PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 Frederic Arnold Rummer 
 
 and 
 
 Mary Christian
 
 PEGGY-ELISE
 
 For a sickening moment Peggy wondered if she would be 
 able to do the aria.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 BY 
 FREDERIC ARNOLD KUMMER 
 
 AND 
 
 MARY CHRISTIAN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 1919
 
 Copyright, 1919, by 
 THE CENTCBY Co. 
 
 Published, September, 1919
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 213SSQ2
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 D!" said Venable to himself, as he 
 watched the pitiful stream of refugees 
 old men, women, children struggling through 
 the mud of the road. 
 
 The day was raw and sunless. A thick mist 
 hung along the roadsides, causing the bordering 
 poplars to appear vaguely tall and remote. The 
 rolling hills to the right resembled fog-capped 
 mountains in the growing darkness of the after- 
 noon. 
 
 Venable, in his mud-splashed motor car, moved 
 ahead slowly, hugging the edge of the road in 
 order to avoid the many vehicles traveling in the 
 opposite direction. They appeared with ghost- 
 like suddenness from the crowding gloom ahead 
 motors of every sort, innumerable supply lor- 
 ries, ambulance cars, busses containing officers 
 and men, battery after battery of seventy-fives, 
 and now and then a train of heavy siege artillery. 
 All these grim evidences of the conflict raging so
 
 4 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 short a distance ahead moved swiftly, silently 
 northward, toward that fiery fringe of devasta- 
 tion called the front. 
 
 Gilbert Venable, with his face set toward 
 Paris, gave but small attention to the endless 
 procession that passed him on the other side of 
 the road. He had left the battle lines but a few 
 hours before ; what he had seen during this brief 
 stay there had so dulled sensation, crushed curi- 
 osity, that the drab paraphernalia of war left him 
 indifferent. Only the never-ending roar of the 
 distant guns, rising at times to a tremendous cre- 
 scendo, at times falling to a dull, monotonous 
 rumble, stirred in his brain the crimson memories 
 of the past few days. 
 
 The road wound down toward a slender 
 stream, spanned by a concrete bridge. At its 
 near side Venable was obliged to come to a halt. 
 A battalion of infantry was swinging toward 
 him, flowing over the narrow span in a blue-gray, 
 steel-capped flood, filling the roadway from par- 
 apet to parapet. 
 
 He halted his machine at the side of the road 
 and waited impatiently for the bridge to become 
 clear. He wanted to get back to Paris, to put 
 between him and the horrors of the past week the 
 dulling barrier of distance. 
 
 As his eyes swept from the snakelike column 
 of troops to the edge of the road nearest him, he
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 5 
 
 became suddenly aware of an object which had 
 up to now escaped his attention. 
 
 It was a small, almost pitiful, figure in black, 
 sitting huddled upon one of the numberless piles 
 of crushed stone that bordered the edge of the 
 road, evidences of the ceaseless care with which 
 its sorely tried surface was maintained. 
 
 The figure that momentarily held his atten- 
 tion was that of a girl a young girl apparently, 
 to judge from her slender outlines. Her face, 
 Venable could not see, for it rested in the hollow 
 of her right arm, upon her knees. 
 
 During his journey to and from the front Ven- 
 able had seen many such sights. Old men, 
 women both old and young, children, had often 
 jarred his consciousness, hopeless refugees from 
 the crumbling villages to the north, wandering 
 aimlessly, helplessly, away from the bits of earth, 
 of brick and stone and mortar that had until now 
 been their homes. There had been about them 
 all, however, in spite of their apparent helpless- 
 ness, a certain spirit of defiance, of grim courage, 
 of belief in victory ultimate victory that 
 were of the spirit. 
 
 This girl, crouched upon the pile of crushed 
 stone, seemed herself crushed, although whether 
 by grief alone or mere physical fatigue or both 
 was not clear. 
 
 She was quite close to Venable. He looked
 
 6 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 down at her worn and muddy boots, her be- 
 draggled skirt, her pale cheek and neck, and won- 
 dered whether she had fallen asleep, there in the 
 rain, she seemed so immovable. 
 
 The flood of troops had passed by now, and the 
 road was once more clear. Venable was about 
 to proceed on his way, when he saw the girl stag- 
 ger to her feet, and, without glancing toward 
 him, step in front of the car and start across 
 the bridge. She moved unsteadily. Venable 
 watched her anxiously, fearing to start his ma- 
 chine until she had safely crossed. Then, to his 
 dismay, he saw her stumble slightly and, half 
 falling, clutch the wide concrete parapet. 
 
 Venable sprang from his car at once, and ap- 
 proached the girl, cap in hand. 
 
 " May I be of assistance to you, mademoi- 
 selle? " he asked in French. 
 
 The girl turned her face toward him ; Venable 
 was surprised to see that she was, in spite of 
 her pallor, her appearance of suffering, remark- 
 ably good looking. Her eyes, deeply gray, ren- 
 dered preternaturally large by the shadows that 
 fatigue had set beneath them, met his own fear- 
 lessly, with a pathetic surprise, resembling that 
 of a child. 
 
 " Will you be so good as to tell me, monsieur," 
 she asked, in a voice at once musical and sad, 
 " how far it is to Paris? "
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 7 
 
 " Paris? " Venable could scarcely believe that 
 he had heard aright. Paris, and she seemed un- 
 able to walk a dozen yards ! " Why, mademoi- 
 selle., it is nearly a hundred miles." 
 
 The girl's fingers tightened on the parapet. 
 What she had heard seemed to have sensibly in- 
 creased her weakness. " A hundred miles ! " 
 she gasped. " Won Dien! " Then looking at 
 Venable again, she tried to smile. The effort, in 
 its pathos, struck at his heart. " I thank you, 
 monsieur,'' she said, and turned away. 
 
 It was perfectly clear to Venable that the in- 
 terview was at an end. The girl's bravely spoken 
 words of thanks, her turn from him, told him 
 that. And yet he lingered, watching her. 
 
 "Are you going to Paris, mademoiselle?" he 
 asked, gently. 
 
 " But yes." The girl once more faced him, this 
 time with a faint touch of color in her cheeks. 
 
 " On foot? " he persisted. 
 
 " How else? " Her glance at her worn and 
 muddy shoes was quite involuntary. She spoke 
 with an air of finality in which there was not 
 the slightest suggestion of appeal. 
 
 Venable turned, indicating his car. 
 
 " I also am going to Paris, mademoiselle," he 
 said. " If you will permit it, I shall be happy to 
 have you accompany me." 
 
 The girl swept him with a quick, appraising
 
 8 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 look. From her manner, no less than from her 
 appearance, her voice, Venable knew that he was 
 addressing no peasant girl but a woman of cul- 
 ture, of refinement. 
 
 " It is very kind of you," she said, thanking 
 him with her eyes. " I accept most gladly." 
 
 "Then get in." He stepped back and flung 
 open the door of the tonneau. " It has begun to 
 rain again. Permit me to wrap you in this rug." 
 In a moment he had tucked the robe about her 
 and then, climbing to his seat at the wheel, set 
 off at as rapid a pace as the growing darkness 
 would permit. 
 
 As he peered into the mist ahead, Venable 
 found himself pondering the curious twist of 
 fate that had brought him this unexpected pas- 
 senger. Her presence, he reflected, was certain 
 to alter his own plans. It had been his inten- 
 tion to push on to Paris that night. He knew 
 that it would be midnight, or later, when he 
 arrived, but that was of small moment. The 
 prospect of a hot and well-cooked meal, a bottle 
 of claret, at his favorite restaurant, provided a 
 sufficient inducement for him to proceed. The 
 bread and meat, the small bottle of red wine in 
 his hamper, would serve, should he feel the pangs 
 of hunger while on the way. 
 
 With his passenger, however, it was quite dif- 
 ferent. She was cold, wet, very tired. If she
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 9 
 
 had eaten since morning, her pallid face, her 
 trembling limbs, did not indicate it. He felt 
 that she needed warm food, a fire at which to dry 
 herself, rest. The long drive through the night 
 air, in her drenched clothing, might result in a 
 serious illness. It was not to be thought of. 
 With a sigh of regret, he turned to the huddled 
 figure in the rear seat. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said softly, " would you 
 not like to stop and get something to eat, some- 
 thing hot? You could also dry your clothes ? " 
 
 There was no answer. He looked closely at 
 his companion. Either she had fallen asleep, 
 or had suddenly become unconscious. He hesi- 
 tated no longer. The lights of a village glowed 
 through the mist, a short distance ahead. He 
 would stop at once. 
 
 There were few persons about, but from a bent 
 old woman he managed to glean that he was in 
 a town not far from Epernay. There was an 
 inn, the woman told him, the Maison Chevalier. 
 Obligingly, she pointed it out. 
 
 The door was opened by an enormously stout 
 and competent looking woman of forty-five. She 
 was dres&ed in black, but its shadow had not 
 dimmed the fire in her eyes, nor softened the res- 
 olute, even defiant look with which she gazed out 
 upon the world. Yet in her courage there 
 seemed also an infinite tenderness, as of one who
 
 10 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 bad looked not only upon life, but upon suffering 
 and death, as well. 
 
 Venable had found, to his joy, that his com- 
 panion was merely asleep. She seemed dazed, 
 uncertain, when he aroused her, but agreed at 
 once, although without enthusiasm, to his sug- 
 gestion that they dry themselves and sup. Hav- 
 ing disposed of the car at one side of the little 
 courtyard into which they had driven, he took 
 the girl by the arm and led her to the door of 
 the inn. 
 
 The stout woman, who had opened the door, 
 proved to be Madame Chevalier herself, and as 
 the light from the room fell upon the faces of the 
 two before her she inventoried them with swift 
 yet kindly eyes. 
 
 " Entrez, mes enfants! " she exclaimed, step- 
 ping to one side. " But you are wet, is it not? 
 And tired? Come in." 
 
 " Mademoiselle is very fatigued," Venable said 
 to her, closing the door behind him. " She 
 should have dry clothing, something hot to eat. 
 After that, perhaps, a bed. It is too far to 
 go on to Paris, to-night." 
 
 The girl turned, gratitude in her eyes. 
 
 " It is very kind, very thoughtful of you, mon- 
 sieur," she whispered. " You are a stranger to 
 me, but be assured I shall not forget your kind- 
 ness."
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 11 
 
 " It is nothing," said Venable, turning toward 
 the fire, and searching for his pipe. " Madame 
 will, I am sure, take good care of you, and pro- 
 vide you with what you need." 
 
 " This way, my child," bustled the older 
 woman. " There are some things, my daughter's, 
 that will suit you, I feel sure. She does not need 
 them, now the little Georgette for she 
 works in the hospital at Chalons." She turned, 
 for a moment, regarding Venable with an eager 
 look. " You come from the front, monsieur? " 
 she inquired. 
 
 " From Verdun,'' Venable replied. 
 
 " How goes it with France? " 
 
 " There were heavy assaults, yesterday, at the 
 Thiaumont Farm. They were all repulsed. The 
 boches died like flies, but bravely. They fight 
 well." 
 
 "Yes that is true. But the little Petain 
 will not let them pass. I have seen him. Once, 
 he had coffee, here, in this very room. With him 
 two of my sons have died." She said this quite 
 dispassionately, as one who spoke of events re- 
 mote, detached, with a splendid and impersonal 
 pride. 
 
 The young girl touched her arm. 
 
 " My father was also killed at Le Mort 
 Homme Captain Lascelles. He " she hes- 
 itated, choking down a sob " he was all I had.
 
 12 JJPJGGY-ELISE 
 
 You have, perhaps, other sons, madame? " 
 
 " One. And my man, Raymond. He is in the 
 artillery. Those two are left me. Le bon Dieu 
 has indeed been kind. Come! I am chattering 
 here, when you should have dry clothes on your 
 back. And the supper. What shall it be, mon- 
 sieur? I will prepare it at once." 
 
 " Chicken an omelet soup, perhaps 
 whatever you have" he felt sure his compan- 
 ion had eaten little that day " and some wine. 
 Red, yes. And coffee." 
 
 " Good. You need not wait long. Come, ma- 
 demoiselle." She led the way into a hall at the 
 rear, and the girl followed her. The warmth, 
 perhaps the woman's words, had brought a bit of 
 color to her cheeks, an erectness to her tired 
 and drooping shoulders. 
 
 " The good God has indeed been kind ! " Ven- 
 able, gazing into the fire, revolved the words in 
 his mind. How gloriously the spirit of France 
 spoke in them. How nobly had her women re- 
 sponded to her call. " The good God has indeed 
 been kind " with two sons dead! Such a na- 
 tion might be crushed, destroyed ; it could not be 
 beaten. And he, an American, was rushing back 
 to Paris, impelled by visions of a well-cooked din- 
 ner, a bottle of wine, while men fought, with 
 the courage of heroes, for the sake of an 
 ideal. .
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 13 
 
 The supper of sorrel soup, omelet, roast 
 chicken was deliciously prepared. The wine, a 
 thin claret, was by no means bad. Venable 
 served his companion in silence, while Madame 
 Chevalier bustled about, chattering of the news 
 of the day, which seemed' but a reflection of the 
 conflict which was going on so short a distance 
 away. Monsieur Mercier, the village doctor, had 
 been killed last week. The boches fired upon the 
 Red Cross flag, it seemed. Geoffroi Pierre, the 
 notary, had lost both legs. Noel Pitou was 
 blind, but the shell had not effaced his cheerful 
 smile. Madame Chevalier spoke exultantly. 
 Her look, as she referred to some act of self-sac- 
 rifice, of heroism, was triumphant. Venable re- 
 alized that the war was not alone at Verdun, at 
 Rheims, at Ypres, but in the hearts of the people 
 of France. Their baptism of fire had given birth, 
 not to heroes alone, but to heroism, alike in roy- 
 alist and republican, professor and gamin, gen- 
 eral and humble poilu. Presently, the older 
 woman left them, to attend to the wants of some 
 noisy customers in the taproom, and Venable 
 and Mademoiselle Lascelles were left alone. 
 
 He had felt something of a shock, when she 
 had entered the room, with Madame Chevalier 
 beaming over her shoulder. The change of cloth- 
 ing, the simple dress of white, softly open at the 
 throat, the daintily arranged hair, had trans-
 
 14 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 formed the girl from a dejected and bedraggled 
 object to a creature of astonishing beauty and 
 charm. The warmth had brought a faint flush 
 to her cheeks, and her eyes, large and luminous, 
 were no longer dull with fatigue. Madame Che- 
 valier, the girl explained, had given her a glass 
 of quinquina, to ward off danger of cold. It had 
 made her feel vastly better. 
 
 One outstanding fact impressed Venable. The 
 girl, who had seemed speechless with grief, so 
 short a time before, who had spoken of her father, 
 but recently killed, and of her pilgrimage to visit 
 his grave, now seemed brave, self-possessed, al- 
 most cheerful. A spirit of optimism spoke in 
 her voice, shone in her eyes. Had it been the 
 short rest, the warmth, the unexpected kind- 
 ness of strangers that had so changed her? 
 More likely, he thought, it was a reflection of the 
 indomitable spirit of heroism which the older 
 woman had exhibited. 
 
 Venable made no reference to her journey or 
 its cause. He thought it might please her to 
 have him tell her something about himself. 
 
 " I am glad, mademoiselle," he said, " that I 
 happened to be coming from Verdun, to-day. It 
 was most fortunate. Listen it is raining 
 hard." The storm was driving in vicious, slash- 
 ing gusts against the panes of the windows. 
 " I am glad you are not on the road."
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 15 
 
 " It was most fortunate for me, monsieur," the 
 girl replied, with smiling eyes. 
 
 " I had gone to Verdun to see a very dear 
 friend of mine, an American," Venable con- 
 tinued. " He was in the flying corps, and had 
 done splendid work. Last week his machine fell 
 a broken wing, from shrapnel fire. His in- 
 juries were very severe. They could not bring 
 him to Paris. He died last night." 
 
 He paused. How stupidly, yet unintention- 
 ally, he had brought the conversation around to 
 the very topic he had most wished to avoid. Yet 
 what other topic existed, that did not involve 
 this one? The war, like a huge octopus, had 
 reached out its tentacles until they clutched at 
 every human interest, every human heart. 
 
 " I am sorry, very sorry," the girl said sympa- 
 thetically. Then, after a pause : " Do you live 
 in Paris, monsieur? " 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle. For the present, at least. 
 But my home is in New York. I am an Amer- 
 ican." 
 
 " Yes, I knew that." She met his eyes, a twin- 
 kle of amusement in her own, in spite of their 
 shadows. 
 
 " Oh you mean from my accent? " he asked. 
 " But then, I might have been English." 
 
 " No. You see, I understand the difference." 
 At once she began to speak in Venable's native
 
 16 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 tongue. "My mother was an American she 
 came from Philadelphia." 
 
 " Really ! " Venable exclaimed, astonished. 
 " I had thought you to be French typically 
 French. I can't tell you how glad I am to know 
 that we are well half compatriots, at least. 
 Is your mother alive? " 
 
 " No." The girl's eyes were again veiled with 
 shadows. " She died when I was but fourteen. 
 I am quite alone, now. You see, my father, when 
 the war broke out, was a musician, a violinist. 
 He played in the orchestra at the Opera, and had 
 some pupils as well. When he went to join his 
 regiment, over two years ago, I was left alone. 
 He had saved a little, but it did not last long. 
 I have been working, in the factories where the 
 new uniforms are made. It is hard work, of 
 course, but I have been glad to do what I could. 
 Last Saturday a message came to me from one of 
 the hospitals. Henri Musset, the actor at the 
 Comdie, who was one of my father's best friends, 
 and in his regiment, sent to me, asking me to 
 come to see him. He had been struck by a piece 
 of shell, and it had shattered his hip. He was 
 very ill. When I went to the hospital, he told 
 me that my father, Captain Lascelles, had been 
 shot at Le Mort Hornine. He could not say 
 whether he had been killed or not, for in a mo-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 17 
 
 merit he himself lay with his hip broken. That 
 was all he knew. 
 
 " I left Paris at once. Through a friend at 
 the Ministry of War I secured an order, permit- 
 ting me to go to the front. It was most unusual. 
 Women are not allowed, as a rule, to go. But 
 I had to find out about my father. So I went. 
 
 "I did not have much money, but it was 
 enough to get me to St. Menehould. I was not 
 permitted to go farther. There is a hospital 
 there for those who are so severely wounded that 
 they cannot be moved beyond. I spent three 
 days inquiring for news of my father. When at 
 last I was successful, I found that he had been 
 shot through the breast, and had lived but a few 
 hours. He had been buried in the cemetery 
 there. I found his grave. I put some flowers 
 on it wild flowers that I gathered in the woods. 
 Then I started back. I had very little money, 
 and, therefore, I walked. I think it was easier 
 to walk. It all seemed so terrible I hardly 
 knew what I was doing. You know how it is, 
 monsieur, when one is very nervous, very sorrow- 
 ful : it seems better to move, to walk, to be in 
 the air. 
 
 " There was a letter for me, that my father had 
 left. He had written it before the attack in 
 which he was killed. Also, they had given him
 
 18 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 the Croix de Guerre. He saved a line of trenches 
 by operating a machine gun, alone, until rein- 
 forcements came. He was found, lying across 
 the gun, shot through the breast. I wish I could 
 have seen him before he died, but I was too late." 
 
 " You have indeed a splendid inheritance, 
 mademoiselle." 
 
 " Yes. And now, monsieur, be so good as to 
 tell me more of yourself." 
 
 " I am afraid there is very little to tell," re- 
 plied Venable. " I came to Paris five years ago. 
 I am a sculptor, a pupil of Voisin. He has en- 
 couraged me I hope that I may justify his 
 praise. I have been working, all these months, 
 while my friends have gone to the front, have 
 fought. Paris is very lonely. I have felt, since 
 I stood at Harding's grave, that it would be bet- 
 ter were I, too, to serve France. There is some- 
 thing almost trivial in the work of the artist, 
 when destiny is fashioning so vast a tragedy but 
 sixty miles away. We artists attempt to picture, 
 in some lame fashion, the ideal. What does it 
 amount to when, on a thousand sections of the 
 front, the ideal is daily being lived? " 
 
 Mademoiselle Lascelles regarded him with a 
 comprehending smile. " That may be so," she 
 agreed, " and yet, it is through the arts, mon- 
 sieur, that the masses come to understand the 
 ideal. ' The Marseillaise ' did not celebrate vie-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 19 
 
 tory it inspired it. It is not the generals, the 
 soldiers, who lead. It is the thinkers, the ideal- 
 ists. They must point out the way. Napoleon 
 did not create the Revolution; Voltaire, Rous- 
 seau, had done that before him. Do not despair 
 of your work, my friend. It is the man of genius 
 who guides the world is it not? " 
 
 " You encourage me, mademoiselle,'- he said. 
 " I go back to my work with less of the feeling 
 that I am a shirker." 
 
 The clatter of rain against the windows of the 
 room had sensibly increased. Venable lit a 
 cigarette. 
 
 " I had intended, mademoiselle," he said, " to 
 return to Paris to-night, but it is out of the ques- 
 tion. You will take a room here, of course, and 
 in the morning we will continue our journey." 
 
 The girl faced him with a grateful smile. 
 
 " I can do nothing else, monsieur," she said. 
 " And yet, I have but seven francs. If my din- 
 ner, the lodging for the night, and breakfast come 
 to more than that, you will, of course, allow me 
 to repay you." 
 
 " Of course," Venable agreed courteously. 
 " It is an affair of chance that I happen to have 
 the necessary money with me. Do not, I beg of 
 you, let the matter cause you concern. To be 
 of service to you, in this emergency, is a great 
 pleasure."
 
 20 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " Then I think I shall go to my room," the 
 girl said. " I am very tired. We meet in the 
 morning? " 
 
 " In the morning." Venable put out his hand 
 and clasped his companion's slender fingers in 
 his. " May you rest well, mademoiselle. Good 
 night!"
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 V ENABLE had tried to work all day, but he 
 could not bring his mind to the task. The 
 devils of unrest possessed him. The moist clay, 
 instead of responding to his touch, seemed to 
 mock him. He turned away in disgust. 
 
 The afternoon he spent puttering aimlessly 
 about the studio. At last, in desperation, he be- 
 gan to write some long deferred letters ; but even 
 this attempt at industry was presently frustrated 
 by the ringing of the doorbell. 
 
 Venable opened the door. A young girl stood 
 upon the threshold. 
 
 For a moment he stared. Then recognition 
 came to him. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Lascelles ! " he exclaimed, hold- 
 ing out his hand. 
 
 The girl took it, gently, firmly, a grave smile 
 upon her face. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Venable," she said in 
 English. Venable, in a confused way, realized 
 once more her astonishing charm. 
 
 " Won't you come in? " he invited. " I did 
 not know you, at first. I am glad that you 
 remembered me." 
 
 21
 
 22 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " How could I forget you, monsieur? " the girl 
 replied, her eyes very bright. " There are not 
 so many who are kind." 
 
 She moved toward a chair he indicated. Ven- 
 able looked at her in surprise. She seemed 
 singularly different from the girl of the Verdun 
 road. There was a buoyancy about her, a youth- 
 ful effervescence, that had been lacking at their 
 previous meeting. 
 
 She wore a dress of black silk, very plain, and, 
 because of its plainness, very becoming. Her 
 figure, which had seemed slim, almost angular, 
 in the drenched garments she had worn when he 
 first saw her, now appeared pleasingly youthful 
 and round. She sparkled with the joy of living, 
 the vivacity of youth. 
 
 " I meant to come before, monsieur," the girl 
 said, " but I have been very busy." 
 
 " Yes. I have wondered about you. I hope 
 you feel better." 
 
 " Oh, much better. I have come to -ask you a 
 question." 
 
 "A question? What is it?" 
 
 " Have you need for a model, monsieur? " 
 
 "A model?" Venable glanced toward the 
 partially completed figure of Phryne that stood, 
 swathed in moist cloths, upon his modeling stand. 
 " You are not a model, mademoiselle? " 
 
 " No, monsieur, that is true. But I find my-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 23 
 
 self under the necessity to earn some money. If 
 T can do so, by posing, it will make me very 
 happy. 
 
 " You have never posed before? " Venable 
 asked. 
 
 "No. Never. But why should I not? I 
 have good lines many persons have told me 
 that." 
 
 Venable frowned dubiously. The suggestion 
 did not impress him favorably. The figure of 
 Phryne, upon which he was engaged, was a nude 
 one, a representation of the famous courtesan as 
 she stood, naked, before the Athenian tribunal. 
 
 " I have already a model for the statue, made- 
 moiselle," he said ; " although," he added, with a 
 smile, " she has not been entirely satisfactory." 
 
 " Then will you not let me take her place? I 
 have the best of reasons for desiring to do this 
 work." 
 
 " May I ask, mademoiselle, what your reasons 
 are? " 
 
 " Certainly. My mother's sister, Mrs. Austen, 
 in America, has written to me, asking me to come 
 to her, to make my home with her family in the 
 future. I feel that I should go. But I have not 
 the money I need at least five hundred francs 
 for the journey, monsieur. It is a great sum. 
 To secure it I must work at something that will 
 pay better than making uniforms. You see, I
 
 24 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 have studied for opera, but now there is no de- 
 mand for singers, except those who will give their 
 services for nothing. I, too, would gladly sing 
 for the soldiers ; but I must earn money much 
 money. That is why I have come to you." 
 
 " Ah ! I see. Five hundred francs. ... It is, 
 as you say, a large sum. I give two francs an 
 hour to my models. They think that excellent 
 pay. It would take you a long time, made- 
 moiselle, to earn five hundred francs at that 
 rate." 
 
 The girl's face fell. She made no effort to con- 
 ceal her disappointment. 
 
 " I might be able to do with less," she said, with 
 a dismayed smile. " Four hundred francs, per- 
 haps. How many hours a day do 3 r ou work, 
 monsieur? " She quite evidently had not aban- 
 doned hope. 
 
 " It depends on how I feel/ 1 Venable laughed. 
 " Of late, I have done very little. I have felt no 
 inspiration, no surety of touch. But, when 
 things are going well, I sometimes work for five 
 or six hours a day. It is hard work, made- 
 moiselle posing for such a length of time. I 
 doubt if you could endure it." 
 
 " I am not afraid of hard work, monsieur," the 
 girl replied. She paused, making some sort of 
 mental calculation. " Six hours a day would be 
 twelve francs, monsieur. That is much more
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 25 
 
 than I could earn in any other way, in these ter- 
 rible times. In less than two months, I could 
 save enough, I am sure, to go to America. I 
 will take the position if you think I can fill it 
 satisfactorily." 
 
 Venable was conscious of an extreme embar- 
 rassment. Professional models he was able to 
 regard quite impersonally. They posed, as a 
 matter of course, free from any questions of pro- 
 priety. But here was a girl of his own class 
 in the conventional phrase, a lady. Such work 
 was wholly new to her. He feared she had un- 
 derestimated its difficulties. 
 
 " I cannot tell, mademoiselle," he said slowly, 
 " whether you would suit me or not, without see- 
 ing your undraped figure. This is the piece of 
 work I am doing." He drew the moist cloths 
 from the partly finished Phryne. " It has not 
 gone well. I am greatly dissatisfied with it. 
 Should I make a change in models, I must of 
 necessity start the figure over. But I should 
 not regret that, for the pose does not suit me." 
 He had called the girl's attention to the statue 
 in this way, hoping that when she fully realized 
 the type of work upon which he was engaged she 
 would change her mind. This, however, did not 
 prove to be the case. She regarded the clay 
 figure with eager eyes. 
 
 " It is exquisite," she said. " I have seen
 
 26 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 only one other Phryne a small ivory one, in the 
 Louvre. The pose is quite different. I like 
 yours much better." 
 
 " Why? " Venable asked, wondering whether 
 his companion spoke from any real conviction or 
 merely to please him. Her next words enlight- 
 ened him. 
 
 " The one in the Louvre," she said, " has the 
 face averted, the hands clasped in an attitude of 
 modesty. I do not think Phryne would have 
 felt that way. She was a courtesan. I have 
 read that she took delight in exhibiting herself 
 before the Athenians, in the character of Aphro- 
 dite, rising from the sea. Instead of being 
 ashamed, when she stood nude before the judges, 
 I think she would have been, as you have shown 
 her, proud of her beauty, almost defiant." 
 
 Venable gazed at her with keen interest. That 
 this young girl should so instantly have grasped 
 his conception of the famous Greek hetasra, was 
 little short of amazing. 
 
 " You know the story of Phryne, I see," he 
 remarked. 
 
 " Yes. My father- and I were great readers. 
 He thought of composing an opera, once, with 
 Phryne as the leading character, but he never 
 did it. He had great ambitions, but he had to 
 work very hard, and did not have much time to 
 compose." She hesitated for a moment. " Well,
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 27 
 
 monsieur," she asked, at length, " shall I try the 
 pose? Then you can tell whether or not I would 
 suit you." 
 
 Venable was puzzled by the girl's attitude. 
 She showed no embarrassment. It was as 
 though, with the instincts of the true artist, she 
 could dissociate herself completely from the task 
 before her, regarding it, in a way charmingly 
 naive, as a necessary means to an end. 
 
 " Very well, mademoiselle," Venable said, 
 turning to the rear of the room. " You can make 
 yourself ready, here." He indicated a low couch, 
 in a recess behind an embroidered Japanese 
 screen. This couch constituted Venable's bed, 
 at night. During the day, it was used by his 
 models, when removing their street clothing, or 
 when resting during the intervals in long and 
 trying poses. 
 
 Mademoiselle Lascelles followed him, without 
 any observable hesitation, and vanished behind 
 the screen. Venable lit a cigarette, fastened a 
 sheet of paper upon his drawing board, and 
 hunted up some bits of charcoal. If the girl 
 suited the purposes of his work, and he saw no 
 reason why she should not, he concluded that he 
 might as well utilize the time by making some 
 sketches of her in various poses. Her remarks 
 concerning the character of Phryne had inter- 
 ested him greatly; he was anxious to improve
 
 28 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 his previous conception of the figure. The for- 
 mer pose had lacked spirit, been unconvincing. 
 He had realized this, himself vaguely and 
 as a result his interest in his work had nagged. 
 
 After what seemed an astonishingly short time, 
 he heard Mademoiselle Lascelles speaking to him. 
 
 " I am ready, monsieur," she said. 
 
 Venable looked up. She stood before the 
 screen, the milk whiteness of her body outlined in 
 delicately graceful curves against the back- 
 ground of embroidered blaek satin. 
 
 Her figure, as Venable instantly realized, was 
 exquisitely molded, possessing the rare combina- 
 tion of tender youthful lines, with the superb 
 grace of well-developed, vigorous womanhood. 
 His former model, a splendid creature, physi- 
 cally, now seemed in retrospect heavy and com- 
 monplace, betraying in every line her peasant 
 origin. He thanked the good fortune that had 
 brought him so perfect a subject for his work. 
 
 Going to the model stand, he threw a bit of 
 silk drapery across its wooden surface. 
 
 " Stand here, if you please, mademoiselle,'' he 
 said, endeavoring to conceal both his surprise 
 and his pleasure. He felt that it would please 
 her to have him appear totally unconscious of 
 the fact that this experience, an every-day one 
 to him, was quite another matter to her. That 
 her calmness was assumed, he very well knew.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 29 
 
 He found himself admiring her singular courage. 
 
 The mellow afternoon glow, filtering through 
 the skylight, rested tenderly, lovingly, upon the 
 girl's round full throat, her firm, upturned 
 breasts, her slender, almost boyish, hips, and 
 gave to her smooth skin the quality of pale, 
 polished ivory. A trace of color crept into her 
 cheeks, as she felt Venable's gaze upon her. He 
 caught her eyes. In them he glimpsed not 
 shame, not embarrassment, but a fine clear glow 
 of bravery, of determination. 
 
 " Will you indicate the pose, mademoiselle," he 
 said, " that you had in mind when you spoke a 
 few moments ago? What you said interested 
 me very much. You see," he added, with a 
 smile, " I am asking you to help me." 
 
 Mademoiselle Lascelles acknowledged the com- 
 pliment with a flush of pleasure. It delighted 
 her to think that Venable had really found her 
 suggestions worthy of attention. 
 
 "I I think it might have been something 
 like this," she said hesitatingly. Then she 
 dropped her arms at her sides, extended forward 
 very slightly, as though in appeal. Yet the ap- 
 peal was dominated by a look of pride, of confi- 
 dence in the power of her beauty. Her chin was 
 raised a trifle, her glance bent upward toward 
 the imaginary judges with an enigmatic smile. 
 Her face, her manner, her whole pose seemed to
 
 30 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 say : " I am the most beautiful woman in 
 Greece. You will not dare condemn me." 
 
 Venable realized instantly that the pose for 
 which he had so vainly sought, during the past 
 few weeks, had been almost miraculously given 
 to him. He trembled lest the girl move before 
 he had had an opportunity to record it in black 
 and white. 
 
 " That is splendid splendid ! " he exclaimed. 
 " Do you think you can stand just that way, for 
 a few moments? " 
 
 " Yes. It is not hard. My arms, you see, are 
 in a perfectly natural position, so that there is 
 no strain." She stood, immovable, a thing of 
 beauty. 
 
 Venable, rapidly sketching the lines of her 
 figure, thought that it was indeed the very 
 naturalness of the pose, the easy grace, the ab- 
 sence of all striving for effect, that made it so 
 perfect. Inspired, he worked rapidly, eagerly, 
 forgetting everything in his absorption in his 
 work. A front view completed, he moved to an- 
 other position, and made a second, and later, a 
 third sketch. 
 
 " Are you tired, now? " he asked. 
 
 " Not very." Mademoiselle Lascelles lowered 
 her head with a sigh. The effort to remain per- 
 fectly still had proven a strain. " I '11 be all 
 right again, in a moment or two."
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 31 
 
 " You had better sit down and rest awhile." 
 Venable handed her a kimono, and lit a ciga- 
 rette. " I cannot tell you, mademoiselle, how 
 much you have helped me. Look." He showed 
 her the sketches he had made. " It is just the 
 pose for which I have been looking." 
 
 The girl had thrown the kimono about her and 
 sat in a low chair, gazing quietly up at him. 
 
 " I am glad, very glad, if I have helped," she 
 said. " Do you want to start, again? I 'm quite 
 rested, now." She rose and went toward the 
 model stand. 
 
 " I sha'n't be able to do any more, to-day," 
 Venable replied. " You see, I must break down 
 this thing " he pounded the wet clay " and 
 arrange to start all over again. Anyway, it ' s 
 much too late. I usually go to dinner at half- 
 past six." 
 
 " Surely it is n't that late, now? " 
 
 " No." Venable consulted his watch. " Only 
 a little after five. But I must dress." He 
 glanced down at his smock. " If you will do me 
 the honor, mademoiselle, I should be very happy 
 to have you dine with me." 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 " I am sorry, monsieur. It would have been a 
 pleasure. But I must work." 
 
 " Work? " said Venable, surprised. 
 
 " But, yes, monsieur. I have arranged to sew,
 
 32 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 every evening, from eight until ten, for the Keel 
 Cross. So many bandages are needed you can 
 understand, of course. And when our men are 
 fighting so hard, out there at the front, it seems 
 almost heartless to do nothing to help. 
 Don't you think so? Oh, I love pleasure, mon- 
 sieur I love music, and the theatre, and to 
 dance. But not now/' With a quick smile, she 
 passed behind the screen. 
 
 Venable turned and began to fill his pipe. He 
 felt disappointed at the thought of having her 
 go. Drawing a two-franc piece from his pocket, 
 he placed it on the table. Mademoiselle Las- 
 celles was still dressing. 
 
 Presently, she came from behind the screen, 
 her face eager, animated, her eyes sparkling. 
 
 " I did not ask you, monsieur, whether 1 
 suited you or not? It seems I merely assumed 
 it. Do you want me for a model? Will I 
 really do? " 
 
 Venable took the two-franc piece from the 
 table and placed it in her hand. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he said, with smiling eyes, 
 "you will not only do, but, should you feel in- 
 clined to ask it, I would willingly pay you not 
 only two francs an hour, but four five, rather 
 than lose you. I believe that, with you as my 
 model, this Phryne will be a masterpiece. So,
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 33 
 
 you see, mademoiselle, you have me in your 
 power.'' 
 
 The girl joined in his laugh, her voice very 
 clear and bell-like. 
 
 " I am not sufficiently conceited to think any 
 such thing, monsieur. If I can earn the two 
 francs an hour, I shall be very grateful indeed. 
 At what time shall I come, in the morning? " 
 
 " At let us say ten o'clock," Venable replied. 
 " Will that suit you? " 
 
 " Perfectly, monsieur. Or earlier, if you like. 
 I shall have nothing to do, after breakfast." 
 
 " Then suppose we say nine." 
 
 " Very well. Nine. I am very thankful to 
 you. Now, I shall be able to go to America." 
 
 The thought of her going did not arouse in 
 Venable any feelings of enthusiasm. With a 
 model, such as this, what might not a man do? 
 Her mere presence was an inspiration. 
 
 " Why, mademoiselle," he asked, " are you so 
 very anxious to leave France? " 
 
 " I will tell you. Here, there is no room for 
 empty mouths. I can get a little pension from 
 the government, it is true, but I prefer to leave 
 even that small sum for others who may need it 
 more. As for work I can sew uniforms, yes, 
 or something of the sort, but there are many to 
 do that who are able to do nothing else. I feel
 
 34 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 that I am able, monsieur. I have ambitions. 
 In your so rich country, there is, I am told, a 
 greater opportunity. That is why I wish to go. 
 My aunt, Mrs. Austen, would have sent me the 
 passage money, I suppose, but she could not have 
 thought that I was penniless. I shall write to 
 her, telling her that I cannot come until July. 
 That should give me time, do you not think? I 
 will work very hard, monsieur; and at home I 
 will practice the pose, so that my muscles may 
 become accustomed to it, and not grow tired. 
 Oh I am very industrious. You will see." 
 With a smile, she adjusted her hat. 
 
 " I do not doubt it, mademoiselle. And you 
 will dine with me, some time, will you not? Per- 
 haps you do not sew for the hospitals on 
 Sunday? " 
 
 " No. If it would please you, monsieur, I 
 could dine with you on Sunday.'' 
 
 " It would please me very much. We will 
 start early and go to St. Cloud. What do you 
 
 " It would be delightful, but " she hesitated, 
 as though she feared to hurt his feelings " do 
 you usually dine with your models, monsieur? " 
 
 Venable flushed. The question annoyed him. 
 
 "While in my studio, mademoiselle, you are 
 my model, it is true. But, outside it, I should
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 35 
 
 be very happy if you will consent to be my 
 friend." He put out his hand. 
 
 Mademoiselle Lascelles took it in her firm, 
 cool grasp. 
 
 " I am honored, monsieur, that you should 
 wish it. I will come to-morrow at nine. Good 
 day." With a charming smile she left him. 
 Venable sat for an hour thinking and smoking. 
 Then he dressed and went to dinner.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 VENABLE was a sculptor be- 
 
 cause he most desired to be a sculptor, 
 which was as such things go rather an un- 
 usual circumstance. 
 
 The elder Venable had been a lawyer, a man 
 of unusual intelligence. When Gilbert, at the 
 age of ten, began to exhibit tendencies toward an 
 artistic career, by carving tiny heads from soap- 
 stone, or modeling grotesque figures in putty or 
 wax, Mr. Venable did not assert that art was 
 not only long but highly unprofitable although 
 he may have realized it. Instead, he encouraged 
 the boy's early efforts, took him to art galleries 
 and museums, saw that he had special courses 
 in drawing and modeling at school, and later, 
 when his college courses had been completed, sent 
 him to Paris to study under one of the most cele- 
 brated sculptors in France. Some thwarted am- 
 bitions in his own youth had made him kind. 
 
 Luckily Gilbert was an only child, and Mr. 
 Venable, being a w r idower, was able at his death 
 to leave his son sufficient money to pursue his 
 artistic career in reasonable comfort. The re- 
 sults had been excellent. The young man, in- 
 
 38
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 37 
 
 stead of consuming his energies in an attempt to 
 earn a living through his art while still striving 
 to master it, had been able to devote these ener- 
 gies exclusively to the latter end. It was hinted, 
 through the studios, that Gilbert Venable had 
 before him a brilliant future. 
 
 His father's advice concerning the affairs of 
 life had been brief but explicit. " Put success 
 above money," he had said. " Do not marry. 
 To do so is apt to spell disaster, for the artist. 
 If, however, you find that you must take a wife, 
 wait at least until you have first achieved suc- 
 cess." 
 
 Venable hearkened to this rather worldly ad- 
 vice, largely because he had not met a woman 
 who attracted him sufficiently to tempt him to 
 disregard it. He considered himself a confirmed 
 bachelor. His life, in the brilliant French capi- 
 tal, had been the life of the artist. His occa- 
 sional affairs of the heart had been with models, 
 cocottes, the women of the Quarter; they had 
 been no more enduring than the bubbles in a 
 glass of champagne. Other women, women of 
 his own world, he rarely saw. An occasional one 
 from the States, anxious to be shown the sights of 
 the city, to dine in restaurants which did not 
 figure in the guide books, comprised his experi- 
 ence with them. For the rest, he worked a great 
 deal, played a little, and looked upon marriage
 
 38 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 as a bourgeois attempt to chain romance to a 
 humdrum fireside. 
 
 There flitted occasionally through his dreams 
 the vision of an ideal woman, one who might be 
 as interesting mentally as she was desirable 
 physically a wife who could be at the same 
 time, mistress, adviser, comrade, inspiration, 
 critic, and friend but he had never met such 
 a woman, and at heart he gravely doubted that 
 any such really existed. 
 
 This creature of his dreams, usually so evanes- 
 cent, so remotely in the background, had under- 
 gone a momentary materialization in the person 
 of Mademoiselle Lascelles. He found himself 
 picturing her, not as a temporary visitor to his 
 studio, but as its permanent occupant. She was 
 as alone in the world as he was. Why should 
 she be obliged to go to America, to become a de- 
 pendent upon the charity of her relatives? He 
 laughed at himself, as he brushed the vision 
 aside, but it persisted in troubling him. 
 
 Just what Mademoiselle Lascelles herself 
 thought, he did not know. In spite of her de- 
 ceptive candor, he found the girl singularly re- 
 served. For a woman so unusually attractive, 
 she appeared to be quite unaware of the fact 
 that her charms might be used to her advantage. 
 Venable had supposed that all women made use 
 of the power of sex attraction to influence men
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 39 
 
 in their favor, even if only through such minor 
 devices as dress, smiles, coquettish glances. But 
 Mademoiselle Lascelles seemingly knew nothing 
 of such artifices. She wore her plain black 
 frocks with an air, but she seemed sublimely un- 
 conscious of the fact. There was in her manner 
 toward him not the slightest trace of appeal. 
 She smiled when she was amused, which was 
 often, but she did not smile either to flatter or 
 please him. Venable wondered whether this at- 
 titude toward his sex was a natural one, or one 
 she had assumed, in his particular case, more 
 effectually to preserve the footing of employer 
 and employee. He attempted, in various little 
 ways, to find out; but his efforts met with com- 
 plete failure. Could his newly found model be 
 so superlatively clever, that she was attempting 
 to arouse in him, by a pretended indifference, an 
 interest which she could never have produced 
 by the more usual methods of her sex? It was 
 an interesting speculation. He frequently occu- 
 pied his mind with it. 
 
