I! 
 
 THE TOP OF 
 THE MORNING 
 
 ty of California 
 ern Regional 
 ary Facility 
 
 ET WILBOR TOMPK1NS
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING
 
 DONNA
 
 THE TOP OF 
 THE MORNING 
 
 BY 
 
 JULIET WILBOR TOMPKINS 
 
 Author of 
 "Dr. Ellen" and "Open House" 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 
 
 1910
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY 
 THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 
 
 Published, January, 1910 
 
 THE PREMIER PRESS 
 NEW YORK
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I Charlotte's Little Boy .... 9 
 
 II One Of Us 23 
 
 III Donna's Last Week .... 43 
 
 IV Lorrimer Becomes A Fad . . 83 
 
 V "Mr. Gosbek's Career". ... 105 
 
 VI A Writer Of Plays 127 
 
 VII The Morning and The Evening, 149 
 
 VIII Paul and Viola 169 
 
 IX An Outsider 193 
 
 X Cameron's Affair 217 
 
 XI The Proving Of Us .... 233 
 
 XII The Little Thing 255 
 
 XIII The Glamour 291 
 
 XIV Paul's Wife 327 
 
 2227789
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING
 
 The Top of the Morning 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CHARLOTTE'S LITTLE BOY. 
 
 . McLEAN moved about the flat with 
 the suppressed smile of one who had 
 the best secret in the world in her possession. 
 Good happenings usually set her humming, 
 but to-night's mood was evidently too big for 
 anything but an exultant silence. She even 
 handled the dishes quietly as she placed them 
 on the blue and white table cover that was as 
 regular a feature of Sunday night supper as 
 the salad or the toasted muffins. Whenever 
 she passed a faded photograph of a little boy 
 in knickerbockers, she stopped and studied it, 
 and once she drew her hand caressingly down 
 it, brushing off with serene indifference the 
 little ridge of dust it left on the edge of her 
 palm. When the electric bell in the kitchen 
 rang, she pressed the button that opened the 
 front door, three flights below 1 then threw 
 
 9
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 open her own front door and stood waiting, 
 suppressing her air of good news by a firm re- 
 arrangement of her lips, blinking the dreams 
 out of her eyes, shrugging head and shoulders 
 into their everyday angle. 
 
 "All five together," she commented as the 
 figures emerged from the lower dimness. 
 "How did that happen?" 
 
 "Lorrimer and I got into an argument on 
 the doorstep and forgot to ring the bell," ex- 
 plained the girl who was leading, lifting a 
 vivid, joyous face framed in windblown hair. 
 "When Paul and Lanse came, they naturally 
 joined in. We might have been there yet if 
 Evelyn had not dashed up in her grand motor. 
 That depressed us, someway." 
 
 "What was the argument?" 
 
 "The advantages of poverty," with a laugh. 
 "I don't care, they are real," she added, throw- 
 ing back her rain coat. "Paul agrees with 
 
 me." 
 
 "If Donna spoke from any real experience 
 of wealth," began Lorrimer. Mrs. McLean, 
 returning to the dining-room, heard the argu- 
 ment rising again, and, ten minutes later, 
 found them still filling the little hall, Donna, 
 on the one chai^ still in the act of taking off 
 
 10
 
 CHARLOTTE'S LITTLE BOY 
 
 her overshoes, the three men vigorously inter- 
 rupting each other, Evelyn, still in her furs, 
 looking on in amused silence. 
 
 "Children, come!" she commanded. "I 
 want Donna to toast the muffins," she added 
 as they obeyed, lighting a small gas stove that 
 stood on a table in the corner. The toasting 
 had originally been done in the kitchen, but so 
 many muffins had been ruined through the 
 toast maker's fear of missing something that 
 she had been forced to set up a special Sunday 
 night apparatus in the midst of things. 
 
 "Four apiece," announced Donna, begin- 
 ning to cut her muffins in half somewhat 
 clumsily and at reckless slants. Lorrimer, 
 after watching her unhappily for a moment, 
 sprang up in exasperation. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, Donna, let me cut 
 those. You are butchering them!" he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "Well, you know I'm stupid with my 
 hands," she returned, giving him the knife. 
 "We can't all be T. Lorrimer Ffloyds! Char- 
 lotte, why don't you make Paul butter them? 
 He never shares in the menial tasks." 
 
 Mrs. McLean looked up consideringly 
 from her salad making. 
 
 Hi
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Ought I, Paul?" she asked of the man be- 
 side her. 
 
 "Oh, let T. Lorrimer Ffloyd do it; he likes 
 notoriety," was the answer. "Did you know 
 that he cuts out everything he sees printed 
 about himself and saves it? He has a cigar 
 box full of remarks about the eminent carica- 
 turist, Lorrimer Ffloyd. He isn't even 
 ashamed of it." 
 
 Ffloyd, who was slicing muffins with ex- 
 quisite precision, smiled behind his glasses. 
 
 "Yes; and if I ever see anything about you 
 in print, Paul, I'll cut that out, too," he said. 
 They all laughed, though Donna came at once 
 to the defense. 
 
 "It will take more than a cigar box to hold 
 the clippings about Paul, once he gets discov- 
 ered," she declared hotly. 
 
 Mrs. McLean interposed. "You will all be 
 famous in time, so don't scrap about it. Where 
 are the other two?" 
 
 "They're in the next room, fighting over the 
 third act," answered Paul. "Lanse wants to 
 hide the leading lady behind a screen, and 
 Evelyn is afraid it has been done before." 
 
 Mrs. McLean summoned the reluctant 
 playwrights and began serving things with ab- 
 
 12
 
 sent minded profuseness. Her laughter was 
 very near the surface to-night, and shone in 
 her eyes, even when she was evidently not 
 listening. 
 
 "Charlotte, what is it?" Paul finally asked. 
 "Have you sold a poster or been asked for a 
 frontispiece? What has happened?" The 
 others looked at her in surprise. 
 
 "I knew Paul would discover it," she cried; 
 "I was waiting for him. Oh, children, it's 
 the best thing in the world!" Her eyes rested 
 on the photograph. "My boy my dear lit- 
 tle boy will be home next week." 
 
 "O Charlotte! How perfectly beautiful!" 
 There was an excited chorus, and those nearest 
 her took her hands and squeezed them. 
 
 "Just thinkj I haven't seen him for over 
 three years," she went on, tears in her eyes, 
 "His uncle has to give up his pupils and go 
 away for his health, so Cameron is to come 
 back to me perhaps for good. That dear 
 little man!" 
 
 For a while enthusiasm for her sake kept 
 them all jubilant; but gradually, one by one, 
 they grew unwontedly quiet. Ffloyd pushed 
 back his chair with a frown and began to 
 
 13
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 smoke. Donna got up and stared pensively 
 at the shabby old photograph. 
 
 "You will have to be awfully good now, 
 Charlotte," she said with a sigh. "You'll 
 have to be a parent day and night, instead of 
 just when you write letters. And Paul will 
 have to expurgate his stories." 
 
 "I know," said Charlotte; "we won't be so 
 free. But a son is worth more than that." 
 Paul smiled at her sympathetically. 
 
 "father," he assented. 
 
 "What is bothering me," began Ffloyd, "is, 
 can we make him one of Us?" They always 
 said Us with a capital when they were alone 
 together, these six. "Three years in an Eng- 
 lish family it's going to be pretty hard to 
 counteract that. Has he imagination, Char- 
 lotte?" A troubled look crossed her face. 
 
 "How do I know?" she said. "I only know 
 that he is my little boy, and he's coming 
 home." 
 
 "And that is quite enough," said Paul 
 quickly. "Let's give him a perfectly rousing 
 welcome." Charlotte's face cleared, and the 
 others brightened. 
 
 "We'll cast him for the leading juvenile," 
 said Lanse; " 'Little Cameron, son to Mrs.
 
 McLean, who unconsciously plays the part of 
 Cupid and brings ' ' 
 
 "Oh, be still!" commanded Donna. "Will 
 he have the little room, Charlotte? We might 
 fix it up for him. I'll tell you a dado of 
 caricature rabbits by Lorrimer Ffloyd!" 
 Ffloyd took out his cigar and looked interested. 
 
 "That is an idea," he said. "And you can 
 do some nonsense verses^ Donna, and we'll 
 work them in all round shall we, Charlotte?" 
 Mrs. McLean was radiant. 
 
 "It would be the dearest thing in the 
 world!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "When do you expect him?" asked Paul. 
 
 "A week from Wednesday it is a slow 
 boat." 
 
 "Let's go and see the room now," Donna 
 proposed, jumping up. Five minutes later 
 they were hard at work, sketching, measuring, 
 and planning, all talking at once. 
 
 "He'll enjoy it; but he will never get the 
 fun out of it that we're having now," Donna 
 said when they finally separated for the night. 
 
 All that week they worked, planning and 
 devising things for a boy's comfort and amuse- 
 ment, neglecting or dropping their own daily 
 work with generous readiness. It was their 
 
 15
 
 apology for their secret dismay. For all 
 their faith in the bond that made them 
 "Us," they were afraid. Little groups in 
 a great city tend to scatter; the world 
 is always tugging at their most valu- 
 able members, and a small thing may start a 
 loosening of the bond. With their freedom 
 of speech abridged, as it must be in a boy's 
 presence, the charm might break; and pres- 
 ently the Sunday suppers in Charlotte's little 
 flat would become memories, and the bright- 
 est height of their youth would be passed, the 
 splendid morning would have turned to dull 
 afternoon. Donna, foreseeing all this, fell 
 into days of depression which culminated in 
 a poem called "Afterwards" which she sold 
 for fifteen dollars, thereby greatly cheering 
 herself. Paul became doubly affectionate, al- 
 most anxiously appreciative of them all, as 
 though dimly realizing that he might be the 
 first to go, since it was on him that the world's 
 clutch fell most eagerly. (These five would 
 have put Paul highest had he never laid his 
 wonderful hands on clay or marble, and felt 
 contempt for a world that increased its de- 
 mand for him in simple, direct ratio to his 
 growing fame.) The two playwrights were, 
 
 16
 
 CHARLOTTE'S LITTLE BOY 
 
 as usual, impenetrably courteous, but Lorri- 
 mer Ffloyd smoked morosely and said sharp 
 things about youth and crudity, and even 
 Charlotte, at rare intervals between her ma- 
 ternal rejoicings, looked at them wistfully, as 
 though begging them to be as wholly glad as 
 she was. There was a faint hope though no 
 one but Lorrimer Ffloyd would have worded 
 it that a boy fresh from several years of an 
 English boarding school would find them and 
 their abstract topics a bore and take himself 
 out of the way, but knowledge of Charlotte 
 made that improbable: Charlotte's son would 
 never be out of the way when anything what- 
 ever was going on. Lorrimer drew a bitter 
 caricature of the six seated wearily about a 
 round-eyed baby with a nursing bottle, but 
 had the grace not to show it to Charlotte. The 
 others met it with sounds of protest andUoyalty 
 in their throats, but they laughed guiltily. 
 Ffloyd dropped the sketch into a portfolio of 
 old cartoons and first draughts, and very soon 
 forgot all about it. 
 
 There were several differences of opinion 
 before the boy's room was finished. Lanse 
 wanted muslin curtains on the little white iron 
 bed, and the picture of a white surpliced boy 
 
 '7
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 chorister with upturned face hung over it 
 "it would give him such pretty little ideas"; 
 but he was hooted down and a file of crouch- 
 ing, war-painted Indians hung in its place. 
 
 "He won't be any little angel boy if he's 
 the son of Charlotte," commented Ffloyd. 
 "He'll want blug." 
 
 By Saturday evening everything was prac- 
 tically done. Ffloyd's animals pranced along 
 the walls bearing streamers of foolish verse 
 such as any boy who was one of "Us" must 
 love. There was a cupboard for games, al- 
 ready fitted with a pot of mucilage, a stamp 
 album, and a lump of Paul's modeling clay. 
 The books on the shelf above were chiefly 
 what Ffloyd called hair curlers, though Lanse 
 insisted on adding a volume of Keats "just 
 to see if he has a soul yet." After a final in- 
 spection, they shut the door on their labors 
 and wandered vaguely about the little sitting 
 room, all rather silent. 
 
 "It is the last week we shall ever really be 
 just Us," Donna said, a little sadly. 
 
 "Come on, then," called Ffloyd with a des- 
 perate effort at gaiety, pushing tables and 
 chairs back from the center of the room. 
 "We'll finish up 'Alfaretta.' " 
 
 18
 
 CHARLOTTE'S LITTLE BOY 
 
 "Oh, yes," exclaimed Lanse, beginning to 
 brighten; this was his especial opportunity. 
 "Alf aretta, the Little Slave Girl," was an un- 
 written play which had already been drawn 
 through about nine acts on the spur of various 
 moments. It had begun in a serious attempt 
 to work out a dramatic situation, but had 
 gradually degenerated into burlesque melo- 
 drama. They were all clever at impromptu, 
 and as each actor was allowed to twist the plot 
 in any way he chose, without warning, the ac- 
 tion was frequently delayed until heroine or 
 villain could recover from overmastering 
 laughter. 
 
 It proved to be the "Storm Scene in the 
 Castle" tonight, and Evelyn was supplying 
 such realistic thunder and lightning on the 
 piano that no one heard a ring at the flat door, 
 and the sound of some one being admitted. 
 They were in the act of rescuing the Little 
 Slave Girl from a dungeon in the Haunted 
 Wing when a deep voice startled them into 
 an unintentional tableau, and a large, mascu- 
 line presence filled the doorway. The stran- 
 ger hesitated for a moment, evidently dazzled 
 by the light, then began to smile. 
 
 19
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "I beg pardon," he said, a but isn't one of 
 you my mother?" 
 
 There was a cry from Charlotte, a startled, 
 dismayed sound, and a look of bitter disap- 
 pointment flashed across her face. Then she 
 ran forward. 
 
 "Cameron!" she cried, and her son gathered 
 her up in his arms very much as she had 
 dreamed of gathering him up any night these 
 three years. 
 
 There was a brief pause; then Ffloyd's 
 voice broke the silence. 
 
 "So that's what you call a little boy, is it, 
 Charlotte?" he asked drily. 
 
 She drew away and looked up at her son 
 with bewildered eyes, in which a great won- 
 dering pride was dawning. 
 
 "I don't understand!" she exclaimed. 
 "Cameron was so little!" 
 
 "But, my dear mother, that was three 
 nearly four years ago; and I was over twelve 
 then. I have done an awful lot of growing," 
 he added. 
 
 "Twelve so you were," murmured Char- 
 lotte. "Some way, I never thought about age ; 
 you were such a baby! And all these years 
 
 20
 
 CHARLOTTE'S LITTLE BOY 
 
 I've been looking at people's little boys I 
 never noticed their big ones!" 
 
 Paul came forward and held out his hand. 
 
 "You don't know us, and your mother is 
 too excited to introduce us," he said, "but 
 we're awfully glad to see you just the same. 
 We didn't expect you till Wednesday." 
 
 "Why, I found I could come on a fast boat 
 almost as cheap, so I changed at the last mo- 
 ment," said the boy, adding, with a laugh, "I 
 wanted to surprise my mother." 
 
 "Well, you did," said Charlotte with a long 
 breath. "Now, don't you want to go to 
 your " 
 
 Ffloyd gave a sudden wail. 
 
 "His room," he cried, "his little boy room!" 
 He began to laugh hysterically. "The little 
 white bed and the rabbits, and the hooks low 
 down so that he can reach them !" There was 
 a sound of dismay from Donna, and then they 
 all began to laugh, weakly, helplessly. Cam- 
 eron stared at them, bewildered. 
 
 "What is it? What have I done?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Nothing, dear; you've just grown," 
 sobbed his mother. 
 
 "Oh, come and see it Charlotte's little 
 
 21
 
 son's room!" cried Ffloyd, lifting his glasses 
 to mop his eyes. "Come on I" They hurried 
 the boy down the hall to the little room. His 
 head nearly touched the gas fixtures and his 
 splendid young shoulders seemed to reach 
 from wall to wall. Ffloyd looked from him 
 to the little iron bed and the file of Indians, 
 and flung himself face down on the counter- 
 pane. 
 
 "Lanse's little choir boy," he wept. 
 
 Cameron stared about him, then his eyes 
 fell on the frisking procession of animals that 
 crossed the wall. With a whoop of spon- 
 taneous delight, he fell on his knees to study 
 them. 
 
 "Oh, I say! Ripping!" he shouted. "Oh, 
 look at that rabbit oh, I say!" 
 
 They watched him breathlessly as he 
 studied out one of the verses, quite uncon- 
 scious that he was on trial. A splendid laugh, 
 deep but with a boyish crack in it, set them all 
 smiling at Charlotte. 
 
 "He's one of Us," they said. "Never mind 
 his inches he's one of Us."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ONE OF US. 
 
 "CEE here," began Cameron after a long 
 period of silence, looking about from 
 one to another; "you're all making money, 
 aren't you? You're all geniuses, and famous, 
 and that?" 
 
 Ffloyd, who was lying flat on his back across 
 the divan in Sunday night contentment, took 
 out his cigar and sent a puff of smoke up 
 towards the ceiling. 
 
 "I'll tell you about us," he said seriously. 
 "Paul doesn't make money yet " 
 
 "That's too true to be funny," objected Paul. 
 
 "But he is the real thing," Ffloyd went on. 
 "We all admit that we have genius, but other 
 people are beginning to admit that Paul has. 
 The G. P. hasn't discovered him yet, but he's 
 secretly acquiring fame. People call him a 
 sculptor as seriously as they would call a man 
 a doctor or a lawyer. While when they call 
 Donna a poet, they think they're getting off a 
 joke." 
 
 23
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Well, the joke isn't on me," said Donna 
 placidly; "it's on the magazines." 
 
 "Donna and I make money," Ffloyd con- 
 tinued. "I have a certain cheap notoriety 
 I'm in vogue, while she has enormous industry 
 and a blue hat with irises that she puts on 
 which she goes to call on editors. The two 
 together net her a fabulous income. She's 
 entirely natural and simple, while Lanse and 
 Evelyn are hot-house products, artifi- 
 cial- 
 
 "Oh, Lorrimer!" came in indignant pro- 
 test. 
 
 "I don't mean consciously so; they are gen- 
 uine of their kind," Ffloyd amended. "But 
 it's an elaborate, hypercivilized kind, a natural 
 artificiality. They are drawing-room orna- 
 ments. Lanse may do something clever and 
 ingenious, but he won't be great." 
 
 "He hasn't heard my third act yet," said 
 Lanse; "he doesn't know." 
 
 "And how about my mother?" asked Cam- 
 eron. 
 
 "Your mother," interposed Paul, "is an 
 artist, and a lady, and the heart and center of 
 Us." 
 
 "And she's a bully Alfaretta," added 
 
 24
 
 ONE OF US 
 
 Ffloyd. Charlotte rose seriously, and bowed 
 her thanks. 
 
 "Well, here's what I'm thinking," Cameron 
 said, "Why can't I make some money, too? 
 I've had loads of education solid chunks of 
 it; I don't see why I need any more." 
 
 "But there's no especial hurry, is there?" 
 asked Ffloyd. "You have only been here a 
 few weeks." 
 
 "I know; but when you have an expensive 
 
 young mother on your hands " Cameron 
 
 began loftily, then ducked his head behind a 
 defensive elbow and peered around it at Char- 
 lotte. 
 
 "Ungrateful cub," she commented. "What 
 can you do, anyway? Where does your talent 
 lie?" 
 
 "I might pose as a model," Cameron sug- 
 gested. "Don't you want to do a young Greek 
 god, Paul?" 
 
 " 'Goliath at sweet sixteen' would be more 
 appropriate," Donna observed, while they all 
 laughed at the great overgrown figure drawn 
 up Apollo fashion. 
 
 "I could use those big shoulders of yours," 
 Paul said, studying him critically. "They've 
 got the look of youngness and strength that I 
 
 25
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 want for one of my iron workers. Bring them 
 down, if you like." 
 
 "What'll you give me?" the boy asked. 
 
 "Cameron!" protested his mother. "I am 
 ashamed of you. It is quite enough if Paul 
 wants you to do it; you ought to feel very 
 much honored." Cameron was entirely un- 
 abashed. 
 
 "Not much," he declared. "Honor be 
 hanged. I want to earn money." 
 
 "You miserable little screw!" said Paul. 
 "I'll give you fifty cents an hour." 
 
 "Is that what you generally pay?" 
 
 "Yes; and it's a lot for a scrub model that 
 doesn't know anything." 
 
 "Cash down at the end of each sitting?" 
 
 Paul nodded. 
 
 "All right, then, it's a go;" and Cameron 
 leaned back complacently. 
 
 "Well, I never supposed," said his mother 
 disgustedly, "that I should live to see a son of 
 mine driving such a bargain. Cameron, 
 you're not one of Us. You don't belong. 
 You're a sordid, unsensitive Paul, I wish 
 you wouldn't encourage him." 
 
 "I didn't suppose I had, exactly," Paul re- 
 turned mildly. 
 
 26
 
 ONE OF US 
 
 Cameron's shoulders went into business at 
 nine the next morning,, to his great excite- 
 ment. Paul did not require a rigid attitude, 
 and lounging in a pleasant studio began to 
 seem a very desirable way of earning one's 
 living before the morning was over. 
 
 "And the beggars get fifty cents an hour 
 just for this!" he exclaimed. 
 
 "It isn't all just this," Paul returned. "Wait 
 till you've had to pose for a disk thrower or a 
 boar fighter or a Flying Mercury, if you want 
 to know what backache and leg cramp are. 
 I've seen models " 
 
 There was a knock at the door, the off-hand 
 patter of accustomed knuckles. Cameron, in 
 an anguish of modesty, grasped a table cover 
 and flung it about his bare shoulders while 
 Paul went to the door. A tall girl with rough, 
 short hair, and a painting apron of many hues 
 covering her from neck to feet, stood frowning 
 in on them. There was a gaunt beauty about 
 her, and a disquieting look of wilful power. 
 
 "Paul," she began abruptly, "that beast of 
 a model has failed me again. I've simply got 
 to have one today. My stuff is promised for 
 tomorrow. Don't you know any one who 
 could help me out?" 
 
 27
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 Paul considered. 
 
 "I could perhaps get Dougherty for you," 
 he finally suggested; "that red-haired chap, 
 you know." 
 
 "Too old," objected the girl. "I want a 
 young fellow." 
 
 "Is Barnes engaged?" 
 
 "Oh, but he's such an ass! He stands like a 
 block of wood and doesn't help one a bit. I 
 want That isn't a bad looking model you 
 have there. Is he any good?" The clear 
 voice made no pretense at a decent lowering, 
 and Cameron, hugging his draperies, turned 
 away, blushing furiously. She studied the 
 back of his head with cool interest. 
 
 "He's a trifle ungainly, but I rather like 
 him," she said. "Is his time all taken?" 
 
 "Well, I have him for the next few morn- 
 ings," said Paul, biting his lips, "and I fancy 
 his afternoons are engaged." 
 
 "Are they?" she demanded. Cameron 
 faced her reluctantly. Her voice was as com- 
 pelling as a hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Why, I I'm afraid so," he said uncom- 
 fortably. 
 
 "Look here," said the girl ; "if you can come 
 to me for a couple of hours this afternoon, I'll 
 
 28
 
 ONE OF US 
 
 pay you double rates a dollar an hour. 
 You're not worth it, but I'm in a strait." Cam- 
 eron looked desperately at Paul, who wickedly 
 refused to help him out, and was so plainly 
 enjoying the situation that a gleam of defiant 
 mischief came into the boy's eyes. 
 
 "Why, yes, ma'am, I think I can manage 
 that," he said gravely. 
 
 "Oh, see here " began Paul. 
 
 "I won't fail you, sir; I'll be here just as 
 usual," interposed Cameron deftly; and shook 
 a threatening fist when the girl was not look- 
 ing. 
 
 "That's good," she said. "I'm on this floor, 
 five doors down. I hope you've a fairly good 
 suit though it doesn't much matter. Paul, 
 you've saved my life." And she went out, 
 leaving a momentary silence behind her. Then 
 Cameron began to dance with clumsy aban- 
 don, using the table cover for a scarf. 
 
 "Double rates, by jingo!" he exulted. 
 
 "But you're not going to do it?" protested 
 Paul. 
 
 "Oh, I'm not?" commented the boy. "You 
 wait, that's all." Then his voice became in- 
 sinuating. "I say, Paul, you wouldn't be a 
 low down telltale and spoil it, I know. It's 
 
 29
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 just this one day. I give you my word I'll 
 tell my mother all about it when I've the 
 money in my hand; but if she knew now, she 
 might annoy me. You'll keep dark, won't 
 you?" 
 
 "Well, of course it's none of my business," 
 said Paul reluctantly. ''But I don't know 
 Irene Potter isn't just the woman for a kid 
 like you to She's all right, but she has 
 strange, pessimistic, brutal theories. I'd hate 
 to have you " 
 
 "Oh, I'm the dust under her feet!" said 
 Cameron blithely. "She won't bother about 
 me. Now come on and finish my low neck. 
 Double rates! Oh, my!" 
 
 Cameron was inwardly shivering with joy 
 and excitement when he knocked at the ground 
 glass door bearing the name of "Irene Potter" 
 in severe letters. Miss Potter opened the door 
 for him, and gave a curt nod of approval at 
 his clothes. 
 
 "That will do nicely," she said. "Just sit 
 down a minute while I get this canvas ready." 
 
 He looked about with interest. The room 
 had dull red walls, against which a litter of 
 casts and sketches seemed to have been flung 
 with savage energy. The furniture had the 
 
 30
 
 ONE OF US 
 
 same air of having been roughly pushed into 
 place. It was an angry room, splendid in col- 
 orings, but uncheerful and unfriendly. One 
 of Charlotte's posters hung like a red flame 
 near the door, and Cameron paused before it 
 in boyish pride, hoping she would say some- 
 thing. As she did not notice, he finally ven- 
 tured a half timid : 
 
 "This is nice." 
 
 She looked up. 
 
 "Um," she said. "It's a McLean poster 
 Charlotte McLean. There's nice feeling in it 
 she knows how to handle colors; but the 
 drawing's rotten." 
 
 Cameron flushed angrily. 
 
 "I don't see it," he said shortly. 
 
 "Naturally; for you don't know anything 
 about it," was the cool answer. "Look at that 
 leg, from the knee down ;" she measured it off 
 with a pencil; "and now from the knee up. 
 The proportion is all off. Can't you see?" 
 
 "The big magazines all take her work. She 
 has all she can do," he said between his teeth. 
 
 "Oh, the magazines!" with a shrug of 
 contempt. "What do they know?" This 
 heresy was too much for Cameron. He stood 
 sulkily silent. She gave him a curious glance. 
 
 31
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Why are you so vehement?" she asked. 
 "Do you know Mrs. McLean?" 
 
 "Why yes. She she has been very kind 
 to me," he managed to say. 
 
 "Yes, she would be. Sit down here, please. 
 Cross your knees and lean back that's right; 
 you have intelligence. She has the traditional 
 kind heart that you read about it's almost ex- 
 tinct. Turn your head a little to the left not 
 quite so much that's it. She is also very 
 much in love with the sculptor you posed for 
 this morning. Please don't move! You've 
 spoiled the pose." 
 
 Cameron struggled to his feet, very white. 
 
 "I'm going. It isn't true," he stammered. 
 "You shan't say such things." His voice 
 broke, and hot tears came into his eyes. 
 
 "My dear boy!" She laid down her brush 
 in amazement. "I'm not defaming the good 
 lady. She has all the virtues. In time, no 
 doubt, she will marry the wise and beautiful 
 Paul and live happily ever after. I speak 
 with all respect." 
 
 "She won't!" he broke out angrily. "She 
 isn't! It's a lie!" He turned and fumbled 
 blindly about for his hat. Miss Potter laid a 
 compelling hand on his arm and led him to 
 
 32
 
 ONE OF US 
 
 the divan. He resisted for a moment, then 
 flung himself down and buried his face 
 against a cushion. 
 
 "I know," she said, standing over him with 
 folded arms. "It hurts like the devil. I'm 
 sorry; but you've got to face it some time, and 
 you might as well now. She is a woman over 
 thirty, and you are a boy. What did you ex- 
 pect? You didn't think you could marry her, 
 did you?" The question was derisive, but, 
 before his tense silence, the amusement left 
 her face. "Oh, people never marry when 
 they care like that!" she went on bitterly. 
 "You care and care and care first for one, 
 then another; and finally, when you've no care 
 left in you and the fire is dead you marry." 
 
 There was a long silence. Then Cameron 
 lifted himself up; dragging the back of his 
 hand across his forehead. There were dark 
 spots on the red pillow. 
 
 "It isn't that," he said drearily. "It's 
 something different. Do you mind if I go?" 
 
 She frowned impatiently. 
 
 "Can't you stay, just two hours? You know 
 I've depended on you; and my work has to 
 be in tomorrow. Don't you think you can?" 
 
 .Without a word, he took his former atti- 
 
 33
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 tude, altering it to suit her directions, and sat 
 motionless with eyes on the floor while she 
 worked. She glanced at him curiously in the 
 pauses and started several times to speak, but 
 laid down her brushes, went behind the screen, 
 and, coming back with a two-dollar bill in 
 in her hand, held it out to him. 
 
 "Thank you," she said. "You're the best 
 model I ever had. I'll give you all the work 
 you want. I'm sorry I blundered, you 
 know." He looked straight up at her, all the 
 boyishness gone out of his eyes. 
 
 "I don't want it," he said, motioning the 
 money away. He was gone before she could 
 protest. 
 
 Paul's door stood open as he passed and 
 he heard a whistle of invitation, but he hur- 
 ried on, and, without waiting for the elevator, 
 plunged down the eight flights to the street. 
 There he turned to the north and began to 
 walk at a furious pace, his eyes fixed doggedly 
 ahead. 
 
 Charlotte waited dinner for him half an 
 hour, then ate in lonely state, realizing with 
 a sense of surprise how forlorn she must have 
 been all those years without him. She was a 
 little uneasy, but supposed he was with Paul 
 
 34
 
 ONE OF US 
 
 until that young man himself came in. He 
 had expected to find Cameron giggling over 
 his two dollars and his escapade, and his 
 mother, half disapproving but wholly amused, 
 ready to laugh at it all over again. When he 
 heard that the boy had not come back he 
 looked troubled, but said nothing. It was 
 nine o'clock when they heard his step in the 
 hall. Charlotte went to meet him. 
 
 "You bad boy," she said. "I have been 
 quite worried about you. Come in and give 
 an account of yourself." He paused in the 
 doorway on seeing Paul, and the color rose in 
 his face. 
 
 "I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed," he said, 
 turning away. "I've just been on a long 
 walk." 
 
 "But, dear, aren't you well? Don't you 
 want any dinner?" 
 
 "No, nothing I'm all right," he answered, 
 avoiding her eyes. "Good night." 
 
 A moment later they heard the key turn in 
 his lock. 
 
 "I knew I ought not to have let him," Paul 
 exclaimed ; and he told what he knew of Cam- 
 eron's afternoon. 
 
 "Irene Potter oh, yes," said Charlotte 
 
 35
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 slowly. "An evil genius sort of a girl. I met 
 her at a luncheon once, and she criticised your 
 Nimrod; whereupon I rose and slew her. I 
 was violently excited, I remember. The idea 
 of her daring to! But, Paul, how could she 
 have upset the boy so?" 
 
 "Oh, she always makes trouble; just to 
 breathe in the same room with her is danger- 
 ous," he answered irritably. "She's storm in- 
 carnate. Confound her!" 
 
 "Oh, well, I don't believe it is anything. 
 He will sleep it off." Charlotte's tone was 
 anxious, in spite of her words. "Perhaps he'll 
 tell me in the morning. Is he going to sit for 
 you again?" 
 
 "I suppose so," Paul answered, getting up 
 to go. "He was hilarious all this morning. 
 I wish I didn't feel so to blame." 
 
 "There's no gaining man's estate without 
 growing pains," said Charlotte with a sigh. 
 "Good night, my dear. You're such a com- 
 fort, Paull" 
 
 Cameron did not go to the studio in the 
 morning. After a very silent breakfast, he 
 left the house and wandered aimlessly about 
 the park till noon, crushed under a burden of 
 shame that he would some day smile to re- 
 
 36
 
 ONE OF US 
 
 member, but that now blotted out every other 
 feeling except a terrible sense of loneliness, of 
 being thrown aside. He went back at lunch- 
 eon time, utterly tired out, but when he found 
 Paul seated at the table in his place, talking 
 earnestly with Charlotte, he turned and went 
 out again without a word. 
 
 The two looked at each other in real alarm. 
 
 "That is no little boy trouble," said Char- 
 lotte. "I tried and tried this morning to make 
 him tell me, but I couldn't get within miles 
 of him. Paul, we must find out." 
 
 "I'm going to," he said, rising. "I'll come 
 back later." 
 
 He went straight to his own building and 
 knocked on the ground glass door labeled 
 "Irene Potter." 
 
 "Come in, Paul," she called lazily. She 
 was lying back in a big chair with her finished 
 drawings propped up in front of her, study- 
 ing them through a haze of cigarette smoke. 
 
 "Good stuff, aren't they?" she said, indi- 
 cating the pictures with her cigarette. "Much 
 too good for that stupid magazine. I sup- 
 pose they'll kick at the price, as usual." 
 
 Paul came and stood directly in front of her, 
 leaning on a chair back. 
 
 37
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Irene," he began, "you know that boy that 
 posed for you yesterday?" She nodded with 
 a slight frown. "What did you do to him?" 
 Paul demanded, looking straight into her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Why," she said with a shrug, "I performed 
 a very necessary surgical operation though 
 quite unintentionally. I don't deserve any 
 credit." 
 
 "Trimmed off a few illusions?" 
 
 An angry spark came into her eyes. 
 
 "Not in the least. I merely made a casual 
 remark about a woman with whom, as it 
 turned out, he is in love. I couldn't have fore- 
 seen that, exactly." 
 
 "In love!" Paul exclaimed. "What non- 
 sense, Irene! He's a boy, an infant. He is 
 not in love with any one. I know it. Who 
 was the girl?" 
 
 "Not a girl at all a lady who does posters, 
 and frequently gets out of the elevator on this 
 floor." A startled look crossed Paul's face 
 and his eyes turned involuntarily towards the 
 crimson poster by the door. She nodded. 
 
 "W T hat did you say of her?" 
 
 "Nothing derogatory. Merely what you 
 know better than any one, Paul!" Her eyes 
 
 3?
 
 ONE OF. US 
 
 challenged his and he would not lower them, 
 though he knew he had turned white. "Sure- 
 ly you are not pretending to think it's a dis- 
 grace for a woman to be in love with a man?" 
 she pursued temperately. "You're not going 
 back to that silly convention?" 
 
 He turned away abruptly, but at the door 
 he paused. 
 
 "That was her son," he said, and went out. 
 He heard her break into a startled laugh as 
 he shut the door, and the color surged up into 
 his face. He half turned back, then went on 
 to his own rooms. 
 
 "What's the use?" he muttered. "She 
 couldn't understand. Oh, good Godl" 
 
 Charlotte was sitting idly by the fire, too 
 troubled to work, when Cameron came in 
 again. 
 
 "Well, little boy?" she said, holding out 
 her hand to him. He came and leaned against 
 the fireplace, his eyes on the coals. 
 
 "Mother," he said, "I want to go to work 
 I don't care what or how. This posing was 
 just fun, of course. I want to do some real 
 work, if it's only as an office boy. I hope you 
 won't object?" He tried to make his voice 
 
 39
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 cool and formal, but for all his efforts it trem- 
 bled. 
 
 "Not if you want to, dear," she said quietly; 
 "though I hoped you would go through col- 
 lege. We are not hard up now we have 
 more than we spend, with what I earn. Did 
 you think we were?" 
 
 He knelt down and began to stir the 
 coals. 
 
 "But things may not stay just the same," 
 he said, trying to speak casually. "You might 
 
 marry, or something. That would " 
 
 He broke off abruptly. 
 
 "Marry!" exclaimed Charlotte in such gen- 
 uine amazement that his shoulders betrayed a 
 little start of joy. "Marry? My dear boy, I 
 have no intention of doing any such thing." 
 He turned and met her eyes for the first time 
 that day. 
 
 "O mother, truly?" he exclaimed, laying 
 both his hands on her knees. 
 
 "Truly, my dear child! How could you 
 have taken such an idea?" 
 
 He leaned up against her and laid his face 
 on her hands. "Oh, gee!" he breathed. Then 
 he gave a little laugh. "I'm so glad," he ex- 
 plained. 
 
 40
 
 ONE OF US 
 
 "You take life rather hard, little boy," she 
 said regretfully. "I'm afraid you are one of 
 Us, after all! Would it be so very dreadful 
 to you?" she added after a pause, her eyes on 
 the fire. He nodded, with a long breath. 
 
 "Well, dear, I never will while you feel 
 that way. You may be perfectly certain of 
 that," she said cheerfully, stroking his hair. 
 But there was a look on her face that he would 
 remember and understand years later. One 
 comes slowly to the discovery that thirty-five 
 is not the middle age it once seemed, and that 
 youth and the zest for life do not always end 
 at the traditional limits. 
 
 Paul came in that night, to find Donna and 
 Lorrimer already there, and Cameron in up- 
 roarious spirits. He looked a question at 
 Charlotte, who smiled reassuringly. 
 
 "It is all right," she said to him. "The poor 
 child had a nonsensical idea in his head, but 
 it's gone now. You are pale tonight, Paul." 
 
 "And you're tired," he answered. The sym- 
 pathy of his voice brought a sudden look of 
 tears to her eyes. 
 
 "O Paul," she said again, "you're such a 
 comfort!"
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK. 
 
 (4- 
 
 Paul. "He knew he had to suffer, anyway 
 there was nothing on earth she could do to 
 help or prevent it; he might have had the 
 grace to keep it to himself." 
 
 "I don't know," objected Ffloyd; "I think 
 he had a right to the help of her sympathy if 
 he wanted it." 
 
 "Besides," added Charlotte, "would she 
 ever have forgiven him for shutting her out 
 at the very biggest moment of his life? I 
 wouldn't, I know no matter what suffering it 
 saved me." 
 
 "That's just it," said Paul excitedly; "he 
 ought to have been big enough to take even 
 her unforgiveness if it kept her from going 
 through that horrible ordeal with him, inch 
 by inch. Lord! Think what it must have 
 meant to her!" He got up and began to walk 
 restlessly about the room. 
 
 "Paul is right," said Donna, who had been 
 
 43
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 listening with the wide-eyed absorption she 
 gave to everything. "I agree with him abso- 
 lutely." 
 
 "How unusual!" commented Ffloyd, and 
 they all laughed, Donna as heartily as any 
 one. "How does it feel, Paul, to be the center 
 of an admiring circle?" Ffloyd went on. 
 
 "How does it feel to be a silly ass?" Paul 
 returned shortly. 
 
 This conversation came back to Donna with 
 sudden force as she left the doctor's a few days 
 later, looking white and limp. 
 
 "Now, you are not to worry," the doctor 
 had said. "I will find out all about the dog, 
 but it's ninety-nine to a hundred he was just 
 ill tempered. He'll never bite any one again, 
 I can tell you. Come in and let me see you 
 every day or two, but don't think about it any 
 more than you can help." 
 
 "Oh, of course it's all right. I shan't wor- 
 ry," Donna had said cheerfully. They knew 
 this was sheer bravado, but it eased the situa- 
 tion. They were both so afraid she would 
 cry. 
 
 She went home to her little bachelor apart- 
 ment and curled up, feeling very weak and 
 sick, to face the matter. How would they 
 
 44
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 all take it? Paul would be distressed; he 
 would want to know all about it, to the last 
 detail, and he would make her the center of 
 importance for the time being. She smiled 
 up at a plaster head of his Nimrod on the wall 
 above. Ffloyd would be concerned when he 
 remembered. He would ask her frequently 
 how she was, and listen to her answer if it was 
 not too long. Lanse would take it from the 
 picturesque angle and enjoy it immensely, 
 while Evelyn would send flowers. Charlotte 
 would be all sympathy and anxiety, and Cam- 
 eron would be outrageously funny on the sub- 
 ject. But every one of them would be uneasy, 
 she knew. Paul's words, "He might have had 
 the grace to keep it to himself," came back to 
 her persistently. Paul was right. No one 
 must be told. 
 
 Late in the afternoon the doctor called her 
 to the telephone for further particulars about 
 the accident. He had not been able to find the 
 dog. Neighbors declared that it belonged 
 to the grocery on the corner, but the grocery 
 swore that it was the property of a boy who 
 had been discharged that morning and whose 
 'whereabouts were unknown. The doctor 
 spoke tentatively of a hospital and the Pas- 
 
 45
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 teur treatment, "to be on the safe side," but 
 Donna vigorously refused. 
 
 "That dog wasn't mad," she insisted. "He 
 was merely cross. He didn't foam at the 
 mouth or anything." 
 
 "Just what did he do?" 
 
 Her details were meagre. She had passed 
 a curly brown and white dog without really 
 noticing him; an instant later she had felt a 
 vicious clutch just above her ankle. A thin 
 youth with yards of red wrist had pulled off 
 the dog; he must have been the discharged 
 grocer's boy. Some one was named Pete 
 probably the dog; yes, of course the boy 
 wouldn't have yelled his own name; but it 
 was all very confused. A car had come just 
 then and she had hurriedly taken it to get 
 away from the crowd. 
 
 "But we shall hear of his biting other peo- 
 ple, if he has rabies," she insisted. 
 
 "No doubt," said the doctor drily. "Still, 
 my advice to you " 
 
 But Donna would hear nothing of advice 
 that immured her in a hospital. "Mad dogs 
 don't happen to people, you know; they are 
 only newspaper incidents," she explained. 
 
 Her confidence was not quite so assertive
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 when she had hung up the receiver; but a 
 literary cast of mind is a great blessing. In- 
 stead of facing the chance of hydrophobia as 
 the average person would, with dismal fore- 
 bodings resulting in general depression, 
 Donna scented a valuable situation, and felt 
 a distinct exhilaration at the idea of working 
 it out with herself as heroine. She was never 
 proof against "copy,' even when furnished at 
 her own expense. 
 
 "Now," she said triumphantly, as she went 
 to bed that night, "I will live just as I would 
 if I knew for certain these were my last weeks 
 on earth. I don't know whether I will be good 
 or bad, but I'll be something!" 
 
 During the next few days, while the two 
 ugly marks above her right shoe top were 
 still painful, Donna put her wardrobe in ex- 
 quisite order, replacing buttons that had been 
 off for months, cleaning the insides of collars 
 and the under sides of sleeves, and throwing 
 away disreputable treasures in the way of bat- 
 tered slippers and broken combs. The wild 
 confusion of papers in her desk was replaced 
 by a few neat packages, one of them labeled, 
 "To be destroyed in case of my death." She 
 took a great satisfaction in that. Everything 
 
 47
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 was prepared for inspection, even to the eras- 
 ing of some marginal marks she had made in 
 her Swinburne at an earlier stage of her de- 
 velopment. Then, still limping a little, she 
 went off to Sunday night tea at Charlotte's. 
 
 "From a coroner's standpoint, everything 
 is perfect," she said to herself. "Now to make 
 the most of things!" 
 
 The last comer had left the flat door un- 
 latched, so she let herself in without ringing 
 the upper bell. Charlotte's splendid laugh, 
 that they all loved and did their best to rouse, 
 came from the sitting room. Donna paused 
 in the unlighted sitting room and looked in 
 at them. Ffloyd, tipped back in his chair, 
 and smoking, of course, was laying down the 
 law to Cameron, who listened with boyish in- 
 tentness. Lanse and Evelyn were making the 
 toast, talking in their usual excited undertone. 
 According to Ffloyd, there had not been a 
 pause in their conversation for five years. 
 Paul was pouring oil, drop by drop, into the 
 bowl in which Charlotte was mixing her 
 mayonnaise. They seemed so satisfied, so com- 
 plete without her, that Donna felt suddenly 
 neglected and desolate. 
 
 "If I came back from the dead, that is the
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 way I should find them," she thought miser- 
 ably. "I am utterly unimportant and forgot- 
 ten. If Charlotte were away, they would all 
 be lost and forlorn. And if Paul " 
 
 "Why," exclaimed Charlotte suddenly, 
 "Donna rang the lower bell five minutes ago. 
 Why doesn't she come up?" 
 
 "I'll go and see," three of them began at 
 once ; and Donna could have died for them in 
 her gratitude. Her spirits rose with a jump. 
 She came forward with a happy laugh. 
 
 "Here she is. Your front door wasn't shut," 
 she said. "You all looked so nice, I stopped 
 to admire you." 
 
 "Bet you hoped we'd say something good 
 about you," suggested Ffloyd, giving her chair 
 a friendly shake. 
 
 "What a pity we didn't!" added Paul, smil- 
 ing across at her. A little glow spread all 
 through her till she could have cried in her 
 happiness and relief. She was still one of 
 "Us ;" she still mattered to them. They would 
 really care if 
 
 "Look here," she began presently; "if you 
 knew, each one of you, that you had just a 
 little while say a week more to live, how 
 would you spend it? Would you be very good 
 
 49
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 or very bad? What would you do?" 
 
 "You mean, you'd be perfectly certain to 
 die at the end of the seven days?" Ffloyd asked. 
 She nodded expectantly. "Why," he said, 
 looking at her gravely through a haze of 
 smoke, "I'd marry you, Donnie." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "Well, I'd rather be your widow than some 
 people's wife," she admitted. "What would 
 the rest of you do?" 
 
 Lanse, whose pink and white skin and sil- 
 very blond hair were only faintly contradicted 
 by the worldly wisdom of his eyes, looked up 
 seriously. 
 
 "I should work up a big exit some way," he 
 said. "I'd spend every cent I possess, throw 
 it right and left ten dollars to the bootblack, 
 fifty to the waiter; live en prince and time it 
 so that there wouldn't be one cent left when 
 I died not even to bury me with. Think 
 what a jolly sensation it would make!" 
 
 "Most of us couldn't play that game more 
 than one day," objected Charlotte. "In fact, 
 I couldn't live en prince much over twenty 
 minutes. What would you do, Paul?" 
 
