech, that Inez could not be sure whether the words 
 were meant as a query, or the despairing statement 
 of a fact. In either case she had something to re- 
 tort. 
 
 " My Jean? " she echoed. " Does he know? He 
 'elped me to write it ! " 
 
 Her head was still high, and under disdainfully
 
 378 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 lowered lids she watched the poisoned arrows strike. 
 It was as if demons possessed her. She felt no pity, 
 no remorse. The strong shudder, as of fear, that 
 now made the woman before her grasp tightly the 
 two arms of her chair, evoked only a thrill of malig- 
 nant triumph. 
 
 " From de first," the clear, relentless voice went 
 on, " your son was made aware of my attitude 
 toward conventional marriage. Wen first I saw 
 that he was beginning to love me, I told him every- 
 thing." 
 
 " Surely surely" gasped the white lips of the 
 mother, " my boy " 
 
 " I onderstan'," interrupted the other with a 
 scornful little laugh. " Be comforted. At de first 
 your boy was entirelee 'orrified. He said to me 
 things dat would have pleased even Meeses Abbee. 
 But dat, it was at de first. In good time, 
 she emphasised, with deliberate cruelty, " an' dat 
 time was not so long de Delphi training fell 
 away from him, and my Jean believed as I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 Mrs. Hemingway covered her face, then, throw- 
 ing out both hands she cried, with broken vehe- 
 mence, " I cannot be mistaken. You love my son." 
 
 " Certalnment do I love your son," answered Inez, 
 lifting her delicate brows, " but I 'ave said to him 
 that I do not care to be branded, even with his name, 
 or to be bound to him wid legal handcuffs dat we 
 do not need."
 
 A SILVER LINING 379 
 
 " Let me try to understand you more clearly," 
 said the old lady, sitting erect with a piteous effort 
 after self-control. " This, then, is the reason you 
 have not married earlier? You and John intend 
 to live together without, without' ? Is that 
 it?" 
 
 " Exactlee." 
 
 " And before you took the step, before you 
 would make it public, you came here to his home, 
 meeting his people, winning the heart of his 
 mother? " 
 
 "We thought it best, Mrs. 'Emingway, and also 
 kinder. I am sorry if you feel it was wrong. No 
 insult to you was intended." 
 
 " Oh, my dear" expostulated the other, eagerly. 
 " Don't mistake me ! I am only too thankful that 
 you came. It will make things easier for John, 
 afterward. I wasn't thinking of myself, at all." 
 
 " You never are, and it is for that reason you 
 are defeating me, inch by inch," was on Inez' 
 tongue to exclaim, but she bit the words back, and 
 in the place of them asked with forced indifference, 
 " Am I to onderstan* then, that, in spite of this 
 dreadful thing he intends doing, you weel not cast 
 off your son? " 
 
 The swift, upward look was full of wonder. " If 
 you had ever borne a child, my dear, you would not 
 have asked that question." 
 
 " Then for me! " Inez challenged, harshly. " For 
 de Strange Woman who has brought dis shame to
 
 380 THE STRANGE WOMAN 
 
 you an' yours, always you weel hate me, yes?" 
 
 " Not while you love my boy." 
 
 Suddenly one of the white-gloved hands went up 
 to a swelling throat. Inez pressed hard. " I will 
 not yield, not yet, not quite yet," she was telling 
 her good angel, fiercely. " Let me prove a little 
 further, this wonderful mother-love which, without 
 knowing it, has shattered the citadel of my pride." 
 
 In the sharp, silent struggle, the old lady, hope- 
 less, and without warning of the glory soon to shine, 
 began to fumble blindly for a pocket handkerchief. 
 There was none in either pocket of her apron, and 
 none in the basket so hastily tumbled. Finally she 
 took up one of John's socks and held it first against 
 one streaming eye, and then the other. Inez glanc- 
 ing down, caught sight of her. The last reserve 
 gave way. 
 
 " Mother ! " she cried, in a voice that was like the 
 bursting of a star. " Those are the things I held 
 to before I came. You have taught me a higher 
 law than that of personal development." In her ve- 
 hemence she knelt, facing the small grey figure. Her 
 cloak, in the swift motion, rippled to the floor. 
 
 "I / taught you," the old lady stammered. 
 "Why, Inez, why, my dear, I shouldn't have 
 dared to say a word to a woman so smart, so bril- 
 liant as you are " 
 
 " You didn't 'ave to say cle word," cried Inez, 
 laughing a little hysterically, as she flung her arms 
 out, drawing the little figure close. " You 'ad only
 
 A SILVER LINING 381 
 
 to "be, and lo ! the Strange Woman lies dead at 
 your patient feet, and in her place is " 
 
 "My daughter, my son's wife, Inez Hem- 
 ingway," whispered the older lips. 
 
 For an instant they clung together, then the old 
 lady, with an air of motherly solicitude, stooped 
 past the bowed shoulders and gathered the grey wrap 
 from the floor. 
 
 "Don't cry so, my darling," she pleaded. 
 " Everything has come right. Why, how you are 
 shivering! Let me ptut your pretty wrap about 
 your neck. And what lovely stuff it is," she paused 
 to say, drawing the exquisite fabric through hands 
 that trembled now with happiness. " Such pretty 
 stuff. "What wit?" 
 
 " Sack-clot'," sobbed Inez, brokenly. 
 
 "Sack-cloth?" repeated the other. "What 
 funny names they do get up for new materials ! " 
 Then, all at once she understood, and, without 
 speech, leaned down, pressing the white rose of her 
 face against her daughter's tear-wet cheek.
 
 A 000 131 833 6