 Mademoiselle Lascelles had appeared 
 promptly, the first morning, at nine, and had as- 
 sumed the pose of the afternoon before without 
 great difficulty. He had been obliged to help her 
 a little, to touch her white, cool flesh, to bend 
 her arm a trifle, to turn one shoulder toward the 
 light. She shrank from his touch; then in-
 
 40 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 st&ntly recovered herself, as though she had been 
 unaware of it. Venable thought the more of her 
 because of her sensitiveness, without fully real- 
 izing the terror with which she faced her task. 
 Perhaps it required courage on her part of an 
 order no less high than that which had filled the 
 breast of Captain Lascelles, when he faced that 
 gray-coated flood at La Mort Homme. 
 
 The opportunities for conversation, during the 
 hours of work, were limited. It was only when 
 the girl was resting that Venable was able to talk 
 to her. These periods of rest he insisted upon 
 with far greater frequency than he would have 
 had she been a professional model. He knew, 
 instinctively, that the girl would drop from 
 fatigue before she would ask for a breathing 
 spell, and to her unaccustomed muscles the tast 
 was necessarily very trying. 
 
 He asked her, once, how she liked the work. 
 Her answer surprised him. 
 
 " I cannot say that I like it at all, monsieur," 
 she said, with her quick smile. " I am happy, 
 truly, to help you create a masterpiece, but to be 
 a model all my life no, that I should not like/' 
 
 "Have you ever thought of marriage, made- 
 moiselle? " he said, with an odd, cynical smile. 
 " Most women look to that as an escape from the 
 struggle for existence." 
 
 " I should think it a pity, monsieur, to regard
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 41 
 
 it in that way. Truty, I should rather remain a 
 model than take a husband for such a reason. 
 Marriage is far more than just to exist. My 
 father and mother were very happy because they 
 loved each other. Can one live, always, without 
 love, monsieur? " 
 
 "Love need not necessarily imply marriage," 
 observed Venable, watching the girl closely. He 
 was anxious to see what effect his cynicism would 
 have upon her. 
 
 The result was disappointing. The idea 
 seemed neither to shock her, nor to elicit any 
 expression of agreement. 
 
 " That is as one pleases," she said calmly. 
 " Certainly, people do not love because they are 
 married. But they marry, I think, when they 
 love and the man would, necessarily, wish to 
 give both the woman he loved, and their possible 
 children, the respect of society, the protection of 
 the law." 
 
 Venable found the argument unanswerable 
 enough, from a practical standpoint, at least. 
 He smiled to himself as his companion went on. 
 
 " Perhaps, monsieur, you have never experi- 
 enced love." 
 
 " I think you may be quite right," he asserted. 
 " Have you, mademoiselle? " 
 
 " No. Not yet. I have known so few men. 1 
 fear I do not understand them. You see, my
 
 42 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 mother died when I was only fourteen that is 
 five years ago. After that, I had to take her 
 place; my father needed me to care for him. 
 You may know, monsieur, that musicians are not 
 what you call practical. If he had a few 
 francs, it filled him with joy he was rich. I 
 was obliged to manage everything. It made him 
 very happy. We had a little apartment. I 
 cooked, of course, and paid out the money, and 
 mended his clothes, and then, we read together, 
 and I nursed him when he was sick which was 
 quite often, monsieur, because he could not stand 
 wine very well. And his friends well, you 
 know how musicians, artists, are. He said I 
 was a great comfort to him." She turned away, 
 and Venable felt, rather than saw, that her eyes 
 had filled with tears. " I have known scarcely 
 any men, monsieur. There was one, after my 
 father went away with his regiment a young 
 man, who played the 'cello. He was lame and 
 could not go into the army. He wished me to 
 marry him, but I did not love him, so of course 
 I could not. I was sorry, for he seemed to be 
 very unhappy, but what could I do? " 
 
 It was on their excursion to St. Cloud that 
 Venable saw a new side of his companion's na- 
 ture. Under the influence of the spring sunshine 
 the serene gravity of the girl of the studio
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 43 
 
 vanished. She became light hearted, gay, alto- 
 gether charming. 
 
 They arranged to leave Paris in the forenoon, 
 taking a luncheon to eat in the woods. Made- 
 moiselle Lascelles had insisted upon preparing 
 this luncheon herself ; Venable, equally insistent, 
 furnished the money for it. Carrying a dainty 
 basket, she had met him at the studio, her smil- 
 ing eyes doing much to relieve the somberness 
 of her mourning costume. 
 
 They made the trip by one of the darting little 
 river steamers. There were not many persons 
 on the boat a few women, children, old men. 
 Mademoiselle Lascelles displayed all the eager 
 interest of a child. She had not been to St. 
 Cloud for over three years. She regretted that 
 the fountains would not be playing, until 
 Venable told her that he had already seen them. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said, with his whimsical 
 smile, " I have suddenly realized, to my surprise, 
 that I do not know your first name. Tell me 
 what it is." 
 
 " I thought you would ask me that it has 
 seemed strange, always, to have you call me 
 ' mademoiselle.' I have two names, monsieur. 
 The first, my mother gave me. It is Marguerite." 
 
 " I like Marguerite," Venable interrupted. 
 " It suits you very well at times."
 
 44 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " Perhaps it does at times. But my other 
 name, monsieur, the one that my father gave me, 
 is Elise." 
 
 " ' Elise,' " Venable repeated the name softly 
 to himself. " That, too, I like. But what do 
 people call you those who who know you 
 well?" 
 
 Mademoiselle Lascelles gave a little laugh. 
 
 " It is funny, about my name," she said. " My 
 mother, it seems, began by calling me Peggy. 
 She said it was quite American. But my father 
 preferred Elise. So, in the end, I came always to 
 be called Peggy-Elise, just as though it were one 
 name. Is it not droll, monsieur? " 
 
 " Droll, and very charming as well," Venable 
 replied. " Peggy-Elise. It suits you admirably. 
 At times you seem just Peggy, to me, when 
 you are merry, and light-hearted, as you are to- 
 day ; and then, at other times, you seem Elise. 
 If you do not mind, I shall call you by both your 
 names, Peggy-Elise." 
 
 " I shall like that, monsieur." 
 
 " But, in return, you must call me by my first 
 name. I don't think much of it, but it 's the 
 only one I have Gilbert." 
 
 The girl murmured the name to herself: 
 " ' Gilbert.' Do you really think I ought to take 
 so great a liberty with my my employer? " she 
 asked, archly.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 45 
 
 " You promised to forget all that, to-day," 
 Venable reminded her. 
 
 " And I will keep my promise. Look there 
 are the fountains." She pointed to the sloping 
 hillside. 
 
 Venable, carrying the basket, helped her 
 ashore, and presently they were mounting the 
 beautiful winding road that led toward Sevres. 
 
 The close of the month had seen an end to the 
 cold rains, and the trees were bravely, boister- 
 ously green. All along the roadside spring blos- 
 soms lay half hidden in the grass. They did not 
 stop to gather any of them, but pushed on to 
 the summit, and their objective, the park. 
 
 The selection of a spot at which to eat their 
 luncheon, was the subject of much debate. From 
 the Lanterne there was, of course, the view ; but 
 Mademoiselle Lascelles, after they had rested 
 from their climb and feasted their eyes upon the 
 magnificent panorama, decided that it would be 
 nicer to find a cool and shaded spot in the for- 
 est, and in this Venable heartily concurred. He 
 was filled with the spirit of the spring, and 
 thought of himself as some twentieth-century 
 Pan, suddenly released from the bondage of 
 bricks and mortar, plunging into the dim, forest 
 glades with a charming dryad. 
 
 They found a rustic bench, along a little path 
 bordered with splendid oaks. Through the
 
 46 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 trunks of the trees they caught an occasional 
 glimpse of the silver ribbon of the Seine. 
 
 Mademoiselle Lascelles ran to the bench with 
 a cry of delight. 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried. " It 's lovely ! Let us eat 
 our luncheon here Gilbert ! " It was the first 
 time she had used the name, and she hesitated 
 charmingly over the unaccustomed syllables. 
 
 " Yes, Peggy-Elise," Venable laughed, putting 
 down the basket. " Shall I help you to set the 
 table? " 
 
 " Xo no. I will do that. You can gather 
 some flowers to decorate it. This is an occasion, 
 monsieur. Our first meal together. We must 
 not omit the formalities." 
 
 " Nor the informalities," he added, smiling, 
 then began to hunt through the grass for violets. 
 There were not many to be found, but he picked 
 nothing else. When he presently returned to the 
 bench, with a small handful, he found his com- 
 panion impatiently awaiting him. 
 
 " Come, Monsieur Gilbert," she cried. 
 " Everything is ready." 
 
 " Very well, Mademoiselle Peggy-Elise." He 
 laid the little bunch of violets beside her plate. 
 " These are all I could find." 
 
 " How did you know I liked violets best ! " 
 The girl buried her face in the tender blossoms. 
 
 "An inspiration, perhaps you inspire
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 47 
 
 ine continually, you know, in many ways." 
 Lunch over, they strolled along the path to a 
 little ravine, through which ran a miniature 
 stream. The sun-flecked slope was inviting. 
 Venable threw himself upon the grass, and lean- 
 ing against the trunk of a tree lit his pipe. 
 Mademoiselle Lascelles stretched herself lazily 
 upon the turf and lay, her eyes half closed, gaz- 
 ing down toward the Seine. Her features, in 
 repose, were intensely interesting to Venable ; he 
 noted with satisfaction the fine forehead under 
 its crown of tawny hair, the thin, sensitive nos- 
 trils, the high Gallic cheekbones, the firm, intelli- 
 gent mouth and chin. Mademoiselle Lascelles 
 was undeniably a woman of character. Then, 
 as she turned her full face toward him, he real- 
 ized what a singular difference there was between 
 the front view and the profile. The former was 
 gay, almost childlike, in its youth and inno- 
 cence; the latter, in repose, seemed that of a 
 saddened woman. It was a remarkable differ- 
 ence, and Venable was fascinated by it. The 
 girl presented to him two distinct personalities : 
 Peggy, his buoyant, delightful companion on this 
 care-free May day; and Elise, the sorrowful 
 woman of the Verdun road. 
 
 Impelled by some pagan note in the spring 
 air, Venable laid aside his pipe and threw him- 
 self upon the grass at the girl's side. Her head
 
 48 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 rested upon her outstretched arm, and Venable's 
 hand, as he lay beside her, touched her fingers. 
 The momentary contact set his brain whirling. 
 Impulsively he gripped her hand in his own. 
 
 She ottered no resistance. Her hand lay in 
 his, quite impassive, unresponsive. He won- 
 dered whether this curious child was devoid of 
 feeling, of passion, or whether she merely slept. 
 
 Facing her, as he now was, their eyes met with 
 but a score of inches between. In her expression 
 was a suggestion of surprise, as though what she 
 saw in his own had startled her. Venable 
 thought of kissing her, but something checked 
 him. He released her slender fingers, annoyed. 
 Here was a woman he did not understand at all. 
 
 "Are you enjoying our picnic, Peggy-Elise? " 
 he asked presently. 
 
 " Yes. I am very happy. I love the sun, and 
 the grass, and the flowers. In the spring, one 
 seems filled with wonderful dreams. I have 
 been dreaming, monsieur." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 " Of life of my own life, I suppose. When 
 one has so little in the past to dream of, one 
 must of necessity dream of the future." 
 
 " And that, with a woman, means love." 
 
 "Yes perhaps. Love, and and achieve- 
 ment. You see, monsieur, as I have told you 
 before, I have ambitions."
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 49 
 
 " What are they? " asked Venable, amused. 
 
 The girl answered him at once, without hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 " To have the love of the man I love, and to do, 
 successfully, what I am able to do." 
 
 " And who is the man you love? " 
 
 " That I cannot tell you, monsieur. Perhaps I 
 shall know, when the time comes/' 
 
 "And the work you are able to do? What is 
 that?" 
 
 " I hope to sing, monsieur. It is said that I 
 have a voice. And I was so fortunate as to have 
 a great teacher, from the beginning Cle"men- 
 tine Simon, herself, taught me she was a dear 
 friend of my father, and very kind. I had to 
 work hard to satisfy her she never permitted 
 a mistake to pass. It was a wonderful training, 
 monsieur. Tell me is there not a great oppor- 
 tunity for the singer, in America? " 
 
 " Yes and no," Venable laughed. " In 
 America, the public is apt to demand of artists 
 that they have the foreign cachet. For those 
 who are unknown, who have not what we call in 
 my country a ( pull,' it is difficult to get ahead." 
 
 "And what is this 'pull'?" 
 
 " Oh influence some especial power with 
 the management " 
 
 " Money, perhaps? " 
 
 " No. Not money, always. 4 It is difficult to
 
 50 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 explain. But I am afraid that if you went there, 
 unheralded, you would find yourself confronted 
 by a wall of stone." 
 
 " Oh but you must not discourage me. How 
 do you expect, yourself, to succeed, in your own 
 country? " 
 
 " By first making a success, here. By getting 
 my work into the Salon. Then I shall go to 
 America, with colors flying." 
 
 " It may, then, be a long time." 
 
 " You are hardly encouraging." 
 
 " Oh, you must not misunderstand me. I I 
 meant something quite different." 
 
 "What?" Venable demanded, feeling that he 
 had at last surprised the girl into an admission 
 of some sort. 
 
 " I meant, monsieur, that since I am leaving 
 Paris in July, it may be a long time before I shall 
 see you again." She spoke calmly. Venable 
 wondered whether beneath her calm there might 
 not be more of fire than he had supposed. It 
 pleased his vanity to think so. 
 
 "Would you regret that, Peggy-Elise? " 
 
 "Do you not know? Have we not been good 
 friends? In all my life, monsieur, I have not so 
 enjoyed the sunshine as I have enjoyed it, to-day. 
 I have been almost happy, to-day. Whether I 
 shall be happy in America, I do not know. My 
 aunt is not what you would call rich, I think.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 51 
 
 Her husband, my uncle, is the editor of a maga- 
 zine. I do not wish to be a dependent in their 
 house. I must find work, monsieur. I shall be 
 lonely, there, it may be. So I shall be glad to see 
 you my friend again." 
 
 She spoke with a simplicity that disarmed him. 
 This girl absolutely refused to flirt with him. 
 Doubtless, he thought, she would have disap- 
 pointed him if she had. Her cool, level honesty 
 pleased him more, and yet it left him entirely at 
 sea. Had Mademoiselle Lascelles fallen in love 
 with him, or did she, in reality, regard him only 
 as a friend? Just why he so greatly desired an 
 answer to this question, he did not know. In 
 one way, of course, he might find out he could 
 ask her. But to do that meant to declare love on 
 his own part, love that would presuppose mar- 
 riage and he did not wish to marry. Yet to 
 suggest anything else, in spite of his continental 
 attitude toward life, seemed out of the question. 
 
 Pan, at his elbow, whispered pagan thoughts 
 in his ear. Why not kiss those tempting lips, so 
 short a distance away? Youth, after all, must 
 be served. The determination had just crystal- 
 lized in his mind, when his companion rose. 
 
 The sun sent long purple shadows through 
 the woods. Already the valley of the Seine was 
 beginning to grow dark, wrapped in a murky 
 mist. A few lights shot through the violet haze.
 
 52 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " Shall we return, monsieur? " the girl asked, 
 smiling at him. " I must see that you get back 
 in time for your dinner." 
 
 " Not my dinner. Ours," he said. " Remem- 
 ber, you promised to dine with me, to-day." 
 
 " I should love to," she told him gaily. 
 " Somewhere with music and many lights." 
 
 " Would you not prefer to remain here, under 
 the stars? " he asked. 
 
 " Ah, yes, monsieur. That, too, I should love. 
 But not to-night." 
 
 "Why not to-night?" He rose and stood 
 close to her, so close that the odor of the little 
 bunch of violets at her waist ascended faintly to 
 his nostrils. " Why not to-night? " He reached 
 out, encircling her shoulders with his arms. 
 " What night could be more made for love? " 
 
 She faced him fearlessly. 
 
 " The night is perfect, monsieur. It is we, who 
 are a little out of tune." She laid her hands 
 gently upon his restraining arms. " Monsieur," 
 she said, simply, "it is not the giving that 
 troubles those who love it is the knowing when 
 to give." Gently, she pressed his arms down- 
 ward, releasing herself. 
 
 A wave of annoyance swept over Venable. 
 His gay companions at the cafe, had they known, 
 would have composed ribald verses at his ex- 
 pense, deriding the lack of courage of the youth
 
 , PEGGY-ELISE 53 
 
 who took a jeune fille Maying, and, with his arms 
 about her, feared to kiss her. They always 
 kissed the girls who went to gather spring flow- 
 ers with them ; it was as much a part of the day 
 as the luncheon, the wine. And yet, Venable, 
 with Mademoiselle Lascelles' gray eyes looking 
 into his, could no more have kissed her than he 
 could have tossed her over the edge of the hill. 
 He picked up the lunch basket, and together 
 they made their way down the road to the little 
 landing. 
 
 A strained silence lay between them on the 
 journey back to the city. Venable tried to bridge 
 it by talking of his work, but his companion gave 
 him scant help. It was not that she appeared to 
 be in any way displeased with him ; he felt that 
 there had been no occasion for that, but she 
 seemed depressed. 
 
 Venable had intended to take her to dinner at 
 the cafe" in the Boulevard St. Michel. Arm- 
 strong, the old English painter, would be there, 
 and little Bosquet, the one-armed poet, and Ver- 
 net of the Revue. He had told them of his amaz- 
 ing new model, and had thought it would be 
 agreeable to exhibit her to these boon com- 
 panions for their approval. Yet, somehow, now 
 that the hour approached, he felt a certain un- 
 easiness. He decided a dozen times, during the 
 boat ride, to carry out his plan, but his mind
 
 54 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 wavered. He had told his friends that he would 
 bring her. They would be awaiting him, eager, 
 expectant. He would achieve a little triumph, 
 he knew. None of the women about whom they 
 wrote extravagant verses could compare with 
 Peggy-Elise. Yet, when they reached the Pont 
 Neuf, and managed to find a cab, he ordered the 
 old man who drove it to take them to the Am- 
 bassadeurs.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 DURING all his career, Venable had never 
 worked with so sure a hand as now. In 
 part this was due to the enthusiasm with which 
 the successful pose had filled him. He knew 
 that his work was good ; he hoped that it might 
 even be great, and secretly believed that it would 
 be. An additional reason lay in the inspiration 
 he derived from the presence of Mademoiselle 
 Lascelles. With the usual model, he would not 
 have experienced any such feeling; with Peggy - 
 Elise, he drove ahead, with the knowledge that 
 they were creating this thing of beauty, together; 
 that she, no less than he, was putting into it her 
 personality. He began to understand, better, 
 the stories of the Quarter, in which this, that, or 
 the other successful artist was held to owe his 
 most significant triumph to the influence of some 
 woman. There were many such tales some 
 true, some palpably apocryphal. At least, 
 Venable thought, the model must be more than a 
 lay figure, if results out of the ordinary were to 
 be obtained. 
 
 During these weeks he found himself no nearer 
 a solution of the problem presented by Peggy- 
 
 55
 
 56 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 Elise than he had been on the first day of their 
 acquaintance. The girl might lay hare her body, 
 but her soul she hid from him behind an impene- 
 trable veil. What she thought, he came gradu- 
 ally to know; what she felt, he remained ignorant 
 of; his efforts to force from her some expression 
 of her feelings met with unvarying failure. 
 
 Had she come to love him? His masculine 
 vanity, eked out by various little evidences on 
 her part of a constant thought of him, his wishes, 
 his needs, made him at times certain that she 
 had. A moment later, with baffling subtlety, she 
 eluded him, confronting him in the guise of a 
 sincere friend. 
 
 She had asked him, on one occasion, why he 
 had not married. The question served him as a 
 text upon which to deliver an elaborate disser- 
 tation concerning the folly of marriage on the 
 part of those engaged in creative work. 
 
 " I have time, energy, love, for but one thing 
 my art," he had announced, rather grandilo- 
 quently. " She is a stern mistress, demanding 
 all my efforts. Later on, perhaps, when I have 
 made my success, I might consider marriage, but 
 why should I do so, now? Think of being tied, 
 interminably, to some one whom I should forever 
 be obliged to please, to consider, to entertain. 
 There is but one purpose in marriage children. 
 I feel no need for them. Suppose I had a wife, a
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 57 
 
 family. I should require larger quarters, a 
 costly establishment, my movements would be 
 hampered, I should be compelled to fritter away 
 at least half my time and energy upon trifles, to 
 the destruction of my ambitions as an artist. 
 And since the expense would be so great, I 
 should no doubt be forced to do a vast amount 
 of work of which I should be ashamed." 
 
 Peggy-Elise regarded him with an inscrutable 
 smile. She seemed impressed by what he had 
 said, but she vouchsafed no reply. 
 
 " Don't you agree with me? " Venable asked. 
 
 " Ah ! monsieur," she raised her hand in a 
 little gesture of appeal " do not let us be so 
 serious! You will spoil my humor. To-day, I 
 feel gay almost happy." 
 
 "Why ' almost'?" 
 
 " Because I have saved almost three hundred 
 francs," the girl replied merrily. 
 
 The remark was one of many that caused 
 Venable gradually to reach the conclusion that 
 Peggy-Elise was perhaps a bit shallow, material. 
 He had supposed she was going to attribute her 
 happiness of the day to a delightful little lunch- 
 eon they had had together at a near-by brasserie. 
 Venable was nothing, if not vain. It annoyed 
 him that his continual efforts to impress the 
 girl with his admiration for her, left her cold. 
 Never had he felt that she wanted him to take
 
 58 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 her in his arms, to kiss her. It piqued his vanity. 
 By all the rules of the game, she should have 
 desired it. Her liking for him was palpable 
 enough. She rarely appeared, in the morning, 
 without bringing him a few flowers, a bouton- 
 nicrc of violets or pansies. She seemed espe- 
 cially solicitous about his creatural comforts, 
 insisted on filling his pipe for him, when his 
 hands were wet with the moist clay, had even 
 explored the mysteries of his wardrobe mend- 
 ing, darning, and sewing on innumerable buttons. 
 After luncheon, which they frequently had in the 
 studio, he was in the habit of going out for a 
 short walk. On his return, he invariably found 
 that Peggy-Elise had put the place to rights, had 
 swept, dusted, and garnished it until it fairly 
 shone. His tools were always clean and in order, 
 his papers neatly arranged, his breakfast dishes 
 washed and put away. She explained these ac- 
 tivities on the ground that she hated to be idle, 
 which was true. She had the keen instinct of the 
 Frenchwoman for order and economy. No won- 
 der, Venable thought, her father had depended 
 upon her. 
 
 Apart from the studio, he knew little of her 
 life. The small apartment she had shared with 
 her father had long ago been given up, together 
 with the few articles of furniture it had con- 
 tained. She now occupied a tiny room near the
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 59 
 
 Place de la Republique, and made the long jour- 
 ney between it and the studio, on foot, each 
 morning and evening. Venable had found diffi- 
 culty in inducing her to dine with him. Only on 
 Sundays would she do so, and then but seldom. 
 Their first dinner, at the Cafe des Ambassadeurs, 
 had been rather a grand affair ; but Peggy-Elise, 
 at sight Of the officers French, Belgian, Eng- 
 lish who sat all about them, had been reminded 
 too poignantly of her father. She preferred 
 much simpler fare, she said, and refused to ac- 
 company him again to one of the big restaurants. 
 To his own favorite dining place, Yenable would 
 not take her, although she had asked him to do 
 so. His failure to appear with his beautiful 
 model, on that first Sunday night, had aroused a 
 deal of curiosity on the part of his friends; but 
 Venable decided that he did not want any of 
 these men to meet Peggy-Elise they might not 
 understand her. So he spoke of her but seldom, 
 and pretended that she quite failed to interest 
 him, except in a professional way. 
 
 One day, early in July, Venable threw down 
 liis tools with an exclamation of relief. For a 
 long time he stood staring at the statue. 
 
 Peggy-Elise, with an expression singularly like 
 his own, stood staring at him. 
 
 Because "of the heat, he had taken off his
 
 60 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 smock, and stood in thin white shirt, open at the 
 neck, with his sleeves rolled up above his elbows. 
 His skin was olive-brown and very smooth, his 
 arms muscular, full of nervous strength. His 
 features were in profile, his chin carried with a 
 characteristic upward tilt that always made 
 Peggy-Elise think of the head of an Arab. Ab- 
 sorbed in contemplation of his work, he remained 
 quite unaware of her scrutiny ; she concluded, as 
 she had many times concluded before, that Gil- 
 bert Venable was the handsomest man she had 
 ever seen. 
 
 There was a certain brown quality about him 
 that fascinated her. The clear tan of his skin 
 seemed intensified manyfold in his eyes and hair. 
 And his voice, too, held this warm note. She 
 loved to hear him talk. She gazed hungrily at 
 him, now, fearing the words she felt he was about 
 to say. 
 
 Suddenly, he turned from the statue, and met 
 her glance with a smile. 
 
 "It's done, Peggy-Elise," he said. "If I 
 touch it again I shall spoil it." 
 
 The girl stepped from the model stand and 
 wrapped herself in her kimono. Then she joined 
 him at the other end of the room. Venable ob- 
 served that she moved with a certain listlessness, 
 as though the heat, the long hours in one position,
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 61 
 
 had tired her. A moment later, they both faced 
 the completed statue. 
 
 It was of life size, a superbly executed piece of 
 work. Tke daring, almost defiant, loveliness of 
 the pose, the cynical yet alluring smile, the splen- 
 did modeling of the torso and limbs, gave to the 
 work the quality of greatness. Venable, too, felt 
 this. He had not the least doubt concerning its 
 reception by the critics. 
 
 "Do I really look like that?" Peggy-Elise 
 asked at length. 
 
 " Well," Venable smiled at her, " the expres- 
 sion of the face is different, of course. You cer- 
 tainly have not that cynical smile. And I have 
 made the figure a trifle heavier, more mature. 
 Phryne, at this time, must have been a woman 
 of thirty, at least." 
 
 " I hope I never shall have a smile like that," 
 Peggy-Elise said with a little shudder. " It re- 
 minds me, in a way, of the Mona Lisa. It is won- 
 derful, of course, but it is n't nice." 
 
 " Neither was her profession," Venable re- 
 marked. " Women get to look that way, who 
 sell themselves. So you like the thing, do you? " 
 
 " Like it ! Why it is amazing superb. I 
 hope you will get a gold medal, and I am sure you 
 will."' 
 
 " I hope so." He turned toward his compan-
 
 62 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 ion, gazing at her with a look of regret. " Our 
 work, together, is over, Peggy-Elise." 
 
 "Yes." She breathed the word, rather than 
 spoke it, and the listlessness which Venable had 
 before observed seemed more apparent. She 
 leaned against the back of a chair, as though to 
 support herself. " It has been very wonderful, 
 to be here with you, all these days. I had not 
 thought, at first, that it would be so so easy 
 for me. I am sorry that it is over." 
 
 " Need it be over? " Venable exclaimed, turn- 
 ing impulsively to her. " Why should you go? 
 Why not stay here always?" 
 
 Peggy-Elise shook her head. 
 
 " Alas, monsieur," she replied, with a trace of 
 bitterness, " I am not ambitious to acquire the 
 smile of the Phryne." 
 
 Venable stopped, regarding her angrily. 
 
 "Why do you assume that I mean that? 
 Have I ever suggested such a thing? " 
 
 " You have told me many times, mon ami, that 
 marriage is not. for the artist. In what other 
 way could I reihain here always? " Her eyes 
 met his, gravely disconcerting. 
 
 " I merely gave expression to a sincere wish. 
 I said what I did, because I felt it, and meant it. 
 I thought nothing of how or why. I realized 
 only that you are going to leave me, and that I 
 do not want you to go. I shall miss you very,
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 63 
 
 very much. I wish that you would remain." 
 
 Peggy-Elise, when he began to speak, swayed 
 almost imperceptibly toward him, and her hands 
 fluttered forward in a manner of appeal not un- 
 like that of the statue itself. She hung on his 
 words as though awaiting some irrevocable sen- 
 tence. 
 
 " I also, monsieur," she whispered, " shall re- 
 gret." 
 
 He interrupted her, crushing her hands in his. 
 
 " Don't go," he said, his voice harsh with feel- 
 ing. "Don't go! " 
 
 For a moment, the girl seemed about to yield. 
 Then she tore her hands away, and beat back his 
 passionate attempts to embrace her. He saw, 
 with astonishment, that her eyes were filled with 
 tears. 
 
 " Peggy ! " he muttered, " Peggy-Elise ! " 
 
 She interrupted him quickly, savagely. It was 
 the first time, since they had met, that her feel- 
 ings had mastered her. 
 
 " Mon Dieu!" she gasped, staring at him. 
 " Am I then a fool? Do not touch me, monsieur, 
 I beg of you." She turned and went swiftly 
 toward the recess behind the screen. 
 
 Venable made no effort to detain her. He was 
 angry with himself, with her. He affected no ab- 
 stract standards of morality. If Peggy-Elise, 
 loving him, had decided to merge her life in his, 

 
 64 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 he would have accepted her sacrifice readily. 
 Such arrangements were common enough, not 
 alone among the lesser lights of the studios, but 
 among the famous ones of the earth the men 
 and women who had achieved. Love would have 
 been a sufficient justification for their life to- 
 gether, and he believed that he loved her. 
 
 Now it appeared, because he had been honest, 
 frank, because he had said what was in his heart, 
 he had roused this girl's anger. What right had 
 she to put him in this position? Venable failed 
 to realize that Peggy-Elise's anger was directed 
 far more against herself than against him. She 
 despised weakness in others, and had suddenly 
 discovered it in herself. Venable, sulking 
 angrily, concluded that she was merely a com- 
 monplace, conventional girl, pretending the usual 
 and conventional indignation. He lit his pipe 
 and, throwing himself into a chair, sat glowering 
 at the beautiful figure of her he had created. 
 
 Presently he heard her moving near him; he 
 knew that she had come from behind the screen, 
 and was putting on her hat, yet he did not turn. 
 
 " Gilbert," she said, " I have made the neces- 
 sary arrangements for my passage. I am sailing 
 on La Patrie, next Tuesday. I have already 
 written to my aunt, Mrs. Austen. I am 
 sorry " She hesitated. 
 
 Venable turned and faced her.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 65 
 
 " Peggy-Elise," he asked, " are you angry with 
 me?" 
 
 " Oh, no no ! Surely you must understand. 
 How could I be angry with you? " 
 
 " Dear," he rose and went up to her, a sudden 
 determination flaming in his mind. " Will you 
 stay, little Peggy-Elise, if we are married? " 
 
 She held the edge of the table for support. 
 Her eyes were strangely bright. 
 
 " No," she said. 
 
 " You you won't? " Venable cried. " Why 
 not? Don't you love me? " 
 
 " That, monsieur, if I did, would be the best 
 of reasons not to marry you." 
 
 He was about to speak, but she stopped him. 
 
 " Not now, my friend. I am very tired. I 
 must go home." 
 
 " Will you return, to-morrow? " 
 
 " No, monsieur. Not to-morrow. I am going 
 away, to-morrow. On Monday I shall return." 
 
 " But where are you going? " 
 
 " To St. Menehould, Gilbert to the grave of 
 my father. I am leaving France for a long time 
 perhaps forever one never knows. ... I 
 cannot go, without first making that little devo- 
 tion. No," she divined what he was about to 
 say, " I prefer to go alone. I will come, on Mon- 
 day, to see you. Until then, good-by." 
 
 He stood staring at the door, long after she 
 had gone.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 V ENABLE, his work for the time being com- 
 pleted, spent the greater part of the next 
 two days thinking of Peggy-Elise. 
 
 Singularly enough, he analyzed her as a woman 
 without passion, a creature well-nigh as cold 
 as the clay figure he had made of her. The con- 
 clusion was scarcely a tribute to his intelligence, 
 although it was a very great tribute to Peggy - 
 Elise's power of self-control. The girl, all 
 flame, all fire, at least where he was concerned, 
 had hidden her emotions beneath a mask; she 
 uttered commonplaces, not daring to let him 
 know that she adored him. Such knowledge, on 
 his part, might prove far too dangerous for 
 her. She was waging a bitter fight with her- 
 self. At times, she feared that she -would not 
 win ; were she to permit his strength to be added 
 to the forces against her, she was certain she 
 would not. 
 
 She had determined to go away, to leave 
 France and Venable the two things she most 
 loved. The alternative, to stay, meant exactly 
 what Venable had said : love, perhaps ; happiness 
 of a sort, perhaps; and ultimately disillusion- 
 
 66
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 67 
 
 ment and the Mona Lisa smile. She knew she 
 could not marry Venable as 'long as he was con- 
 vinced that marriage would ruin his career. Be- 
 sides, she felt that he did not love her. His of- 
 fer of marriage had been forced, half-hearted. 
 Had he really loved her, she said to herself, he 
 would have swept her into his arms and held 
 her there for all time, in spite of herself, himself, 
 or his career. 
 
 She made her way, almost unseeing, from Ven- 
 able's studio to her room, tugging against the de- 
 sire to return to him, to cast herself into his 
 arms, as she might have tugged against an ever- 
 tightening cord. Once or twice it actually 
 turned her back, but she thought of her father 
 facing a thousand deaths across the breech of his 
 machine gun, of his scorn, always, for falterers 
 and went resolutely on. 
 
 There was little enough in her room among 
 the chimney-pots to welcome her. The gay row 
 of flowers in the window nodded in a friendly 
 way, but she scarcely noticed them. After stand- 
 ing, for a long time, regarding her somber eyes 
 in the mirror, she tossed her hat upon the bed 
 and seated herself beside it. Three things she 
 drew from her small leather handbag. One was 
 an envelope, containing the ticket for her pas- 
 sage to America, and a few banknotes the re- 
 mainder of her savings. The second was a card-
 
 68 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 board box, in which lay her father's decoration, 
 the Croix de Guerre. The third was a thin sil- 
 ver locket, not larger than a two-franc piece. 
 She opened this, and regarded, tenderly, the 
 three or four faded violets it contained. They 
 were souvenirs of her first day with Venable, at 
 St. Cloud. In a way, the three articles before 
 her represented three phases of her existence: 
 the past lay with her father, in his lonely grave 
 at St. Menehould ; the violets typified the present ; 
 the passage to America, the future. She sighed, 
 as she closed the locket; and replaced it, along 
 with the other things, in her satchel. The past, 
 she would say good-by to, to-morrow. To the 
 present, also, she must soon bid farewell. Only 
 the future, veiled in mystery, was left to her. 
 What destiny lay beyond the curving rim of the 
 sea? She did not concern herself greatly with 
 it; the present was too poignantly sweet, the 
 prospect of leaving it, too bitter, to allow much 
 room in her thoughts for other things. All that 
 the passing moments said to her might have been 
 compressed into half a dozen words " I am 
 leaving him forever forever." And she might 
 so readily stay. Love beckoned with kindly eyes. 
 What mattered the future, in either this world 
 or the next? Love was free, untrameled. The 
 laws of society were daily being broken by the 
 highest. War had ruthlessly swept aside man's
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 69 
 
 petty conventions, left humanity wondering 
 whether any God really existed, at all, save the 
 god of force. Why should she sacrifice herself, 
 her happiness, for the sake of an ideal? Why 
 should she? her fingers touched the little box 
 containing her father's decoration. Why had he 
 sacrificed himself for an ideal he and the other 
 tens of thousands whose blood-offering had been 
 for humanity? She began to understand. That 
 was the meaning of life of it all to live and 
 die for an ideal. She must do that, too, and 
 help Venable to do it, if not in the trenches, in 
 the rut and groove of every-day life. She was 
 glad, supremely glad, that she had had the cour- 
 age to leave him, to-day ; that to-morrow, she was 
 going to St. Menehould. It seemed a useless 
 thing, from a purely material standpoint, to go so 
 far just to stand beside that narrow mound of 
 earth; it could scarcely bring her father nearer 
 to her, since she held the vivid memory of all 
 their years together in her heart, yet she knew 
 that she would bring back with her from that 
 pilgrimage courage, strength, a new understand- 
 ing of the age-old lesson of life duty as he 
 had done his, as his comrades were doing theirs, 
 as she, indeed, must do hers. 
 
 The morning was rainy, almost cold, as had 
 been the day upon which she and Venable had 
 first met. Her journey was uneventful. The
 
 70 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 railway line seemed less congested than on the 
 occasion of her former visit; she knew that the 
 most desperate fighting was now g nng on along 
 the line of the Somme. She observed no cessa- 
 tion, however, in the steady flow of the Red 
 Cross ambulances to and from the hospital at 
 St. Menehould; and the little graveyard, she soon 
 saw, had stalked grimly up a slope and down 
 again, and was no longer little. 
 
 From Paris she had brought all her potted 
 plants, the moist earth about their roots wrapped 
 in many thicknesses of paper. A little trowel, 
 with which she had provided herself, enabled her 
 to plant them ; they struggled bravely to hold up 
 their flowered heads in the rain. Some one, 
 since her previous visit, had placed a flat cross 
 at the head of the grave, with her father's name 
 and rank neatly cut upon it. There were similar 
 crosses at the other graves near by, some smaller, 
 some larger. She knelt in the rain and prayed, 
 for her father, for herself, that she might have 
 strength to do her duty, always, as he had done 
 his; for Venable, too, that he might be happy, 
 and succeed in his career. A childish prayer, 
 perhaps, yet of value in its attitude toward life 
 and its problems. She rose, presently, awk- 
 wardly conscious of the tears in her eyes, and of 
 a figure in black, standing, with bared head, be- 
 side her in the rain. It was a priest. Beneath
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 71 
 
 one arm he clutched two newly made wooden 
 crosses and a spade. Peggy-Elise knew, now, 
 who had placed the one at the head of the grave 
 before her. 
 
 " Your father, my child? " queried the priest 
 gravely, resuming his hat. 
 
 " Oui, mon Pere" She regarded him timidly. 
 Captain Lascelles had not been a religious man, 
 in the accepted sense, and had raised his daugh- 
 ter to regard the universe as her church. 
 
 The old man touched her lightly on the head. 
 
 " The good God will not forget any of His 
 children," he said, simply. " I, who am but a 
 feeble old man, have not forgotten the dead," 
 he extended his arm toward the serried rows of 
 graves " how much more, then, will He, in His 
 divine mercy, remember the living." He turned 
 and made his way slowly across the slope, heed- 
 less of the rain. 
 
 Peggy-Elise looked after him for many mo- 
 ments, a feeling of exultation swelling in her 
 soul. In spite of her prayers, the thought of a 
 supreme being, intimately conscious of her exist- 
 ence, solicitous for her individual welfare, had 
 not greatly appealed to her heretofore. Yet the 
 old priest's smile had touched her imagination 
 vividly. He, recording earthly immortality for 
 his thousands a divine Father, giving spiritual 
 immortality to his millions. She made her way
 
 72 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 to the railway station and waited, patiently, for 
 the train that would take her back to Paris. 
 
 On Monday, when she again saw Venable, she 
 felt better prepared to meet the protests that 
 she instinctively felt he would make against her 
 going. She came to him, early, her eyes shining, 
 her face unnaturally pale against the black of her 
 dress. It had been hard, not to see him, for these 
 two days; she scarcely realized how hard, until 
 she found herself trembling with excitement at 
 his door. For a sickening moment, she thought 
 of the time when she could no longer come to 
 him, when she could not see his face, hear his 
 voice, revel in his nearness to her. She feared 
 her courage would fail her; then she thought of 
 the grave beneath the dripping aspens, the kindly 
 face of the old priest, and, throwing back her 
 shoulders, she tapped at the studio door. 
 
 Venable received her with an enthusiasm that 
 was quite unassumed. He, too, had found the 
 days of her absence without savor. Seeing her 
 daily, talking with her, he had unconsciously 
 made her a part of his life. Only through her 
 absence did he realize how vital a part of it she 
 had become. He had already planned a new 
 piece of work, a Victory, in anticipation of the 
 day when the legions of the republic would 
 march, triumphant, along the Champs Elysees. 
 Peggy-Elise should be his model. Her departure
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 73 
 
 for America could be indefinitely postponed. 
 He was full of the project, and spoke to her of it 
 at once. 
 
 The girl listened, fired by his eager enthusiasm, 
 but when he had finished she gravely shook her 
 head. 
 
 " I have decided to go, to-morrow," she told 
 him. 
 
 "But why? Peggy-Elise, I I can't do 
 anything without you. Don't you remember how 
 it was, when you first came? I was helpless 
 without inspiration. You gave it to me. With- 
 out you, the Phryne would never have been done. 
 Now I want you for this new thing " 
 
 " I must go," she repeated. 
 
 " No ! " He came up to her, taking her hands 
 quickly in his. " I need you, dear. I have asked 
 you to marry me what more can I do? " 
 
 "You have your art your career," she re- 
 plied. " Be true to them they need your best." 
 
 "Can't you forget all that nonsense ? " 
 
 " It is not nonsense, my friend, it is your 
 creed. If we were to marry, you would be happy 
 
 glad, this year, the next, but after that 
 Oh you have told me so, often enough how 
 it would be. Nothing can change it, now." 
 
 " Then, just stay and be my model my friend 
 
 the way you have been. Please do, dear. I 
 want you, I need you so much." He dropped
 
 74 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 her hands, and flung his arms about her, crush- 
 ing her body against his in a passionate embrace. 
 " I love you, my little Peggy-Elise," he whis- 
 pered, his lips against her own. " I love you. 
 Don't go away from me. I can't bear it." 
 
 Quite suddenly Peggy-Elise understood that 
 what Venable felt for her was not love but pas- 
 sion. She knew very certainly that she loved 
 Venable as deeply when away from him, as now 
 in his arms; that he did the same, she gravely 
 doubted. And while the blood mounted riot- 
 ously to her brain, under the spur of his kisses, 
 there came to her, also, a little shiver of fear, 
 an impulse to protect herself not her body, 
 perhaps, but her soul. She would have given 
 herself to him readily enough, on the instant, 
 had her emotions been paramount ; but something 
 bigger than her emotions, something beyond them 
 the voice of her love, itself, perhaps warned 
 her that it would be drowned in a sea of pas- 
 sion that to preserve it she must deny this 
 surging desire. She flung herself, panting, from 
 his arms. 
 