 "I think I should devote myself absolutely 
 to the people I was fond of," he began. "I 
 
 50
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 would be to them all the things I could be 
 now, but some way don't get time for. If I 
 felt affectionate, I'd show it just as I pleased 
 without bothering about consequences and 
 misunderstandings. Lord, wouldn't it be a re- 
 lief! I've been cramped all my life. Now, 
 when we came in tonight, and you laughed 
 that wonderful laugh of yours, Charlotte, and 
 I hadn't seen you for three days I wanted to 
 give you a large embrace." 
 
 "Well, why on earth didn't you?" demanded 
 Charlotte. 
 
 "Mother, remember that I am here," Cam- 
 eron interposed with great dignity, but got 
 no attention whatever. 
 
 "It wouldn't do," Paul said sadly. "I I 
 learned that early in life. It makes trouble, 
 and women don't understand. You might, 
 Charlotte, but you're the only one; and I 
 wouldn't risk it. But with seven days' warn- 
 ing, wouldn't I let go!" 
 
 "What else would you do?" asked Lanse. 
 
 "I'd make faces at every one I disliked," 
 said Paul, growing excited. "If strangers ir- 
 ritated me by the quality of their voices or the 
 shape of their noses, I'd swear at them. And 
 if I saw a woman who was beautiful on the
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 street, I'd go up and tell her so and thank her 
 for it." 
 
 "Yes, and you'd spend six happy days in 
 the lockup," said Cameron. That rather 
 quenched the discussion; but Donna had 
 found her way. 
 
 "I would be to them all the things I could 
 be now, but someway don't get time for," she 
 repeated to herself. "Oh, beautiful!" 
 
 She said little that evening, but sat watch- 
 ing them with shining eyes. The little group 
 meant so much to her. Charlotte had her son, 
 Lanse and Evelyn had big homes and families 
 and social ties, Paul's contact with life was 
 rich and many-sided, and Lorrimer Ffloyd 
 was self absorbed, little dependent on human 
 relations ; but Donna had no other world, and 
 desired none. Having a modest spirit, she 
 often marvelled, alone at home, that they 
 should so value her, never realizing how the 
 inborn gift that gave her fresh vision for lit- 
 tle common daily things lent charm to her 
 speech ; never recognizing that the whole- 
 souled devotion, the unstinted admiration, 
 which she poured out as a cheerful matter of 
 course, were anything more than a friend's due 
 offering. 
 
 52
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 Donna evidently has a marketable idea," 
 commented Charlotte. "She sits there simply 
 radiating light. What is it fiction?" 
 
 "No, 'flection," said Donna. 
 
 "Which of us do you like best?" asked Lor- 
 rimer Ffloyd, who was given to probing and 
 uncomfortable questions, and had a vivisec- 
 tionist's cool interest in watching the results. 
 Paul made a sound of protest, but Donna was 
 not disturbed. 
 
 "That is like asking whether I like my heart 
 or my lungs best," she objected. "You are a 
 whole, don't you see. You're Us." 
 
 Cameron, much taken with the simile, 
 wanted to extend it, and had to be suppressed 
 by his mother. She would have changed the 
 subject, but Ffloyd stuck to his attack. 
 
 "You are all so afraid of the truth," he com- 
 plained. "I mean, every one is, everywhere. 
 Now, I haven't a doubt that Donna really 
 likes me best;" all that was nicest in Ffloyd 
 came out in his smile; "but wild horses could 
 not make her say so. Yet why should it hurt 
 the rest of you, when you each know in your 
 hearts that you like some one best?" 
 
 "Oh, but it isn't that!" they all began at 
 once, then stopped with a laugh. "It is what 
 
 53
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 you might infer, with your masculine conceit," 
 Charlotte explained. 
 
 "If Donna could be wholly honest, I should 
 have no chance to pride myself on a conquest 
 unless it were a fact;" Ffloyd spoke with 
 the deliberate precision of one who makes a 
 principle of calling a spade a spade. "As 
 things are now, she may be breaking her heart 
 about me, for all I know." 
 
 "But what good would it do for you to 
 know?" Donna asked gravely. 
 
 "It concerns me: I have a right to the 
 knowledge. The biggest courage doesn't hide 
 things it shows them. Now, if Charlotte, 
 for instance, were absolutely honest " 
 
 "She w r ould say that we are all longing for 
 some music,"cut in Charlotte, suspecting mis- 
 chief. 
 
 "We are, indeed," echoed Paul with relief. 
 
 "Cowards," muttered Ffloyd; but his laugh 
 betrayed him. 
 
 Evelyn went to the piano and played them 
 all into harmony and peace. It was her most 
 definite contribution to their solidarity, for, 
 though, apart with Lanse, she was notoriously 
 fluent, she seldom talked in the group. While 
 the rest lounged and argued, she sat slenderly 
 
 54
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 erect, her chair a little back in the shadow, 
 her face, delicate, well bred and inscrutable, 
 turned intently to each speaker. Sometimes, 
 in their excited discussions, they would seem 
 to forget that she was there ; yet, when she was 
 away, they felt curiously incomplete. There 
 was a touch of mystery in her silent presence; 
 a sense of another world than theirs of hard 
 work and plain fare lay about her clothes 
 and hair, the very texture of her skin, and gave 
 her subtle distinction. 
 
 If her bearing was worldly, her playing 
 "came straight from heaven," as Charlotte 
 said. Tonight it had for Donna a special mes- 
 sage. Even while her practical sense flouted 
 the idea of bodily danger, her literary instinct 
 played with images of death, with partings 
 and renunciations, with love that must express 
 itself while there was yet time. When the 
 evening was over and she went down the stairs 
 with Lorrimer, she slipped her arm through 
 his, laying her doubled fist in his palm. His 
 fingers closed over it at once and he smiled 
 down at her through his glasses. If he was 
 surprised, he did not show it. 
 
 "So you like me, do you?" he suggested. 
 
 ," she said. It was Paul's word, and 
 
 55
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 she used it with conscious enjoyment, as 
 though it were a little indulgence she had al- 
 lowed herself. 
 
 "How much?" he went on in an amused 
 voice. But Donna, oppressed by what might 
 be hanging over her, answered him with sud- 
 den seriousness: 
 
 "More than you have any idea of more 
 than you can ever guess." There was a tremor 
 in the hand he held, and tragic earnestness in 
 the eyes that were lifted to his. A startled look 
 crossed Ffloyd's face. 
 
 "Is anything troubling you, Donna?" he 
 asked with an effort. The impulse to tell 
 him was strong for the moment, but she fought 
 it back. 
 
 "Yes, but I can't tell you about it. Don't 
 ask me," she said wistfully. 
 
 "I am so sorry!" He pressed her arm closer 
 to his side, and they went on in silence. He 
 was so protective at crossings, so considerate 
 and gentle in manner, that Donna, whose mind 
 was all on last words, forgot that he might 
 not understand, and let her love of life and 
 of dear friends shine out for a moment 
 through her good night. Taking his hand 
 
 56
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 she lifted it to her cheek and held it 
 there. 
 
 "Dear Lorrimerl" she murmured, and left 
 him. "Now, if anything happens, he will re- 
 member that/' she said to herself with sad 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Ffloyd, meanwhile, stood for a dazed inter- 
 val staring at his hand. 
 
 "Oh, Lord! Oh, it can't be that!" he ex- 
 claimed under his breath as he went away. "I 
 never dreamed of it. It can't be! What shall 
 I do?" 
 
 The more Ffloyd thought about it, the 
 more uneasy he became. That foolish con- 
 versation about absolute honesty returned to 
 harrass him. It was not as if Donna were a 
 demonstrative person. Even with Charlotte 
 he had seldom seen her go farther than a half 
 mocking hand clasp. There was something 
 new in her eyes. He had felt it when she had 
 first come in that evening and, in answer to 
 some trivial remark of greeting he had made, 
 her face had lighted up with a glow that was 
 not so far from tears. It had troubled and 
 stirred him for a moment^ and it now came 
 vividly back to him. 
 
 57
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Donna poor little Donna! What shall 
 I do?" he exclaimed. 
 
 Lorrimer Ffloyd was fond of stating, with 
 dry indifference, that he was not "successful" 
 with women. And it was true that on the rare 
 occasions when he had been roused to sue for 
 favor, he had not won it. He was too abrupt, 
 too readily scornful, for the attitude of suitor; 
 his prickly vanity never realized that others 
 might have an equal sensitiveness. That love 
 might come unsought, and that, by a mere 
 experiment in words, he had stumbled on the 
 Open Sesame to the secret, was too fantastic 
 for sober belief; yet all night his hand felt the 
 curve of Donna's cool cheek, and the echo of 
 her "Dear Lorrimer!" kept him swinging be- 
 tween elation and black gloom, for the next 
 few years of his life were very definitely 
 marked out, and the plan had no place for 
 ties and obligations. Time enough for those 
 after he had achieved Paris! He set himself 
 grimly to work in the morning, with the doors 
 to sentiment tightly shut. 
 
 His workroom was a big, charmless place, 
 more attic than studio, baldly clean, furnished 
 only with drawing implements, a long table, 
 a few wooden chairs and a small gas stove.
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 His tiny bedroom across the hall had the same 
 whitewashed bareness, though two of its walls 
 were crossed by a band of intricate pencil 
 marks, tangled record of the ideas for car- 
 toons that came to him in the darkness of the 
 night. When the space convenient to his arm 
 was used up, he moved the bed. Beyond this, 
 not one touch of personality could be found 
 in either room, or an object that was not the 
 cheapest of its kind. Perfect cleanness and 
 abundant fresh air were the only mitigations. 
 This raw asceticism was not compulsory, for 
 his work commanded a good income; it was 
 purely a part of his present theory of life. 
 Another year might find him lapped in lux- 
 ury, for Ffloyd was essentially an experi- 
 menter. 
 
 By noon he had worked himself into a state 
 of mind as severe as his surroundings, and 
 set about preparing his lunch with a dry 
 smile of satisfaction at his own strength of 
 character. He had spread a clean newspaper 
 across one end of the table, set out bread and 
 cheese and started his cocoa boiling when 
 there was a knock at the studio door. 
 
 "Come in" he called inhospitably; "if you 
 
 59
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 must," was implied. The door opened on a 
 laugh. 
 
 "It sounded more like 'Keep out!'" said 
 Donna. She had on the hat with irises, and 
 her face was lighted with adventure. "May 
 I really come in?" 
 
 "Why, yes, do." Ffloyd spoke constrainedly, 
 stirring his cocoa as though there were not a 
 minute to spare. Donna laid several pack- 
 ages on the table, then stood considering 
 him. 
 
 "Absolute honesty, Lorrimer," she began, 
 "forces me to mention that I came to lunch 
 with you. I have brought a grape-fruit and 
 some cold tongue and four rolls nice, fresh 
 ones" her voice had taken on a mischievous 
 humility," and salted peanuts. It is a very 
 expensive grape-fruit. And I have done some 
 verses for you, so you see I really had an ex- 
 cuse for coming. They are nice verses, Lor- 
 rimer. And there is an editor gaping for 
 them, so if you did care to do some pictures 
 if you really wanted to " 
 
 The spoon dropped into the saucepan with 
 a clatter. 
 
 "Oh, stop it!" commanded Ffloyd, between 
 exasperation and amusement. "Get yourself 
 
 60
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 a knife and fork out of the table drawer, and 
 don't be an utter idiot." 
 
 "Now we are all right," said Donna com- 
 fortably, and began to jerk the strings from 
 her packages. The buoyancy of hidden ex- 
 citement was in her movements, for she had 
 just been to the doctor, and had divined in him 
 a stimulating anxiety. So long as she was 
 convinced, herself, that the dog had not been 
 mad, medical concern on the subject was 
 rather thrilling, and vivified her secret drama 
 of last days. "You make one feel so perfectly 
 at home, Lorrimer. I always say that tact is 
 the where are your saucers? is the I want 
 plates, too, please, unless you prefer news- 
 paper is the Lorrimer, you really are glad 
 to see me, aren't you?" 
 
 A glint of the morning's stoicism came into 
 his eyes. Two could play at this game of per- 
 fect honesty. 
 
 "I am not sure that I am," he said, taking 
 the grape-fruit away from her and preparing 
 it with beautifully neat, deft movements of his 
 knife. "You destroy the scheme of my room. 
 What is the use of making it bleak and bald 
 and austere, if a warm, colored thing like you 
 is going to burst in and upset all the values?" 
 
 61
 
 He glanced up to see how she took it, and met 
 a look so worried that his severity relaxed. 
 When Ffloyd smiled, one remembered, with 
 surprise, that he had once been a little boy 
 perhaps even a dear and lovable little boy. 
 Donna smiled back reassured. 
 
 "Values this room!" she protested. "It 
 hasn't any. Why will you live in such hideous- 
 ness?" 
 
 "I suppose it needs some dear little woman 
 to make it cosy and homelike?" He spoke 
 mockingly, but with a keen eye on her and a 
 quickened beat in his heart. 
 
 "It needs some dear little woman to make 
 you move into a human habitation," she re- 
 turned with spirit. 
 
 Ffloyd drew up a chair for her on the other 
 side of the table. 
 
 "My wife would have to live my way," he 
 warned her. They were bold words, "my 
 wife." Donna divined the thrill beneath 
 them, and, realizing that mortal lips might 
 never speak them of her, felt chilled and 
 shadowed. Dying might not be all drama, 
 after all. 
 
 "Ah, I wonder whom you will marry?" she 
 said wistfully. 
 
 62
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 Ffloyd felt that the brutal truth was best. 
 "No one at all for the next few years," he said 
 gently. "I can't, Donna. My work won't 
 allow it." 
 
 She welcomed the chance to give him good 
 advice. He would remember it if 
 
 "Don't put it off too long, Lorrimer," she 
 said, leaning towards him in her earnestness. 
 "You need it more than most men, I think. 
 You could easily grow rather callous. You 
 force yourself to be cold, just because you are 
 so tender hearted, and you hate to be hurt. 
 But it is better to be hurt, my dear oh, to be 
 hurt with knives! than to shut yourself away. 
 I know." 
 
 He did not look at her, but her voice told 
 him that her eyes were misty. He was being 
 hurt at that moment, even with knives, and 
 made a desperate effort to get away. 
 
 "So you recommend marriage because it is 
 painful?" he scoffed. 
 
 "Love hurts, but what if it does?" she re- 
 turned gravely. "There is nothing else, Lor- 
 rimer; nothing else on earth, except work. 
 And that comes second." 
 
 "I wonderl" He pushed back his chair 
 with a sudden thrust of his arms and started 
 
 63
 
 to his feet. "I haven't renounced because I 
 wanted to, I can tell you. It seemed to me 
 the only way. I have got to succeed, Donna, 
 I've got to go far. I would crawl over red- 
 hot ploughshares to get where I want to be! 
 And yet, if I am paying the wrong price " 
 he paused at the back of her chair, an excited 
 laugh in his voice: "Are you the higher wis- 
 dom, or are you Eve, the temptress?" 
 
 "I am only your best friend," she said with 
 a sobriety that checked him, bringing him 
 back to his seat with a shrug and a laugh. 
 
 "Thank you, best friend. I will think it 
 over," he assured her. "Have some bread and 
 cheese? By the way, where is the poetry?" 
 
 She took out a typewritten sheet from the 
 front of her blouse, which carried her works 
 so often that Ffloyd had likened it to the 
 kangaroo's pouch for her young. The long 
 habit of working together brought them back 
 to their normal relation of cheerful intimacy, 
 frank criticism and ready laughter. Before 
 their meal was over, he had begun to sketch 
 the illustrations; and Donna cleared the table, 
 that he might go immediately to work. He 
 would not allow her to wash the dishes. 
 
 "You would not do it properly," he asserted,
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 bent down over his work, his near-sighted eyes 
 close to the paper. "You never can do my 
 dishes, Donna, until you have a higher stand- 
 ard about the bottoms of glasses and the sides 
 of dishpans." 
 
 "Old maid! Do them yourself, then." 
 And she went off indignant, which was not at 
 all in accordance with the literary laws of 
 partings that may prove final. When her step 
 had died away, Ffloyd dropped his pencil and 
 lay back in his chair, his head resting on 
 clasped hands, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, 
 smiling deeply to himself. 
 
 The bright face of danger is apt to become 
 clouded by night, especially if one lives alone, 
 and has a vivid imagination. It came to 
 Donna that evening that she had been a fool 
 to resist her doctor, to run even the least 
 chance of losing her full measure of life. The 
 thought did not come after the gradual man- 
 ner of reasoned conclusions, but suddenly, 
 with no warning, like a dreadful message from 
 without. A death's head, springing at her 
 from the pages of her book, could not have 
 brought a sharper recoil, or left her paler. 
 Death was real and awful good, warm, sweet 
 life was all she knew, all she dared know yet.
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 The faces of her friends, sketched or photo- 
 graphed, turned to her from the walls with 
 something pitying in their immoveable re- 
 gard; the very walls of this, her home, looked 
 sentient in their dear familiarity. She pressed 
 her cheeks and her outstretched arms against 
 them. 
 
 "My own little home," she whispered. The 
 place was mother as well as home to her. And 
 she had earned it, every inch, sitting-room to 
 the sun, cool, white bedroom, tiled bath, and 
 absurd little kitchen: out of her own talent 
 and labor had come her right to live like this. 
 It stood for success, and success meant long 
 life; successful, happy people did not die 
 young. 
 
 "Oh, don't they?" seemed to come mocking- 
 ly from Ffloyd's caricature of himself over 
 her desk. 
 
 "Yes, they do," she cried, huddling down on 
 the floor with her head against the couch. 
 
 Quite unconsciously, she had taken the 
 position that she usually squirmed into 
 when the fervor of literary composi- 
 tion was highest; and perhaps it was this 
 that by association presently brought her 
 healing craft to her rescue. The glow of 
 
 66
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 creation began to spread through her droop- 
 ing body; her head lifted, her eyes took on a 
 starry fixity. With a fumbling hand she 
 reached for pad and pencil, and sat brooding 
 over them, breathless and utterly happy. She 
 had conceived a wonderful set of letters, her 
 good-by letters to the beloved six. They 
 should not be sentimental nor self-indulgent, 
 nor should they harrow, as last letters usually 
 feel privileged to do. A fine restraint was to 
 be the keynote. Restraint, gayety, deep affec- 
 tion ; above all, a pleasant naturalness, the tone 
 of every day intercourse : they must not hurt. 
 The beauty of this resolution set tears stream- 
 ing down her cheeks. Soon living sentences 
 began to shape themselves, to Paul, to Char' 
 lotte, to Ffloyd. She noted them down as 
 they came, then, taking a fresh sheet, she be- 
 gan: 
 
 "My dearest Lorrimer." 
 
 The letter streamed from her pencil, the 
 warmest, bravest letter ever written by friend 
 to friend. She sobbed over it, and did not 
 even take time to dry her eyes. It was a let- 
 ter to comfort and sustain and cheer and to 
 break the heart by its very absence of self pity. 
 There came a day when Ffloyd did read it 
 
 67
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 with Donna chuckling opposite him; and was 
 brought so low that it took a week to cheer 
 him again. But at the time she had no least 
 suspicion that she should ever find in it cause 
 for smiling. She had gone flying down a 
 second big sheet when a ring at her doorbell 
 rent the chrysalis of dream that she had spun 
 round herself and tipped her out, tear-stained 
 and dishevelled, into awkward actuality. 
 
 She thought at first that she would not an- 
 swer it. Then she remembered that a pack- 
 age was due, and hastily rubbed her face, 
 turning out the light in the entry before she 
 opened the door. 
 
 "Paul!" She stood wavering between dis- 
 may at her plight and the joy of seeing him, 
 the doorknob inhospitably clutched. It was 
 useless to hope that anything whatever would 
 escape Paul's notice; already there was a re- 
 flected distress in his eyes as he stood smiling, 
 bent a little forward, one hand against the 
 doorpost, eager to pretend obliviousness if 
 that would make it easier for her. 
 
 "I only stopped to say hello, Donna; per- 
 haps you are busy," he said, and drew back to 
 show how simply she might be rid of him. 
 A no! Come in." She threw the door 
 68
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 wide, with a laugh at herself. "I have been 
 howling, but don't mind it is all over. Go 
 in and wait while I tidy up." 
 
 ''Poor dear!" He took her hand between 
 his, then passed on obediently into the sitting- 
 room. "Do you want to tell me about it?" 
 
 She answered cheerfully from her room. 
 "Of course. My new blouse has not come 
 home, and it was promised on their honor. 
 Wouldn't that make anyone howl?" 
 
 "Rather! I should" 
 
 Donna had gone to wash her face, and did 
 not notice that Paul's voice had stopped short. 
 Crossing the room, he had stooped to pick up 
 a sheet of impetuous writing that lay on the 
 floor, and had been struck silent by its salient 
 heading. "My dearest Lorrimer!" The 
 words, written coolly in ink, might have meant 
 no more than close friendship. But the sweep 
 of this would have proclaimed emotion, even 
 without the marks of tears on the paper; and, 
 read by the light of Donna's tragic eyes, it 
 told of secret storm and suffering. Paul thrust 
 the sheet into the pad on the couch and went 
 as far from it as possible, perturbed and be- 
 wildered. That, with all their closeness, they 
 should know so little of each other's inner 
 
 69
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 lives, was his first wonder quickly forgotten 
 in poignant sympathy for brave, gay Donna 
 and a prickling irritation against Lorrimer 
 Ffloyd. It was not fair to hurt Donna! 
 
 "I wanted to wear that blouse to-morrow," 
 she said, coming in. "It is a perfect love, 
 Paul." 
 
 He took her tone, grateful for the decency 
 of her reserve, but poured out upon her, in 
 look and voice, the pitying warmth of his sym- 
 pathy; and Donna, wholly cheered and buoy- 
 ant in the reaction, did not dream what a 
 pathetically brave figure she appeared with 
 her ready laughter and her heavy eyelids. 
 She only knew that Paul was more "dear" 
 even than usual; and that if at the end of 
 things she should be allowed one mighty 
 boast, it would be, "Paul found me worth 
 while!" 
 
 "You have done me good," she said when 
 he rose to go. "I don't care anything about 
 the blouse, now. You were good to come, 
 Paul." 
 
 "I am right there, Donna, if you want me," 
 he said, and went home wrung by the bravery 
 of her unclouded good night. 
 
 Two hours later he was awakened by a 
 70
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 knock on his studio door. He stumbled across 
 in the dark and opened it, to find Ffloyd pant- 
 ing outside. 
 
 "Elevator wasn't running, and I walked 
 up all eight flights without stopping," he ex- 
 plained. "Paul, I don't know what to do, and 
 you've got to help me." 
 
 Paul turned up the light, wrapped himself 
 in a dressing-gown and lit a cigarette. His 
 silence had a touch of austerity, but Ffloyd was 
 too troubled to notice or care. 
 
 "It is this everlasting business of marriage," 
 he burst out. "We have settled it a hundred 
 times that an artist can't marry until he has 
 passed a certain point, that it is death to for 
 God's sake, give me a new argument against it. 
 I have gone over and over the old ones until 
 they are so much words." 
 
 Paul eyed him inscrutably as he stumbled 
 near-sightedly about the room. 
 
 "Are you in love?" he asked finally. The 
 question seemed to startle Ffloyd; he came 
 to a halt, settling slowly down on the arm of 
 a chair. 
 
 "Why, I don't know." He pondered over 
 it for several minutes. "One wants to marry, 
 of course. And when it is about the nicest
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 girl in the world The situation is new to 
 me," he added with the precise enunciation 
 that he reserved for naming spades. "Now, 
 you are used to having women fall in love with 
 you, so probably you don't find it so disturb- 
 ing." 
 
 Paul frowned. "I don't see how I can help 
 you," he said shortly. 
 
 "Also, it is quite possible that I have mis- 
 understood," Ffloyd went on, too troubled to 
 resent his impatience. "But, supposing it 
 true man, say something. Try to save me." 
 
 "Do you really w r ant to be saved?" 
 
 "I don't know, I tell you." 
 
 "Then go back to your work till you do 
 know that is my advice." 
 
 "Work! How can I work with " He 
 sighed and rose to leave. "I hoped you would 
 have advised me to go ahead. Then I might 
 have proved to us both how impossible it 
 was." At the door he turned back. "Of 
 course you won't say anything " 
 
 "Oh, yes; I shall put it in the morning 
 papers," Paul said. When Ffloyd had gone 
 he finished his cigarette, staring up at the 
 light. Then he rose with a stretch and a sigh, 
 
 73
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 "That poor little girl," he said half aloud. "I 
 wish Ffloyd were more oh, well I" 
 
 Donna's little kitchen was used only when 
 she felt domestic, or tired of the cafe down- 
 stairs. On Saturdays she was very apt to "re- 
 vert to femininity," as she called it, and spend 
 happy hours over the stove, the cook book on 
 the table held open with a salt shaker, and 
 every dish, fork and spoon in the place in 
 some way becoming involved in her opera- 
 tions. She was too spent with past emotion, 
 the next day, to attempt lunch, but by mid- 
 afternoon the cook book began to assert its 
 charm, and, after a brief resistance, she set out 
 to buy materials. She had not passed the 
 scene of her accident since it happened, and 
 she looked about the fatal corner with remi- 
 niscent interest. A boy stood in the door of 
 the grocery, the very boy of interminable red 
 wrists who had owned the dog, and had been 
 declared discharged. Donna, bent on investi- 
 gating, went in. 
 
 "I though you were not here now," she said 
 pleasantly, after buying some fruit. The boy, 
 evidently not recognizing her, explained that 
 he had merely been "off" for a week. "What 
 has become of your dog?" she went on. He 
 
 73
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 glanced quickly at her, then looked off in 
 embarrassment. 
 
 "Oh, that dog ain't here any more now," he 
 answered. 
 
 "I heard that he had bitten a lady," she 
 spoke quite impersonally. "A dog like that 
 ought to be shot." 
 
 "Yes'm, he was shot," said the boy un- 
 easily. "He never bit no one before. He 
 wasn't a cross dog. 
 
 "Why do you suppose he did it? Was he 
 mad?" 
 
 "Yes'm, that was it. He was mad." 
 
 Donna felt a deadly numbness of brain and 
 limb. Outwardly, she took her fruit and 
 waited for her change, then went home to her 
 apartment and put her things away just as 
 usual ; but her inner self was quite unconscious 
 of all this. She only realized that what she 
 had taken for a pleasurably alarming little 
 drama had suddenly turned into dreadful 
 reality. All the glamour and excitement were 
 gone. Even the literary imagination fails of 
 comfort when the alternatives are insanity or a 
 horrible death. She called up her doctor, but 
 he was out, so she left an urgent message for 
 him; then lay on her couch without stirring, 
 
 74
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 her arms across her face, until the afternoon 
 was gone and the room was dark. At last with 
 a long breath she pulled herself up. 
 
 "Well, at any rate, I'll have the grace to 
 keep it to myself," she said aloud, pushing 
 back her hair and resting her hot forehead in 
 her hands. She lit the lights and began to 
 straighten herself, looking curiously at her 
 flushed face in the mirror. When she turned 
 to her washstand, a little bottle on the shelf 
 above caught her eye with its skull and cross- 
 bones. It was some laudanum she had had 
 for an aching tooth. She took it down and 
 looked at it intently. 
 
 "If it doesn't come on too fast " she said. 
 
 And then, all at once, she was afraid, afraid 
 as she had never been before in her life ; afraid 
 of the blackness of the closet, of the silent room 
 with its watching mirror, of the little bottle 
 with the staring label. With shaking hands she 
 pinned on her hat and, catching up her coat, 
 ran from the horrors that had taken up their 
 abode there. 
 
 Paul was lying back in a deep chair read- 
 ing somewhat sleepily, and called an absent 
 "Come!" to the knock on his door. When 
 Donna entered, pale and unusual looking, he 
 
 75
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 stared at her, too surprised to move. She 
 went straight to him and, dropping on her 
 knees by his chair, took his arm in both her 
 hands. 
 
 "Paul, if you had been out, I think I should 
 have died," she said, and, burying her face 
 against his sleeve, she began to cry. He 
 rubbed her shoulder gently with his other 
 hand. 
 
 "Poor girl!" he whispered; "poor little 
 Donna!" After a moment she pulled herself 
 up resolutely. 
 
 "There. I'm all right," she said broken- 
 ly. "I had an attack of the horrors. 7 
 couldn't stand being alone another minute." 
 
 Paul thought he understood. 
 
 "I know," he said; "and you're bothered. 
 Do you want to tell me about it?" 
 
 She turned away from the temptation and 
 shook her head. "I'll have the grace to bear 
 it alone," she said to herself. 
 
 He put her in the big chair, brought a rug 
 and cushions, and shaded the lamp from her 
 with a newspaper. She watched him with 
 grateful eyes, immeasurably comforted. 
 
 "If my dying could do Paul any good, I 
 wouldn't mind it/' she thought, burying her
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 face against an Indian red cushion, pleasantly 
 suggestive of tobacco. ''There's a poem in 
 that somewhere," she added; for the literary 
 habit is strong even in extremis. 
 
 Paul put a cushion under her feet, then 
 stood smiling down on her. 
 
 "This would make a good scene for 'Alfa- 
 retta, the Little Slave Girl,' " he suggested. 
 "Out of the Storm; the White Face against 
 the Window " 
 
 "Eight stories up," commented Donna. 
 "Think what a neck she'd have to have !" They 
 both laughed. 
 
 "The villain is close upon her track," Paul 
 went on. "There is barely time to conceal 
 her before a loud knock " 
 
 Knuckles on the studio door at that instant 
 made them both jump. Before they could 
 collect their wits, Ffloyd walked in. 
 
 "Say, Paul " he began impetuously, then, 
 seeing Donna, stopped short, the color rushing 
 into his face. Both men were so plainly dis- 
 concerted that Donna felt suddenly uncom- 
 fortable and out of place. 
 
 "I had the blues and Paul had been cheer- 
 ing me up," she explained awkwardly. "I 
 was just going." 
 
 77
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Oh, it's early," Paul said rather mechan- 
 ically. 
 
 "I must," she insisted, struggling to her feet. 
 She saw the two exchange glances full of some 
 meaning she could not divine, and wondered 
 uncomfortably what plans her presence had 
 upset. 
 
 "Donna, I want to walk home with you," 
 said Ffloyd, with the solemnity of one who 
 had just formed a high purpose. 
 
 "Oh, it isn't necessary. It is early yet. 
 Really, Lorrimer, I don't want you," she pro- 
 tested, and looked appealingly at Paul, but he 
 would not meet her eyes. 
 
 "Please let me. I want to," Ffloyd repeated 
 even more gravely. 
 
 "Very well," she said helplessly. "Good 
 night, Paul. Thank you." 
 
 "Good night," he said, and held her hand 
 warmly for a moment with a smile of encour- 
 agement that puzzled and hurt her. 
 
 "I might have had just this one evening 
 with him," she thought rebelliously. "But 
 he didn't even try to keep me. Oh, I wish 
 Lorrimer Ffloyd were in Jericho!" 
 
 Ffloyd, meanwhile, was helping her in and 
 out of the elevator and opening swing doors 
 
 7 8
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 for her in a way that would have amazed her 
 if she had not been too troubled to notice it. 
 He usually left her to perform these minor 
 services for herself, but to-night he felt 
 strangely protective. The traces of tears on 
 her face and her evident confusion at seeing 
 him had touched him deeply. Donna cer- 
 tainly was a dear girl. He drew her arm 
 through his and closed his fingers over her 
 hand, and Donna, suddenly ashamed of her 
 resentment, and remembering only the years 
 of warm friendship between them, met the 
 advance cordially. 
 
 "I had a bad day, too," he said. "How's 
 it all going to come out, little girl?" 
 
 "O Lorrimer^ I don't know!" she ex- 
 claimed. "I don't feel as if I could bear it 
 much longer," she added in a lower tone. 
 
 "I don't believe you'll have to, my dear," he 
 said with deep meaning. "Only, one has to 
 be very sure, doesn't one? Is there anything 
 to do but wait a little?" 
 
 "I must have told more than I realized," 
 she said with a faint smile. "I didn't mean to 
 bother any one with it. But it's the waiting 
 that's killing me. If I oh!" She broke off. 
 
 79
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 with a cry of fright and shrank up against 
 Ffloyd, clinging to his arm. 
 
 "What is it?" he exclaimed. 
 
 He saw nothing but a brown and white dog 
 sniffing at the lamp-post. 
 
 "That's the dog!" she cried. "Oh, I am 
 afraid!" 
 
 A boy came up at that moment and whistled 
 sharply to the dog. Donna turned to him ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 "Take hold of him hold him tight," she 
 implored. "That's the dog that bit me and 
 you are the boy who said he had been shot!" 
 She released the startled Ffloyd as the dog set- 
 tled down in evident amity, sweeping the 
 pavement with his tail. "What did you 
 mean?" she asked sternly. 
 
 "But he ain't a cross dog," the boy said un- 
 happily. "We keep him in the back yard all 
 the time now, and he never bit no one before, 
 didger, Petey?" The dog beamed and 
 flourished his tail harder than ever. 
 
 "But you said he was mad," Donna insisted. 
 
 " Yes'm, that was all. You hit his bone with 
 your foot and he was awful hungry, so he just 
 bit before he thought. Any dog would get 
 mad if you hit his bone away." 
 
 80
 
 DONNA'S LAST WEEK 
 
 "Oh !" said Donna. A whole world of dread 
 and misery seemed to roll away with that long 
 breath. 
 
 "Donna, what does this mean?" demanded 
 Ffloyd for the third time. 
 
 "Father says if you complain or anything, 
 he'll have Petey killed," the boy went on, rub- 
 bing the stubby head that was nosing his leg. 
 "We we've had him five years, since he was 
 a little puppy." The dog rose and began to 
 paw his jacket, making long passes with his 
 tongue at the troubled face above. "Can you 
 resist that?" the boy's eyes said plainly. And 
 Donna could not. 
 
 "Well, keep him out of mischief," she said. 
 "Good night." She turned happily to Ffloyd 
 as they went on. 
 
 "Wasn't it funny?" she laughed. "He used 
 'mad' in the vernacular and I in the literal, 
 and out of that I've had hours of pitch black 
 horror. Oh, I'm so hungry! I had no din- 
 ner. Have you any money?" 
 
 Over a supper table she told him all about 
 the past week. He took it very soberly. "And 
 that was all that was troubling you?" he asked 
 finally. 
 
 "Well, surely it was enough!" she ex- 
 Si
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 claimed. "But I shan't worry any more. Of 
 course it is all right now." 
 
 "Oh, of course," he assented^ staring dis- 
 mally at his plate. 
 
 "Well, you seem disappointed," she pro- 
 tested. Then she laughed. "O Lorrimer, 
 think what copy I have stored up! I've 
 learned a great deal about human emotions." 
 
 "Yes; I think I've learned a little some- 
 thing, too," he said with a long sigh, 
 
 82
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LORRIMER BECOMES A FAD. 
 
 A CARICATURE of a certain celebrity, 
 bearing the now expensive signature of 
 Lorrimer Ffloyd, led to unforeseen conse- 
 quences. The Celebrity shook with laughter 
 over the picture, not because it is proper to 
 laugh when one is caricatured, but because it 
 struck him as being intensely funny. He 
 awoke in the night to laugh at it, and in the 
 morning he showed it to his daughter. Miss 
 Celebrity, who was a personage, was at that 
 particular moment tired of all the men she 
 knew, and much in need of a new sensation. 
 Consequently, a week later Ffloyd was sitting 
 on the other side of her tea table at five in the 
 afternoon, and she was not at home to any one 
 else. 
 
 At first he was difficult, very close to rude; 
 for the footmen had unnerved him, and he 
 resented this weakness so bitterly that some one 
 must be punished for it at once. But Miss 
 
 83
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 Celebrity knew her business. She handled 
 him as deftly as she did the tea urn, and by the 
 time the water came to a boil he had yielded 
 up his resentment and was doing exactly what 
 she wished. When he left, an hour later, 
 there was a pencil caricature of himself on the 
 linen tray cloth, and a stinging excitement in 
 his veins that carried him past the footmen as 
 if they had been plaster casts. 
 
 "So she finds her life monotonous, does 
 she?" he said to himself with a triumphant 
 laugh. "Well, I'll see that she gets a sensa- 
 tion or two before we finish!" 
 
 Miss Celebrity, meanwhile, was smiling 
 somewhat obscurely to herself in the tiny ele- 
 vator that was carrying her to her own part 
 of the house. 
 
 u He will do," she concluded; "yes, he will 
 do very well at any rate, until Gerard comes 
 back." 
 
 The others first knew of this adventure into 
 new worlds at one of Charlotte's suppers soon 
 after, when Ffloyd appeared in frock coat and 
 a top hat, and all the hither despised trappings 
 of a Fifth Avenue Sunday. There was a 
 chorus of amazement. 
 
 "What does it all mean?" Charlotte finally
 
 LORRIMER BECOMES A FAD 
 
 demanded, while Cameron circled around him 
 in pantomimic admiration. 
 
 "Why, I have simply been calling. Is there 
 anything so outlandish in my appearance?" 
 Ffloyd spoke impatiently. Their somewhat 
 noisy excitement irritated him. They might 
 at least behave as if they were used to well 
 bred surroundings. 
 
 "Those are not such clothes as toast is made 
 in," Donna said gravely. "Charlotte, I'll do 
 it though it isn't my turn." And she lit the 
 gas stove, chanting in friendly derision: 
 
 "Oh, I love society, high society, real society!" 
 
 That frock coat dominated the whole eve- 
 ning. And yet they were used to elaborate 
 toilets on the part of Lanse, accepting them as 
 a matter of course. Perhaps the fact that 
 Lanse himself was used to them made the dif- 
 ference. Ffloyd was in an unnatural state, 
 mentally as well as bodily. The tea table he 
 had just left had spoiled his appetite in more 
 ways than one, for the glamour of Miss Celeb- 
 rity's presence and surroundings had affected 
 him like first wine, and the reaction now left 
 him cold and bitter, with raw nerves. 
 
 85
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Well, are we going to hear about it?" 
 Charlotte insisted as she began to serve things. 
 
 "Why, there's nothing to hear," he answered 
 with an effort. "I did a picture of a man, 
 and got acquainted with his daughter. She is 
 rather worth while." And he mentioned the 
 great name casually, as if it were a mere Smith 
 or Brown a violation of his real attitude that 
 was contrary to all the codes of Us. 
 
 "And to think," said Donna in mock awe, 
 "that he was once just Thomas L. Floyd, of 
 Metuchen! Floyd with one f, too! Oh, if 
 she ever finds it out!" 
 
 "Suppose we write her an anonymous let- 
 ter," suggested Lanse. 
 
 But Ffloyd declined to be amused, declined 
 to eat, declined to talk except in an abstract, 
 distant way. When they laughed out, his con- 
 trolled smile made them feel boisterous. Char- 
 lotte, telling a story with the whole souled 
 abandon that was so potent a charm in 
 her, telling it with wonderful mimicry, so that 
 the scene and characters were vividly present, 
 was suddenly smitten in the midst of it with 
 the consciousness that she was thirty-five, the 
 mother of a nearly grown son, and perhaps 
 It was the first time such a thought had ever 
 
 86
 
 occurred to her, and though she was too young 
 and alive for it to last more than a moment, it 
 spoiled her story and left a little mark be- 
 tween her eyebrows. 
 
 When the others had gone, rather earlier 
 than usual, she turned to Paul, who always 
 lingered. 
 
 "What was the matter? Why was it all so 
 horrid?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, it's just that Ffloyd is drunk," he an- 
 swered. "He will come through it all right 
 it had to happen, sooner or later. It's the 
 final step of his education." 
 
 The irritation smoothed out of her face, and 
 she looked at him affectionately. 
 
 "Paul, you are the wisest person in the 
 whole world," she said seriously. 
 
 "Don't," he protested. "If I were that, I'd 
 go home ; and I want to stay." 
 
 The next Sunday night Ffloyd did not come, 
 but sent an apologetic note explaining that it 
 was a dinner, and that as people were asked to 
 meet him, he could not very well cut it. The 
 Sunday after he arrived late, but in hilarious 
 spirits, and kept things going at a half hysteri- 
 cal pitch that left them all exhausted. Then 
 for three weeks he was not seen or heard of, 
 
 87
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 At the end of that time he dropped into 
 Donna's apartment late one afternoon. He 
 looked intangibly changed. It took her some 
 minutes to make out the differences the hair 
 a couple of inches longer than normal, the ec- 
 centric waistcoat, the bursting carnation up- 
 side down in his buttonhole, the elaborate 
 scarf apparently held in place by a shingle 
 nail. 
 
 "How is the lady?" she asked with friendly 
 directness. Ffloyd smiled to himself as one 
 having remarkable memories. 
 
 "She likes your verses, Donna," he said. "I 
 gave her our animal book, and she wanted to 
 know about you." 
 
 It was impossible not to feel flattered at this 
 announcement, it was given in such calm cer- 
 tainty of its importance. Donna's gratifica- 
 tion lasted several seconds, before her sense of 
 humor rose to the occasion. 
 
 "And what did you tell her?" she asked. 
 
 "That you were young, beautiful, and ac- 
 complished; intensely clever, yet intensely 
 feminine; one of the nicest girls I ever knew, 
 to work with or to play with." 
 
 Donna smiled a little wickedly. 
 
 "Well ; and did it work? Was she jealous ?"
 
 LORRIMER BECOMES A FAD 
 
 she suggested. He gave her a shrewd glance. 
 
 "You are too clever for your own good," he 
 admitted with a laugh. "It's an awfully in- 
 teresting game," he went on confidentially. 
 ''They can't understand a man's daring to be 
 himself, to follow his impulses even if they are 
 fantastic." He straightened the shingle nail 
 in his scarf. "Of course she's the only one 
 that is really worth while. The rest haven't got 
 brains and understanding, as she has; but it's 
 good fun all round, just to see their excite- 
 ment. They say things are 'Ffloydy' now, 
 when they're odd. Isn't it queer that society 
 is so easy?" 
 
 "I suppose it is," said Donna a little short- 
 ly. Ffloyd was not used to disapproval in his 
 new role, and resented her lack of sympathy. 
 There were others to appreciate him, if she 
 did not. He rose soon after, and she made no 
 effort to keep him, though she gave him a 
 troubled look as she said good by. 
 
 "Donna takes things too seriously," he said 
 to himself with a shrug. "It's tiresome to be 
 always on a high plane." Nevertheless, his 
 hand went up once or twice to his buttonhole, 
 where the bursting carnation was hung head 
 down. He walked along somewhat moodilvj
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 not noticing what went on about him until his 
 name spoken between two laughs brought him 
 back with a start. A victoria holding two 
 women had drawn up beside the curb, and 
 from its puffy blue cushions Miss Celebrity 
 was summoning him in that odd little hot- 
 house voice of hers that made all others sound 
 untrained and offensively hearty. Ffloyd took 
 off his hat with a movement he had invented 
 especially for her, and had named the 
 "Gladys." 
 
 "I give other people the 'Miss Johnson,' or 
 the 'Miss de Vere' or the 'Hello, Edy,' " he 
 had explained; "but the 'Gladys' is just espe- 
 cially for you a refined blending of respect 
 and intimacy." 
 
 "You are a most adorable little lunatic," 
 she had replied tolerantly. 
 
 "We wish to be seen speaking to you," she 
 now explained. 
 
 "To prove you aren't exclusive?" Ffloyd 
 asked, leaning his elbow on the broad wheel 
 guard. The other girl gave a laugh of pro- 
 test. "If you want to be amused," he went on, 
 "you've got the wrong number. I was just 
 deciding to give up my career as a social fad 
 
 90
 
 LORRIMER BECOMES A FAD 
 
 and go back to the pastime of earning my 
 living." 
 
 "Oh, but we can't spare you," Miss Celeb- 
 rity declared, leaning forward a little. "Why, 
 I am thinking of giving a costume dinner, just 
 because I know you would wear something so 
 so Ffloydy, you know." She smiled down 
 at him, and he was back again, body and soul, 
 his momentary discontent a thing to be scorned 
 and forgotten. "Come to-morrow afternoon 
 and help me plan it," she added, leaning back 
 again with a bow of dismissal. 
 
 "You don't mean to say," demanded Ffloyd, 
 "that you've kept me here all this while and 
 aren't going to ask me to drive home with 
 you?" 
 
 "Well, really, this seat will hardly hold 
 three," she objected. 
 
 "What's the matter with this, then?" And 
 he seated himself at their feet, his own resting 
 on the low step. 
 
 "Very well if you are comfortable," she 
 assented. 
 
 "Now, I object!" exclaimed the other girl. 
 "You may be considered spoilt, and he may be 
 considered mad, but I am not considered any- 
 pi!
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 thing interesting, and I have to keep up 
 appearances. I will not have it." 
 
 Ffloyd leaned back and protested volubly, 
 apparently quite unconscious of anything con- 
 spicuous in his position. Only once he looked 
 disconcerted for a second, and caught off his 
 hat rather confusedly to some one who stared 
 at him in grave wonder as she nodded. 
 
 "I should call that the 'Hello, Edy,' " sug- 
 gested Miss Celebrity, meeting his eyes as he 
 rose. He laughed, but did not explain; and 
 Charlotte went home saying to herself, "Oh, 
 dear me! How long must it last?" 
 
 They planned a costume dinner, and then 
 they added a fancy dress ball, and by the time 
 the invitations were out, it promised to be a 
 very elaborate occasion. 
 
 "People hate dressing up, but they would 
 hate worse not to come," said Miss Celebrity, 
 with the tranquil assurance that so fascinated 
 Ffloyd. He had given up even the pretense 
 of working now, and the "year in Paris" fund 
 for which he had labored so earnestly was re- 
 duced to a bare month in New York by 
 clothes, hansoms, entertainments, and offerings 
 for the lady. 
 
 "For a man who is always bragging of his 
 92
 
 LORRIMER BECOMES A FAD 
 
 poverty " she commented when he came in 
 with a great church candelabrum of wrought 
 brass nearly as tall as himself under each arm. 
 
 '"Mais quel geste!' " he quoted with Cy- 
 rano's own magnificence as he set them down 
 on either side of the tea table. "I walked up 
 with them (if I had taken a cab, I could only 
 have given you one), and Wattie Van Court 
 nearly fell out of the club window trying to 
 see what they were. I think he decided they 
 were the latest thing in walking sticks, and 
 went down to get some at once." 
 