 " Wait, Gilbert ! " she gasped. " Listen to me, 
 please. It is not because of the conventions that 
 I refuse you. I could not love you more were I 
 married to you, nor could I give you more than 
 I would give you, now. You want me here with 
 you because it will make you happier to have me,
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 75 
 
 because I inspire you in your work, because you 
 will be lonely without me but those are only 
 selfish thoughts, my dear. I think you do not 
 know what love is." She put his searching arms 
 aside. " Do not make it harder for me than it is. 
 I am going to America, to-morrow." 
 
 His further efforts to alter her decision left 
 her cold, and produced in him a feeling of almost 
 childish irritation. He had, all his life, been in 
 the habit of getting what he wanted ; just now he 
 wanted Peggy-Elise, and it annoyed him that he 
 must see her pass out of his life. Despite the 
 fact that he had told himself, a hundred times, 
 during her absence, that marriage for him, at 
 this time, would be a false step, he now, under 
 the spell of her presence, felt convinced that she 
 was essential to his happiness, and that her re- 
 fusal to recognize the sincerity of his love was 
 due to her coldness, her own lack of feeling. 
 
 They parted rather abruptly, at the luncheon 
 hour. Venable begged her to accompany him, 
 but she steadily refused, pleading numerous en- 
 gagements during the remainder of the day. She 
 was to leave Paris, by train, in the early evening, 
 and the best that Venable could obtain was her 
 permission to see her off at the railway station. 
 
 When she was gone, he sat down and reflected, 
 over many cigarettes, upon the girl's coldness. 
 Had he seen her, in her room, a little later, he
 
 76 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 might have revised his opinion of her. Poor 
 child, she had no engagements, during the after- 
 noon, but she feared to remain with him longer; 
 as it was, the mere nearness of him had sadly 
 shaken the resolutions of the day before. A few 
 hours more, and she might have thrown her arms 
 about him, as she had longed to do every moment 
 of the day, and begged him to keep her with him 
 always. 
 
 The tears, the quiet of the room, restored her. 
 She was almost gay, when they met at St. Lazare. 
 Venable came, laden with flowers, candy, illus- 
 trated journals. She greeted him with the old 
 merry smile. The few moments before their 
 parting sped quickly. She did not even permit 
 him to kiss her good-by. There had been enough 
 of that in the morning, she felt. 
 
 " You will write to me, mon ami" she cried, 
 through the window of the compartment, as the 
 train moved off. " And you will not forget to 
 send me a photograph of the Phryne? Au 
 revoir" Some spirit of coquetry caused her to 
 toss a handful of the violets he had brought her, 
 toward him; her last view of him was by no 
 means a romantic one, for the violets had scat- 
 tered along the platform, and he was making des- 
 perate efforts to gather them up. Then came the 
 blur of objects, outside the window, and another 
 and deeper blur in Peggy-Elise's eyes.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ROBERT AUSTEN, at twenty, had been an 
 old young man. Now, at forty, he was a 
 young old man. Ambition had driven him 
 fiercely through the intervening years, in order 
 that attainment might the more quickly come; 
 the same force now caused him to reach back- 
 ward, to clutch at the spent years, that oppor- 
 tunity might the more slowly go. He felt that, 
 at forty, a man should have achieved. He had 
 not achieved. He asked himself why, and for 
 want of a better answer laid the blame at the 
 door of his early marriage. 
 
 On this particular night, he sat at his business- 
 like, roll-top desk, in the octagonal room off the 
 library, that he called his study. Because of its 
 shape, Mrs. Austen had wished to turn it into a 
 Turkish smoking-room ; she had an excellent pair 
 of Turkish curtains, a Mosul saddle-bag, and a 
 hanging lamp made of dull, perforated brass that 
 would have been perfect for it ; but her husband 
 had insisted upon the study. It had been a mat- 
 ter of argument between them ever since they 
 had given up the apartment, in town, and moved 
 to Flushing. 
 
 Mr. Austen read nervously, intently, shifting 
 77
 
 78 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 his tall, bent figure from time to time to new posi- 
 tions, in an effort to relieve the discomfort occa- 
 sioned by his too low chair. It was perhaps 
 typical of the man that he used more energy to 
 accommodate himself to discomfort than would 
 have been required to achieve comfort. 
 
 His smooth-shaven face was lean, sensitive, 
 plastic the face of an artist, a dreamer. Its 
 most striking characteristic was an expression of 
 dull rebellion, evidenced by the straight, almost 
 somber line of the mouth, the vertical furrows 
 between the eyebrows. A slight frosting of gray 
 about the temples made one rectify a first guess 
 at Mr. Austen's age; it contradicted, in a meas- 
 ure, the youthful fire in his dark, full-lidded eyes. 
 And here, too, was rebellion, but the hope-in- 
 spired rebellion that strives, not the helpless 
 rebellion that has lapsed into bitter resentment. 
 
 With an air of complete boredom, he turned 
 the pages of the manuscript before him. 
 
 Presently, he glanced up. The doorway, lead- 
 ing to the adjoining room, was darkened by the 
 figure of a woman. She was tall, with an air of 
 physical strength; her body had the fresh ma- 
 turity of youth that is seldom found in a woman 
 of thirty-eight. A mass of live, golden hair 
 waved loosely back from her forehead and was 
 caught in a heavy knot on her neck ; she had a 
 pair of handsome, petulant blue eyes, a discon-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 79 
 
 tented mouth, and the expression of one whom 
 life in some very definite way, had disappointed. 
 
 She gazed at the man before her, with an un- 
 humorous smile patiently, almost mockingly, 
 as one might regard a child. 
 
 "What about to-morrow, Bob?" she ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 " To-morrow? " Mr. Austen looked at her 
 with a puzzled frown. 
 
 " Certainly. Have you forgotten? My niece 
 arrives by the French line, from Paris." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I had forgotten. I suppose it 's up 
 to me to meet her." 
 
 " Somebody has to go. You know I can't. 
 The steamer docks about noon, and I have the 
 card club coming right after lunch." 
 
 " To-morrow is a busy day with me, too. I 
 don't see how I 'm going to get away." 
 
 " You '11 simply have to. Tell them that it >s 
 important. Surely they can let you have one 
 afternoon off ! You have n't had a vacation for 
 three years." 
 
 " All right. I '11 manage it. Noon, you say? 
 But how am I going to know the young woman 
 when I see her? " 
 
 " Go on board, of course, and inquire of the 
 purser she won't leave until somebody comes 
 for her. And please be as agreeable as you can. 
 I can't say I 'm overjoyed at the prospect of hav-
 
 80 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 ing her on our hands, but, after all, she is my 
 sister's child, and I 've got to do what I can for 
 her. I suppose she '11 stay with us for quite a 
 while. I hope she 's presentable. I 'm going to 
 give her that room over the pantry ; it 's not very 
 large, but I dare say she '11 manage." 
 " Why not the bay-window room? " 
 " Our only guest-chamber? What an idea, 
 with Tom Russell and Edith coming for two 
 weeks, in September! Really, Bob, I don't un- 
 derstand you, at times. I 'm going to take care 
 of this girl, of course; she is an orphan, and I 
 regard it as my duty, but I certainly don't pro- 
 pose to have my entire household upset by her 
 coming. From what I know of the way they 
 lived, when Mary was alive, I imagine the girl 
 will be pleased with anything." 
 
 Mr. Austen allowed his gaze to travel slowly 
 down the typewritten page before him. He ven- 
 tured no reply. Not being of a combative na- 
 ture, his wife's assertive, almost belligerent, man- 
 ner tired rather than annoyed him. She was a 
 woman who seemed instinctively to face life with 
 a chip on her shoulder. The war theory of Na- 
 poleon, to strike first, she had made her own. 
 In the most every-day affairs of life she made 
 use of it. Conversation, with her, Mr. Austen 
 had often remarked, began with a challenge and 
 ended with a retreat.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 81 
 
 " Very well I '11 meet her," he said, by way 
 of dismissing the subject, and turned once more 
 to his work. 
 
 His wife, however, showed no inclination to 
 depart. She gazed, fretfully, at the pile of 
 manuscripts. 
 
 " Why don't you come out on the porch? " she 
 asked. " It 's much cooler out there. And I 
 can't say I enjoy sitting there, alone it 's not 
 especially exciting." 
 
 " I 've got this serial to finish," he protested. 
 " We may be able to use it one of Wallace 
 Allen's. A good story, snappy what the pub- 
 lic wants. As an editor, I 've got to please 
 them." He read for a moment. " Listen to this 
 the hero is proposing : 
 
 "Betty, I 'ra dippy about you. Can't dance with 
 another girl to save my life. Why should n 't we hit 
 it off?" 
 
 ' ' What d ' ye mean ? Marriage ? ' ' 
 
 "Sure. Why not?" 
 
 "It 's such a bore." 
 
 "No other way for us to go to Honolulu this winter, 
 the way we Ve planned. ' ' 
 
 "All right. I hope it '11 take. If it doesn't, and 
 it means a trip to Reno, don't blame me." 
 
 "I won't. I 'm a good loser. Shall we run down 
 in the morning and get the license?" 
 
 "I suppose we might as well. Early, though.
 
 82 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 I Ve got a tennis match on, at eleven. Why is it they 
 can't make a decent cocktail, in this place? Suppose 
 we move on to Sherry's." 
 
 Mr. Austen looked up from the manuscript, 
 with a quizzical smile. 
 
 "Literature a la mode" he said. 
 
 " Well," Mrs. Austen returned, " it 's real, at 
 pny rate. I like Wallace Allen's work. Every- 
 body does. What 's the use of your reading the 
 thing. His name is enough to carry it. I only 
 wish you could get fifteen thousand for a serial." 
 
 " I might, if I had time, and peace of mind, to 
 write one. But life, nowadays, seems to be 
 nothing but bills." He took some papers from 
 a drawer of the desk. " Here 's a lot that came 
 in this morning: Dentist, $42.50; meat, $65.00 
 two months; Collins and Strauss, $110.00." 
 He let the accounts fall from his hands, with a 
 helpless gesture. " What 's the use? " 
 
 " Don't forget," Mrs. Austen said, with as- 
 perity, " that you have a wife and three children. 
 It would be very nice, of course, if we could all 
 go about in fig-leaves, but unfortunately the con- 
 ventions make it necessary for us to have 
 clothes." 
 
 " Could n't you make some of them, Belle? " 
 he hazarded. " Lots of women do. Here 's 
 twenty-four dollars for night-dresses, alone. 
 For Isabelle."
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 83 
 
 " Well, why not? The poor child bought the 
 cheapest she could find. Six dollars apiece. 
 She wanted the embroidered crepe de Chine, but 
 they were twelve, each, for the very plainest." 
 
 Mr. Austen replaced the bills in the drawer 
 of the desk, and, rising, lit a cigarette. 
 
 " There ' s only a little over a hundred dollars 
 in the bank," he remarked, " but I 'm hoping 
 Underwood's will take that sea-story of mine. 
 God ! " he suddenly burst out, " if I could only 
 just once get out of debt ! " 
 
 Mrs. Austen raised her eyebrows. 
 
 " George Harwood is making a hundred thou- 
 sand a year," she said, " out of his plays. I saw 
 it in the paper. Why don't you write a play? " 
 
 Mr. Austen gave his wife a long and not very 
 friendly look. 
 
 " That synopsis I sold last month for five hun- 
 dred could have been made into a play," he said. 
 " I 'd never have let it go for motion picture use 
 if I hadn't needed the money. That's the 
 trouble with me. I have to sacrifice my best 
 ideas for ready cash, to pay bills, when, if I 
 could hold onto them, I might get ten times 
 a hundred times as much." 
 
 Mrs. Austen sniffed. 
 
 " I know you blame it all on me," she said, 
 with a shrug. " If you had n't married me, and 
 undertaken to support a family, you 'd have been
 
 84 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 a famous and successful writer, of course. 
 There 's nothing like having some one to blame 
 your failures upon. My own opinion is that if 
 you hadn't had duties, responsibilities, to urge 
 you on, you 'd never have done anything. Some 
 men need the spur of necessity to keep them 
 going. You say married men are handicapped. 
 Look at Vickers, and Chandler they 're both 
 married, but they 're making good, just the same. 
 You are too easily discouraged. Everything will 
 come out all right. If you can't meet the bills, 
 this month, I '11 write to Uncle and ask him to 
 help us out." 
 
 " Do you think I want you to be always asking 
 favors of your godfather? " Mr. Austen retorted 
 angrily. He resented more bitterly than most 
 things his wife's habit of turning to her indul- 
 gent godfather whom the children called 
 " Uncle " in every emergency, emergencies 
 invariably of her own creating. " I 'm making 
 enough for us to get along on four thousand a 
 year salary, and at least two more from my out- 
 side work. That 's five hundred a month. We 
 ought to be able to keep out of debt on that, with 
 any sort of management. I 'm tired of being 
 always on the verge of bankruptcy. Why can't 
 you try to economize a little, with this war star- 
 ing us in the face? Other people do."
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 85 
 
 " Well, I certainly do the best I can. Heaven 
 knows I have few enough pleasures. If you 
 think you can mn the house on less than I do, I 
 wish you 'd try it I 'm sick enough of the 
 task." She turned away, abruptly, and left the 
 room. 
 
 Her husband rose and followed her, greatly up- 
 set. 
 
 " I 'm not blaming you, Belle," he expostu- 
 lated. " I suppose I 'm a dreadful failure, but 
 you know I can write. Only it 's pretty hard 
 to concentrate, and do good work, when your 
 free time has to be devoted to financial worries, 
 and your daytime hours are all taken up with 
 routine duties, as mine are." 
 
 " Then why don't you give up your job? " 
 
 " Belle, you ought not to say that. I 'd give 
 it up quickly enough, if I were single I 'd live 
 in a garret, on bread and cheese, and be glad of 
 the chance if I did n't have you and the children 
 to think of." 
 
 Mrs. Austen sighed resignedly. 
 
 " I can't let you want for anything," Mr. Aus- 
 ten went on. "That's the tragedy of it all. 
 I 've sold my birthright for a mess of pottage, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " Not specially flattering to the pottage," his 
 wife interjected acidly. " Well it 's not my
 
 86 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 fault if you 're dissatisfied with your bargain. 
 Why don't you be a good sport, and play the 
 game, now that you 've started it? " 
 
 " That 's what I 'm trying to do. But I can't 
 help wondering what would happen if I were sud- 
 denly to call for a new deal. ... If I were that 
 sort of man, I might abandon the whole situa- 
 tion, leave you flat, and take the time really to 
 do something worth while. You would regard 
 me as a scoundrel, I suppose, but if I wrote some- 
 thing big, fine, under the inspiration of my new 
 freedom something that made me famous 
 my children would n't be able to sneer at me. 
 They 'd say : ' Yes perhaps he was n't all he 
 should have been, but he did write the biggest 
 novel of the century.' That 's the irony of it 
 all. I sacrifice my life to give them and you the 
 commonplaces of existence, and I get nothing in 
 return but criticism for not having done more. 
 Free, I might make a name for myself. You 
 have never tried to understand the creative tem- 
 perament, Belle; it demands the best a man has 
 to give; it makes him ruthless or ought to. 
 He can't give everything to others and have any- 
 thing left for his work. All I ask is a chance 
 to show what I can do and I can't get it." He 
 trembled from excitement. " Can't you see," he 
 added, almost pathetically, "the terrible strug- 
 gle I have between my duty to you and the chil-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 87 
 
 dren, on the one hand, and my duty to myself, on 
 the other? " 
 
 Mrs. Austen regarded her husband with a cold 
 and deliberate eye. 
 
 " You should have thought of all that before 
 you married me," she said. " I did n't compel 
 you to do it you insisted upon it said you 
 couldn't live without me. Don't try to escape 
 the consequences, now it would be ridiculous 
 at your age. Of course, if you think it your duty 
 to abandon me and your children, go ahead 
 you '11 come back soon enough. I 'm not the 
 least bit afraid. You get these spasms every 
 little while, but I 've learned not to pay any at- 
 tention to them." She once more turned away. 
 Her husband clutched her arm. 
 
 " Why won't you help me? " he cried. 
 
 " How? I 'm sure I do all I can." 
 
 " I 've told you how, so often. Could n't we 
 economize live in a simpler way save up 
 enough to buy yes, buy me a year of free- 
 dom? I '11 show you what I can do " 
 
 Mrs. Austen shook off his detaining hand. 
 
 " I 'm doing the best I can, Bob," she said. 
 " Don't let 's go all over it again. I have a 
 headache. Don't forget what I told you about 
 meeting that Lascelles girl. And, of course, with 
 another mouth to feed, the bills are not going to 
 be any less. If you take my advice, you '11 go
 
 88 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 right to Mr. Walker and tell him the high prices 
 of everything make it necessary for you to have 
 an increase in salary. That would be far more 
 to the point than fretting over your monthly 
 expenses and nagging me to death about my ex- 
 travagance. They ought to give you five thou- 
 sand, at least." She went quickly toward the 
 hall, from which came the strident voices of two 
 quarreling children. 
 
 Mr. Austen went back to his study. The 
 manscript he had been reading no longer inter- 
 ested him. He drew toward him a sheet of 
 paper, and spent a long time adding up rows 
 of figures.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 PEGGY-ELISE, after the lonely journey from 
 France, had a sinking feeling about the 
 heart as the decks of the steamer became empty 
 and no one appeared to welcome her. 
 
 Because she was expecting her aunt to meet 
 her, she took no interest in the tall, handsome 
 man hurrying up the gang plank beyond the 
 interest handsomeness, itself, inspires until 
 she saw him approaching her, with the purser, 
 his face lit by a friendly, interrogating smile. 
 He put out an impulsive hand. 
 
 " I 'm Mr. Austen," he explained, in English. 
 " I 'm so sorry to be late." Then added, in 
 queer, self-conscious accents: " Parlez-vous 
 anglais? " 
 
 " I am glad to meet you," Peggy-Elise replied, 
 taking the man's outstretched hand. " You are 
 the husband of my aunt? " 
 
 He looked relieved as she answered him in his 
 own tongue. 
 
 " Yes. Unfortunately, she could not come to 
 meet you, herself. Suppose we get your things, 
 and go ashore. The customs people won't be
 
 90 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 long then we '11 go and have lunch. I know 
 a delightful little cafe"." 
 
 There was a certain eagerness in his manner, 
 a suggestion of excitement. He found his for- 
 eign-born niece unexpectedly attractive. To 
 take her to luncheon had seemed, in prospect, 
 something of an ordeal an embarrassing series 
 of attempts to understand and make himself 
 understood; but she spoke English perfectly, ex- 
 cept for an occasional oddity of construction, and 
 already his " duty " had become an agreeable ad- 
 venture. 
 
 As they were flying across town, in a taxicab, 
 her luggage a satchel, a bundle in a shawl- 
 strap, a small leather trunk piled in beside the 
 driver, Peggy-Elise was thinking that the streets 
 were very rough and dirty, and the buildings 
 along the route of their drive extraordinarily 
 mean and sordid. She had anticipated some- 
 thing quite different, from the gleaming white 
 towers that had first met her vision along the 
 skyline. In this slightly disappointed frame of 
 mind, she found herself leaving the cab in front 
 of a plain-looking brick building, painted a 
 light buff. 
 
 Mr. Austen announced, with a pleased smile, 
 that it was a French restaurant, and led the way 
 within. Peggy-Elise followed, not at all sure 
 that she would n't have preferred an American
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 91 
 
 one. She felt a deep curiosity concerning Amer- 
 ica and things American, and longed to come in 
 contact with them. 
 
 The delicious luncheon her uncle ordered put 
 other thoughts temporarily out of her mind. 
 She reflected that he seemed bent on pleasing her, 
 in every respect. His manner was flatteringly 
 cordial. 
 
 No, Peggy-Elise found herself saying, she had 
 not been seasick ; and, yes, she would like a little 
 red wine vin ordinaire. In true French 
 fashion, she diluted it with water, much to Mr. 
 Austen's surprise ; and it was nice of him to hope 
 that they might be able to make her happy, in 
 their so-great America ; and she was n't tired, at 
 all ; and the restaurant was very agreeable ; and 
 was she correct to suppose that her aunt had 
 three children? 
 
 He nodded: Isabelle, a daughter, of eighteen; 
 Robert Allyn, Jr., whom they called Allyn, now 
 turned sixteen ; and the baby, Anne, who was ten. 
 He looked very pleased when Peggy-Elise told 
 him, w r ith one of her rare and flashing smiles, 
 that he seemed far too young to have a grown 
 daughter. She had not meant to pay a compli- 
 ment ; her uncle's youthfulness had come to the 
 fore in response to her own; he appreciated her 
 words the more because he felt the sincerity of 
 them.
 
 92 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 They spent quite two hours over the little 
 meal, during which Peggy-Elise and her newly 
 found uncle became great friends. Mr. Austen 
 had not enjoyed himself so much for a long time. 
 He felt like a boy upon a holiday. The office 
 grind was forgotten, and the financial sword of 
 Damocles, that hung by so frail a thread in his 
 study at home, ceased to threaten him while he 
 chatted with the stimulating young woman on 
 the opposite side of the table. In fact, he rather 
 doubted that it had ever threatened, as, under 
 the spell of Peggy-Elise's enthusiasm, he talked 
 of his work and ambitions ambitions that 
 seemed suddenly certain of realization. He 
 would have liked to talk much more freely about 
 his hopes, but it would have involved a discus- 
 sion of his financial situation which, in the cir- 
 cumstances, would have cruelly embarrassed the 
 girl. To avoid the temptation, he began to ques- 
 tion her about herself. 
 
 " You show a great deal of understanding of 
 one's ambitions, Mademoiselle Lascelles; such 
 sympathy is rare in a girl of your age you are 
 not over twenty? " 
 
 " I am nineteen, monsieur but then perhaps 
 it is not years that count. When I should have 
 been playing with dolls, I preferred to listen to 
 my father discussing with his friends everything
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 93 
 
 in the universe he was a great philosopher." 
 She smiled, tenderly. " And, besides, it has been 
 always my nature to think, and if one thinks 
 one must understand a little." 
 
 " I think," Mr. Austen said, after a moment's 
 reflection, " that you are a very remarkable girl." 
 
 " But not at all ! " She laughed, coloring. 
 " I am just ordinary." 
 
 " You are not ' ordinary,' compared with girls 
 of your age here in America," he said, thought- 
 fully. When he had learned that Peggy-Elise 
 was coming to live with them, he had supposed 
 that his elder daughter Isabelle would be com- 
 pany for her. He smiled a little ruefully now at 
 the recollection. He wondered what this grave 
 young girl for he sensed the gravity that un- 
 derlay her lightness would think of her new 
 relatives. As to what they would think of her 
 He sighed. 
 
 An hour later, as they left the Flushing sta- 
 tion and walked in the direction of the Austen 
 home, Mr. Austen nodded toward an enormous 
 white structure, with a brick-red, Queen Anne 
 roof and amusing Colonial variations : 
 
 " Our house is the third from that atrocity 
 on the corner ; it belongs to a Mr. Donnelly. He 
 used to be a contractor, but he has retired from 
 business and come out here to live. I don't sup-
 
 94 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 pose this interests you, but I mention it because 
 you can't be in the neighborhood long, anyway, 
 without hearing of the family." 
 
 As he spoke, a long-nosed, yellow car shot out 
 from under the porte-cochere, and came whizzing 
 down the drive a capped and goggled figure at 
 the wheel, another capped and goggled figure be- 
 side it. They waited for it to pass. Mr. Austen 
 scowled at the car in a fashion that his niece was 
 at a loss to interpret. It blurred by, and was 
 far down the street before an arm waved back 
 at them. 
 
 " I thought that was Allyn ! " His face was 
 white with anger. Peggy-Elise expected an ex- 
 planation, but none was offered. 
 
 They reached the Austen place in silence. In 
 silence, they turned in under the trailing honey- 
 suckle that arched the trim box hedge. As they 
 moved up the long pathway, Mrs. Austen, who 
 had been talking to the hired man on the other 
 side of the lawn, crossed to meet them. She 
 looked very handsome and very young as she 
 came toward them, all in white, twirling a spike 
 of blue larkspur, and humming gaily. 
 
 " I expected you people hours ago ! " she said, 
 putting out a welcoming hand to Peggy-Elise, 
 and kissing her lightly on the cheek. 
 
 " We stopped for lunch." Mr. Austen spoke a 
 trifle irritably.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 95 
 
 His wife's almost imperceptibly raised eye- 
 brows seemed to ask : " Does it take so long for 
 lunch?" 
 
 "Where's Isabelle? " he demanded, the elo- 
 quent eyebrow rankling. 
 
 " Tennis." 
 
 Her husband frowned, and bit his lip. 
 
 " She had to go, Bob." She included Peggy- 
 Elise in the explanation. " There are some 
 match games on, over at Doris's, and Is is one 
 of their crack players. She '11 be home soon, 
 now." 
 
 " She could have stayed home one afternoon." 
 
 " There 's no use being unreasonable about it," 
 Mrs. Austen remonstrated ; " I 've explained 
 why she had to go. We 're keeping this poor 
 child standing here ! " She laid her hand on the 
 girl's arm, smiling. " Come along." 
 
 Peggy-Elise followed her into the house, re- 
 freshingly cool after the blistering August heat 
 outside. As they passed the open door of the 
 dining-room, her aunt stopped and told the maid 
 to serve tea in fifteen minutes. Then she ran 
 lightly up the broad, polished stairs. Peggy- 
 Elise followed more slowly; she was not less 
 light of foot, but she was considerably less light 
 of heart. Her aunt's reception had chilled her, 
 and the absence of her cousins, the casualness 
 with which her arrival in the Austen household
 
 96 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 had been treated, emphasized her unimportance 
 and made her feel distressingly conscious of her 
 dependent position. Also, her aunt lived in ap- 
 parent affluence, and though this relieved the 
 girl of anxiety on the score of expense she saw 
 that there would be little for her to do in return 
 for her aunt's hospitality. She might teach the 
 children French, she was thinking, as Mrs. Aus- 
 ten ushered her into a small, meagerly furnished 
 room in the rear of the house. 
 
 " I 'm sorry to have to put you in here," Mrs. 
 Austen found herself explaining, under the in- 
 fluence of her niece's distinguished air and the 
 unmistakably cultured quality of her voice. " It 
 will be for only a little while we have some 
 people coming soon and, you see, we have only 
 one guest-chamber. When they go, you can have 
 that room, but it would just mean moving back 
 and forth, now." 
 
 " But I would not think of having you give it 
 up to me," the girl said, impulsively. " I can 
 be very comfortable here you are very kind." 
 
 Her aunt did not protest. 
 
 "Well the bathroom's there you'll find 
 everything you need, I think. When you're 
 ready, come down on to the veranda." She 
 smiled a quick, automatic smile, that was like a 
 handy mask, hastily whipped on and off and 
 was gone.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 97 
 
 As Mrs. Austen went out, Peggy-Elise heard 
 some one running up the stairs, and the next 
 moment there was the sound of voices on the 
 landing near her door. Some words came to her, 
 unavoidably distinct : 
 
 " I 've told Allyn, a half dozen times, that I 
 don't want him to go out with Bex Donnelly in 
 that car! In the first place, no boy should be 
 allowed to drive a high-powered machine like 
 that! They get to racing, and the first thing 
 you know there '11 be an accident." 
 
 " You 're so tiresome about it," Mrs. Austen 
 was saying in a bored voice. " You can't wrap 
 boys up in cotton- wool! Besides, Allyn is 
 crazy to have a car of his own, and if 
 you can't give him one you might at least not 
 deprive him of what pleasure he can get out- 
 side." 
 
 " In the name of heaven," Mr. Austen raised 
 his voice " why should he have a car at his 
 age?" 
 
 "Well, why shouldn't he? Several of the 
 boys he knows have them! You have such old- 
 fogey notions," she said, impatiently. 
 
 " If I had my way," he flung out, savagely, 
 " Isabelle and Allyn would never set foot in the 
 Donnelly's house again. It's ruining them! 
 My God, I give them everything I can, and more 
 than I can, but you can't expect me to keep up
 
 98 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 with a millionaire, and that 's what it 's coming 
 to!" 
 
 Peggy-Elise heard them go downstairs, still 
 talking. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring 
 at the wall, and feeling vaguely disturbed. The 
 clink of dishes in the room below made her spring 
 up, whip off the smart little black hat, of her own 
 fashioning, and begin a hasty toilet. She had 
 just let down her hair, and begun to brush it with 
 rapid, even strokes, when there was a light rap 
 on the door. 
 
 She darted to open it. On the threshold stood 
 a child of ten, tall for her age, whose height was 
 emphasized by the short smocked frock of dull 
 blue linen, stopping just above her bare olive 
 knees. She regarded Peggy-Elise gravely. Be- 
 fore the girl could speak, her visitor began to 
 recite, a little breathlessly: 
 
 " Vous etes la bienvenue, ma chere cousine, 
 chez nous! " 
 
 It was odd French, and oddly pronounced, but 
 the dear thought back of it, the desire to give 
 her a familiar moment in this new, strange land, 
 and in what was, necessarily, a strange house, 
 made the girl's heart leap and the tears spring 
 to her eyes. She reached out and caught the 
 child in her arms, and kissed her many times on 
 both fresh cheeks.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 99 
 
 " Est-ce que tu paries fmnqais, ma petite?" 
 she asked, holding her close. 
 
 " I don't understand French," the child said, 
 smiling, " but I wanted to be able to tell you 
 you were welcome, in it, so Daddy taught me. 
 He does n't know much French, either he did, 
 but he's forgotten it. We had to look in the 
 dictionary for ' welcome.' " 
 
 Peggy-Elise hugged her. 
 
 " You are Anne, are you not? " 
 
 " Oh, I meant to tell you I was Anne, but I 
 was so full of the other, it put everything else 
 out of my head ! " She laughed bubblingly. 
 " Shall I call you Peggy-Elise? Or will it do if 
 I just say Cousin Peggy? " 
 
 " Call me Peggy, ma mie" the girl said, cap- 
 tivated by her directness. 
 
 " What beautiful hair you have ! " Anne ex- 
 claimed. " So glossy and sort of red ! Oh ! I love 
 red hair I think mine is going to be red," 
 she announced, feeling of the tawny stubble that 
 covered her well-shaped little head. " They had 
 to shave it off, after I had typhoid, but I '11 have 
 lots of it we all have lots of hair. I '11 go 
 down, now, and let you finish dressing. Are 
 you almost ready? " 
 
 As Peggy-Elise twisted up her hair and hur- 
 riedly thrust the pins into it, she was thinking
 
 100 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 that her small cousin was a very unusual child. 
 Anne Austen had, in fact, poise and a certain 
 forcefulness which created this impression. The 
 girl wondered if she were a typical American 
 child. 
 
 Anne had been born to the Austens several 
 years after they had frankly admitted a mutual 
 disappointment in their marriage, and when in- 
 stances of dissatisfaction, instead of being re- 
 pressed, were produced triumphantly and dis- 
 cussed exhaustively, bitterly, hopelessly. As a 
 result, she heard many illuminating threshings of 
 domestic problems, and, shortly out of her cradle, 
 began to side With her father. 
 
 " Come over and sit by me Peggy," Anne 
 invited, sliding down from the broad wicker arm 
 of her father's chair, as Peggy-Elise came out 
 onto the porch. 
 
 " I fear I am late I don't want to make a 
 bad beginning." The girl spoke lightly, but Mr. 
 Austen detected a shade of anxiety in her voice. 
 
 "You are beginning beautifully," he assured 
 her. 
 
 Smiling in pretty apology, she hurried toward 
 the little group in the corner, where Mrs. Aus- 
 ten, beside the wicker wagon, was already pour- 
 ing tea. 
 
 "No tea's a movable feast," her aunt said 
 carelessly.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 101 
 
 Her uncle, who had risen, was standing, smil- 
 ing warmly at her ; the expression in his smolder- 
 ing brown eyes made her lower her own for a 
 surprised moment. She, in a simple black 
 crepe de Chine frock, with fine white hemstitched 
 collar and cuffs, her transparent-skinned, sensi- 
 tive face framed by her glinting tawny hair, her 
 lips slightly parted, her gray eyes luminous with 
 excitement, seemed to Mr. Austen strikingly 
 beautiful and alluring. He emptied the chair 
 next to his of some magazines and papers and 
 offered it to her. 
 
 " It is very hot," she said, as she dropped 
 gracefully into it. 
 
 Mrs. Austen glanced up to ask if she would 
 have sugar and cream in her tea. As she passed 
 the cup to her, her eyes went, apparently, in- 
 stantly to the girl's face, yet they had, by some 
 feminine legerdemain, traveled from the sharply 
 pointed toe of Peggy-Elise's French shoe, to the 
 broad, beautifully curved top of her head over 
 which Venable had raved without missing one 
 detail. Furthermore, without even glancing at 
 her husband, she knew that he was looking young 
 and handsome. She held out a cup of tea to him, 
 smiling inscrutably. 
 
 "There are some cakes sandwiches and 
 stuff." She nodded toward the shelves of the 
 wagon. " Try one of those pecan sandwiches
 
 102 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 they 're delicious they were left over from 
 this afternoon. Oh, I 'm dead ! " she said, sink- 
 ing back in her chair, and pressing her fingers 
 to her eyes. 
 
 " Did you enjoy yourself? " her husband asked 
 at length, in a rather strained tone. 
 
 " No. It was really too hot, to-day, to play 
 cards. Mrs. Slope carried off first she 's an 
 impossible creature ! She immediately began to 
 talk about the handsome prizes Mrs. Cadman al- 
 ways gives. Why, I won one of her firsts, last 
 winter, and it wasn't worth bringing home 
 you know, Bob that dinky little compotiere! " 
 
 Mr. Austen nodded. 
 
 " You are fond of cards, yes? " Peggy-Elise 
 inquired, reaching for a cake. 
 
 " Mad about them ! " Her aunt pushed the 
 cake-dish toward her. "Aren't you?" 
 
 " No." She made a comical moue of regret. 
 " I have no intelligence for cards, and it is stupid 
 to waste time on something you do badly do 
 you not think so? " 
 
 Mrs. Austen raised her eyebrows noncommit- 
 tally. 
 
 "I think it's stupid to play cards, at all 
 whether you do it well or badly," Mr. Austen de- 
 clared, with heat. " It 's a pure waste of time ! " 
 
 " Hear the little busy bee ! " his wife mocked 
 gaily. " Life is so exciting, here ! What am I
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 103 
 
 to do? Go to ' Mothers' Meetings ' and join the 
 'Dorcas Society'? I have to kill time, some- 
 how!" 
 
 " It seems to me there are several other ways 
 in which you might kill it," he retorted pointedly. 
 
 " We will now have a little lecture from 
 father, on the duties of a wife and mother." 
 There was a touch of recklessness in her laugh- 
 ter. " Have some more tea? " 
 
 " Thank you, I have had enough," Peggy-Elise 
 smiled. 
 
 " You see, Mademoiselle Lascelles," Mr. Aus- 
 ten explained, " Mrs. Austen that is, your aunt 
 does n't care for the country, and she " 
 
 "And she isn't domestic," his wife inter- 
 rupted, laughing again, " and she 's frightfully 
 extravagant. You see, you 're a member of the 
 family, now," she spoke half-banteringly 
 " so we '11 introduce you to all the family skele- 
 tons." 
 
 " If you and my uncle will call me ' Peggy,' " 
 she ventured diffidently, " that will make me feel 
 more like a real member of the family than even 
 to meet the skeletons." 
 
 " Here comes Isabelle," said Anne, who had 
 lingered in silent, helpless infatuation beside 
 Peggy-Elise's chair. 
 
 The Austens' eldest daughter, in smart but 
 crumpled white tennis garb, a green and white
 
 104 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 striped sweater slung over her shoulder, crossed 
 the veranda at a rather languid gait, her head 
 inclined to one side. She carried two racquets 
 in one hand, and a magazine in the other. At 
 sight of Peggy, she smiled a pretty, dimpled 
 smile that fitted most occasions. 
 
 " Isabelle," Mrs. Austen said, " this is your 
 cousin, Peggy." 
 
 Peggy rose, meaning to embrace her cousin, 
 but before she could do so, Isabelle, her hands 
 still full, laughingly offered her two disengaged 
 fingers. 
 
 "Aren't you dead with this heat?" she in- 
 quired, pushing back a stray lock of golden 
 hair with the hand that held the magazine, at 
 the same time appraising her new cousin, curi- 
 ously. " I almost died, over on the court, to- 
 day ! Whew ! But we won ! " She crossed 
 over to her father, kissed him dutifully, and 
 flopped into a chair. 
 
 " I suppose you 're all tired out from your 
 long journey? " 
 
 " No I am not very tired I rested all the 
 way." 
 
 Isabelle began to fan herself. 
 
 " Would you like some tea? " her mother 
 asked. 
 
 " No ! I just drank a gallon of ice- water ! " 
 
 "You shouldn't do that, when you're over-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 105 
 
 heated," her father remonstrated. " Had Allyn 
 returned, when you left? " 
 
 " Yes. Kex has a new bull-terrier ; they went 
 down to put it in the kennels. Allyn said he 'd 
 be right over." She glanced across the lawn. 
 " Here he comes, now." 
 
 Peggy liked the tall, lanky boy, who blushed 
 violently as he crossed the veranda and shook 
 hands with her. 
 
 "I hope you'll pardon my appearance, Miss 
 Lascelles," he glanced down at his mussed 
 clothes. " Welcome to our city ! " 
 
 This latest Austen was blond, like his mother, 
 Peggy saw. He kept shaking his heavy, straight 
 hair out of his eyes that, when he was not smil- 
 ing, were a little hard too, like hers. 
 
 " Sorry I could n't stop, to-day," he went on. 
 "Kex and I had to rush down to the express 
 office to get a bull-terrier pup his father bought 
 him. Gee! I wish I had one like it! " 
 
 " You '11 have to ask your Uncle Ben to get 
 you one." His mother's tone implied that that 
 was all that would be necessary. " He is n't 
 really their uncle," she explained to Peggy-Elise. 
 " He 's my godfather, but he adores the children 
 he has really spoiled them." She said it com- 
 placently. 
 
 " I bet he 'd give me a dog," Allyn pursued, his 
 young eyes shrewdly speculative.
 
 106 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 Mr. Austen had been silent during this conver- 
 sation. Peggy observed that the color had crept 
 into his cheeks, and that he was keeping his eyes 
 lowered ; she did not understand the cause of his 
 discomfort, but felt intuitively that here was a 
 " skeleton " she had not met. 
 
 " Here 's a dandy picture of Theda Bara,'' Isa- 
 belle announced, looking up from her magazine. 
 " I 'm crazy about her and Douglas Fairbanks ! 
 Don't you love the movies? " 
 
 " What is that ' movies ' ? " Peggy inquired. 
 
 Isabelle was dumb with astonishment. 
 
 " It 's moving-pictures, Peggy," Mr. Austen 
 elucidated. 
 
 " Oh the cinema. Yes I like to go, some- 
 times." 
 
 Her cousin stared at her incredulously for a 
 moment. " I suppose the pictures are n't very 
 good over there, now, anyhow, on account of the 
 war,'' she said, in an attempt to explain Peggy's 
 indifference. 
 
 " Are things as bad as they say, over there? " 
 Mrs. Austen asked. " Is there really such a 
 shortage of food? " 
 
 " There is a shortage of everything," Peggy 
 replied, gravely. 
 
 "Stt stt!" Isabelle shook her head. "I 
 only hope America won't be dragged into it ! " 
 
 There followed some superficial, selfish war
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 107 
 
 talk Red Cross, preparedness, war gardens. 
 Listening, her hands tightly clasped in her lap, 
 Peggy realized that the war had not touched 
 these people; she wondered if it had come no 
 nearer to other American families. Even before 
 her departure, all eyes had begun to strain anx- 
 iously toward America, all hearts to dream of 
 this great power coming magnificently, eagerly 
 to help them, in their black hour, as they had 
 once helped her. Peggy saw that, for the Aus- 
 tens at least, the war was in the background 
 a vast, unsettling force, inconceivable, remote. 
 
 And as she sat there, on the comfortable 
 veranda, and looked out over the smooth lawn at 
 the peaceful street, beyond, with the late after- 
 noon shadows falling obliquely across it, the 
 pleasant clink of tea-cups in her ears as she 
 sat there, so far from the insecurity, from the 
 ghastly physical evidences of the conflict, and 
 heard her relatives talking carelessly of the war 
 except as self -concern moved them Peggy 
 felt as if she had been dropped down, not in an- 
 other country but on another planet. 
 
 " The Giants won again," Allyn said ; " nine 
 to nothing." 
 
 Leaning forward, their faces animated, he and 
 his father excitedly debated the National 
 League's chances of victory in the coming World 
 Series they were familiar with the strengths
 
 108 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 and weaknesses of each team. Allyn wasn't 
 sure that McQraw had been wise to let Marquard 
 go he was pitching good ball, now, with the 
 Brooklyns. But Mr. Austen said McGraw was 
 right. They had it back and forth it was a 
 vital question. 
 
 " And then you criticize me," Mrs. Austen said, 
 leaning over and flicking her husband lightly on 
 the knee, with her finger, " because I 'm crazy 
 about cards ! " 
 
 "That's different. You aren't interested in 
 anything else I 'm interested in a dozen 
 things." 
 
 She drew in her under lip and regarded him 
 with mock-penitence. " Is n't it terrible ! " 
 
 " Have you ever seen a 'phone-doll, Mother? " 
 Isabelle asked, at this juncture. 
 
 " A what? " 
 
 "A 'phone-doll one of those Pompadour 
 dolls, you know, with big skirts to cover the tele- 
 phone? They're peachy! Doris has a beauty 
 she paid forty dollars for it. I wish we had 
 one!" 
 
 "I suppose we could find cheaper ones than 
 that." 
 
 " I don't see why you have to have every new- 
 fangled thing that comes out," Mr. Austen spoke 
 irritably.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 109 
 
 " It 's a miracle you don't regard the telephone 
 as * new-fangled ' ! " his wife retorted. 
 
 " The telephone is a necessity." 
 
 Mrs. Austen sighed, in exasperation, then 
 caught up the tiny silver bell, on the end of the 
 tea-wagon, and tinkled it sharply. 
 
 The maid came and removed the tea things. 
 There was an uncomfortable silence. Mr. Aus- 
 ten broke it. 
 
 " Would you like to see an evening paper? " 
 he asked, handing Peggy the Sun. 
 
 She accepted it, with a smile ; but she bent un- 
 seeing eyes upon it, while the loneliness that had 
 increased with every passing moment over- 
 whelmed her. Ever since she had left Paris, 
 anticipation had sustained her. She had hoped, 
 against the rather discouraging matter-of-fact- 
 ness of her letters, to find something of her idol- 
 ized mother in her mother's sister; she had 
 longed for a sister to adore, in Isabelle they 
 were to have been so near to her her mother's 
 own people. 
 
 " If you will excuse me," she rose, smiling 
 bravely " I will go to my room and rest for a 
 little while." Anne followed her. 
 
 Mrs. Austen, who had been reading the social 
 items in the Flushing Local, reached over and 
 took the paper Peggy had abandoned. For a
 
 110 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 while the silence was broken only by her amused 
 ejaculations and the crackling of newspapers. 
 