 "It is a responsible position, to be a leader 
 of fads," she warned him. "On Sunday I saw 
 seven men with carnations upside down in 
 their buttonholes. It is time for something 
 new. Remember, I trust you to make my 
 party the most talked of one of the century." 
 
 Ffloyd was ready early on the night of the 
 dinner, but he was careful to arrive the last 
 of all. The drawing-room was brilliant with 
 personages Lady Macbeth, Folly, Crom- 
 well, Sir Galahad, the usual collection of 
 Queen Louise of Prussias seventeen alto- 
 gether, with Miss Celebrity resplendent as the 
 Princess Scheherezade. When the portieres 
 were drawn back and "Mr. Lorrimer Ffloyd" 
 
 93
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 was announced, every one stopped talking and 
 turned towards the door. There was a half 
 second of suspense, then, as Ffloyd appeared 
 between the curtains, a burst of laughter, a 
 clapping of hands, an eager coming forward 
 of knights and queens. 
 
 "And this was once Thomas L. Floyd of 
 Metuchen," flashed through his mind as he 
 bowed his greetings. His costume was plain 
 enough, but it had taken even better than he 
 had dared to hope, for he was simply made up 
 to represent his own well known caricature of 
 himself. 
 
 He turned to speak to the Princess Scheher- 
 ezade, and they shouted again at his profile 
 aspect the long, pointed nose, exaggerated 
 glasses, and clinging, dank hair of the familiar 
 cartoon. Even the nervous haste of his pic- 
 tured movements was reproduced by a clever 
 wiring of his garments. The princess smiled 
 on him and gave him both hands. 
 
 "I knew you would do it," she said ; "I knew 
 I could trust you for a sensation." 
 
 Ffloyd took her hands and bowed over them 
 wordlessly. A stinging excitement was flash- 
 ing through all his veins; the year in Paris 
 was well Iost 2 his work well forgotten, his old 
 
 94
 
 LORRIMER BECOMES A FAD 
 
 world well left behind. It was perhaps the 
 gayest moment of his whole life, this instant 
 of triumph with the princess smiling at him 
 and all her world applauding. 
 
 The dinner went off brilliantly. Ffloyd 
 was in mad spirits, but kept his head and 
 played his game with caution, dimly realizing 
 that his princess would not easily forgive a 
 false move. His excitement roused an aban- 
 don in the others that spread from them 
 through the whole ball afterwards, so that it 
 went with a swing and gaiety that is gen- 
 erally crushed out of large affairs. 
 
 Towards the end he went and stood before 
 his hostess, mutely. 
 
 "Well?" she asked. 
 
 "Haven't I been good?" he began. 
 
 "Good as gold." 
 
 "And I helped make your party a success?" 
 
 "You did. You were the belle of the eve- 
 ning." 
 
 "And you like me?" 
 
 "Oh perhaps." 
 
 "Well, then, don't I get a little five minutes 
 of royal society, all to myself? Haven't I 
 earned it?" 
 
 She laughed indulgently and let him lead 
 
 95
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 her away to a quieter neighborhood where 
 there was a divan down behind friendly 
 palms. 
 
 "Well?" she queried, leaning back among 
 the cushions. "How are you going to amuse 
 me?" He rested his elbows on his knees and 
 looked at her meditatively over his clasped 
 hands. 
 
 "I've been amusing you for weeks and 
 weeks," he answered. "Don't you think it is 
 only fair you should amuse me for a few mo- 
 ments?" 
 
 "But I never amuse people. I don't know 
 how," she protested lazily. 
 
 "That's because you are what novels used 
 to call 'a spoiled beauty.' ' 
 
 "And what would they call me now?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "I know what I should like to call 
 you but I don't dare. You always keep me 
 a little afraid of you, princess," he added wist- 
 fully, picking up one of the gold tassels of her 
 gown and gently beating her hand with it. 
 "Why won't you let me come nearer?" 
 
 "Indeed, I think you are quite near 
 enough," she returned with a faint shrug, 
 moving her hand away.
 
 LORRIMER BECOMES A FAD 
 
 "But I feel as if I were only your monte- 
 bank," he persisted. "I don't want that. I 
 want " He broke off and searched her eyes 
 with his own. She gave him a cool, level 
 glance that he could not decipher, then looked 
 off down the brilliant rooms. A man in or- 
 dinary evening dress was working his way to- 
 ward them, evidently looking for some one. 
 They watched him until he was near their cor- 
 ner, then she rose quietly and went to meet 
 him. 
 
 "Well, Gerard," Ffloyd heard her say, 
 "when did you get back?" 
 
 "Two hours ago," was the answer. "I 
 hadn't any costume to wear A but I knew you 
 would forgive me." 
 
 "Come and have some supper," she said, 
 laying her hand on his arm. Then she looked 
 back with a smile of apology to Ffloyd, a look 
 that left him very contented. It did not oc- 
 cur to him that its friendliness might not be 
 due to him at all. He felt only a patronizing 
 pity for the fellow who had to pass in his every 
 day plainness where every one else was beau- 
 tiful or fantastic. 
 
 "He must feel so out of it," he concluded 
 comfortably. 
 
 97
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 When he went to say good night, the plain 
 clothes man was still with her. 
 
 "When may I come to-morrow?" Ffloyd 
 asked confidentially over her hand. She 
 lifted her eyebrows. 
 
 "Oh, really I don't believe I shall be at 
 home to-morrow at all," she said, disposing of 
 him with a little nod and turning back to her 
 companion. 
 
 Ffloyd felt himself turn white under his 
 make-up ; a dull chill crept down his arms and 
 through his whole body, and his brain felt 
 suddenly numb. It was not until he was lying 
 back in a corner of his cab that the blood 
 rushed up into his face, and he knew how hurt 
 he was. He went to bed with a shrug and an 
 attempted laugh, but it was a night of angry 
 movements, of proud, cutting speeches spoken 
 half aloud in the darkness, of quick, hard 
 breathings and sudden stoppages of his ears 
 with desperate hands. 
 
 "Oh, I can do without you," he said fiercely. 
 "You've neither heart nor soul. I hate your 
 little frosty, affected voice, and your snobbish 
 conceit, and your God 2 1 wish I'd never seen 
 you!" 
 
 It was not until the next afternon that the
 
 LORRIMER BECOMES A FAD 
 
 inevitable reaction came. Perhaps she had 
 not really meant it the way it sounded. She 
 was tired, and he ought to have realized that 
 she would not want visitors the day after such 
 an effort. His absurd sensitiveness had taken 
 offense where none was intended. He would 
 go to see her on Sunday afternoon just as usual 
 and then, if she was friendly and others gave 
 them a chance, he would tell her what she had 
 made him suffer, and she would be grieved as 
 well as surprised. He planned out just what 
 she would say, to his entire satisfaction. 
 
 He went through many different stages of 
 feeling during the next few days, but the 
 glamour was round him again, and he excused 
 and forgave her for the sake of going back. 
 On Sunday afternoon he pressed her bell at 
 the usual time, with a few casual sentences in 
 his mouth and his heart in his throat. The 
 footmen were so much furniture to him now 
 in his greater dread. 
 
 She was seated at her tea table with the man 
 she had called Gerard beside her. About a 
 dozen people were scattered through the great 
 room. He saw with an inner sinking that the 
 candelabra she had coveted and he had dis- 
 covered for her were no longer by the table.. 
 
 99
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "That's Lorrimer Ffloyd, you know," he 
 heard some one say, and the whisper gave him 
 courage to go on. She lifted her eyes and 
 glanced at him carelessly. 
 
 "Ah, good afternoon," she said. "Tea? 
 Amy, come and give Mr. Ffloyd a cup of tea. 
 I am tired of posing as domestic." She rose 
 and crossed over to a deep window seat, the 
 new man following her. Ffloyd talked bril- 
 liantly, if a trifle incoherently, to the girl who 
 took her place. He was more "Ffloydy" than 
 usual the rest of the afternoon, but those about 
 laughed guardedly, evidently unwilling to let 
 themselves go, and they talked more to one 
 another than to him. They had seen his cool 
 reception, and were visibly drawing back. 
 Last Sunday, when she had kept him beside 
 her all the afternoon, his least word had 
 started little ripples of laughter, and he had 
 been wreathed and laureled with their ap- 
 proval. Now they were afraid. "As rats 
 leave a sinking ship," he said desperately to 
 himself. 
 
 To be sure, one or two whom he had always 
 ignored as second rate made furtive advances 
 to him, evidently hoping to profit by his re- 
 verse. But he turned hotly from the oppor- 
 
 100
 
 LORRIMER BECOMES A FAD 
 
 tunity. He was not going to take up with 
 second best now. 
 
 "Another royal favorite turned down," one 
 man commented to another, and, though 
 Ffloyd did not hear the speech, he saw it, and 
 felt its meaning. He was too proud to go, so 
 he held on valiantly, and they had no least 
 suspicion that they were in the room with such 
 suffering as the deepest tragedies of their lives 
 might not cause them. 
 
 When, at last, he was back in his own room, 
 he called in his philosophy, and then his sense 
 of humor, to the aid of his poor, bleeding van- 
 ity, and even pulled out some work, whistling 
 defiantly. And then it suddenly occurred to 
 him that this was Sunday night, and Charlotte 
 was even now making the salad, laughing her 
 splendid laugh at Paul's wit and Cameron's 
 absurdity, while Donna helped to get things 
 ready, and Lanse and Evelyn grew flushed 
 and excited over the interminable play in a 
 corner. 
 
 "They are my kind. They are the real 
 thing for me," he said, pushing back his 
 sketches. "I never could say 'Us' in any other 
 set. And I threw them over the first chance 
 I had!" 
 
 101
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 Such a homesickness for the little flat swept 
 over him that tears came into his eyes, and he 
 threw himself face down on the narrow bed. 
 He longed for their simplicity, their kind 
 hearts and honest intentions and keen wits, 
 their gaiety and their earnestness. Above all, 
 he wanted Donna. And he had cut himself 
 off from it all! For long, bitter hours he lay 
 there, mastering his lesson. 
 
 The next morning at nine o'clock Ffloyd let 
 himself into his workroom. The air was 
 close and stale, and dust lay thick everywhere. 
 He put things in order with his precise, neat 
 movements, then prepared his pencils, and sat 
 down before his drawing board. He had 
 paid his rent that morning, and the remaining 
 fifteen cents had gone for his breakfast. He 
 had to earn his luncheon and dinner, if he was 
 to have any. 
 
 An unexpected exhilaration crept through 
 him at the prospect. The pencil between his 
 fingers brought back the forgotten joy of 
 work, and the listlessness faded from his eyes. 
 After a few moments he began to sketch with 
 quick, nervous movements. Soon his coat 
 came off, his cuff was pushed back, his fore- 
 head grew intent, and he worked with grow- 
 
 102
 
 LORRIMER BECOMES A FAD 
 
 ing excitement, stopping only to note down 
 the ideas that came crowding in upon him; 
 for, without knowing it, he had begun the 
 series of cartoons that was to carry him tri- 
 umphantly into all the magazine fastnesses, 
 and to turn the coveted months in Paris into 
 years "Mr. Gosbek's Career as a Fad." 
 
 By noon the series was outlined and the first 
 sketch practically done; and all the bitterness 
 and the misery were worked away. He was 
 restored to his own kind and people. He 
 could laugh now, and he could let the world 
 laugh with him, for he had the upper hand. 
 He had found himself. 
 
 When the whistles blew he put away his 
 work and hurried to Donna's apartment. 
 It was evidently one of her domestic days, for 
 an odor of toast greeted him as she opened the 
 door. She had an apron over her gown and 
 a fork in her hand. 
 
 "Donna," he said, "I haven't a cent in the 
 world, but I've got a bully idea, and if you 
 will give me something to eat, I'll tell you 
 about it." 
 
 She laughed gladly, seeing at a glance that, 
 whatever the cause, Ffloyd had come to him- 
 self again. An omelet was made on the gas
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 stove, and stores were brought out of the cup- 
 board, and they talked shop and laughed and 
 grew excited, just as they had always done. 
 Her unconscious voice, warm and spontane- 
 ous, thrilled him indescribably. It was a 
 home coming that made all those wretched 
 hours worth while. When he said good-by 
 he took both -her hands and beat them softly 
 together, looked straight into her friendly 
 eyes. 
 
 "Donnie, I've been drunk, plain drunk," 
 he said. "It went to my head. But what 
 else could you expect of a person who began 
 as Thomas L. Floyd, of Metuchen?" 
 
 "Well, you got 'Mr. Gosbek' out of it," she 
 suggested. 
 
 "I got something better than that," he said, 
 turning away. "Good-by, little girl!" 
 
 104
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "MR. GOSBEK'S CAREER." 
 
 EARLY every Sunday afternoon Cam- 
 eron climbed up to Lorrimer Ffloyd's 
 bare attic of a workroom to see if there 
 were any new cartoons for him to roar 
 over. He was a most satisfactory patron 
 of humorous art; not a stroke of irony, not 
 a waggish curve, escaped him, and before 
 the best of them he would laugh him- 
 self into great sobs, pounding his thighs, 
 trying to gasp out the wording of the point 
 on which he was so deliciously impaled, 
 but seldom getting beyond, "But he but he 
 but oh, I shall die!" The unconsciousness 
 of the tribute made it doubly endearing. It 
 never occurred to Cameron that Ffloyd, bent 
 down over his drawing board, with only a 
 dry twist of a smile at one corner of his mouth, 
 was nevertheless eagerly watching for the ver- 
 dict of his delight. The boy did not dream 
 of forcing his appreciation, or, indeed, of con- 
 sidering Ffloyd at all in the matter. He came 
 
 105
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 because he adored a funny picture and because 
 Ffloyd's were, of course, the funniest in the 
 world; and he never suspected why the week's 
 work was not sent off till after Sunday, or 
 wondered that Ffloyd was seldom or never 
 out on that afternoon of leisure. They fre- 
 quently fell into long talks, afterwards, and 
 the na'ive faith with which Cameron asked 
 and listened was a new and touching experi- 
 ence to the solitary man. Ffloyd was fond of 
 describing himself as "the cat who walked 
 by his lone, waving his wild tail," and he wil- 
 fully kept away casual friendships ; but he was 
 defenseless against the simplicity of this boy's 
 admiration. More and more he watched for 
 his coming and laid traps to keep him. Some- 
 times, after Cameron had gone, a great, prim- 
 itive quickening came upon him, undoing the 
 ordered bleakness of his outer life, and bring- 
 ing him to the impatient declaration: 
 
 "I want a son Good God, I want a son!" 
 Ffloyd was secretive about his work until 
 it was finished, profoundly irritated if others 
 knew or questioned him upon its subject. In 
 the first glow or doubt of an idea, he usually 
 hurried to Donna r but after that even she did 
 not venture near the topic until invited. The 
 
 106
 
 "MR. GOSBEK'S CAREER" 
 
 historic Monday that gave him "Mr. Gos- 
 bek's Career as a Fad" was followed by weeks 
 of silent and merciless labor. He was utterly 
 out of money; and though any editor would 
 have given him large sums down at a hint of 
 the series, Ffloyd would have starved rather 
 than thrust the newborn idea naked into the 
 world. So he did pot boilers and filled orders, 
 working night as well as day, and offering 
 these for Cameron's amusement at his Sunday 
 visits. It was hard, sometimes, to wait for 
 the excitement that must greet "Mr. Gosbek" ; 
 but he was too jealous for the series as a whole 
 to borrow any laughter ahead. He felt that 
 it was good : that here, at last, was a worthy 
 satire, worthily even perfectly done, and 
 that the hour of big success was at hand. He 
 walked in a dream these days, and inspira.- 
 tion burned like a torch behind the minute 
 patience of his cramped hand and bent body. 
 It was a Saturday night when the last stroke 
 was made, and Sunday morning was a long 
 fever of expectation. A lover could not have 
 awaited his lady more eagerly than Ffloyd 
 awaited Cameron's first great laugh. When 
 his usual hour approached, Ffloyd laid the 
 sketches in a careless pile on the table, and, 
 
 107
 
 getting out a portfolio of old studies and first 
 draughts, took one at random and pretended 
 to go to work on it. Cameron's knock made 
 his heart leap and quiver like a frightened 
 rabbit. 
 
 "Come," he called, then added a brief 
 "Hello!" being apparently too busy to lift his 
 eyes from the drawing board. 
 
 u 'Lo," returned Cameron cheerfully. 
 "Thought I'd drop in. Any new pictures?" 
 
 Ffloyd dipped his head towards the long ta- 
 ble with a careless, "U'm-h'm." For a breath- 
 less moment he waited for the opening chord, 
 the first growing chuckle of appreciation; 
 then, stealing a swift glance, he saw with dis- 
 may that Cameron had fallen on the open 
 portfolio, not noticing the unpretentious pile 
 of new work. He took breath to speak, but 
 closed his lips again and settled grimly to the 
 task of waiting. That old truck would not 
 hold the boy long. As Cameron, leaning on 
 his elbows, giggled comfortably at his discov- 
 eries, smiling lines of anticipation appeared 
 about Ffloyd's eyes, but he did not look round, 
 even when a boyish roar of delight was fol- 
 lowed by a rather long silence. He was too 
 
 1 08
 
 "MR. GOSBEK'S CAREER" 
 
 intent on the coming triumph to wonder or 
 care what might be in the old portfolio. 
 
 After the silence had lasted several mo- 
 ments, Cameron straightened up. "Well, I 
 must be going," he said. There was constraint 
 under his manful carelessness, but Ffloyd did 
 not notice. 
 
 "Just take a look at that series I have done," 
 he suggested, and turned away again as Cam- 
 eron obeyed. He heard the first sheet lifted, 
 and allowed for a pause while the lines be- 
 neath were being read. Perhaps he had not 
 written them clearly; or his impatience could 
 not take a proper measure of time the laugh 
 was so long in coming. Not one of them was 
 funnier than that first, more delicately witty, 
 more crammed with mocking human truth. 
 Yet the applause still held off. There was a 
 second rustle, and a third, and at last he had 
 to look. 
 
 Cameron was taking up the pictures in swift 
 succession, and not a flicker of a smile showed 
 in his face. Sick at heart, Ffloyd watched 
 him go through to the very end, then lay them 
 down with a smothered sigh. 
 
 "Very funny," he said baldly, and turned 
 away. "I must be off." 
 
 109
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 With the doorknob in his hand and his 
 back turned, he added a difficult, "Oh, I say 
 will you tell my mother that I won't be home 
 to supper?" Something further about "one 
 of the fellows" trailed after him as he closed 
 the door. 
 
 Ftloyd's bitter disappointment at first took 
 the form of wrath. He had cast his pearls 
 before swine ; the great lout could enjoy noth- 
 ing above the level of slapstick. But this was 
 so notoriously untrue that presently he had 
 to give it up, and his anger went with it, leav- 
 ing him cold and desolate. He forced him- 
 self to take up the sketches, one by one, and, 
 in the chilly light of his disappointment, he 
 saw truly at last. They were obvious, dull, 
 commonplace: neither in idea nor in execu- 
 tion was there a touch of the distinction that 
 he had dreamed into them. They would sell, 
 no doubt poor, ordinary trash often did; but 
 not one inch could they add to his stature, and 
 his career would end as it had begun, with 
 cartoons of big-bodied politicians and clumsy 
 allegories on parties and trusts. No house of 
 cards ever fell more prostrate than Ffloyd's 
 many sided hopes of the past few weeks. He 
 sat staring at the ruins until the wintry dusk 
 
 JIO
 
 "MR. GOSBEK'S CAREER" 
 
 added its desolating touch, then, starting up, 
 he seized the last sketch and deliberately tore 
 it across. It was his intention to serve the 
 whole series so, but at the sound of tearing his 
 heart failed him, and he flung them into a 
 drawer. 
 
 ''That's over," he said aloud, as the drawer 
 slammed. "Well, then!" 
 
 Having accepted failure, Ffloyd was impa- 
 tient to commit himself to it, to leave no room 
 for future delusions about his career. He 
 saw truly, once for all, and, proudly, hotly, he 
 prepared to abide by the bleak vision. The 
 means to his end lay at his hand : a fifth letter 
 had come the day before from a glaring Sun- 
 day newspaper, desiring to buy him, body and 
 soul. He re-read the offer, facing what it 
 meant with savage satisfaction, as though he 
 punished an enemy by accepting. Three 
 years of colored supplements, crude, coarse, 
 funny to the child of the slums or the for- 
 eign-born boor, three years of merciless per- 
 secution by caricature of all whom the paper 
 hated, without regard to cause or creed : it was 
 a heavy sentence, but Ffloyd did not hesitate. 
 Having written his acceptance in his usual 
 
 am
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 neat, precise hand, he sealed it and carried it 
 down to the dark street. 
 
 He had not meant to go to Charlotte's; yet, 
 once out in the Sunday night emptiness of the 
 city, it was easier to turn that way than to de- 
 cide what to do with his wounded, sullen self. 
 He had no intention of telling his new move. 
 He must have time to achieve a proper flip- 
 pancy before he met their grave dismay. 
 
 He found Charlotte alone, hovering about 
 her supper table, and the seven places remind- 
 ed him of her son's message. She received it 
 with bewilderment. 
 
 "But Cameron was home not fifteen minutes 
 ago," she protested. "I heard him come in 
 and then go out again. Why didn't he tell 
 me himself?" 
 
 "Perhaps he thought that you were out," 
 suggested Ffloyd, wandering about the room 
 and wondering impatiently why he had come. 
 
 "No I called and he answered." Char- 
 lotte was troubled. "He couldn't suppose I 
 would interfere with his going, if it was if 
 it wasn't " She stood with one hand press- 
 ing her cheek, frowning anxiously at possi- 
 bilities. "O Lorrimer, at what age does a 
 boy begin to do what?" 
 
 JI2
 
 "MR. GOSBEK'S CAREER" 
 
 "Depends," was the heavy answer. 
 
 "It is so unlike him: he always tells every- 
 thing he knows ! How did he seem when he 
 gave you the message?" 
 
 "Constrained, rather. Kept his back 
 turned." Ffloyd was not softening facts to- 
 day. 
 
 "Oh, dear, I don't like it!" Then, as the 
 doorbell rang, she passed a smoothing hand 
 across her forehead. "Don't say anything to 
 the others," she added hastily. "Of course, it 
 is all right. Let them in, Lorrimer." 
 
 She had not noticed Ffloyd's depression, 
 and though he had meant to hide it, he felt 
 hurt and neglected as he obeyed. The others, 
 coming in with fresh cold on their garments, 
 bright cheeks and quickened voices, seemed to 
 bring a mocking air of success with their 
 gaiety. He stood aloof, and answered greet- 
 ings with brief sounds that had little welcome 
 in them. They were indignant at the news 
 of Cameron's defection. 
 
 "If that isn't just like a horrid boy," Donna 
 protested; "to prefer some little scrub of a 
 schoolmate to Us!" 
 
 "We don't make it interesting enough for 
 him," said Paul worriedly. "He fits in so per-
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 fectly, we forget what a kid he is. I don't 
 mind admitting to you, Charlotte, that before 
 he came I had my doubts." 
 
 "Doubts! I had my certainties," said 
 Donna with a laugh. "I thought he would be 
 dreadfully in the way, myself." 
 
 Charlotte was smiling over the implication. 
 "I know. I understood, of course. But he 
 really hasn't been a bother, has he?" 
 
 "Bother?" It was a general protest. "I 
 never really knew what a wit I was till I 
 heard Cameron's laugh," Paul added. Lanse 
 sighed. 
 
 "I never before met any one who would lis- 
 ten to the entire plot of a four-act play, and 
 then ask for more details," he explained. "I 
 was planning to try one on him tonight." 
 
 "Cameron is the element we needed the 
 perfect listener," Donna said thoughtfully, 
 "Evelyn listens, but one isn't quite sure what 
 she is thinking, down behind her pretty man- 
 ners." The two smiled at each other. "But 
 what Cameron is thinking is written on every 
 line of his blessed face." 
 
 "The dear old boy!" Charlotte's eyes were 
 warm to mistiness. "Lanse, pull his chair 
 back; I can't bear to see it empty. Donna, 
 
 114
 
 "MR. GOSBEK'S CAREER" 
 
 do you and Lorrimer want to toast the muf- 
 fins? Everything else is ready." 
 
 "We do," Donna assented for them both. 
 Ffloyd followed her passively to the gas stove 
 and let her place the muffins over its two burn- 
 ers without interference or advice. She sent 
 a keen, friendly glance into his face. "What 
 is wrong, Lorrimer?" she asked. 
 
 He deliberated before answering. 
 
 "I have looked into a crystal and seen my 
 own future," he said at last. 
 
 "And was it so dreadful?" 
 
 "That depends on the point of view. I 
 shall probably be quite satisfied with it, in 
 time." 
 
 She puzzled over his meaning, still not sure 
 how seriously to take him, but inclined to 
 smile. 
 
 "Well, you will have Us, anyway," she of- 
 fered consolingly. "We are all in your 
 future, aren't we?" 
 
 "No," was the dry answer. 
 
 "None of us?" 
 
 "Not one." 
 
 Her mouth took a grave line. "Why not?" 
 
 "Because it is so written." 
 
 "Lorrimer! I don't like you tonight!"
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "I am sorry." It was the chilliest of snubs, 
 but Donna did not resent it. She had always 
 an indulgence that was almost maternal for 
 Ffloyd's difficult nature. 
 
 "You couldn't do without us, my dear," she 
 said gently. u You would come back waving 
 your wild tail, if you like! But you would 
 
 come." 
 
 He tried to keep silent, but Paul's voice 
 reached them at that moment, and some re- 
 flection of it in Donna's face, a half uncon- 
 scious turn of her head, set loose a dark re- 
 sentment never before even acknowledged. 
 
 "If Paul committed all the seven deadly 
 sins, he would still hold exactly the same place 
 with you," he said with biting distinctness; 
 "while, for an error in taste^ I should be cast 
 out forever." 
 
 She was still patient with him, though she 
 looked startled. "Why do you say that?" 
 
 "Isn't it true?" 
 
 "About Paul? Yes, of course. But 
 not " 
 
 "Donna! Something is burning!" called 
 Charlotte. 
 
 There was a guilty start and a sound of 
 hasty scraping. Donna finished in silence, 
 
 116
 
 "MR. GOSBEK'S CAREER" 
 
 then put the plate into Ffloyd's hand with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Everybody loves everybody, Lorry," she 
 said affectionately. "Cheer up and be good." 
 He turned away with a scowl. 
 
 Charlotte, presiding over the supper table, 
 appeared her usual serene, gay self ; but Ffloyd 
 would lend himself to no such histrionics. He 
 ate in gloomy silence. Friendly attempts to 
 cheer him were blankly ignored, raillery was 
 met with a muffled "H'h!" of contempt. 
 
 "Oh, isn't it lovely to be a man," Donna 
 broke out, after an amused attempt to pene- 
 trate to his shrouded attention. "It is so regal, 
 someway, to be cross at a party. No woman 
 ever would." 
 
 "She would be too vain," said Lanse. 
 
 "Too socially conscientious," Donna 
 amended. "She feels that the party must be 
 a success^ no matter what it costs her. Now 
 Lorrimer Ffloyd doesn't feel that way at all." 
 
 Lorrimer paid no attention, but Paul came 
 to his aid. 
 
 "Well, there is something to be said for 
 Ffloyd's way. We don't have to strain our in- 
 tuitions, keeping up with him. We are cer- 
 tain that, if he is bothered about anything he 
 
 "7
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 will jolly well let us know it." And he shot 
 a glance at Charlotte, so keen that a guilty 
 smile betrayed her. 
 
 "But do we always want to know it?" ob- 
 jected Lanse. 
 
 "Exactly!" Donna assented. "I much pre- 
 fer the worm kept in the bud, myself, unless 
 there is something active I can do for it." 
 
 Cameron would not have let so graphic an 
 opening pass unimproved, and the pause that 
 followed stood for him so vividly that they 
 scolded Charlotte again for his defection. 
 The suppressed anxiety crept into her face as 
 she protested her helplessness. 
 
 "He is paying us back for not quite want- 
 ing him before he came," said Donna. "Lor- 
 rimer, did you ever show Charlotte that 
 wicked sketch you did? Have you kept it?" 
 
 Ffloyd glanced up at the question, at first 
 absently, then with a growing fixety; the 
 startled wonder in his face changed to dis- 
 mayed certainty as he slowly laid down his 
 knife and fork. 
 
 "Well, by Jove!" he muttered. 
 
 "What? What is it?" they insisted. Still 
 he stared, a gleam of excitement lighting his 
 moody eyes, 
 
 :u8
 
 "MR. GOSBEK'S CAREER" 
 
 "Oh, I wonder, I wonder!" he exclaimed, 
 starting up from the table. A moment later, 
 they heard the front door bang after him. 
 
 "He is quite mad, but never mind," said 
 Donna, breaking the surprised silence. "We 
 can spare him tonight!" 
 
 Ffloyd's quarters were only a few blocks 
 distant, and he ran all the way. Plunging 
 into his workroom, he lit a light and, without 
 waiting to get his breath, shook out the con- 
 tents of the old portfolio on the table. Yes, 
 there it was, the bitter sketch showing the 
 bored six gathered about the obnoxious in- 
 fant; and no date on it to show that it had 
 been done before the boy himself came and 
 belonged to them. No wonder the laughter 
 had been knocked out of Cameron, that sorry 
 afternoon! In his relief, Ffloyd could have 
 cried over the boy's hurt and his manful reti- 
 cence. 
 
 "The dear old kid!" he muttered, and stood 
 staring about for a way to right matters. A 
 moment later he had spread out a fresh sheet 
 and was furiously at work. The same figures 
 were dashed in, only now they were all eager, 
 imploring, stretching out begging hands to 
 a glorious youth who was stepping debon- 
 
 119
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 nairely out of the door, with a careless back- 
 ward wave to the group. The first picture 
 was labeled, "As we thought it would be," 
 and dated; under the date of the second he 
 wrote, "As it is." With a chuckle of satisfac- 
 tion, he started to his feet, but at the door hesi- 
 tated, then turned to a table drawer. "Mr. 
 Gosbek's Career" also went with him. 
 
 He walked more slowly, returning, looking 
 about him with alert, happy eyes. He tried 
 not to hope, but that grim revelation, which 
 he had called True Sight, was mercifully 
 leaving him; his arm tightened excitedly 
 against "Mr. Gosbek." There might still be 
 a chance! 
 
 A dreary little restaurant, one of the few 
 open on Sundays, attracted his attention by 
 breathing hot cakes at him. He had eaten 
 almost nothing all day, and he paused, 
 tempted, and wondering if Charlotte's supper 
 were over. Then he drew hastily back from 
 the doorway, for, alone at a long marble table, 
 sat Cameron, hunched down over his plate, 
 his dejected head resting on one hand. Ffloyd 
 knew now with pained certainty how he had 
 been hurt, and longed to go to him, but turned 
 and went slowly on. For there was no phase 
 
 120
 
 "MR. GOSBEK'S CAREER" 
 
 of wounded pride that Ffloyd did not under- 
 stand; and he knew that the boy would shrink 
 from discovery, would hate being hunted up 
 and appeased. It was Ffloyd at his dearest 
 and sunniest who came back to Charlotte's, 
 making them all shout with his two sketches. 
 "Mr. Gosbek" was left concealed under his 
 coat. 
 
 Cameron had had a bad time since he came 
 on the forgotten sketch that afternoon. At 
 first glance the unmistakable figures with their 
 exaggerated boredness had struck him as en- 
 chantingly funny; then it had dawned on him 
 that the infant in the center was significantly 
 clothed in a Cameron plaid. His laughter 
 ended as he looked more closely. The bal- 
 loon face, into which had been drawn a wicked 
 likeness to Charlotte, was inevitably somewhat 
 like his own. Charlotte had been sketched 
 with her finger on her lips, and her anxious 
 attitude, as well as the listless irritation of 
 the rest, took on a significance which caught 
 the boy in the side like a knife thrust. He 
 stared in wide-eyed misery, trying to find some 
 other explanation, some loophole by which 
 he might escape back to happiness. 
 
 He had always been wanted, Welcome, 
 121
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 was, in his eyes, not a special blessing, but the 
 natural air that one breathed in this jolly 
 world. His delightful uncle had wanted him 
 as a pupil, the boys had wanted him in their 
 games and clubs ; all those four years, in every 
 letter, while his mother worked her way up 
 to the success that would let her have him 
 back, she had wanted him. Even her won- 
 derful friends had seemed to want him when 
 he came. He had seized on the bright central 
 vacancy of the hearth rug as his natural and 
 rightful position, and had wallowed there, 
 butting his head against his mother's slipper 
 in his affection, or obligingly rolling over 
 when the atmosphere began to "smell like 
 ironing day," as they expressed it; and the 
 others, lounging in the shadow, seemingly 
 grouped about him as much as about the coal 
 fire, had shot their unchecked speech back 
 and forth across him, and had appeared by 
 their laughter and their kind eyes to admit 
 him to their very center and welcome him 
 there. Now this travesty, this goggling baby 
 on the central rug and the naked ennui of the 
 rest, came to him like a horrible revelation. 
 He was really an intrusion, a spoil sport. 
 They did not want him; they only pretended 
 
 1122
 
 "MR. GOSBEK'S CAREER" 
 
 to, out of politeness. They had better times 
 without him. A surge of anger followed the 
 first dismayed pain. He would show them! 
 He set his teeth and forced his softening eyes 
 to stare at the sketch until they were hard 
 and bright again. To get away with his hurt 
 undetected was his one thought. 
 
 After a long walk, he discovered that he 
 had no money with him, and trudged drearily 
 back again. His mother's voice and the bright 
 rooms nearly broke down his pride, but he 
 drove himself out. By means of a newspaper, 
 he prolonged his meal until the restaurant was 
 nearly empty, then tried to turn again away 
 from home. But he could not. He must go 
 back, wanted or not wanted. Pride crumbled 
 before sheer homesickness. He would try not 
 to be in the way. His mother wouldn't hate 
 having him, anyway. The appeal in his eyes, 
 as he climbed the stairs, would have wrung 
 their hearts, could they have seen it and un- 
 derstood. 
 
 His heavy step was greeted with calls and 
 laughter. His mother's relieved, 
 
 "Where have you been, bad boy?" was 
 drowned under commands to "Look!" as they 
 drew him towards two sketches pinned above 
 
 123
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 the mantelpiece. At first glance, he winced 
 and flushed; then went steadily up to them, 
 with Ffloyd's hand on his back. 
 
 He did not laugh as much as they had 
 laughed; but as he looked at the two dates 
 and took in the significance of that second 
 grouping, his face lit and warmed and beamed 
 on them until they laughed again at the trans- 
 formation. Ffloyd, knowing that his guess 
 had been right, grew madly merry; none of 
 their suppers had ever wound up more gaily, 
 though only two know why the atmosphere 
 of the little room was so charged with warmth 
 and radiance. 
 
 When all but Donna had gone, and she was 
 reluctantly turning to her wraps, Ffloyd pro- 
 duced "Mr. Gosbek," laying the sketches 
 carelessly on the table before Cameron. 
 
 "Have I shown you these?" he asked. Cam- 
 eron bent eagerly down over the first one. 
 
 "Why, no," he said. 
 
 There was a moment's pause, while Donna 
 and Charlotte gossipped in the hall. Then 
 a chuckle sounded, followed by a muffled ex- 
 plosion; then a great, cracking laugh was 
 flung straight up to the ceiling, a very yell of 
 joy the perfect response of Ffloyd's desires, 
 
 124
 
 "MR. GOSBEK'S CAREER" 
 
 The two women came hurrying back, but 
 Cameron could only gasp and heave and smite 
 his great person, and thrust the first sketch into 
 their hands while he dried his eyes and seized 
 the next. Ffloyd was destined to gain many 
 coveted glories in the years ahead, but suc- 
 cess never tasted sweeter than in that half 
 hour, with his own people shaken by laughter 
 and laying excited hands on his shoulders and 
 telling him that he had done it at last. There 
 was no dryness in his response, no baffling con- 
 cealments; he stood shining on them, drinking 
 in their words, waiting in open joy while they 
 went over and over the work. 
 
 "There is one more, but it got torn," he 
 said. "I can mend it." And, taking from his 
 pocket a sealed and stamped letter, he dropped 
 it into the fire. 
 
 Donna came and stood beside him as he 
 watched his commitment to failure burn. 
 
 "I see a vision of your future, too, Lorri- 
 mer," she said. "But I don't see why it ex- 
 cludes Us. You needn't be as proud as all 
 that." 
 
 "What I saw wasn't a vision it was a bad 
 dream," he said quickly. "It is all over. I 
 see truly now, my dear!" 
 
 125
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A WRITER OF PLAYS. 
 
 t_JAD she been born several centuries 
 earlier, Evelyn would have pinned her 
 favor on her knight's sleeve and assisted him 
 into his armour with steady hands and exalted 
 eyes. He who loved her must excel ; and man 
 must know his excellence. Being too late for 
 tourneys, she dispatched a nervous young play- 
 wright to face his unsympathizing father with 
 the same imperious ambition. She was fas- 
 tidious about distinction, as about everything 
 else: for mere money she had a contempt 
 possible only to one who had never lacked it; 
 but the honors won by the brain, by talent 
 and hot imagination, marked, in her eyes, the 
 true aristocracy. When that life was open 
 to a man, she had only impatience for hesita- 
 tion, no matter what its source. 
 
 "You have been your father's son long 
 enough, Lanse," she declared, standing, 
 straight and spirited, before him. "The time 
 has come when you must be yourself." 
 
 127
 
 It was significant of their intimacy that 
 Lanse, the supremely well mannered, kept his 
 seat, looking up at her with worried intent- 
 ness. 
 
 ''But what if I can't do it, Evelyn? What 
 if we are mistaken in thinking that I have 
 talent?" 
 
 "Oh, if you are going to talk that way " 
 
 She turned away from him in disdain and, 
 sitting down at the piano, began to strike 
 martial chords. "Why don't you go and have 
 it out with him now?" she suggested over her 
 shoulder. Lanse sighed and hesitated. 
 
 "I hate to spoil his Sunday," he objected; 
 but presently he went. 
 
 It was no mock contest to which she had 
 sent him. The solemn, old-fashioned gentle- 
 man, with his dislike of the stage and impa- 
 tience of artists, his pride in the business 
 which three generations of oldest sons had 
 built up in prosperity and honor, could never 
 accept the fact that he had fathered one of 
 the alien tribe, and that the drama-loving son, 
 with his complex moods and sensitivenesses, 
 his oblivious joy before "situations" and his 
 blank unresponse to the problems of business, 
 was not designed to carry on the family name 
 
 128
 
 A WRITER OF PLAYS 
 
 in its old channels. That Lanse would work 
 at plays in his spare time had long been a 
 bitter grievance; how he would take an open 
 attempt at a playwright's career was a seri- 
 ous question. Could any one have made him 
 understand that his son found him "pathetic," 
 sorrowed as well as smiled over his disappoint- 
 ment, tried honestly to protect him from too 
 much knowledge of things as they are, as one 
 protects the touching ignorance of a child, 
 and, in his heart, considered him a poor, dear, 
 dull old Philistine who couldn't help it the 
 old gentleman's unsound heart would proba- 
 bly have carried him off on the spot. He was 
 always, in every capacity, the honored head 
 of the firm; he could not have wound his 
 watch or taken off his boots without some 
 touch of that dignified consciousness. Never 
 once, in all the years of sharp criticism on his 
 son, had it occurred to him to wonder what 
 Lanse thought of him. On that count, Lanse 
 had been a better son than he could ever 
 know. It was this protective pity as well as 
 nervous horror of a scene that made Lanse 
 walk so slowly back to the big, solid, ugly, 
 prosperous home of his childhood. 
 
 He had left Evelyn soon after luncheon, 
 129
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 promising to return and tell her of the en- 
 counter, but the long Sunday afternoon passed 
 without bringing him. She waited until it 
 was almost time for supper at Charlotte's, then 
 hurried off, hoping to find him there; but he 
 had not come or sent word, and they finally 
 ate supper without him. 
 
 It was one of their quiet evenings. There 
 was no light in the little sitting room but the 
 glow of the coal fire, and, after they had set- 
 tled down, no sound but the tinkle of spring 
 rain on the windows. Cameron had stretched 
 his young bulk on the hearth rug in Sunday 
 night beatitude, and Charlotte presently bent 
 down to slip a cushion under his head. 
 
 "I wonder where Lanse can be?" she said. 
 "It is so unlike him, not even to send word. 
 Lanse really has beautiful manners," she 
 added reflectively. 
 
 "H'h!" grunted Lorrimer Ffloyd, as though 
 recognizing some tacit implication. Paul's 
 voice came tolerantly from the darkest cor- 
 ner. 
 
 "Ffloyd's manners aren't half as bad as they 
 used to be." 
 
 "That so?" Ffloyd spoke anxiously. "I 
 130
 
 A WRITER OF PLAYS 
 
 hope to heaven that I am not degenerating 
 into a young gentleman!" 
 
 "If I couldn't prove myself a genius ex- 
 cept by my manners Donna threw out, 
 and the two smiled amicably at each other. 
 
 "I know what is keeping him," Evelyn said 
 hesitatingly; u only I thought perhaps he 
 would rather tell you himself. It is so fright- 
 fully exciting. Henry Grenville likes his 
 play." 
 
 There was a stir of interest, a sitting up 
 of recumbent forms. 
 
 "Has he taken it?" they demanded. 
 
 "He has only had the first act and the 
 scenario of the rest, but he says, definitely, 
 that he will take it if it doesn't fall off, and 
 he wants Lanse to finish it at once, because 
 his present play is not going well. Don't you 
 think he ought to seize such a chance? That 
 I am right in urging him?" 
 
 "Rather! I should say so!" It was a gen- 
 eral assent. "And you mean that Lanse is 
 at work now?" Charlotte added. 
 
 Evelyn's face clouded. "Oh, no; I am 
 afraid he is telling his father," she explained, 
 with a naivete that made them laugh. "It is 
 not a joke! He will have to get time off from 
 
 131
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 the office to do this, and his father well, you 
 know!" They did know; and it was a sober- 
 ing thought. 
 
 "Poor boy," murmured Charlotte. 
 
 "And poor old man," added Paul. "How 
 came he by Lanse, I wonder!" 
 
 "There he is," exclaimed Cameron as the 
 bell rang, and Charlotte rose to light the lamp, 
 conscious that the time for firelit peace was 
 over. 
 
 Lanse saw at a glance that they knew, but 
 he made his excuses to Charlotte first. In the 
 hour of death or the Day of Judgment, 
 Lanse's silvery blond hair would be smooth, 
 his dress immaculate, his deferential courtesy 
 unruffled; but an hour's distress could leave 
 his boyish face drawn and lined and ten years 
 older. They felt his nervous tension so keen- 
 ly that a constrained silence might have fol- 
 lowed if Cameron, happily unconscious, had 
 not blundered to the rescue. 
 
 "I say, Lanse, what did the old man do to 
 you?" he asked confidentially, and so threw 
 a welcome gleam of comedy on the situation. 
 Lanse laughed with the rest, and took a chair 
 beside Evelyn. 
 
 "How much do you know?" he began. 
 132
 
 A WRITER OF PLAYS 
 
 "We made Evelyn tell," Paul explained. 
 
 "Oh, of course. Well, I have to make my 
 choice, tonight. I thought perhaps you could 
 help me." He looked with troubled intensity 
 from one to another. "If I do this play, I 
 leave home, and I don't go back into the busi- 
 ness. And, incidentally, I " he broke off, 
 
 breathing nervously. 
 
 "Yes ; you wound your father deeply," said 
 Charlotte gently. 
 
 "Oh, but, I say, mother!" Cameron ex- 
 ploded, then obeyed her silencing gesture with 
 a mutter of protest. 
 
 "It is easy to call him narrow and dog- 
 matic and that, but it doesn't help him," Lanse 
 went on. "However, I think that can't be 
 helped. The real question is the practical one. 
 Can I risk the experiment?" 
 
 "Grenville has promised to take the play," 
 Evelyn insisted. 
 
 "But suppose I fail or he fails me. I have 
 no money of my own ; and I couldn't earn my 
 salt in a business where I was not the only 
 son." He winced under the avowal, moving 
 his shoulders distressfully. "How I do loathe 
 it! But one must have money." 
 
 Evelyn broke in impatiently. "Why must 
 
 133
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 one? Talent ought not to be held down for 
 that!' 
 
 "But, my dear girl, suppose I wanted 
 
 to " He had started to say, "marry," but 
 
 composure suddenly deserted him at the word, 
 and he substituted, "set up a family," with a 
 flush and a laugh. "That is not entirely a 
 vulgar consideration, is it?" 
 
 "It is a secondary consideration," she said 
 coolly. 
 
 "I am not so sure. It isn't a bad situation, 
 you know," he added, turning to the others. 
 "I am cast out of my father's house if I don't 
 repent by nine o'clock tomorrow morning. It 
 feels biblical, someway. But it is horrible to 
 hurt people!" with a shuddering memory of 
 the afternoon's ordeal. 
 
 "He hurt you," asserted Cameron. 
 
 "But he can't understand; he is hurt in the 
 dark, poor old boy. I understand his side 
 just as well as mine, you see, so I am not angry 
 and bewildered. It is easier for me." He 
 started to his feet. "I wish I had never heard 
 of the theatre! Charlotte, what would you 
 do?" 
 
 "Just what you are going to," said Char- 
 lotte gravely. 
 
 134
 
 A WRITER OF PLAYS 
 
 They all turned towards her, Cameron ris- 
 ing on one elbow to look eagerly into her 
 face. 
 
 "I know," exclaimed Paul. 
 
 "It is what every one of Us would do," she 
 went on. "Sink or swim, you will take your 
 chance, every time." 
 
 "Hooray I" called Cameron, dropping back 
 again. Lanse was looking fixedly at Evelyn. 
 
 "That is what you said!" 
 
 "It is what any one in his senses would 
 say;" Lorrimer Ffloyd spoke irritably. "You 
 can't play the game with one foot touching 
 base all the time." 
 
 "And I can lend you a little if you get hard 
 up," added Donna. 
 
 Their shout of laughter seemed out of pro- 
 portion to the remark; but it was the poet of 
 the group who always struck the practical 
 note, and they had learned to watch for it 
 and love it. 
 