 " Do you think she 's pretty? " Isabelle in- 
 quired suddenly, with a tiny, critical lifting of 
 her nostrils. 
 
 Her mother looked up blankly from her paper ; 
 but her father said : 
 
 " I think she 's far more than pretty she 's 
 beautiful." 
 
 " Beautiful ! " Isabelle exclaimed, frowning. 
 
 " Yes there 's soul in her face." 
 
 Mrs. Austen began to hum lightly. 
 
 " Well " Isabelle said, at length, " she 's too 
 serious for me ! " 
 
 " I guess she could be lively enough if she 
 got started," Allyn put in. 
 
 Mrs. Austen continued to hum.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MR. AUSTEN, dressed for business, came 
 into his study one morning, some weeks 
 after Peggy-Elise's arrival, and found her hard 
 at work at the little typewriter desk in the 
 corner. 
 
 She had not heard him enter, in the rattle of 
 the machine. He stood, for a moment, looking 
 at her, his chin in his hand, his head bent. The 
 breeze, blowing in through the open window 7 be- 
 side her, had loosened some little softly curling 
 hairs all over her head, giving it an adorably 
 childlike look, in piquant contrast to the ex- 
 quisitely developed shoulders below. Mr. Aus- 
 ten threw back his head, closed his eyes for a 
 moment, bit his lip, then went over and stood 
 behind Peggy's chair, and read a line of what 
 she had written. 
 
 " You 're getting to be quite expert, are n't 
 you? " There was fondness in his voice. 
 
 She started. 
 
 " I did n't know you were here ! Yes I am 
 
 getting along," she answered, recovering herself; 
 
 " but I have still to go slowly it is not very 
 
 difficult." She drew from the typewriter the 
 
 in
 
 112 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 page she had just completed and separated the 
 sheets. " This is not a very distinct copy 
 is it?" 
 
 " The carbon 's worn out I '11 get some new 
 ones it doesn't matter for this stuff." He 
 picked up several pages, glanced over them, and 
 threw them down on the desk. He began to pace 
 the floor. 
 
 " This moving-picture stuff is deadly it 's 
 very kind of you to copy it for me." 
 
 " I think you must know, my uncle/' she 
 often addressed him this way " that it makes 
 me very happy to be able to do something for 
 you." She spoke with warm gravity. 
 
 "I know it's deadly stuff," he repeated bit- 
 terly, " but it "s what they want, and I 'm out 
 for the money! I beg your pardon, Peggy 
 yes, I know it makes you happy. You are one of 
 those rare people with unselfishness in their 
 souls. . . . I 've given up all hope of doing the 
 work I know I could do, if I had leisure and an 
 easy mind. Anyhow, the best years of my life 
 are gone ! " 
 
 "What do you mean by the best years?" 
 Peggy asked, turning around. 
 
 " My youth ! " 
 
 The girl considered. 
 
 " But do you not think the best years are the 
 years one makes the best use of whether they
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 113 
 
 come early or late? If the experience one needs, 
 to do big work, comes when one is young, it may 
 be that one has paid almost too much for it. 
 Do you not think so? " 
 
 Her uncle studied her for a while, without re- 
 plying. At length he said : 
 
 " You are a very comforting person, Peggy 
 one could grow very attached to you one could 
 become very dependent upon you." He spoke 
 slowly, reflectively. 
 
 The pleased color flashed into Peggy's pale, 
 softly luminous cheeks. 
 
 Mr. Austen turned away abruptly, seated him- 
 self at his desk, and drew toward him the sheaf 
 of bills that had piled up steadily since the first 
 of the month. Then he got out his check-book 
 and began to write. His face assumed its famil- 
 iar air of rebellion. 
 
 The clatter of the typewriter was drowned sud- 
 denly by the ringing of the telephone, just out- 
 side the study door ; Peggy answered it. " It is 
 for Aunt Isabelle," she said, going in search of 
 her. Mrs. Austen, who had heard the ring, col- 
 lided with her at the door of the library. The 
 girl returned to her desk ; but she could not work 
 while her aunt was talking, so she examined the 
 pages she had typed, for errors. 
 
 "What are you going to see?" Mrs. Austen 
 was saying, at the telephone. " Yes . . . yes,
 
 114 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 they say it's wonderful. . . Well, I don't see 
 how I can possibly manage it you know how it 
 is when you have a family on your hands. It 's 
 cook's afternoon off, and the maid is home sick 
 sister, I believe. . . . Yes? " She laughed gaily. 
 " You know my weakness ! I can't resist an in- 
 ducement like that ! Wait a minute Peggy ! " 
 she called, " do you think you could get dinner, 
 to-night? " 
 
 " It would be nothing to do," Peggy said, 
 smiling. 
 
 Mrs. Austen turned again to the telephone. 
 Presently she came into the study. 
 
 " I 'm going to town," she announced briskly, 
 "to have luncheon go to a matinee with Flo 
 Kipp." Mr. Austen made no comment. She 
 turned to Peggy : 
 
 " Don't go to any bother about dinner. There 
 are lots of canned things give them some of 
 that tongue it 's delicious and some aspara- 
 gus tips. If you want anything, you can tele- 
 phone for it." 
 
 Her niece nodded. 
 
 " I am sure there is enough to feed an army." 
 She laughed, but with a sudden sadness in her 
 heart, as she thought of the hungry millions she 
 had so recently left behind. 
 
 Mrs. Austen folded her arms and addressed her 
 husband.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 115 
 
 " I want some money." She drew in her lips, 
 bringing into prominence two flanking dimples. 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 She raised her eyebrows, shrugged. 
 
 " Twenty-five dollars." 
 
 "What are you going to do with twenty-five 
 dollars? " 
 
 " Play bridge, darling," she said, with dia- 
 bolical sweetness. " Don't go," she commanded, 
 as Peggy rose to leave. " We always have these 
 little discussions." 
 
 Mr. Austen picked up the bills he had laid 
 aside; his hands trembled. 
 
 " Here 's a bill," he flicked it with his hand 
 "from Loennecker and Dreyer's seventy- 
 three dollars for groceries and not an item 
 on it! Hereafter, I want an itemized bill 
 I 've told you this, before." 
 
 " It 's their custom to send out their bills that 
 way I 'm not going to demand an itemized bill 
 from people like that ! They 're absolutely re- 
 liable they 're the best firm in town." 
 
 " The most expensive," he snapped. " They 
 may be reliable, but every firm makes mistakes. 
 How do you know that you are n't being charged 
 two or three times for the same thing? " 
 
 " They send a slip with every order, I believe," 
 she said coldly.
 
 116 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " Well, where are those slips? I want to see 
 them." 
 
 " I 've told Minnie to save them I don't 
 know whether she does or not." 
 
 " How do you know what you 're paying for 
 things?" 
 
 She looked at him in astonishment. 
 
 "You don't suppose they'd give them to me 
 any cheaper if I asked the price, do you? " 
 
 "No but it doesn't seem to occur to you 
 that you might be ordering things we really 
 couldn't afford. It seems to me that seventy- 
 three dollars is outrageous for one month's 
 groceries ! " 
 
 " They keep the finest grades of everything. 
 I know their prices are high, but everybody 
 trades there." This remark was not meant to be 
 as inclusive as it sounded ; it was meant, in fact, 
 to be extremely exclusive. 
 
 " It would be much better, I should think, any- 
 way, if you went and did your marketing in- 
 stead of ordering everything by telephone you 
 leave it to them, and they send you the most ex- 
 pensive brands they carry. And you never get 
 as good fruit and vegetables as if you selected 
 them yourself." 
 
 " You 're perfectly ridiculous, Bob ! Nobody 
 does it! Besides, I have something else to do
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 117 
 
 with my time." She put her hands up and eased 
 the weight of her heavy, live hair. 
 
 " If you would permit me, Aunt Isabelle," 
 Peggy said a little timidly, " I would love to do 
 it for you. Perhaps I could find cheaper shops, 
 where things are just as good, and where you do 
 not have to pay for the name it is the same in 
 Paris. And it is better, too, do you not think so, 
 to pay cash? You can keep track of the money, 
 and they cannot cheat you." 
 
 Mrs. Austen shook her head. 
 
 "That would be delightful when there was 
 cash, but what would we do when there was n't? 
 Loennecker and Dreyer have always been very 
 agreeable about waiting for their money I 
 wouldn't deal anywhere else." 
 
 " They ought not to have to wait for their 
 money," her husband declared, folding a bill into 
 an envelope and drawing the ink-well toward 
 him. "On five hundred dollars a month we 
 should be able to pay every bill and save some- 
 thing." 
 
 Peggy did the sum rapidly into francs. 
 
 " But you mean you have two thousand francs 
 a month?" Her excited tones expressed incre- 
 dulity. " It is a fortune ! " 
 
 " It is . > a fortune in America," her aunt said 
 curtly, sni 'ng. "Besides, your uncle is ro-
 
 118 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 mancing it 's only three hundred and fifty 
 the rest is uncertain." 
 
 " Oh, I would love to have so much money to 
 handle ! " Peggy's eyes sparkled ; her French 
 genius for economy longed to work a miracle in 
 this badly managed household. To her, it 
 seemed that her uncle ought to be a rich man. 
 She began to understand something of his prob- 
 lem, and of his consequent bitterness and dis- 
 couragement. 
 
 " Well, my dear, I wish you had it," Mrs. 
 Austen said wearily ; " you 'd soon be sick of it ! " 
 
 " Maybe so," the girl agreed. " But at least 
 I would have the satisfaction, first, to go into the 
 kitchen and teach that cook not to be so waste- 
 ful. It is a crime ! Yesterday, when I went out 
 to iron a blouse, she was peeling potatoes, and 
 she was cutting off that much ! " She indicated 
 a half-inch, on her little finger. 
 
 " My dear girl," her aunt gave a short laugh 
 "if you interfered with the cook she would 
 leave." 
 
 " Then she could leave," Peggy said decisively. 
 " I would take her place, myself." 
 
 " That 's the only way to prevent waste, of 
 course," Mr. Austen said, sealing the last en- 
 velope and rising. 
 
 " That 's what you 'd like me to do, is n't it, 
 pet? " His wife flashed him a mocking smile.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 119 
 
 " Well, I have no intention whatsoever of being 
 a household drudge and spending the rest of my 
 days in a kitchen I get little enough out of 
 life, as it is ! " 
 
 " You know perfectly well that I have no de- 
 sire to see you spend your life in a kitchen! 
 But I think if you gave a little attention to that 
 end of the house you might be able to reduce our 
 living to a more economical basis. It would be 
 to your own interest in the end even if you 
 don't care about my side of it," he concluded 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Let the future take care of itself," she re- 
 torted coldly. " I mean to enjoy myself now." 
 She put out her hand. " You 'd better make that 
 thirty dollars." 
 
 Her husband stood, irresolute, for a moment, 
 then he sat down and made out a check. He 
 gave it to her without looking up. A burden 
 seemed to have settled on his shoulders; they 
 sagged dejectedly; he looked older and very 
 tired. 
 
 When he had left for the city, Mrs. Austen 
 said to Peggy : 
 
 " We always have a scene like this, the first of 
 the month. He 's forever talking about living 
 on a simpler scale, but he 'd be the first one to 
 protest. I 've proposed, a half dozen times, get- 
 ting an apartment in town; but your uncle
 
 120 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 doesn't believe in raising children in the city. 
 It's ridiculous you see just as healthy chil- 
 dren there as you do anywhere ! " 
 
 The girl wondered if her aunt really did n't 
 understand that the " simpler scale " referred to 
 the carelessness and extravagance in every di- 
 rection. 
 
 When Mrs. Austen went away to dress, Peggy 
 drew an envelope from her belt and pressed it, 
 breathlessly, to her lips; it was a letter from 
 Venable the first since her departure. It had 
 come that morning, but she had waited until 
 she could be alone to read it. In her nervous 
 eagerness, she tore the envelope to pieces and, 
 with hammering pulses, shook open the page. 
 
 It was a brief letter. When she had finished 
 it, the radiance had gone out of her face and a 
 sick feeling surged over her, with each beat of 
 her heart. Venable had missed her, it seemed 
 was desolate without her; yet in some subtle 
 fashion he conveyed to her mind that this feeling 
 was'an aftermath that, since she had refused 
 to remain w r ith him, there was nothing to do but 
 regard the episode as closed. He said nothing 
 about his previously expressed intention to come 
 to America. He spoke of her voice, and hoped 
 that she would succeed in getting a hearing 
 he opined that this was all that would be neces- 
 sary to insure her future.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 121 
 
 A little cynical smile twisted her lips at his 
 mention of her voice it had reminded her of 
 her first Sunday in America. In her own coun- 
 try, Sunday was a joyous day, a sociable day, a 
 day of delightful excursioning, when the weather 
 was fine ; and she had come downstairs that first 
 Sunday morning, happily expectant. She had 
 found the family irritable and touchy. Mrs. 
 Austen had amazed her by stating violently that 
 she " loathed " Sundays. After breakfast they 
 sat and read the papers for hours, Isabelle and 
 Allyn having a highly recriminatory wrangle 
 over the possession of the illustrated supplement. 
 
 By degrees, (hey dispersed. A Sunday quiet 
 brooded over the house. There was no one on 
 the ground floor, except Peggy herself. She 
 went to the piano, and began to try over some 
 songs she foun:"! there. She sang softly, but her 
 pure, resonant t?nes carried to every part of the 
 house. She was in the middle of " Le Charme," 
 when Isabelle came into the room. She did n't 
 know Peggy could play, she had said, interrupt- 
 ing her, and would she play over some accom- 
 paniments for her? Isabelle, it had developed, 
 was studying for a grand opera career. Peggy 
 had quietly put aside the unfinished song. She 
 was shocked, not only by her cousin's rudeness, 
 but by her very obvious jealousy. She had not 
 sung, since.
 
 122 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 She read Venable's letter again, dwelling 
 avidly on the only lines that held comfort for 
 her : " I can't work I miss the inspiration of 
 you." She knew this could be true, and she 
 found a gleam of happiness in the tie it implied. 
 For a long time she sat, her hands clasped about 
 her knee, thinking. It was, really, a passionate 
 search for arguments to justify the attitude of 
 the man she loved; she found one in the scene 
 she had just witnessed between her aunt and 
 uncle. From this, and the conversation of the 
 women she had met in the Austen home, she in- 
 ferred that the average American woman was 
 neither trained nor inclined to economize and to 
 unselfishly bear her share of the marriage bur- 
 dens. Venable, an American, knew this too, and 
 was perhaps influenced by the knowledge. Mar- 
 riage would mean double failure for him fail- 
 ure as an artist and as a husband. But Peggy 
 knew that he knew she was different ; she was too 
 wretchedly logical to have the comfort of a delu- 
 sion. The truth was that Venable's ideals did 
 not measure up to her own. First and last, it- 
 was a woman's physical attractiveness that mat- 
 tered to him ; since this was to be enjoyed with- 
 out marriage why marry? Character and in- 
 telligence he valued, she knew, but he lacked the 
 fineness to appreciate love. She went back to 
 her typewriter with a heavy heart.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 123 
 
 " What are we going to have for dinner? " 
 Anne inquired. 
 
 Peggy, allowing for the hindrances that await 
 one in a strange kitchen, had gone out early in 
 the afternoon to look the ground over. 
 
 " I don't know, yet," she said, fastening her- 
 self into a blue and white checked apron she had 
 found hanging on the door. 
 
 " There was almost a whole roast of beef 
 left from dinner, last night I think I shall 
 make a ragout. Does your father like a rag- 
 out? " 
 
 " I don't know what it is? " 
 
 " I think you call it a stew." 
 
 " Oh, he loves it ! But cook won't make it 
 it 's too much trouble. He likes it brown." 
 
 "But of course!" Peggy opened the refrig- 
 erator, and then stood regarding the plate in her 
 hand in amazement. " Where is the rest of it? " 
 She held out a platter, on which lay the ribs and 
 tail-end of a large roast. 
 
 " Servants," Anne said laconically. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me they would dare eat 
 all the beautiful heart of that roast? Why 
 there is nothing left ! " 
 
 In the same way, when she looked for some 
 left-over bits of vegetables for her stew, she could 
 find nothing. 
 
 " Oh they never save anything like that.
 
 124 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 What do you want? " Anne trotted toward the 
 pantry. Peggy followed. 
 
 " Some carrots and peas." 
 
 " They 're on the top shelf there." 
 
 Peggy reached up and selected what she 
 wanted, at the same time taking in the rows of 
 many-shaped glass jars, filled with vegetables, 
 fruits, and potted meats, the majority of them 
 bearing familar French or Italian labels. She 
 sighed, thinking what they must have cost here 
 in America. Then she went back and continued 
 her preparations for dinner. 
 
 When Mr. Austen came home he went out to 
 the kitchen. Anne, on her way to the dining- 
 room with some plates of salad, stopped to give 
 him an adoring kiss. Peggy was at the sink, 
 draining the water from some string beans; she 
 threw her uncle a gay smile of welcome over her 
 shoulder. He looked tired, and his face still 
 held traces of the morning's bitterness and de- 
 feat, though it had brightened a little under 
 Anne's caress. 
 
 " Can't I do something? " 
 
 "There is nothing to do, mon oncle. Anne 
 is setting the table, and I have only to take up 
 dinner," Peggy said, in the high good humor of 
 the cook who knows that her meal has turned 
 out well. 
 
 " Then perhaps you won't mind if I stand here
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 125 
 
 and just watch you," he asked, with a winning, 
 half-wistful smile. 
 
 "I should like that!" 
 
 He crossed over and took one of her hands in his. 
 
 "Would you?" 
 
 " Of course ! " she said tranquilly. But her 
 sensitive face betrayed confusion as she met his 
 eyes they were compellingly tender. He stood 
 very close, looking down at her with an expres- 
 sion of intense sweetness. 
 
 " You are lovely, to-night ! " he said, in a low, 
 unsteady voice. " You are lovely, lovely ! " 
 
 She disengaged her hand gently, and pushed 
 back a strand of hair from her temple ; there was 
 nothing to indicate that she had not freed her 
 hand for that sole purpose. 
 
 " I am glad if you find me lovely." The frank 
 pleasure in her voice held no hint of coquetry. 
 " Have you forgotten that we were to talk French 
 when we were alone? " 
 
 Mr. Austen looked at her for a moment in 
 silence. 
 
 " I 'm afraid the only French I can think of to- 
 night would not carry me far or " he said 
 slowly, turning away "perhaps it would carry 
 me too far." 
 
 Peggy removed her apron. 
 
 " Will you take in this dish, my uncle? Dinner 
 is ready."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ONE morning along in November, Mr. Austen 
 came out of the house on his way to town, 
 and caught sight of Peggy raking up the crisp, 
 brown leaves that strewed the lawn. He stood 
 and watched her, loving the picture she made. 
 
 The day was clear, still, under a dazzling sun- 
 shine. The only sounds were the rhythmic swish 
 of leaves and Peggy's vibrant voice lifted in a gay 
 old French song. Her lithe body bent with 
 graceful freedom to the pull of the rake. She had 
 put on Anne's scarlet chasseur cap, and her skin 
 was luminous against its vivid folds. She had, 
 somehow, the prankish, elusive look of a wood 
 nymph who had strayed into civilized haunts, 
 had found there a strange, diverting toy, and was 
 having great sport with it. As he watched her, 
 Mr. Austen felt that if he stirred she would 
 vanish behind one of the old maples that shaded 
 the lawn. 
 
 "Bon jour, mon oncle!" she called blithely, 
 as she saw him coming down the path. 
 "Comment ga va?" 
 
 "I am in excellent health, thank you." He 
 smiled, for her mood was infectious. "Only, 
 
 126
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 127 
 
 it seems to me that young ladies of refinement 
 don't make use of that particular form in in- 
 quiring about their uncles' health," he teased. 
 
 " It is true but I am not refined, this morn- 
 ing!" she laughed. "I am only happy." 
 
 " Yes you seem remarkably happy." 
 
 " I have had a letter ! " Her eyes danced. 
 
 "Yes I know," he said, glancing down. 
 Presently he looked up again, with a rather 
 forced smile. " Are n't you going to town, this 
 morning? " 
 
 " No. Mr. Weller does n't need me until 
 Thursday." 
 
 " There 's another case," Mr. Austen flung 
 out, "where an artist has been sacrificed for 
 his family. With his gift, he ought not to be 
 doing magazine illustrating. Of course, his 
 wife is a very nice woman, but that doesn't 
 alter the fact that the care of her and the two 
 children has cost him a career ! " 
 
 "I think he does not want the fact altered 
 he is very happy." 
 
 "Well," he said, after a moment's silence, 
 "good-by, Peggy." 
 
 She leaned on the rake handle and watched 
 until he turned into the street; he did not look 
 back. She began to rake again, lifting the 
 leaves into a pile. She knew what had been in 
 his mind. When she had announced her inten-
 
 128 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 tion, the previous fortnight, to go to work, he 
 had tried to dissuade her, arguing that it was 
 not necessary. She, however, had seen clearly 
 that her ambition to become a singer could 
 never be realized in her aunt's home she 
 could not even practise; they would feel that 
 she was usurping Isabelle's prerogatives but 
 she could not leave without money. Mrs. 
 Austen had raised her eyebrows when she 
 learned that her niece intended to pose for il- 
 lustrations it was n't very desirable work, 
 she thought but if Peggy felt she had to earn 
 something It had ended with Mr. Austen 
 speaking to his friend Weller. 
 
 The girl stopped raking for a moment to 
 push the hair out of her eyes. Some crows 
 cawed overhead, their flight shadowed on the 
 yellowing grass. Her heart swelled as she 
 watched them dip out of sight. Somehow, this 
 beauty of black, flying birds doubled the joy 
 that had come to her with Venable's letter that 
 morning, and she flung wide her arms, threw 
 back her head her eyes closed and drew a 
 great, shivering, ecstatic breath. 
 
 It was a short letter, like the first one, nor 
 was there any tenderness in it. It was, in fact, 
 full of savage protest against existence, of help- 
 less rage at his inability to work petulant, 
 illogical, glum. He was sending her a copy of
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 129 
 
 the Revue they had reproduced the Phryne 
 in it last decent thing he would ever do, prob- 
 ably. 
 
 Peggy had smiled very tenderly as she read it, 
 her eyes sparkling, her heart beating wildly. 
 In every word, she felt his need of her, his lone- 
 liness for her. 
 
 A sudden ache to see him swept over her. . . . 
 It would be wonderful to swing along the road, 
 beside him, for miles, this glorious morning, 
 to- 
 
 " Oh, Peggy ! " Mrs. Austen called, out of the 
 front window, " come upstairs a minute, will 
 you?" 
 
 She was standing beside her bed, opening a 
 cardboard box, as her niece entered. 
 
 " I love your room, Aunt Isabelle," the girl 
 said, looking about the sun-flooded chamber, 
 with its hangings of a quaint block chintz, in 
 which heavy old pinks, parrot greens, and dull 
 blues blended charmingly on a rich cream 
 ground. 
 
 " I hate the furniture ! " Mrs. Austen made 
 a face at the curly-maple bedroom suite. 
 " I 'm going to get one of those cream- 
 enameled Chippendale sets, with cane me- 
 dallions they 're the rage, now Mrs. Ap- 
 gar has one in French gray. Want to see 
 something pretty?"
 
 130 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 She held up, against herself, a blouse of 
 webby linen, exquisitely embroidered and hem- 
 stitched, with insets of filet. 
 
 " How beautiful ! " Peggy exclaimed, with the 
 Frenchwoman's eye for fine needlework. 
 
 She held up another. It was even sheerer, 
 and marvelously tucked. The girl examined it, 
 enthusiastically. Her aunt opened a bureau 
 drawer and began to make room for them. 
 
 " Your uncle will have a fit when he gets the 
 bill ! If I win at bridge, next Saturday, I mean 
 to pay for them myself. I suppose I should n't 
 have bought them," she went on, "but I met 
 Mrs. Donnelly at the counter, and I couldn't 
 resist getting a couple, too. That one you have 
 was twenty-five, and this was forty." 
 
 "Dollars you mean? But, do you are 
 they worth it?" She hesitated. "If you 
 would like to return these, I could make you 
 some I can embroider quite well. It seems 
 too bad to pay so much for something that will 
 last only a little while." 
 
 "My dear if I start skimping and trying 
 to economize on clothes, I '11 always have to 
 I don't want to give your uncle any bad 
 habits ! " she replied, her eyes dancing. 
 
 Unaccountably, Peggy suddenly felt that she 
 did not know her aunt at all; she had a vague 
 impression that her flippancy and heartlessness
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 131 
 
 were somehow a mask; but this idea con- 
 fused her previous conception of her only fleet- 
 ingly. 
 
 Isabelle had come in during their conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Well when / marry I won't have to train 
 my husband, because I shall pick out a rich one I 
 A man ought to give you everything when you 
 give him everything ! " She crossed to the 
 mirror. " I did n't get my hair up right, this 
 morning," she scowled, pulling out hairpins. 
 
 "But what do you mean by ' every thing '?" 
 Peggy inquired amusedly. " I cannot see that 
 you give anything, if there are servants to do 
 all the work and you have only to walk into the 
 shops and buy what you like? " 
 
 Isabelle turned round from the mirror, where 
 she had been admiring herself, her shimmering 
 golden hair caught loosely in her hand. 
 
 " Why I 'd give I'd give him myself ! " 
 She hesitated over the word, blushing. 
 
 " But is that more than he gives you? " her 
 cousin asked frankly. "And, in addition, he 
 takes care of you." 
 
 Isabelle flared up at this attack on the most 
 sacred and senseless tenet of her sex. 
 
 " That must be a French idea ! " 
 
 " I think France had not the honor first to 
 perceive that truth/' Peggy returned pleasantly.
 
 132 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " Isabelle, your hair is all split at the ends !" 
 Mrs. Austen said, paying no attention to the 
 conversation. " Turn around ! You 're getting 
 a wrinkle from frowning! We'll go in town, 
 Tuesday, and have a massage and manicure, and 
 get that new specialist the Donnelly s were 
 speaking of what 's his name? to treat your 
 hair." 
 
 " Doris says he 's wonderful. Gee ! I wish I 
 could have a new fall suit ! " 
 
 " I 've told you to stop saying * Gee ! ' 
 What 's the matter with your brown one? " 
 
 "That old thing!" 
 
 " It was new last spring." 
 
 " I 'm sick of it." 
 
 Her mother's raised eyebrows implied not dis- 
 approval, but impotence. 
 
 " You ought to see Doris's new outfit 
 mauve broadcloth and moleskin she paid a 
 hundred and seventy-five dollars for it." 
 
 " Well, you '11 have to hurry and marry that 
 rich man," Mrs. Austen said, laughing. 
 
 Isabelle picked up a pair of silver-handled 
 scissors from the bureau and went to a corner 
 closet. 
 
 " What are you going to do? " 
 
 " Borrow that Poiret label from the cloak 
 Uncle gave you, and put it in my new one 
 I' m going to wear it to the opera to-morrow
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 133 
 
 night. I '11 put it back," Isabelle said, snip- 
 ping. 
 
 Her mother burst out laughing. 
 
 " I love that ! " 
 
 " The fire feels good, these nights, does n't 
 it? " Mrs. Austen said, coming into the library 
 and settling herself in a big chair, with the 
 paper. 
 
 Peggy nodded, smiling. She was curled up in 
 a corner of the great leather divan, knitting by 
 the light of the crackling log fire. Her steel 
 needles made red flashes in the dim library, 
 lighted only by the amber-shaded lamp on the 
 long study table. She was lost in dreams. 
 Venable's letter, that morning, had brought her 
 more than the joy of his need of her; it had re- 
 vived her amour propre that had languished since 
 the receipt of his first letter. All day long, a 
 mounting, delicious sense of power had thrilled 
 her. Having examined herself in the mirror, 
 she felt dissatisfied this was not the creature 
 who charmed Venable, in her thoughts. The re- 
 sult was inevitable, to feminine psychology. 
 She took a slow, luxurious bath very differ- 
 ent from the unimaginative affair with which 
 she had begun the day; shampooed her hair; 
 buffered her dainty nails. Then she had cased 
 her fragrant, satiny, joyous body in the finest
 
 134 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 garments she possessed. Her black gown, with 
 its demure, white cuffs and childish, round 
 collar emphasized her pale, sparkling beauty. 
 In some subtle fashion, the process had meta- 
 morphosed her; when she had looked in the 
 mirror again, she had wished that Venable could 
 see her. She was living over the last time he 
 had caught her in his arms, when her aunt said : 
 
 " Is that the sock you started last night? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Mrs. Austen shook her head. 
 
 " You work very fast. Knitting would make 
 me so nervous I should go mad!" She threw 
 aside her paper and opened a magazine. 
 
 Peggy studied her she thought she looked 
 strikingly handsome, in the Antwerp blue geor- 
 gette gown she wore and very young. She 
 never could grow accustomed to her aunt's 
 youthf ulness ; she wondered if it were due to her 
 refusal to be touched by responsibility. 
 
 " Bob," Mrs. Austen called in to her husband, 
 who was working in his study, " what time did 
 the Hasbroucks say they 'd be over? " 
 
 " They did n't say," Mr. Austen replied, in a 
 preoccupied voice. 
 
 The door-bell rang. 
 
 " Bob, will you go to the door? I let Minnie 
 go to prayer-meeting she's very religious! 
 Your uncle has a terrible crush on Mrs.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 135 
 
 Hasbrouck," she confided to Peggy, when her 
 husband was out of earshot. " The Doctor 's a 
 divvle ! " she added, her eyes dancing. " I had 
 a wild experience with him, once ! Shh ! " she 
 cautioned, as the girl opened her mouth to 
 speak. 
 
 Mrs. Hasbrouck came in, laughing, followed 
 by her husband and Mr. Austen. She was short 
 and softly plump, with a dazzling sort of pretti- 
 ness. Her black hair was tossed up on top of 
 her head, loosely, and provocative curls strayed 
 over her temples and small ears. Flashing jet 
 earrings swung from their rouged lobes. She 
 was heavily made up, even to the rather in- 
 adequate eyelashes that fringed her snapping 
 brown eyes. She was vivacious, and she bub- 
 bled with gossip and amusingly sophisticated 
 small talk. She was one of those women who 
 unfailingly make a brilliant entrance. 
 
 When the introductions were over, she 
 dropped into a chair beside Mrs. Austen. 
 While they were talking, she threw frequent 
 glances at Mr. Austen, who leaned against the 
 mantel-piece, chatting with her husband. He 
 caught her eye, once, and smiled. Peggy hap- 
 pened to look up at the moment, and her aunt 
 gestured humorously with her eyebrow, toward 
 Mr. Austen. Several times, Doctor Hasbrouck 
 turned an intent, swift gaze upon Peggy. Pres-
 
 136 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 ently, he came over and sat down beside her. 
 
 "Knitting for the Red Cross? " 
 
 " No for a friend." 
 
 " Noticed that, Austen? " the doctor inquired. 
 "All the charming, pretty girls are knitting for 
 friends only the homely ones are working for 
 the Red Cross." 
 
 Mrs. Hasbrouck stopped in the middle of a 
 word, glanced at the faces of the two men, and 
 flashed Peggy a brilliant, antagonistic smile. 
 
 " I do not object that you stretch the truth 
 a little, to be agreeable,'' the girl said, with a 
 pretty air of raillery, looking up from her work 
 into the doctor's magnetic blue eyes, in which 
 ardent admiration smoldered. 
 
 " I 'd stretch it even farther than that ! " he 
 laughed. 
 
 " Docteur, I am sure of it ! " Peggy affirmed 
 vivaciously. 
 
 Her uncle, his elbows on his knees, his chin 
 resting on his knuckles, had never taken his eyes 
 from her face. This self-possessed, bantering 
 Peg&.Y with whom the doctor w r as obviously 
 already smitten was a new and fascinating 
 person to him. He wondered if she found Has- 
 brouck attractive he studied him from this 
 angle. He was thick-set, vital women liked 
 that. It struck him, suddenly, that the doctor 
 was very good-looking, after an irregular fashion,
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 137 
 
 and there was something very attractive about his 
 big, humorous mouth, with its perpetual quirk 
 at the corners. Peggy probably liked him. . . . 
 
 " You know, Austen, I would n't be surprised 
 if America were in this war, by spring? " 
 
 " Carter Hasbrouck ! you pessimist ! " his 
 wife exclaimed. " It 's much safer to stay 
 neutral ! " 
 
 "But how can you?" Peggy said earnestly. 
 " Even if America does not resent the sinking 
 of her ships, she cannot remain neutral when 
 there is right on one side and wrong on the 
 other!" 
 
 "That's right! That's right!" the doctor 
 agreed. " You 're not a pacifist, are you ! " 
 
 " They are rabbits ! " 
 
 The men laughed ; Mrs. Austen appeared to be 
 mildly amused; Mrs. Hasbrouck smiled on the 
 girl, with coldly glittering eyes. 
 
 "You are French, aren't you?" she in- 
 quired. 
 
 " I am half American," Peggy corrected. 
 
 " If war breaks out, I 'm going over," the doc- 
 tor declared. 
 
 " But why do you wait? " Peggy's eyes were 
 mischievous. 
 
 " Anxious to get rid of me? " he interrogated, 
 with a humorous twitch of his mouth. 
 
 " But no ! " she laughed. " You are very
 
 138 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 agreeable, even if you are absurd. Will you get 
 me that ball of wool, please it has just rolled 
 under my uncle's chair." 
 
 Mr. Austen handed it to her, as the doctor 
 stooped. He avoided her eyes. Mrs. Hasbrouck 
 regarded the men scornfully. 
 
 " Carter ! Do you hear that ! " she said, some 
 time later, breaking into the conversation by the 
 fireplace. " The Woodhulls are divorced ! " 
 
 " You don't mean it ! " 
 
 " They were married only four months ! " 
 
 "What was the trouble? " he asked, watching 
 Peggy out of the corner of his eye. 
 
 " Just uncongenial," Mrs. Austen interjected. 
 " You remember the Smiths? They were mar- 
 ried only three weeks ! " 
 
 " Better do away with marriage altogether," 
 her husband suggested, lighting a cigarette. 
 
 " You 'd love that, would n't you, darling," she 
 said, with a tormenting smile. 
 
 " It would save a lot of suffering." 
 
 " How does it strike you, Miss Lascelles? " the 
 doctor asked. 
 
 " You do not look at marriage, here, as we do 
 in my country, I 'm afraid it is that you expect 
 a miracle ! " she laughed. " In France, if a man 
 and his wife find themselves uncongenial, at the 
 end of a few months well they are philo- 
 sophical. You see, from childhood, we are
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 139 
 
 taught that one must make a success of marriage. 
 A woman would not think to divorce her hus- 
 band, because she was disappointed in him! 
 Mon Dieu, they would be all divorcees." She 
 shrugged, her face humorously alight. 
 
 " Sounds sort of cold-blooded/' the doctor re- 
 marked. 
 
 " Not at all ! " Peggy protested, laughing. " It 
 is only that we are practical." 
 
 " I never heard of anything more revolting, 
 anyway, than their custom of choosing a husband 
 for a girl ! " Mrs. Hasbrouck exclaimed, with her 
 pretty, contemptuous smile. 
 
 " But how can a young girl judge of charac- 
 ter? " Peggy retorted. " How can she find out 
 the things about a man that she should know? 
 She is not forced to marry him, if she does not 
 wish to." 
 
 " Would you like to have your husband selected 
 for you? " the doctor questioned, grinning. 
 
 " Docteur, you forget that I am half American ! 
 The Yankee half of me will choose our husband 
 and the French half will make the best of it ! " 
 
 Mrs. Austen and the doctor's wife did not 
 glance up, at the spontaneous laughter that fol- 
 lowed Peggy's little sally. They were appar- 
 ently too absorbed, in an exchange of gossip, to 
 be aware of it. The girl, however, was not de- 
 ceived. Her face grew hot. She wondered if
 
 140 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 she had been forward. She was sure she had 
 said nothing she should not have said yet, 
 there was a faintly contemptuous look on the 
 faces of the women that, clearly, bore no relation 
 to what they were saying. As she came out of 
 her troubled preoccupation, Mrs. Hasbrouck re- 
 marked : 
 
 " There 's one good thing about this war, any- 
 way when it 's over we won't have any trouble 
 getting servants." 
 
 " And then you say," Peggy spoke in a quiver- 
 ing voice, " that the French are cold-blooded 
 mon Dieu / " 
 
 " I don't see anything cold-blooded about that ; 
 we need servants, and these people will need 
 work that 's all," she finished icily. 
 
 Peggy resumed the knitting she had dropped 
 for the moment; her expression was grave, al- 
 most pitiful. 
 
 " Well, you '11 have to admit," Mr. Austen 
 spoke up, " that it is a trifle cold-blooded to see 
 an advantage in other people's tragedies." 
 
 " Well, at least it 's ' practical,' " Mrs. Has- 
 brouck parried, with a malicious emphasis. 
 
 " Me-ow ! " the doctor said, and everybody 
 laughed. 
 
 " Suppose we go and have something to eat," 
 Mrs. Austen suggested, leading the way to the 
 dining-room.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 141 
 
 Peggy and the doctor followed. 
 
 " Sorry I did n't meet you, sooner, Miss Las- 
 celles. Really ! " 
 
 He leaned toward her, and spoke nervously, in 
 a lowered voice. The masking smile had dis- 
 appeared ; desire flamed in his eyes. " I hope I 
 shall see you again soon. You are the 
 most " He stopped abruptly ; Mr. Austen and 
 his wife had come up close behind them. 
 
 Mrs. Hasbrouck was saying something very 
 complimentary about her companion's work, in a 
 calm, furious voice her chin high. 
 
 Peggy knew she had overheard the doctor's in- 
 terrupted superlative, and she was wretchedly 
 uncomfortable to have been placed, so undeserv- 
 edly, in a dubious position. 
 
 All through the frivolity of the supper, the 
 doctor fatuously continued to establish the fact 
 of his admiration for her. She was miserable, 
 and longed to get to her room. 
 
 Mrs. Hasbrouck gave her a brilliant, hostile 
 smile, and a flaccid hand, when she said good 
 night. 
 
 From her room, Peggy was conscious that her 
 aunt had switched off the dining-room lights, 
 spoken to her husband, and come upstairs; that 
 her uncle had locked and bolted the front door; 
 then she lost herself in disquieting thoughts of 
 the evening.
 
 142 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 Suddenly she remembered that she had for- 
 gotten to bring up the book she had been reading, 
 and went down for it. The library was dark, 
 except for the dull glow from the fire. As she 
 was feeling along the wall for the switch, some 
 one stirred. She gave a startled exclamation. 
 
 " Did I frighten you, Peggy? I 'm sorry." It 
 was her uncle's voice low, caressing. 
 
 " I thought every one was in bed," the girl ex- 
 plained, " but I remember, now, you did not come 
 upstairs. I came down for a book I have the 
 very bad habit to read before I can go to sleep. 
 I think I left it on the end of the mantel-piece." 
 She crossed to where Mr. Austen stood staring 
 into the fire. 
 
 " I 'm afraid you 've done for the doctor," he 
 said. 
 
 She could not see his face his height lifted 
 it above the small circle of radiance from the 
 embers, but she felt his devouring gaze. 
 
 " That is absurd ! " She tried to speak lightly, 
 against the curious excitement his tone had 
 aroused in her : " He is a married man ! " 
 
 "But he is human he is human,'' he whis- 
 pered, passionately, as he caught her in his arms, 
 and pressed his mouth to hers, again and again, 
 in spite of her efforts to free herself. Her head 
 whirled, she felt suddenly faint, her vital young 
 body trembled in his embrace. " I love you, dear-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 143 
 
 est you know that I love you ! " he breathed, 
 crushing her to him. 
 
 " Oh, don't ! " Peggy said weakly, and somehow 
 escaped from his arms and found her way, dizzily, 
 out of the darkened room. 
 
 At the top of the stairs, she met her aunt com- 
 ing along the hall. There was not the least need 
 to explain where she had been, but a sense of 
 guilt betrayed her into it. 
 
 " I went down to get a book," she said, striv- 
 ing to speak naturally. 
 
 Mrs. Austen glanced at the girl's hands, raised 
 her eyebrows politely, and went on to her room. 
 
 Peggy grew hot, all over, and her heart filled 
 with sickening dread. 
 
 In her excitement, she had come upstairs with- 
 out the book.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MRS. AUSTEN went to her room, in a state 
 of intense astonishment and suspicion. 
 Automatically, she let down her heavy, bright 
 hair and began to brush it. Why had Peggy 
 been so nervous and flushed, and why that stupid 
 lie about a book? Perhaps she had gone down 
 really for a book, and something had happened 
 that had put it out of her mind but what? 
 
 She would not have admitted, even to herself, 
 that she regarded Peggy as a possible rival. But 
 she did. The sense of kinship was too weakened 
 by circumstances to affect her attitude. Peggy 
 was her niece, it is true but she was also young 
 and attractive, and Mrs. Austen was more con- 
 scious of the latter fact than of the former. But 
 though, since the hour of the girl's arrival, she 
 had been fully aware of her husband's gravita- 
 tion toward her, and though Doctor Hasbrouck's 
 conduct that evening had intensified her jealousy, 
 no suspicion of Peggy had crossed her mind un- 
 til now. 
 
 Her husband, unhappily unaware of Peggy's 
 slip and of the necessity, therefore, to comport 
 himself in a manner to avert suspicion, prepared 
 
 144
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 145 
 
 for bed in an absorbed silence, stopping now and 
 then and staring at space. To his wife, the 
 symptoms were conclusive she was not wholly 
 unfamiliar with them. 
 
 After hours of tossing, Mr. Austen dozed off, 
 envying his wife her ability to sleep at the 
 moment when she, indeed, was scornfully lashing 
 herself for having been so gullible. 
 
 The children had finished breakfast and their 
 father and mother were alone at the table, when 
 Peggy came down the next morning. She was 
 agonizingly self-conscious, as she seated herself. 
 She had dreaded meeting them; especially she 
 feared some seemingly trivial remark on her 
 uncle's part that, to her aunt, would prove fatally 
 conclusive, in view of last night's unfortunate 
 occurrence. But he saluted her with his cus- 
 tomary morning gravity. As for Mrs. Austen 
 there was no way to fathom her enigmatic smile. 
 This morning, in her uneasiness, Peggy felt the 
 full disturbing force of it. 
 
 " I believe you said you were going to the 
 opera, to-night?" Mr. Austen inquired, as his 
 wife turned off the ebony spigot of the percolator 
 and passed Peggy her coffee. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " Well, I '11 stay in town, and bring you 
 home. You might come in early, if you like," he 
 suggested, smiling, " and have dinner with me."
 
 146 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 She raised her eyebrows disagreeably. 
 
 " I could n't think of putting you to that 
 bother! The Donnellys have asked us to motor 
 in, with them, and they '11 bring us home." 
 