 "I suppose it really is settled," Lanse ad- 
 mitted, stretching out his arms with a sigh of 
 weariness. "I ought to spend this night on 
 my knees in a vigil, oughtn't I? I must go 
 home now and pack up. I shall use Stewart's
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 rooms for a while he left the key with me. 
 Pity the poor outcast!" 
 
 "With quarters at the Buffington!" added 
 Ffloyd derisively. 
 
 Lanse went to bed dismally enough that 
 night in his luxurious borrowed rooms ; but he 
 awoke, late the next morning, to a vast relief. 
 The leap was taken ; fail or succeed, he was a 
 playwright, a bright escape from the ponder- 
 ous, crushing machinery of business. At last 
 he could be himself. Close on his great relief 
 came joyous minor reliefs : there was no family 
 breakfast table awaiting his presence below, 
 no grim comment to be encountered from an 
 old-fashioned gentleman who did not sympa- 
 thize with the artistic temperament, and cher- 
 ished an annoying desire to have all his family 
 about him during his solemn progress from 
 oatmeal to hot cakes, via sausages or beefsteak. 
 Lanse's indifference to the value and import- 
 ance of eight o'clock as a breakfast hour, and 
 his somewhat shuddering refusal of strong 
 food, tried the old man quite as much as the 
 discordant breakfast bell and the heavy, un- 
 beautiful meal did the younger, though the 
 latter bore it with more philosophy. 
 
 "Poor man, he can't understand," Lanse al- 
 136
 
 A WRITER OF PLAYS 
 
 ways concluded, with a shrug; "he has missed 
 the best part of everything!" 
 
 He rose at his leisure, tubbed, shaved, and 
 shampooed exhaustively, put on a dressing 
 gown of old blue with a silk cord, and whistled 
 down a tube for his breakfast. When the maid 
 appeared with it, he was in an interesting atti- 
 tude in one corner of the divan, smoking a 
 cigarette over the morning paper. She was 
 an unattractive young person he afterwards 
 discovered that all the maids employed in this 
 great bachelor establishment were strikingly 
 plain ; but she drew up a table beside him with 
 a demure little air that was not displeasing, 
 and showed a friendly solicitude about the 
 softness of his egg. To Lanse it was all im- 
 mensely picturesque, and he acted the part of 
 a languid hut affable young prince with so 
 much satisfaction to himself that he felt no 
 need of an audience to appreciate and 
 applaud. 
 
 When that scene was over, he played a little 
 Chopin with one finger on the piano, and 
 sang an aria with more dramatic feeling than 
 voice; then, still thrillingly happy, he laid out 
 his work. His father's pain, so distressful to 
 him yesterday, had grown comfortably re- 
 
 137
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 mote, the dire alternative of success was for- 
 gotten. All was beatifically well with the 
 world as he drew up to the great carved desk. 
 
 It was a beautiful room in which to sit 
 down before work. The dark oak panelling 
 of the walls rose almost to the dull copper of 
 the ceiling. Lamps and other furnishings of 
 copper diffused a faint, rosy gleam over the 
 sombre richness of aged carvings and draper- 
 ies of deep brown velvet. Often as he had 
 visited the place ? Lanse had never realized be- 
 fore how many lovely things it held, or how 
 subtly these were arranged. Half an hour 
 after sitting down he caught himself still gaz- 
 ing luxuriously about him^ and straightened 
 up to his work with a guilty laugh. The end 
 of a second half hour found him standing on 
 a chair to examine the frame of an old Floren- 
 tine mirror. 
 
 "I shall be used to it, after today," he apolo- 
 gized, startled back to his desk by the solemn 
 chimes of an ancient clock. After another 
 hour's struggle with inattention, he gave up 
 and retreated to the couch with a book. 
 
 "I need a day off, anyway," he explained 
 drowsily. 
 
 The next morning Lanse rose to a sober 
 
 1138
 
 A WRITER OF PLAYS 
 
 realization of his responsibility. He swal- 
 lowed his breakfast obliviously, one eye on 
 his manuscript, and was falling to work with 
 harassed earnestness when the mail came, 
 bringing a long letter from his father. 
 
 It was a dull, pompous letter, and it reit- 
 erated with untouched conviction all the argu- 
 ments he had answered so exhaustively on 
 Sunday; yet, back of its chilly willingness to 
 give him "one more chance to come to his 
 senses," Lanse divined the lonely, bewildered 
 grief that had driven the old man to make 
 the advance, and his heart bled. Memory of 
 yesterday's careless happiness reproached and 
 shamed him; it was horrible to be a father! 
 He wrote a long answer, going patiently over 
 the whole subject, then, feeling its futility, 
 tore it up and wrote instead: 
 
 "I am so sorry. I wish you could see my 
 side as I see yours. 
 
 "Your affectionate son, LANSE/' 
 
 After he had sent it, it seemed to him pa- 
 tronizing, and he distressed himself trying to 
 compose a softening letter to follow it. The 
 morning was half gone when he gave up the 
 attempt, and his jarred nerves made writing 
 so hopeless that he took himself to a gymna- 
 
 139
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 sium in a despondent effort to work the load 
 off his mind. 
 
 Nothing came to interrupt the third morn- 
 ing's work. As a preparation for attacking 
 the second act, Lanse went through the first 
 act aloud, with much dramatic expression, 
 especially in the part of the heavy mother. 
 This was so enjoyable that he did it all over 
 again, on his feet this time, moving R. F. or 
 L. C. as the directions demanded, and becom- 
 ing a whole group when the curtain fell. The 
 applause was so insistent that, after taking cur- 
 tain calls for the chief characters leading 
 out the heroine with graceful finger tips and 
 bowing to her as well as to the house he was 
 finally induced to appear as the author, mak- 
 ing a shy little blond bow and ducking quickly 
 back behind the curtains. 
 
 "How young he is!" said the audience. "A 
 mere boy to think of his writing This!" And 
 cries of "Speech! Speech!" arose on every 
 side. The modest author was finally induced 
 to appear again, clinging this time to his man- 
 ager, and intimating that the latter was really 
 the person to thank before he again shrank 
 out of sight. The manager made a few blunt, 
 hearty remarks about everybody's kindness 
 
 140
 
 A WRITER OF PLAYS 
 
 and the author's diffidence, but still the house 
 was not satisfied. How they thundered! 
 Lanse's heart quivered and his cold hands 
 shook as that mighty call rose and broke into 
 cries again and again; and then there was 
 tense silence, and he stood alone, facing them 
 across a golden blur of light, moved, thrilled, 
 soaring, to stammer a boyish, "I thank you 
 from my heart!" that should touch their eyes 
 with tears or would it be better to shoot 
 into them one line of delicate wit, a perfect, 
 rounded bit of audacity? Lanse perched on 
 a chair arm to consider this; and the solemn 
 clock struck twelve. 
 
 "Oh, good Lord!" he muttered, between 
 shame and anger. "Oh, was there ever such 
 a fool!" 
 
 He sat down savagely at the desk, but to 
 work was like trying to cope with roast beef 
 after a surfeit of candy. The dreams seemed 
 to have scattered all his powers. He tried at 
 intervals during the rest of the day, then went 
 fretfully to keep a dinner engagement, where 
 he appeared to the young woman next to him 
 as brilliant, but painfully cynical and disil- 
 lusioned. 
 
 The dreams were at him again in the morn- 
 141
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 ing, but he stuffed his ears against them, and 
 hung a towel over a lovely little i^th Cen- 
 tury Madonna who had a way of holding his 
 eyes with her brooding gaze. He also left 
 off his blue dressing gown, as too enjoyable, 
 and refused to look at his letters. Napoleon 
 planning a campaign could not have squared 
 his elbows to his task more grimly. At the 
 end of two hours, Lanse would cheerfully 
 have changed places with Napoleon, dead or 
 alive. He wrote, to be sure, after an hour's 
 blank sitting, wrote fluently; then tore the 
 paper in half and wrote again, and yet again. 
 His characters, so alive in the first act, stiff- 
 ened to puppets under his pen, and his inven- 
 tion had become as an empty inkwell, in which 
 he dipped in vain. His dream of years per- 
 fect freedom to do his own work in beautiful 
 surroundings was fulfilled; but the inspira- 
 tion that had gushed up for stolen moments in 
 his stolid old home failed him. What he wrote 
 was wooden, dry in his mouth. The poig- 
 nancy of stolen love was proverbial; but sure- 
 ly authorship need not fade before the light 
 of common day! 
 
 The next morning brought the same experi- 
 ence, and the next 2 and the next. Not one 
 
 142
 
 A WRITER OF PLAYS 
 
 phrase came with the living glow upon it. It 
 did not occur to Lanse that, as he had been 
 burning his candle at both ends for many 
 months, working hard all day at the office 
 and writing far into the night, as well as keep- 
 ing social engagements, this blankness was the 
 natural collapse of an overwrought nervous 
 system at release from routine. He saw it as 
 a mockery designed by cruel gods, and girded 
 himself savagely to defeat it. Coffee and 
 stimulants, baths and athletics, he tried them 
 all in furious succession for two dreadful 
 weeks, and then at last, white and haggard, he 
 started to take his bitter failure to Evelyn. 
 
 Till the moment when he paused before her 
 imposing home^ he had seen his plight only 
 from the inside, with the dignity of tragedy 
 upon it; here, looking on it suddenly with 
 outside eyes, he paused, appalled. It was 
 funny! A young man, with noble heroics, 
 leaves home and wealth, solemnly breaking 
 with an agonized father, to follow a career 
 which flatly refuses to be followed. He saw 
 himself giving a mighty flourish of prepara- 
 tion, focussing all eyes upon himself, then 
 stepping down in meek silence; and the pic- 
 ture left him red to the ears. He could not
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 show such a mountebank performance to Eve- 
 lyn Evelyn, who loved success and distinc- 
 tion, who held herself carefully and never 
 blundered. He turned hastily away. 
 
 It was Sunday afternoon, so he sent a tele- 
 gram of excuse to Charlotte and hid in his 
 rooms. He knew that he could not face his 
 world again until he could laugh over his 
 failure, and he tortured himself with pictures 
 of the others shaken with genial or sardonic 
 enjoyment of their mishaps. After a miser- 
 able night, he wrote a note to Grenville, say- 
 ing that the play might not be done "quite so 
 soon as he had promised it"; then fled to a 
 remote country inn and spent three days in 
 its chilly discomfort, trying to starve his re- 
 luctant spirit into laughter. Motoring parties 
 stopped there daily for luncheon, but he al- 
 ways took that meal with him into the pine 
 wood, and the rest of the time he had the 
 place practically to himself. For long hours 
 he lay in the sun on the pine needles, passive 
 and wretched. He had lost his career; and 
 the world expected him to chuckle over the 
 tale. He had not even a home. His friends, 
 who had valued him for his talent, would not 
 want him any longer. Evelyn, born comrade 
 
 144
 
 A WRITER OF PLAYS 
 
 to genius by her fiery ambition and her in- 
 flexible ideas, could not waste her stirring 
 power on a nobody, and her wonderful friend- 
 ship would grow dim and fade away. His 
 face, upturned recklessly to the sun, was drawn 
 and desolate when some one came walking 
 lightly over the pine needles. 
 
 "Lanse!" Evelyn's amused smile vanished 
 as she saw, and she put out both hands. "What 
 is it?" 
 
 He had started to his feet, but before the 
 compassion of her voice, he turned away, 
 breathing so heavily that, in pity, she sank 
 down, her face hidden under her drooping 
 white veil, and told him, with her pretty, 
 worldly composure, how she happened to be 
 motoring with her cousins and had seen his 
 name on the register. 
 
 "So I came out to find you," she concluded. 
 "They said that you always went this way. 
 How is work?" she added, looking up with a 
 smile. 
 
 There was no answering smile. *'I can't 
 write, Evelyn." His voice was little more 
 than a whisper. "It is gone. I haven't writ- 
 ten a word all this time. Everything is per- 
 fect for it, and I can't. It is a tremendous 
 
 HS
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 joke on me I can see that as well as any- 
 body." He seated himself beside her with a 
 courageous grasp at levity. "You see, my 
 dear, I am not the talented creature we took 
 me for. We shall have to Evelyn, it is 
 gone. I can't write! I can't!" 
 
 "You poor boy!" She was looking at him 
 through mist, the first he had ever seen in 
 those cool blue eyes; her hand closed over 
 his. "Why didn't you come to me?" 
 
 It was so good, so unexpected, that he laid 
 his face down on the slim fingers in wordless 
 relief. After a moment they stirred and drew 
 away. He looked up to speak, but her eyes, 
 clear and cool again, ignored the incident, and 
 the defensive lift of her head was a tacit com- 
 mand. 
 
 "You look like a ghost," she declared im- 
 patiently. "Of course you could not write 
 in strange surroundings, after all that had 
 happened. What does a week or two matter? 
 To tear yourself up like this simply because 
 I really think^ Lanse, that you have very little 
 sense!" 
 
 Her scolding was a healing and a delight. 
 "You think it will come back? That it is not 
 utterly gone?." he asked abjectly. 
 
 146
 
 She could scarcely answer, for righteous 
 wrath. "It is too unbelievably silly, in a 
 grown man!" She started to her feet. "Come 
 back to town with us ; you have been brooding 
 here long enough. Of course you will write, 
 Lanse. Tomorrow, probably. Now come." 
 
 He followed her down the winding path in 
 wordless relief. Her faith lifted him, swung 
 him clear up into the light again; and that 
 glimpse of misty compassion sent all the veins 
 of spring running within him. At the edge 
 of the wood, Evelyn heard a sudden laugh, 
 and turned inquiringly. 
 
 "You know, Evelyn, it really was funny," 
 he explained. 
 
 At ten o'clock that night Lanse let himself 
 into his rooms. His work lay as he had left 
 it on the desk, and he paused to give it a 
 conquering glance. The spirit of it presently 
 caught him; he drew up a chair with his 
 foot, and his hand found a pencil. The sleep- 
 ing talent had stirred, had sent its first thrill- 
 ing signal. Ten minutes later, Lanse was 
 writing for dear life. 
 
 Far into the night his talent labored for 
 him, and its offerings came so thick and fast 
 that the pencil tripped and stumbled, keeping 
 
 '-147
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 up with them. At last they dwindled and 
 ceased, but Lanse sat over his papers in the 
 happy work of adjustment and arrange- 
 ment until dawn thrust a white finger through 
 the curtains. 
 
 Noon had passed before he was sufficiently 
 awake to look at the letters that had piled up 
 in his absence. There was one from Gren- 
 ville, and Lanse laughed as he remembered 
 his request for more time on the play. His 
 eyes turned triumphantly to the pile of manu- 
 script beside him as he broke it open. 
 
 "Of course you must not hurry our com- 
 edy," Grenville had written. "Take your own 
 time, and be sure you let me see it when it is 
 done. I am putting on a new play presently, 
 a remarkable piece of work by a new man, and 
 if it runs as I expect it to, I shall not need 
 another for a year at least so perhaps it 
 would not be fair to you to hold up your play. 
 However, remember that I want to see it. I 
 will send you seats for the new performance 
 I think you will be interested. You might 
 show your comedy to Fred Harrison. I be- 
 lieve he wants something for next autumn. 
 Best wishes 1" 
 
 148
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE MORNING AND THE EVENING. 
 
 TT was Evelyn who took the letter hardest; 
 Lanse was grateful for her generous anger, 
 but could not himself rise above dull depres- 
 sion. 
 
 "Actors always throw you down. We 
 knew that," he argued, and would have de- 
 fended Grenville's right to take the play he 
 liked best, without regard to promises, if Eve- 
 lyn had not lost her temper altogether. 
 
 "Oh, well, it doesn't much matter," he ex- 
 plained sadly. "I am a wretched amateur 
 in the arts, and no practical good in anything 
 else. We might as well face it. Oh, I am 
 tired of nerves and brains and temperaments, 
 I'm tired of civilization. I have a great mind 
 to go back to the people." 
 
 "The people?" she queried. 
 
 He began to walk excitedly up and down. 
 "That would be worth while," he exclaimed; 
 "to go out into the city and see what I could 
 
 149
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 earn with my two hands, like any other la- 
 borer. Wouldn't it be interesting!" 
 
 "But what can you do?" 
 
 "Oh, cut grass; make nice little rake marks 
 on gravel; go about walking beside a wagon 
 full of plants with a pot of geraniums under 
 each arm 'Flowers, growing flowers!' ' He 
 imitated the vender's cry in somewhat grand 
 opera fashion. "Think of being out all day 
 in this new spring air in a blue blouse open 
 at the throat!" 
 
 She laughed at him. "You crazy person! 
 I wish I knew just how much you meant." 
 
 "Every bit of it," he declared. "I have to 
 earn my living, Evelyn do you realize that? 
 I shan't ask my father to take me back, you 
 know; I'll starve first, thank you. My play 
 will get finished some day, I suppose, but it 
 is loathesome to me now. I'm going free, 
 Evelyn! I'm going, head first into the city!" 
 
 "You will only bump your head," she 
 warned him, but he was too excited to heed. 
 
 Early the next morning a puzzled maid 
 summoned Evelyn to the basement door. A 
 man wished to see her. A glance through the 
 iron gate show r ed her a slender workman in 
 blue jeans, a rough cap on the back of his
 
 THE MORNING AND THE EVENING 
 
 smooth head, his open blouse showing an in- 
 congruously white throat. She threw back 
 the gate with a startled laugh. 
 
 "Lanse!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "How do I look?" he asked anxiously. 
 
 "Quite beautiful. Really, you ought never 
 to wear anything else!" 
 
 He glowed with satisfaction, though he 
 made a decent attempt to hide it. 
 
 "I doubt if I ever do/' he said. "I'm going 
 out to find the people. Oh, they are the real 
 thing, Evelyn. All our hypercivilized ideas 
 are an abomination in the sight of the Lord. 
 I'm going back to the soil. To eat and work 
 and sleep that is the true life. Do you think 
 my blouse looks too sillVj unfastened like 
 that?" 
 
 "No; I like it. Muss your hair a little 
 it is too well groomed. That is better. .What 
 shall you do first?" 
 
 "I don't know I don't care. Evelyn, come 
 with me!" 
 
 "Certainly not!" 
 
 "Donna would." 
 
 "Very well, then invite Donna." 
 
 "You have no adventure in your soul." 
 
 "I am entirely satisfied with the class of 
 1511
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 life into which I was born, thank you. When 
 you have had enough of the people, come and 
 tell me about it." 
 
 "I shall have to come to the basement en^ 
 trance. Will you hand me out a cup of cof- 
 fee now and then?" 
 
 "The American ToUtoi," derisively. 
 "Twenty-four hours will ^ure you, my dear 
 Lanse." And she closed the gate between 
 them. 
 
 It was a wonderful morning. The shim- 
 mering spring sunlight lent a castled beauty 
 to the stately vistas of brick and stone; but 
 it lay like an enchantment on the more squalid 
 streets to which Lanse turned. A red blanket 
 on a fire escape became a flaming banner, a 
 vegetable peddler's cart bloomed into a mov- 
 ing garden, the cries of venders and of chil- 
 dren rang silver sweet on his expanding senses. 
 The charm of dimly remembered foreign 
 cities lay on the huddled tenements, mingled 
 with a fairy suggestion of gnomes and brown 
 witches and golden-haired changelings as he 
 made his way buoyantly down the crowded 
 sidewalks. The beautiful, kindly, simple- 
 hearted People! He began to sing in his 
 clear, high tenor, "Santa Lucia," and Little 
 
 152
 
 THE MORNING AND THE EVENING 
 
 Italy smiled at him and threw him rippling 
 compliments. Oh, the freedom of it, the joy 
 of the young day! 
 
 As he shook out his final "Lu ci a!" a 
 familiar voice laughed a "Bravo, signer!" and 
 a penny fell at his feet. Donna stood on the 
 scrubbed steps of a social settlement, shaken 
 with amused understanding. He waved his 
 cap in eager welcome as she came down to 
 join him. 
 
 "I don't ever want to die, do you?" he burst 
 out. "I want to live to be a hundred, and then 
 begin all over again." 
 
 "Make it two hundred," said Donna, and 
 they laughed gloriously. "What does this 
 mean?" 
 
 "I'm looking for a job," was the blithe an- 
 swer. "I have done with civilization, Donna; 
 I'm going back to the people." 
 
 "Oh, what fun!" Her radiant appreciation 
 of the adventure sent his spirits higher than 
 ever. 
 
 "Come with me!" 
 
 "If I only could!" Their excited eyes met; 
 then she glanced down at her incongruous 
 clothes. 
 
 "I dare you," said Lanse. 
 
 153
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Wait five minutes," she commanded, and 
 ran back into the settlement. In less than ten 
 she reappeared, transformed into a self re- 
 specting working girl by a faded suit, care- 
 fully repaired, and a poverty stricken little 
 hat. Several amused faces were watching 
 from an upper window. 
 
 "I may get a story out of it," Donna ex- 
 plained, in tacit apology to the morning's work 
 she was dropping. "I don't care if I don't," 
 she added recklessly. "Isn't this good!" 
 
 The sunshine was brimming in the streets 
 as the two went down them, feeling very gay 
 and very kind to all the world. A policeman 
 looked at them oddly, and even followed them 
 a little way, to their vast delight. They of- 
 fered friendly good mornings to several la- 
 borers in the fullness of their hearts, but the 
 replies were curt and somewhat suspicious. 
 This was dampening. They studied their re- 
 flections in a shop window to find the reason. 
 
 "It is my collar and necktie," she finally de- 
 cided. "They are off the key. .What can I 
 do?" 
 
 Lanse pulled a brilliant bandanna hand- 
 kerchief out of his blouse pocket. 
 
 "Tie this round instead/' he suggested, "It 
 
 '54
 
 THE MORNING AND THE EVENING 
 
 was to mop the toil from my brow, but I can 
 use my sleeve." 
 
 The handkerchief evidently was the needed 
 element. The next laborer they accosted gave 
 them a jovial "Hello, mates," as he passed. 
 
 "Wasn't he dear?" said Donna warmly. 
 "And he had such nice eyes. Did you notice, 
 Lanse?" 
 
 "Urn," he returned. "Look, that's a pretty 
 girl. Did you ever see such glorious red 
 hair?" 
 
 "Now we're even," suggested Donna; and 
 they laughed out in enjoyment of their own 
 transparency. Lanse stretched his arms up 
 over his head. 
 
 "This is living," he exclaimed. "This is 
 real freedom. We are where we belong. Oh, 
 the days I've wasted in that stuffy office I" 
 
 "And the days I've spent in shopping and 
 puttering," she echoed. "And never speak- 
 ing to a human soul I wasn't introduced to 
 first! Isn't it wicked nonsense?" 
 
 "And aren't we wonderful to have found it 
 out?" Lanse went on. "We might have rot- 
 ted in artificiality all our lives. Oh, simplicity 
 is the real thing the big, kind, warm peo- 
 ple!" And Lanse was so inspired by his sub-
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 ject that he walked into a vaguely ambling 
 baby, which promptly tipped over and 
 howled. 
 
 He was down beside it on the instant, 
 wrung with remorse. "Oh, poor little brute! 
 I must have hurt it. What shall I do? Donna, 
 kiss it or something!" 
 
 He was so distressed and so helpless that 
 Donna's eyes brimmed over with laughter. 
 She restored the outraged baby to its frowzy 
 mother, with earnest apologies. 
 
 "Law, honey, you didn't hurt him none," 
 was the amiable response. "Don't mind his 
 row he'll shut up in a minute." 
 
 "There! What did I tell you?" exclaimed 
 Lanse as they went on. "A polite person 
 would have caught up her darling and glared 
 at us. She'd have made us as uncomfortable 
 as she could. I tell you, it is the people who 
 have the true courtesy! I never intend to go 
 back. How would you earn your living, if 
 you were I?" 
 
 "We can find the best way from the people 
 themselves," she suggested. "Let's talk to 
 that lovely peanut man." 
 
 They broke the ice with a five cent purchase 
 and a comment on the weather, and then in-
 
 THE MORNING AND THE EVENING 
 
 quired into the state of the peanut market. 
 The little Dago proved pessimistic, but ad- 
 mitted that a living could be made behind the 
 push cart. 
 
 "If your vife no spend motch," he added, 
 with a twinkling glance at Donna. The two 
 laughed so that he became elated at his own 
 wit. "If she vant earrings, silg dress" an ex- 
 pressive shrug "no can sell peanut." And 
 he smiled on them genially. 
 
 "Oh, I keep her in order," said Lanse. "I'd 
 like to see what I could make at it. Why 
 won't you rent me your cart for an hour?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," exclaimed Donna. 
 
 The Italian hesitated at first, but the offer 
 of a dollar down as well as all the money they 
 took in finally persuaded him. The corner 
 bootblack witnessed the bargain, and they 
 trundled off with their new possession, speech- 
 lessly happy. A dingy side street promised 
 less custom, but it was out from under the roar 
 of the elevated. 
 
 "And we don't care about getting rich fast," 
 Donna declared. "I choose to grind it, Lanse. 
 You can do the selling. The idea of that lit- 
 tle Italian trusting us like this! Don't you 
 think it showed an awfully nice nature ?," 
 
 157
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Why, it's the people that are really fine," 
 Lanse returned. "They trust and believe in 
 each other. They have the hearts, Donna. 
 They're as different from our class as sunshine 
 is from electric light. I wish I had that old 
 fellow's earrings! Don't you think they'd be 
 effective?" 
 
 "Oh, this is going to make us such good 
 friends," she exclaimed irrelevantly. "You and 
 I have never known each other like this before, 
 Lanse : we have only been friends in general. 
 Now we shall be friends in particular. I 
 think, you know, that we are the only two of 
 iUs who would have done just this." 
 
 "Evelyn wouldn't," he admitted, smiling to 
 himself at a vision of Evelyn's pretty, fastidi- 
 ous presence. 
 
 "Lorrimer would scorn us," said Donna. 
 
 Their first customer appeared at that mo- 
 ment, a half grown boy who requested five 
 cents' worth and offered a quarter in payment. 
 Donna gave him extra measure while Lanse 
 made change, and they both tried to enter into 
 conversation with him, but he was reticent and 
 disappeared as quickly as possible. 
 
 "Poor fellow he was shy," said Donna. 
 
 158
 
 THE MORNING AND THE EVENING 
 
 "They don't quite trust us, Lanse. They feel 
 we're different." 
 
 "Yes, I am afraid they do," said Lanse, a 
 peculiar expression coming over his face. 
 "Does this quarter look quite right to you?" 
 
 She tried to think it did, but it was fla- 
 grantly, unmistakably lead. They both were 
 disconcerted for a moment; then they laughed. 
 
 "The little beast!" she commented. 
 
 Several sales of the penny order followed, at 
 long intervals ; then three very dirty little girls 
 came and stood wistfully in front of them, 
 staring at the cart. They bore it for a mo- 
 ment or two, then Lanse drove his scoop into 
 the nuts with an irritated movement. 
 
 "I can't stand that," he apologized to his 
 partner. "Wouldn't it be better to get rid of 
 them?" Three shrill "Thank you, sirs," went 
 up, and the trio trotted oft, the oldest one 
 clasping the bag. 
 
 "That was fun," said Donna, smiling after 
 them. 
 
 "Probably it never happened to them be- 
 fore," added Lanse. "We must seem like 
 fairy godmothers to them. I suppose they'll 
 put us in their funny little prayers 'Bless the 
 
 159
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 kind people who gave us the peanuts.' Well, 
 look at that!" 
 
 A swarm of children was coming from the 
 direction the three little girls had taken. They 
 seemed to multiply by some invisible process 
 as they approached ragged boys, wizened 
 little girls, babies in carts and in arms and on 
 unsteady, bowed legs, a noisy rabble whose 
 watchword seemed to be an excited "There he 
 is!" 
 
 They drew near, hesitated, halted. Then a 
 little girl of the order "sassy" stepped forward. 
 
 "Mister, will you give us some, like you did 
 Mamie?" she asked with easy assurance. 
 
 "Indeed I won't," said Lanse indignantly. 
 "I'll sell you all you like." 
 
 "Aw, give us just one, just a handful," they 
 clamored, and several came alarmingly close. 
 "Lets take 'em, fellers," suggested one of the 
 boys. 
 
 "Say, get out of here," said Lanse sharply. 
 A dirty fist went out towards the feast, and 
 Donna gave a gasp of fright as Lanse stepped 
 forward. Several youngsters slipped round 
 to the other side of the cart, hoping to profit 
 by a scrimmage. 
 
 At that critical moment a rough voice of 
 160
 
 THE MORNING AND THE EVENING 
 
 authority sounded: "Here, what's all this?" 
 The children fled like rabbits before the offi- 
 cial brass buttons. The officer turned scowl- 
 ing to Lanse. 
 
 "You can't block up a whole street here," 
 he said shortly. "Move on!" An angry 
 color rose in Lanse's face. 
 
 "It wasn't our fault, the little brutes " 
 
 "Here, don't gab. Move on, I tell youl" 
 
 Lanse controlled himself with a mighty 
 effort. 
 
 "Have you any choice where we should 
 move on to?" he asked with ironical polite- 
 ness. The answer was explicit, but not quot- 
 able; and the guardian of the law strolled off, 
 swinging his baton. Lanse's hands were 
 trembling, and there were tears of rage in his 
 eyes. He savagely took hold of the cart and 
 started off with it, Donna following meekly 
 behind, afraid to speak. He led the way back 
 to the corner where they had left their Italian 
 friend. 
 
 "I think we have had about enough of this, 
 don't you?" he asked with an evident effort 
 
 "Yes, I'm tired," she answered. He looked 
 at her remorsefully. 
 
 161
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "You must be/' he said. "We'll give this 
 back and go home." 
 
 But giving the push-cart back was not so 
 simple a matter. The Italian was not to be 
 found on the corner, nor on any of the neigh- 
 boring corners, and no one knew anything 
 about him. They wandered about forlornly. 
 Their feet were very tired, and the glory had 
 suddenly gone out of the day. Lanse's throat 
 was beginning to throb and ache, thanks to the 
 open blouse, and they both vaguely realized 
 that they would never again eat peanuts with 
 enjoyment. 
 
 "Oh, let's leave the thing and go," Donna 
 was beginning, when an excited voice accosted 
 them. The little Italian was bearing down 
 on them with anger in his gestures and unde- 
 niable whisky in his gait. The dollar had 
 done its deadly work. Beside him walked 
 the policeman of their recent adventure. The 
 Italian took his stand by the cart and looked 
 at them dramatically over folded arms. 
 
 "Steala da push-gart off hard ou-ork 
 man!" he said sternly. 
 
 "We didn't steal your old push-cart," said 
 Lanse angrily. "You rented it to us for an 
 
 162
 
 hour, and we've been waiting here for ages to 
 give it back to you." 
 
 "I ou-ait on corner! No come, no come!" 
 And he shielded his eyes Sister Anne fashion 
 and peered down the street, then dropped his 
 arms despairingly. 
 
 "Well, you waited on the wrong corner, 
 then," declared Lanse. "Here's your money 
 and here's your cart." 
 
 "See here," interposed the policeman, "I 
 think you'd better come up to the station and 
 get this straightened out. The Dago says you 
 stole " 
 
 "Oh, it's all right, Sheehan," interposed the 
 bootblack, who, together with some fifty 
 others, was listening with intense enjoyment. 
 "I saw old peanuts rent the cart and take the 
 dollar. He'll remember when he's sober." 
 
 "All right, then," said the officer with evi- 
 dent reluctance. "You may be just a crank, 
 but I don't like your looks," he added dispas- 
 sionately, turning to Lanse. "You'd better be 
 careful." 
 
 "I'll trouble you for your name," said 
 Lanse, suspiciously calm. Donna laid her 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 "Lanse," she whispered tremulously, "please 
 163
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 come right away." He bit his lips, then 
 turned and walked off with her. 
 
 "It was dreadful for you. I am so sorry," 
 he said, his voice still stiff with anger. Then, 
 as he saw her face, his tone changed. "Sup- 
 pose we go and get something to eat," he pro- 
 posed more cheerfully. "It's past luncheon 
 time. We will find a decent cup of tea, any 
 way. You won't mind if the place is rather 
 horrid, will you?" 
 
 They studied the outside of several little 
 chop houses and restaurants, and finally fixed 
 on one that seemed slightly better class than 
 the rest. 
 
 "I think we can stand it, don't you?" he 
 asked, pushing open the door for her. 
 
 "Why, this really isn't bad," she said, try- 
 ing not to shrink from the odors that met them. 
 As they moved towards a table, a young wom- 
 an stopped them. 
 
 "Sorry," she said curtly, with a glance at 
 Lanse's blue jeans, "but we don't serve labor- 
 ers here. You'll have to go somewheres else." 
 And she turned away before they could speak. 
 TW T O young girls at a neighboring table gig- 
 gled. 
 
 They walked quietly out. "I think we had 
 164
 
 THE MORNING AND THE EVENING 
 
 better just go home," said Donna. "I believe 
 I've had enough of the people for one day." 
 
 "Damn the people!" said Lanse under his 
 breath. 
 
 "Shall we take a car?" Donna asked pres- 
 ently. 
 
 "How can I, in these clothes?" he demand- 
 ed. "It would be pleasant to meet people I 
 knewl" 
 
 "It wasn't my fault you dressed up," she re- 
 turned. "I feel quite as ridiculous as you do." 
 
 "If you will wait, I will try to find a han- 
 som," Lanse said distinctly, after a pause. 
 
 "Oh, I would rather walk. It will be 
 quicker," she returned. And not another 
 word passed between them until he left her at 
 the settlement. 
 
 The adventure was over, the joy of the 
 morning dead. Lanse found a lowly eating 
 house where laborers were not discriminated 
 against, and fell into despondent meditation 
 over a cup of very bad coffee. The spoon, 
 though clean, showed brown tracts where the 
 plating had worn off, and he laid it aside with 
 a frown. The very sight of the butter served 
 with his bread was an offense, and he put it 
 far from him, then bent his thoughts firmly on
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 his Tolstoian ideal. But the way to its reali- 
 zation was hard to find. The simple dignity 
 and honest weariness of bodily labor had 
 seemed a glorious exchange for the complex 
 miseries of an artist's career but how could 
 one work out the details when the man oppo- 
 site was eating so like a pig? Perhaps it was 
 only in the country that a return to the people 
 was feasible; perhaps, if he finished that hor- 
 rible play, some one would buy it, after all. 
 If no one would 
 
 "Well, one can always put an end to one- 
 self," he concluded, rising wearily. "I'd do 
 that before I would ask to go backl" 
 
 The way to his bachelor quarters lay past 
 his own home^ but he did not think of that 
 until he turned the familiar corner. Then an 
 unexpected pang assailed him. The beautiful 
 apartment to which he had fallen heir seemed 
 suddenly empty and forlorn, and he wanted 
 the ugly room in which he had been a little 
 boy, and the kind old face of Molly, who had 
 scolded and loved and served him for twenty- 
 seven years, and the quiet and stability of the 
 big, plain house which, for all its lack of 
 charm, was still home. He drew near it slow-
 
 THE MORNING AND THE EVENING 
 
 ly, then abruptly stopped as his father opened 
 the door and came down the steps. 
 
 Lanse had not realized that he was so old a 
 man. His walk had grown less certain, and 
 he did not hold his head as he used to. He 
 passed within three feet of his son, whose 
 workman's clothes hid him as securely as an 
 invisible cloak, and something in his face 
 shocked Lanse into sudden, intolerable pain. 
 
 He let himself into the house and, slipping 
 up to his own room, changed the blue jeans 
 for an old dressing gown, then called for 
 Molly, who fussed over him rejoicingly, 
 brought him luncheon, and grew excited over 
 the state of his throat. When she had dosed 
 and cold-compressed him to her heart's con- 
 tent, he lay down in the library to await his 
 father's return. He had no plan of action; 
 pride and vanity had both gone down before 
 the ache in his heart. He expected to wait 
 in sorrowful patience; but, when Molly 
 peered in at him, fifteen minutes later, he was 
 heavily asleep. 
 
 When he awoke, the room was nearly dark. 
 In the big chair facing him he could just make 
 out the outline of an old man, his head resting 
 on his hand as if he were very tired, 
 
 1167
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 Lanse lifted himself on one elbow. In a 
 flash of revelation, it came to him that a com- 
 passionate prodigal might deepen his own 
 abasement, in order that the lonely father 
 should have the full joy of raising him up. 
 
 "Grenville has thrown me over, father," he 
 
 began. "My career seems to have " His 
 
 voice faltered. 
 
 There was a moment's silence, then the old 
 man lifted his head. 
 
 li l hope you are not going to be sick, Lanse," 
 he said. "I shall need you down at the office." 
 
 "Oh, no; it's just a sore throat," answered 
 Lanse. 
 
 K68
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAUL AND VIOLA. 
 
 TAEEP peace brooded over Little Manasset 
 Pond. Back in the city where the heat 
 and glare had suddenly grown intolerable, the 
 dust was settling undisturbed on Donna's type- 
 writer and on Charlotte's easel and on the 
 sheeted mound that was to be Paul's next 
 statue. In the green depths of Little Manas- 
 set, the fever and the distress of work seemed 
 infinitely remote. 
 
 "Like something that used to happen before 
 we died and went to heaven," Donna said, 
 stretching out luxuriously in the long grass. 
 She and Charlotte were lounging on the bank 
 above the pond, with books they were not 
 reading. Further down, where the brook 
 ran out, Paul was on his knees, playing at dam 
 building with a thin, ragged little girl, solemn 
 with excitement. Cameron, bare-footed as 
 well as bareheaded, rowed about near the 
 shore, shouting occasional comments and ques- 
 tions to which no one paid the least attention. 
 
 169
 
 "Mother, I'm lonely," he finally insisted. 
 "Won't you go rowing with me?" 
 
 "By and by, Cameron," called Charlotte. 
 "You mustn't interrupt me now I am telling 
 Donna a wicked story." 
 
 Her words had a disconcerting effect. Paul 
 threw down his stones and tore madly along 
 the bank, while Cameron, dropping his oars, 
 leaped \vith a howl into the water and came 
 thrashing and galloping to shore. 
 
 "Well?" they demanded, flinging them- 
 selves down on either side of her. 
 
 "Idiots!" she commented, helpless with 
 laughter. 
 
 "If three days of Little Manasset brings 
 them to that stage, what will a week do?" 
 Donna wondered, drawing her white skirt far- 
 ther from Cameron's dripping presence. 
 
 "I have to have something to offset Vy-ola," 
 Paul complained, rolling over on his back 
 with his hands under his head. "Is she look- 
 ing wistful, Charlotte? If she is, I will go 
 back; but, I give you my word, I ache from 
 head to foot. I have worked like a dog." 
 
 "She is all right, and quite happy;" there 
 was a note of protest in Charlotte's voice. 
 "Why do you make such a slave of yourself, 
 
 170
 
 PAUL AND VIOLA 
 
 Paul? She will fasten on you so that you 
 won't have a moment's peace." 
 
 "But she is such a miserable little brute," 
 he apologized ; "she doesn't even know how to 
 play. And when her father is drunk, she 
 sleeps under her bed, she is so afraid. She 
 has never had anything pink in her life she 
 found a blue ribbon once, but she never found 
 a pink one. She doesn't remember her 
 mother, or know whether she's ten or eleven, 
 and she has never heard of London Bridge or 
 jackstones or oh, Lord!" And Paul struck 
 the ground with his closed fist. 
 
 "I know," said Charlotte slowly after a 
 pause. "But we can't carry the whole world ; 
 and you will leave her far more forlorn than 
 you found her, if you are not careful." 
 
 "Yes; there is that," he admitted. "And I 
 will be careful. But it seems to me that it's 
 better to have had even three or four good 
 days than none at all to remember." 
 
 "And then, it is so picturesque," put in 
 Cameron; "beautiful young sculptor shining 
 down on homely little kid, while a small but 
 
 appreciative " He had wisely gathered 
 
 his feet up under him as he spoke ; and at that 
 
 171
 
 THE TOP OF. THE MORNING 
 
 moment he needed them. A dexterous leap 
 backwards was all that saved him. 
 
 "You will be picturesque by the time I'm 
 done with you," Paul muttered, scrambling to 
 his feet, and they were off, dodging and twist- 
 ing among the trees. Presently the pursuit 
 ended in sounds of scuffling and loud howls 
 for mercy from Cameron. His mother and 
 Donna exchanged smiles with perfect under- 
 standing of what was in the other's thoughts. 
 
 "I think that little pink blouse of mine 
 could be cut down to fit her," Donna added as 
 a natural corollary. 
 
 "I am sure I have some ribbons," Charlotte 
 assented. 
 
 Nevertheless, they were secretly a little re- 
 sentful when Paul proposed that Viola should 
 go with them on their drive the next afternoon. 
 They were planning to carry their tea things 
 to a fabulously pretty glen they had discov- 
 ered. 
 
 "She won't be any trouble, and it would be 
 heaven to her," he urged. "You wouldn't 
 mind, would you?" 
 
 Of course they declared that they would 
 not. 
 
 "After all, it is just that quality in Paul that 
 172
 
 PAUL AND VIOLA 
 
 makes him so wonderful to us," Charlotte ad- 
 mitted, as she and Donna went upstairs for 
 their hats. "We have no right to complain 
 if we sometimes lose by it." Donna turned 
 to her room without answering. 
 
 They were very friendly to the little girl 
 when she appeared in a tattered gingham that 
 was making a brave attempt to look as if a 
 grown person had done it up. She sat be- 
 tween Paul and Charlotte on the front seat, 
 breathlessly still, except once, when Charlotte 
 insisted on taking the reins during a bad 
 stretch of road. 
 
 "For really, Paul, you drive worse than any 
 one I ever knew not even excepting Donna," 
 she declared. "If you ever looked at the 
 horse, you might do a little better but not 
 very much!" 
 
 Viola drew away from her, and, looking up 
 anxiously, laid a consoling little hand on 
 Paul's arm. He smiled down at her. 
 
 "Isn't she mean to me, Viola!" he said. "You 
 know I could drive if I tried ? don't you?" 
 
 "You could do anything," said Viola, like 
 one stating an obvious fact that needs no em- 
 phasis. Cameron groaned softly from the 
 back seat.
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Oh, my, another!" he murmured. Paul 
 gave him a look of slow contempt, then turned 
 back with raised eyebrows, as from something 
 not worth crushing. Donna wisely made a 
 diversion. 
 
 "Do keep the reins till we pass that wagon, 
 Charlotte," she urged. "Paul always what 
 is it?" she broke off, for Viola, after one glance 
 at the wagon approaching, had dived down 
 under the seat. Paul, taking it for a joke, 
 leaned down to laugh at her, but she laid her 
 finger on her lips with such distress in her pale 
 little face that he drew back without speaking. 
 The wagon, a rattletrap affair, careened to one 
 side with the weight of its driver, who turned 
 a coarse red face upon them and pulled up his 
 horse as though half intending to accost them. 
 But Charlotte, not liking his aspect, hurried 
 on, leaving him scowling after them. 
 
 "What a beast," she commented. "I don't 
 wonder Viola was frightened." 
 
 The child would not come out until they 
 reached the place where they were to boil their 
 kettle, and had only a difficult smile for Cam- 
 eron's teasing. Paul eyed her curiously, and 
 devoted himself to raising her spirits with a 
 new and exciting species of Follow My Lead-
 
 PAUL AND VIOLA 
 
 er. She was easily diverted, and followed with 
 painstaking minuteness, a serious, awkward 
 little figure, with nothing to show the joy 
 within but her eager docility. When Paul 
 dropped down, breathless, and declared the 
 game over, she sat contentedly at his feet, 
 frankly ignoring everyone else. Paul watched 
 her in silence for a few moments. 
 
 "Viola," he began, when the others were 
 out of hearing, "why didn't you want that 
 man to see you?" 
 
 Color rose to her face, and she looked away 
 without answering. "Was he your father?" 
 Paul went on. She nodded. 
 
 "And you were afraid he would not want 
 you to go with us?" 
 
 She glanced nervously through the trees 
 about them, and then at the overhanging bank 
 above, shrinking a little closer to him. 
 
 "He don't want me to speak to anybody," 
 she said, half under her breath. 
 
 "But why not?" 
 
 She met this as she always met any direct 
 question about her home with a look of stub- 
 born, fear-imposed silence. 
 
 "Surely he is willing you should have what 
 fun you can nice fun, like this," he pursued 2
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 determined to know how things stood with 
 this hampered, unprepossessing waif of des- 
 tiny. The child struggled with her reluc- 
 tance for a moment, then leaned towards 
 him. 
 
 "He just wishes I was dead," she said, her 
 eyes on a braid of grasses, "and I wish he was." 
 Her tone was entirely commonplace, but for 
 its cautious lowering. Paul sat up in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "My dear little girl, you don't mean that," 
 he exclaimed. She nodded emphatically. 
 
 "He was in prison a whole year once, and 
 when he got out, I cried and cried," she said, 
 in proof of her sincerity. "Sometimes I think, 
 if he don't die pretty soon, I'll just kill my- 
 self. I think of it a lot," she added, lifting 
 her expressionless little grey eyes to his face 
 for a moment, like one confiding a cherished 
 secret. 
 
 "But, Viola, you must not have such 
 thoughts," said Paul vigorously. "It's 
 wrong it's wicked: don't you know that?" 
 He was conscious of being flatly common- 
 place, quite without adequate reasons that 
 would reach her. Viola, feeling his distress, 
 offered consolation. 
 
 176
 
 "Maybe they will get him into jail again, 1 ' 
 she suggested. 
 
 "But why should he go to jail? What does 
 he do?" Paul asked, dropping the ethics of the 
 question. The cautious mask fell over her 
 face. She dropped her eyes and said noth- 
 ing. "Has he a trade, a business?" he went 
 on, to bridge the pause, but her face only be- 
 came more stubbornly set, though her chest 
 rose and fell with the effort of her silence. 
 "My dear, I didn't mean to ask questions that 
 you don't want to answer: I was only trying 
 to find a way to help you," he apologized. 
 Her mouth quivered and relaxed, and she 
 caught her breath with a sudden impulse, but 
 at that moment a slight rustling sounded from 
 the bank above their heads. She started to 
 her feet without a sound and dragged at his 
 arm to make him follow, such terror in her 
 face that he caught a little of it, and let her 
 pilot him in a roundabout way through the 
 trees to the spot where the others were making 
 tea. 
 
 "A toad jumped in the grass above our 
 heads and frightened us to death," he laughed, 
 clutching at the normal, humorous point of 
 view to explain their abrupt appearance. 
 
 177
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 Viola neither acquiesced nor denied. She 
 was soon apparently quite happy over her 
 bread and butter and cambric tea; but she 
 would not again go near the bluff under which 
 they had been sitting, and when, soon after, 
 they drove out of the glen, she kept alert eyes 
 on the road, and Paul knew that she was ready 
 any moment to drop out of sight like a fright- 
 ened squirrel. He was glad that she missed 
 something shown to him for an instant by a 
 turn in the road a horse tied behind a shel- 
 tering clump of bushes, attached to a wagon 
 very like the one that had passed them earlier 
 in the afternoon. The burly figure was want- 
 ing, and Paul fell into uneasy wondering that 
 kept his eyes somber even when he joined in 
 the cheerful nonsense of the others. When 
 they reached home, he walked with the child 
 across the road towards the cabin where she 
 lived. 
 
 "Remember, Viola," he said gravely, "if 
 you are in any trouble, or need help, you can 
 come straight to me. And you won't let dread- 
 ful thoughts stay in your head, will you?" 
 
 "But you are going Monday," she said after 
 a pause, burrowing in the dust with one bare 
 foot. 
 
 .78
 
 PAUL AND VIOLA 
 
 "But there is all Saturday and Sunday first," 
 he answered. u Will you come over and play 
 with us to-morrow?" She gave him a shy 
 smile and stood to watch him as he turned 
 back to the farmhouse above the road, enter- 
 ing his room by the long window from the 
 porch. 
 
 But she did not appear in the morning. She 
 must have heard their voices all day as they 
 swam in the pond, which was respectably deep 
 on one side, just beneath the farmhouse, and 
 lounged in the grass, talking interminably, 
 with open books in their laps, or trailed off 
 on little journeys of exploration ; but the cabin 
 door never opened. Paul was at first frankly 
 relieved, but towards evening he began to be 
 uneasy. Finally, half impatient with him- 
 self, he crossed the road and, leaning over the 
 remnant of fence that guarded the cabin, 
 whistled a cheerful invitation. There was a 
 faint movement of the calico curtain across 
 the window, but no other response, though he 
 followed up his signal with a call of, "O 
 Viola!" As he turned away, a faint sound 
 that might have been a sob arrested him; but 
 it was not repeated, and he went slowly back. 
 
 "I wish I could find out something about 
 179
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 the child," he said, later, to Charlotte. "They 
 have been here only a few weeks, and nobody 
 knows who or what they are. Viola will never 
 answer questions, and they don't dare put them 
 to her father. He does the cooking what 
 cooking there is and she does everything 
 else. I could stir up the S. P. C. C. if I had 
 proof that he was cruel to her; but I have 
 only a moral certainty." 
 
 For the first time, Charlotte failed him a 
 little in sympathy. 
 
 "I know," she said ; "but the world is so full 
 of poor things ! They make New York so op- 
 pressive to me sometimes, I can't stand it. I 
 hoped that this was going to be a vacation 
 from misery as well as from work." 
 
 "And it ought to be you do so muchl" 
 Paul spoke with a quick generosity that left 
 her secretly ashamed. 
 
 "If she were an attractive child, or even 
 moderately clever, I suppose I should be all 
 stirred up about her," she admitted to Donna 
 when they were upstairs. 
 
 "It is because she isn't that Paul feels it so," 
 said Donna slowly. "The pathos of the dead- 
 ly commonplace " 
 
 "If you are going to be literary, I shall shut 
 1 80
 
 PAUL AND VIOLA 
 
 my door," Charlotte objected. "She is a hor- 
 rid little thing, and I will not be uncomfort- 
 able about her." 
 
 "Poor Charlotte! How your conscience is 
 bothering you," laughed Donna, and Char- 
 lotte's reluctant laugh betrayed her. 
 
 The next day was their last at Little Manas- 
 set, for they were to take an early train back 
 to town Monday morning; but still Viola did 
 not join them. Once they saw a still, angular 
 little figure watching them from behind a 
 tree; but when they called an invitation, she 
 vanished without answering. 
 
 "That proves that she is alive, anyway," 
 said Charlotte, with an air of shrugging off 
 responsibility. 
 
 It was a sultry, oppressive night, and though 
 every window and door of the house was left 
 wide open, not a stirring of air could be in- 
 duced inside. Long after the others had gone 
 to bed, Paul sat on the porch in the dim light 
 of an old moon, discovering ships and Titans 
 and Madonnas in the massed foliage of the 
 trees. Donna, creeping down after water, saw 
 him there, his dark head resting against a pil- 
 lar, his face grave and remote, indefinably 
 strange to her, She seemed to be looking at
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 someone she had never known and would 
 never know, and, forgetting her water, she 
 groped her way up the stairs again, to fall 
 asleep at last in a little bunch on the floor, her 
 head against the window ledge. About the 
 same time, Paul, glad to find his tree pictures 
 becoming blurred, went to his room and, after 
 long stages of discomfort, fell asleep. 
 
 Several hours later, he came back with a 
 start to full consciousness. He had heard no 
 sound, yet he knew there was a reason for his 
 waking, and his heart beat heavily as he hesi- 
 tated to open his eyes. A glimpse showing 
 that the room was full of faint daylight gave 
 him courage for a wider look; and then he 
 started up on his elbow with an exclamation : 
 
 " Viola 1" 
 
 The child stood just within the long win- 
 dow, a gaunt little shadow, clutching nervous- 
 ly at her dark cotton gown. She said nothing, 
 and, dim as the light was, he could see that she 
 was trembling. 
 
 "My dear child, what is it? Were you 
 afraid? Has anything happened?" he asked. 
 "Come over here and tell me why you are up 
 at this hour." 
 
 She came slowly towards him, her eyes on 
 1182
 
 PAUL AND VIOLA 
 
 the floor. He drew her gently down on the 
 bed. "Was your father drunk? Did he 
 frighten you?" She shook her head. 
 
 "You are troubled about something," he 
 persisted, "and I am going to help you, you 
 know. You can tell me, can't you?" 
 
 For answer, she buried her face suddenly 
 in her elbow. She did not cry aloud, child 
 fashion, but her little body shook with sobs 
 that only her stifled breathing betrayed. Paul 
 waited in silence, not even moving the hand 
 he had laid on her knee, until she had strug- 
 gled back to a tremulous self control, then he 
 gave her his handkerchief from under the pil- 
 low with a smile so full of understanding and 
 warmth and bright courage that it brought a 
 wan response to the child's face. 
 
 "It's good to cry it all out," he said. "Then 
 we can begin all over again." They sat in 
 silence, one of her trembling hands in his firm 
 clasp, while the dawn brightened outside and 
 a sleepy chittering spread in the maples. 
 
 "Viola," he began presently, "when chil- 
 dren are not happy in their homes, there are 
 people in New York who find other homes for 
 them take them to some kind woman who 
 wants a child to help her, and who promises 
 
 183
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 to be very good to them. Now when I go 
 back to town today, I am going to talk to 
 these people, and see if I can't find such a home 
 for you. As soon as I do, I will come down 
 and get you. Wouldn't you like that?" 
 
 A faint light came into the dull little eyes; 
 then it faded and she shook her head. "We'd 
 be gone away and you couldn't find us," she 
 said hopelessly. "Father, he won't stay any- 
 wheres long." 
 
 "But couldn't you write me where you 
 were? If I gave you a " he broke off, see- 
 ing the shamed color in her face. "But, of 
 course, you aren't old enough to write yet," 
 he said cheerfully. "When we find a nice 
 woman for you to live with, perhaps you will 
 go to school. Wouldn't that be rather 
 fine?" 
 
 Her answering smile was born of politeness 
 rather than of hope. "My father wouldn't 
 let me," she said drearily. "He never lets me 
 know people. He said I couldn't come over 
 to see you again not even to say good-by." 
 
 "Is he afraid you will tell things?" 
 
 The look of stubborn dumbness came back 
 to her face, and she glanced nervously towards 
 the open windows, 
 
 184.
 
 PAUL AND VIOLA 
 
 "I must go back/' she whispered. "He 
 might wake up." 
 
 "Well, we won't really say good-by," sug- 
 gested Paul. "You know, I am coming back 
 for you one of these days." His confidence 
 touched her at last, and a glimmer of belief 
 crept into her eyes. "Don't forget how to play 
 Follow My Leader," he went on; "and you'd 
 better finish that dam of ours." 
 
 She scarcely heard, her soul was so filled 
 with an evident, breathless wish as she stood 
 awkwardly before him. Paul, reading it, 
 drew her towards him. 
 
 "Of course you are going to kiss me good- 
 by," he said with matter-of-fact friendliness. 
 She mutely offered her pale little face, then 
 turned and ran from the room. 
 
 It was nearly time to get up when Paul 
 dozed off, and in consequence he was late for 
 their start. Their bags had been sent to the 
 station in a cart, but they had chosen to walk, 
 following a shorter cut through the woods. 
 As Paul hurried after the others, he sent a 
 glance back towards the cabin. Viola was 
 not in sight, but the wagon stood at the door, 
 and her father seemed to be putting things
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 into it. Paul hesitated, frowning with the 
 effort to see more distinctly. 
 
 "Paul! you will miss the train!" called 
 warning voices from the path ahead, and, with 
 a sigh of perplexity, he followed. They 
 walked rather soberly through the early morn- 
 ing brilliance. Donna tried to be enthusias- 
 tic over the hordes of buttercups and the bird 
 songs, but they were all sadly conscious that 
 their holiday was over, and that in town they 
 must go their separate ways again. Their 
 heads were tired from the hot night, their sun- 
 burn ached, and light heartedness seemed a 
 rarer state than they had realized when they 
 came down so gaily a week ago. Paul grew 
 more and more silent, haunted by the little 
 scene of the night and oppressed by a feeling 
 which he ridiculed, but could not drive 
 away that some one was following them. 
 Time and again he looked quickly over his 
 shoulder to catch the furtive presence, but to 
 no purpose, and the unconsciousness of the 
 others suggested his own jangled nerves as the 
 explanation. None of them saw a little blue- 
 gowned figure that watched behind the last 
 clump of bushes while they crossed the open 
 
 1186
 
 meadow to the static^ then turned and ran 
 swiftly back. 
 
 Paul had lagged more and more behind the 
 others. The possible explanation of the 
 wagon at the cabin door was beginning to 
 force itself upon him, though he resisted it 
 impatiently. It might mean a dozen things, 
 but intuition told him insistently that it 
 meant only one another of those hasty mov- 
 ings that left no trace behind. And what use 
 would it be to stir up good people in Viola's 
 behalf, if she herself had vanished? He 
 fought the idea, tired of the whole sordid 
 problem; yet, as the train came in sight, he 
 turned guiltily to the others. 
 
 "If you don't mind, I think I won't go up 
 with you," he said with an effort. "Will you 
 forgive me?" 
 
 They all looked a little blank, and Cameron 
 began a noisy protest, but was silenced by his 
 mother. 
 
 "It is Viola?" she asked as he helped her 
 on the train. 
 
 "Yes; I can't help it," he apologized. She 
 smiled at his abject tone. 
 
 "Come to me if I can help," she said. 
 
 Paul, with a long breath of relief, turned 
 1187
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 back across the meadow. Once in the path, 
 he began to hurry, he could not have told why. 
 He found himself running down the small 
 hills and scrambling breathlessly up the steep 
 places. As he came out on the slope back of 
 the farmhouse, he was ashamed of his panic, 
 everything looked so tranquil and usual. The 
 meaning of the wagon at the cabin door was 
 now unmistakable, for it was piled high with 
 household goods. He descended dubiously, 
 not quite sure what he should do. Then his 
 eyes fell on the ruffled surface of the pond, 
 and he knew why he had hurried. 
 
 The child lay in the water just under the 
 high bank, and ripples were still circling 
 away from her. Paul flung himself to the 
 strip of gravelly margin and, clinging to an 
 overhanging tree, caught a fold of her dress 
 and drew her out upon the grass. He knew 
 what to do do, and, throwing off his coat, fell 
 to work, lifting his head occasionally to shout 
 for help. At last steps sounded on the path 
 overhead. A moment later he looked into 
 the red face of Viola's father. 
 
 "Dead, ain't she?" asked the latter, after a 
 pause. 
 
 "I don't know/' said Paul shortly, 
 188
 
 PAUL AND VIOLA 
 
 "She come back from playin' in the woods 
 and found me gettin' ready to move," he went 
 on. "Guess she had a tantrum about it. You 
 don't think she's alive, do you?" 
 
 Paul had not paused in his ministrations. 
 
 "If she is, she never goes back to you," he 
 flung out. The father did not seem offended 
 at this. 
 
 "I don't want her none. But I don't want 
 her goin' around blabbin' about what she 
 don't understand. Kids talk too much." 
 
 "She won't talk. You have scared her too 
 thoroughly. Besides," he paused an instant 
 to look straight into the evil face above him, 
 "if you let her go without any fuss, I will see 
 that she isn't questioned. Otherwise, I shall 
 start an investigation." 
 
 The man twisted his lips consideringly. 
 
 "I heard you tryin' to pump her one day 
 about me, up to that glen," he said suddenly. 
 
 "Yes I know you did. And you heard 
 that I didn't succeed. I am willing to drop 
 all questioning if there I think yes, she 
 is. Can you get something hot for her to 
 drink?" 
 
 "There's some coffee left." 
 
 "Very well, bring that." 
 189
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 The man slouched off, but paused at the top 
 of the bank. "I don't say as there's anything 
 to tell, anyhow. Only kids get " 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Paul impatiently. "Hurry 
 up!" 
 
 A few moments later Viola opened languid 
 eyes, that widened miraculously as they fell 
 on his face. 
 
 "Well, young woman, so you fell into the 
 pond," he said cheerfully. A shamed look 
 crossed her face, and she lowered her eyes in 
 silence. "It was lucky I came back," he went 
 on. "I am going to take you up to town with 
 me this very morning. Your father says I 
 may." A light of eagerness shone out for an 
 instant, but she shrank back as her father ap- 
 proached. Paul went to meet him and took 
 the tin cup of coffee he carried. 
 
 "I left out some duds for her over there," 
 he explained. "I'm off, now. And she can 
 remember," he raised his voice, "if she ever 
 takes to gabbin' about me or my affairs " 
 
 "She won't," Paul interposed. "She is 
 going to forget your existence.'* 
 
 "That's the healthiest thing she can do," he 
 said, and turned away without a word of good- 
 
 190
 
 PAUL AND VIOLA 
 
 by. A few moments later they heard the rat- 
 tle of his wagon on the road. 
 
 When Viola came out of the cabin, dry and 
 neat, her tiny bundle under her arm, Paul rose 
 from the grass where he had waited and held 
 out his hand to her. The shy radiance of her 
 face touched and reproached him. 
 
 "You know, Viola, I am not taking you to 
 anything very grand," he said. "You will 
 have to work hard, but it will be for kind 
 people, and if you try, they will be fond of 
 you." 
 
 She smiled up at him wordlessly, in happy 
 security, and they went up the sun-flecked path 
 together. 
 
 191'
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN OUTSIDER. 
 
 "TF you knew what it meant for a De Long 
 to be earning her living!" Charlotte 
 said earnestly. "Five years ago, they had 
 everything; they were the people, up there. 
 You remember, Paul; you knew them one 
 summer. And now Elsie is coming down 
 here to give music lessons. We must help her, 
 children. She wants to find an apartment in a 
 studio building 'a big room for pupils and a 
 little hole to sleep in,' she writes." 
 
 "I can help her there," said Paul. 
 
 "My little cousins might take lessons of 
 her," Evelyn added. 
 
 Charlotte was meditating deeply. 
 
 "I wonder if we couldn't have her here, just 
 for a week or so, till she gets settled," she sug- 
 gested. "Cameron, you would have to give 
 up your room and sleep on the cot in my work- 
 room. Would you mind, dear?" 
 
 "Not a bit," was the ready answer. 
 
 T 93
 
 "Very well, I'll do it. And you must all 
 come in and make it pleasant for her and help 
 me out, won't you?" 
 
 "Rather," assented Paul. 
 
 Donna and Evelyn arrived early the next 
 Sunday night, to find Charlotte setting the 
 table for eight instead of the usual seven. Her 
 face wore a dubious, somewhat anxious ex- 
 pression. 
 
 "Has the lady come?" they asked. 
 
 "Yes, last night," said Charlotte with an 
 unconscious sigh. "Paul sent her up some 
 lovely violets. Wasn't it like him?" 
 
 They nodded, a little wistfully. 
 
 "There's no need of his being too nice to 
 her," Donna finally ventured, and then all 
 three laughed in frank understanding. 
 
 "We needn't worry, I think," Charlotte be- 
 gan. "She isn't exactly his oh, Elsie, come 
 in. Here are two of us for you to meet." 
 
 A slender girl with elaborately dressed hair 
 came graciously forward. 
 
 "Charlotte has told me so much about you 
 all," she said. "Which of you is it that writes? 
 That must be very nice." 
 
 "Oh, it's a good deal like hard work,'' said 
 Donna, who was too simple and friendly to 
 
 194
 
 AN OUTSIDER 
 
 know condescension when she met it. Evelyn 
 had drawn herself up into the most correct of 
 attitudes and was looking the visitor over with 
 a cool and guarded eye. 
 
 "I hope nothing will keep Paul away," 
 Charlotte said, to fill a pause. "He used to 
 know Miss De Long several years ago." 
 
 "I wish I could remember him better," said 
 Miss De Long thoughtfully. "I knew so 
 many men then; my life was so full he was 
 rather crowded out, don't you know?" 
 
 Donna turned on the speaker such an 
 amazed and offended countenance that Char- 
 lotte, to save her gravity, jumped up and hur- 
 ried out to the kitchen. 
 
 "Donna, come and help me," she called 
 back. Donna found her laughing to herself 
 as she dried the lettuce leaves. 
 
 "Crowded out of her little seven by nine life 
 Paul!" began the girl. "Isn't that pre- 
 posterous?" 
 
 "Oh, it is funny, and it is pathetic," Char- 
 lotte answered. "That is the way she sees 
 everything." 
 
 "Is it to save her amour propre, because he 
 didn't notice her?" 
 
 "I think she really believes it. She sees 
 
 195
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 things as she wants to see them. Oh, thank 
 heaven we that is Paul now. Go and let 
 him in, dear." 
 
 Supper was a dreary occasion. Whatever 
 the opinion that was expressed, Miss De Long 
 gently set the speaker right and dismissed the 
 subject. In the intervals she instructed them 
 generously on matters social, literary, and ar- 
 tistic. It was easy to read their attitudes. 
 Cameron glared at her with open hatred when 
 she courteously put down his mother. Char- 
 lotte was irritated, Donna distressed, Ffloyd 
 bored to rudeness, Lanse amused, and Evelyn 
 keenly on guard, ready to hit back so subtly 
 and intangibly that Miss De Long showed her 
 instinctive deference; only Paul remained in- 
 scrutable. 
 
 "I know her kind," Ffloyd said to Donna 
 afterwards. "She hunts up books nobody 
 ever heard of, and then, when you admit you 
 haven't read them, she shouts, 'You haven't 
 read that? Oh, you must! Promise me you 
 will, at once !' And you feel so like an igno- 
 rant boor that you do go and read the thing. 
 But next time she has another all ready for 
 you 'Now, don't tell me you haven't read 
 that! O Mr. Ffloyd, you have, surely! I 
 
 196
 
 AN OUTSIDER 
 
 can't believe it!' That's the way to make 
 people think you are cultivated." 
 
 "I would rather they thought I had some 
 manners," Donna answered. "Sh! She is go- 
 ing to play." 
 
 Miss De Long played beautifully; there 
 was no doubt of that. They quite forgot and 
 forgave in their enthusiasm for good work, 
 crowding about the piano with eager com- 
 ments. 
 
 "If you can teach others to play like that, 
 you won't have any difficulty about pupils," 
 said Charlotte warmly. "I know several 
 mothers who would be glad to " 
 
 "Oh, I shall have all the pupils I can take," 
 interrupted Miss De Long, rising from the 
 piano. "The Carroltons and the Bradbury- 
 Coles and the Stephen Le Grands and a num- 
 ber of those people are going to send their 
 daughters to me, They think it so terrible 
 that I should have to do it," she went on earn- 
 estly, "but, do you know, I don't feel that way 
 about it at all. I am quite proud to earn 
 money. I was telling dear Mrs. Bradbury- 
 Cole so the other day at luncheon but, of 
 course, she couldn't understand. Didn't your 
 
 197
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 friends make it hard for you, Charlotte, when 
 you began to work?" 
 
 "Oh, no not the friends I cared about," 
 answered Charlotte tranquilly. "Most of 
 them were educated beyond that point. Do 
 play something more, Elsie." 
 
 When the others had gone, and Cameron 
 had said a sulky good night, Miss De Long 
 leaned back and studied her patent leather 
 slippers with an amused smile. 
 
 "Your friends are really very interesting, 
 Charlotte. I enjoyed meeting them," she 
 said. "Your Paul has an attractive person- 
 ality, in a way." Charlotte winced and twist- 
 ed in her chair, but said nothing. The other 
 went on serenely: "I like his manner, too. 
 And have you ever noticed what a good pro- 
 file he has? He has looked up some apart- 
 ments for me and given me a list. That was 
 very nice of him." 
 
 "Yes, Paul is very nice," assented Char- 
 lotte, with a longing glance towards the door. 
 
 "The one you called Evelyn attracted me the 
 most," Miss De Long pursued. "She had a 
 certain savoir faire, an air of social experi- 
 ence. She was rather more my kind than any 
 
 198
 
 AN OUTSIDER 
 
 of them, I fancy. She has been out to a cer- 
 tain extent, hasn't she?" 
 
 "Yes, I believe Evelyn has had advan- 
 tages." Charlotte rose to her feet with a des- 
 perate movement. "Now, you must be so 
 tired ; and we shall be out late at the opera to- 
 morrow night. I am not going to keep you 
 up any longer." 
 
 "Well, it has been a very interesting eve- 
 ning," concluded Miss De Long, following 
 her down the hall to the room out of which 
 Cameron had been turned. "I think one en- 
 joys getting out of one's own little set once in 
 a while, don't you? Whenever I have been 
 in New York before I have always seen just 
 the same people the Bradbury-Coles and the 
 Stephen Le Grands and all those, you know. 
 Don't you think you get tired of your own sort, 
 occasionally?" 
 
 "I should think you would," said Charlotte 
 very sympathetically. "Good night, Elsie." 
 
 The various members of Us generally 
 viewed the opera from the top gallery, on a 
 strictly Dutch basis, when they went at their 
 own expense; but for this occasion Charlotte, 
 after due reflection over the extravagance, had 
 bought three seats in the dress circle and in- 
 
 199
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 vited Paul to go with them. They were ad- 
 miring each other's general appearance in the 
 parlor when Miss De Long swept in, trailing 
 ripples of lace and chiffon and drawing on 
 very white gloves. With her came a faint at- 
 mosphere of violets and cleaning fluid. 
 
 "Won't you need something on your head?" 
 Charlotte suggested. "You know, we are 
 just going across in the car." Miss De Long 
 looked blank for a second. 
 
 "Oh, I didn't think," she said, recovering. 
 "Yes, I will put on a hat." And she rustled 
 back to her room. 
 
 Paul was distressed. 
 
 "Charlotte, I ought to have brought a car- 
 riage," he exclaimed. "I'm growing into a 
 Hottentot. Haven't I time to run and " 
 
 "No, you have not," said Charlotte firmly. 
 "And I wouldn't let you in any case. She can 
 go our way or all ready, Elsie?" 
 
 "Does it look very funny?" asked Miss De 
 Long anxiously. "You see, I didn't do my 
 hair for it. It was stupid of me." 
 
 "You look just as pretty as possible," Char- 
 lotte answered; and she talked resolutely all 
 the way over in the car, though Miss De Long 
 was too much absorbed in saving her gown to 
 
 zoo
 
 AN OUTSIDER 
 
 listen, and Paul balanced in front of them with 
 a look of such acute distress in his eyes that 
 she could have cried for him. 
 
 "Paul, it's all right; and we have good 
 seats," she whispered to him as they entered 
 the opera house. 
 
 "I was a cad not to think of it," he repeated 
 miserably. "Oh, I hate being poor with a 
 woman! I'd rather never go near one than 
 take her in a trolley car!" 
 
 "But you don't feel that way with Us," she 
 urged. 
 
 "No. Thank heaven, that's different. But 
 I can't stand it with outsiders. This way, Miss 
 De Long." 
 
 "Oh up stairs!" she murmured. "Why, 
 really, this is very nice," she added, as they 
 took the seats Charlotte had chosen with such 
 enjoyment of her recklessness. "I have never 
 been above the boxes before though I know 
 awfully nice women who go even higher than 
 this. They say it is not bad at all." 
 
 "Why, we find the top gallery of all very 
 much better than staying away," said Char- 
 lotte. 
 
 "Well, really, I suppose you are perfectly 
 safe not to meet any one you know," said Miss 
 
 201
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 De Long charitably. "There, that is Mrs. 
 Bradbury-Cole, in that third box. Striking, 
 isn't she? such very good form." 
 
 Charlotte looked helplessly across at Paul, 
 who was staring straight in front of him with 
 somber eyes. The overture had begun, but 
 all that wonderful opera was dust and ashes to 
 them both. Their cheerful independence, 
 which recognized social distinctions but re- 
 fused to be troubled by therrij was for the 
 moment inoperative. For Elsie's opinions in 
 the abstract they cared not one penny; but her 
 manifest reluctance at being where she was 
 depressed them intolerably. She was reso- 
 lutely "nice" to them both, and pointed out to 
 them persons of distinction with intimate 
 anecdotes, even relaxing to good humored 
 whispers of derision^ such as : 
 
 "Fancy wearing a pince-nez with a tiara! 
 Isn't that just like Mrs. Jimmy Home?" But 
 she hastily refused to promenade between the 
 acts, and at the close she proposed that they re- 
 main in their seats until "the crush was over." 
 
 "I am afraid we may lose our cab," object- 
 ed Paul, who had left them for a few moments 
 in the last intermission. Elsie rose with re- 
 lieved alacrity, betraying by her sudden 
 
 202
 
 AN OUTSIDER 
 
 spirits how acutely she had dreaded an undis- 
 tinguished exit into a street car. All the way 
 home she talked comfortably to them both, 
 never once suspecting the wrenching effort of 
 their response. 
 
 Thanks to Paul's list, the apartment was 
 soon found. Charlotte demurred at the rent, 
 but Miss De Long thought it very cheap. 
 
 "If you knew what the John Harveys pay 
 for their apartment!" she explained, and paid 
 down three months' rent in advance with a 
 tranquil confidence in her own reasoning that 
 made argument hopeless. The furnishing 
 was done with exquisite taste, but with a dis- 
 regard for cost that troubled Charlotte. 
 
 "I simply cannot live in ugly surroundings," 
 Miss De Long insisted; "and it would be very 
 stupid, too, from a business standpoint. The 
 place must be pleasant to come to you have 
 no idea how much atmosphere means to the 
 sort of people I go with. And then, money 
 will be coming in at the end of the month. 
 The two Carrolton girls come on Wednesday 
 for their first lesson, and Mrs. Bradbury-Cole 
 will send Marie Rose the moment I am ready; 
 and there are dozens more all ready to come. 
 I don't need to bother about money." 
 
 203
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Well, that is very comfortable," admitted: 
 Charlotte, half convinced, yet uneasy. "And 
 if you should need or want a few extra pupils, 
 Evelyn's little cousins, the " 
 
 "Oh, but I shall be very expensive," inter- 
 posed Miss De Long; "three dollars a lesson, 
 any way, and probably four and five." 
 
 "Oh, I see," said Charlotte quietly. 
 
 Miss De Long moved into her new quarters 
 on Friday, and Cameron helped her with 
 such obvious joy that his mother had to keep a 
 severe eye on him. 
 
 "I have enjoyed my stay with you, Char- 
 lotte," she said graciously. "You have all 
 been very kind, and I want you to come and 
 take tea with me Sunday at five Mr. Ffloyd 
 and everybody. Will you tell them for me?" 
 
 Charlotte promised, and drew a long breath 
 as her guest drove away in a hansom. 
 
 "You needn't think I'm going," began Cam- 
 eron, instantly on the defensive. 
 
 "Dearie, I rather hoped we could all go," 
 said Charlotte gently. "Her people and ours 
 were so much to each other, years ago. She 
 means well, too. Somehow, I am sorry for 
 her." Cameron flung himself down disgust- 
 edly. 
 
 204
 
 AN OUTSIDER 
 
 "Oh, bother it!" he exclaimed. "I'm so 
 blamed soft, I always do things when you go 
 at it that way. And you know it. You're 
 taking a mean advantage of my weakness. 
 Mother, you're no gentleman." 
 
 She found the others harder to manage, but 
 somehow Charlotte always had her own way. 
 Evelyn and Lanse, who knew or were re- 
 lated to many of the families whose names 
 Miss De Long rolled on her tongue, found a 
 wicked amusement in her conversation, and 
 Lorrimer Ffloyd, after hotly scolding Donna 
 for going, followed her himself and sat se- 
 verely aloof, refusing food, drink or conversa- 
 tion. Miss De Long played hostess with 
 aggressive kindness and tact. 
 
 "I did not ask anyone to meet you," she ex- 
 plained. "I thought it would be pleasanter 
 by ourselves. You are such a talented little 
 group I should not have dared ask anyone 
 who was not very brilliant. I don't think, 
 you know, that the richest and most fashion- 
 able people are always the cleverest. That is 
 the trouble with my friends the only thing I 
 have against them they are all so horribly 
 rich and smart! Lemon, Charlotte?" 
 
 205
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 Charlotte took her cup with a smile of 
 gentle malice. 
 
 "I am glad you have us to run to for relief," 
 she said innocently. 
 
 "Oh, I am afraid I shall have little time for 
 'running' anywhere;" Miss De Long spoke 
 hastily. "My work will be very exacting 
 and my Sundays are promised three deep al- 
 ready. One goes out of town so much, Sun- 
 days, now that everyone has motors. I don't 
 expect to have any free time at all." 
 
 She came back to that theme more than 
 once, having evidently a kindly desire not to 
 raise false expectations; and though she met 
 their good-bys with a gracious, "I shall hope 
 to see you all again," her tone implied, "in the 
 next world." 
 
 "Now she has squared her obligation to 
 you, Charlotte, by giving your friends a good 
 time," commented Evelyn as they strolled 
 away. "She can forget our names with a clear 
 conscience as soon as she likes." 
 
 "Heaven grant she does!" murmured Ffloyd 
 crossly. 
 
 The weeks that followed were so busy for 
 Charlotte that Miss De Long was rather 
 crowded out, though the thought of her al- 
 
 206
 
 AN OUTSIDER 
 
 ways brought a moment's uneasiness, until the 
 girl finally came to call. She was more gra- 
 cious than ever, but avoided the subject of her 
 work, and dwelt so insistently on the luncheons 
 and dinners that had been given in her honor 
 that Charlotte felt all responsibility shifted 
 from her shoulders, and was doubly cordial in 
 her relief. 
 
 "You might stay and have luncheon with 
 me," she suggested. "A little hash would be 
 good discipline for you, after all your luxury." 
 
 Rather to her surprise, Miss De Long ac- 
 cepted at once, and seemed to enjoy the minced 
 lamb and creamed potatoes and tea to a sur- 
 prising degree. 
 
 "Our cafe is very nice, but I get tired of 
 it," she apologized, as Charlotte served her 
 a second time. "This has such a good little 
 home flavor." Charlotte was pleased, but sus- 
 pected nothing. 
 
 It was two weeks before Miss De Long 
 came again, and Charlotte exclaimed on see- 
 ing her. 
 
 "Elsie, you are overworking/' she pro- 
 tested. "Why, you're as thin as a little cat. 
 And you are pale, too. I am afraid town 
 doesn't agree with you." 
 
 207
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Perhaps it doesn't," admitted Miss De 
 Long. Her voice had lost a good deal of its 
 assertiveness. "I don't believe I'm so very 
 well. My head rather aches. I thought per- 
 haps you would cheer me up." 
 
 The smile that went with the words was so 
 troubled and wistful, so unlike the superb, 
 condescending Elsie of other days, that Char- 
 lotte was touched and self reproachful. 
 
 "You poor child!" she exclaimed. "And I 
 have been too busy to wonder about you, even. 
 Don't you think a cup of tea would do you 
 good? I am dying for one, myself." 
 
 "Why if it is no trouble," said Elsie hesi- 
 tatingly; and then the color rushed up into her 
 cheeks and mortified tears came into her eyes; 
 but Charlotte had left the room and did not 
 see. In a few moments there was a little blue 
 pot of tea breathing fragrance between them, 
 and bread and butter sandwiches in thin tri- 
 angles. Miss De Long lifted her cup with a 
 hand that trembled. 
 
 "Oh, it is so good!" she exclaimed im- 
 pulsively ; and two tears ran down her cheeks. 
 
 "My dear,'* said Charlotte warmly, "you are 
 homesick that's what is the matter with you. 
 And no wonder, striking out alone like this, 
 
 208
 
 AN OUTSIDER 
 
 after the way you have always lived. Why 
 won't you come back here for a while? You 
 can have Cameron's room and be as inde- 
 pendent as you please go off to your pupils 
 every morning, and come back at dinner time. 
 What do you say, Elsie?" 
 
 Elsie said nothing at all. She sat with her 
 eyes on her hands, her lower lip caught sharp- 
 ly between her teeth. 
 
 "Just as you like, you know," Charlotte 
 added reassuringly. "Our way of living is 
 very primitive. If you are dismal it might 
 do you good, for a week or so. But if you don't 
 want to " 
 
 "I do want to more than anything on 
 earth," interrupted the girl, in a voice that 
 tried desperately to be steady. "But I won't 
 come without telling you just what is the 
 matter. I haven't any pupils, and my money 
 is all gone, and I haven't had a real meal 
 for " It was too hard; she could not finish. 
 Her head went down on her arm. In an in- 
 stant Charlotte was beside her, crying warmly, 
 
 "You poor girl! Why didn't you come to 
 me before?" 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't!" in a stifled voice. "You 
 see, they didn't go back on me at all ; but the 
 209
 
 Bradbury-Coles went South they hadn't ex- 
 pected to so of course that took Marie Rose 
 away. And the Carrolton girls have been ill, 
 and the Stephen Le Grands had engaged some- 
 body else for the present, and that was the way 
 with all of them. And I didn't want to write 
 home it is so hard to explain things. Mrs. 
 Bradbury-Cole would have done everything 
 for me if she hadn't gone South. It all just 
 happened." 
 
 "Of course I know just how things do 
 happen." Charlotte's voice was resonant with 
 sympathy. "Now finish your tea, Elsie, and 
 then come and lie down in my room till din- 
 ner time. I am so glad you came!" 
 
 She put her guest into a wrapper, tucked 
 her up in pleasant darkness, and then went off 
 to hasten dinner. Elsie lay in abject comfort, 
 feeling the burden of herself shifted off her 
 own hands, and reveling in her release. The 
 door was not quite closed, and she could hear 
 Charlotte moving about the flat. Then the 
 front door shut, and Cameron's step sounded 
 in the hall. She was sinking into drowsiness 
 when his voice, raised indignantly, brought 
 her back with a start. 
 
 "I don't see why she should come and hang 
 
 2IO
 
 AN OUTSIDER 
 
 around your neck, mother," he was declaring. 
 "You have enough to do. If she's sick, why 
 doesn't she go to the Fitz Willie de Green peo- 
 ple she's always bragging about?" 
 
 Charlotte evidently protested, for presently 
 he went on : 
 
 "No, I'm not selfish. I'd always give up 
 my room like a shot for any one who cared 
 about us in the least though I'm two feet 
 too long for that beast of a cot; I have to loop 
 myself up at the foot. But she just uses us, 
 and then snubs us afterwards." 
 
 Charlotte's voice answered reprovingly, but 
 the boy burst out: 
 
 "Well, I don't care. If she's going to stay 
 here, I'll get out, that's all. I can't stand liv- 
 ing in the house with a tin queen!" 
 
 The voices moved away. Elsie lay rigidly 
 still for a few moments; then she rose softly 
 and dressed, pinned on her hat, tipping it well 
 down over her tear stained eyes, and took up 
 her gloves. But as she stepped out into the 
 hall, the homely sound of table setting came 
 to her, the faint clash of dishes and the ring 
 of silver. Then she heard Charlotte's laugh, 
 whole souled, sweet, and generous, as irresisti- 
 ble to the lonely girl as a lighted window to 
 
 211
 
 a lost wayfarer. She hesitated, and then, turn- 
 ing back, took off her things, crept into the 
 wrapper once more, and laid her head on her 
 arms. But the tranquility was gone. Her 
 heart was very sore, and she had taken up the 
 burden of herself again. 
 
 "Asleep?" said Charlotte's voice at the door. 
 "Come to dinner just as you are, Elsie; Cam- 
 eron won't be home. Or shall I bring it to 
 you?" 
 
 "No, I'll come;" and Elsie followed wearily 
 to the table. The good dinner and Charlotte's 
 friendly cheerfulness warmed her a little in 
 spite of herself. When it was over she turned 
 bravely to her hostess. 
 
 "Charlotte, will you help me to get some 
 pupils?" she asked. 
 
 "Why, of course, I'd love to. But you don't 
 want to think of work for a few days. Wait 
 till you are rested." 
 
 "No ; I want to begin tomorrow. Did you 
 say that Evelyn had some cousins " 
 
 "Yes, the two little Duncan Russells. I 
 know they want some one right " 
 
 "Not the Duncan Russells!" Elsie ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "Yes," said Charlotte quietly. "Why not?" 
 
 212
 
 AN OUTSIDER 
 
 "Why, I never dreamed they could be " 
 she broke off and colored under the other's 
 glance. "I don't know one hears so much 
 of the Duncan Russells," she explained, a lit- 
 tle confusedly. "I have seen them at the Le 
 Grands, but I never happened to meet them. 
 Mrs. Bradbury-Cole knows them." 
 
 "They are very simple, well bred, nice peo- 
 ple," said Charlotte; "and nobody in New 
 York can help you so much as they can. I 
 will write Mrs. Russell a note tonight." 
 
 Elsie moved restlessly about the room, her 
 cheeks still flushed. Then she leaned her 
 arms on the mantelpiece and rested her fore- 
 head against them. 
 
 "Oh, dear," she said irritably. "It is a nasty 
 feeling, not to be proud of yourself. I hate 
 it." 
 
 "But it is very wholesome," added Char- 
 lotte. 
 
 When bedtime came, Elsie flatly refused to 
 take Cameron's room. 
 
 "It will be only for a night or two, and 
 there is no sense in turning him out, is there, 
 Mr. Cameron?" she added, turning pleasantly 
 to the boy, who had just come in. He colored
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 furiously and protested in genuine distress, 
 but she remained firm. 
 
 "Now I feel like a cad," he exclaimed, after 
 she had gone to bed. "She won't be com- 
 fortable on that little cot, mother. Why didn't 
 you make her take my room?" 
 
 "We will tomorrow," said his mother ap- 
 provingly. 
 
 It was very late when Elsie woke up ( the 
 next morning. Charlotte had set up her easel 
 in the sitting room and gone to work on a 
 magazine cover, but the maid was hovering 
 near, ready to prepare the guest's bath and 
 bring her an attractive breakfast. She came 
 in refreshed and bright eyed, full of new cour- 
 age. 
 
 "Now, Charlotte, I am going to attack the 
 town," she said. "I expected it to come to 
 me ; now I'll try going to it." 
 
 "If you can spare five minutes first, you 
 might let me sketch that hat," Charlotte sug- 
 gested. "It is just what I want. Stand over 
 there ; that's right. Oh, bother was that the 
 door bell? Why, Harriet I" jumping gladly 
 to her feet as a swish of skirts in the hall was 
 followed by the entrance of an imposing wom- 
 an who seemed to fill the room. 
 
 214
 
 AN OUTSIDER 
 
 "I got your note this morning, Charlotte," 
 she began, "and I ran right down to see you 
 about that little music teacher. I couldn't 
 make out her name " 
 
 "Not very little," interrupted Charlotte hur- 
 riedly. "Here she is Miss De Long, Mrs. 
 Russell." 
 
 "Oh, Miss De Long why, I know all about 
 you;" and she shook hands with irresistible 
 cordiality. "Now, I know we are interrupt- 
 ing Mrs. McLean. Suppose you let me take 
 you up to my house to talk business? That's 
 good. Charlotte, how is my beloved Paul?" 
 
 "My beloved Paul is all right I don't 
 know anything about yours," returned Char- 
 lotte. 
 
 "Jealous!" said the visitor, with a delighted 
 laugh. "He's coming to luncheon with me 
 on Thursday." 
 
 "Then I am coming, too," declared Char- 
 lotte, laying down her brushes. 
 
 "Indeed you are not. But I wish you would 
 come some other day Friday?" 
 
 "No, Thursday 1" Charlotte called after her 
 defiantly. 
 
 "Friday!" she returned from half way down 
 the stairs. Then she turned to Elsie^ still smil-
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 ing. "Mrs. McLean is a very wonderful wom- 
 an," she said. "You are fortunate to have her 
 for a friend." 
 
 "Yes, I am," said Elsie, with lowered eyes. 
 
 216
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CAMERON'S AFFAIR. 
 
 CAMERON!" called Charlotte from 
 her work room. 
 "Yes, mother/' answered a somewhat re- 
 luctant voice from the hall. 
 
 "Do come and pose for me, like a dear boy. 
 I need a very striking young man for my 
 
 cover." 
 
 "But, my dear mother, I have just time to 
 keep an engagement." Cameron appeared in 
 the doorway, very much dressed up, very self 
 conscious and dignified. "I promised to call 
 for Miss Arthur at four o'clock. She's going 
 to take a walk with me," he added, drawing 
 on conspicuously new gloves with a man- 
 about-town air, a heavy stick under one arm. 
 
 "How did it come about?" asked Charlotte, 
 properly impressed. 
 
 "Oh, I simply asked her, and she said she 
 would be charmed to." Then the small boy 
 came to the surface in a delighted giggle, 
 
 217
 
 THE TOP OE THE MORNING 
 
 "What's the matter with little Willie?" he de- 
 manded, swaggering. Charlotte laughed. 
 
 "What are you going to talk to her about?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Why, whatever the lady chooses;" Cam- 
 eron became dignified again. "Books, theatre, 
 art, music she can't stump me. Would you 
 wear these?" He pulled forward a button- 
 hole bursting with lilies of the valley, and 
 studied it anxiously. "Lanse says flowers in 
 your buttonhole are bad form now, but I do 
 like 'em. What would you do?" 
 
 "Wear them," said Charlotte. "And then, 
 if there is a good chance, you can give them 
 to her. You have enough there for a corsage 
 bouquet." 
 
 "Great eye," commented Cameron. "I'll 
 do it. Au revoir, Mrs. McLean." At the 
 door he paused, hesitating. "I say, do you sup- 
 pose I'll bore her to death?" he broke out. "I 
 know I'm only a foolish little boy. Won't she 
 be wishing me in Jericho?" 
 
 "No, of course not," said his mother. "You 
 may be sure she is very glad to do it. She told 
 me you interested her very much. Go on, 
 dear, and don't think about yourself, Just 
 give her as good a time as you can." 
 
 218
 
 CAMERON'S AFFAIR 
 
 Cameron was beaming and confident again. 
 
 "All right, then. Here goes!" And he 
 swung out, chest high and head up, young life 
 cavorting perilously under manly dignity. 
 Charlotte leaned back in her chair with eyes 
 full of laughter. At a mental picture of the 
 lady in the case, it suddenly brimmed over. 
 Well, if Miss Arthur found it amusing, she 
 was more than satisfied. 
 
 Cameron came home radiant, with empty 
 buttonhole. 
 
 "Now that's what I call a lady," he confided 
 to his mother. "You ought to have seen her 
 all velvet and fur and bully white gloves. 
 She didn't just wear any old thing because she 
 was going out with me. I tell you, we were a 
 couple!" 
 
 "And how did you get on?" asked Charlotte, 
 deeply interested. 
 
 "Well, the first ten minutes, it was pretty 
 bad," he admitted. "Someway, she was so 
 handsome, and so grown up, you know, I 
 wanted to excuse myself for living, and I just 
 fell over my feet, right and left. I couldn't 
 even talk straight felt as though I had a 
 mouthful of cold blotting-paper. But she 
 didn't notice a thing and talked along as if we 
 
 219
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 walked up Fifth Avenue every day of our 
 lives ; and so I got on to myself, and after that 
 it was lovely. She's great." 
 
 "And you gave her your flowers?" Char- 
 lotte was longing to know more, but could not 
 question him too closely. 
 
 "Did I ! You ought to have seen me. She 
 said something about them, and I said I had 
 just worn them in the hope she'd notice, so that 
 I could have an excuse to offer them. How 
 was that for a kid?" And Cameron's chuckle 
 would have assured the most anxious mother 
 that she had not yet lost her small boy. "I 
 wish I dared ask her to go to the theatre with 
 me," he went on. "Do you think she would? 
 I suppose we'd have to have a chaperon." 
 
 Charlotte, taken unawares, let a sudden 
 laugh escape. Her son was indignant. 
 
 "Oh, I know she's ten years older than I 
 am! But she doesn't look it, does she? And 
 isn't a chaperon just for looks, anyway?" he 
 demanded. 
 
 "Yes, dear. You are perfectly right;" 
 Charlotte hastily recovered her gravity. "And 
 I like it that you are punctilious about wom- 
 
 en." 
 
 "Well of course," said Cameron mollified. 
 220
 
 CAMERON'S AFFAIR 
 
 The theatre suggestion was not followed up, 
 but Miss Arthur let Cameron take her to a 
 service at the cathedral a few days later, and 
 then she asked him to help her rearrange her 
 library. His devotion grew with the weeks, 
 and all the time that could be spared from his 
 studies (and possibly some that could not) 
 went to the making of a Christmas offering 
 an ingenious little wooden chest for jewels. 
 He talked of her till only his mother would 
 stand him. Teasing on the subject did not 
 trouble him: indeed^ he seemed to enjoy it. 
 Charlotte met Miss Arthur on the street one 
 day, and both women laughed as they shook 
 hands. 
 