 " Well," he said, uncovering the rolls and offer- 
 ing them to Peggy, " I dare say you regard that 
 as a more agreeable arrangement, anyway." 
 
 Mrs. Austen lifted her shoulders, in a charac- 
 teristic gesture. 
 
 In the silence that followed it seemed to Peggy 
 that she was creating a din with her knife and 
 fork; her senses became unreliable, magnifying 
 sounds and distances. Nothing weighed any- 
 thing her cup was so light that she almost 
 spilled her coffee when she lifted it. Her aunt's 
 manner with her husband had for the girl a sick- 
 ening significance. She was horribly worried. 
 If she had only thought to say that she had 
 been unable to find the book, she would have 
 cleared herself, instantly; but now there was 
 nothing she could do it would simply have to 
 stand as a suspicious circumstance. 
 
 "What did you have to pay for tickets? " her 
 uncle's voice broke the silence, at last. 
 
 " Ten dollars." 
 
 '' Apiece? " 
 
 "Certainly!" his wife said belligerently, 
 frowning. "We were lucky to get them! Mr.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 147 
 
 Donnelly had a hard time, as it was it 's the 
 opening of the season." 
 
 Mr. Austen buttered a piece of roll. He 
 turned to Peggy : 
 
 " You 're going, of course? " 
 
 "No I do not care a great deal for ' Car- 
 men.' " 
 
 " How did you like the Hasbroucks? " he asked, 
 after a moment. 
 
 The girl made a gesture of indifference. 
 
 Mrs. Austen busied herself with an active crisp 
 of bacon. 
 
 " I think the doctor was very smitten with 
 Peggy don't you?'' Mr. Austen continued. 
 
 " The doctor 's smitten with every one who en- 
 courages him," she said contemptuously. Then 
 addressing Peggy : " You were taking a chance 
 his wife is insanely jealous of every woman 
 who flirts with him." 
 
 Her niece flushed. 
 
 " I did not think I flirted. You have all teased 
 me for my seriousness, since I have been here, 
 and last night I tried to be more gay that is 
 all." 
 
 Mrs. Austen was regarding her plate with an 
 air of bored cynicism. Peggy had a moment of 
 plexal nausea she wished she had never left 
 France.
 
 148 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 "By the way," Mr. Austen said, folding Ms 
 napkin, " I wonder if you could find time, to- 
 day, to type that scenario of mine ' Labor ' ? 
 Merrit seemed very much interested in it, yes- 
 terday, and wants to see it right away. If you 
 could " 
 
 " Why don't you have one of the girls in the 
 office do it? " his wife interrupted. 
 
 " I don't care to have them know, at the office, 
 that I am doing motion-picture scenarios," he 
 said, flushing. " Besides, Peggy likes to do it." 
 
 " I can't imagine any one liking to do type- 
 writing, but then " 
 
 " That is true. I am not an exception," Peggy 
 said, smiling, "but I suppose we all do things, 
 sometimes, for others, that we do not like espe- 
 cially to do." 
 
 Her aunt made no comment. 
 
 She was lounging by the fire, reading the paper, 
 when Peggy went into the library some time 
 later, the unopened copy of the Revue she had 
 just received from Venable, in her hand. She 
 meant to glance through it and then get to work. 
 
 " Now you are just ' Marguerite,' " she said, in 
 an effort to seem at ease, to Isabelle, who sat in 
 a low chair full in the oblong of brilliant sun- 
 shine from a near window, nibbling bonbons from 
 a round rose and gold-laced box. 
 
 " You mean my hair? " Isabelle inquired,
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 149 
 
 catching up the long braids that hung over either 
 shoulder. " Doris says Doctor Vignol he 's 
 the hair specialist, you know makes all his 
 people wear their hair hanging for hours, every 
 day he says it exercises the roots isn't he 
 wonderful? I 'm crazy to go to him ! " 
 
 " It is not just the hair," Peggy said. " It is 
 the whole effect the simple gray dress and 
 the box it is like a jewel casket." 
 
 Isabelle began to hum the Jewel song. 
 
 "I like the music," she said, "but I think 
 Marguerite 's awfully wishy-washy I 'd rather 
 do ' Thais.' " 
 
 " Yes but it is a very difficult role." 
 
 " Did you see the girl Allyn was with, last 
 night, Mother? " she asked, ignoring her cousin's 
 remark. " I think she was an awful stick." 
 
 Mrs. Austen shook her head. She seemed pre- 
 occupied. 
 
 Peggy settled herself on the divan, her heart 
 heavy. In thrusting a pillow behind her back, 
 she uncovered a green volume. 
 
 " There is my book ! " she exclaimed. " I 
 looked for it everywhere ! " Suddenly, she saw 
 that her aunt was watching her, and realized 
 what was passing in her mind. She supposed, of 
 course that Peggy was referring to the book of 
 last night's incident ; instead, the girl had found 
 one she had actually mislaid, several days earlier ;
 
 150 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 without intentional duplicity, she had cleared 
 herself. 
 
 With a great rush of relief, she turned to her 
 magazine. The Phryne was even more perfect 
 than she had remembered. As she gazed at the 
 exquisite figure, she thrilled with pride in the 
 man whom she had helped, a little, to create it. 
 It did not need Vernet's enthusiastic paragraph, 
 below it was its own magnificent reason for 
 being. In her joy, she passed the Revue to her 
 aunt. 
 
 " Here is a reproduction of Mr. Venable's 
 Phryne." 
 
 Isabelle went and looked over her mother's 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Why!" she gasped, "it why it looks like 
 you, Peggy!" 
 
 " But that is most natural ; I told you that I 
 posed for it," she replied, bewildered by her 
 cousin's aghast face. 
 
 Two quick spots of color burned in Mrs. Aus- 
 ten's cheeks : 
 
 " You did n't say that you posed nude ! " 
 
 " But I told you it represented Phryne's ap- 
 pearance before the Athenian tribunal did you 
 not know the story? " 
 
 "Do you mean you don't mean," Isabelle 
 asked in horror, " that you posed that way 
 with nothing on at all?" Her cheeks
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 151 
 
 were crimson, her lips parted, incredulously. 
 
 " Certainly. How can an artist do the figure 
 if he has no model? " 
 
 " Well if they have to have one, let them use 
 some of the vulgar women who who don't care ! 
 I can't imagine a a decent " She broke off , 
 an expression of disgust distorting her pretty 
 face. 
 
 " You do not understand, Isabelle," Peggy 
 managed to say quietly. " A true artist does not 
 wish to perpetuate in marble a coarse-minded, 
 coarse-bodied woman sculpture would degen- 
 erate into a base art, if only common women 
 would lend themselves to the w r ork. Even the 
 Phryne, who was a courtesan, could not be truly 
 represented, except by some one with intelligence 
 and refinement. Otherwise, only the repulsive 
 side of her would come out." 
 
 " I should say I don't understand," Isabelle 
 said scornfully, " and I don't want to ! " She 
 regarded her cousin with unconcealed distaste, 
 "/think it's immoral!" 
 
 " Tell me, Isabelle," Peggy said earnestly, " is 
 it any more immoral than for a woman to appear 
 in public in a very decollete gown or a fashion- 
 able bathing suit? She shows as much of herself 
 as she dares, whether she has beauty to justify 
 it or not she is not thinking of beauty ! She 
 wishes only to remind men that she is a woman
 
 152 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 to stimulate their curiosity and passion! 
 With a model, it is quite different she has to 
 make her living with her beauty and an artist 
 is thinking of that, or of her defects, perhaps, 
 when he is doing the nude figure and not of 
 her sex ! I think you do not realize how artists 
 and their models regard posing." 
 
 " All this talk of artists amuses me," Mrs. 
 Austen said, with withering sarcasm. " They 
 are men, like any one else, and they take advan- 
 tage of their opportunities ! " 
 
 The color flashed out of Peggy's cheeks. Striv- 
 ing to remain calm, she said : 
 
 " It is true that sometimes artists are con- 
 temptible just as bakers, or ministers or doc- 
 tors are sometimes contemptible; but I can 
 tell you, my aunt, that women are insulted quite 
 as often, in the every-day relations with men, as 
 they ever are in studios." 
 
 Without comment on what she had just said, 
 Mrs. Austen returned the Revue to her niece. 
 
 " I hope you won't show that to any one else ! 
 I think you 'd better destroy it." 
 
 Peggy put in most of the afternoon on the 
 scenario her uncle had asked her to type, but her 
 mind was not on the work ; instead, it reviewed 
 obstinately every detail of her aunt's behavior 
 over the Phryne ; it forced her to realize that her 
 nearest relatives confused posing with moral
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 153 
 
 laxity they could not, or they would not, see a 
 difference. She was indignant, distressed. An 
 ache of homesickness for the old broad studio life 
 with her father, for the contact with keen, liberal 
 minds, brought the tears to her eyes. In a mo- 
 mentary reaction against the stupid narrowness 
 of her present life, she almost wished that she 
 had remained in France with Venable, on any 
 terms. She had not realized that there could be 
 an environment in which people did not think 
 for themselves, in which they were actuated by a 
 kind of inherited hypocrisy. She had given 
 much thought to the needs of her body, in the 
 past, and some to those of her soul, but a stimu- 
 lating mental atmosphere had entirely obscured 
 the possibility of an existence in which her mind 
 might famish. The aridity of her life, in the 
 Austen home was beginning to depress her un- 
 bearably. It was true her uncle could be drawn 
 into invigorating discussions, but most of the 
 time he revolved round and round his own prob- 
 lem. Besides, his recently disclosed feeling for 
 her eliminated any hope of comradeship. Of 
 the friends who frequented the house, not one ap- 
 peared to have an interest beyond cards, theaters, 
 and social gossip. She felt she could not stand 
 much more of it. 
 
 The Donnelly car had come and gone, bearing 
 Mrs. Austen and Isabelle away. Allyn had
 
 154 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 dashed over to the Donnellys', immediately after 
 dinner, to try Rex's new pool table. 
 
 Peggy had kissed Anne good night, and gone 
 to her own room to prepare for bed, when she 
 heard Mr. Austen ascending the stairs. He 
 stopped at her door. 
 
 " Are n't you coming down, this evening? " he 
 inquired. " It 's early, you know, only half- 
 past nine. I I 'd like to have a little talk with 
 you " 
 
 Peggy considered, rapidly. After all, she 
 could not ignore her uncle's behavior ; it involved 
 an issue that must be met sometime better 
 now, when they could talk without danger of 
 interruption. 
 
 " All right, mon oncle I shall be down in a 
 minute." 
 
 He was at his desk, going over the scenario she 
 had typed, when she entered, a work-basket in 
 her arms. 
 
 " You know of course why I want to talk 
 with you/' he said, without preamble, as she set- 
 tled herself in a comfortable chair. " I ? m not 
 going to apologize for what I did last night 
 you know that I love you Peggy, I have never 
 loved any woman in my life as I do you ! " He 
 reached over and took the sewing out of her 
 hands, and held one in each of his. " I don't be- 
 lieve marvelously as you understand most
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 155 
 
 things, you can quite realize the tragedy of it. 
 You satisfy every need, every desire if I had 
 you, there is nothing I could not accomplish ! " 
 
 She gently withdrew her hands and sat, for a 
 moment, reflecting. 
 
 " You do not know me at all." 
 
 " I know that I love you and nothing else 
 matters," he said, intensely. 
 
 Peggy shook her head. 
 
 " Many other things matter. You see you 
 are too impulsive. Because you believe you love 
 me, you will not look at my faults. You would 
 not look at my aunt's, because you were infatu- 
 ated with her you have told me so. She was 
 extravagant, and she loved always to have a good 
 time and you were poor and liked to be quiet 
 yet you married her. ... It would be the same 
 with me. You said, just a moment ago, that I 
 would satisfy every need, but to do that I would 
 have to live like this with my life fitted into 
 yours. What would become of my ambitions? 
 You must have realized, mon cher oncle, that no 
 domestic life, alone, could ever content me." As 
 she talked, she deftly repaired a torn scallop. 
 " You see I have a certain pride that makes me 
 do as well as I can, the things that I have to do, 
 but, in themselves, many of them do not inter- 
 est me. My one thought is to sing." 
 
 " I could make you so happy, you 'd never
 
 156 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 think of your ambitions again ! " he said, vehe- 
 mently. 
 
 "But what do you think would make me 
 happy? " 
 
 " To be loved, as I would love you ! " 
 
 "And give up my work?" She shook her 
 head. 
 
 " Well, then, I dare say it could be arranged 
 so that you could go on with your singing/' he 
 spoke without enthusiasm. 
 
 " We are so serious ! " Peggy said, breaking 
 into a little laugh. " You have already a wife ! " 
 
 " There are ways out of marriage . . ." His 
 voice was tense. 
 
 She was silent a moment. Then she said, with 
 grave sweetness : 
 
 " It was not to help you find a way out that I 
 have talked as I have. It is as I was saying, 
 last night there are always problems in mar- 
 riage, and I think divorce is a stupid solution, 
 generally. It seems to me like like a confes- 
 sion of failure except in rare cases." 
 
 " Peggy," her uncle said, " I have tried well, 
 practically all of my married life to change 
 your aunt to interest her in more vital things 
 to teach her the value of money, but " He 
 made a gesture of futility. 
 
 " Perhaps you have not gone about it the right
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 157 
 
 way perhaps forgive me to say it you 
 should have tried to change yourself, a little." 
 
 " Perhaps I should have been firmer with her," 
 he reflected. 
 
 " Or with yourself," she hazarded. 
 
 " Let 's not talk any more about this, to-night." 
 He rose and shook himself as though to get rid 
 of an unpleasant thought. " I want to be happy 
 just this little while that I have you to myself." 
 He spoke wistfully. " Let 's go into the other 
 room, and sit by the fire." 
 
 " No." She folded up her work : " I am go- 
 ing to bed, now." 
 
 " You are afraid that I may forget myself, 
 again? Peggy was it really so disagreeable? " 
 He leaned toward her, smiling tenderly. 
 
 " You are very impetuous and you have 
 much physical charm and I am not insensi- 
 tive," she said slowly, " but no I did not 
 like it. It is difficult to explain." 
 
 " You mean that you did n't want to like it? " 
 
 "No it is not that; it would not happen 
 again." 
 
 " Are you very sure? " 
 
 " Yes. You surprised me, last night. Of 
 course, if I were contemptible, and there were 
 not some one else for whom I care it is true 
 I could drift into an affair with you I mean
 
 158 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 vou do not repel me. In the same circumstances 
 there are many with whom it would be impos- 
 sible do you see what I mean? " 
 
 " Yes," he said bitterly, " it 's quite clear what 
 you mean it was not myself, but only the man 
 in me that moved you. My God, Peggy! If I 
 had been that other man, I would never have let 
 you come to America ! " 
 
 " He is like you, my uncle ; he thinks that it is 
 not well for an artist to marry." 
 
 " Dear, I 'd marry you, to-morrow." 
 
 " And repent it, the day after," she said, with 
 a whimsical smile. " Good night." 
 
 He looked down adoringly into her eyes. 
 
 " No that is the one thing I could never do. 
 I wish I had known you twenty years ago." 
 
 " But I was not born, then ! " Her eyes 
 twinkled. 
 
 " No that 's true you were n't. You see, 
 you are so old for your age " 
 
 " And you are so young for yours " 
 
 They smiled at each other. 
 
 " Good night," Peggy said, at last. 
 
 " Good night." He held her hand lingeringly 
 in his; she could feel the pulse beating against 
 her palm. " I hope you will rest well," he 
 said, and turned away abruptly. 
 
 After Peggy went, he sat at his desk for a long 
 time, his head between his hands, staring at the
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 159 
 
 tan blotter. He felt that he had not exaggerated 
 his feeling for her; if anything, he had under- 
 stated it or rather, he had omitted individual- 
 izing details. As he recalled his words, they 
 seemed disappointingly typical and unconvinc- 
 ing. He saw how natural it was Peggy should 
 have confused the quality of his love for her with 
 that of his long-ago infatuation for his wife. 
 That had been mere youthful passion it had 
 lacked the complexity of his love for Peggy. To 
 realize his literary ambitions, to prove himself 
 to himself, mattered more to him, now, than any- 
 thing else in the world; the girl understood this; 
 she encouraged him, inspired him ; he needed her 
 she moved through his every dream. And, as 
 he sat thinking, he saw, suddenly, that he did not 
 need his wife she gave him nothing that he 
 could not obtain elsewhere. 
 
 He was still deep in thought, when Mrs. Aus- 
 ten and Isabelle came in from the opera. They 
 had had a wonderful time Galland had been 
 divine she had taken ten curtain calls. 
 
 " Why, Papa," Isabellas eyes shone with ex- 
 citement " she gets over two thousand dollars 
 a night ! I wish I were in her shoes ! " 
 
 " Well, your father can help you, if he cares 
 to." 
 
 Mr. Austen regarded his wife blankly. 
 
 " You know Giles Winthrop well enough to in-
 
 160 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 vite him out to the house, don't you? " she asked 
 belligerently. " You went to college with him/' 
 
 " But " 
 
 " He 's one of the directors of the Metropolitan, 
 isn't he? It seems to me that if you can't ad- 
 vance Isabelle socially, you might pull any 
 strings you can to help her artistically. Her 
 voice is just as good as lots that you iear there 
 it 's only a question of pull." 
 
 He was silent a moment, wondering how his 
 wife could think that Isabelle had grand opera 
 possibilities. But finally he said : 
 
 " All right. I '11 see if I can get hold of him." 
 
 He listened until he heard the click of their 
 heels on the stairs, then he followed, automati- 
 cally pressing buttons that left the rooms in 
 darkness behind him. 
 
 He had yielded for the sake of peace but it 
 was a curiously external peace ; inside, there was 
 sickening turmoil.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ONE evening after dinner, during the fort- 
 night following Peggy-Elise's departure 
 for America, Gilbert Venable was lying on the 
 couch in his studio, smoking, and thinking of 
 her missing her. He was wondering if, with 
 her irritating practicality, she had put him out 
 of her thoughts as resolutely as she had put him 
 out of her life and at once admiring and resent- 
 ing her strength, when there came a knock at 
 the door. It was an unfamiliar and individual 
 knock one short, imperious rap. It touched 
 his imagination, and he hurried to open the door, 
 pipe in hand. 
 
 In the doorway, her hands resting lightly on 
 her thighs, one foot thrust back and her head to 
 one side, stood Fania Rebikoff, the woman about 
 whose dancing and whose personality all Paris 
 was talking. Venable's pulses leapt at sight of 
 her; her dazzling splendor took his breath away. 
 She was tall, and her supple body was sheathed 
 in shimmering Tyrian purple silk. A vermillion 
 sash, brocaded in old silver, with heavy silver 
 fringe, was caught round her slim hips and knot- 
 ted on one side, and she wore quaint, tarnished 
 
 161
 
 162 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 silver, heelless shoes. On her right hand was an 
 enormous square emerald, in a barbaric silver 
 setting. Her black hair was brushed straight 
 back from her forehead, so that her head looked 
 sleek and glossy like a wet seal's. Heavy emer- 
 ald earrings swung from her short-lobed ears. 
 
 " It is necessary to introduce myself? " she 
 demanded disdainfully, in French, as Venable 
 stared at her speechless. 
 
 " Your pardon, madame," he managed to ar- 
 ticulate. " I was thinking that there must be 
 some mistake." 
 
 " No." She entered the studio with lazy grace. 
 " The little Bosquet wished to bring me, himself, 
 to save me embarrassment but me I am 
 never embarrassed and I preferred to meet you 
 alone." Her voice had strangely disturbing 
 notes in it; Venable's breath came short, as it 
 played along his nerves it was languorous, al- 
 luring. 
 
 He had seen her, some months before, at the 
 Opera, and had been restless for days after. 
 Her marvelous dancing was an expression of con- 
 suming, unslakable desire; every glance of her 
 dark, tired eyes; every quiver of her unquiet 
 mouth, painted vividly scarlet; every movement 
 of her sinuous body, swa\ T ing to urging, Russian 
 rhythms the faint hint of exhaustion subtly
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 163 
 
 promised ecstatic destruction to all who might 
 seek to quench it. But the stories current about 
 her had rather dashed Venable's enthusiasm. 
 At that time she was permitting a certain elderly 
 banker to pay for her expensive caprices. She 
 drove notorious bargains with her lovers, Paris 
 said, and nicknamed her " L'Avare." Venable 
 had figured that, from meeting such a woman, 
 nothing was to be gained unless all was to be 
 gained and had put her out of his head. But 
 now, close to her, the madness returned. The 
 peculiar white flaming beauty of her face fas- 
 cinated him he could not take his eyes from 
 it. 
 
 "I am sorry, rnadame," he said, at length, 
 " that you should have found me like this. I 
 have been lying down." 
 
 Her heavy magnetic gaze traveled over him 
 like a lingering hand, lie thrilled under it. 
 She slowly lifted one shoulder. 
 
 " Where is the Phryne? v she demanded. 
 
 He led the way to it, in chagrin. For a mad 
 moment, he had thought that her presence in his 
 studio at that hour, coupled with her expressed 
 wish to see him alone, might be due to some 
 caprice of curiosity, of interest touching him, 
 personally. He smiled at his naivete. As she 
 scrutinized the figure, with intense interest, his
 
 164 PEGGY-EU8E 
 
 pride as an artist soothed his injured vanity. 
 He wondered if she thought of purchasing the 
 Phryne. 
 
 She turned to him finally, with an air of tri- 
 umph, her lips parted in a scornful smile. 
 
 " My body is far more beautiful than that 
 it has more subtlety more appeal! I told 
 Bosquet ! He is a fool ! Look ! " 
 
 With perfect ease, she assumed the pose of the 
 Phryne, but the insolence, the sensuousness, the 
 contempt, were startlingly intensified. 
 
 Venable gazed at her, spellbound. 
 
 " Destroy that," she urged, " and you shall do 
 one of me that will live forever! See she 
 could have been cold and controlled it is in her 
 face, in her body she had a soul but me 
 I am just fire I burn always it is my nature 
 I know only one law to devour ! " 
 
 Venable strove to speak calmly. 
 
 " Yes you are elemental, but you would not 
 do for the Phryne. The old Greeks would not 
 have found you beautiful. Your beauty is of to- 
 day; it would appeal only to the school that ig- 
 nores featural perfection, and worships angu- 
 larity, and even ugliness, if it has a certain qual- 
 ity. You are too thin, too modern to be a con- 
 vincing Phryne." 
 
 She snapped her fingers. 
 
 " You are in love with your model."
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 165 
 
 '* Madame," Venable asked suddenly, " why 
 did you wish to meet me alone? " He smiled 
 down upon her there was challenge in his eyes. 
 
 She looked at him with an expression that 
 made his senses reel. 
 
 " There is always a possibility that one may 
 wish she had come alone." 
 
 Venable caught her blindly to him, and bent 
 her supple body far back as he leaned over and 
 felt thirstily for her lips. 
 
 It seemed to Venable that life could offer noth- 
 ing more than it gave him during the following 
 week. Fania was infatuated with her handsome 
 new lover and omitted none of the ritual of en- 
 slavement. Into his workaday studio she 
 brought the barbaric splendor of her costumes 
 Bakst, who admired her inordinately, had de- 
 signed them all and as she swirled past him 
 in some spontaneous, impassioned dance, or sat, 
 cross-legged, among cushions, in fantastic Turk- 
 ish garb of Persian green, Bakst magenta, and 
 black arabesqued in gold and with rare inflec- 
 tions recited for him some vivid chapter from her 
 life it had all the enchanting regalement of 
 the Arabian Nights. 
 
 Fania stimulated his imagination, but much 
 as opium might have affected it ; ideas for figures 
 sprang up with such satisfying vitality and dis-
 
 166 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 tinctness that he was somehow lazily disinclined 
 to give them more concrete expression. He 
 thought, even, of changing the whole mode of his 
 art of adopting the abandonment of the futur- 
 ists in order to catch the elusive, free, ultra- 
 modern quality of Fania; at moments even the 
 Phryne appeared stilted, antiquated. But all his 
 enthusiasm was insufficient to energize his re- 
 laxed will. 
 
 At first, Fania insisted upon having their meals 
 in the studio, but the whim was of short duration. 
 One night she pushed the food from her in a pet. 
 When Tenable tried to find out what the trouble 
 was, she shrugged him away irritably. What 
 was the matter with the man that he did not 
 want to take her out and flaunt his conquest? 
 She was used to being " shown off " ; she under- 
 stood masculine vanity and profited by it. This 
 willingness to celebrate such a victory in solitude 
 was an inconceivable affront. The fool might be 
 loutishly in love, but he did not know her value 
 she was wasted on him. 
 
 " Are we to stay shut up in this hole forever? " 
 she demanded, having fumed and lashed herself 
 into a fury. 
 
 Venable looked at her in amazement. 
 
 "Why, I thought it was your wish," he said. 
 
 " Mon Dieu!" she stamped. "Am I to be 
 chained to my wishes? "
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 167 
 
 " Well, what do you want to do? " 
 
 " I want to go somewhere and see some one ! " 
 She flung her wineglass to the floor, shivering it 
 into atoms. 
 
 They went to Durand's. 
 
 There was a moment's silence when they en- 
 tered, then a buzz. She was pointed out ; people 
 came to their table. She was in brilliant humor. 
 Venable saw the envy in men's eyes, caught his 
 name as it passed from table to table he was 
 intoxicated with his triumph. During the eve- 
 ning, Fania discovered that a striking young 
 woman, at an adjoining table, was trying to at- 
 tract Venable's attention, and her passion, that 
 had rather languished for a day or two, flared 
 up. He happened to remark that the stranger 
 looked as if she might be an American. Fania's 
 eyes blazed. 
 
 " You will take me home, now ! before you 
 humiliate me further! " she commanded. 
 
 Venable was dumbfounded. 
 
 Back in the studio there was a violent scene. 
 She jerked off her jewels, tore off her clothes, 
 broke the pins tearing them out of her hair in 
 jealous mania. Her voice rose to a scream as 
 she said that Venable had made her the laugh- 
 ing-stock of Paris. She had thrown herself 
 away on a nobody, and he had ignored her 
 Fania Rebikoff, who had flouted kings ignored
 
 168 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 her for She drew on all her reserves of vo- 
 cabulary to describe her rival. 
 
 Venable explained and explained. She 
 shrieked him down. She was hideous in her rage 
 unbelievably coarse. He was disenchanted 
 at least, temporarily. Her hair was dishevelled, 
 her eyes bloodshot, and the studio looked as 
 though a tornado had had the ordering of it : the 
 dinner things had not been removed, the broken 
 wineglass still glittered on the floor, that was 
 further strewn with Fania's gorgeous garments. 
 One of her gold sandals lay upside down on a 
 chair, trailing its laces; everywhere there were 
 hairpins. Her heavy gold scarf had been ar- 
 rested in transit by a finger of the Phryne, from 
 which it now hung. Venable had a moment of 
 disgust; he thought involuntarily of Peggy 
 life would certainly be a more dignified, a more 
 worth while thing with her, but then, she was of 
 a different ilk of an ilk that did not lend itself 
 to promiscuous living. In that moment, quite 
 unconsciously, he acknowledged Peggy-Elise's su- 
 periority by his reluctance even to compare her 
 with the Russian. 
 
 Without warning, Fania suddenly ceased her 
 abuse, flung her arms around Venable's neck, and 
 sobbed that he did not love her any more. 
 
 Harmony was restored but it did not last. 
 Every day, now, there were quarrels. She
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 169 
 
 nagged him interminably about the Phryne. 
 Had Peggy inspired it? Was it like her? He 
 admitted, unfortunately, that Peggy was younger 
 and slimmer. Fania became a madwoman. He 
 must have the Phryne removed; she could not 
 stand to be reminded, every hour, of this woman 
 who had been everything to him. In vain he as- 
 sured her that Peggy was only a friend. At 
 first, her jealousy rather flattered him, but by 
 degrees he saw that all her tirades sprang from 
 wounded vanity. If a woman was praised by 
 any one, in her presence, she took offense and 
 sulked she knew the defects of every prominent 
 beauty in Paris and detailed them venomously. 
 Then it required hours of adroit wooing and a 
 shameless use of superlatives to win her back to 
 a reasonable humor. It became very wearisome. 
 She was irascible, capricious. 
 
 After devilling him for two days, because he 
 had not made the promised figure of her, she 
 exerted every charm to tease him away from the 
 work. She posed for an hour the next day, 
 then grew bored and demanded that he stop. 
 The third day, they had another violent quarrel : 
 Fania could see no resemblance to herself in the 
 rough clay outlines; she insinuated that though 
 that might be how she looked to him, it was not 
 how she looked to herself, and she demanded im- 
 mediate alterations. The artist in Venable de-
 
 170 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 fended his work indignantly. There was an ex- 
 change of enlightening personalities. Fania 
 caught up her heavy gold powder-box, and hurled 
 it at the figure. Venable, in a white rage, lunged 
 at it, and pounded the clay into a shapeless lump. 
 Fania hissed that she was through with him! 
 Venable, in whom she had awakened insatiable 
 cravings, humbled himself once more and im- 
 plored her to stay. 
 
 After that, she continually threatened to go. 
 Venable's nerves had gone to pieces, and in his 
 fuddled state of mind his one thought was to 
 keep the wom-an, at any cost, whose power over 
 him made her indispensable to him ; furthermore, 
 he exaggerated the ridicule to which he would be 
 subjected as a deserted lover. He pictured all 
 Paris convulsed by Fania's conscienceless humor. 
 
 Then the Phryne was reproduced in the Revue. 
 Fania retaliated in an unforeseen fashion. In- 
 stead of shrewing it over Venable, she adopted a 
 tone of commiseration ; it was nothing to her if 
 he could not see his opportunities, if he persisted 
 in sculping little nobodies, in whom Paris had no 
 interest, when he might be making himself fam- 
 ous. From that, she passed to his shortcomings 
 as a lover. He had.no imagination. It was 
 enough to endure stupidity when one was well 
 paid ! Words passed between them that are not 
 commonly reported in the public prints. Ven-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 171 
 
 able slammed on his hat and went out. Down- 
 stairs, he found a letter from Peggy-Elise just 
 the sight of her handwriting quieted something 
 of the mental hurly-burly. One page he read 
 twice : 
 
 ' ; I have reasoned it all out, mon ami. We have two 
 sides the weak and the strong. When we yield to 
 passion the weak side rules the worst of us coines to 
 the top ; but if there is love with it, it brings out un- 
 selfishness and all the best things, to balance the other 
 side. I might have lived with you, Gilbert, if you 
 had loved me. But I think if you had, you would not 
 have wanted me to. 
 
 ' ' I know you will shrug and be impatient over what 
 [ have said but it is true. When a man really loves, 
 he wants to pay a woman the highest compliment in 
 his power, and I think no man can feel that it is a 
 higher compliment to make a woman his mistress than 
 to make her his wife. Do you not agree with me ? ' ' 
 
 Peggy was right; ordinarily, Venable would 
 have shrugged aside her words; but, coming at 
 the psychological moment, they caused an intense 
 reaction, and he hailed them as pure wisdom. 
 In a flash, he saw how he had deteriorated in 
 these few weeks with Fania ; his temper had be- 
 come as ungovernable as hers; he had matched 
 coarseness with coarseness and violence with vio- 
 lence in the fury of their quarrels; he had par- 
 ried her jealousy with petty lies; he had grown
 
 172 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 indifferent to his work the " weak " side of 
 him had certainly been uppermost. Married life 
 loomed, suddenly, as the most desirable of human 
 states quiet, respectable, married life. 
 
 As he was returning to his studio that after- 
 noon, he met an elderly gentleman, elegantly, al- 
 most foppishly dressed, ascending the stairs. 
 It developed that he had called to see Venable in 
 connection with the Phryne. Venable was re- 
 lieved to find the studio empty. The visitor, 
 Prince Ignace Pulaski, recently arrived from 
 Rome, had seen the Phryne in the Revue, that 
 morning, and had hastened to inspect the orig- 
 inal. He had not dared to hope for anything so 
 perfect he could have no peace until he had 
 added this masterpiece to his collection. He of- 
 fered Venable a sum for it that staggered him; 
 yet in the next breath he wondered if he were be- 
 ing cheated. If it was as good as Pulaski said, 
 might he not be wiser to hold it longer? But 
 then it might be that the prince had a special 
 fancy for it and had overvalued it. In the end, 
 he accepted his check. He was showing him 
 some of his other work, when Fania came in, clad 
 in a brilliant green gown and sumptuous sables. 
 
 The prince, having been introduced, elatedly 
 informed her that he was now the possessor of 
 the Phryne what did she think of it? Fania 
 thought it was rarely beautiful, but she said it
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 173 
 
 absently with her eyes fixed fascinatedly on the 
 prince. Venable watched her with indifference 
 he suddenly saw the whole callousness of her. 
 When she rose to leave, the prince rose, too. 
 She bade her erstwhile lover a gay good-by. 
 Three days later, he saw her driving in the Bois 
 with the prince. 
 
 At first, Venable was demoralized; he suffered 
 all the agonies of adjustment of the opium fiend 
 who has been newly deprived of his drug. He 
 had no appetite and he slept badly. The studio 
 depressed him horribly it seemed still to vi- 
 brate violently with Fania's frenzies, and the 
 Phryne's empty pedestal filled him with loneli- 
 ness it had been a very tangible link with 
 Peggy-EHse. He dallied with the thought of 
 Peggy she still baffled him, piqued his vanity. 
 He speculated much about her. 
 
 When he told his friends he was going to Amer- 
 ica, they recalled Peggy-Elise. He admitted he 
 meant to marry her, if it were not too late. They 
 tried to dissuade him, offering the stereotyped 
 arguments against marriage; it would ruin his 
 career, shut him off from inspiring affairs. He 
 interrupted them with a sardonic laugh. He 
 said he had never had an "inspiring" affair in 
 his life that, in fact, he had never found any- 
 thing so inspiring as Peggy-Elise's understand- 
 ing and artistic intuition.
 
 174 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 They were very glum they could see nothing 
 before him except oblivion. Armstrong said it 
 was all tommy-rot a reaction from the last af- 
 fair that Fania was the exception and not the 
 rule. Venable shook his head. Vernet even of- 
 fered him his new mistress. " She would soon 
 prefer your charms to mine, mon vieux," he 
 urged humorously. Venable was touched by 
 their affection, but he remained obdurate. 
 
 That night he wrote Peggy-Elise that he was 
 coming to America.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 AUSTEN kept his word and invited Giles 
 Winthrop to the house. All through din- 
 ner he hoped for an opening in which to refer 
 casually to Isabelle's voice not even the dread 
 of his wife's biting tongue could have induced 
 him to introduce the subject abruptly, after the 
 manner of many parents with accomplished off- 
 spring but his hope was disappointed. 
 
 In the den, over their after-dinner cigars, Mr. 
 Austen had momentarily forgotten his paternal 
 obligation, when Isabelle, in the next room, be- 
 gan to play the piano, remindingly. He racked 
 his brain for some legitimate excuse for asking 
 his friend to listen to her; he had too little par- 
 ental egotism to imagine that a man of Win- 
 throp's broad musical culture would find enter- 
 tainment in her amateurish efforts. 
 
 Peggy slipped into the library that adjoined 
 the den, to get her knitting; Isabelle, in the liv- 
 ing-room, was playing the opening bars of the 
 " Vissi d'Arte." Peggy sang it softly to herself ; 
 her tones were pure and full her pianissimo 
 had none of the usual wispy thinness. Win- 
 throp listened in astonishment. To him, the ro- 
 175
 
 176 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 mance, the great adventure of life was to discover 
 a rare voice. Let any one hint that in a certain 
 corner of the world there was one worth hearing, 
 and though it were in Thibetan fastnesses he 
 would be off the next hour in quest of it. He 
 knew perfectly well that most persons' judgment 
 was unreliable, because they lacked a refined mu- 
 sical sense, and, as a consequence, he had run 
 down many coarse, or harsh, or hollow voices; 
 still nothing could restrain him it was a pas- 
 sion. The Metropolitan owed to him three of its 
 best artists. Now, as he heard Peggy's voice, his 
 pulses leaped; Mr. Austen had not mentioned 
 that there was a singer in the house. 
 
 "Does your daughter sing?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes a little," Mr. Austen said cautiously, 
 too relieved to realize how the miracle had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 " I 'd like to hear her," Winthrop's manner was 
 eager. 
 
 Isabelle always had to be coaxed to sing; it 
 was as hard to start her as it was to stop her. 
 She made no exception of the present occasion. 
 Only her youth and prettiness saved her protests 
 from utter ineptness. Winthrop said, amiably, 
 that one always expected artists to be nervous. 
 She blushed but betrayed none of the traditional 
 agitation. 
 
 " I wish you 'd accompany me, Peggy," she
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 177 
 
 said, finally going to the piano with an amazing 
 air of assurance. 
 
 Peggy dropped her knitting into Anne's lap 
 she sat on a hassock at her feet and went to 
 the piano. The " Vissi d'Arte " lay open on the 
 rack. Isabelle motioned toward it. 
 
 Winthrop listened blankly, as the first phrases 
 issued from her lips. She had a small, rather 
 pretty voice, badly produced, and marred by the 
 worst mannerisms of several famous singers. 
 She had no power of interpretation; her work 
 was wholly imitative. His nerves were on edge 
 by the time she had finished. This was not the 
 voice he had heard. 
 
 He let her down, with politely evasive phrases. 
 She had a charming voice, he said, but it was im- 
 mature; that time, and only time, brought the 
 maturity necessary for professional appearance; 
 that she must be very careful not to strain it, 
 etc., etc. 
 
 Isabelle argued that many singers had gone 
 into grand opera in their 'teens. He admitted 
 that this happened among the Latins, where girls 
 matured very young. Mr. Austen asked if Italy 
 produced more singers than Germany; the con- 
 versation became general. Winthrop was preoc- 
 cupied. He wondered why Isabelle had been put 
 forward when there was in the house the rare 
 voice he had overheard.
 
 178 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 He glanced several times at Peggy's sensitive 
 profile she had that indefinable look of a singer 
 she interested him intensely ; but if she sang, 
 why did no one mention the fact? There re- 
 mained only Mrs. Austen. To his question, she 
 replied that Isabelle was the only song-bird in 
 the house. 
 
 " Why, Mother ! Peggy sings," Anne ex- 
 claimed. " She sings beautifully." 
 
 Winthrop turned eagerly to the girl. She 
 shook her head, nervous and distressed by the 
 turn of affairs. 
 
 " Yes, she does ! " Anne insisted. 
 
 " I sing just to please the little one," Peggy 
 explained. " She is not a judge." 
 
 " Her voice goes all through you," Anne de- 
 clared obstinately. 
 
 " Sing something for us, Peggy," her uncle 
 urged, understanding her reluctance. " I don't 
 think I 've ever heard you." 
 
 Peggy hesitated; she did not want to antag- 
 onize her aunt, nor to prejudice Isabelle's 
 chances, if she had any. Suddenly, her common- 
 sense asserted itself; this was a heaven-sent op- 
 portunity she had just as much right to take 
 advantage of it as her cousin had. She remem- 
 bered what Venable had said that you could 
 not get ahead without "pull." She seated her- 
 self at the piano. Winthrop leaned forward,
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 179 
 
 eagerly attentive, as she played the brief intro- 
 duction to " La Chevelure." 
 
 He sat motionless, almost breathless, until the 
 strange, disturbing dissonance came to its hushed 
 rest in the final chord. Peggy's voice, impas- 
 sioned, thrilling, poignantly sweet, amazed all 
 her listeners. There was a moment of absolute 
 stillness, when she finished. Then Anne threw 
 her arms around her, with a sob. It broke the 
 tension. Mr. Austen was too moved to speak 
 he did not dare even to look at his niece. Isa- 
 belle and her mother wore strained smiles. Win- 
 throp's eyes glowed with admiration and excite- 
 ment Peggy was a rare find. She had not only 
 a voice of divine quality, pure, golden, but she 
 had almost perfect production her tones 
 floated. Also she had intensity, dramatic power, 
 and that artistic restraint that comes usually 
 only with long experience. 
 
 "With whom did you study, Mademoiselle?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "With Madame Simon she and my father 
 were very dear friends." 
 
 " Do you mean Clementine Simon ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes," he nodded. " She is very fine 
 she is a pupil of old Lamperti. I knew her 
 when she was the rage in Paris she had a beau- 
 tiful voice."
 
 180 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " Her voice is still beautiful," Peggy said en- 
 thusiastically. " She does n't sing any more, 
 but she gave me the arias for solfeggi, and when 
 I got them wrong, she would do them for me." 
 
 " Did I understand you to say that Mademoi- 
 selle Lascelles is your niece? " Winthrop in- 
 quired, when he and Mr. Austen were once more 
 ensconced in the study. 
 
 " Well, she is my wife's niece her sister mar- 
 ried Andre Lascelles a musician violinist, I 
 think, in Paris." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " She came to live with us a couple of months 
 ago, after her father's death he fell at Le Mort 
 Homme." 
 
 " I see, I see." Winthrop would have liked to 
 ask many questions, but it was a delicate situa- 
 tion; he suspected that it had been the Austen 
 girl's intention to keep her gifted cousin in the 
 background. And why had Austen never heard 
 the niece sing? 
 
 Mr. Austen sensed his friend's preoccupation. 
 He attributed it to Peggy. He himself had been 
 shattered by her singing, but he did not appre- 
 ciate her artistry he had only been moved by 
 it ; it did not occur to him that it might be Peggy's 
 voice, only, and not herself that had so impressed 
 Winthrop. 
 
 The girl went to her room early. She was mis-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 181 
 
 erable. Winthrop had seemed to like her work, 
 yet he had not said a word in praise of it. With 
 the tormenting self-depreciation of the artist, she 
 was convinced of her own mediocrity. She 
 wished she had not sung " La Chevelure " so 
 many people did not care for Debussy and 
 then, she was out of practice. Having tried, use- 
 lessly, to read, or to write letters, she had just 
 decided to go to bed when her uncle called her. 
 He wanted some notes he had made for an opera 
 libretto; where had Peggy put them, when she 
 straightened out his manuscripts? She said it 
 w r ould be easier to get them than to try to tell 
 him where they were. 
 
 She found them, and was about to leave the 
 study when Winthrop said : 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I wish my old friend Debussy 
 could have heard you sing ' La Chevelure,' to- 
 night." 
 
 " Monsieur ! " was all Peggy could articulate ; 
 her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled with 
 happy tears. 
 
 " Have you no ambition to make use of your 
 rare gifts? " he inquired gently. 
 
 She gestured with her hands, to indicate the 
 impossibility of speech. 
 
 " Well, mademoiselle," he said, touched, " when 
 you wish to begin work, come to me I think 
 I may be able to help you."
 
 182 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 Peggy left the room, in a daze. 
 
 There was a bitter scene, the next day. Mrs. 
 Austen accused her husband of having brought 
 Winthrop to the house solely to hear Peggy 
 any one could see through it! Mr. Austen was 
 dumbfounded. She intimated that he was in- 
 fatuated with her niece that they were deceiv- 
 ing her. The partial truth of her charge blunted 
 his indignation left it unconvincing. 
 