 "I'm afraid my small boy is boring you to 
 death," Charlotte began. 
 
 "Indeed he is not. He is the nicest boy I 
 ever knew," said Miss Arthur. "I enjoy him 
 immensely." 
 
 "Well, you have utterly won his heart; and 
 you are the very first." Charlotte sighed a lit- 
 tle. "You will never find any truer devotion. 
 A boy's love can be so angelic once in his 
 life!" she added. 
 
 "I hope I should hate " Miss Arthur 
 hesitated. Charlotte put out her hand. 
 
 221
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "You are making him immensely happy, 
 and doing him good. Only don't let him bore 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, he never does that." 
 
 The first day of the Christmas holidays 
 Cameron was allowed to go skating with his 
 lady. For twenty-four hours afterwards he 
 was like a jovial tornado in the little apart- 
 ment. Charlotte, wearied with his noise and 
 her own laughter, was thankful to see him go 
 forth the following afternoon in the punctil- 
 ious array that had only one meaning. 
 
 "Here are two hours of quiet, anyway," she 
 said, smiling after him. "If the lady will only 
 keep him to dinner!" 
 
 But in less than an hour he was back, a very 
 different Cameron, silent, moody, with a look 
 of tragic anger in his eyes that made his 
 mother ache for him. He offered no expla- 
 nation, and for the first time evaded a chance 
 to talk of Miss Arthur. Indeed, he would not 
 talk on any subject, but sat through a long eve- 
 ning with his eyes held sternly on a book, 
 whose leaves were not turned. Charlotte at 
 last made an excuse to cross the room, that she 
 might gently rub his hair in passing. 
 
 222
 
 "Well, dear boy?" she said. "Can't you tell 
 me about it?" 
 
 He lifted his eyebrows in polite surprise. 
 
 "Why, there is nothing to tell," he said. 
 "Someone else a fellow named Courtney 
 came to call on Miss Arthur, so I didn't stay. 
 That's all. She asked me to come again to- 
 morrow evening, but I don't know whether I 
 shall or not." 
 
 Charlotte sat down by the fire and waited. 
 Presently Cameron threw aside his book and 
 jerked himself to his feet. 
 
 "I don't see how men like that get into nice 
 houses," he burst out. "Mother, you know 
 what kind of a woman she is why, you want 
 to take your shoes off when you go into the 
 same house with her. She's the sort of woman 
 you'd expect a queen to be all lady, inside 
 and out. You'd think anyone would feel it 
 and respect it. And that man sat up there in 
 her drawing-room and smoked!" 
 
 Charlotte would have strangled rather than 
 laughed; but she attempted a faint defense. 
 
 "But, dearie, perhaps she has known him a 
 long time. You know we like to have some 
 people smoke here." Cameron brushed aside 
 the argument as not worth attention. 
 
 223
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "And, then, I didn't like a story the fellow 
 told," he went on } with an outraged shake of 
 his head. "I don't mean it was shady; it 
 would have been all right in most places. But 
 to tell that kind of a thing before her! 
 Wouldn't you think a stableboy would know 
 better? Of course she had to laugh she's so 
 kind but / could see she didn't like it. I 
 felt I'd punch the fellow if I stayed another 
 minute, so I got out. And if he is going to be 
 there, I'll stay out. Good night." And he 
 marched off to his own room. 
 
 Only a mother, and perhaps not all mothers, 
 could have endured Cameron for the next 
 twenty-four hours. Late in the afternoon, a 
 little worn but still perfectly sympathetic, 
 Charlotte dragged him out for a walk, and the 
 young giant, bewildered and angry at his own 
 sore heartedness, followed sulkily where she 
 led, and would not seem to notice when they 
 passed Miss Arthur's house. 
 
 "Suppose we run in and see her for a mo- 
 ment," suggested Charlotte in a sudden-bright- 
 idea tone. "I really owe her a call." 
 
 "Oh, I don't believe I care to," was the 
 grand reply. 
 
 "Of course you are invited for the eve- 
 224
 
 CAMERON'S AFFAIR 
 
 ning. I had forgotten that," she amended 
 cheerfully. "Is it to be " 
 
 But Cameron was not listening. A cab had 
 just passed, and the street lamp showed a 
 young woman in velvet and furs inside. It 
 stopped at her door. Charlotte looked back 
 in time to see a man alight, then turn and offer 
 his hand to the young woman. The pavement 
 was slippery with ice, and she went up the 
 steps with her hand still on his arm. Char- 
 -lotte knew instinctively that this must be the 
 fellow named Courtney. 
 
 "Shall we go home now?" she said. "A fire 
 will feel good." 
 
 "You go. I'll walk a little more." And 
 Cameron trudged off into the early winter 
 darkness with his neck sunk into his coat col- 
 lar, and his hat pulled far over his eyes. 
 
 When he got home, late for dinner, there 
 was a note waiting for him. He took it up 
 with a sudden light in his face, that died out 
 as he read. 
 
 "It's just a note from Miss Arthur to say that 
 she can't see me to-night she has a bad head- 
 ache," he explained carelessly. "She says she 
 will write me to-morrow and make another 
 date. Dinner ready?" 
 
 225
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 Pride had set in, and anyone but a mother 
 would have welcomed the change. Cam- 
 eron's whole soul was bent on showing that he 
 had never been gayer in his life, and Charlotte 
 saw only what he wanted her to, patiently 
 biding her time. He was formal with her 
 these days, keeping her at arm's length, and he 
 kissed her good night with such an effort that 
 she contrived to let him avoid what had never 
 before been a ceremony, knowing how wholly 
 he would come back to her when his bruised 
 and bleeding self could bear the light again. 
 The postman came seven times a day, and 
 seven times a day Cameron slipped out and 
 trudged down the three long flights to watch 
 for hirr ; and each time Charlotte felt her heart 
 thump in sympathy till a glance at his face told 
 her hope was over for this hour, and the 
 promised note had not come. When, hunting 
 in the dark corner of a store closet, she came 
 across the unfinished jewel chest, thrust down 
 behind a box, she could have cried. 
 
 It was a dreary week, and at the end of it 
 Charlotte drew up to her little coal fire in the 
 early dark to make some stern resolutions. But 
 instead she found herself listening to the soft 
 clink of the snow against the window and won- 
 
 226
 
 CAMERON'S AFFAIR 
 
 dering where Cameron was. His quick step 
 in the hall foretold news, and she turned eager- 
 ly as he burst into the room, snowy, breathless, 
 all his pose and self consciousness swept away 
 by some overwhelming feeling. 
 
 "Oh, mother, mother 1" He flung himself 
 down beside her and buried his face on her 
 shoulder. "She's ill dreadfully, terribly ill 
 she's been ill all these days, and I've never 
 even been to ask about her. She's getting 
 worse and worse, and they don't know whether 
 she'll And I've been sulking around think- 
 ing about myself and never even sent her a 
 message ! Think of her " His breath came 
 in quick gasps, and she felt his arms tremble. 
 
 "How did you find it out, dear?" 
 
 Cameron did not answer for some moments. 
 Then, with a long sigh, he drew away from 
 her and settled down at her feet, his face 
 turned to the fire. 
 
 "Why, I walked by the house I happened 
 to and there was a little card over the bell, 
 saying please not ring, because of serious ill- 
 ness. So I asked at the basement She had 
 most fainted that day we saw her, at a tea, and 
 someone had brought her home in a cab. 
 And sick as that, she bothered to send me a
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 note, so that I shouldn't come round that night 
 think of it! And I never went near her. 
 And now it's too la " 
 
 Charlotte waited a while, then she told 
 him about various wonderful recoveries that 
 she had known of. It was not long before she 
 had him cheerful with new hope. After din- 
 ner she heard him whistling softly in his own 
 room, and, glancing in, saw him surrounded 
 by his tools, working busily at the little jewel 
 chest. 
 
 The morning news of Miss Arthur was en- 
 couraging. Cameron worked all day on the 
 chest, and at dark, when it was finished, went 
 buoyantly off for a last bulletin. His heavy 
 step when he came back prepared his mother 
 for his tragic face. Miss Arthur was very 
 much worse. The doctor would be there on 
 and off all night. By midnight they would 
 probably know. 
 
 It was Christmas Eve, and the two were 
 promised for a small party. Cameron would 
 not go, but was so vehemently opposed to 
 Charlotte's staying away that she finally went 
 without him. But she could see nothing all 
 the evening but the boy up there alone with his 
 first trouble, and finally she slipped away. It 
 
 228
 
 CAMERON'S AFFAIR 
 
 was barely eleven when she let herself in and, 
 after a glance at the empty sitting-room, stole 
 to his door. He was not there, and his over- 
 coat was gone from the hall. 
 
 She got together materials for a little sup- 
 per and placed the gas stove ready to light, 
 then sat down to wait. Presently bells and 
 whistles announced Christmas Day, and fell 
 away into silence again. At half past twelve 
 Charlotte could stand it no longer. Putting 
 on her wraps, she went down to the street, un- 
 cannily still now, and muffled in fresh snow. 
 Only a few blocks lay between her and Miss 
 Arthur's house, and she had no fear of the city 
 at any hour. As she turned the last corner, 
 she stopped short and drew back into the 
 shadow. Across the street a lonely figure was 
 pacing slowly along the block, pausing now 
 and then to glance up at a house opposite. She 
 knew him long before the street lamp showed 
 her the boyish face, pale and set. Something 
 in it kept her from speaking. She let him 
 turn and go back. A wide path had been 
 trodden in the snow on that side. 
 
 "I have no small boy any more," she thought 
 sadly, and went home alone. 
 
 229
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 An hour later Cameron came in, making 
 clumsy attempts at noiselessness. 
 
 "I'm up, dear in the dining-room," called 
 Charlotte. He came in shining with good 
 news. 
 
 "Oh, mother, she's better! She has passed 
 the worst they think she'll pull through!" 
 
 "I'm so glad, dear! How did you find 
 out?" He looked a little confused. 
 
 "Oh, I wasn't sleepy, so I thought I might 
 as well run around there and see the doctor as 
 he left. I waited a few minutes for him," he 
 explained. "Have you been in long?" 
 
 "Oh, not so very;" Charlotte was stirring 
 busily. "I just felt like some chocolate. Will 
 you have some?" 
 
 "You bet," said Cameron. 
 
 News from Miss Arthur continued better 
 and better. Before she was taken out of town 
 she was able to write with her own hand a lit- 
 tle note of thanks for the jewel box and the 
 lilies of the valley. 
 
 After she had gone, Cameron's mother 
 sighed to see a new phase of the affair de- 
 velop. He showed a growing reserve on the 
 subject of Miss Arthur. When, according to 
 her generous habit, Charlotte introduced the 
 
 230
 
 CAMERON'S AFFAIR 
 
 topic, Cameron, instead of falling on it, an- 
 swered briefly or passively and presently let 
 it drop. She respected the new mood, and, 
 after a few weeks, Miss Arthur's name was al- 
 most never mentioned between them. The ex- 
 pansive little boy was evidently become a man 
 in the concerns of his own heart, and Charlotte 
 would not force his confidence, though she 
 wondered incessantly what was going on back 
 of this new secretiveness, and ached in sym- 
 pathy for the ache she could only divine. All 
 the boy's spare time now went to experiments 
 in book-binding, and she bore the endless lit- 
 ter without a murmur, suspecting some new 
 offering to the lady as its ultimate object. 
 
 Then one day she came running up the 
 stairs, her eyes shining with joy for his joy. 
 
 "O Cameron, whom do you think I saw 
 just now?" 
 
 He was at a critical place in adjusting an 
 end paper, and did not lift his head. 
 
 u Dunno," he said, evidently without a sus- 
 picion. 
 
 "Miss Arthur looking so well and pretty! 
 And she sent you her love." 
 
 Cameron did not leap to his feet. He did 
 not even look up. 
 
 231
 
 "Good work," he said cheerfully. "I must 
 go and see her some time. Mother, will you 
 put your ringer here for a moment?" 
 
 Charlotte stared at him blankly. There 
 was no duplicity in his serene voice, no pose in 
 the frowning attention the end paper was re- 
 ceiving. And all this time She turned 
 and went to her own room. 
 
 'The little brute!" she muttered. Then 
 she smiled broadly. After all, it only meant 
 that she still had a small boy. 
 
 232
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE PROVING OF US. 
 
 " A ND so I didn't do it," Cameron con- 
 cluded. "I just got out and came 
 home. And do you want to know why?" 
 
 His mother drew a deep breath of relief 
 for the present and dismay for the years com- 
 ing. "Yes; tell me why," she said. 
 
 "Well, it wasn't principles, though I sup- 
 pose it ought to have been. They just didn't 
 seem to matter. And, mother, it wasn't be- 
 cause you would feel badly you want it 
 straight, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes, dear boy." 
 
 "Well, then, it was simply because I didn't 
 want Paul to think me a little fool. When it 
 struck me that he would hear about it, I knew 
 I just couldn't. So I came away." 
 
 They sat in silence a few moments, Char- 
 lotte's hand moving half absently over the 
 boy's hair. Presently Cameron went on. 
 
 "Paul is good, you know," he said, frowning 
 over the effort at analysiSj "and yet you don't 
 
 233
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 hate him for it. Some people are good be- 
 cause they don't know any better, and then 
 they're muffs. But Paul knows a lot better 
 he could be as wicked as sin; but he just 
 chooses not to. That's the kind I'd like to 
 be." 
 
 Charlotte drew her fingers along her eye- 
 lids; then she gave a little laugh. 
 
 "How is a woman to bring up a great thing 
 like you?" she demanded. 
 
 "Oh, don't worry. I'll get along all right," 
 he comforted her. 
 
 She repeated the conversation to Paul, later, 
 but he received it with unwonted irritation. 
 
 "I protest. It is not fair," he exclaimed, 
 walking impatiently about the room. "Why 
 should I have to pose as a guardian of young 
 morals? Do you realize that you are con- 
 demning me to a life of deadly, vulgar, fool- 
 ish respectability, just because you have a 
 great, stupid son?" 
 
 Charlotte only laughed at him, but he went 
 on, fuming: 
 
 "You have all fallen into an abominable 
 way of referring your moral conduct to me. 
 I will not stand it! Don't you suppose I lie 
 and steal like any one else, when I want to? 
 
 234
 
 THE PROVING OF US 
 
 This example business is getting on my nerves 
 I have to go about on my tiptoes, trying to 
 fit your ideal. Hang it, Charlotte, I'm an 
 artist, not a family physician. You are spoil- 
 ing my work among you. You've got to stop." 
 
 "Words, Paul, words!" said Charlotte tran- 
 quilly. "You can't escape. You will be wise 
 to the endj and to the end we shall all set our 
 compasses by you." 
 
 "I'll fool you yet," he declared, and then 
 they both laughed ; but he was frowning again 
 when he went away. 
 
 He did not go straight to his studio, but 
 turned with a trace of defiance to a ground 
 glass door near his own, bearing the name 
 "Irene Potter." When he had lifted his hand 
 to knock, he hesitated, then turned and walked 
 away a few steps. The door was flung open, 
 and the appearance of a tall girl in a painting 
 apron brought him about with a half laugh 
 of apology. 
 
 "What are you doing? Why didn't you 
 come in?" she demanded. 
 
 "Oh, I'm just having a good resolution," he 
 said, uncertainty in his voice. She moved 
 aside with an abrupt gesture. 
 
 "Come in and have it here." 
 
 235
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "It is not the best place for them," he mur- 
 mured, but he came, nevertheless. She went 
 back to her easel and apparently forgot all 
 about him in her frowning absorption. Paul 
 smoked and watched her silently for a long 
 time. 
 
 "What was the resolution?" she finally 
 asked, without turning her head. 
 
 "Oh, it was along the lines of prudence and 
 respectability; it wouldn't interest you." His 
 voice was a lazy challenge. She turned to him 
 impatiently. 
 
 "I wish I knew where you pick up all this 
 bourgeois propriety that you're always com- 
 ing home covered with," she exclaimed. 
 
 "You do know." 
 
 "Yes. And it's going to be your ruin. Oh, 
 it makes me rage! You have some of the real 
 fire you know the secrets and then you go 
 and push the baby carriage round the square 
 for an afternoon, and come back with the 
 point of view of an intelligent greengrocer!" 
 She stood over him, her hands thrown palm 
 out in angry protest. Paul met her eyes stead- 
 ily for a moment, then drew in his breath with 
 a slight shiver. 
 
 236
 
 THE PROVING OF US 
 
 "Irene! For God's sake!" he murmured. 
 She turned away with a shrug. 
 
 "Oh, 'I know! You have taught yourself 
 to run away from feeling. You would rather 
 be comfortable than live. But I intend to 
 save you." She faced him with a rather grim 
 smile. "There's a fight on between two wom- 
 en for the good of your soul, my dear Paul! 
 And if I win, sooner or later you will do some- 
 thing, something really big. You will do 
 work that lasts." 
 
 "And if you lose?" 
 
 "You will have more orders than you can 
 fill, and your photograph in the art journals 
 every month, and a large fortune that will 
 enable your wife and daughters to take their 
 place in society; you will be a popular and in- 
 telligent artisan." 
 
 "You hit hard, Irene!" 
 
 "I am right. I know. Paul, very few peo- 
 ple have the real fire; don't let a lot of cod- 
 dling women choke it out of you. It can't be 
 fed on texts!" 
 
 "I wonder I wonder!" 
 
 "I know!" 
 
 They might have been combatants measur- 
 237
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 ing each other's strength, by their attitudes. 
 Paul broke away with sudden exasperation. 
 
 "Oh, we think too much. I am going back 
 to work," he exclaimed; and she did not try 
 to keep him. 
 
 In his workroom stood the uncouth begin- 
 nings out of which a man was to emerge, a 
 mythical figure of Genius that had been 
 ordered for the new art gallery. Its com- 
 panion, Talent, already stood veiled in a cor- 
 ner, grave and fine and earnest; but Paul had 
 hesitated before the youth of fiery splendor 
 that he had seen through half shut eyes in the 
 blank clay, the exultant being who stood with- 
 out the law, giving the world out of his abund- 
 ance what all its weary straining could not 
 attain. He went to work half heartedly, and 
 was glad when the fading daylight released 
 him. 
 
 In the morning he made a dogged attack 
 on the little wax model that he had been fol- 
 lowing in clay, and spent a harassing day try- 
 ing to do by will power what could be done 
 only by inspiration or whatever name it is 
 fitting to give to that strange, eager current 
 that spreads through body and brain when 
 the imagination starts on a quest. All the half 
 
 238
 
 THE PROVING OF US 
 
 seen visions had subsided into conventional 
 images that made him stamp with helpless 
 anger. The glow and the joy of work were 
 gone probably forever. Late in the after- 
 noon he went savagely to Irene. 
 
 "I can't do that thing," he accused her. 
 "Genius! What do I know about Genius? I 
 can't work I'm just dead and cold it's all 
 over. I shall simply tell them to let some one 
 else do their old statue. My career has ended, 
 gone up in smoke." 
 
 Irene let him fume and tramp about the 
 room without comment until his overwrought 
 nerves were a little relieved. Then she gave 
 him a cigarette, and swept some books off the 
 couch with a nod of command. He threw 
 himself down and pressed his face against a 
 cool leather cushion. 
 
 "I knew this would come," she said. "I 
 have been waiting for it. And I know the 
 remedy." 
 
 "The remedy?" 
 
 "Of course you can't do work like that 
 here," she went on. "It's a wonder the place 
 hasn't killed your work long ago. It has hurt 
 mine. Imagine anything valuable coming out 
 of these square, hideous rooms 2 all just alike, 
 
 239
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 on the eighth floor of a square, hideous build- 
 ing, with the elevator always full of dentists 
 and typewriter girls! It's this public, proper, 
 banal atmosphere that is crushing you. Mor- 
 ally the place smells of laundry soap. We 
 have got to go." 
 
 "But, Irene; I claim to be above surround- 
 ings," he protested. 
 
 "So do I when I am with the brass platter 
 and Persian tapestry kind. It isn't what is 
 on my walls, but the walls themselves, the 
 doors and windows^ the way in and out. I 
 have been on the trail of a place for weeks; 
 I shall know tonight if I can have it." 
 
 "Irene! You won't really go!" 
 
 "But I will!" 
 
 "That is terrible I won't let you! What 
 shall I do?" 
 
 "If you are wise, you will come, too." They 
 had both plunged without warning into dead- 
 ly earnest, though there was only a faint 
 rigidity of attitude to betray it. Paul flung 
 one arm across his face, and presently spoke 
 from behind it. 
 
 "For the good of my soul, Irene?" 
 
 "For the good of your work," she answered 
 steadily. 
 
 240
 
 THE PROVING OF US 
 
 "Oh, it is frightful to be as strong as you 
 are and as certain," he broke out. "Tell me 
 honestly, don't you ever cry, or wish for ad- 
 vice, or even hesitate? Have you quite done 
 away with the feminine tradition?" 
 
 She frowned impatiently. 
 
 "I have done away with the petty signs and 
 symbols of femininity, I suppose. Do you 
 find me any less a woman for that?" 
 
 "God help me, no!" 
 
 "Well, then! Now I am going out. Come 
 back at this time tomorrow and pack books 
 for me." 
 
 She went away with her usual abruptness, 
 leaving him to scowl over troubled thoughts 
 till hunger drove him out. 
 
 Work the next day was even more hope- 
 less. Paul had once scribbled on his wall a 
 line from "The Wrecker" : "A sculptor should 
 possess one of three things capital, influence, 
 or an energy only to be qualified as hellish" 
 confident in his own possession of the third 
 requisite ; but now even energy seemed to have 
 deserted him. He struggled fitfully till mid 
 afternoon, when a messenger brought him a 
 note from Irene an address, with "Come and 
 see it" scribbled beneath. The address led 
 
 24 n
 
 him down an old fashioned side street, left 
 stranded in the center of the town, and to the 
 door of a wide brick stable, evidently disused. 
 As he hesitated, an Irishman who sat tilted 
 back against the wall waved a friendly 
 thumb towards a side door leading to the 
 attic. 
 
 "She's up there," he volunteered. 
 
 Paul mounted and found himself in a 
 cavernous attic, full of a pleasant brown light 
 under its steeply pitched roof. Evidently it 
 had been inhabited before, and by people of 
 their own tribe, for open doors showed him 
 that two deep skylights had been let into the 
 sloping roof, the space beneath them being 
 partitioned off into two studios. The beams 
 and rafters showed traces of former decora- 
 tions, and there was a generous stove, as well 
 as many comforts and conveniences not usual 
 to attics. The whole gave an instant impres- 
 sion of charm and possibilities. Paul skirted 
 boxes and a confusion of furniture, and found 
 Irene, flushed and tumbled but very much 
 alive, poised on the narrow top of a step-lad- 
 der, tightening a curtain wire. 
 
 "Isn't it beautiful? Doesn't it take a weight 
 off your soul?" she called down to him. 
 
 242
 
 THE PROVING OF US 
 
 "My dear woman not while you are risk- 
 ing your life up there. Come down this in- 
 
 stant." 
 
 She laughed and boastfully stretched out 
 her arms to show her perfect security. He 
 had never seen her so splendid. 
 
 "If you don't come down, I shall come 
 up," he threatened, jealous of her fearlessness 
 rather than afraid for her. She came with a 
 deliberate nonchalance that made every step 
 a challenge. Some lurking imp of mischief 
 had struggled to the surface, and there was 
 amused consciousness in the corners of her 
 mouth, in her whole bearing a disquieting 
 charm made up of her old recklessness and a 
 new delight in it. Paul fell back a step with 
 the sudden recognition of a more immediate 
 danger than he was ready to meet. 
 
 "What have you done to yourself? What 
 have you found here?" he demanded. 
 
 She looked up at the old rafters, at the 
 stream of sunlight coming in the gabled win- 
 dows, at the dusky corners full of mellow 
 brown light, and breathed deep with her sat- 
 isfaction. 
 
 "You get it, too," she said. "You are dif- 
 
 243
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 ferent already; and your eyes are three shades 
 darker." 
 
 "Is it the place?" 
 
 "You even stand differently. Oh, there's 
 room here! And every inch of it is -in sym- 
 pathy with us. We can grow wings here I 
 see the tips of yours already. Won't you ad- 
 mit it?" 
 
 "I will admit something." 
 
 "You can't deny it. Your eyes are almost 
 black now. I had forgotten you were so beau- 
 tiful, Paul!" 
 
 "You are growing taller every minute. You 
 must stop! One can't look at a woman level. 
 An inch more, and I shall be afraid of you." 
 
 "You are afraid of me now! Come and 
 see it all. I have such plans for it. Shall 
 I tell you?" 
 
 "No; not now." 
 
 "Will you see where I shall work?" She 
 led him to the partitioned end, and they 
 looked in the first door. Paul tried to say 
 something casual^ but broke off after a few 
 incoherent words. Then they went silently to 
 the second room, and lifted strained faces to 
 its high windows. She laid her hand on his 
 arm. 
 
 244
 
 THE PROVING OF US 
 
 "Well, Paul?" 
 
 He said nothing, looking straight into her 
 unafraid eyes. 
 
 "You will work here every day and you 
 will see that I was right," she said. 
 
 A blind moment followed. When Paul 
 found himself again, he was walking in a 
 tumult of exultation through the ruddy streets, 
 still vibrating with the sense of something 
 splendid and living in his arms and against 
 his face. He tramped reckless miles, but they 
 could not sober him, and he could have 
 shouted with joy in his own defiance. Love 
 and work, work and love that was all the 
 world held for men such as he. His heart 
 sang in its new liberty, and he felt wide doors 
 swing back before him: he had exchanged a 
 ceiling for a sky. 
 
 Hours later he came back through the 
 lighted town, wondering at the crowds pour- 
 ing into the theatres, when they might be at 
 their own dramas, working and loving under 
 dusky rafters. Then the sight of two figures 
 in the crowd brought him down out of his 
 paradise with a shock that left him cold, and 
 old, and unutterably heart sick. Charlotte's 
 serene face 2 her amused eyes^ her evident pride 
 
 24S
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 in the overgrown boy beside her, followed him 
 persistently down the side street into which he 
 had turned to avoid her. He was still one 
 of Us. And rage as he might, the claim was 
 not to be thrown aside without a struggle. He 
 could not get away from Charlotte's w r ords, 
 "You will be wise to the end, and to the end 
 we shall all set our compasses by you." 
 
 Half a dozen faces confronted him, all se- 
 renely trustful. And Cameron, who had 
 walked out of temptation that Paul might 
 not think him a little fool! Oh, it was not 
 fair, they had no right to hamper and bind 
 him! They must live as they could, and leave 
 him free. 
 
 By morning all that he really desired was 
 to run away forever from the tranquil faith 
 of Charlotte, that bound him so unfairly; 
 from the hampering devotion of the little 
 world that said "Us" with a capital when 
 no one could hear; from Irene with her tur- 
 bulent power; from this terrible work where- 
 in so much was expected of him, and before 
 which he was so impotent. A new world, or 
 the serenity of death 
 
 "Coward!" he commented, and turned to 
 his workroom. The gaunt frame, partly built 
 
 246
 
 THE PROVING OF US 
 
 up with clay, stood like a foolish caricature 
 of the idea that had been shown to him in an 
 enlightened moment and then taken away. 
 He picked up the wax model that showed 
 what the finished figure would be, studied it 
 intently, then pushed it away with an exclama- 
 tion of despair. He was still sitting idly be- 
 fore the waiting clay when Irene came, enter- 
 ing with an abruptness that gave him no mo- 
 ment for decisions. The magic of the day 
 before was still in her face and voice and 
 movements, though her direct, unconscious 
 eyes seemed to hold no memory of what had 
 happened. 
 
 "My packing is almost finished," she be- 
 gan, coming towards him with a vigor fresh 
 and stirring as a strong wind. "I want you to 
 help me for a few moments. There is a box 
 of books " 
 
 "Irene!" 
 
 "Paul, you beautiful!" Then she drew her- 
 self away to look at him triumphantly. "You 
 didn't sleep. I can see it." 
 
 "Of course I didn't." 
 
 "Oh, I shall teach you to live yet! And 
 then you will do your real work. It is I that 
 
 247
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 am molding a genius out of clay." He turned 
 away with a hopeless gesture. 
 
 "Certainly I am not. Look at that thing!" 
 
 She took up the little wax model and 
 judged it gravely. 
 
 "It is just what I should expect to see come 
 out of these surroundings," she said finally. 
 "It is worthy, and neat, and quite safe. The 
 committee will like it." 
 
 "Isn't it horrible!" 
 
 "Fire and freedom, Paul you can't do 
 without them. When will you come?" 
 
 "Will you marry me, Irene?" 
 
 "Don't be tiresome. You know that I want 
 that as little as you do. Come and help me 
 now; my expressman will be here." 
 
 As Paul worked under her directions, some 
 of her fine carelessness began to sweep through 
 him. The load on his heart lifted, the claims 
 of other affections seemed remote and unim- 
 portant. The glamour was over all they said 
 and did, and they laughed like children. 
 When they had lunched together, they fol- 
 lowed her possessions to the new quarters and 
 worked till they were feverish with weari- 
 ness. Then she turned on him. 
 
 "Go home, Paul. I'm tired of you." 
 248
 
 THE PROVING OF US 
 
 "I don't want to. I like it here." 
 
 "When are you going to bring your work?" 
 
 He laid his hands on her shoulders. "Dear- 
 est woman! I shall make one more attempt 
 to do it there. If that fails, then I shall know 
 that you are wise as well as wonderful. This 
 is Tuesday night; by Saturday I shall have 
 proved " 
 
 "Very well. I will come on Saturday and 
 help you pack." 
 
 He had said that he would make one more 
 attempt. And it must be an honest one he 
 owed that to Charlotte and Cameron, and 
 Donna, and all these troublesome friends who 
 had spun their artful webs about him to ham- 
 per his freedom. Three days was not much 
 to set apart for them. And then 
 
 He seized a handful of clay and turned to 
 the rough suggestion of a shape that awaited 
 him. 
 
 "Do what you can," he challenged the six 
 that seemed to confront him. "If you fail, 
 I shall never say 'Us' again ; if you want me, 
 you must work for me. You are all in the 
 wrong, and you can't save me that's what 
 you would call it; but I owe you the chance. 
 Here is your test! Show me that I can do 
 
 249
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 big work without freedom, and I will believe 
 you. But I shan't sacrifice the 1 artist to the 
 citizen, my good and sober friends!" 
 
 He went to work indifferently enough, but 
 the sense that the issue was, in a way, out of 
 his hands, quieted his racing thoughts. His 
 attention was freed, and, though he turned it 
 to his subject with a certain contempt, before 
 an hour had gone the workman had begun to 
 get the upper hand, the fire in his eyes had set- 
 tled into a grave intentness. As the hours 
 passed, slowly, out of the darkness and misery, 
 his idea was coming back to him, the vision 
 he had half seen in the moment when the 
 youth of fiery splendor had answered to his 
 first wondering over the embodiment of 
 genius. He threw out of sight the laborious 
 little image that had so cheapened his idea, 
 and worked with his eyes on the inner vision, 
 growing clearer and more imperative every 
 moment. The tumult of the past days fell 
 away till it was as dim and external as the 
 experience of some one else. Irene became a 
 beautiful picture that stirred but did not con- 
 cern him. He locked his door, letting visit- 
 ors knock and go away. The cafe below had 
 prclers to send up his meals ; and sometimes 
 
 250
 
 THE PROVING OF US 
 
 they came, and sometimes they did not ; Paul 
 never noticed their omission. 
 
 The third day found him white and lined 
 and unshaven, more spirit than human, see- 
 ing always his idea rather than the growing 
 image before him. When the daylight went, 
 he lit all the lights and worked on in numb 
 persistence through hour after hour of the 
 night. The cruel lights and hard shadows 
 doubled his difficulties. His whole body 
 ached with the physical labor demanded of 
 it, his mind grew dazed and confused. Sev- 
 eral times he heard himself talking aloud, and 
 distressed himself trying to remember what 
 he had said. But he did not think of stop- 
 ping. His fagged brain kept repeating that 
 the idea must be fixed beyond denial before 
 Saturday, though he could not trouble to re- 
 member why. 
 
 The striking of a clock startled him. Was 
 it six in the morning or in the afternoon? Was 
 his work done? He pulled up the blinds, let- 
 ting in a wintry gleam of early daylight, then 
 turned slowly to his statue. 
 
 At first he felt nothing but the great shock 
 of wonder and joy. Through the rough, un- 
 finished work shone the idea that had held 
 
 251
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 his inner sight, whole and resplendent. At 
 last he had done it, the big thing! Out of the 
 years of lahor and sweat and hellish persis- 
 tency had come this living creation that was 
 facing the dawn with the pride of an equal; 
 and he, the creator, had a right to his hour 
 of exultation. All the work that was yet to 
 be done could not make it a shade more beau- 
 tiful; could do nothing but render it more 
 legible to eyes unable to find the spirit with- 
 out aid of the letter. It stood now in its per- 
 fection for him, and he had at last achieved. 
 And then, all at once, he realized the cost 
 of this achievement; that he had done his great 
 work here, in these surroundings, out of the 
 abnegation of years; that Irene's wisdom was 
 not his, and that, by the test of his own expe- 
 rience, he must be wise to the end. If Irene 
 had contributed to this work, her gift was no 
 more than a spark the torch was all his; and 
 a greater gift than that might some day be 
 taken reverently, discreetly, and in the fear 
 of God. He cried out against the sentence, 
 but his work stood inflexible, and he knew. 
 His worn nerves gave way, and, throwing 
 himself face down on the coucr^ he sobbed 
 desperately. 
 
 252
 
 THE PROVING OF US 
 
 The tears relieved him. Presently he put 
 out his hand and drew up a rug; and then he 
 fell heavily asleep. 
 
 Hours later, he awoke to a new heaven and 
 a new earth. A great tranquillity was over 
 him. He turned to the moment when he 
 would show Charlotte his work, and his heart 
 warmed to the joy they would all take in it, 
 those dear persons whose love and faith were 
 so large a part of his life. Irene seemed as 
 remote as the fiery episodes of his first youth. 
 
 He shaved and bathed, went out for a heroic 
 luncheon, and then, bruised and languid, but 
 blessedly serene, came back to sit at the feet 
 of his work and learn. Even when Irene 
 came, as she had promised, he felt no distress 
 only friendliness and a warm pity. He 
 opened the door to her, and, taking her hand, 
 led her to the spot where he had first seen and 
 known, when he had let in the dawn. She 
 gazed in silence. He did not look at her face, 
 but he felt her hand grow slowly cold. 
 
 "Well, have I done it?" he asked -very 
 gently. 
 
 She made no answer. After a moment, she 
 drew her hand away and went out, closing 
 the door behind her without a glance back. 
 
 253
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 Paul heard her steps die away in the distance, 
 then turned to his statue. 
 
 "I'm sorry," he said half aloud; then he 
 drew a deep breath and stretched his arms 
 out wide. "This is freedom! And you taught 
 me. I shall never forget. But they won, 
 after all ; I can still say 'Us' 1" 
 
 254
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE LITTLE THING. 
 
 T^ONNA'S literary success, if not high, was 
 very wide. Besides her work for children, 
 she was the curled darling of the magazines 
 that aim at the hearts and homes of the peo- 
 ple rather than at their heads; magazines that 
 deal in good red blood or the sane, whole- 
 some uplift, and that take the public into their 
 editorial confidence with ingenuous bluffness 
 and earnest appeals for advice. Donna's 
 stories were human, and often very charming; 
 but they were undeniably moral. In their 
 course, faulty heroines, maid or matron, were 
 cured of every known fault or failing, and 
 though they often made the reader laugh, 
 there was always a passage near the end that 
 called out touched, warm, glad tears. Donna 
 herself cried over these places ; but she recog- 
 nized that her path did not lead to literary 
 distinction. 
 "I shall never have a stylish audience," she 
 
 255
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 complained. "The dentist's assistant has al- 
 ways read me, and the trained nurse, and the 
 dressmaker by the day the dollar and a half 
 ones, at least; when they are over two dollars, 
 I can't bet on it. But no one who keeps more 
 that two girls has ever so much as heard my 
 name. It is very discouraging. If I could 
 just once get an admiring letter from a real 
 lady who kept a butler, I should die happy. 
 But they're all on purple paper with fancy 
 edges!" 
 
 If the admiring letters lacked in social tone, 
 there was no lack in quantity. They arrived 
 in a steady stream, and Donna, though she 
 laughed, loved them dearly and often an- 
 swered with a genuine bit of herself. It was 
 only when they came out of her own early 
 life that they presented difficulties. She had 
 a horror of seeming to ignore old ties, as well 
 as an impelling friendliness that forbade 
 dodging. Yet her glance was apprehensive 
 when the postmark of her old home turned 
 up in her mail. When it came, over unfamil- 
 iar writing, three times in as many weeks, she 
 opened the third with a distinct sigh of im- 
 patience. 
 
 "DEAR DONNA," she read : "Do you remem- 
 256
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 ber Ernie? I am back here for a visit we 
 live in Detroit now and I have just been 
 hearing about you from your Cousin Nettie. 
 I have been so proud of you all these years. 
 I have read every word you have written, and 
 when a magazine has not your name in the con- 
 tents, I do not buy it. I shall be in New York 
 next week on my way home, and it would be 
 wonderful if I might see something of you. 
 I am only a little country mouse^ but your 
 cousin says you are just as dear as ever, and 
 not a bit grand with all your fame. Donna, 
 don't think me presumptuous. I can't tell you 
 what it would mean to me. 
 
 "Do you remember the big willow? 
 "Affectionately your old playmate, 
 
 "ERNESTINE LEMOYNE. 
 
 "P. S. My three favorite authors are you, 
 Carlyle and Robert Chambers, in that order." 
 
 The postscript startled Donna into a shout 
 of laughter, and she re-read the letter more 
 leniently. When a young woman intimates 
 that the privilege of seeing you will make an 
 epoch in her life, the natural instinct is to re- 
 fuse. Vague perils hang about the nearer ap- 
 proach of such fervor. Donna was personally 
 incapable of being bored by any sincere inter- 
 course, but affectation could reduce her to 
 
 257
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 dumb misery; and Ernestine was a very faint 
 memory. Moreover, admiration had more than 
 once been followed up by bare-faced requests 
 for her influence with editors and publishers, 
 and she had learned to be wary. But her 
 sophisticated caution was hampered by a poig- 
 nant memory of her own early years, when to 
 Meet An Author would have meant the 
 tremulous climax of her existence; and she 
 had never lost the scared consciousness tha't 
 she might have finished her days in just such 
 dull starvation, had not her blessed talent fur- 
 nished the key to freedom. She was sorry and 
 touched, and her pen balked at excuses. 
 Ffloyd came in while she was still hesitating 
 over her answer. 
 
 "Another offer?" he asked. Her last nota- 
 ble letter had been from a missionary in Bur- 
 mah, who, touched by her poem, "After- 
 wards," had spoken frankly of his loneliness 
 since the death of his second wife, and begged 
 her photograph. 
 
 "Read it," she said, and watched his face 
 as he came to the postscript. Ffloyd was not 
 easily amused, for his standard for humor was 
 both strict and erratic, and he scorned to pay 
 in laughter for anything that fell below the 
 
 258
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 requirements; but he gave this back with a 
 muffled "H'h!" of appreciation. 
 
 "I told you you were too nice to Cousin 
 Nettie," was his comment. "How shall you 
 get out of it?" 
 
 "I shan't," was the somewhat depressed an- 
 swer. 
 
 "You are not going to have that girl on 
 your hands!" 
 
 "We played together, Lorrimer, in a big 
 willow tree. She says so. Besides, I remem- 
 ber it now she was several years younger 
 than I. We kept house." 
 "Stuff!" 
 
 "And she wants it so awfully." 
 "What if she does!" 
 "I don't see why you mind!" 
 Ffloyd did mind. He had so many objec- 
 tions to offer that Donna ? combatting them, 
 succeeding in convincing herself that no other 
 course was open to her. 
 
 "But I don't want an Earnest Lemon sitting 
 about here every time I come in," he finally 
 burst out, goaded into giving his real objec- 
 tion. "I think she will be an infernal nuisance, 
 if you ask me." His scornful version of the 
 name brought a ripple of amusement. 
 
 259
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "You will love it," she assured him. 
 "Ernestine will look on you as a famous ar- 
 tist, and be breathless over meeting you; and 
 if you will make a little sketch for her, she 
 will be thrilled to her very toes, and always 
 save that first when the house burns down. I 
 know. I was that way once myself." 
 
 " 'Where are they now^ the glory and the 
 dream?' " murmured Ffloyd. "You are rash, 
 Donna. I may fall in love with her." 
 
 "Why shouldn't you?" was the placid an- 
 swer. 
 
 "You wouldn't care a damn, I suppose." 
 He rose irritably, taking his hat. 
 
 "Don't be cross, Lorrimer; it hurts my feel- 
 ings." 
 
 "Your feelings! You haven't got any. You 
 are too literary to feel. Don't you ever get 
 tired of this beastly good-comrade busi- 
 ness?" 
 
 Donna looked him over consideringly. "My 
 dear boy, you need exercise," she concluded. 
 "If you will wait till I put on my things " 
 
 But he was gone, banging the door behind 
 him. He had shown this peevishness several 
 times lately, and she looked after him with 
 wondering disapproval. Then, after finish- 
 
 260
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 ing her letter, she dressed at comfortable 
 leisure and started out. At the doors below 
 she found Ffloyd, waiting in huddled patience 
 against the keen north wind. 
 
 "I thought you wanted to take a walk," he 
 said aggrievedly as he fell into step beside 
 her. 
 
 "So I do," was the mild answer that turned 
 away wrath. 
 
 They walked themselves into their usual 
 harmony, and, later, went to dinner together 
 in good-comradeship of the most flagrant 
 kind. Indeed, they became so friendly that, 
 with four elbows on the table and the black 
 coffee steaming between them, a secret that 
 Donna had been cherishing got out of her 
 control. She had been longing to tell for four 
 excited weeks, and at the first taste of coffee 
 she knew that she must. 
 
 "Will you promise not to breathe it?" she 
 began. "I didn't mean to tell any one, not 
 even Paul. But it is so thrilling, I must." 
 
 A shadow had crossed Lorrimer's face, but 
 she was too absorbed to notice, and he prom- 
 ised cheerfully enough. She let her chin 
 drop on her clasped hands for a moment of 
 hesitation. 
 
 261
 
 THE TOP. OF. THE MORNING 
 
 "Oh, I shan't mind your knowing," she de- 
 cided. "I am doing it^ Lorrimer. I began 
 last month." 
 
 "Your novel?" he asked quickly. 
 
 She nodded impressively. "My first darling 
 novel. Of course, it is poor and crude and 
 silly; but it's a grown up novel with a prob- 
 lem and a plot and oh, everything. My dear, 
 I am a real author at last." 
 
 "Bully!" said Ffloyd, so explosively that 
 neighboring diners looked round. He was 
 unaffectedly excited. No one had such a 
 splendid generosity of interest as Lorrimer, 
 once he was roused. He had to know all her 
 plan of campaign, and they sent the waiter 
 for a sheet of paper, that they might block 
 out the chapters and study their sequence. 
 Ffloyd was very strict about balance and pro- 
 portion and other structural qualities that 
 Donna, absorbed in the individual scenes, 
 wanted to ignore. He drew diagrams to ex- 
 press the proper development of the plot, with 
 hillocks of event increasing to mountains of 
 climax, and Donna insisted on rival diagrams 
 of converging zigzags ; and when at last they 
 leaned back with a laugh, their hands press- 
 ing scarlet cheeks 1 they discovered that the 
 
 262
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 room had emptied and that the lights were 
 going out. 
 
 "Is there any life in the world as good as 
 ours?" she exclaimed. "You have been so 
 dear and helpful, Lorrimer." 
 
 Ffloyd was printing, in beautiful script, 
 "Donna's First Novel," across the top of the 
 scribbled sheet. 
 
 "You want to keep this," he said. "We 
 must get together on it again before long." 
 
 "But don't forget and speak of it before 
 the others," she warned him, rising. "I don't 
 want to be asked how it is getting on. Be- 
 sides, it can't really be any good. I probably 
 shan't finish it." 
 
 Ffloyd, holding her coat for her, smiled be- 
 hind his glasses. 
 
 "Your modesty is of the incorrigible kind, 
 Donnie," he said. "I used to hope that I 
 could break you of it but I give up." 
 
 "Oh, it isn't modesty. I simply know, that's 
 all," said Donna cheerfully. "But it is pretty 
 good for me, isn't it? O Lorrimer, I do hope 
 Paul will like it!" 
 
 Three straight chairs, a rocker and a piano 
 stool were drawn up to Donna's little round 
 
 263
 
 THE TOP. OF THE MORNING 
 
 table, which was set with a bravely mixed col- 
 lection of china and silver. Paul and Char- 
 lotte, arriving early, found Ffloyd already 
 there, and somewhat injured at being forbid- 
 den to smoke, while Donna, covered to her 
 throat in a big apron, was attending to last 
 details in a hectic kitchenette, which had evi- 
 dently undertaken the labors of a full grown 
 kitchen. They looked in on her with offers 
 of help. 
 
 "How is the Earnest Lemon?" they added. 
 Lorrimer's name had stuck. 
 
 Donna hesitated, smiling to herself, and ab- 
 sently filling the chocolate pot until it ran 
 over. 
 
 "Why, she is enormously pretty. (Oh, 
 dear Charlotte, throw me that dish towel.) 
 She is little and soft and kitteny awfully 
 trustful and admiring, don't you know? I 
 thought her a good deal of a duck, myself, 
 and yet I wasn't perfectly certain Well, 
 you will see. I have only met her the once, 
 and she trembled, Paul. Her hands shook. 
 At meeting me!" Donna was pitiful rather 
 than amused. 
 
 "I can understand trembling at a meeting 
 264
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 with you, Donna;" Ffloyd's voice was at its 
 driest, and no one heeded him. 
 
 "Lorrimer came in, so she only stayed a lit- 
 tle while," Donna went on. "She was dying 
 to stay, yet she had to go don't you remember 
 that stage?" 
 
 "She looks in your face as if she expected a 
 cuckoo to come out," observed Lorrimer. 
 
 "Well, if nothing more startling than a 
 cuckoo ever came out of our faces !" said 
 Charlotte, sighing. "Children, do remem- 
 ber that she is not used to you. Paul really 
 does go too far." 
 
 "I am not a patch on Cameron," was the 
 indignant protest. The boy's name always set 
 them smiling. 
 
 "You must give her her money's worth," 
 put in Donna. "Meeting you is a tremendous 
 event, to her. Won't you all appear as famous 
 as you can?" 
 
 It was an inspiring idea, and they were ri- 
 valling each other at "appearing famous" 
 when the guest arrived. 
 
 Miss Lemoyne, offering her small, soft 
 hand, certainly was a dear little person. She 
 looked up into each face with starry intent- 
 ness,, as if she had told herself, "This is the 
 
 265
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 great moment of my life." Then she sat on the 
 edge of a chair and confronted them as though 
 the curtain were about to go up. And, of 
 course, it did go up. Not one of them was 
 impervious to such stimulation as that. They 
 were appearing very famous indeed very 
 bold and gay and witty by the time supper 
 was on the table. Miss Lemoyne, politely 
 given the rocking chair, sent a sigh of content 
 into the momentary lull that followed their 
 seating. 
 
 "Are all the other writers and artists like 
 you?" she asked, with a simplicity of admira- 
 tion that made them laugh. 
 
 "God forbid!" said Ffloyd. 
 
 "Are all the nice girls in Middleford like 
 you?" asked Paul, with his warming smile. 
 She sent a tiny smile back, but Donna an- 
 swered for her: 
 
 "When they are as nice as Ernestine, they 
 leave Middleford. Don't you find Detroit 
 vastly better fun?" 
 
 Ernestine's eyelids drooped, giving her lit- 
 tle face for the moment a veiled look. "We 
 have only just gone there," she said. "Mother 
 never leaves her room. I I get what fun 
 I can. Donna^ did you really cook all this?" 
 
 266
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 It was a question to go straight to Donna s 
 heart. Her writing she took simply enough, 
 but she was frankly vain of her cooking. She 
 would have given Ernestine all her best recipes 
 on the spot if the others had not objected. 
 
 "Miss Lemoyne can read all that in any 
 home magazine," Ffloyd declared. "She has 
 come here to get into the atmosphere of art 
 haven't you, Miss Lemoyne? You don't want 
 Hints for the Housewife." 
 
 She had her little breathless smile for every 
 appeal. "I know a literary lady who writes 
 for the Detroit papers," she ventured. "She 
 has published a book on 'Mushroom Raising 
 in the Home' do you know it? By Augusta 
 Tilly. She adores your stories just the way I 
 do. I lend her my copies of the old ones. I 
 have them all, you know." 
 
 Donna shrank from the na'ive tribute. 
 "Ernestine is a perfect guest," she said with a 
 defensive laugh. "I believe one could even 
 read one's unpublished works to her, she is so 
 polite." 
 
 "Oh, if you only would!" Ernestine flushed 
 with eagerness. Charlotte laughed. 
 
 "That is pure bluff, Miss Lemoyne," she 
 explained. "Torture couldn't make Donna 
 
 267
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 read her own works aloud. She refuses to 
 join authors' readings at the rate of two a 
 month." 
 
 "I don't see why," Ffloyd began. 
 
 "I know you don't," Donna interrupted. 
 "You would read your works on every occa- 
 sion, if they were readable. Wouldn't he, 
 Paul?" 
 
 "Most of us would,^ if we were properly 
 asked!" 
 
 "Miss Tilly sometimes reads me her news- 
 paper paragraphs," said Ernestine. 
 
 "I don't mind being a guest of honor," 
 Donna went on. "There is a club up in De- 
 troit, Ernestine, that has asked me several 
 times. If they do it again, I will accept, and 
 we will have a visit together. Then we 
 can " She broke off, startled, for she thought 
 that the color had suddenly left her guest's 
 face; but the change, if there were one, was 
 so fleeting that she could not be sure she saw 
 aright. 
 
 "That would be too lovely!" Ernestine was 
 saying in her soft little voice. Neither Char- 
 lotte nor Ffloyd seemed to have noticed any- 
 thing, but Paul's eyes were fixed on her ques- 
 tioningly. 
 
 368
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 "Don't count on it. Miss Lemoyne," he said. 
 "Donna always thinks that she will do it next 
 time, but she never does." Donna was watch- 
 ing, too, and it seemed to her that the little 
 guest looked relieved. Ffloyd was still trying 
 to be heard in defence of authors' readings. 
 
 "If it is a question of taste," he insisted, "I 
 don't consider reading your works aloud any 
 worse than being interviewed and photo- 
 graphed. Charlotte, do you know that I found 
 cameras all over the place here, the other day, 
 and Donna telling the story of her life to a 
 brazen young woman from a newspaper? If 
 that isn't vain-glory " 
 
 "But it wasn't a newspaper," Donna broke 
 in. "It is for The Litterati; they are running 
 a series on Our Younger Writers, and they 
 are devoting a number to me. There is some 
 dignity in that. Besides, it helps sell things. 
 And I hated it ? anyway." Her somewhat 
 feminine processes made them laugh. 
 
 "I was chief lion at a woman's club once," 
 Ffloyd admitted. 
 
 "And you liked it," said Donna with scorn. 
 "I could have forgiven your doing it, with 
 loathing but not your enjoying it." Ernestine 
 unexpectedly came to his defense. 
 
 269
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "But it was so lovely to do it," she urged. 
 "You don't know how wonderful it is to to 
 meet people like you." 
 
 Ffloyd was touched. "Does it feel wonder- 
 ful, this minute?" he asked, turning to her 
 with the interest of the experimenter. 
 
 "Oh, yes!" 
 
 "Then we ought to deserve it more, give you 
 more of a sensation. I shall make you a pic- 
 ture to remember me by." And, pushing aside 
 his plate, he ran inquiring ringers across the 
 embroidered doily that had been under it. 
 
 "Not on that," commanded his hostess, ris- 
 ing to find paper for him. 
 
 "Why not? Oh, be a sport, Donna!" 
 
 She refused to give up her household linen, 
 and Ffloyd grew frankly cross about it. Donna 
 left him alone, for discipline, turning her at- 
 tention to Paul a move that usually brought 
 Lorrimer back at once, visibly chastened; but 
 when she looked round to relent, a few mo- 
 ments later, she found him smiling over 
 Ernestine's little murmurs, and meekly draw- 
 ing a caricature of himself on the despised 
 sheet of paper. 
 
 "She is no fool, that girl," Donna admitted, 
 and rose to change the plates, glad of an ex- 
 
 270
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 cuse to leave the table. Her party had sud- 
 denly got on her nerves. When she took her 
 place again, Ernestine was holding her sketch 
 in both hands, as something too precious to 
 be trusted to one alone, and Ffloyd's expres- 
 sion was not that of one who had been disci- 
 plined. 
 
 "Now if Donna would only let me read one 
 of her stories in manuscript, I should go home 
 perfectly happy," she said. 
 
 "My dear girl, I will present you with a 
 carbon copy of the last one I have written," 
 Donna conceded, ashamed of her secret impa- 
 tience. 
 
 Ernestine was a marked success. She made 
 them feel romantic, dashing. Had she come 
 out of her shyness^ she might have spoiled 
 it; but the rosy veil was never once lifted. 
 She was as watchful as some little animal 
 creeping in from the woods. Charlotte frank- 
 ly loved her, and Paul grew almost paternal 
 in his kindness, while all the experimenter in 
 Ffloyd was roused. In his determination to 
 make her "eat out of his hand," as he defined 
 it, he took her off into the window seat while 
 the others cleared the table; and at Donna's 
 
 271;
 
 suggestion they purposely lingered over the 
 work. 
 
 "Lorrimer is quite struck," she said gaily, 
 piling plates in the little kitchen. "Do give 
 him a chance." 
 
 "We are none of us quite good enough to be 
 left alone with her," said Charlotte. "She is 
 such a little white flower of a person." 
 
 "She didn't want me to come to Detroit;" 
 Donna spoke abruptly. 
 
 "Yes, I saw that," exclaimed Paul. "I 
 thought perhaps they were very poor, at home, 
 and the little thing didn't want you to see it. 
 You have made her perfectly happy, Donna." 
 
 "To say nothing of Lorrimer," Charlotte 
 added. 
 
 Donna smiled, rather wickedly. "I wonder 
 if he remembers what he called her?" 
 
 "Don't. I am ashamed we let him," Char- 
 lotte protested. "She is a dear child; I feel 
 like a weather-beaten old town rake, beside 
 her." 
 
 "Well, you know; she must be twenty-four 
 at least," said Donna, apologetic for mention- 
 ing it, but forced into it by the general atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 When Miss Lemoyne lef^ two hours later, 
 
 272
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 she had a typewritten copy of "The Clock 
 Struck One," properly autographed, clasped 
 tightly against her side, and she had accepted 
 invitations from them allj but notably from 
 Lorrimer Ffloyd, who was evidently planning 
 to show her the town. Charlotte insisted on 
 going home with her, to Ffloyd's visible an- 
 noyance. 
 
 "Lorrimer is so reckless when he is after a 
 new experience," she explained to Donna as 
 she put on her wraps. "One feels responsible 
 for the little thing." 
 
 Donna had an unkind feeling that the little 
 thing could look out for herself; but was 
 ashamed of it when Ernestine's trustful eyes 
 looked straight up into hers, at parting. 
 
 "I have a horrid nature," she told herself 
 sharply when she was alone. 
 
 Ffloyd's curiosity was destined to remain 
 unsatisfied. The next day brought them all 
 sorry, childlike notes from Miss Lemoyne, 
 saying that her mother needed her, and that 
 she had to go back at once. She would never 
 forget that brilliant evening. 
 
 "I wonder just why she went?" mused 
 Donna ; and then was again ashamed. Lorri- 
 mer was annoyed at the news ? and talked 
 
 273
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 vaguely of going to Detroit, but, when Donna 
 encouraged the idea, he gave it up. He talked 
 of her and her snowdrop quality a good deal 
 in the weeks that followed, and Donna agreed 
 with everything he said 1 a novel and irritating 
 experience. 
 
 Donna toiled at her book, now happily, now 
 with despair, and breathed no word of it even 
 to Paul. Beneath the instinctive secrecy of 
 her gift and her fear of failure was a child- 
 like desire to surprise them with the completed 
 work. Its final appearance before the public 
 would be a tame and pallid incident beside 
 the moment when she should lay down the 
 manuscript before them and confess that she 
 had "done it." Ffloyd worked over it almost 
 as hard as she did, with an interest and en- 
 thusiasm that touched her deeply. She was 
 one of the very few who had seen the possi- 
 bilities for beauty in Ffloyd's difficult nature, 
 but these days brought her a new knowledge 
 of him that startled as well as moved her. She 
 was ashamed that he should be so gentle with 
 her, so patiently absorbed in her concerns. 
 Something was quelling him. He could be 
 gay enough, alone with her, but at their Sun- 
 day gatherings his face was often sad. Paul 
 
 274
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 saw it, and finally questioned Donna on the 
 subject, keen eyes on her unconscious face. 
 They had lingered in the dining room after 
 the others had left the table. 
 
 "I know. I have wondered if he wasn't 
 simply growing older," she said thoughtfully. 
 "You don't know how sweet and considerate 
 and human, someway, he is becoming. No 
 one can be as dear as Lorrimerj when he's 
 good." 
 
 "You see a good deal of him?" Paul asked 
 carelessly, balanced on the edge of the table. 
 
 "Oh, every other day, perhaps;" Donna evi- 
 dently did not consider that a high average. 
 
 "He never comes to my place any more." 
 
 She paused before him, a laugh in her eyes. 
 "Well, you know, Paul," she began, hesitated, 
 then went on in a confidential rush, "it al- 
 ways has made Lorrimer a little tired 1" 
 
 "What has?" 
 
 "Why, the way we all adore you!" Her 
 eyes were as frank as her laugh. "He doesn't 
 like having any one so much in the center, 
 don't you see? It is a sort of general jeal- 
 ousy." 
 
 "Oh, I see," said Paul, and suddenly laid his 
 hand on her shoulder. "Donna, you are the 
 
 275
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 nicest child in the world," he added irrele- 
 vantly, a laugh in his eyes. 
 
 "Well, it's true," she protested. 
 
 When they went back to the other room, 
 Lorrimer had gone. 
 
 "He simply rose and left, with no words," 
 Charlotte explained. "He may intend to 
 come back; he certainly did not say good- 
 night." 
 
 "He isn't what you'd call the life of the 
 party, nowadays," observed Cameron. 
 
 "I think he is still pining for Ernestine 
 Lemoyne," said Donna cheerfully. 
 
 Ffloyd did not come back ? but he appeared 
 at Donna's door the next afternoon in his 
 usual spirits; and his average for that week 
 was nearer every day, had she noticed it. He 
 was "dearer" than ever, stimulating and sym- 
 pathetic, showing that strange new patience 
 when she was braced for scorn and attack. 
 Age or success or something was working a 
 mellowing change. It was of him rather than 
 of her work that she was thinking on Satur- 
 day morning as she stood running absent eyes 
 down the columns of the newspaper. 
 
 Her own name caught her attention. It 
 was not an unusual sight in the literary para- 
 
 276
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 graphs, and she paused amusedly to read; but 
 the first line struck the light out of her face. 
 There stood her secret^ printed for all to read: 
 her "forthcoming novel," "the first from her 
 gifted pen," hints of its plot and characters, 
 veiled suggestions of its problem: all horribly 
 accurate. And she had not told a soul on earth 
 but Lorrimer Ffloyd. 
 
 "Oh, he wouldn't!" she cried, and cast about 
 for explanation. She might have lost that first 
 chart, which they had worked out together in 
 the cafe; but she had brought it home and 
 made a copy of it on her typewriter the same 
 night, and both copj and original lay in her 
 desk drawer, to prove it. "But he wouldn't," 
 she repeated. Work was impossible. Dis- 
 appointment that her secret was out was 
 nothing, forgotten and swallowed up in a mis- 
 ery of dread. She tried to see it from another 
 point of view, to say that the secret had been 
 too trivial to be rigorously kept, that it might 
 have been told through inadvertence; but her 
 straight young spirit could make of it nothing 
 but betrayal. Broken faith was broken faith, 
 in little things or in big. 
 
 "He didn't!" she cried again. 
 
 She could not go to him and ask him ; but 
 
 277
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 it occurred to her that she might ask the paper. 
 After what seemed hours of telephoning ex- 
 plaining and waiting and doing it all over 
 again the information came: the paragraph 
 in question had been taken from a Detroit 
 newspaper, which had published it in a col- 
 umn headed Chit Chat About People. The 
 literary editor politely hoped that she was 
 not going to deny it. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Donna faintly, and cut off 
 with little ceremony an evident willingness to 
 interview her. Ernestine, of course, and the 
 literary lady, her friend, who wrote for the 
 papers; but how had Ernestine known? Re- 
 membering the girl's interest in her work, and 
 the half hour in the window seat alone with 
 Ffloyd, after supper, Donna saw it all, and a 
 red wave of anger crossed her face. On the 
 trail of a new experience, Ffloyd was ruthless 
 as well as reckless; and he had used her secret 
 as a bait. Ernestine, poor little thing, was 
 not to be blamed for betraying a confidence 
 that was given her so lightly. It was Lorri- 
 mer who had violated the deepest law of 
 loyalty. 
 
 "He didn't," sprang from her heart, but 
 278
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 faltered at her lips. There was no other ex- 
 planation. 
 
 The evening mail brought five letters from 
 publishers congratulating her on the forth- 
 coming novel and hoping that they might have 
 the privilege of reading it. Lorrimer did not 
 come, vastly to Donna's relief. Sooner or 
 later they must have it outj but she was still too 
 sick of soul to face it. 
 
 Sunday, to Donna, was a day that doubled 
 happiness, but trebled any sorrow or care. 
 Her spirit then took on a finer sensitiveness, 
 saw more widely what life gave and what it 
 withheld. Longings that the week's cheerful 
 industry held in check filled the seventh day 
 with dreams and unrest, and the bells, coming 
 in at the windows on the morning sunlight, 
 could bring a sadness more exquisite than joy. 
 But to awake to trouble was to confront blight 
 and desolation. Donna's life, usually so full 
 and radiant, hung a dead weight on her hands 
 all the long day that followed. Disappoint- 
 ment in a friend, bitter though it was, did 
 not seem adequate cause for such bleak misery, 
 and she blamed it hotly to the day the 
 wretched day, made to mock people who had 
 not great warm homes. She had thought at 
 
 2 79
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 first that she would not go to Charlotte's to 
 supper, but, when the time came, she was too 
 miserable to resist. Even encountering Lor- 
 rimer could not be so bad as another hour of 
 those silent, empty rooms. 
 
 Charlotte's front door had been left ajar 
 for her, and laughter sounded from the sitting 
 room. From the hall she could see them 
 grouped about the table, bent over something 
 that Charlotte was reading aloud, and an echo 
 of her own name made her falter. She had 
 come nerved for excitement about her novel, 
 but not for hearing the paragraph read before 
 Ffloyd's shamed eyes. When she saw that he 
 was not there, the words began to reach her: 
 
 " for this young authoress is as talented 
 
 with a saucepan as with her pen, and many a 
 dainty feast " 
 
 "What on earth are you reading?" Donna's 
 voice made them look up with a laugh, and 
 they widened the circle to admit her, signing 
 for her not to interrupt; but she seized the 
 magazine with a relieved, "Oh, that!" The 
 new number of The Litter ati was out, with 
 the expected article on her and her works, and 
 blurred, impressionistic photographs showing 
 Donna in a thoughtful attitude at the desk, 
 
 280
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 and Donna, prettily feminine, watering her 
 window plants, and Donna, high-aproned, be- 
 fore the gas stove. Amusement at the text 
 brought her spirits up a little, giving her cour- 
 age to play her usual part. Ffloyd did not 
 come to face her, and, though this was a re- 
 lief, it was a further disappointment in him. 
 Evidently none of the others had happened to 
 read about the forthcoming novel from her 
 gifted pen, so she was spared that, as yet. Paul 
 went home with her, and, as they left the other 
 two at the lower door, she put her hand 
 through his arm with a sigh of relief. 
 
 "Paul, did you ever betray a secret?" she 
 asked wistfully. 
 
 "I'm afraid so," was the reluctant answer. 
 "There aren't many sins I haven't committed, 
 one way or another." 
 
 She thought that over, then went on with 
 evident effort: "But did you ever tell one 
 woman's secret to another woman?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "I thought not." She drew closer to him. 
 "Now we will change the subject," she said 
 with a sigh as they turned the corner. Neither 
 of them had noticed a loitering figure that 
 had waited across the street for over an hour,
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 watching the door of the apartment house, and 
 that now turned away with drooped head and 
 dragging feet. 
 
 They all heard of her novel within the next 
 day or two, and called up or came in to. re- 
 joice over it and scold her for her secrecy. It 
 would have been almost as good fun as her 
 planned denouement if she could only have 
 got the ache out of her heart. That clung like 
 a thorn, and no shrugging or philosophy could 
 soften it. For five days Lorrimer did not 
 come, and she would not make it easier for 
 him by sending a summons. She scarcely left 
 the house, her dread of missing him being al- 
 most as acute as her dread of a meeting. She 
 had given up hope, late Friday afternoon, and 
 was starting out for some air when she came 
 face to face with him at her threshold. He 
 had not rung the bell ; he seemed to have been 
 leaning against the wall, staring at the closed 
 door, and at its opening he made no move. 
 There was a gray weariness in his face that 
 shocked her. 
 
 "Are you coming in?" she asked. There 
 had been no attempt at smile or greeting. 
 
 "I suppose so," he said, and followed her 
 with dragging step. They sat down facing 
 
 282
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 each other like conventional strangers. When 
 the silence had lasted unbearably, he pushed 
 his palm heavily across his forehead. 
 
 "It is almost too much trouble to begin, 
 isn't it?" he said. "I am half dazed I haven't 
 slept for so long. Don't mind if I appear 
 rather drunk." Again he tried to rub away 
 the mists with his hands. "Have you wondered 
 at my not showing up?" 
 
 "No." The grave syllable roused him, 
 bringing him up sharply to the situation. 
 
 "You know why I have stayed away?" he 
 asked, looking into her face for the first time. 
 
 "I think so." At her sombre tone, he 
 turned away with a short laugh. 
 
 "You don't have to pronounce sentence," he 
 said. "I can see. Hie jacet Lorrimer Ffloyd." 
 
 His attempt at levity jarred on her. "O 
 Lorrimer, when we were such good friends!" 
 she cried. "How could you go and spoil 
 everything?" 
 
 "I didn't mean to, Donnie." 
 
 His gentleness almost unnerved her. "I 
 had such faith in our friendship," she said 
 unsteadily. "It was one of the solid things in 
 my life like a mother, or a religion. I 
 never thought about it t it was so^ sure and 
 
 283
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 sound just took it whole, like the power to 
 breathe. I would have trusted you with my 
 most sacred secret. I don't know what to 
 do." 
 
 He was looking on with an odd little smile. 
 He seemed infinitely old. 
 
 "Well, you haven't lost my friendship, you 
 know," he reminded her. "Of course, you 
 don't want it now; and perhaps I couldn't 
 Well ! Time may work it out for us, my dear." 
 He rose and held out his hand. "Do you want 
 me to say I'm sorry?" 
 
 Looking into his lined face, she felt sudden 
 shame at hurting him so; it was not a life and 
 death matter! Her high sense of outraged 
 confidence might ? after all, be half ignoble 
 an unconfessed jealousy of another woman's 
 power. The silent admission brought a great 
 lightening of the spirit. She took his hand 
 in both hers and held it fast. 
 
 "It's all right, Lorrimer! I am sorry, too. 
 We'll begin again and not hurt each other any 
 more. Don't mind, don't be troubled!" The 
 warm voice broke and tears hid him from 
 her; but she felt his lips touch her hand, and 
 then heard the door close. She longed to run 
 after him, to forgive him more explicitly and 
 
 284
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 make him happy again. The thought that he 
 might come back kept her waiting and lis- 
 tening the rest of the day. 
 
 Donna awoke the next morning to find her- 
 self back in her old cheerful world. She was 
 no longer wroth with one she loved, and 
 though the experience had left her sobered, a 
 little older in spirit, the healing warmth of 
 forgiveness had taken away the pain. Ffloyd 
 would come back, presently, his lesson well 
 learned, and they would be as close friends as 
 ever. 
 
 "Dear old boy," she murmured, looking 
 over her letters in hope of one from him. He 
 had not written, but the mail nearly always 
 brought something to show or tell him. To- 
 day it was a letter forwarded by the editor of 
 The Litter ati, with humorous comment and 
 a copy of his answer. 
 
 " EDITOR Litter ati, 
 
 "DEAR SIR: I regret to inform you that 
 you have been imposed upon. The article pur- 
 porting to describe Miss Donna Herrick, in 
 your recent number, was evidently written by 
 some one who has never met the young lady 
 using that pen-name. The real author does 
 not live in New York, and is totally different
 
 from the person described and photographed. 
 I could give you her name and address if the 
 few who know had not been pledged to se- 
 crecy, the author having a modest preference 
 for anonimity. I trust that you will have the 
 matter cleared up and the impostor disclosed. 
 I shall be glad to help you, either privately or 
 through the columns of the newspapers I rep- 
 resent. Very truly yours, 
 
 "(Miss) AUGUSTA TILLY/' 
 
 "Well, upon my word!" said Donna. When 
 she noticed that the letter was from Detroit, 
 she recognized the name as that of Ernestine's 
 literary friend, and found herself more be- 
 wildered than ever. "The woman's crazy!" 
 she muttered. She wanted to send it to Lorri- 
 mer, as a sign that they were back on the old 
 friendly basis ; but finally decided to wait until 
 he came in. It might be well to have some- 
 thing at hand to begin on. Her nerves had 
 taken to strange startings at the sound of her 
 doorbell. 
 
 Several days passed without bringing him; 
 but they brought a growing wonder about him. 
 Something in the situation was not clear. It 
 seemed simple enough, put into words; but 
 she felt an uneasy consciousness of more be- 
 hind, and her thoughts fumbled at it unceas- 
 
 286
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 ingly. She had almost forgotten Miss Tilly 
 and her charges when The Litterati forwarded 
 a second letter: 
 
 "DEAR SIR: 
 
 "I took your letter to the real 'Donna Her- 
 rick,' who was much distressed by it. She 
 tells me that she has been troubled before by 
 this woman in New York who pretends to 
 write her stories, but begged me to let the mat- 
 ter drop, having a deep dread of notoriety. 
 She refuses to demand any public retraction or 
 explanation from you, a course to be expected 
 by those privileged to know her exquisitely sen- 
 sitive nature. For my own satisfaction, how- 
 ever, I will tell you that, five weeks ago, the 
 real 'D. H.' read to me and two other close 
 friends and admirers, from the manuscript 
 copy, the story called, 'The Clock Struck 
 One,' which is advertised to appear in the next 
 number of Men and Women. I think you 
 will " 
 
 The letter dropped from Donna's hand. 
 
 "Ernestine!" she gasped. "My Lord!" 
 
 A gust of laughter followed. Ernestine, 
 the little white flower, the dear child who 
 worshipped so innocently at their feet oh, it 
 was one on Charlotte and Paul and Lorrimer! 
 
 "I knew that girl wasn't straight," she de- 
 287
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 clared aloud. "I knew it, but I thought I was 
 jealous and unkind. The Earnest Lemon 
 Oh!" 
 
 Still shaken with laughte^ she wrote all the 
 circumstances to the editor, explaining how 
 she had given her guest a copy of the story so 
 triumphantly brought forward as proof. 
 
 "She has had a dreary life, and I suppose 
 this is her first taste of importance," she went 
 on. "I can see just how she slipped into it 
 perhaps through a misunderstanding, at first; 
 and then found it too good to give up. Why 
 disturb Miss Tilly's faith? Let her keep her 
 little private glory I don't mind. This may 
 appear unmoral, but she is an appealing little 
 thing, and one is sorry for her. It isn't as if 
 she could be reformed!" 
 
 It was late afternoon and Charlotte would 
 probably be at home, so Donna put on her 
 things to go and triumph over her. As she 
 picked up Miss Tilly's letter, a sentence at the 
 end that she had passed over caught her eye : 
 
 "She has also confided to me the outline of 
 her first novel, on which she is now at work." 
 
 At the reminder, the amusement left Don- 
 na's face. Even after his admission of guilt, 
 it seemed so incredible that Ffloyd should have 
 
 288
 
 THE LITTLE THING 
 
 done this thing! Opening her desk drawer, 
 she took out the memorable first draught of 
 her book, and the typed copy that she had 
 made when she came in } too excited for sleep. 
 Then, as she looked at them, a startled breath 
 parted her lips. This was a carbon copy, not 
 original typing; the color was different and 
 the letters less clear. She sank down on the 
 nearest chair in a tense effort to remember. 
 Evidently, then, there had been two copies; 
 she must have taken the carbon and the second 
 sheet mechanically, from long habit. And 
 the other? Gradually it came back to her 
 that a finished story had lain on the table be- 
 side the machine: "The Clock Struck One," 
 of course the date showed that. And so that 
 extra sheet had been picked up with the other 
 manuscript, and thus passed straight into 
 Ernestine's soft, unscrupulous little hands. 
 And Lorrimer had not told one word. 
 
 The only thought in Donna's mind was to 
 go to him, to be absolved. She sped through 
 the darkening streets, her soul far ahead of 
 her steps, her heart half broken with shame 
 and joy and surging affection. Not till she 
 stopped, panting, at the foot of his stairs did 
 any other thought come to complicate her in- 
 
 280
 
 tention. But there a new memory overtook 
 her, the memory of his strange visit. If he 
 was not guilty, what was he confessing? 
 
 She began to mount, her forehead lined 
 with the effort to reproduce his exact words, 
 that troubled day. As they came, her feet 
 moved more and more slowly^ a secret fear 
 dawned in her widening eyes. Many things 
 began to come back to her besides his words 
 of that afternoon: the change in him, his 
 absorption and sadness, his abrupt depar- 
 ture, that Sunday night, when she had lingered 
 in the dining room with Paul the mis- 
 chievous meaning in Paul's eyes ! She stopped 
 short, her face suddenly drowned in color. 
 For a moment she stood recoiled, her hand 
 tightly clutching the banister. Then she 
 turned and ran. 
 
 290
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE GLAMOUR. 
 
 OUSIN AMELIA was a somewhat for- 
 midable guest, even for a simple home 
 luncheon; but Charlotte blithely prepared 
 her house and helped her little cook 
 and put on with pride the gown she had 
 made over so cleverly, and sent Cameron rush- 
 ing down when the bell rang ; lest an English 
 visitor should not know the ways of Ameri- 
 can flats and should be baffled by an un- 
 attended front door that merely clicked in 
 her face. They were a long time com- 
 ing up, for Cousin Amelia had to rest sev- 
 eral times on each flight, and Charlotte felt 
 dampened and apologetic when they arrived. 
 But the guest, if breathless, was warmly cor- 
 dial, and the joy of hospitality soon rose again. 
 Charlotte was proud of this imposing, hand- 
 some cousin-in-law, proud that she had a home 
 in which to receive her and a splendid son to 
 show her and a full, rich life to tell of in 
 answer to her friendly and thorough question- 
 
 291'
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 ing. Cousin Amelia always suggested roy- 
 alty momentarily unconscious of its rank. 
 But she had been a good friend in the early 
 years of Charlotte's widowhood, and her 
 stately, peaceful Surrey garden was a grate- 
 ful memory. Charlotte felt a sudden home- 
 sickness for its rich seclusion as she closed a 
 window to shut out the roar of the street. She 
 asked about the housekeeper and the dogs and 
 the cross old peacock. 
 
 "And Cousin Eustace?" she added, smiling 
 a little. Cousin Eustace was a younger brother 
 whose delightfully prim little estate adjoined 
 Cousin Amelia's, and who used to come 
 through the gate in the hedge nearly every 
 afternoon with some dry little errand a news- 
 paper clipping to show, a stone of geological 
 interest, some unusual development of flower 
 or leaf. His errand done, he always rose at 
 once, made a few shy remarks standing, his 
 eyes on the garden borders or the dogs or busy 
 little Cameron, then went back again. He 
 had seemed elderly to her, ten years ago. 
 
 "Why, Eustace is here or will be tomor- 
 row." Cousin Amelia was always surprised 
 when others did not know of the family move- 
 
 292
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 ments. "He came out with me, you know; 
 but he is stopping a few weeks longer." 
 
 "Oh, I wish he would come to see me," 
 Charlotte exclaimed. 
 
 "It will give him great pleasure," was the 
 stately answer. 
 
 It was a stimulating afternoon, with the im- 
 palpable breath of rich ease in the air, and 
 the friendliness of kinship between them. 
 Charlotte was feeling very gay with its suc- 
 cess when the guest rose to go. 
 
 "I wish you would be here long enough to 
 meet my very dear friends," she said. "They 
 are rather unusua^ I think; they make my life 
 here very full." 
 
 Cousin Amelia, cloaked and bonneted, 
 kissed her warmly, hesitated, then turned back 
 to lay a hand on her shoulder. 
 
 "My dear, I must tell you how brave I think 
 you are;" it came on a rush of dignified im- 
 pulse. "To live like this and have so little 
 and work so hard and yet be so happy, so 
 spirited Charlotte, I honor you for itl" 
 
 Charlotte's eyes had widened; she gave a 
 startled glance about. "Of course, it is a little 
 hole," she stammered. 
 
 "Yes ; but you are bigger than your circum- 
 
 2 93
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 stances," was the resonant answer. "No mat- 
 ter how poor and empty a life may be, a spirit 
 like yours keeps it from becoming sordid. I 
 want you to visit me, my dear, whenever you 
 are in England." And Cousin Amelia kissed 
 her again, then felt for a banister to guide her 
 cautious descent. 
 
 Charlotte went slowly back to the sitting 
 room and took a fresh view of it, still with 
 the widened eyes of dismay. Of course, it 
 was only a flat, her home ; but it was such a 
 long way up from the hall bedroom in which 
 she had begun her struggle. She could feel 
 now the baffled jerk or the screak of raked 
 varnish that followed any attempt to rock in 
 the spot that held the chair, and smell the gas 
 stove that suffocated her when she was tired 
 of freezing. Two rooms and "light house- 
 keeping" had come next, and seemed luxury 
 in contrast; and before their glory was 
 dimmed, success had arrived, dear, kindly suc- 
 cess, bringing her a little home and a cook and 
 a future for her boy. Courageous to be happy, 
 with all this! She rose up in anger at the 
 idea and went quickly from room to room. 
 Any cheap flat was a hole in the wall, of 
 course ; but nearly all the rooms were outside, 
 
 294
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 and, if the woodwork was shabby, the papers 
 were charming and the furniture distinctly 
 not bad. A poor, empty life, with work, and 
 such a son, and such friends? Charlotte cried 
 out that it was nonsense; and, even as she pro- 
 tested, sank down and down into black gloom. 
 The glamour that made her days gay had sud- 
 denly withered, and that word "sordid" stuck 
 like a thorn. 
 
 "Cousin Amelia has been slumming, and 
 I am the slum," she said with dazed bitter- 
 ness. When a homely smell of preparing din- 
 ner crept in from the kitchen, she shut doors 
 and opened windows with irritated haste. "I 
 really do know nice from horrid!" she mut- 
 tered. 
 
 The glamour did not easily slip off life, for 
 Charlotte. Once in a while she chafed a lit- 
 tle at the cramping limitations of poverty, but 
 good humoredly, not forgetting the reality 
 of her wealth in unmaterial things, or the mass 
 of misery just beyond her doors that called her 
 state luxury. By the grace of health and a 
 romantic imagination, she had seen even her 
 hardest days rosily. But Cousin Amelia's 
 visit seemed to have passed like a blight over 
 all her bright surfaces, leaving them bare and 
 
 295
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 dull and shabby. The enormous desirable- 
 ness of money, to which she always gave cheer- 
 ful assent in theory, became all at once a real- 
 ized and oppressive fact. To live gracefully, 
 with beauty and harmony of surroundings; to 
 be spared the odors of other people's lives and 
 dinners in one's exits and entrances; to own 
 space and sun and trained service; to get about 
 in storm or heat unjostled and unherded; to 
 pass easily from city to country, as the seasons 
 demanded; these were not vulgar desires. 
 Rather, was it vulgar to be content without 
 such refinements, to dwell smugly in cheap 
 ugliness and find a few poor mitigations worth 
 the enormous effort of achieving them. "To 
 live like this and have so little and work so 
 hard" the words burned. 
 
 Charlotte had known a touch of such moods 
 before, notably after the night she had tried 
 to entertain Miss DeLong at the opera, but 
 she had always been so ashamed of them that 
 that had shrivelled hastily out of sight. This 
 time she was not ashamed. That was the worst 
 of it; her shame was for the childishness that 
 had found her grubby life so charming. She 
 knew perfectly well that she .was overtired 
 from a long winter's work and so not herself, 
 
 296
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 but that did not help her. Nothing helped 
 her for several trying days, wherein all her 
 household seemed to be doing its best to de- 
 serve Cousin Amelia's estimate. Cameron 
 was rough and unmannerly, the little maid was 
 caught in slatternly practises and became im- 
 pudent, the doorbell would ring when there 
 was no one sufficiently dressed to answer it, 
 the clothes from the laundry intruded on the 
 caller. 
 
 "I must see Paul. Paul will set me straight 
 again," she exclaimed to her exasperated 
 nerves, and turned relievedly to the thought 
 of Sunday night. The five almost never failed 
 to come, caring more for these meetings than 
 for anything the city could offer; yet it so 
 chanced, this week, that first Evelyn dropped 
 out, then Lanse, and lastly Paul sent a hurried 
 line to say that he would be out of town. It 
 seemed to Charlotte that they must all be go- 
 ing off into bright and beautiful surround- 
 ings. 
 
 "Who wouldn't!" was her dry comment as 
 she sat over the fire, looking a lonely future 
 in the face. 
 
 An excited^ "O mother!" presently broke 
 in on her. 
 
 297
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "In here, dear," she called serenely. Cam- 
 eron's conversations usually began at the front 
 door. He came in thunderously. 
 
 "Mother! Paul's got a girl!" 
 
 She had risen from her chair. "What have 
 you heard?" she asked sharply. 
 
 "Heard nothing! Saw her," was the trium- 
 phant answer. Charlotte sank back again with 
 a relieved sigh. 
 
 "Oh, is that all!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Well, it's a lot, let me tell you! You 
 ought to have seen her she's a queen! They 
 were in a hansom^ and old Paul was looking 
 at her oh, my!" And Cameron went off into 
 chuckles at the recollection. "He's got it bad, 
 this time." 
 
 "Oh, Paul always has a girl ; it doesn't mean 
 anything." Charlotte spoke impatiently, and 
 Cameron was offended. 
 
 "Well, I came all the way back to tell you; 
 I thought you'd be interested," he said loftily. 
 "I shall be late at the gymnasium." And he 
 went off again. 
 
 The news fell dismally on Charlotte's mood. 
 It was true that Paul had many "girls," and 
 this one might pass as the rest had; but it was 
 always wounding to realize that they who 
 
 298
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 held his steady affection, the deepest loyalty 
 of his life, were never for one minute his 
 loves. Sooner or later there would be a girl 
 who did not pass; and then her "empty life" 
 would be empty indeed. The realization came 
 like a last straw to her despondency. Let him 
 marry his girl and get it over with! She 
 would go away, that was all. Someway or 
 other, she must go away. 
 
 "She's in there^' said the voice of the little 
 maid in the hall. It was her method of an- 
 nouncing a caller. The door was pushed back 
 with a hesitating hand, and the trimly but- 
 toned figure of Cousin Eustace paused on the 
 threshold. 
 
 "I may come in?" he murmured. Char- 
 lotte had started up. 
 
 "Cousin Eustace!" she cried gladly. As she 
 took his hand, wonder followed on her eager 
 welcome. In the ten years since they had met, 
 a tumultuous lifetime had passed over her, 
 mind and body, changing, marking and de- 
 veloping; but he did not seem to have altered 
 by so much as one line. His gray hair, part- 
 ing, smooth and even, over shy, dark eyes, was 
 not one shade lighter, his close cut brown 
 moustache had not given up a thread of its 
 
 299
 
 THE TOP OE THE MORNING 
 
 darkness, his pleasant brown skin held only 
 the marks she remembered about his small, 
 neat features. Even his erect figure had stayed 
 the same. "How have you done it?" she de- 
 manded. "Why, I thought of you as vener- 
 able, and now we are the same age!" 
 
 "Oh, I hope not," he protested, and made 
 her smile by bringing a thick envelope out of 
 his pocket as he sat down. "I thought you 
 might like to see some pictures I took of 
 Bertie's ranch," he explained. Bertie was 
 Cousin Amelia's son, whom they had been 
 visiting in the Northwest. In former days, 
 Charlotte used to turn obediently to the daily 
 offering, newspaper clipping or twin plum or 
 whatever it might be, but now, being more 
 experienced, she laid the photographs on the 
 table for the present and insisted on person- 
 alities. 
 
 "I want to hear first about you/' she de- 
 clared. "I can't get over it. Time must go 
 at a different pace, in Surrey." 
 
 "Well, I was always rather an elderly 
 chap," he explained with his shy smile. "I 
 have been growing a bit younger, these last 
 years. At least, so my sister says." His eyes 
 turned longingly to the safe topic of the photo- 
 
 300
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 graphs, but Charlotte would not indulge him. 
 
 "What have you been doing?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, I have traveled a good bit India and 
 Turkestan and that, and I had a look in at 
 Central Africa with a scientific exploration 
 party." He gave out the information uneasily, 
 as though ashamed of mentioning it. "The 
 rest of the time I have been in Surrey. I have 
 improved the garden." 
 
 "You couldn't have," she said. His well 
 bred, English voice, the suggested background 
 of ease and freedom, had made a swift appeal 
 to her mood of discontent. He was suddenly 
 dear and valuable to her. "You may have 
 made it bigger or different, but you couldn't 
 have improved it. It was such a jewel of a 
 garden! I can't tell you how often I have 
 thought of it, and of how good you were." The 
 warm memory suffused her voice and eyes. 
 "I had all sorts of hard times later, but I kept 
 the key of those beloved gardens, and you don't 
 know what a comfort they were especially 
 when I was rather hungry!" she ended with 
 a laugh. He had forgotten the photographs, 
 forgotten even his shyness. 
 
 "Hungry!" he repeated, so aghast that she 
 laughed again. 
 
 301
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Oh, only now and then. I never minded, 
 and it is all over now. I knew you would have 
 helped me. I always felt that we were good 
 friends, even if you wouldn't know me very 
 well." His color rose before the accusation. 
 
 "I was about rather often," he protested; 
 "as often as I thought a clever woman like 
 you could stand such a dull chap. I I well, 
 you know, I felt quite lost after you had 
 gone." 
 
 Charlotte was frankly pleased. "It was 
 nice of you to like me. I must have seemed 
 very crude and excitable and American, and 
 all the things you Britons don't like." 
 
 "I thought you very brilliant and charm- 
 ing," he said with a simplicity that was en- 
 dearing. "Now there is a photograph here I 
 want you to see. It gives you quite an idea of 
 the mountains." 
 
 She submitted to half a dozen prints, out- 
 wardly attentive, though her mind had flown 
 to domestic details. Her instinct of hospital- 
 ity, crushed to earth since Cousin Amelia's 
 visit, had begun to stir suggestively. 
 
 "How long shall you be here?" she pres- 
 ently interrupted. 
 
 "I don't sail for three weeks. But I thought 
 302
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 of picking up a motor and taking a trip of 
 some sort." He drew breath nervously. "I 
 wondered if you and Cameron perhaps 
 you'd not care about it you may think it too 
 early in the year yet but if it would interest 
 you, as my guests " 
 
 "A motoring trip? Oh, I'd love it!" Char- 
 lotte's enthusiasm had swept her out of her 
 chair. She had been longing so acutely to get 
 away from her life that the prospect seemed 
 like a magic intervention. "Of course it is 
 not too early; it may turn really warm any 
 moment now. And Cameron has his Easter 
 holidays. O Cousin Eustace, how soon can 
 we go?" 
 
 "Tomorrow, if you like," was the gratified 
 answer. "Look here; you didn't see this one 
 of the imported cattle. I think they are rather 
 fine, you know." 
 
 Bright skies stretched over them by day, 
 comfortable hotels cared for them at night. 
 Each day's route was planned with a capacity 
 for infinite pains that should have marked 
 Cousin Eustace a genius. Charlotte lay back 
 on her leathern cushions without a care in the 
 world, and saw that her mood had been right,
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 that nothing could balance the ease and beauty 
 and freedom of wealth. And its power to 
 share these qualities, to see other beings as 
 utterly happy as she and Cameron now were, 
 made her heart beat with desire. Her smiles 
 ran over whenever she encountered Cousin 
 Eustace's shy, dark glance or the boy's happy 
 grin. Their response was characteristic: 
 Cameron would butt his head into her shoul- 
 der or throw her a loud kiss from the front 
 seat, while Eustace would point out a lunatic 
 asylum, or stop the motor to explain some pe- 
 culiar geological formation. Cameron lis- 
 tened to his discourses with an absorption that 
 reproached her. She herself never heard more 
 than the opening and closing sentences, but 
 shed her deceptive contentment on him in place 
 of attention, and told herself that he was a 
 great dear. At dinner, rested and refreshed 
 in body and spirit, Charlotte usually came out 
 of her trance and let all her vivid, merry spirit 
 loose, Cameron playing a humorous second 
 and Cousin Eustace looking on with a na'ive 
 admiration that was both stimulating and 
 endearing. Sometimes she made gentle fun 
 of his English customs; and rejoiced beyond 
 measure in the serene, "Yes but we do it" 
 
 34
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 which served him for argument. There was 
 a subtle stimulation in the air, which she at- 
 tributed to her relief from all money re- 
 sponsibility. 
 
 Each day was a brighter jewel than the 
 last, and the fifth shone so resplendent that 
 they tried to feel troubled, as a tribute to the 
 mortality of all too lovely things. The climax 
 of its perfection came at half past four, when 
 they stopped on a pine covered knoll, deep in 
 white sand, to get out the tea basket. The 
 only time in the past five days that Cousin 
 Eustace had shown himself ruffled had been 
 when a delay had made it inadvisable to pause 
 for tea. Charlotte lifted her face to the soft 
 touch of the spring wind, and found hidden 
 in it a salty taste of the ocean they were ap- 
 proaching. 
 
 "Now there is nothing on earth left to wish 
 for," she cried, taking long breaths. "Eustace, 
 you do these things beautifully!" 
 
 "Ah, you get that because the breeze is off 
 the ocean," he explained, emptying the water 
 bottle into the kettle. "I had nothing to do 
 with it." 
 
 Her glance rested amusedly on his serious 
 305
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 face; then she turned up the wick of the lamp 
 and measured out the tea. 
 
 "I never had a nicer time in my life," she 
 said irrelevantly. 
 
 "That is very good of you." He had spread 
 the road map down on the sand, and was mak- 
 ing it true to direction with a pocket com- 
 pass. "I was so afraid you would be bored." 
 
 "My dear cousin, if you knew anything 
 whatever about poverty and hard work, you 
 wouldn't have feared that." 
 
 "Ah, well, you artists are not like poor peo- 
 ple," he protested. "You have so much that 
 is brilliant and gay in your lives." 
 
 "Urn. But we have a good deal that isn't," 
 with emphasis. Eustace looked up, keeping 
 an identifying finger on the main road. 
 
 "But you would find Surrey no end dull," 
 he said, so simply that she did not suspect his 
 meaning. 
 
 "I certainly don't remember it as dull! It 
 was very lovely. Cameron dear, do you want 
 some tea?" she added, raising her voice. Cam- 
 eron, who was absorbedly watching the chauf- 
 feur's investigation of some concealed valve, 
 waved a biscuit to show that he was adequate- 
 ly provided for. 
 
 306
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 "To visit in June, yes; but to live there 
 that wouldn't do, for you. I have been think- 
 ing about it ever since I saw you again," he 
 explained, returning to the map. 
 
 "Thinking about what?" Charlotte was too 
 incredulous to heed a throb of startled 
 warning. 
 
 "Oh, well, of course it is of no use. A bril- 
 liant woman like you wouldn't look at an 
 elderly, humdrum chap like me." Eustace took 
 out a pencil and made a neat cross to mark 
 their present position on the map. "But I 
 wanted you to know, that is all. Do you real- 
 ize that we are still up five hundred feet?" 
 