 Nothing was said, outright, to Peggy, but the 
 situation became intolerably strained; she de- 
 cided to leave her aunt's household before there 
 should be an open break. She had saved a little 
 money, she was still posing for Hiller, and her 
 sense of strangeness, in America, had worn off; 
 she knew she would be able to manage. She 
 meant to get in touch with Winthrop, as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 When she announced her decision, Anne had 
 one of the few storms of weeping that had char- 
 acterized her singularly tearless childhood. 
 When her sister came to comfort her, she pushed 
 her away. " I hope you 're satisfied, now, Is 
 Austen ! " 
 
 Mrs. Austen smiled cynically when Peggy said 
 she felt herself an added expense; she remem- 
 bered that the girl had posed for the Phryne, and 
 believed that she wanted freedom only for a lax
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 183 
 
 life. She was convinced that her husband had 
 manceuvered the change. 
 
 Through a woman friend of her uncle, Peggy 
 located in a tiny attic room, in Patchin Place. 
 She was enchanted with Greenwich Village; in 
 its quaintly haphazard laying out of streets, that 
 ran unexpectedly, delightfully, and often bewil- 
 deringly into themselves and each other, it re- 
 minded her of Paris. She prowled about, ec- 
 statically. She found the little French bakery, 
 where she could get real brioches, and discovered 
 other French shops. She felt at home for the 
 first time since she had been in America. The 
 people she met even the ones she saw on the 
 street had a certain charm ; they were like the 
 types in the Quarter often absurd, but at least 
 sincere in their absurdity. She loved their ar- 
 dent, clever, humorous or wildly tragic, faces; it 
 stimulated her just to look at them there was 
 such passion for life, such rebellion against stag- 
 nation. She breathed it in and felt renewed. 
 
 Flo Kipp called Mrs. Austen up, one morning, 
 about two weeks after Peggy's departure. In the 
 course of their chat she said, in her breezy way : 
 
 " My dear, you must go down with us, some 
 time, to Greenwich Village ! A crowd of us went, 
 the other night, to the ' Dutch Oven ' such 
 crazy people, my dear ! you never saw such
 
 184 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 freaks! Did your husband mention seeing me? 
 He had the prettiest little girl with him ! Who 
 is she?" 
 
 " What was she like? " Mrs. Austen inquired 
 carelessly, though her throat contracted on the 
 words. 
 
 " Oh tawny, my dear quite beautiful eyes 
 and mouth very chic she looked French." 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said, in an offhand manner, 
 " that was Peggy my niece, you know." 
 
 "O-oh?" 
 
 Mrs. Austen winced under her friend's inflec- 
 tion. 
 
 "She's very pretty isn't she?" Mrs. Kipp 
 said, and began making arrangements for the 
 matinee. 
 
 When Mrs. Austen hung up the receiver, she 
 had a nauseating headache. What she had just 
 heard, confirmed her growing suspicions. There 
 was no reason, of course, why her husband should 
 not have taken Peggy to supper; it was his not 
 having mentioned it that was so damningly sig- 
 nificant. She sat at the telephone desk, for a 
 long time, recalling every little detail that might 
 establish her husband's infidelity. When the 
 telephone rang, again, she put the receiver to her 
 ear absently, then listened, galvanized. A tele- 
 gram w^as being transmitted over the wire ; it an-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 185 
 
 nounced the death of her godfather, from apo- 
 plexy, on his way to California. 
 
 She was horribly shocked. She had seen him, 
 only a few days before, in perfect health. In 
 spite of herself, she could not help realizing how 
 his death would alter her affairs ; she was his sole 
 heir. This meant the end of her whole make- 
 shifting, dreary, eventless existence how she 
 longed for beautiful clothes, for money enough to 
 play her beloved bridge without the humiliation 
 of having to confess her debts to her husband, and 
 of being curtain-lectured for trying to make the 
 best of conditions for which, she felt, he alone 
 was responsible. She speculated, though feel- 
 ing that it was a little indecent, on the probable 
 extent of her godfather's fortune ; she concluded, 
 from the rate at which he had lived, that he 
 must have been worth at least a half-million. 
 
 The staggering truth was that he had lived up 
 to and far beyond his means ; his little remaining 
 property barely covered his debts. There was an 
 insurance for ten thousand dollars, in Mrs. Aus- 
 ten's favor and that was all. She thought 
 there must be some mistake, but there was none. 
 
 " Uncle said so often that he had provided for 
 me ! " she complained bitterly to her husband ; 
 she was sick from disappointment. " But I sup- 
 pose it 's what I might have expected he just
 
 186 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 threw money away and he never denied him- 
 self anything ! How long will ten thousand dol- 
 lars last? " she demanded indignantly. 
 
 " Not very long unless you make a wise use 
 of it," he concurred. 
 
 " What do you mean ' make a wise use of 
 it 1 ?" Her tone was hostile. 
 
 " I mean that, in our circumstances, it might 
 be made to go a very long way we might get 
 out of debt, for instance." 
 
 " And then what? " she asked, with forced pa- 
 tience. 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " Well, then, if I had an easy mind I could 
 give up this editorial job, and write in a year 
 we 'd be on our feet." He could not keep the wild 
 hope out of his voice and eyes. 
 
 She sneered. 
 
 " You have n't much confidence in me have 
 you? " he said. 
 
 " No ! I have n't ! You 've had enough time, 
 in the last ten years, to have written a dozen 
 books!" 
 
 " No one can write, on the verge of bankruptcy 
 all the time ! " 
 
 " Well, do you think it 's been easy for me? " 
 she retorted angrily. " I could scream when I 
 go into your study and find you adding up your
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 187 
 
 debts! Those little papers, with their eternal 
 columns of neat little figures, have driven me al- 
 most insane ! I 'm sick of it all I can't stand 
 any more of it ! I 'm going to have a good time 
 with this money and I don't care what happens 
 afterward ! " 
 
 " In that event," he said, in an icy voice, " we 'd 
 better have an understanding." He paced the 
 floor several times, his head bent. " I judge that 
 you and the children can live for a year on ten 
 thousand dollars however extravagant you are, 
 and I 'm going to take advantage of the fact, to 
 go away somewhere, by myself, and do my work 
 I owe it to myself ! I 'm not going down to 
 my grave, with the conviction that I was a fail- 
 ure, simply because I never had a chance to prove 
 to the contrary ! You don't understand my ambi- 
 tions you 've never even tried to ! " he con- 
 cluded bitterly. 
 
 " I should think your ambition would be to 
 make your wife and children happy, instead of 
 forcing us to every shift, to keep up appearances, 
 and not let people know what a failure you are! 
 You seem to think I have no pride ! " Her blue 
 eyes flashed angrily. 
 
 "I think your pride should be a little con- 
 cerned with making a success of your end of the 
 bargain!"
 
 188 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " I make as good a showing as any one could, 
 on what I have ! Every one imagines we are a lot 
 better off than we are ! " 
 
 " Good God ! Is that your only conception of 
 success? " 
 
 " Well I 'd like to see any one do better ! " she 
 stormed. 
 
 Mr. Austen packed a suitcase, did up a bundle 
 of manuscripts, and left the house the next morn- 
 ing, before any one was up. If necessary, he 
 meant to borrow enough to see him through a 
 year; but, at the office, he found a letter from 
 Merrit, announcing that he had accepted his 
 scenario, " Labor," and enclosing a check for fif- 
 teen hundred dollars. Mr. Austen felt that Fate 
 was with him. 
 
 During the day, he called up his wife, and told 
 her that he would not see her again, until he had 
 finished the book he intended to write ; he refused 
 to say where he was going. She replied that if 
 he went, he need never come back. He said that 
 was up to her. She hung up the receiver, her 
 head whirling. She had not believed for a mo- 
 ment, the night before, that he would execute his 
 threat! And she utterly discredited the reason 
 he had given for going; doubtless, it was his in- 
 tention to have Peggy with him that was why 
 he would not tell her where he was to be.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 189 
 
 She told the children that their father had 
 gone out of town, for a few days, on business. 
 She waited a torturing week for him to return. 
 Then she could bear the strain no longer. She 
 went to Patchin Place, hoping to either confront 
 her husband with Peggy, or to learn that the girl 
 had quitted her lodgings. But she was there, and 
 in bed, with a cold she had n't been even out- 
 side the door for a week. Of Mr. Austen's disap- 
 pearance, she knew only from a letter she had 
 received from him. He hoped she would come, 
 later on, to see him. 
 
 In her relief, Mrs. Austen felt a sudden friend- 
 liness for her niece she was thin, and she had a 
 bad cough. 
 
 " I think you 'd better come home and let us 
 take care of you." Her manner was tinged with 
 embarrassment. 
 
 " You are very kind," Peggy pressed her hand, 
 " but I am all right, here every one is so good 
 tome!" 
 
 When Mrs. Austen left, she ordered more deli- 
 cacies sent up to the girl than she could possibly 
 eat in a month. She was shocked by her quar- 
 ters; to her, used to conventional surroundings, 
 they seemed unthinkably mean and depressing. 
 She was very uncomfortable over it; she knew 
 that her sister Mary Peggy's mother would
 
 190 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 never have permitted a child of hers, Isabelle, for 
 example, to leave the shelter of her roof, while 
 she had one. 
 
 On the way home, she considered divorcing her 
 husband later on, on the grounds of desertion; 
 but she knew her pride would never let her admit 
 she had been deserted she would carry off his 
 absence, somehow. She wondered if he had 
 really gone away, just to work; it was unimag- 
 inable and yet she half believed him. She 
 felt a dawning admiration for him.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 WHEN she read Venable's letter, Peggy 
 dropped weakly into a chair, her eyes 
 shining, her heart shaking her body with the im- 
 pact of its beat. It announced that he would be 
 in America, by the end of December, and that 
 longing for " his little Peggy-Elise " was bringing 
 him. Things should be the way she wanted them, 
 now, he said. He told her briefly of the affair 
 with Fania did she remember who Fania was? 
 into which loneliness, he averred, had plunged 
 him, and out of which he had come, a happier and 
 wiser man. 
 
 As Peggy read, she could hear his magnetic 
 voice, could see his handsome face bent persua- 
 sively over her, and she yearned passionately for 
 him. But though her heart was wholly satisfied 
 with the letter her reason sat back, critically, and 
 advised that she reread it. She did so. Finally, 
 she had to admit that Venable's altered attitude 
 might be due to a reaction, and that there was 
 just a hint of pride in his reference to the Rebi- 
 koff affair. 
 
 After a sleepless night, she called up Giles 
 
 191
 
 192 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 Winthrop; she had tried twice before to get him, 
 but he had been out of town. Even over the tele- 
 phone, his pleasure at hearing from her was obvi- 
 ous. He proposed that they have lunch together 
 and talk things over. 
 
 Apart from ambition, Peggy was very eager to 
 get into opera now ; she realized that if she were 
 still posing for Hiller when Venable arrived, she 
 could scarcely refuse to pose for him ; and if she 
 consented there would be the old difficult inti- 
 macy with its inevitable temptation. But far be- 
 yond the rather remote possibility of drifting into 
 relations to which she was opposed was the need 
 of an unanswerable argument, should Venable de- 
 sire to marry her, as his letter implied. 
 
 It had come to her in the night, as a result of 
 relentlessly facing facts, that though there were 
 artists who should marry, Venable was not one of 
 them. It was a matter of character; some shoul- 
 dered responsibilities and worked better for hav- 
 ing them; others avoided them as a hindrance. 
 Venable was of these. Peggy feared that his new 
 state of mind would be of short duration, and 
 she was determined that he should not ruin both 
 their lives. If he were bent on marrying her, the 
 only obstacle that might balk him would be a 
 career of hers that must not be hampered. 
 
 Winthrop took her to lunch at Delmonico's. 
 She assured him she had never eaten such deli-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 193 
 
 cious food in her life it was the apotheosis 
 of cooking. He was delighted. They talked 
 French, throughout the meal; he addressed the 
 waiters in French Peggy had the illusion of 
 being back in her own country. She was at her 
 gayest. Winthrop was thrilled as he looked into 
 her deep gray eyes, starry with pleasure and ex- 
 citement. She would be beautiful on the stage. 
 And with her voice and temperament 
 
 " What is the matter? " Peggy asked, for his 
 face had suddenly taken on an expression of half- 
 humorous chagrin. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " I was just wondering how it will turn out, 
 with you singers are a gamble, mademoiselle." 
 With a kind of whimsical despair, he related some 
 of his experiences. Once, in California, he 
 thought he had found a successor to Patti the 
 woman was young, handsome ; she had a magnifi- 
 cent voice, and a surplus of temperament ; but she 
 had been simply too lazy to make the effort nec- 
 essary to memorize a r61e; in addition, she was 
 insanely egotistical and had a fiendish temper. 
 Then there was the case of Sarah Rabinowitz. 
 He had discovered her singing in an East Side 
 synagogue, of which her father was the rabbi. 
 She had the languorous, Semitic beauty; her 
 voice was both sympathetic and brilliant and of 
 phenomenal range. It was arranged that she
 
 194 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 should study for a year she had had good 
 training. Three days later, Winthrop was in- 
 formed that Sarah was in Bellevue. It was use- 
 less to inquire of her father what was the matter 
 he spoke no English. Winthrop had rushed 
 to the hospital, like a madman, only to learn that 
 she was in the psychopathic ward she had 
 " spells," and had to be taken there often. 
 
 Peggy laughed. 
 
 " Well, I can only assure you, monsieur, that 
 I am neither lazy nor crazy ! " 
 
 As a result of their talk, Winthrop, himself, 
 took her to Signor Ferro-Ganacci, the following 
 Thursday. A rehearsal was in progress when 
 they entered, and they had to wait a few minutes. 
 At the sound of the orchestra, Peggy's hand flew 
 to her throat and she trembled violently. It 
 brought her father back, as she had seen him, 
 thousands of times, leaving for the Opera, violin- 
 case in hand. She had a curious feeling that he 
 w r as near to help her, perhaps. For a moment 
 the tears threatened, but she controlled herself. 
 
 " Mr. Winthrop tells me you have a very good 
 soprano voice," Signor Ferro-Ganacci said, 
 studying her from under bent brows. " You 
 know ' Boh&ne '? " he inquired presently. Some- 
 thing about her suggested Mimi to him. 
 
 She said she did. 
 
 "All right." He nodded. "We'll have
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 195 
 
 ' Mimf s song ' unless there is something you 
 would prefer? " 
 
 " I will sing that." 
 
 When Peggy found herself standing alone in 
 the middle of that vast stage, sensed the bigness 
 of the darkened auditorium, and saw Winthrop 
 and Ferro-Ganacci vanishing up the aisle toward 
 the back of the house, she had a moment of panic ; 
 she would never be able to make herself heard. 
 Then she began to sing. It was an agonizing 
 experience. She knew from her moving lips, and 
 her interior sensations that she was producing 
 tones, but she could not hear them. Though the 
 orchestra was playing softly, her voice blended 
 with it and was lost in it it was the first time 
 she had ever sung with one. Toward the end of 
 the song, she began to distinguish a sound that 
 had a human quality, and concluded that this was 
 her voice. By the time she reached the brief final 
 unaccompanied recitative, she had so lost herself 
 in her work that the cessation of the orchestra 
 did not startle her. As her last bell-like, plain- 
 tive tones died, she realized that she was stand- 
 ing with her hands outstretched in a little apolo- 
 getic gesture that the words had inspired. Then 
 there came the more poignant realization that 
 her future had been determined by the quality 
 of the work she had just done. Fortunately, she 
 was diverted from this consideration by the sight
 
 196 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 of the two men, returning down the aisle. They 
 were talking animatedly. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," Signor Ferro-Ganacci en- 
 tered the orchestra enclosure " are you famil- 
 iar with ' The Barber '? " 
 
 Peggy hesitated. 
 
 " No, monsieur I know only the aria 
 1 Una Voce Poco Fa.' " 
 
 " Good ! That is what I wish to hear. You 
 are nervous? " 
 
 " Vn pen," she admitted, falling into French, 
 in her excitement. 
 
 " It is natural." He flashed her a sympathetic 
 smile, and rejoined Winthrop. 
 
 It took a few moments to get the scores and 
 distribute them. There was the swish of turn- 
 ing pages, then silence, as the conductor raised 
 his baton. 
 
 For a sickening second, Peggy wondered if she 
 would be able to do the aria she was out of 
 practice, and it called for great agility ; but she 
 had no time to think. 
 
 As she sang the traditional cadenza, that was 
 interpolated by a famous coloratura and has 
 been sung since by any whose range included it 
 sang it brilliantly, with perfect mastery, and 
 stopped on a triumphant note, there was a burst 
 of applause from the two men, in which the musi-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 197 
 
 cians joined. Peggy felt that she must be 
 dreaming. 
 
 " I guessed at once that you were a coloratura," 
 Signer Ferro-Ganacci said. 
 
 " Yes it is what my teacher told me, always 
 but I did not care to be a coloratura it does 
 not suit my temperament," the girl replied, with 
 an expression of mingled rapture and disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, it is just that warm, dra- 
 matic temperament that coloraturas usually 
 lack." 
 
 Peggy went out to see her uncle, early the next 
 morning. It was snowing heavily, but she was in 
 too great a fever to tell him her news to be re- 
 strained by the weather. It was the first time 
 she had gone to see him. 
 
 It had been Mr. Austen's intention, when he 
 walked bitterly out of his Flushing home, suit- 
 case and manuscripts in hand, to find if possi- 
 ble a place in the country where he could have 
 solitude for his work. Through luck, he had run 
 across an artist friend, about to join the Lafay- 
 ette Escadrille, who had offered him the use of 
 his " shack " at Montvale, in northern Jersey. 
 The " shack " had proved to be a delightful rustic 
 studio, on a birch -covered hillside that sloped
 
 198 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 gently down to a harum-scarum little river, tum- 
 bling and tearing over boulders, or lying, quiet, 
 in some pebble-bottomed hollow. The place, or 
 perhaps the change, or perhaps both, had proved 
 an inspiration, and Mr. Austen was almost satis- 
 fied with the quality of his work. 
 
 He had just put the coffee pot over, when Peggy 
 knocked. Without interest, he opened the door, 
 to which no one had come, so far, except trades- 
 people, and then stared in astonishment. 
 
 " Peggy ! " he marveled, in a caressing voice, 
 "is it really you?" He put out his hand and 
 drew her into the house. " Forgive me for keep- 
 ing you standing here in the cold though I "m 
 not sure, yet, you 're not a snow-sprite, and that 
 you won't melt when I bring you in where it '& 
 warm. Have you come to stay? " he asked 
 lightly, taking the small hand-bag she carried 
 he achieved lightness with a great effort. 
 
 She laughed gaily. 
 
 " No those are things to eat it is a good 
 rule, when you come to visit a hermit, to bring 
 your dinner with you ! " 
 
 " Oh, Peggy, Peggy ! it is so good to see 
 you ! " He seized her hands and began to draw 
 her to him, but suddenly released her. " Have 
 you had breakfast?" He pulled himself to- 
 gether. 
 
 " No I planned to have it with you I have
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 199 
 
 brought some beautiful real brioches. Have you 
 an apron? " 
 
 " What are you going to do? " 
 
 " Get breakfast," 
 
 His eyes twinkled. 
 
 " How do you suppose I manage when I 'm 
 here alone? " 
 
 " I don't know ! " She smiled lugubriously. 
 " If you are as helpless as my father was " 
 
 " My dear Peggy, all men are helpless when 
 they have some one to depend on -but I assure 
 you we are born housekeepers! You sit there, 
 and I '11 prove it to you ! " He motioned to an 
 easy-chair by the fireplace, in which a great 
 hickory log blazed. 
 
 She dropped into it, her eyes sparkling with 
 amusement as her tall uncle donned a chef's 
 regulation snowy cap and apron his predeces- 
 sor had bought them to wear at a masked ball. 
 
 " But where did you get those ! " she demanded, 
 through her laughter. 
 
 He maintained an important silence. 
 
 She looked on, fascinated, as he placed a small 
 table by the fire, and covered it with an immacu- 
 late cloth, taken from the chest of drawers that 
 had yielded up the cap and apron. He set the 
 table with an air of solemnity, put a halved 
 orange at each place, then stood off to inspect 
 his work.
 
 200 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " Sugar, butter, cream," he pointed at each, 
 with an enumerating finger " napkins ! I for- 
 got napkins." He fetched them, all with an air 
 of absorption that was enchantingly funny. 
 
 The breakfast, of bacon and eggs, brioches and 
 coffee, was delicious. 
 
 " Well, after all," Mr. Austen said, in response 
 to Peggy's praise, " I 'd be pretty stupid if, after 
 all the breakfasts I 've eaten, I did n't know how 
 to produce one." 
 
 She admitted that was true, and began a 
 whimsical inquisition. How did he manage 
 about this? How did he manage about that? 
 Who took care of his laundry? It was perfectly 
 simple : His friend, the owner of the studio, had 
 set the ball rolling and he, Austen, had simply 
 let it roll ; butcher, baker, milkman, laundryman 
 appeared, as by magic, and brought things or 
 whisked them away. The studio was a little 
 " out of their way," but nearly every place, in the 
 country, was. But who did his mending? The 
 laundry. Did they do it well? He hesitated, 
 then admitted, laughing, that their darning left 
 something to be desired. Taken all in all, he 
 was not an object of pity. 
 
 " Mon oncle," Peggy said, leaning back from 
 the table, her chin resting on her clasped hands, 
 " what do you think has happened to me? " 
 
 " I don't know what has happened to you,
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 201 
 
 dear, but nothing could be too good." He smiled 
 tenderly. 
 
 " Well your friend, Mr. Winthrop, has got 
 me into the Metropolitan Opera Company 
 isn't it wonderful? I am to have small French 
 and Italian roles, this season, and then if I do 
 well You see, I have had no stage experience, 
 so they cannot tell It may be that I shall be 
 a what is it Isabelle calls it? a < stick.'" 
 The word fell quaintly from her lips. 
 
 Her uncle rejected the possibility, with a smile. 
 
 " I do not know," Peggy said, with an anxious 
 air. " One may have good instinct for acting, but 
 it is a great art to know just how much to exag- 
 gerate ; on one side of a very fine line you are 
 ineffective and on the other, ridiculous. But 
 I shall work very hard." Her face was alight 
 with enthusiasm. 
 
 She went on to tell him of her interview with 
 Signer Ferro-Ganacci. 
 
 " And it has all come to me through you," she 
 added, as she finished, putting out an impulsive 
 hand to him. He bent over and carried it to his 
 lips. 
 
 "Dear girl, it has come to you through your 
 own gifts and loveliness." 
 
 " But I might have had to wait a long time, if 
 I had not met Mr. Winthrop." 
 
 Mr. Austen's face fell for a moment into bitter
 
 202 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 lines the acrimonious scene with his wife, 
 touching this matter, had come back to him, but 
 he smiled as he saw Peggy's troubled eyes fixed 
 on him. 
 
 " I am glad, dear, that I have been able to 
 help you even indirectly I would do far more, 
 if I could " 
 
 They had a wonderful day, marred momen- 
 tarily for Mr. Austen by the news that Venable 
 was coming to America so soon, and for the girl 
 by the pain her news occasioned ; but their gaiety 
 was too vital to be more than fleetingly dimmed. 
 When Peggy asked how r he was coming along 
 with his writing, he said if she 'd like to hear 
 what he 'd done, she could judge for herself. She 
 looked up in astonishment, from the sock she was 
 redarning, at the thick sheaf of manuscript in her 
 uncle's hand. 
 
 " You see, I can w r ork very rapidly under the 
 right conditions." 
 
 " It is curious,'' Peggy said, studying his face, 
 " but you are a quite different person when you 
 speak of your work it makes you look always 
 happy and handsome it is a kind of 
 idealized you a ' She stopped, at loss for 
 words. 
 
 " I know what you mean it -a because I love 
 to write, and it brings out the best side of 
 me."
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 203 
 
 " But it is a wonderful thing love/' she said 
 dreamily. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, with a pregnant inflection. 
 
 They were silent for a moment. 
 
 " I have n't decided on a title for this book 
 if you think of anything " 
 
 Peggy nodded. 
 
 In the course of the reading, she glanced up 
 several times appreciatively, and caught her 
 uncle ? s waiting eye. " I thought you would like 
 that," he said once; or again, " I knew that would 
 appeal to you." Peggy stopped darning, and 
 leaned forward intently. She listened, amazed, 
 her sympathy with his ambitions becoming every 
 moment more concrete, more enlightened. 
 
 The story dealt not unnaturally in the cir- 
 cumstances with a case similar to Mr. Austen's 
 own. He presented it grippingly. But by de- 
 grees Peggy saw that though his touch was sure, 
 it was prejudiced. She realized how blindly he 
 had gone through those frustrating years, how 
 bitterness and defeat had veiled his vision; in 
 his eyes, the artist was a kind of super-being, un- 
 alterable, to which the rest of the universe should 
 adapt itself. Inevitably, therefore, he vindicated 
 the artist's domestic failure. 
 
 " Well? " he inquired, when he had finished. 
 
 " It is splendid ! I found myself being almost 
 converted. How is it to end? "
 
 204 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " I have Egerton divorce his wife, and marry 
 again. The second time, he marries a woman he 
 thinks is going to be an ideal wife an alto- 
 gether different type but she doesn't under- 
 stand him she 's too exacting and in the end, 
 they separate. He simply proves to his satisfac- 
 tion that artists should n't marry, anyway, 
 that he should n't." 
 
 Peggy was thoughtful. 
 
 " Yes but this divorcing and marrying again, 
 and then more divorce and then no marriage at 
 all it does not seem to me that it is a solution 
 of the problem; I think it is only an evasion. 
 Figure to yourself! Always artists will go on 
 marrying it is their what do you call it? 
 their Achilles' heel that they must have a wife 
 and family. Nearly always there is that need; 
 and since this is so, it does no good to say they 
 should not marry. If I could write, I would try 
 to go to the bottom of this question." 
 
 " And how would you solve it? " her uncle 
 asked, a shade quizzically. 
 
 " Well I would show that a man has no 
 right to act as if he were different from other 
 men, to do as he pleases, to be a pampered hus- 
 band, because he writes or paints or sings'. 
 What is it an artist? It is the name for some 
 one who has special creative gifts just as we 
 call those who have the same gifts, in a less de-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 205 
 
 gree, artisans but they are both men! A 
 stone-carver would not dare to have a ' tempera- 
 ment,' but a sculptor has all his weaknesses ex- 
 cused, because he has more brain. Why should 
 he be less a man because he is a little more a 
 god? " 
 
 Mr. Austen looked at her curiously. 
 
 " What you seem to mean/' he said slowly, 
 as though the idea were forming with each word, 
 " is that an artist fails in marriage because he is 
 a failure as a man and not because he is an 
 artist, at all " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then you think, in my case " 
 
 " I think," she hesitated, fearing to wound 
 him " I think perhaps you let the situation get 
 out of your hands in the beginning." 
 
 " You mean I was weak ! " he stated bluntly. 
 " That if I wanted to write, I should have done 
 so and let the family suffer, until I was on my 
 feet." 
 
 " Or else have realized that you could not 
 have things the way you wanted them, and 
 worked in spite of unfavorable conditions," she 
 suggested gently. " It is always easier to change 
 oneself than to change another." 
 
 He sat for a long time, thinking. Things his 
 wife had said, shot through his mind : " You 
 could have written a dozen books in the last ten
 
 206 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 years." " Why don't you write, instead of eter- 
 nally adding up your debts, and nagging me for 
 my extravagance?" He wondered if his wife 
 had thought him weak. She wasn't analytical, 
 but she was instinctive, and she had probably 
 sensed it. Again, he wasn't convinced that he 
 had been weak he had been, rather, the victim 
 of circumstances. But, after all, wasn't that 
 the only difference between a strong man and a 
 weak one? that one overcame obstacles and the 
 other succumbed to them. 
 
 " You know how much my wife did to help 
 me ! " he flung out bitterly, at this juncture. 
 
 " Do you know," Peggy leaned her tawny 
 head back against her locked hands, and spoke 
 meditatively " I often thought Aunt Isabelle 
 bought things she did n't want, and did things you 
 disliked, just to to goad you into mastery." 
 
 " No you credit her with too much subtlety. 
 She was never actuated by anything but selfish- 
 ness." 
 
 " I do not mean that she was subtle I think 
 she was prompted by some primitive instinct." 
 
 A long silence fell upon them. The short win- 
 ter day was closing in. Peggy strained her eyes 
 over her work, throughout the brief twilight ; her 
 uncle seemed to have forgotten her presence. 
 Darkness crept up to the strip of lighted hearth, 
 but still he stared into the fire. A log settled and
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 207 
 
 flared into flame, scattering sparks. He did not 
 stir. He had been vouchsafed a glimpse of the 
 whole long scroll of his married life; emotion- 
 lessly, he absorbed one significant detail after 
 another, as one takes notes for leisurely ponder- 
 ing. All the convicting things he had forgotten, 
 passed under his mind's eye. And finally, there 
 was the telephone conversation with his wife, in 
 which she had told him he need not return. The 
 spell held until the last word, then he sat up, and 
 said: 
 
 "Well this isn't getting dinner is it?" 
 
 Later, as they groped their way to the station, 
 by lantern-light, Mr. Austen said : 
 
 " Have you seen any of the family? " 
 
 Peggy told him of her aunt's visit and of her 
 kindness. 
 
 " Um. Are they have they made any 
 change? " 
 
 " Yes they have moved to New York." Slje 
 hesitated. " I talked with Anne, yesterday, over 
 the telephone and " 
 
 " How is she? " he interrupted eagerly. " How 
 are they living? " 
 
 She told him. 
 
 " My God ! That child ought not to be shut up 
 in an apartment house ! She 's not strong 
 she ought to live outdoors ! Does she get plenty 
 of exercise? " he demanded, in irritable anxiety.
 
 208 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " I think she is well but she misses you." 
 Mr. Austen did not speak again until the train 
 came. His eyes were full of bitterness; his lips 
 were set in a hard line. He saidgood-by auto- 
 matically.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 DURING this, his first month of absence, Mr. 
 Austen had felt frequent yearnings for his 
 youngest child, but he had cynically dismissed 
 the idea that it might be mutual her mother 
 would see to it that she did not pine. Children 
 any child could be amused into forgetful- 
 ness. Then Peggy had shocked him out of the 
 half-comforting, half-bitter persuasion. Vivid 
 pictures of a sick Anne, of a lonely Anne, of a 
 bewildered Anne tormented him so that he could 
 not sleep, could not work. 
 
 He had a three-day struggle with his pride; 
 finally, he got a strong enough hold upon it to 
 permit him to write a note to his wife, telling 
 her where he was, in case anything should hap- 
 pen to the children. He hesitated over her ad- 
 dress she would know Peggy had supplied it 
 but then, there was no reason why he should not 
 be in touch with his niece ; his life was his own, 
 now. He did not intend to return to his wife; 
 her final selfishness, coupled with his blissful 
 month of work-filled solitude, he felt, justified 
 this determination. They could continue to live
 
 210 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 apart, and he would support the family, or he 
 would agree to a divorce. He meant to have 
 Anne with him, if possible. 
 
 When Mrs. Austen spied the envelope, ad- 
 dressed in her husband's nervous hand, she said 
 contemptuously, to herself, though her heart was 
 beating rapidly : 
 
 " I knew it would n't last ! " 
 
 But the triumph faded out of her eyes as she 
 read his brief note, that revealed not only his 
 whereabouts and his indifference to her personal 
 fate, but also that he was in communication with 
 her niece. A spasm of jealousy drove the blood 
 burstingly into her head, and gave her a sick 
 feeling in her throat. 
 
 " You have a perfectly reliable source of infor- 
 mation why trouble me? " she wrote, only to 
 crumple the sheet, and fling it viciously into the 
 waste-basket. Pride urged her to divorce him 
 and let him marry Peggy, if he wanted to. " The 
 fool ! " she ejaculated, between locked teeth. 
 " He does n't know what he wants ! He 
 wouldn't be any happier with her than he was 
 with me ! " 
 
 Of course, if she freed him, every one would 
 think she had had no alternative; on the other 
 hand, if she herself were free Cynically, she 
 realized that, unhindered by the confusing illu- 
 sions of youth, she could marry very well. She
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 211 
 
 would choose some one who liked to see a woman 
 handsomely dressed, to take her around and be 
 proud of her give her a good time. But, some- 
 how, the thought proved disappointingly un- 
 stimulating. It induced a surprisingly dismal, 
 "gone" feeling. She was glad* when Flo Kipp 
 breezed in. 
 
 " My dear ! " she exclaimed, " put on your 
 things, this minute and come with me ! ' Yvon- 
 nette' is selling all her winter models for nothing, 
 my dear she 's giving them away ! Such ducky 
 hats you never saw! This is one of them 
 is n't it a beauty? is n't it a creation? only 
 twenty dollars, my dear ! " She whirled round 
 gaily for Mrs. Austen to inspect the small, plain, 
 black velvet turban, with what looked like a hen 
 feather stuck in the front of it, for its sole trim- 
 ming. " Just finding it, my dear," she exulted. 
 
 "My dear girl, don't talk hats to me!" Mrs. 
 Austen exclaimed. " I bought three, yesterday 
 they cost a fortune, but I could n't resist them. 
 Come on into the bedroom." 
 
 " Hello, my dear ! " Mrs. Kipp called, as they 
 passed the open door of Anne's room. Anne 
 looked up, leisurely, from the book on her lap. 
 
 " Hello," she responded indifferently. 
 
 " Too perfect, my dear simply wonderful," 
 Mrs. Kipp raved, as her friend adjusted the first 
 of her purchases on her blond head. For fifteen
 
 212 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 minutes, ecstatic sounds issued from within. 
 
 " Anne ! " Mrs. Austen called. " Come here 
 and show Aunt Flo your new hat." 
 
 Anne's lip curled ; the " aunt " was a courtesy 
 relationship which she had never, in her heart, 
 ratified. She obeyed reluctantly. 
 
 There followed more raptures. Anne meant 
 to depart, the instant they subsided, but just then 
 Mrs. Kipp, with her usual irrelevance, said : 
 
 ' 'And how is your husband, my dear? " 
 
 " Oh deep in the throes ! " Mrs. Austen 
 laughed indulgently. " I had a letter from him 
 this morning." 
 
 "Well just think of it, my dear! to go 
 away and stay a whole month ! It 's too excit- 
 ing! Fancy being st) clever! Where did you 
 say he was? " 
 
 " Montvale." 
 
 "New Jersey?" 
 
 Mrs. Austen nodded. 
 
 " Why, I have some friends there, my dear 
 the Dunhams. I 've been there lots of times. 
 It 's on the Erie an enchanting spot ! Perfect 
 place to work in ! Of course I have n't an idea 
 in my head, but you know what I mean I imag- 
 ine it would be, if I had! A whole month! I 
 never heard of such a thing ! " 
 
 " Well the eccentricity of genius," Mrs. 
 Austen said, in mock despair. Then, seriously:
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 213 
 
 " It was really impossible for him to work, home, 
 with the children and everything he tried to 
 for years. You see the artistic temperament is 
 very peculiar " Mrs. Kipp nodded sympa- 
 thetically. " I don't understand it I don't pre- 
 tend to," Mrs. Austen continued, rolling her eyes, 
 and making an expressive gesture with her 
 hands; " I simply humor it." 
 
 Mrs. Kipp switched back to the subject of hats. 
 
 " Come along, and buy just one ! " she urged. 
 
 " I can't I 've been frightfully extravagant 
 you know I paid eight-hundred-and-fifty dol- 
 lars for my coat but it was such a bargain ! " 
 She referred to the handsome seal-trimmed, mole- 
 skin coat she had recently bought. 
 
 " I know, my dear, but one can't go around 
 looking like a savage," Mrs. Kipp protested. 
 " You can have it made over." 
 
 Anne had slipped back to her room, unnoticed. 
 With shining eyes, she said to herself : 
 
 " Well, anyhow, I know now where he is. But 
 he should have let me know, himself he knew 
 I would n't tell I 'd have told him," she 
 thought reproachfully. For the hundredth time, 
 she tried to puzzle out why he had gone away 
 at all. 
 
 Peggy was practising, down in Mary Hallam's 
 studio, one evening, when a messenger arrived
 
 214 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 with a marconigram for her. Mary, who had in- 
 troduced herself to Peggy by way of a bowl of 
 soup during the latter' s illness, lifted an interro- 
 gating eye-brow as Peggy looked up, radiant, 
 from the paper in her hands. 
 
 " He will be here, to-morrow ! " 
 
 The pronoun was sufficiently explicit for any 
 one who had lived close to her since the arrival 
 of Venable's cable, ten days earlier, announcing 
 that he was sailing. 
 
 " But how can I meet him? " she asked, in sud- 
 den consternation. " I have to go to rehearsal ! " 
 
 " Could n't meet him, anyhow you have n't 
 got a permit, and there isn't time to get one. 
 He '11 hunt you up," Mary added drily. 
 
 Peggy went to bed early, but she could not 
 sleep it is doubtful whether she would have 
 slept, even without the added excitement of Ven- 
 able's expected arrival. In two days, she was to 
 make her de"but in " Carmen," in the modest role 
 of Frasquita; on the morrow, there was to be a 
 dress-rehearsal, with all the principals, and 
 Peggy's mind was so overstimulated with it all 
 that she was unable to relax and get the sleep she 
 needed so badly. For six weeks she had driven 
 as hard as she could drive; in addition to the 
 regular hours of daily practice, she had learned 
 several minor roles, and, at Signer Ferro- 
 Ganacci's suggestion, was getting up in Mimi
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 215 
 
 and Manon; she had taken up the study of Ital- 
 ian, not only for pronunciation, but that she 
 might interpret intelligently what she was sing- 
 ing; then Winthrop had arranged for her to go 
 every night to the opera, as part of her prepara- 
 tion, and with coaching and rehearsals she had 
 little time to rest. Also, it was very expensive 
 it would have been impossibly so, even had her 
 new work not obliged her to give up posing, but 
 for Winthrop's help. She accepted it gladly, 
 and was to repay him when she could. He had 
 taken a keen interest in every detail of her prog- 
 ress; her discriminating and generous criticism 
 of the various singers delighted him, and he was 
 much amused by her reverence for Paolo Breschi, 
 whom she regarded as the Metropolitan's finest 
 artist ; naively, she hoped that some day he might 
 deign to notice her. Winthrop, knowing the 
 great baritone's reputation, thought it highly 
 probable he would! Sometimes, when the girl 
 was not looking, Winthrop would study her with 
 a peculiar intentness, shot with admiration. 
 
 Peggy was genuinely fond of him. She found 
 in him that priceless thing fine feeling ; it re- 
 vealed itself in every contact with him. Though 
 he was reputed scarcely to know, himself, what 
 he was " worth," his spending never even ap- 
 proached the limits of good taste. Peggy appre- 
 ciated this, the more because she had been sick-
 
 216 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 ened by the stupid extravagance she had so often 
 seen, and by frequent exhibitions of vulgarity. 
 Once, when they had been lunching at the Plaza, 
 two young women at an adjacent table one of 
 them a bride (it was impossible not to over- 
 hear their conversation impossible, almost, to 
 hear anything else) had paid f 42.50 for their 
 lunch. The unmarried one giggled over the 
 check : " Is n't it scandalous ! " Her companion 
 had waved a glittering hand: " What '11 I do 
 with it? I've got to spend it somehow!" 
 Peggy had wondered how these people, who could 
 not fail to know of all Europe's plight, could be 
 so at a loss to spend their wealth that they had 
 to throw away almost fifty dollars on a meal! 
 She had thought, wrathfully, that it would be 
 just the same, with people like that, if America, 
 itself, were in the war. 
 
 She tossed and turned sleep would not come. 
 Woven in with these memories of the recent past 
 were disturbing thoughts of the near future. 
 She wondered if she would have strength to per- 
 sist in her determination not to marry Venable, 
 if he should urge her. Her mind treacherously 
 pictured him bending over her, there in the dark, 
 and slipping his arms under her, his pleading 
 voice in her ears. It was torture. But as she 
 grew calmer, she visualized the worse torture of 
 a marriage that would satisfy one's desires, but
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 217 
 
 not one's ideals; she saw too clearly, to be able 
 to put it aside, that for her, physical harmony 
 would not endure long against a constant differ- 
 ence of opinion. 
 
 In the morning, while she was dressing, she de- 
 cided to stop and ask Mary to watch for Venable, 
 and tell him where he could find her. 
 
 She started downstairs, her umbrella under 
 her arm, for it was snowing, just as a man started 
 up. In some remote corner of her subconscious- 
 ness she connected him with the doorbell that had 
 recently rung; and, in the same vague way, she 
 was aware that, as they approached each other, 
 he stopped presumably to let her pass. She 
 bowed, without glancing up, then wavered, caught 
 by some arresting quality in him. She looked up, 
 involuntarily. It was Venable. As their eyes 
 met, he reached out and drew her to him, with 
 one of his rare smiles. 
 
 " I wondered if you could pass me and not 
 know it," he breathed. 
 
 The irresistible magnetism that she had strug- 
 gled against, in the old days, mastered her at his 
 touch; she uttered a little moan as his lips 
 crushed hers in a rapture of anticipation. For 
 a long moment, they were lost in each other. 
 
 They started apart, as a doorknob turned. 
 Venable picked up his hat, and Peggy straight- 
 ened hers, and collected the umbrella she had un-
 
 218 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 consciously leaned against the wall. She found 
 herself saying : 
 
 "What time did you get in? I did not ex- 
 pect to see you so soon ! " 
 
 And he replied: 
 
 " Eight o'clock. I left my things at the hotel 
 and came right over here. You see, Peggy- 
 Elise," he smiled tenderly, " I came to America to 
 see you, and naturally I have n't lost any time 
 in accomplishing it." 
 
 But their minds were not on what they were 
 saying. Peggy was thinking, cynically, how easy 
 it had been to make certain decisions away 
 from him and how terribly difficult it was go- 
 ing to be to carry them out against the overpower- 
 ing argument of sheer physical appeal. And 
 Venable, stirred by this first taste of an ex- 
 quisitely responsive Peggy, this Peggy, of whose 
 existence he had never been quite sure, was won- 
 dering, over hammering pulses, how long she 
 would make him wait before she would yield, 
 wholly. Would she, out of some unsuspected 
 stratum of formality, wish them to be fiances? 
 The idea of being " engaged " to Peggy struck him 
 humorously he opined the engagement w r ould 
 be of short duration. 
 
 " Where are you going? " he asked, as they de- 
 scended the front steps. 
 
 " To rehearsal."
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 219 
 
 " I '11 take you we can get a taxi here, some- 
 where." 
 