 Charlotte was too dazed to answer. Cam- 
 eron came back for some tea, and she heard 
 the two talking altitudes and then machinery, 
 but could not rouse herself to take part. She 
 could only stare through this suddenly opened 
 door that led into a Surrey garden. Eustace 
 put away the tea things, then got out an extra 
 wrap for her, as the chill of ocean fog was 
 creeping into the breeze. 
 
 "I didn't mean to worry you," he said drily 
 as he put it about her shoulders. "I'm so 
 sorry." 
 
 She turned to look into his face. 
 
 307
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "You are a very strange person, Eustace," 
 she said gravely. "I can't quite believe what 
 you said." 
 
 u Ah, well, I put it stupidly," he apologized. 
 "I never have known how to to talk properly 
 to ladies, I suppose. But it is quite true, you 
 know. It was true ten years ago, only then I 
 wasn't ass enough to give myself away." He 
 smiled faintly. "Now we must start. There 
 is a famous view on here a bit and we don't 
 want to be too late for it." 
 
 The horn was croaking under Cameron's 
 impatient hand, and they turned back to the 
 car. 
 
 "I am very fond of you, Eustace," said 
 Charlotte impulsively. 
 
 To find that she has been loved secretly, 
 and without hope, is very touching to a wom- 
 an of romantic imagination. The thing was 
 utterly impossible, of course; yet, as they sped 
 on through sunset into dusk, the glamour that 
 had been stripped so roughly from Charlotte's 
 present life began to gather in a luminous 
 haze over what her life might be under the 
 circumstances held out to it. Cameron would 
 be easily reconciled to a change that brought 
 motors with it! She smiled at his uncon- 
 
 308
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 scious back, then turned dreamy eyes to a far 
 off blur that meant the ocean. Nothing on 
 earth could induce her to do it; but visions of 
 strange lands, luxuriously visited, alternated 
 with home scenes of ease and loveliness. She 
 saw the gravel walks that, she used to insist, 
 were combed and brushed every morning be- 
 fore breakfast, and the dogs panting on the 
 brick steps of the terrace, the clean, bright 
 shrubbery that was surely dusted by the 
 innumerable housemaids 1 the aristocratic old 
 brick house that had been rebuilt and added 
 to by so many generations that it was like an 
 ancient, wilful growth rather than the work 
 of man. The life that went on in such a place 
 was fixed, and no stranger might hope to alter 
 its sedate course; but no stranger could be 
 so crude or so foolish as to wish for changes. 
 To conform would be the most flavored ex- 
 perience of a varied life. And Eustace him- 
 self? Surely one may be indulgent of little 
 oddities and precisions when a man is so 
 enormously a gentleman. Charlotte turned to 
 look at him, and met his shy glance. 
 
 "From the top of this next hill we can see 
 five counties," he informed her. 
 
 "All the kingdoms of the earth," said Char- 
 
 309.
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 lotte unthinkingly, then suddenly laughed 
 aloud. Her eyes were still brimming with 
 secret amusement when, with the help of com- 
 pass and map, the five counties were pointed 
 out to her. She made small pretense of look- 
 ing. 
 
 "The masculine mind is a curious thing," 
 she said. "Why do you two care if you can 
 see five counties?" 
 
 "Why, it's interesting," said Cameron, so 
 surprisedly that she dropped the point with a 
 laugh. The outdoor world was a matter of 
 color and shape and odor to her; Eustace's 
 passion for identifying all its component parts, 
 from a village library to a terminal morain, 
 was one of the traits of which she was amused- 
 ly indulgent. 
 
 He certainly took perfect care of people. 
 When they arrived at their hotel, late and 
 tired and a little chilled, a fire burned in a 
 private sitting room for Charlotte and a din- 
 ner table was spread there. 
 
 "I thought you would be fagged after so 
 long a run," he apologized. "If you would 
 rather I dined downstairs " 
 
 "But I wouldn't," she interrupted. "Eus- 
 tace, you are spoiling me horribly with all this 
 
 310
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 luxury. It is not fitting for a working 
 
 woman." 
 
 "Well, you know " The pause was elo- 
 quent, and she did not pretend to miss its 
 meaning. Cameron had gone to his room. 
 
 "You wouldn't want these outer things to 
 have any influence," she said gravely, putting 
 her hands to the fire. 
 
 "Why not? They are all I have to offer 
 to a woman like you, except well, you know, 
 rather a strong feeling." He, too, had his 
 hands to fire, and he did not look at her. "I 
 should be very glad if anything whatever 
 could make it worth your while. But I don't 
 expect it. I have no illusions about myself." 
 
 "You are very true and dear and fine. I 
 wish I could do it, Eustace I wish I could." 
 There was wavering in her voice, wavering 
 and longing. She was tired of care, tired of 
 working so hard and Paul had his girl ! "Oh, 
 I wish I could!" she repeated on a broken 
 breath. "But that is impossible." It was a 
 frail "impossible," and, knowing this, Char- 
 lotte shivered when he broke the long pause 
 that followed with a sudden movement. But 
 he had only thrust a hand into his breast 
 pocket,
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "Should you like to see our mileage 
 record?" he asked 1 bringing out a small note 
 book. 
 
 "No," said Charlotte. "We must get ready 
 for dinner; Cameron will be starved," she 
 added over her shoulder, and shut the door 
 of her room on him. 
 
 The hotel was in an accidental corner of 
 good climate to which the rich of less favored 
 spots came all winter for the tonic of ocean 
 and sunned pines. The garish extravagance 
 with which they were fed, served and housed 
 appealed to Charlotte's mood. Eustace, with 
 his unfailing thoughtfulness, left her early, 
 and Cameron stumbled off to bed, half asleep, 
 but she still sat up over her fire, staring into 
 a possible future. The charm of it grew rather 
 than diminished. At last she started up and, 
 going to the desk, wrote a long letter to Paul. 
 It might have been a persuasive letter to her- 
 self, all that tempted her was so alluringly set 
 forth. "And changes will come, with Us," 
 she ended on a note of wistfulness. "You will 
 get other and closer interests. I think I would 
 rather break out while it is still perfect than 
 see you drop away, one after another. I 
 couldn't bear it, Paul." That was her only al~ 
 
 312
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 lusion to his "girl." She might have rung for 
 a boy to mail the letter, but she was too un- 
 used to service to think of that until she was 
 half way downstairs. It was after eleven, and 
 the hotel lobby was nearly empty; but a neat, 
 familiar figure stood at the desk, studying a 
 local guide book. 
 
 The letter in Charlotte's hand seemed to 
 give a guilty leap. In an impulse of panic 
 she thrust it into her blouse, and would have 
 slipped away again if Eustace had not at that 
 moment looked up. He came to meet her 
 with a perturbed forehead. 
 
 "Ah, I hoped you were resting!" 
 
 "I am not sleepy," Charlotte explained, 
 truthfully enough. "I I think I will take a 
 little walk in that long glass porch. It looked 
 rather nice as we came in. The palms are 
 probably made of paper, but never mind!" 
 She realized that she was talking nervously, 
 and ridiculed herself into serenity again as 
 they paced the dimly lit arcade. A few groups 
 still lingered in its green recesses, and Char- 
 lotte eyed them thoughtfully as she passed. 
 
 "I suppose they aren't really as bored as 
 they look/' she admitted. "It is a strange 
 fact, Eustace the more grandly people are 
 
 3'3.
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 dressed, in public places, the less they ap- 
 parently have to say. Do you suppose clothes 
 end by choking one? Or are they so enjoy- 
 able that one doesn't need the pleasures of con- 
 versation?" 
 
 "I couldn't say, I'm sure/' said Eustace. 
 "We consider the American women over- 
 dressed, at home. Here is a very good little 
 guide to the region that I have picked up. 
 You may take it to your room with you if you 
 like." 
 
 Charlotte ignored the offer. "Tell me about 
 the women you have known best," she said 
 abruptly. "Were any of them like me?" 
 
 "Oh, not at all," in startled protest. "There 
 have been so few, anyway. I am not a ladies' 
 man. I used to go botanizing with Lady 
 Mary Selwyn now and again, and I generally 
 write to her if I come on a specimen 
 of any interest. She is remarkably well in- 
 formed." 
 
 Charlotte turned to him impulsively. 
 "Why on earth do you like me?" He flushed 
 under the attack. 
 
 "Why, that seems to me very obvious! You 
 are so charming, so clever. And then, you 
 make a shy person like me so at home with 
 
 3'4
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 you. I give you my word, I have never felt 
 so at ease with any one, man or woman, or 
 or talked so freely, as it were. It is not easy 
 for me to be so intimate." 
 
 "So intimate as you and I are?" she re- 
 peated, the gleam of a smile in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Yes. I find myself telling you all sorts of 
 things like that about writing to Lady Mary, 
 for instance. I should like to show you Eng- 
 land." 
 
 A swift memory of wide green English 
 vistas, of ancient parks and lanes deep-walled 
 with holly, and placid, brimming streams, 
 stirred and warmed her. She bent a little 
 towards him. 
 
 "I wish you could," she said, so gently that 
 he straightened excitedly. 
 
 "Ah, you would enjoy it," he exclaimed. 
 "I could really give you some idea of what 
 you were seeing there, where I know my 
 ground." 
 
 Her mood unaccountably chilled. "I sup- 
 pose you could point out all the objects of 
 interest," she said slowly. 
 
 "I ought to be able. Of course, here I only
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 know what I read up over night. That is 
 very little." She halted. 
 
 "I must go upstairs," she said. Eustace 
 turned at once. 
 
 "Ah, yeSj you must rest," he assented. 
 "There is nothing like rest when one is tired. 
 Do take this little book with you; I shan't 
 want it. You will find it interesting, I think." 
 
 She took it with a faint smile. "Thank you. 
 Good night," she said. As she passed ,the 
 mail box, she remembered her letter, and 
 paused, her hand at her blouse; but went on 
 without posting it. "Tomorrow will do as 
 well," she murmured. 
 
 The weather had evidently spent its loveli- 
 ness. Rain was falling the next morning with 
 a gray steadiness that was ominous. They 
 found that they were glad of a day's rest, and 
 settled down contentedly to magazines and 
 letters. Cameron's unfailing presence and 
 deep interest in everything that was said kept 
 the talk impersonal, and Charlotte was not 
 sorry. But her eyes smiled affectionately on 
 Cousin Eustace when he brought her a care- 
 ful selection of picture postals, showing the 
 local points of interest. He really was a dear. 
 
 Rain was still falling with unabated pur- 
 316
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 pose when they awoke the day following. 
 With revived energies they took to pool and 
 bowling for a happy morning; but the after- 
 noon seemed a little long. Eustace read aloud 
 an article on recent additions to the known 
 flora and fauna of Central Africa, and of- 
 fered a second article on the political future 
 of China, but Charlotte rebelled. 
 
 "I won't have my mind improved any more 
 to-day," she declared. "Come and be com- 
 fortable by the fire. What is the good of so 
 much information?" 
 
 Eustace was startled. "One has to know 
 things," he protested. 
 
 "It is a good deal more important to know 
 each other! Come and get acquainted." 
 
 He took an uneasy seat on the edge of a 
 straight chair. "Of course, I will tell you 
 anything you like," he conceded. "But there 
 is very little to know about me." 
 
 "I want to know your ideas on life, on re- 
 ligion, on art and politics and love, on every- 
 thing you think about." It was a large order, 
 as her smile admitted. Had she pointed a 
 gun at him, he would not have looked half so 
 disturbed. 
 
 lj I belong to the Established Church," 
 
 317
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 he finally brought out. "Every one does, at 
 home." 
 
 "And what about it? What does it mean 
 to you?" 
 
 "Oh, I go to church, of course. And pay 
 tithes. And dine the rector. He's a very 
 good sort, our rector;" Eustace breathed re- 
 lief at this safe aspect of the topic. "He's, 
 quite a sharp on entomology. His collection 
 of butterflies is said to be the third best private 
 collection in the Kingdom. I'd like you to see 
 them." 
 
 "I'd hate to/' was the humorously frank 
 answer. "I don't like collections." 
 
 "Ah, but you would be interested in my 
 geological cabinets. You couldn't help it," 
 he exclaimed. "I should enjoy showing them 
 to you." 
 
 Charlotte's spirits drooped a little. "I am 
 not very intelligent," she apologized. "I like 
 ideas so much better than facts! Are you 
 fond of the theatre?" she added, a note of 
 fresh hope in her voice. 
 
 "I like a good play now and again, if it 
 isn't unpleasant." The plea for ideas had evi- 
 dently reached him ; she saw one formulating, 
 and waited eagerly till he brought it out: "I 
 
 3-8
 
 must say, when I go to the theatre, I like to 
 be amused!" And Eustace leaned back, re- 
 lievedly conscious of having met the require- 
 ments. 
 
 Cameron, who had been reading by the 
 window, threw down his magazine with a 
 yawn and came to join them. 
 
 "I wish old Paul were here/' he said. 
 
 A quick pain shot through Charlotte's 
 heart. 
 
 On the third day it still rained, though less 
 steadily. Eustace took an excursion on foot, 
 and reported the roads in a deplorable state. 
 
 "But it is clearing; and a day of high wind 
 would make it all right for us," he reassured 
 them. "This is Friday; oh, we shall get 
 off by Monday, anyway." 
 
 "Monday!" Charlotte exclaimed, an in- 
 voluntary dismay in her voice. "I ought to 
 be home and at work by Monday," she added 
 in explanation. "I expected to be at home 
 Sunday night; I have some people coming." 
 
 "If it is important, we can go back by 
 train," said Eustace, looking troubled. 
 
 "Oh, no; we don't want to do that," said 
 Charlotte warmly, and fell into a revery, 
 
 319
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 staring out at the drenched landscape. Eus- 
 tace cut the leaves of a new periodical. 
 
 "There is an article here I should like to 
 read you," he began. "It is ' 
 
 Charlotte interrupted with an irrelevant 
 question: "There is a good deal of rain in 
 Surrey, isn't there?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, a good bit. More than you have 
 in this country. I could find you some statis- 
 tics if you are interested." 
 
 "I thought there was>" she said wearily, 
 turning away. "Do you know, Eustace, I 
 really think I must go back by train? Those 
 people are coming to supper, and you know 
 how it is." 
 
 He rose at once. "Yes, of course. And 
 you have been so very patient, waiting here 
 all this time. I will find out about the 
 trains." 
 
 His voice and aspect were unchanged, yet 
 some instinctive knowledge made Charlotte 
 call him back. 
 
 "You have been so good to us," she said, 
 taking his hand. "We shall never forget it, 
 Cameron and I. We are very fond of you, 
 Cousin Eustace." 
 
 For a revealing instant his eyes looked 
 320
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 straight down into hers ; then he was his shy, 
 trimly buttoned self again. 
 
 "It was so very good of you to come," he 
 said. 
 
 They fairly ran up the stairs of home, the 
 next noon, and threw back the door with a 
 welcoming call for the little cook. No one 
 answered. There was dust in the sitting room, 
 disorder in the kitchen, emptiness in the serv- 
 ant's bedroom. Evidently the little cook had 
 passed on. Charlotte sat down on a kitchen 
 chair and roared with laughter. 
 
 "Good riddance," she said. "I am glad 
 of it. We will go out for some lunch, dear 
 boy, and get in provisions." 
 
 "Don't you wish we had that bully hotel?" 
 exclaimed Cameron. 
 
 "No; I feel more like a Child's Dairy." 
 Charlotte's spirits were at high tide. "You 
 and I aren't meant for luxuries," she went 
 on presently as they sat contentedly over a 
 lunch that would have filled Cousin Eustace 
 with horror. "We really like to rough it, 
 to travel light, to be free of ceremony and be- 
 longings. There's a touch of the tramp in us, 
 Cameron dear. That hotel began to feel like 
 a county jail, to me. I have moments of 
 321
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 thinking I like luxury; but it is much more 
 fun to be our kind! I'm going to give the 
 place a glorious cleaning, and we'll have such 
 a good supper tomorrow night, and such good 
 talk! O Cameron dear, never, never get to 
 thinking that the fleshpots are more desirable 
 than brains and wits and imaginations; you 
 will never in your life get anything better 
 than these Sunday nights of ours. Why don't 
 you order rice and milk? It's heavenly 
 good. 
 
 "And, you know, even if Paul has a girl, 
 it won't take him away from us. Nothing 
 will ; we needn't worry. We all belong to 
 each other for life now. Oh, it will be good 
 to get my hands on that refrigerator! She 
 never kept it properly. People like Cousin 
 Amelia don't know anything about the joy 
 of bodily work. Her sort of life would 
 smother us, Cameron! Think of the eternal 
 decorous routine the rector to dinner the 
 improving articles the British Sunday! Oh, 
 my dear ? never get discontented with your lot. 
 We are very blessed^ you and I ; we have such 
 a dear, gay little life together. I am going 
 to have a big cup of coffee !" 
 
 Buying their provisions took on the nature 
 322
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 of a spree under Charlotte's mood. Home 
 again, she put on a working dress, planned 
 her campaign and gave Cameron a list of 
 commissions to execute. 
 
 "You can't help me, and I don't want you 
 about underfoot," she said. 
 
 "You'll kill yourself/' he prophesied. "I 
 know you." 
 
 She had just found among her belongings 
 a sealed letter addressed to Paul, and she tore 
 it across with a quick flush in her cheeks. 
 
 "You know me! Much you do," she ex- 
 claimed. "You are nothing but a puppy; you 
 don't know anything whatever about grown 
 men and women. I am rather glad you don't," 
 she added with a sigh. "I should hate to have 
 you find out what an old fool your mother 
 has nearly been, once or twice in her life! 
 But you will never, never know, thank heaven. 
 Go on with you, little boy." 
 
 Cameron paused in the hall, hat in hand. 
 Then he put his head back through the nar- 
 rowest possible opening of the door. 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 "Well?" unsuspectingly. 
 
 "Should I have had to call him papa?" 
 
 Then the door banged. 
 
 323
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 Cameron wisely did not come back that af- 
 ternoon, but Donna dropped in towards five 
 o'clock, to find Charlotte^ weary but radiant 
 still, putting the last touches to a shiningly 
 clean kitchen. They greeted each other with 
 the enthusiasm of long separation. Charlotte 
 told of the week's adventures so as to make 
 Donna sigh with desire. 
 
 "Still, it is perfectly beautiful to be back," 
 Charlotte explained. "I do like my life, 
 Donna the work and freedom and stimula- 
 tion. Of course^ I know I am fooling myself; 
 that things are really rather cheap and nasty, 
 and that I am simply spinning a sort of 
 glamour over them pretending. If I were a 
 finer, more honest character, and saw things 
 just as they are " 
 
 The force of Donna's protest took her out 
 of her chair. 
 
 "Now, Charlotte McLean," she began, 
 standing indignantly over her; "suppose you 
 were little, and were playing with a radiantly 
 lovely lady doll, dressed in trailing satins, who 
 had three exquisite baby dolls, of varied char- 
 acter and surpassing interest; and suppose 
 some Mamie Snooks came along and said, 
 'Pshaw! They're only a whisk broom and 
 
 3 2 4
 
 THE GLAMOUR 
 
 three clothespins dressed in handkerchiefs I' 
 and suppose the literal facts seemed to bear 
 her out; yet which of you would really have 
 seen deepest and farthest and best?" 
 
 "I would," said Charlotte meekly. 
 
 "And which would be the blind, stupid one, 
 you who only needed a wooden peg to hang 
 your imaginings on, to see the spirit of things, 
 or Mamie Snooks, who might just as well be 
 a millionaire, because she could never possibly 
 get any good out of anything else?" 
 
 "Mamie Snooks;" still more meekly. 
 
 "Well, then!" said Donna subsiding. 
 
 3 2 5
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 PAUL'S WIFE. 
 
 " 'For we're all frank and twenty 
 When the spring is in the air/ " 
 
 chanted Donna, leaning far out into the morn- 
 ing. Spring had come over night. The city 
 had gone to sleep with cold rain on the win- 
 dows, but waked to find its streets shining 
 as with golden oil, its trees a green mist, its 
 sober winter spirit burst like a brown chrysalis 
 to let out gauzy wings of joy. Youth walked 
 with an exuberant downward push of heels 
 forbidden their instinctive fling upwards, and 
 on a thousand desks beside Donna's the work 
 lay forgotten while elbows rested on the 
 sunned window ledges. Far below her crowds 
 were already humming and buzzing about 
 the spring bloom of the shops. She watched 
 them with smiling, understanding eyes. 
 
 " 'The spring- fret is on me 
 And the dry goods call,' " 
 
 she murmured, and, from long practical habit, 
 
 327
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 paused to wonder if something might not be 
 made of the parody; then threw it away with 
 a laugh. This was no day to be thrifty of 
 stray thoughts. N Visions of cool linen, of 
 filmy batiste and tinted Japanese crepe be- 
 gan to form before her; the first rapt concep- 
 tion of a poem could not have held her more 
 intent than her inspiration for making an old 
 lace handkerchief the basis for a handsome 
 new blouse. She had started up to get out 
 materials when her doorbell brought a thrill 
 of possibilities. She threw back the door for 
 Charlotte with a welcoming laugh. 
 
 "So you couldn't work, either," she ex- 
 claimed. "I am so glad. Was there ever 
 such a day?" Charlotte's glance searched her 
 face, then fell away. She looked pale and 
 constrained as she followed into the sitting 
 room. 
 
 "It is nicej" she admitted, turning to the 
 windows. 
 
 "My spring fever has come," Donna ex- 
 plained, beginning to put her scattered papers 
 out of sight. "It is as regular as people's hay 
 fever don't you know how that arrives to 
 the minute, on the twenty-first of August at 
 two in the afternoon, for instance? Mine 
 
 328
 
 PAUL'S WIFE 
 
 comes on the first morning of real spring and 
 lasts for ten days exactly. It's clothes, with 
 me. I can't think of anything else. Char- 
 lotte, they make my heart beat! Truly. Do 
 you have it, too?" 
 
 "I think I get the perambulator fever, about 
 this time." Charlotte still kept her face 
 turned away. "I can't get past a baby car- 
 riage without putting my head in." 
 
 "I wonder what fever Paul gets?" Donna 
 went on. "He had been rather crazy, lately, 
 anyway wasn't he funny, Sunday night? I 
 have never seen him so wildly gay." 
 
 "What do you hear from Lorrimer?" 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Why, I don't. I have only had a note or 
 two since he left." Donna's voice had be- 
 come faintly conscious. "I can't believe that 
 work is keeping him there two months; I 
 think it must be the charms of Washington. 
 Do you know if Lanse has had any more 
 news?" she added, as Charlotte did not speak. 
 
 "Oh, yes. Harrison liked the play enor- 
 mously, and wants to see his next. He almost 
 took it." Charlotte spoke absently, then 
 turned away from the window with a deep 
 breath of resolution. "Donnaj I had a visit 
 
 329
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 from Paul last night. He said he had written 
 you. You didn't get the letter?" 
 
 "No," with quick apprehension. 
 
 "I thought it would have come. Donna 
 dear, he is going to be married." She leaned 
 her forehead against the casement and waited 
 till the other moved. When at last Donna 
 lifted her head, their eyes met in a long look. 
 
 "He would never have cared that way for 
 either of us^" said Donna quietly. 
 
 "No. I always knew it. That was what 
 saved me from I wondered if you knew it." 
 
 "Yes dimly. I didn't think much. It 
 was marvellous enough to get what I did get. 
 That is what it has meant, of course his wild 
 spirits." 
 
 "Yes. I suspected he was out of town so 
 much. She must be glorious, by what he 
 says. Do you want to hear about her?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 "Well, Paul says he saw her come into a 
 room, and his first thought was, 'Straight from 
 Olympus!' She was big and serene and very 
 beautiful. Then some one introduced them, 
 and his next thought was, 'Simple comme 
 bonjourf She was as simple and straight and 
 open as some lovely creature who had never 
 
 330
 
 PAUL'S WIFE 
 
 known man. It was fairly massive, her sim- 
 plicity, yet there was a sort of sweet-lipped 
 gaiety that's what he called it that brought 
 her very humanly close. He says his third 
 conscious thought was, 'I am going to marry 
 you;' and that it has never left his mind for 
 one instant, day or night, since. She is very 
 poor; her father is a broken down old scholar, 
 and they live in a broken down old house full 
 of rare books." 
 
 Donna had listened dejectedly. "Does she 
 do things?" she asked. 
 
 "Sings; and is a wonderful housewife. Her 
 mother was a well known German singer, and 
 brought her up on the ancestral plan. There 
 is a least touch of foreignness in her voice, 
 Paul says ; and she has big, lovely white hands, 
 like a goddess she is ample, and maternal, 
 and heavenly sweet. Really good enough^ I 
 honestly believe!" 
 
 "It is possible," Donna admitted heavily. 
 "With all his craziness, Paul was so wise." 
 
 Charlotte shivered, then laughed protest- 
 ingly. "We musn't take the past tense about 
 him," she explained. "He isn't dead, Donna. 
 He is our Paul still." 
 
 "H'ml" It was a cynical assent. Charlotte
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 started to argue the point, then, forgetting to 
 finish, came and laid her hand on the girl's 
 shoulder. 
 
 "It isn't going to be so very bad, is it?" she 
 asked. Donna smiled. 
 
 "Oh, I'm all right 1 It has cured my spring 
 fever, that's all. One is like a person who 
 never even dreamed he should go to heaven, 
 anyway," she went on with quaint frankness. 
 "One isn't disappointed. And yet, of course, 
 if ever, by a miracle, the golden gates had 
 been swung open in one's face well, one isn't 
 a fool!" 
 
 "One certainly isn't," said Charlotte, kiss- 
 ing her. "Don't you want to come out and do 
 something?" 
 
 "No ; I will wait for Paul's letter. It will 
 probably come on the second delivery." They 
 walked slowly together to the door, loath to 
 separate. As they opened it, a boy confronted 
 them with a telegram. Donna read it, then 
 handed it without comment to Charlotte. 
 
 "Coming home tomorrow. L. F." 
 
 Charlotte returned it in silence and rang 
 for the elevator. When it arrived, she looked 
 back with the gleam of a smile in her eyes. 
 
 332
 
 PAUL'S WIFE 
 
 "Evidently Lorrimer has heard the news," 
 she observed, then disappeared into the car. 
 
 Donna's answer to Paul's letter sent him 
 by messenger was so inspired, so genuine in 
 its warmth, so gay and kind, and touched with 
 so fine a thrill, that Paul dropped his work 
 and ran to her in a spring tumult of feelings. 
 The exaltation of her writing mood was still 
 on her; they met up in high, bright regions 
 where friendship was golden romance, and joy 
 in another's joy was a full feast. Paul walked 
 excitedly about the room and she watched 
 him from her corner with lighted eyes and 
 flushed cheeks. 
 
 "Donna, you don't know! To have found 
 the perfect thing, to get marriage without one 
 little inch of compromise, of glossing over or 
 pretending ! We are not the kind to go 
 blind in love, my dear; we see oh, horribly! 
 We may pretend we are fooled, to oblige our 
 senses, but we never are, we never are! Heav- 
 ens I have been so in love, several times, that 
 I was bodily sick^ ready to die for the lady 
 of the moment, and all the time my mind sat 
 up there and said, 'Really, you know, she's a 
 commonplace little dub; you are just pretend- 
 ing to find value in her because you like the 
 
 333
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 line of her chin or the nape of her silly neck. 7 
 And it was true! I suppose that is what has 
 saved me, kept me till I found Lucia. We 
 are wise, Donna; that is what makes us Us, 
 I think with all our folly, we're wise at life. 
 Why, take you you're one of the wisest per- 
 sons I have ever known! Young and im- 
 pulsive and quick blooded, full of talent and 
 all that that means, but fundamentally, sound- 
 ly wise. It's like a thoroughbred horse, who 
 goes mad at a bit of paper, but is steady in a 
 bad place. At least, they say he is! 
 
 "Charlotte is wise, too. Ah, she was so 
 wonderful, Donna, when I went to tell her! 
 It was terribly hard to tell you all did you 
 know that? I felt that, till you knew Lucia, 
 you would think that it meant losing me 
 just as, if you or Charlotte had married, I 
 should have gone blue for weeks. I couldn't 
 lead up to it. I said, 'Charlotte, I have found 
 her.' And she said, *O Paul, how beautiful!' 
 And then we fell on each other's necks. I 
 think we both cried! 
 
 "My dear, you mustn't think, even in your 
 secret heart, 'Here is an end to Paul.' It is 
 the beginning of Paul! Loving like this 
 doesn't weaken other affections it quickens 
 
 334
 
 PAUL'S WIFE 
 
 and deepens them. And when you know 
 Lucia ! Here I am rattling on like a luna- 
 tic. What years of good talk we have had! 
 They say that the glory goes off talk, in time; 
 that after ten years or so of passionate conver- 
 sation, you settle some things and give up 
 others and get lazy at discussion; but I don't 
 believe that will be true of Us. I can see us 
 all rising up in our grave clothes if an enticing 
 topic were thrown over the churchyard wall! 
 
 "Donna, you are really glad, aren't you?" 
 
 ''Oh, so glad, Paul!" 
 
 "And it isn't going to make any difference?" 
 
 Her true, unafraid eyes looked straight into 
 his. 
 
 "It will make differences. But no differ- 
 ence in what I feel for you! Oh, not one 
 atom !" 
 
 "Ah, then it will all come right." He took 
 both her hands and kissed her. "Bless you, 
 Donna." 
 
 "Give my love to Lucia/' she said. 
 
 The door closed upon him, and, for the first 
 time since the news had come, Donna was 
 free to turn to herself. She knew that, when 
 the excitement sank, the hurt would be un- 
 covered, if hurt there was^ and she waited 
 
 335
 
 passively, dreading the sudden drop to per- 
 sonal grieving, the dull gray clouding of her 
 sky, still so clear and luminous. Sooner or 
 later she must suffer, and she would not try 
 to stave it off with distractions. Her cheeks 
 cooled, but the exaltation, instead of dying 
 down, seemed to be taking on the aspect of 
 something serene and lasting; she looked out 
 over all their lives as from a high window of 
 the soul, and saw that they were good. Their 
 friendships still lived, untarnished in their 
 romance. Through all change, these would 
 still mean glorious meetings 1 richness of ex- 
 perience. 
 
 "I shall marry, too," she thought with a 
 leap of pulses. A curious freedom came 
 with loss. She had discovered it after Lorri- 
 mer's departure for Washington, when she 
 realized for the first time how she daily stayed 
 in or hurried home, not to miss his visits. 
 Some such unrecognized constraint had kept 
 her thoughts away from marriage so long as 
 Paul was free. Now the need of love, un- 
 checked, rose up like great, unfolding wings. 
 
 "I shall marry, too," she repeated, for the 
 joy of the echo in her blood. Then she shiv- 
 ered. "Ohj but it will hurt tomorrow!" 
 
 336
 
 Donna came reluctantly back into the world 
 the next morning after a very few hours of 
 sleep. The great disaster had happened; and 
 today it must be faced in cold blood. 
 
 "Paul is going to be married," she said aloud, 
 slowly and distinctly, and waited to be over- 
 whelmed. A moment later she caught her- 
 self admiring the colors of a broken beam of 
 light that fell across her white counterpane 
 and wondering what train Lorrimer would 
 take. "I don't realize it yet/' she decided. 
 "One is numb, at first." She felt a gentle mel- 
 ancholy, an elderly detachment from the joy- 
 ous fret of spring, as well as a great bodily 
 weariness; her muscles ached as though she 
 had been climbing a mountain; but a deter- 
 mined visualizing of the beloved Lucia, 
 straight from Olympus and heavenly sweet, 
 brought eager hope rather than the expected 
 stab. It seemed almost as if they were going 
 to gain and love her, too } instead of losing 
 Paul. A great stone had crashed into happy 
 waters, but already the waters had begun to 
 accept its presence and settle round it. The 
 stone would always be there, but to future 
 years it might appear an added beauty rather 
 than a catastrophe. 
 
 337
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "I could adjust to anything," she thought 
 with a touch of self-scorn. Then she remem- 
 bered that she had a time table showing 
 Washington trains, and jumped up to find it. 
 
 A sad hearted pilgrimage after a spring 
 suit seemed the best way to get rid of the 
 morning, for, though the fever had gone, one 
 still had to be clothed, and the new-born 
 spring was again twittering of dress of cool, 
 distinguished grey woolens, and cordial tans, 
 and the ever satisfactory blue serge. Donna 
 hurried over her dressing; if one were going 
 to shop at all, it might as well be early, before 
 the crowds started. She took her check book 
 with her as well as a full purse, feeling a dim 
 right to any comfort that recklessness might 
 bring. 
 
 Once started, she bought lavishly, and 
 finally hurried home with an armful of finery 
 to be put on at once, as part of the comforting 
 process. The last button was scarcely ad- 
 justed when Ffloyd came. 
 
 He had hurried straight up from the train, 
 touchingly distressed and cindery and obliv- 
 ious of self; and his compassion reminded her 
 so acutely of her unhappiness that she became 
 pale and grave before it, and gave him a pas- 
 
 338
 
 PAUL'S WIFE 
 
 sive hand, most unlike her usual active clasp. 
 
 "May I come in, Donna? Or would you 
 rather I went away?" he began, without 
 spoken greeting. 
 
 "I would rather you came in, Lorrimer," 
 she said; and then the echo of her own sad 
 voice smote sharply on her native honesty. 
 She had been humming ten minutes before, 
 and she knew it. "It's awfully good to see 
 you," she added with a laugh and a brisk 
 change of tone, curling up into her accus- 
 tomed corner of the couch. "Sit down and 
 tell me things." Ffloyd, instead of drawing 
 up the leather chair that was called "his," 
 stood unhappily before her. 
 
 "Don't bluff with me, please!" he begged. 
 "I can't help knowing can I? just what 
 you are going through. I wanted to come the 
 minute I got Paul's letter, but I had to finish 
 up there. I want to help you, Donna. Good 
 God, don't I know all about it!" 
 
 His vehemence brought a flush to her 
 cheeks. Her eyes could not meet his. She 
 had not seen Lorrimer since the day that be- 
 trayed his secret, and the knowledge of it had 
 been persistently even angrily thrust from 
 her consciousness. 
 
 339
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 "I am not bluffing," she said, showing un- 
 wonted difficulty in finding the right words. 
 "I I thought it was going to be just what 
 you expected. Well, then, a broken heart! 
 But, if it is if it is Well, you know, Lorri- 
 mer, this isn't the way I should make a heroine 
 feel, under the circumstances!" 
 
 It was a Donna-ish speech, and Ffloyd un- 
 expectedly found himself smiling. "How 
 would you show her?" he asked. 
 
 "Rolling on the floor! Oh, gasping. Inar- 
 ticulate cries. 'God, God!' Running things 
 into her flesh for the relief of the bodily pain. 
 Oh, I know all about that," she ended, so com- 
 placently that Ffloyd laughed as he had not in 
 two months. 
 
 "O Donnie, it is good to get you back," he 
 exclaimed. "And you are not doing any of 
 those things?" 
 
 She hesitated, then it came with a rush: 
 "Lorrimer, I am buying clothes and and lik- 
 ing 'em!" Her upturned face was so humor- 
 ously ashamed, so reluctantly honest, that he 
 bent impulsively towards it; then swung away 
 and drew up the leather chair with a mighty 
 push. 
 , "I don't understand it one bit," he pro- 
 
 349
 
 PAUL'S WIFE 
 
 tested; but he looked like one from whom a 
 huge burden had been lifted. 
 
 "Well, I didn't myself, at first," she ad- 
 mitted slowly. "But I think it is sort of this 
 way: the hero, the prince, rides down the 
 street, and the populace runs along and cheers 
 and is ready to follow him or die for him or 
 anything: he is their herOj their beloved, if 
 you like; but they don't expect things for 
 themselves from him. Does that make any 
 sense? I'm the peasant girl in the crowd, you 
 see: I can love him, and shout for him, and 
 yet go happily about my churning after he 
 has ridden on. I can even shout for his prin- 
 cess! Do you understand?" 
 
 His face saddened. "What if the prince 
 had had sense enough to discover you among 
 the peasants?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, well, they don't, as a rule," was the 
 practical answer. "They want the blood royal 
 and the touch of mystery, Lorrimer! We 
 who analyze ourselves and know all about our 
 processes we haven't that final charm." 
 
 "I don't see it," said Lorrimer shortly. 
 
 "It is true. And you see, my churning 
 has kept me so busy I I don't believe that 
 
 3411
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 hearts get into much unnecessary trouble 
 when one has to work as hard as I do." 
 
 "Oh, don't they!" he returned with a bitter 
 significance that brought the color back to her 
 face. She turned hastily from the topic. 
 
 "Tell me what you were doing in Washing- 
 ton," she commanded. 
 
 "When Paul's note came^ I was in the act 
 of writing you a long letter." She glanced at 
 him uneasily, but made no comment. "I came 
 across a man there that I used to know and 
 like. Talented fellow a portrait painter. 
 He is going to Paris for two years, and I have 
 agreed to go with him." 
 
 Donna had grown very grave. "I don't 
 like it at all!" she said after a long pause. 
 
 "Well, it seemed about the only thing to 
 do." Ffloyd's voice was drily precise. "We 
 took passage for the twenty- third." 
 
 "Of this month?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Lorrimer!" It was a frank wail. "Oh, 
 everything is changing and getting hateful! 
 I don't like it I" 
 
 "It is part of growing up, isn't it?" 
 
 "Then I won't grow up!" 
 
 "Well, if anyone could manage not to A it 
 
 342
 
 PAUL'S WIFE 
 
 would be you/' he admitted. "Will you write 
 to me, Donna?" 
 
 "No, I won't." 
 
 He laughed. "I might as well own up. 
 When I got Paul's note, my dear" he was 
 watching her with a daring light in his eyes 
 "I decided that I could not get away from 
 America till autumn, anyway; perhaps not 
 till spring. So I let another man have my 
 berth, and here I am." 
 
 Donna returned the look with unfaltering 
 serenity. "Of course you would want to wait 
 and know Mrs. Paul," she explained. "I don't 
 believe she will take Paul away from us, 
 Lorrimer: she sounds very lovely. I think we 
 are all going to adore her." 
 
 "And she isn't going to make any difference 
 to you?" he persisted, wondering. 
 
 "Yes, there will be a difference," she ad- 
 mitted. "There has been a breathlessness a 
 sense of dew and frost and shiny cobwebs. 
 But that couldn't last forever." She drew a 
 deep breath that meant freedom and expand- 
 ing life. "I think this may mean that the 
 morning is over; but, O Lorrimer, it is going 
 to be a wonderful afternoon!" 
 
 THE END.
 
 A LIST OF 
 
 POPULAR FICTION 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 
 
 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 
 
 By Juliet Wilbor Tompkins 
 
 12mo, illustrated, 352 pages. $1.50. 
 
 Each new Tompkins book is awaited by many readers with keen 
 interest, and in this, her latest book, they will not be disappointed 
 for she introduces them to a little group of writers, artists and 
 playwrights who are making their way in New York; with what 
 sparkling humor, clever device and sincere friendship the course of 
 the story will disclose. 
 
 By the same author 
 
 DR. ELLEN 
 
 12mo, 280 pages; frontispiece in color. $1.50. 
 
 "A bright, clever, entertaining story of a young woman physi- 
 cian who settles in a mountain town of the California Sierras." 
 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 "Another uncommonly good story for summer reading is ' Dr. 
 Ellen ' by Juliet Wilbor Tompkins." The Congregationalist. 
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 l%mo, illustrated, 276 pages. $1.50. 
 
 A sprightly romance dealing with a philanthropic " middle- 
 aged" physician and a proud and spirited girl. The book is nota- 
 ble for quaint characterization and humorous situations. 
 
 THE WISTFUL YEARS By Roy Rolfe Gilsoiv 
 
 12mo, illustrated, 320 pages. $1.50. 
 "The most dainty and tender of idyls." New York Times. 
 
 "A delightful little story of two young people who fall in love 
 with one another." Brooklyn Citizen. 
 
 By the same author 
 
 KATRJNA 
 
 ISmo, illustrated, in color. $1.50. 
 
 The story of Larry, a kindly, homely, humorous newspaper man, 
 who lives over again the romance of his youth in the charming little 
 daughter of the woman he lost.
 
 THE GARDEN IN THE WILDERNESS By "A Hermit" 
 
 12mo, 16 illustrations, 220 pages. $1.50 net. 
 "Sweet and wholesome as a ripe apple, a flood of spring sun- 
 shine, a crisp autumn breeze." Chicago Record-Herald. 
 
 "Those who love the beauties of nature will revel in it." 
 
 Brooklyn Citizen. 
 
 IN CALVERT'S VALLEY 
 
 By Margaret Prescott Montague 
 
 12mo, 380 pages, illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 " The author has written an interesting story, the characters 
 are well drawn and the plot well sustained." Springfield Republican. 
 
 "The story of a tragedy and a noble expiation, powerful, well- 
 told, with a striking West Virginia background." The Advance. 
 
 By the same author 
 
 THE POET, MISS KATE AND I 
 
 8vo, illustrated, 190 pages. $1.50 net. 
 A fresh, idyllic tale of life in the West Virginia mountains. 
 
 THE SOWING OF ALDER.SON CREE 
 
 12mo, illustrated, 846 pages. $1.50. 
 
 A powerful story of a feud between rugged West Virginia 
 mountaineers. The intensity of the book is relieved by a love story 
 of unusual grace, and the book is valuable for powerful descriptions 
 of a little-known country. 
 
 THE CAR AND THE LADY By Percy F. Me^argel 
 
 and Grace Sartwell Mason 
 
 12mo, S20 pages. $1.50. 
 
 "The novel is one of progressive interest." The Boston Herald. 
 " There is plenty of incident." Louisville Courier Journal. 
 "The story dashes along at a gait very close to the speed 
 limit." New York Tribune. 
 
 THOU FOOL ByJ. J. Bell 
 
 19mo, illustrated, 400 pages. $1.50. 
 
 A highly dramatic novel of Scotch and English life, by the 
 author of "Wee McGregor." 
 
 HILARY ON HER OWN By Mabel Barnes-Grundy 
 
 ISmo, 360 pages ; frontispiece. $1.50. 
 
 " ' Hilary on Her Own' by Mabel Barnes-Grundy is a robust 
 story of a woman's strike for freedom and her experiences in fending 
 for herself in London." The Churchman. 
 
 " The author writes as though Hilary were a real person, and 
 she had caught some of her gaiety." N. Y. Tribune. 
 
 "A quiet, pleasantly written story." The Congregationalist.
 
 By the same author 
 DIMBIE AND I 
 
 12mo, 350 pages, 6 illustrations by Otto Lang. $1.50. 
 
 " It is a sweet story and should help those who are invalids to 
 make their little world as sunny as possible." Boston Herald. 
 
 " Its optimism and sweetness must surely reflect the personality 
 of its author." Book News Monthly. 
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 12mo, 388 pages. $1.50. 
 " It crackles with wit and it is sweet with humor." 
 
 St. Louis Mirror. 
 
 ft Of dialogue, quaint, witty humor, there are many examples 
 the book ought not to be missed." N. Y. Evening Sun. 
 
 THE EXPLORER By W. Somerset Maugham 
 
 12mo, illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 A story of contrasted life in England and Africa, by the author 
 of "Jack Straw," and " Lady Frederick," etc. 
 
 BANZAI By Parabellum 
 
 12mo, 2 illustrations and a map. $1.50. 
 
 " Banzai is a German prophecy in the form of fiction of the 
 great war between Japan and the United States that is due this 
 year." The Evening Post. 
 
 A MAN OF SARK By John Oxenham 
 
 12mo, illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 A. fascinating romance of the Channel Islands at the end of 
 Eighteenth Century. 
 
 THE CASE OF DR. HORACE By John H. Prentis 
 
 12mo, 225 pages, frontispiece. $1.25. 
 
 " Interest holds to the end, when the reader is quite likely to 
 pronounce the story very good indeed." Boston Globe. 
 
 " Has all the elements of an excellent detective story, one that 
 will command rapt attention." Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 POWER LOT By Sarah P. McLean Green 
 
 12mo, illustrated, gilt top. $1.50. 
 
 "The book, as a whole, is a worthy successor to 'Cape Cod 
 Folks' and 'Deacon Lysander.' " The Churchman. 
 
 " There is a strong undercurrent of humor tempered by mild 
 pathos." Chicago Evening Post.
 
 By the same author 
 
 DEACON LYSANDER 
 
 12mo, illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 A New England story notable for its wholesome humor; by the 
 author of " Cape Cod Folks." 
 
 MAX FARGUS By Owen Johnson 
 
 12mo, illustrated. $1.50. 
 A powerful novel dealing with unusual phases of New York life. 
 
 WHEN YOU WERE A BOY By Edward L. Sabin 
 
 12mo, with over fifty illustrations by Frederick Dorr-Steele. $1.50. 
 
 "A book for all boys and lovers of boys to read and to en- 
 joy." The Sun. 
 
 ' ' The real boy, disheveled and merry, who smiles at you, with 
 the sun in his eyes, from the cover of this book, is just the boy who 
 has been loved and scolded and laughed at for years, in every nor- 
 mal family." The Outlook. 
 
 MY MAMIE ROSE By Owen Kildare 
 
 The Story of My Regeneration. 12mo, illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 "A book without a parallel." The Outlook. 
 " This is certainly a novel and strange story, which makes us 
 again believe that truth is stranger than fiction." 
 
 Chicago Record-Herald. 
 
 "A sincere account of actual experience told by one who knows 
 whereof he writes." Boston Transcript. 
 
 THE DIGRESSIONS OF POLLY By Helen Rowland 
 
 12mo, illustrated and decorated. $1.50. 
 A witty little story, full of smart epigrams and bright dialogue. 
 
 THE SALT BOX HOUSE 
 
 By James de Forest Sheltoix 
 
 12mo, illustrated. $1.50 net. 
 
 A quaint and accurate description in narrative form of country 
 life in Colonial Connecticut. 
 
 THE REGICIDES By F. H. Cogswell 
 
 12mo, illustrated. $1.50. 
 An exciting tale of early Colonial times. 
 
 THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY, Publishers 
 
 33-37 EAST SEVENTEENTH STREET, NEW YORK
 
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