 On the way to the corner, he observed her. 
 She had not changed in appearance she was 
 even still wearing black, though she had lightened 
 it by the addition of a soft-brimmed white felt 
 hat, and she looked beautiful and distinguished, 
 as always, but there was a subtle difference 
 a touch more of confidence in her bearing she 
 was somehow more individualized. Perhaps 
 America had developed the American side of her, 
 or perhaps she had met some one. . . . What- 
 ever might be the reason, he was fascinated with 
 this newly emerged Peggy-Elise. 
 
 In the taxicab, whose snow-blurred windows 
 furnished privacy, he caught her to him again. 
 She tried to free herself, but he met her efforts 
 with a tender, unheeding laugh close to her lips. 
 When at last he released her, she was white and 
 weak, but determined. 
 
 " Gilbert, you must not do that, again." 
 
 " Why not? " he demanded humoringly. 
 
 " Did you not receive my letter? I ex- 
 plained " 
 
 " Yes, I know," he interrupted. " You were 
 sure I did n't love you I think, to quote you 
 exactly, that I ' did n't know what love was,' 
 and I believe you said, too, that you weren't 
 going to marry me because it would interfere as
 
 220 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 much with your career, as it would with mine." 
 His manner conveyed that he had taken her letter 
 lightly. 
 
 His assurance unsteadied her ; the reasons that 
 had shaped her decision somehow lost their po- 
 tency, but she clung desperately to the decision 
 itself. 
 
 " I have not changed my mind." She forced 
 herself to meet his amused eyes. 
 
 " You will." 
 
 " No you are wrong my work means 
 everything to me.'' 
 
 " Work never means as much to any woman as 
 love/' he contradicted. 
 
 She looked at him, with something of the old, 
 calm strength in her gray eyes. 
 
 " That is true but I think you and I do not 
 mean the same thing by love." 
 
 " I have come to America to marry you 
 Peggy-Eiise," he argued, with a winning smile. 
 
 " That might only prove that you wanted 
 me very much." 
 
 " Well, what do you call that? " There was 
 amusement in his voice, 
 
 " Did you love Fania? " 
 
 Venable suddenly understood ; she was jealous, 
 of course ! Any woman would be, in the circum- 
 stances. It did not occur to him that Peggy 
 had referred to Fania only to support an argu
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 221 
 
 merit; her curious ability to view any question 
 impersonally had always confounded him. 
 
 " I think," he spoke in a tone of finality 
 " that the fact that I 'm here answers every ob- 
 jection." After a pause, he said : 
 
 " Tell me how you got into the Metropolitan 
 I believe you said a friend of your uncle's was 
 instrumental in arranging it? " 
 
 He listened without comment, as Peggy talked 
 enthusiastically of Giles Winthrop and of her 
 work. 
 
 " How long do you suppose this rehearsal will 
 last? " he asked, as the taxicab stopped at the 
 stage entrance. 
 
 " It 's impossible to tell there is no perform- 
 ance to-night we may rehearse very late." 
 
 They decided, in view of the general uncer- 
 tainty, not to try to see each other again that 
 day, but to have luncheon together, on the 
 morrow. 
 
 " I, think I '11 call up your friend, Miss Hallam, 
 around dinner-time, and see if you 're back." 
 
 But at seven o'clock the rehearsal was still in 
 full swing. Signor Ferro-Ganacci put it up to 
 the principals they could stop, if they liked, 
 and finish on the next day ; but there was a unani- 
 mous desire to have it over with, then, and rest 
 on the day of the performance, itself. 
 
 Some one went to Peggy, to know if she wished
 
 222 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 to send out for food, but she was so exhausted 
 from the strain of meeting Venable, and of sing- 
 ing, for the first time, with mature artists, that 
 she shook her head the thought of food repelled 
 her. Nevertheless, when a waiter inquired, a few 
 minutes afterward, if she were Mademoiselle Las- 
 celles, and began to open an oblong white enam- 
 eled box, in which she caught a glimpse of dainty 
 food and service, she felt suddenly hungry. A 
 lump rose in her throat as she read the under- 
 standing note from Winthrop, that accompanied 
 it: He hoped she would try to eat something, 
 and she was not to be nervous he had some 
 splendid things to tell her. 
 
 He had chosen the repast with his usual care 
 Peggy grew ravenous as she looked at the de- 
 licious fruit salad, the cold breast of chicken, the 
 slices of thin bread and butter and the bottle of 
 French claret ; but she ate sparingly. When she 
 had finished, she leaned back, her hands dropped 
 in her lap, her eyes closed, and forced herself to 
 relax. Footsteps passed and repassed. Pres- 
 ently, she was aware that some one had stopped 
 in front of her. She glanced up, carelessly, and 
 found Signer Paolo Breschi appraising her with 
 Italian thoroughness. 
 
 " Dio! " he ejaculated, under his breath. Then 
 he smiled brilliantly. " Pardon me, mademoi- 
 selle I have forget to introduce myself "
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 223 
 
 " It is not necessary I know who you are," 
 Peggy said, in a voice that betrayed none of the 
 excitement she felt at this encounter. " I have 
 been learning from you for a month, from the 
 front." 
 
 "So?" His long, mobile face was radiant 
 with pleasure. " Then you will not be offended 
 if I criticize? " 
 
 " I would feel so honored, signer ! " 
 
 "Well it is this." He explained that he 
 thought she could improve her pantomime, at a 
 certain point, and showed her what he meant. 
 She rose eagerly, and did it after him. When she 
 looked up for correction, his expression discon- 
 certed her it combined appreciation of her 
 work, with undisguised personal approval. He 
 was about to speak, when they called the third 
 act, and Peggy had to hurry away; she felt his 
 eyes upon her until she disappeared in the glit- 
 tering, gaudy crowd. 
 
 Rehearsal was over at half -past nine. When 
 Peggy came downstairs, Winthrop was waiting to 
 take her home. She settled back gratefully, in a 
 corner of his big car, for the morning's snow- 
 storm had worked itself into a blizzard, and trans- 
 portation was demoralized. Her companion was 
 jubilant. The general opinion of his protge"e 
 was that she had a " future." 
 
 " Your voice could be heard over all the others,
 
 224 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 in the ensemble work it has a remarkable qual- 
 ity," he said. " Ferro-Ganacci is going to put 
 you on the list of ' donbleurs ' which means, of 
 course, that you may be called on at any time to 
 sing an important role." But Peggy was too 
 worn out by a succession of intense emotions to be 
 elated by her success. Winthrop understood and 
 was silent during the remainder of the ride. 
 
 As they picked their way through the drifted 
 snow, to her door, the girl said simply: 
 
 " There is nobody like you." 
 
 He made no reply. When they said good 
 night, he avoided her eyes, softly luminous with 
 gratitude. 
 
 " Try to sleep," he advised, releasing her hand. 
 
 She found Venable waiting for her, in Mary 
 Hallam's studio he had dropped in, around 
 nine, to see if she had returned, and Mary had 
 asked him to come in and sit down. 
 
 " Giles Winthrop bring you home? " Mary in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Yes he is very kind." 
 
 "Humph!" she laughed; "he won't get any 
 medals for that sort of philanthropy." 
 
 " You are wrong it is just kindness." 
 
 " I would have gone for you, myself," Venable 
 explained, a trifle stiffly, " but I was afraid of 
 missing you." 
 
 Peggy went to her room early. Venable car-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 225 
 
 ried up her cloak and umbrella for a pretext to 
 be alone with her. When he had lighted the gas, 
 he said : 
 
 "Peggy this man, Winthrop is he any- 
 thing to you? " 
 
 " He is a dear friend." 
 
 " Does he love you? " 
 
 " He has not said so." 
 
 He looked at her searchingly. 
 
 " Will you marry me, to-morrow? " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " Dear," he protested, " this is nonsense ! You 
 want me as much as I want you, and you know 
 it! Do you really think I don't know how to 
 love? " He put his hand persuasively on her 
 shoulder. She removed it. 
 
 " I am not thinking about that now ; I am 
 remembering the things you used to say against 
 marriage Have you come to the conclusion 
 that it is well for an artist to marry? " 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " No but we are intelligent enough to elimi- 
 nate the well the disagreeable features of 
 marriage and keep its attractive ones. You 
 are the only woman I have ever known with whom 
 it would be possible." 
 
 " ' The disagreeable features ' you mean ? " 
 
 " Children and things ; they would interfere 
 with your work as much as they would with
 
 226 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 mine. I think it would be as nearly perfect as a 
 marriage could be would n't it? " 
 
 Peggy looked at him, queerly. 
 
 " For you perhaps ; me I would not call it 
 ' marriage ' at all it would be only a ceremony 
 that would permit you to have a mistress com- 
 fortably and respectably." 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 For a long time her eyes probed his, but what 
 she sought apparently lay beyond reach of her 
 hungry vision, for she could not altogether sub- 
 due the hopelessness in her voice, when she spoke. 
 
 " We will talk about it, another time I am 
 too tired, now." 
 
 " I don't see that it will do any good to talk 
 you '11 change your mind about a lot of things, 
 when you 've tried it," he urged, taking her in his 
 arms. 
 
 She did not protest neither did she respond. 
 He tried to rouse her, but she remained obdur- 
 ately passive. 
 
 He left her, with a growing uneasiness.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 PEGGY had told Venable the truth she was 
 indeed too tired to talk so tired that, five 
 minutes after she had slipped into bed, she was 
 asleep. 
 
 She woke feeling wonderfully refreshed in 
 body and mind; the problem she had resolutely 
 refused to consider, after her head touched the 
 pillow, had somehow solved itself while she slept, 
 or, rather, dissolved itself, for it was gone. She 
 would simply not see Venable alone, again, until 
 her objections to marrying him had crystallized 
 into reasons ; just now, they were too instinctive, 
 she knew, to withstand argument. 
 
 She called him up and told him she would be 
 unable to take luncheon with him she was too 
 busy. He was silent for a moment. 
 
 " Well I suppose I '11 see you after the per- 
 formance, to-night, to congratulate you won't 
 I?" 
 
 " Or to sympathize with me ! " 
 
 " I think you won't need any one's .sympathy." 
 
 " That is nice of you. You will meet my uncle 
 and Mr. Winthrop they will both be there." 
 
 227
 
 228 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 Only a few, in the brilliant audience that as- 
 sembled that night to see, rather than to hear, 
 Charlotte Galland as Carmen, knew that Peggy 
 was making her debut; but many of them spoke 
 of the beautiful new voice that issued from the 
 throat of an equally beautiful young woman, and 
 took a second look at their programs. It was 
 behind the scenes, and after the performance, that 
 she had her triumph. Signor Ferro-Ganacci 
 brought back two of the directors to meet her; 
 Charlotte Galland sent her some flowers and a 
 charming note; Paolo Breschi was either with 
 her every minute, in the wings, or watching her 
 amorously from them he was beside himself 
 with desire for her, he told her, with Latin 
 frankness. 
 
 And when she came out of the theater, with 
 Giles Winthrop at her side, she found the people 
 who, one way or another, mattered most to her, 
 awaiting her Venable and Mary Hallam in one 
 group, and her uncle and Anne Austen in the 
 other. Anne had demanded to be taken to the 
 opera, and had finally been sent in charge of her 
 governess a melancholy, shrivelled little 
 Frenchwoman whom she tolerated; she stood 
 beside the child, looking very dismal. 
 
 Anne had not known that her father was to be 
 there. When she spied him she broke loose from
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 229 
 
 Mademoiselle Seguin, and ran passionately to 
 him. She had kissed him and clung to him, ador- 
 ingly. Austen had been so moved, that he had 
 not been able to speak. 
 
 " Oh, Daddy ! " she had cried, " when are you 
 coming home? To-night? " 
 
 He had smiled, with infinite tenderness, into 
 her ardent little face : 
 
 " When I 've finished my work, dear it won't 
 be very long." 
 
 While they were waiting for Peggy, Mr. Austen 
 and Venable identified each other. Jealousy 
 flamed up in the latter as he observed Austen's 
 good looks and very evident attractiveness he 
 wondered if Peggy were in love with her uncle, if 
 that were why she had left her aunt's home. She 
 appeared, just then, with Winthrop, and diverted 
 his speculations into a new channel. His first 
 feeling, at sight of her escort, was one of intense 
 relief; he could not imagine Peggy caring for 
 that plainish, middle-aged man, whose plainness 
 was further aggravated by eyeglasses; but when 
 a smile lighted his face, and he spoke in an at- 
 tractive voice, that was full of quiet force, Ven- 
 able realized that he would have to be reckoned 
 with. 
 
 Introductions and congratulations over, Win- 
 throp suggested that they all go and have a little 
 supper, in honor of the occasion. Peggy dis-
 
 230 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 covered Mademoiselle Seguin slipping away. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," she said, in French, " it would 
 give me the greatest happiness to have one of my 
 own countrywomen with me, to-night will you 
 not stay? " 
 
 " It is so good of you, Mademoiselle ! but I 
 cannot to-night. I have a very bad headache." 
 
 When Peggy could not alter her decision, she 
 said: 
 
 " Then we will take you home, first." 
 
 The girl protested, but Peggy had her way. 
 At the door, as she said good night, she impul- 
 sively removed all but one of the beautiful scar- 
 let buds she was wearing, and pinned them on 
 the lapel of Mademoiselle Seguin's worn black 
 coat. Tears sprang to her eyes, at sight of the 
 woman's pleasure, and she wished that she might, 
 somehow, bring the miracle of success into the 
 drab lives of the many little alien French govern- 
 esses who had lost their youth or were losing 
 it day after monotonous day. 
 
 " I got red roses for you, Peggy," Anne said, 
 unconsciously enlightening three men who had 
 been intensely curious about the flowers Peggy 
 wore, " because you always seem to me like a red 
 rose in mourning. And you smell like a 
 flower, too with the dew on it." She looked 
 up, worshippingly, into her cousin's face : " I 'm 
 so glad I can stay all night with you ! "
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 231 
 
 Peggy had a little moment of self -conscious- 
 ness, when Winthrop helped her off with her 
 wrap. Instead of her usual black, the opening 
 cloak revealed her in a softly gleaming white 
 evening frock; her exquisite throat and arms 
 needed no ornaments, and she wore none. No 
 one there, except Venable, had ever seen her so 
 beautiful but he was not thinking of her 
 beauty ; his mind had gone back to that other time 
 he had seen her in white, the night they had 
 stopped at the Maison Chevalier, after he had 
 come to her aid a forlorn, tragic figure, hud- 
 dled on a pile of crushed stone, beside the road 
 from Verdun. He recalled his surprise at her 
 loveliness, w r hen she joined him, in a simple white 
 dress of Madame's daughter, which Madame had 
 loaned her to replace her dripping garments. 
 How little any one could have foreseen the girl's 
 destiny that night! She had been then, and al- 
 ways, so unassuming, so unaffected she had 
 had none of the flamboyant qualities, the con- 
 spicuous eccentricities that are supposed to dis- 
 tinguish the personality of genius. Until to- 
 night, he would have imagined her wholly un- 
 suited to a part like that of Frasquita, for in- 
 stance, yet she had simply disappeared in it, re- 
 placing her own quiet, poised self with the primi- 
 tive, uncurbed, crudely colorful gipsy girl, in a 
 way that had taken his breath. In this new re-
 
 232 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 spect for her, he realized that it was going to be 
 very difficult, now, to win her. ... He wondered 
 how he had failed to gage her worth more ac- 
 curately, in the Phryne days. It occurred to him 
 that possibly he had undervalued all women 
 yet those he had known had justified his valua- 
 tion. 
 
 " Oh, Peggy ! " Anne exclaimed, " you look 
 beautiful ! I 've never seen you in anything but 
 black except your nightdress," she amended. 
 
 Everybody laughed, as Peggy blushed and put 
 her hand over Anne's mouth. 
 
 " Cherie, I would not have believed you were an 
 enfant terrible," she laughed, hugging her. 
 
 It was a gay supper. For Peggy, it would have 
 been perfect had her father been there to share 
 the happiness of her first success; but she was 
 too unselfish, too deeply grateful, to let this ache 
 shadow her joy. Besides, she would have been 
 more than human had she not caught the in- 
 fectious gaiety of her companions, and been a 
 little carried away by their toasts and prophecies. 
 And to have Venable witness her triumph, added 
 a last intoxicating touch. She felt a delicious 
 awakening sense of power, not only over men, but 
 over circumstances ; her new earning capacity be- 
 wildered her a thousand francs she always 
 turned dollars into francs for a few hours' 
 work! It was a fabulous sum! She would be
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 233 
 
 able, now, to take a little apartment, as Win- 
 throp had suggested that evening, where she 
 could have privacy for her work, and a place to 
 receive people. Also, she would be able, she 
 realized, with a swelling heart, to contribute 
 much more to the various funds for the relief of 
 her countrymen and save, besides. 
 
 Venable, studying her radiant face, wondered 
 if Winthrop had by any chance proposed to her, 
 that evening there was no tinge of possessive- 
 ness in their manner, yet he was at a loss to ac- 
 count for a certain note of exultation in Peggy, 
 that he felt, instinctively, was not due to her 
 success; it did not occur to him that he himself, 
 his unconsciously more deferential attitude, a 
 new hint of diffidence in him, had brought it 
 there. He thought it was the touch of excite- 
 ment he had observed in newly engaged women. 
 He realized, enviously, that Winthrop was the 
 type of man who, not even in extremest circum- 
 stances, would offer the woman he loved a sub- 
 stitute for marriage he was the sort that would 
 remain faithful to an insane wife. To Venable, 
 it was sheer foolishness yet a kind of fine fool- 
 ishness. He admitted that he, himself, was built 
 on quite other lines. Or was it a matter of early 
 training? His father's materialistic attitude 
 toward women had unquestionably influenced 
 him ; yet he remembered that, in the ardor of his
 
 234 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 first love affair, he had, despite the paternal ad- 
 vice, intended to marry the girl, but she had be- 
 longed to that branch of the frail sisterhood that 
 is more seducing than seduced. . . . His subse- 
 quent dealings with women were of an unat- 
 tractive nature. He wondered, while missing no 
 word of Peggy's conversation, what would have 
 happened had Ida that was her name been 
 a proper young person. He decided, with a 
 soothing sense of justification, that he would now 
 have been an unsuccessful business man since 
 he had no financial aptitude with a large and 
 probably complaining family he assumed that 
 families complained more or less, under the 
 provocation of poverty. And here was Peggy ap- 
 parently wanting one; or, at least, as far as he 
 could fathom it, resenting the proposed omission 
 of it. He wished he had said nothing about chil- 
 dren, yet it was better to talk it out honestly, 
 now, than to have the necessarily far more sordid 
 and estranging discussions of it, afterward. He 
 reflected that Winthrop would be delighted with 
 a family. 
 
 When they left the restaurant, it was snowing 
 hard. Venable said it was the kind of weather 
 he loved to be out in, and would walk home. 
 Disappointedly, Peggy watched his tall figure 
 disappear down the avenue, in the wind-whirled
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 235 
 
 snow that the lights transformed into a curtain of 
 flashing crystals. 
 
 Her lately blossomed sense of power proved to 
 be one of those fragile, heavy-scented blooms, 
 that are as perishable as they are intoxicating ; it 
 withered under Venable's small show of indif- 
 ference. And it did not revive under Winthrop's 
 significant attentiveness the male world, out- 
 side of Venable, might go cassocked and cowled, 
 for all it mattered to Peggy. Yet she wished, for 
 a moment, that she could care for Winthrop 
 there was such a perfect understanding between 
 them, such similarity of tastes and ideals, and he 
 was so tender, so unselfish. Those were the 
 things, according to her own convictions, that 
 ought to prompt love but they didn't at 
 least, not the love that finds satisfaction only in 
 marriage; thaf sort of love seemed to depend 
 upon a certain delicious troubling of the nerves. 
 . . . She knew that if Venable were suddenly 
 robbed of his power to stir her, she would not 
 cling to his unglamoured faults, hoping for a 
 miracle to change him. 
 
 Up in her little Patchin Place room, she un- 
 dressed Anne, and lingeringly tucked her into 
 bed. Then she got into the orange-lined, gray 
 kimono, with its flight of storks, that Venable had 
 brought her, turned out the gas, and, by the light
 
 236 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 of a candle, fixed in a violently futuristic candle- 
 stick a young Russian artist in the house had 
 made, opened her small leather trunk and took 
 out the box that held her father's Croix de 
 Guerre. She intended to put the scarlet rosebud 
 with it, in memory of her first success, that meant 
 so much to her and would have meant so much, 
 she thought, to her father. But as she looked at 
 them, lying side by side the pretty festive 
 flower, and that stern symbol of supreme sacri- 
 fice the hot shamed color flooded her face; 
 by what right had she put it there? 
 
 In a blinding, shrivelling vision, she saw her- 
 self engrossed in her own affairs, carried away 
 by her easily won success a success for which 
 she had not had to strike a blow ! concerned for 
 her own happiness, that affected, at best, the 
 happiness of only one other when at that very 
 moment the ~brancardiers were carrying their 
 martyred thousands from the battlefields of Eu- 
 rope! The color flickered out of her cheeks, 
 leaving her white and scornful. What sacrifice 
 ennobled the rose she would have placed beside 
 her father's cross? She had given time and 
 strength to the Red Cross, had gone without com- 
 forts, often, in order to care in small ways for 
 some poilus who had been kind to her at St. 
 Menehould, and she meant, now, to do more 
 but " more *' was not enough ! She thought how
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 237 
 
 her father would have scorned merely to do what 
 could have been reasonably expected of him ! He 
 had flung his life away with glorious careless- 
 ness. She could see him drop suddenly across 
 his machine gun, his gray dead piled up within 
 a few yards of the trench, a defiant smile on his 
 lips. He had lived up to, and died up to, his 
 highest ideal ; and there, in the quiet of her little 
 candle-lit room, he seemed to tell her that it had 
 brought him happiness, and to show her what 
 she must do. 
 
 She bowed her head and listened. He re- 
 minded her that he had left her his Croix de 
 Guerre as a symbol of the unfinished duty for 
 which he had died, and which he had bequeathed 
 to her; to perform that faithfully was the only 
 success that mattered, that would make her the 
 woman she was meant to be ; " duty " invariably 
 compelled one to rise above every-day littleness 
 and selfishness, and to live finely to live better 
 than one seemed able to live, without the urge of 
 it. One could not realize his ideal that curi- 
 ous something that was like a luminous, strong 
 self, in one, struggling eternally for realization 
 unless one felt in his heart that sense of respon- 
 sibility to some one, something. Without it, her 
 father's spirit seemed to argue, one was cut off 
 from love not the changeling passions that 
 parade in its guise, but the unseeking tenderness
 
 238 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 that sees in every man a brother, that forgets its 
 private griefs in the grief of the world love, 
 that was turning France and Belgium into a 
 shambles to-day, that to-morrow the whole world 
 might be made a happier, better place for un- 
 known and unborn men to live in love, the 
 light of the world! When one turned his face 
 from it, one saw only the blighting black wedge 
 of his own shadow'. . . . 
 
 For perhaps an hour Peggy sat there on the 
 floor, beside her trunk, her hands dropped in her 
 lap, so still that she appeared scarcely to breathe. 
 When she rose, at last, her face was transfigured. 
 She looked slowly around the humble little room ; 
 the hour had glorified it, sanctified it. All 
 thought of leaving it for bigger quarters had 
 vanished; it would be time enough to think of 
 luxuries when each of her countrymen had a 
 roof again, and clothes and food. Her eyes 
 filled with tears, but a peace as profound and 
 sweet as the peace of death was in her heart. 
 
 She laid her father's war cross, in its simple 
 case, back in the trunk ; then she put the rose in 
 a vase on the window-sill, to bloom its trium- 
 phant little hour.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ELMER JOHNSTON was one of those Amer- 
 icans who grew restive under three years of 
 diplomacy and applied idealism ; he was tempera- 
 mentally not a watchful waiter he loved a 
 fight. In January, 1917, his patience suddenly 
 snapped over a new piece of German submarine 
 insolence, and he walked out of his Washington 
 Mews studio, leaving canvases, paints, brushes, 
 where he dropped them, and joined the American 
 Ambulance. 
 
 Through a mutual acquaintance, Venable se- 
 cured the vacated apartment. He moved in such 
 impedimenta as was necessary to convert it into 
 a sculptor's studio, and tried to settle to work. 
 With little success, however partly because of 
 Peggy's behavior, and partly because no one 
 seemed to understand why he had returned to 
 America at such a time. The implication was 
 embarrassingly clear. He assured himself it was 
 nobody's damned business, and stubbornly re- 
 fused to look at the pictures his memory flashed 
 up, of certain scenes in a Paris hospital, and from 
 stories he had heard. But even when he was not 
 
 239
 
 240 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 aware of the cause, he felt uncomfortably nagged. 
 
 Then Peggy had explained her refusal to marry 
 him. It was not, as he had half supposed, be- 
 cause of his objection to a family, but because of 
 his utter selfishness his objection was only an 
 aggravated instance of it. 
 
 " I don't know," he said, " but / think that 
 shows a good deal of consideration for you." 
 
 " Yes," she admitted, a shade sadly, " but it 
 was a secondary consideration." 
 
 " I suppose the trouble with me is that I have 
 a too pagan attitude toward love." 
 
 " But even the pagans raised little pagans." 
 
 " Yes, because in those days safety lay in num- 
 bers. What I meant was that I want marriage 
 to be a source of pleasure not of annoyance." 
 
 Peggy regarded him gravely. 
 
 " I think perhaps you do not realize that when 
 women are considering getting married, they 
 think things over much as men do they decide 
 that this man would be a good husband, but a 
 sad lover, and that one would be a good lover but 
 a poor husband just as a man often gives up a 
 fascinating woman for one who is dependable, 
 who has reverence for marriage, and all that it 
 means. I believe," she said slowly, " that the 
 worth-while men and women want something 
 more than a mistress or a lover, w r hen they 
 marry is it not so?"
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 241 
 
 Venable was petulant. 
 
 " I don't think it 's a question of value 
 it 's wholly a matter of temperament. Marriage 
 is a blanket that covers a multitude of relations 
 you take your choice. Society enforces the 
 ceremony on you, with the alternative of ostra- 
 cism if you rebel but, beyond that, it seems to 
 me it has no power and, I imagine, little concern. 
 I know a man, for instance, who married a 
 woman because she had a splendid head for busi- 
 ness he saw that it would be an advantageous 
 union she was n't specially attractive to him in 
 any other way the}' are n't much more than 
 business partners but that 's what they want. 
 And, in the same way, if it happens that all you 
 want of a woman is that she should be a charm- 
 ing mistress and a delightful companion if 
 you don't want several children interfering with 
 your work you 're not outraging any conven- 
 tion you're simply managing to do as you 
 please, within it and in spite of it." He 
 flicked the ash somewhat irritably from his cig- 
 arette. 
 
 " But, Gilbert marriage is something more 
 than a convention it is the most sacred rela- 
 tion in the world! And why should you be con- 
 tent to know only part of its joys? Me I 
 would like to live the fullest life possible, through 
 it to be not only a wife, and mistress, but a
 
 242 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 mother. It is so strange to me, that you who 
 thrill when you are making something lifelike 
 
 out of marble, have no desire to to create 
 something really alive." 
 
 "No I admit it does n't thrill me, specially, 
 to contemplate a function all life has in common 
 with me kittens and puppies are a product of 
 the same forces that fashion human young." 
 
 Peggy was silent, a long time, sitting very still ; 
 the mysterious Door that sometimes seemed to 
 open in her, swung back, now, and let in a blaze 
 of light ; it illumined the walls of the Dark Cham- 
 ber, and let her read the ancient writings 
 thereon. . . . When she at last spoke, her eyes 
 were luminous and her voice vibrant with feel- 
 ing. 
 
 " You are all wrong, Gilbert, mon ami. It is 
 true that animals have the creative function, too ; 
 but we give our little ones something more than 
 they give theirs a conscience, perhaps a 
 sense of right and wrong. Every human being 
 has it it is the source of ideals. That is what 
 I mean," she said eagerly ; " it is only human be- 
 ings that have ideals the whole fate of the 
 world rests with them it makes them seem like 
 
 gods some way." 
 
 " Yet you have told me that I have no ideals," 
 he said, smiling half amusedly. 
 
 " You have them, of course, but I think you do
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 243 
 
 not follow them sometimes. Sometimes 
 you are selfish." 
 
 Venable studied her narrowly. 
 
 " You have changed, Peggy-Elise," he charged, 
 at length. 
 
 " Yes perhaps a little ; one cannot remain 
 always the same." 
 
 " I liked you very well as you were," he said, 
 with the tender, imploring smile that always 
 made him so difficult to resist. 
 
 "Yes," she smiled back, "but I did not like 
 myself at all." 
 
 " Do you like yourself, now? " he asked whim- 
 sically. 
 
 " I am not in love with myself." 
 
 " Nor with me. I think it ' s you, not I, dear, 
 who have to learn what love is." 
 
 \ r enable thought many times of this conversa- 
 tion. He was thinking of it as he stood at the 
 window of his Washington Mews studio, one 
 stormy morning in mid-March, watching the 
 pouring rain splash up from the paving stones 
 and swirl down the inadequate gutters. In spite 
 of himself, her accusations of selfishness had 
 taken hold of his mind. Inconsistently, his new 
 respect for her, as an artist, had increased his 
 respect for her opinions, and in one direction, at 
 least, he had to admit that she was right ; it was 
 selfishness that had kept him out of the war
 
 244 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 he had dreaded the loathsome discomforts of the 
 life ; furthermore, there was every chance that he 
 might be injured, in the first encounter be 
 maimed in his hand, or blinded and for the 
 splendid career he had much reason to expect he 
 would have to substitute some occupation for the 
 blind or crippled. Or he might be killed, out- 
 right, without ever firing a shot. There was no 
 taint of cowardice in these speculations; on the 
 contrary, danger held for him the fascination 
 that it does for many men. It was simply that 
 it seemed to him like folly, to risk a life per- 
 haps to no purpose whose flickering out would 
 mean the extinction of rare gifts. Even Peggy 
 had urged him to live for his work. He recalled 
 how convincingly she had spoken of the artist's 
 high destiny, that night in the Maison Chevalier, 
 as they sat by the great fireplace, the flames light- 
 ing her lovely, tired face less than some strange 
 inner glow. The urgings of his conscience, awak- 
 ened by the sights he had witnessed the previous 
 night at Verdun, had had too little vitality to 
 withstand the comfort of her argument. But 
 now, as he stared across the rain-swept Mews 
 into the studio where Feodor Sierzycki was work- 
 ing, frenziedly, by gaslight, on his magnificent 
 figure of " Russia Awakening " breathing into 
 it a passionate love for his country and a flaming 
 hatred for her exploiters, Venable saw that, at
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 245 
 
 bottom, what had kept him out of the war was 
 indifference to the fate of the world the fate, 
 as Peggy had said, that lay in the hands of hu- 
 man beings. The German outrages had filled 
 him with loathing for the Germans ; but they had 
 not filled him with love for the outraged . . . 
 with pity, that puts a sword in one's hand. Even 
 his hatred had no splendor it flared up only 
 at intervals and did not affect his conduct. 
 Nothing affected it, he realized, except what af- 
 fected his personal happiness. But w^ere not 
 most men like that? The French and English 
 were fighting for reasons that vitally affected 
 their welfare. But what about the Belgians? 
 What about the American Legion? The Belgians 
 needed only to have stood aside, and the Hun- 
 nish hordes would have marched peacefully 
 through the land, leaving it as they had found 
 it, and a little richer, perhaps, for some German 
 gold. But from Albert of Belgium, down to the 
 humblest subject, there was not a man whose 
 ideal of honor would permit him to break his 
 country's word. And so, Venable saw, though 
 the Belgian race was a thing of fragments, scat- 
 tered over the globe, and Belgium and Flanders 
 were names for a land that had been crushed 
 out of all resemblance to itself under the grind- 
 ing heel of Germany, the spirit of Belgium 
 dazzling, invincible, intact the " something
 
 246 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 more," the ideal, that each man had died for, 
 lived and would live, forever. 
 
 And the American Legion? No thought of 
 their happiness had actuated them, unless, in- 
 deed, they could know no joy in a world befouled 
 by oppression. . . . These were Peggy's " worth- 
 while " people these little precious handfuls of 
 Belgians and Americans and he, Venable, was 
 not of them. He faced the truth squarely. 
 
 He turned round from the window, and con- 
 templated the Victory, on the modeling stand ; it 
 was a failure. For weeks, he had been blaming 
 the fact on the lack of a good model none of 
 them had reflected the spirit of proud triumph 
 that he had wanted none of them had lent him 
 inspiration. He had worked, finally, without a 
 model. He admitted frankly that he had needed 
 Peggy he had had her in mind for this Vic- 
 tory, at the time he was doing the Phryne, in 
 Paris. He studied the figure critically. It rep- 
 resented a woman, life sized, sword in hand, her 
 garments blown, as in the act of walking, her 
 head high ; it expressed victory in every line, yet, 
 somehow it seemed to Venable it was a cold, 
 impersonal victory it lacked something vital. 
 For the first time in his life there came to him a 
 sense of limitation a question as to the breadth 
 of his genius. He thought of his past work. As 
 he recalled the subjects Bacchus, Satyr and
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 247 
 
 Nymphs, Mercury, Pierrot the many studies of 
 similar nature and lastly, the Phryne he re- 
 alized that, without exception, his work had ex- 
 pressed one or other of the ruling human passions 
 
 not once had he soared into the ideal. His art 
 had elevated many earth-born themes, but he had 
 brought nothing down from the stars to elevate 
 his art. 
 
 In the midst of these unflattering reflections, 
 Peggy arrived. 
 
 " Is anything the matter? " She searched his 
 face. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because all the morning I have felt 
 that," she hesitated " that you needed me." 
 
 " I need you, always/' he said, with simple 
 earnestness. 
 
 She flushed happily, under his tone. 
 
 "Has nothing happened really?" she per- 
 sisted. " You look different." 
 
 " Nothing except that I have been thinking 
 
 you claim that that changes one. Let me have 
 your umbrella and things." 
 
 "These are for lunch," she set down some 
 packages " and these are daffodils." She un- 
 wrapped a paper cone, shaking the yellow blos- 
 soms loose. " But it is immoral the price you 
 charge for flowers, here in America they are 
 what I miss! Think what we used to buy, back
 
 248 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 of the Madeline, for a few sous ! " She shrugged 
 her raincoat from her shoulders, into his hands. 
 He took it, with a smile that only accentuated 
 the strange new sternness in his face. It baffled 
 Peggy and attracted her. It was almost as 
 though a mask had been snatched away, reveal- 
 ing a more sensitive, finer face beneath one 
 that the fluttering scarf of Truth had brushed, in 
 passing. She felt suddenly nearer to him than 
 she had ever been. 
 
 When he had hung her raincoat on the back of 
 an easel he joined her by the fire. He stood for 
 a while looking down at her, wondering what had 
 brought her to him in such weather and if she 
 had come, as she said, because she had thought 
 he needed her or because she had needed him. 
 Her strong, self-reliant profile discouraged the 
 latter supposition ; it suggested the person whose 
 greatest need would be another's need of her. 
 In the midst of his uncertainty it flashed into 
 his mind that the reason, possibly, why he had 
 always found Peggy incomprehensible was be- 
 cause she did not " play the game " she knew 
 none of its laws, apparently, and, doubtless, 
 would have scorned them if she had; she spoke 
 and acted, he believed, out of a fearless, innate 
 sincerity. He put out his hand and touched her 
 head tenderly. 
 
 "You are a dear woman, Peggy-Elise the
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 249 
 
 dearest I have ever known and the best." 
 
 She thrilled. It was the first time he had ever 
 used an affectionate tone toward her ; usually, he 
 was either persuasively passionate or simply 
 comradely. It seemed, in some new way, to take 
 into account sides of her that he had hitherto ig- 
 nored or been ignorant of. It had a feel of do- 
 mesticity a husband might speak so to his 
 wife, at the end of some specially trying day in 
 her life. She smiled up at him, for answer. 
 
 " How is your work going? " she inquired, after 
 a moment. 
 
 " All wrong." He went over to the figure. " I 
 wish you 'd tell me what you think of it." 
 
 Peggy examined it, thoughtfully. 
 
 " I think it is a very good Victory," she said 
 finally, " but it is not the Victory for this war 
 it is so powerful that it suggests an easy conquest 
 a purely military triumph. I think, Gilbert, 
 the Victory for this war should show great 
 weariness almost exhaustion and indomi- 
 table human courage. I would make her very 
 worn her clothes frayed a little, her face and 
 body thin, and spiritualized." As she talked, 
 her own face and form involuntarily responded 
 to her thought, and she stood there, in all the 
 incongruity of a trim modern " rainy-day " suit, 
 the incarnation of the Victory she had just out- 
 lined.
 
 250 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " You mean," Venable's eyes were fixed, crit- 
 ically, on the figure, " this war has been so ter- 
 rible you think it will be so hard-won 
 that the conquerors will be too weary, too spent, 
 to exult?" 
 
 " Not exactly that ; I mean it will be a spirit- 
 ual victory, a victory of love of sacrifice, for an 
 ideal of brotherhood. I think it should show 
 mankind self-crucified stepping, somehow, out 
 of all its human failings, into godhood. The 
 mood would be reverent not exultant Do 
 you not think so? " 
 
 Venable caught up a piece of charcoal. 
 
 " Will you hold that pose a moment? " he re- 
 quested, beginning to sketch her rapidly. He 
 worked for fifteen minutes, making notes from 
 various angles. When he had finished, his face 
 wore the absorbed expression Peggy had seen on 
 it, so often, on the days w r hen the Phryne had 
 been coming along well. He seemed to have for- 
 gotten her presence. " Could you hold that a 
 minute longer? " he asked, in an engrossed 
 tone. 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, he brought clay 
 and commenced to build up a new figure. He 
 worked silently, swiftly, like one possessed; he 
 was wholly unconscious of the passing of time, 
 and Peggy was too interested, too wildly happy, 
 to be concerned with the trivial matter of an
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 251 
 
 aching muscle, here and there. When he finally 
 said : " Well that 's all I can do with it, now," 
 and drew the girl back, with him, to inspect his 
 work, they were both a little breathless over the 
 result. Through all its roughness and absence 
 of detail, it breathed the sublime spirit of vic- 
 torious self-sacrifice. 
 
 " It 's the best thing I 've ever done," he said 
 elatedly, " and I could n't have done it without 
 you. This is what I think marriage would mean 
 to me, with you the doing of big work to- 
 gether, Peggy-Elise, success ! Would n't that 
 seem to you a worth-while life? " 
 
 She did not look at him ; would he ever think 
 of any one but himself? 
 
 "Yes it would be worth-while, but it 
 would be incomplete. I would have to give up 
 certain ideals the very things that, it may be, 
 make me useful to you an * inspiration/ as 
 you call it. If I were to live the way I would 
 have to, with you I would hate myself, in six 
 months. And you, too, perhaps." 
 
 " Suppose I should agree to live according to 
 your ideals? " he urged. " Suppose I should be 
 williug to have some little Peggy s and Gilberts 
 running around ? " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " You would be doing it only to please me ; I 
 know your nature."
 
 252 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 He began to work in some detail on the Vic- 
 tory's head. 
 
 " I admit I 'm not naturally paternal, and I 
 am, apparently, naturally selfish to save my 
 life, I don't see how I can be different. I don't 
 like children ; and, though I can see just how bad 
 it sounds, I can't care enough for all those people 
 over there to want to lay down my life for 
 them. What would you do, in a case like mine? 
 At least, now I am honest with myself." 
 
 "You are honest with one side of yourself," 
 Peggy corrected gravely. " You are honest with 
 the artist in you ; but you outrage the man." 
 
 " Perhaps the man is n't as strong in me as the 
 artist? " He leaned back, to view his work. 
 
 " That is impossible, Gilbert ! The man in you 
 is the real you it is just an accident that you 
 are an artist; you might have been trained for 
 quite different work they might have made a 
 lawyer of you, or a doctor. Then, all the things 
 that you lay now to your temperament would 
 have been looked upon as weaknesses you 
 would have been regarded as so much less a 
 man, because of them. It is only the artist, in 
 you, that is callous to the sufferings of the people 
 ' over there,' as you say You, yourself, have 
 moments of burning to give a hundred lives, if 
 you had them, to right the wrongs that have 
 been done ! I know it ! "
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 253 
 
 Venable lighted a cigarette, and stood think- 
 ing. 
 
 "Those moments are few and far between, 
 Peggy," he said at last : " they are n't my real 
 convictions, or I 'd be different." 
 
 " Yes, I used to think that way, too," she 
 smiled very sweetly " but I believe, now, I was 
 wrong. We are so strangely built that we have 
 to live up to our fine moments even before we 
 can really want to live up to them. That sounds 
 like a paradox, but it is n't often we do things, 
 because we see that they are right, without any 
 desire at all to do them. And somehow it 
 makes us happy, and stronger; have you not 
 noticed it? The only way to change ourselves 
 seems to be to make ourselves follow our best 
 impulses." 
 
 " But just a moment ago you refused to con- 
 sider my reformation in regard to children," he 
 protested, smiling a little amusedly. 
 
 " Because it was not genuine, I think ; it was 
 only to get something you wanted." There was a 
 smile on her face, but none in her voice. 
 
 " And once you remember," he said slowly, 
 "you urged me not to go into the fight. You 
 said" 
 
 " Yes I know," Peggy interrupted, her face 
 aflame, " and I was sincere in what I said, only " 
 she hesitated, distressed " I was influenced,
 
 254 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 because you had been so kind to ine, and be- 
 cause you were attractive, and I did not want 
 to lose you I was all alone, and besides 
 I did not see many things then, as I do now. 
 I think, now, that Voltaire and Rousseau did not 
 create the Revolution they only precipitated 
 it; it would have sprung up, sooner or later, out 
 of the terrible selfishness and extravagance of 
 Louis Seize the people would have revolted, 
 anyhow, when they began to be hungry. And 
 it is so, in this war they do not need any- 
 thing to make them fight! Mon Dieu! The 
 greatest book, or work of art in the world, would 
 not stir them as much as one little story of 
 German outrage. Could anything move a man 
 more than to know that the women, the children, 
 of his country are being violated? To-day, it is 
 a comrade's wife; to-morrow, it may be his own." 
 
 Venable was silent. 
 
 "What time is it?" he asked suddenly, look- 
 ing at his watch. " Good heavens ! It 's three 
 o'clock! You must be starved. Forgive me, 
 Peggy -Elise I have been so interested I 
 did n't realize the hour it was getting to be ! ' ' 
 
 " It is nothing," Peggy laughed. " I forgot, 
 too. I have everything here for lunch you 
 work while I get it ready." 
 
 When she called him to sit down, he was gaz-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 255 
 
 ing at his Victory with a faraway look in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Suppose the Germans should win what 
 would we do with this? " 
 
 " They cannot win ! " Her eyes flashed. 
 " But even if they should seem to do so, we would 
 still need a Victory to commemorate the 
 triumph over selfishness in the heart of every 
 man who has taken up arms! Is it not so?" 
 She fixed her earnest, gray eyes on him ques- 
 tioningly. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Eat your omelet," she suggested, as he sat 
 staring at his plate, without touching his food. 
 " It is not good when it is cold."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 "T 11 TELL, if you don't know what Mrs. Ever- 
 
 V V sham's reputation is, Mother, I do, and 
 
 Is has got to stop going around with her." 
 
 Allyn Austen passed his coffee cup to his mother. 
 
 " Half a cup, please." 
 
 Isabelle glanced up from the egg she was eat- 
 ing, her cheeks flushed with anger. 
 
 " You can mind your own business, Allyn 
 Austen," she said hotly. " I '11 go with whom I 
 please! Mrs. Eversham is my best friend if 
 it weren't for her I wouldn't have any fun at 
 all!" 
 
 " I 've heard some things about her ! " Allyn 
 retorted contemptuously. " I 'm not going to 
 have my sister talked about! " 
 
 "Well, I guess she's as good as the people 
 you go around with! We saw you, the other 
 night, with that Mrs. Taylor Mrs. Eversham 
 gave me her pedigree ! " she said triumphantly. 
 
 " It 's different with men." 
 
 "Do you call yourself a man?" his sister 
 sneered. " Why, you 're just out of short 
 pants!" 
 
 256
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 257 
 
 " Don't make any difference I 'm a man, all 
 right!" 
 
 Mrs. Austen gestured to command silence. 
 
 " What 's the matter with Mrs. Eversham, 
 Allyn?" 
 
 " Everything ! " he accused vehemently. " I 
 heard last night they want to get her out of this 
 house." 
 
 Anne, who had listened to the conversation, in 
 silence, nodded. 
 
 " I heard it, too from Paulette. She says 
 she has lovers, the way they do in Europe," she 
 announced innocently. 
 
 " Anne ! " the family exclaimed, with one 
 flabbergasted voice. 
 
 " * Anne ' what? " the child asked, in surprise. 
 
 There was an awkward silence. 
 
 " She says she gets presents and things, from 
 them." 
 
 Mrs. Austen started to speak, but Allyn burst 
 out: 
 
 " Paulette knows what she 's talking about, 
 anyway ! " 
 
 " She did n't tell you who gave Allyn his new 
 diamond cuff-links, did she? " Isabelle demanded, 
 with intense maliciousness. 
 
 Her brother's face went crimson; his hair 
 looked almost bleached, against it ; his blue eyes 
 blazed; his lips twitched furiously. He jumped
 
 258 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 up from the table, overturning his chair. 
 
 "Where did you get those links, Allyn?" his 
 mother asked. 
 
 " It 's nobody's business where I got them ! " 
 Anger choked him so that he could scarcely ar- 
 ticulate. Isabelle smiled with goading triumph. 
 He shook his hand at her, in a rage. 
 
 " I did n't intend to tell on you, but I will, 
 now ! " he shrieked. " Do you know what she 
 does? She pretends to you she 's down in Polly 
 Eversham's apartment, but she meets Jack Suf- 
 fern, there, and goes out to the theater, and 
 supper, and everywhere with him ! You 're 
 upstairs playing bridge, and you don't know 
 what 's going on ! " 
 
 " I 've only been out with him a few times ! " 
 his sister defended. 
 
 " Who is Jack Suffern? " Mrs. Austen asked in 
 a tense voice, that matched her white face. 
 
 "'Happy' Jack Suffern? Any one can tell 
 you who he is ! " 
 
 Isabelle burst into violent tears; Allyn flung 
 out of the room, ignoring his mother's attempts 
 to detain him ; Anne vanished. 
 
 Mrs. Austen leaned back in her chair, her face 
 in her hands, thinking rather, trying to think , 
 Her brain whirled with the things she had just 
 heard. She realized, in a panic, that what Allyn
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 259 
 
 had said about her was true; she knew almost 
 nothing of their life they came and went as 
 they pleased ; and this was made more inevitable 
 by the fact that she had given the older children 
 a far too generous allowance, when they had 
 moved to New York she had many reasons to 
 regret that act! As for Anne ! She was 
 shocked and heartsick over the child's remarks. 
 She rose and paced the room, nervously, her 
 lips set. At first, she tried to comfort herself 
 by putting all the blame for the situation on 
 her husband he had had no right to leave 
 them! He had thought only of himself! But 
 she recalled, miserably, that it was only after she 
 had refused to help him to get out of debt that 
 he had gone away. It seemed neither of them 
 had thought much about the children; they had 
 simply done what they had always wanted to do ! 
 She wondered if he were enjoying himself. . . . 
 She had never had a line from him, except the 
 note asking that he be informed if anything were 
 wrong with the children it appalled her to 
 think how very wrong things were with them, 
 now. And she would die, rather than have him 
 know she remembered how stubbornly he had 
 always opposed bringing up a family in the city 
 she would not call on him, no matter what 
 happened.
 
 260 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 "Isabelle," she said sharply, "I think that, 
 hereafter, 3^011 had better see as little as possible 
 of Mrs. Eversham." 
 
 Her daughter's attempted remonstrance was 
 interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. The 
 maid came in and handed Mrs. Austen an enve- 
 lope. She opened it with nervous fingers ; it bore 
 the crest of a certain exclusive milliner. 
 
 " The girl said she was to wait for an answer." 
 
 Mrs. Austen unfolded the sheet; it was a bill 
 for two hats she had bought, one day, when she 
 was bored hats she hadn't needed. She put 
 a finger to her lips and frowned, studying the 
 words scribbled across a bottom corner. 
 
 "We think you may have overlooked this trifling 
 account, and will be glad to have you settle it. Hop- 
 ing for your continued, etc." 
 
 The " trifling account " was for sixty-five dol- 
 lars! She sat down at her desk and debated, 
 worriedly, for a moment. Then she set her lips 
 in a hard line and wrote a check for twenty-five 
 dollars " Lorette " could wait for the rest ; 
 the hats hadn't been worth even that much 
 it was ridiculous the prices they charged ! 
 Nothing but a band of georgette crpe on one, 
 and a silly feather on the other! She made up 
 her mind to trim her own hats, in future: she
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 261 
 
 always had to do something to the ones she 
 bought, anyway! 
 
 She slipped the check into an envelope, and 
 gave it to the maid ; then she took out her bank- 
 book. Of the |10,000 she had deposited, in late 
 November, there remained to her credit exactly 
 |2060! In four months, she had spent nearly 
 $8000 ! At first, she had paid no attention to her 
 expenditures; but in February, she had waked 
 up to the fact that, unless she retrenched 
 vigorously she would find herself, shortly, in a 
 serious predicament. Two thousand and sixty 
 dollars she stared at the figures ; it would not 
 even cover the rent of her apartment for the eight 
 months the lease had yet to run ! Why had she 
 been so extravagant. . . . 
 
 She took from a cubby-hole, a sheet of paper, 
 on which were two parallel columns of figures; 
 one was a list of her approximate monthly ex- 
 penses, up to March ; the other was what she had 
 hoped to reduce them to. She ran her pencil 
 down them, for the hundredth time: 
 
 Apart $300.00 $300.00 
 
 Maid 40.00 30.00 
 
 Groc., meat, etc 300.00 150.00 
 
 Gas, elec 10.00 10.00 
 
 Tele 10.00 5.00 
 
 A. & I. (Allow.) 150.00 75.00
 
 262 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 Gov 50.00 
 
 Th. Tick 150.00 50.00 
 
 Clothes 400.00 
 
 Laundry 30.00 25.00 
 
 Miscel. Taxis, cards, 
 
 lunches, charity, etc.. 325.00 100.00 
 
 $1765.00 $745.00 
 
 Her mouth twisted cynically as she surveyed 
 the second column. She pushed the sheet from 
 her, in disgust. All her efforts had met with 
 failure. The children had been indignant over 
 the proposed cut in their allowance ; they accused 
 her of squandering all the money on cards it 
 was obvious they considered her selfish and close. 
 When she explained the situation, they received 
 her appeals coldly ; they appeared not to realize 
 it would be to their own interest to help her out ! 
 Isabelle said she did n't intend to sit at home 
 and miss all the fun. There had been a threat 
 in her manner; Mrs. Austen understood it, now. 
 
 In the kitchen, it had been the same ; the girl 
 had shrugged, indifferently, when she had re- 
 monstrated with her for carelessness and waste- 
 fulness she had found a half chicken in the 
 garbage can, once ; and, at other times, nearly a 
 pound of the finest steak, quantities of bacon, 
 chops, and all the left-over canned vegetables, for 
 which she had paid importation prices. It made
 
 PEGGY-ELI8E 263 
 
 her sick to see her money thrown away in such a 
 heartless fashion! 
 
 When she dismissed Anne's governess, giving 
 as a reason that the child disliked her which 
 was only partially true she had also dis- 
 charged the maid, who had always slept home be- 
 cause of the shortage of room in the Austen 
 apartment, and engaged one who would sleep 
 there, so that Anne might not be alone, nights. 
 But, unfortunately, the new maid interpreted 
 this literally, sleeping at the Austens', it is true, 
 but spending almost every evening out! As a 
 result, Anne had been sent down to stay with 
 Paulette White, while their mothers played cards 
 until all hours of the night. 
 
 Paulette and her mother had always lived 
 abroad, until the war, much to their disgust, 
 drove them home. A life spent in the continen- 
 tal capitals had made the child pitifully sophisti- 
 cated. Mrs. Austen had suspected, for some 
 time, that she was not an ideal companion for 
 Anne, but she had not imagined that any child 
 of eleven could possess the particular knowledge 
 Paulette had imparted to her, in connection with 
 Mrs. Eversham. From the way she had spoken, 
 at breakfast, it was clear she had not understood 
 the things Paulette had told her, but she soon 
 would; she must not play with her any more. 
 Yet it would not be so easy to issue the command.
 
 264 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 She had either to leave her with the White child, 
 whose mother was the leader of the little bridge- 
 mad crowd, and to whom she owed money; or 
 alone in the apartment; or give up bridge, and 
 stay with her, herself. But that was out of the 
 question, since she was now desperately depend- 
 ing on the nightly games to help her out of her 
 difficulties. So far, however, she had lost more 
 than she had won. 
 
 A sheaf of March bills lay on the desk before 
 her. A nervous nausea seized her, as she went 
 over them; when they were paid, her balance 
 would be practically wiped out! Most of them 
 were irritatingly innocent of items she 
 couldn't tell what she was paying for she 
 might be paying for things she had never had! 
 It was n't in human nature not to cheat, she had 
 come to see, if there was no chance of being 
 found out. She had told the maid, repeatedly, 
 to save the slips that came with the orders, but 
 it had been a waste of breath. Two hundred and 
 seven dollars and eighty-four cents for a month's 
 food ! It was impossible ! 
 
 She pored over the bills, for a long time, then 
 began wearily to figure ; if she paid only a third 
 of each, and practised the closest economy, she 
 would be able maybe to keep going, for an- 
 other month or two. But she knew that she 
 would not be able to give up luxuries without
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 265 
 
 embarrassment ; her new friends would notice it, 
 and she dreaded their looks and private com- 
 ments; then, too, they would realize that it mat- 
 tered to her whether she won or lost and this 
 was an intolerable thought ! She wished all the 
 talk of America going into the war would come 
 to something! Then she would have an excuse 
 for retrenching. 
 
 But, after all, what did it matter what people 
 thought? They did n't pay her bills. It was 
 unfair, it was cruel, that one should have to go 
 into debt and live beyond one's means and be 
 worried to death, for people who really meant 
 nothing to one, except a good time. Mrs. Aus- 
 ten's lip curled. " Good time ! " She realized, 
 suddenly, that she had never been so wretched in 
 her life. A wave of longing swept over her to 
 be back home a strange, new desire, to take 
 hold of a place and run it herself, to do her own 
 marketing, to make her own clothes, to watch 
 every cent! If she had only had some idea of 
 managing, she wouldn't be in this hole, now 7 . 
 If only she could keep her husband from know- 
 ing! But, in tw r o months, at the outside, she 
 would have to admit her failure. She stiffened 
 at the thought. Little by little his silence had 
 brought home to her his indifference; yet it 
 seemed incredible he could care so little after all 
 those years ... he had found her attractive, in
 
 260 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 many ways, she knew. Her eyes fell on the col- 
 umns of figures she had just made. In a flash, 
 she saw her husband, bent over his study desk, 
 making similar columns. With a curious tight- 
 ening around the heart, she understood, all of a 
 sudden, why he had been unable to write! Her 
 own worries, now, made it difficult for her even to 
 think what to order for dinner. And Isabelle 
 and Allyn had refused to make one sacrifice to 
 help her. But had they ever been taught to con- 
 sider any One? They regarded her simply as an 
 exchequer as they had their father. . . . 
 Something Peggy had said came back to her: 
 " Here in America, parents seem to have too 
 much desire to be popular with their children; 
 I think it would be better if they were to disci- 
 pline them, a little, in order to make of them 
 fine future men and women." She began to be- 
 lieve that Peggy was right. 
 
 Anne wandered into the room, climbed up on 
 to the window-seat, and opened a book in her 
 lap; but instead of reading, she stared at the 
 chintz curtain, with a very dismal expression. 
 At length she sighed. 
 
 " Don't you miss Daddy, Mamma some- 
 times?" 
 
 Mrs. Austen raised her shoulders and gave a 
 hard little laugh, to cover the surge of feeling the 
 child's words had surprisingly awakened.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 267 
 
 " No ! " she scoffed. " When you 've known 
 your precious Daddy as long as I have, you '11 get 
 over paying any attention to his eccentric little 
 absences." 
 
 "What's 'eccentric'?" 
 
 " Selfish ! " her mother snapped out, before she 
 had time to think. 
 
 " But Daddy went away to write a book and 
 earn money lots of money so he could buy 
 us all the things we want ; that is n't selfish ! " 
 Anne argued. 
 
 Her mother laughed peculiarly. 
 
 " Your Daddy 's getting the habit of staying 
 away. If he missed us, he 'd come back don't 
 you think so? " 
 
 " He is coming back, when his book 's finished. 
 If it 's a success." 
 
 Mrs. Austen answered with a short, dry laugh. 
 The child winced ; her lip quivered. 
 
 " I 'd be glad if we were all back in Flushing 
 or away from here, somewhere ! All I hear, 
 now, is : ' What '11 we do with Anne? ' It 's no 
 fun to be poked down with Paulette, or taken for a 
 walk in that old Park, or left home with Maggie, 
 all the time ! I wish I could live with Daddy ! " 
 
 Her mother looked at her, thinking hard ; what 
 she had said was true at no time had she given 
 much thought to the happiness of her youngest 
 child. She noticed that Anne was looking thin
 
 268 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 her conscience smote her. /Something must 
 be done; yet what, in the circumstances? 
 
 One morning, two weeks later, she came in 
 from marketing in sheer desperation, she had 
 tried doing her buying, herself, and had been 
 dumbfounded at the saving it effected, and at 
 the difference in quality to find a note from 
 Anne, tucked conspicuously over the transmitter 
 of the telephone. It said : 
 
 " I have gone to see my father, so don't call up the 
 police. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Austen was frantic. She thought, wildly, 
 of all the accidents that could befall the child 
 on her trip, and there was nothing she could do, 
 except telegraph, later, to know if she were in 
 Montvale. For an hour, she paced the floor. 
 She had just sent the wire, when the telephone 
 rang; she could scarcely unhook the receiver, in 
 her certainty that something had happened. 
 Then the blood rushed to her head; her heart 
 pounded; the voice at the other end of the wire 
 was her husband's ! 
 
 " I hope Anne has n't frightened you," he was 
 saying, with unaffected concern ; " I told her she 
 should n't have come " He hesitated in ap- 
 parent embarrassment. "I I hope you don't 
 mind my having called up I wanted you to 
 know she was all right,"
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 269 
 
 " That was very kind of you but I was n't 
 in the least worried," Mrs. Austen managed to 
 articulate, in a cold voice. 
 
 Then she sank into a chair, trembling from 
 head to foot, and buried her face in her icy 
 hands.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 TEE week beginning Monday, April 2, 1917, 
 was for Peggy-Elise, one of such eventful- 
 ness, of such intense, crowding emotions as 
 rarely comes into a life. 
 
 It began when she opened her paper, Monday 
 morning, and saw the President's request that a 
 state of war be declared to exist between the 
 United States and Germany. Her breakfast 
 went untouched, as she sat, luminous-eyed, and 
 visioned America reaching out an invincible arm 
 back and forth, back and forth across the 
 Atlantic dropping men and munitions and 
 food out of a giant hand. Tears filled her eyes, 
 as she imagined the elation, the wild hope, in the 
 tired hearts of her countrymen at the thought of 
 this new, powerful ally won to their cause to 
 her, it was an accomplished fact. Then began 
 the filibuster that drew the scornful eyes of the 
 whole world to the little group of men in Wash- 
 ington, and held them there for four intermin- 
 able, blighting days. During those four days 
 Peggy grew thin and nervous from suspense 
 it would have been enough, without anything 
 
 270
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 271 
 
 else; but, as it happened, this effort by a few 
 chosen representatives to thwart the will of a 
 great nation was forced into the background by 
 events of vital importance to Peggy's personal 
 happiness. 
 
 On Tuesday, over luncheon with Mary Hallam, 
 and in the midst of an excited tirade against La 
 Follette, she received notice that she was to sing 
 Mimi, that night. Sofia Alvarez had a sore 
 throat; there were many to take her place, but 
 Signor Ferro-Ganaeci had his own very excel- 
 lent reasons for giving Peggy the chance. Prin- 
 cipally, he wished to see how she would sustain 
 a leading role, and how she would " take." 
 Several subscribers, resenting the change in the 
 cast, went home and regretted it. The girl's 
 success was instant and thrilling; the general 
 opinion was that the Metropolitan had never seen 
 a more exquisite, more subtly poignant, per- 
 formance of Murger's heroine. 
 
 Peggy read the notices the next morning in 
 growing bewilderment; could it really be she 
 they were enthusing about? 
 
 In the afternoon Winthrop called for her. 
 
 " Perro-Ganacci wants to see you," he said, 
 his eyes shining. 
 
 "Are you not feeling well?" Peggy inquired 
 solicitously, thinking that he was not looking 
 quite himself.
 
 272 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " Oh it 's nothing, I guess I 've been just 
 a bit upset, the last day or two nothing 
 serious." 
 
 The " seeing " resulted in a contract that left 
 Peggy a little faint. She stupefied them all by 
 refusing, at first, to sign it she wanted to re- 
 turn to France and take the place of some one 
 who might be acutely in need of rest but they 
 pointed out to her that, with her new income, 
 she might, if she chose, send several strong, eager 
 young women over in her place, and do much to 
 help, besides. She yielded sadly. The truth 
 was that she had felt it her duty to go to carry 
 on, for her father; but she saw that the greater 
 sacrifice was to remain where she was, and do, 
 indirectly, the work she longed to do with her 
 own understanding French hands. She would 
 have to be content with spending just her vaca- 
 tion abroad. 
 
 " I want to walk some of my excitement off," 
 she said, as she and Winthrop came out of the 
 theater. 
 
 " Is it impertinent to ask why you were so 
 anxious to return to France? " her companion 
 asked, as they swung into the avenue at Thirty- 
 fourth Street. 
 
 " But I have told you ! " she replied, in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Is that the only reason ? " He brightened.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 273 
 
 "I thought you might be going back to to 
 marry some poor wreck of a Frenchman." He 
 spoke with an attempt at lightness. 
 
 " If I were, it would be but common gratitude, 
 since he would have gotten himself wrecked de- 
 fending my country." She smiled tenderly. 
 
 For blocks, neither spoke. 
 
 "Will you marry me, instead, Peggy?" 
 Winthrop asked suddenly. " You are the only 
 woman I have ever loved." 
 
 They stopped, of one accord, in a corner by a 
 photographer's show-case. Peggy's big eyes 
 were dark with distress. Winthrop put out his 
 hand, quickly, in a restraining gesture : 
 
 " I 'm sorry to have hurt you we won't 
 speak of it, again." 
 
 Peggy blinked back the rushing tears. He 
 pressed her arm, kindly she felt his hand 
 tremble. 
 
 " Don't let it disturb you, dear," he said. " If 
 there had been any other way to find out, I 'd 
 have taken it." 
 
 " There is no one like you ! " the girl said 
 fervently, " and I do care for you only " 
 
 When he left her at her door, she noticed, 
 again, how badly he looked. 
 
 That night she could not sleep for thinking of 
 Winthrop and the answer she had been obliged 
 to give him. She felt horribly depressed. In
 
 274 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 the morning there was a note from her uncle, 
 asking her to come out to Montvale ; he appeared 
 so eager to see her that she put aside her feel- 
 ings and went. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon the telephone 
 rang in Mary Hallam's studio. Upstairs, 
 Rensky, forced to stop work and hunt for a miss- 
 ing tube of alizarin crimson, suddenly realized 
 that it had been ringing, at brief intervals, for 
 an hour. Mary was out, of course; the matter 
 must be urgent. He hurried down, and climbed 
 in a window. A moment later, with a grave 
 face, he went in search of Peggy; she, too, was 
 out. He ran his long fingers through his pom- 
 padour, in perplexity, then scribbled a message. 
 It was the first thing Mary saw, when she came 
 in, two hours later; she stood staring at it, in 
 consternation there was no way to get hold 
 of Peggy she was undoubtedly on her way 
 home from Montvale, now ; there was nothing to 
 do but wait. The telephone bell cut shrilly into 
 her deliberations. She did not hear the front 
 door open, nor her own, as she hurried to the 
 stand. When she at last hung up the receiver, 
 aghast at what she had heard, and turned round, 
 Peggy w ith strained white face and clenched 
 hands, was staring at her. 
 
 "Who is it that is dead?" she demanded, 
 with a violent effort.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 275 
 
 Mary, rendered speechless for the moment by 
 Peggy's unguessed presence in the room, could 
 not answer. 
 
 " Who is it who is it ! " the girl begged, in a 
 dry voice. 
 
 "Giles Winthrop," Mary faltered. "They 
 operated last night you heard the conversa- 
 tion." She paused. " They tried to get you, 
 here, this morning, but they had my number 
 wrong " 
 
 Peggy stared at her, with anguished eyes, until 
 Mary could bear it no longer. She went and 
 put her arms around her; but the girl gently 
 pushed her away, and went to her room. 
 
 When Mary went up, later, to take her a bite 
 of supper, she lifted a grief-changed, dry-eyed 
 face to her. 
 
 " It has happened to me twice," her voice 
 quivered with pain " I was too late to see my 
 father too." 
 
 Mary regarded her with deep sympathy, for a 
 moment. Then she said : 
 
 " Eat something, dear, if you can." 
 
 "It is so good of you but food " She 
 shook her head. 
 
 The morning papers gave a column to Giles 
 Winthrop's death ; among other matters, it men- 
 tioned his genius for ferreting out fine singers, 
 of whom the latest was Mademoiselle Lascelles,
 
 276 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 whose recent performance of Mimi, etc. It men- 
 tioned, also, that except for bequests to two 
 elderly maiden aunts, his large fortune was to 
 be used for the care of a number of orphans 
 in each of the war-stricken countries. Tears 
 sprang, relievingly, to Peggy's eyes as she read 
 it. 
 
 Early in the afternoon, Venable dropped in. 
 
 " Put on your hat, dear, and come out with 
 me for a walk," he suggested tenderly. " I know 
 how badly you must feel, but it 's a beautiful day 
 and you ought to be out in it it will do you 
 good." 
 
 " You will not mind if I do not talk? I am 
 not a gay companion, to-day," she said, her eyes 
 filling. 
 
 He smiled, with understanding. 
 
 They walked down Washington Place to the 
 Square, round the south side and up University 
 Place, in silence. It seemed to Peggy that she 
 drew strength just from Venable's quiet presence 
 there beside her; in his arms, she had never felt 
 so close to him. Suddenly, it came to her a 
 little bewilderingly as a familiar idea will, 
 when it ceases to be an idea and becomes a live 
 fact that she could bear any loss except that 
 of the humorous-mouthed, handsome man at her 
 side. With a loving glance, she swept him from 
 head to foot; something in his stride, in the set
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 277 
 
 of his head, the tilt of his chin, caught her at- 
 tention ; she wondered if his work had been going 
 specially well, or if he had had some good news 
 that he had refrained from mentioning, out of 
 consideration for her. They were crossing the 
 Mews, at the moment. Feodor Sierzycki, com- 
 ing out of his studio, hailed Venable. 
 
 " They tell me you are going to the front is 
 that right? " he inquired, his black eyes burning 
 with their perpetual sombre glow. 
 
 There was a roaring in Peggy's ears; the 
 street began to whirl ; she waited, breathless, for 
 Venable's reply. 
 
 " Yes." There was a note of suppressed exul- 
 tation in his voice. " If war 's declared, I 'm go- 
 ing into the army if it isn't, I shall join the 
 American Ambulance." 
 
 Peggy did not hear Sierzyski's reply ; she was 
 aware, after what seemed ages, that he was gone, 
 and that she and Venable were standing alone on 
 the pavement. 
 
 " You are going, Gilbert you " She could 
 not finish ; only one thought was in her mind 
 one terrible thought : she had lost her father and 
 her friend; now, she was to lose the man she 
 loved. 
 
 Venable leaned down to catch what she said. 
 
 " What, dear? " 
 
 She gazed at him in mute anguish.
 
 278 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 He looked at her tragic face, then took her by 
 the arm, and turned back toward his studio. 
 Inside, he put her in a chair, and brought her a 
 glass of sherry. When she seemed more herself, 
 he sat down opposite her and took her hands 
 in his. 
 
 " You wanted me to go, Peggy did n't 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes." She spoke in the brave, tired voice of 
 one physically spent with sorrow, but strong in 
 spirit. " I am glad/' she made no attempt to 
 conceal her suffering. " When did you decide? " 
 
 " The first time you posed for me, for the new 
 Victory." 
 
 " So long ago ! Why did you not tell me 
 before? " 
 
 " Because I wanted to spare you, as long as I 
 could." 
 
 " But you knew it would make me happy," 
 she faltered. " I urged you " 
 
 " I knew it would half kill you ! " 
 
 She caught her breath ; her eyes fluttered shut 
 and then quickly open. 
 
 " It was the thing I wanted," she man- 
 aged to say. 
 
 "It was the one thing in the world you did n't 
 want ! " he asserted firmly, holding the hands she 
 tried to release. " You w r anted me to want to go, 
 because you can't or you won't let yourself love
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 279 
 
 me, it seems, until I measure up to a certain 
 standard. You 're such a stubborn little idealist 
 that you don't get any pleasure out of life ! " 
 
 " It is my nature," she said wearily. " What 
 can I do? '' 
 
 " Ah, Peggy, Peggy ! " he shook his head 
 " You have so much wisdom for others and so 
 little for yourself. . . . When I said it was my 
 nature to be selfish, you told me that was only 
 one of my natures; what about you? Are you 
 always going to crush the warm, human side of 
 you? " 
 
 " When are you going? " she asked, heedless of 
 his question. 
 
 " As soon as it can be arranged." 
 
 From then until the night before he left for 
 camp, Peggy waited for him to broach the sub- 
 ject uppermost in her thoughts and formerly 
 in his ; they met often, but though he spoke some- 
 times of the coming separation, he did not men- 
 tion marriage. Day and night, she variously 
 analyzed his silence. She grew thin and wan 
 from loss of sleep; food choked her. All her 
 old arguments against marrying him were for- 
 gotten in the new fear that he no longer wanted 
 her to. Her love for him, her longing to slip 
 her arms around his brown throat and be held 
 in his sudden tight clasp, grew with the mo- 
 ments.
 
 280 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 Throughout their last dinner, together, she 
 kept her eyes lowered, lest he see the hungering 
 adoration in them ; when she could, she stole un- 
 observed glances at him. Once, the terrible fear 
 surged over her that she might never see him 
 again. 
 
 The strain of the past weeks had stretched her 
 nerves taut; the meal was an endless ordeal. 
 Around them there was nothing but war-talk; 
 friends stopped at their table to say good-by to 
 Venable. When they were half-way through 
 their salad, her fork clattered against her plate. 
 
 " Let us go over to the studio," she begged. 
 " I can't stay here any longer! " 
 
 As they entered the dark workroom, Venable 
 drew her to him; for a long time, he held her 
 close, feeling the throbbing of her heart against 
 his breast ; once, his arms tightened convulsively 
 about her, but relaxed instantly ; then he stooped 
 and kissed her on the forehead, with great ten- 
 derness. A breath, that was like a sob, shook 
 her at the touch of his lips. He grew tense, then 
 with trembling arms put her away from him 
 and struck a match. She sank back limply 
 against the wall. 
 
 When he had lighted the lamp, he said, with- 
 out looking at her : 
 
 " Come and see what I 've done with the Vic-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 281 
 
 tory I 've been working on it this afternoon." 
 
 Peggy moved unsteadily across the room; it 
 had been stripped of all Venable's belongings, 
 except the Victory Feodor Sierzycki was to 
 make a plaster cast of it, later and she fore- 
 tasted the ghastly loneliness that comes to one 
 at sight of a dear friend's deserted quarters. 
 She had no tears to ease her agony, within, she 
 was an arid, stony, scorched wilderness, in which 
 life withered. 
 
 "It is magnificent," she said, in a spiritless 
 voice, gazing at the figure with apathetic eyes. 
 
 Venable slipped a supporting arm around her 
 slim shoulders ; she leaned against his side, rest- 
 ing her head on his arm. He looked down, and 
 saw that her eyes were closed, and her lovely 
 lips parted in a kind of rapture. 
 
 " Dear ! " he breathed, " dearest ! " and bent 
 his face close to hers. There was not a flicker of 
 resistance. He drew away from her, bruskly. 
 One of her hands fluttered appealingly toward 
 him. 
 
 " Peggy ! " his voice was harsh with feeling 
 " don't make it any harder for me than it is 
 you don't understand! It isn't easy to go 
 through these last hours, so that neither of us 
 will have anything to regret, in the coming 
 months with whatever they may bring. If I
 
 282 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 could ask you to marry me, it would be different ; 
 but under the circumstances, I can't I 
 would n't " 
 
 "Why not?" she asked, her cheeks suddenly 
 flushed. " You may never come back " 
 
 " Peggy if I could be sure of that, I 'm 
 afraid I would n't give you time to change your 
 mind! What prevents me is the dread that I 
 may come back come back blind or horribly 
 crippled so that the only thing I could do 
 would be to give you your freedom or live with 
 you, and go mad under the intolerable feeling 
 that you stuck to me out of pity ! I could n't en- 
 dure it ! " His vanity, his old consideration for 
 himself, still lay uppermost. 
 
 Peggy turned soft, wistful eyes upon him. 
 
 " But love knows nothing of pity, dear ! It 
 knows only love! If I were to be hurt 
 maimed would you want to leave me? " 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " No certainly not but you might want to 
 free me." 
 
 " Yes you are right I would free you at 
 once/' she said, in a dead voice. 
 
 " I suppose that sounded awfully selfish " 
 
 Peggy was silent. 
 
 " Will you take me home? " she requested, at 
 last. 
 
 He stared at her, incredulous.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 283 
 
 " You mean we are to part like this? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You would let ine go away from you like 
 this perhaps forever just because I said a 
 little thing like that? " 
 
 " It was not a little thing." 
 
 "But, my God! you don't suppose, really, 
 that I 'd desert you, if you were injured do 
 you? I said what I did, offhand I wasn't 
 thinking. It 's too silly ! " 
 
 " That is just it; the truth comes out when one 
 is not thinking." 
 
 He uttered a little exclamation of annoyance. 
 
 " I don't seem to be able to please you at all, 
 Peggy-Elise I 'm sorry I can't go away feeling 
 that you like me a little. Are you ready? " 
 
 " It is because I because I love you too 
 much " she explained brokenly. " Some day 
 perhaps you will understand " 
 
 " You are in love with an impossibly ideal per- 
 son I understand that! " 
 
 She made no answer, and he saw that she was 
 ghastly white and looked very ill. She swayed ; 
 he sprang forward to steady her, just in time to 
 catch her limp body in his arms ; she had fainted. 
 
 She was so long coming to, that he finally tele- 
 phoned, in alarm, for a doctor. The doctor 
 ordered her put to bed. 
 
 " Looks to me like a nervous breakdown," he
 
 284 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 said, replacing his thermometer in its case. 
 " Has she been under a strain? " 
 
 " Yes." Venable was inwardly cursing him- 
 self for his selfishness in having forgotten it for 
 a moment. " Good Lord ! I ought to have real- 
 ized ! " he thought. 
 
 Mary Hallam took charge of Peggy. In pur- 
 suance of the doctor's order that she was to be 
 kept absolutely quiet, she grudgingly permitted 
 Venable five minutes in which to say good-by. 
 He said it to a confused, limp Peggy, who ap- 
 peared not to sense what it meant. There was 
 not a quiver of response in her cold lips that he 
 pressed in such passionate contrition, such hun- 
 gry yearning, for an answering pressure that he 
 might construe as forgiveness. He carried one 
 of her pulseless hands to his lips, and released it 
 in despair. He thought she smiled, once, but it 
 could have been a sudden flare of candle-flame 
 lighting her face. And with this dubious com- 
 fort, he was compelled to leave her.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 PEGGY lay in a kind of torpor for several 
 days, refusing food and rarely speaking, ex- 
 cept to say that her head ached, that all of her 
 ached. By the end of a week, she got up, a little 
 shaky, but otherwise fairly well. The first thing 
 she did was to read the letters Venable had writ- 
 ten her from camp; she had been too listless to 
 open them before. He was not a letter-writer 
 certainly not a love-letter writer; still, he man- 
 aged to convey to Peggy something of his misery. 
 In her suffering, they brought her a kind of 
 lethal comfort, the effect of w r hich was certain 
 to wear off, however, with the return of vitality 
 to her nerves and brain. 
 
 As soon as she was able, she made arrange- 
 ments for her passage to France ; she planned to 
 remain there until her work called her back. 
 
 The Metropolitan's New York season had 
 closed; the company was going to Boston for a 
 week, and Peggy went with it, against the doc- 
 tor's orders he had prescribed absolute rest. 
 She called Anne up, before she left, to tell her 
 she was going ; also, that she had secured accom-
 
 286 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 modations on a Fabre Line boat, sailing " some- 
 time in June." Anne uttered a wail over the 
 wire. Then she cried excitedly : 
 
 " Guess what, Peggy ! Daddy 's come back, 
 and we 're moving to the country to-morrow ! 
 Out to Montvale. We 're all packed up wait 
 a minute ! " she said, turning to tell some one in 
 the room when her cousin was to sail for 
 France " Mother wants to speak to you." 
 
 Peggy was amazed by her aunt's affability, her 
 solicitude. She wanted her, it transpired, to 
 come out and stay with them, until she sailed; 
 the change of air, rest, etc., etc. Also, they 
 would love to have her with them. Peggy ac- 
 cepted, full of speculation. When she had last 
 seen her uncle, three weeks previously, he had 
 had two months' work to do on his book, and did 
 not intend to return to his family until it was 
 accepted. She wondered what could have hap- 
 pened. 
 
 What had happened, was this. In the first 
 place, Anne's visit to him had shattered any be- 
 lief that the child was happy without him. She 
 had whirled in on him, driving away at his 
 book, her blue eyes black with joy, her thinned 
 cheeks vivid, clear crimson, her voice almost a 
 sob in the rapture of seeing him. She had 
 climbed up on his lap and hugged him and 
 kissed him for ten minutes, and then had curled
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 287 
 
 up in his arms, with a sigh of utter satisfaction. 
 
 He had been so shaken by the child's emotion 
 that he could only strain her to him, in silence. 
 After her first excitement had worn off, her 
 tongue had begun to rattle. In telling her father 
 the things that had happened to her, she uncon- 
 sciously disclosed much of the state of her 
 mother's affairs. Here and there, he caught 
 glimpses of his wife's extravagance. Then fol- 
 lowed the amazing fact that she was doing her 
 own marketing, told quite innocently as an im- 
 portant detail in Anne's account of how she had 
 slipped out, that morning, and run away to 
 him. In the same wholly unintentional fash- 
 ion, she revealed Isabelle's intimacy with Mrs. 
 Eversham. He pricked up his ears at the name 
 he thought he had heard it, sometime, in an 
 unpleasant connection. 
 
 Thus it went, until he had the whole disquiet- 
 ing picture. 
 
 He took Anne back to the city, in the evening, 
 and left her at the door. He was tempted to go 
 up, and see his wife and family, but was afraid 
 that what he might learn would destroy his peace 
 of mind and wrench him away from his book. 
 He asked for only a month more of freedom, he 
 told himself in justification; then he would go 
 back and resume the burden for the rest of his 
 life.
 
 288 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 But back in Montvale, anxiety dogged him. 
 Either through ignorance or impotence, their 
 mother was permitting Isabelle and Allyn to 
 travel at their own gait; he felt that they were 
 in very serious danger. He pictured them, in 
 their hot, unprotected youth, victimized and in 
 disgrace. Walking the floor, hour after hour, 
 he realized that whatever right he had had to 
 leave his wife to her whims, he had had none to 
 abandon his children it amounted to that ; no 
 fame on earth could obliterate the shame of their 
 ruined lives. In the last analysis, he alone 
 would be responsible had he not chosen their 
 mother? And, since he had not chosen wisely, 
 he should have done his utmost to protect the 
 children from the consequences. That was what 
 Peggy had meant, the time she had said he could 
 never be free The bonds of parenthood were 
 forged of imperishable stuff they began at the 
 cradle and ended at the grave. 
 
 In the ensuing days he tried to persuade him- 
 self there was no immediate danger; that a 
 month, more or less, would not matter. It was 
 no use. By the end of the week he had deter- 
 mined to sacrifice his book, if need be, to the wel- 
 fare of his children. He locked up the little 
 Montvale studio, with a heavy heart; the pre- 
 cious hermit days were over. 
 
 He arrived at the hotel about half-past nine
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 2S9 
 
 in the evening, and sent up word that he wished 
 to see Mrs. Austen. She was not at home; he 
 stood debating what he should do. 
 
 " Did you say you were Mr. Austen? " the 
 clerk inquired. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, your little girl wants you to come up 
 she 's a great little girl," he added, smiling. 
 
 Anne was alone the maid was out, as usual ; 
 Mrs. Austen was upstairs in the Glovers' apart- 
 ment, playing cards. Anne wanted to call her, 
 but her father said he would wait till she came. 
 How did it happen Anne was alone? Anne 
 opened her eyes, wide. She said she was often 
 alone she did n't mind she read. She 
 nodded toward the open book on the table. 
 
 "Where are Allyn and Isabelle?" he asked, 
 at length. 
 
 She shrugged her ignorance of their where- 
 abouts. 
 
 At eleven o'clock, Anne, sleepy but protesting, 
 went to bed. Her father helped to undress her, 
 tucked her in, and read her to sleep, after assur^ 
 ing her that she would see him, next day. Her 
 happy kiss thrilled him. 
 
 Twelve one o'clock came, but no family. 
 
 At twenty minutes past one, gay good-nights 
 sounded outside the door, and Mrs. Austen hur- 
 ried in. Her husband stood by the mantel-
 
 290 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 piece, facing the door. When she caught sight 
 of him, she stopped short, and stared ; the color 
 rushed out of her face and in again ; then, with a 
 heroic attempt at her old flippancy, she said : 
 
 " Humph ! you 're rather a stranger ! When 
 did you arrive? " 
 
 " Considerably earlier than you," he replied, 
 nettled by her tone. " Is this the time you usu- 
 ally get in?" 
 
 She raised her eyebrows. 
 
 " Is that your affair? " 
 
 "Yes I think it's my affair," he retorted 
 with ill-advised heat, "when you go out, night 
 after night, and leave my child alone till all 
 hours!" 
 
 She laughed mockingly, with a bitter twist of 
 her handsome mouth. 
 
 " I love that ! You go away for months, on 
 your own sweet little business, and leave us to 
 our fate and then reproach me with neglect! 
 Why did n't you take your precious Anne with 
 you? " she taunted. 
 
 " You know perfectly well that I could n't have 
 done my work with her there ! " 
 
 " ' Work ' ! You make me laugh ! " 
 
 "You're welcome to construe my absence as 
 you please." 
 
 " I know you too well, my dear," she said, with
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 291 
 
 intense bitterness, " to believe that you 've 
 spent all these months working chastely on a 
 book!" 
 
 " Nevertheless, it 's what I 've been doing." 
 He turned away, hopelessly. Out in the soli- 
 tude of Montvale, he had planned to take more 
 than his share of blame for the pass to which, 
 he had reason to suspect, they had come; but 
 now, in his wife's antagonistic presence, he 
 shrank from humiliating himself ; she would only 
 mock him her scornful manner had already 
 insidiously poisoned his new courage. He drew 
 out his watch. 
 
 " It 's pretty late for Allyn and Isabelle to be 
 out, is n't it? " 
 
 A harassed expression banished something of 
 the air of bravado from Mrs. Austen's face. 
 
 "Where are they?" 
 
 " I don't know. Isabelle 's with Mrs. Ever- 
 sham I suppose ; Allyn 's probably at the the- 
 ater they '11 be in soon. They 're not usually 
 as late as this." 
 
 The bell rang. She opened the door; to her 
 amazement, Mrs. Eversham brushed excitedly 
 past her. 
 
 " I 've just had a telephone message from Jack 
 Suffern," she panted. " He and Isabelle " 
 She stopped, at sight of a stranger.
 
 292 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " This is my husband, Mrs. Eversham," Mrs. 
 Austen explained, coldly. " What 's the matter 
 with Isabelle? " 
 
 She frowned. 
 
 " Can't I see you alone, for a moment? " 
 
 "Anything that concerns our daughter is as 
 much my affair as my wife's," Mr. Austen said 
 sharply. 
 
 Mrs. Eversham looked from one to the other, 
 irresolute. Finally she drew an impatient 
 breath, and flung out her jeweled hands in a ges- 
 ture of acquiescence. 
 
 " I won't waste time on details," she said in a 
 hard, light voice. " Isabelle and Jack went 
 motoring, it seems after supper. Jack just 
 telephoned me that they 'd had a breakdown, and 
 couldn't get back, to-night. He said he had 
 taken Isabelle to a farmhouse " She paused. 
 " That 's a lie of course." A sneer dragged 
 down the corners of her cynical mouth. " He 
 has a place, out in Westchester County and 
 that 's probably where they are." 
 
 " Good God ! " Mr. Austen gasped, his face 
 ashen. " Where is this place? " He reached for 
 his hat. 
 
 The woman shook her head, rapidly. 
 
 " It takes nearly an hour to get there, and 
 then," she hesitated " it might be "
 
 293 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " What 's the 'phone number? " 
 
 " Westchester 73." 
 
 He was already at the telephone. 
 
 " Westchester 73 ! Westchester 73 !" he 
 thundered, in reply to the girl's drawling, 
 " What number did you want? " 
 
 For ten minutes, the throbbing silence in the 
 room was broken only by echoes from the infre- 
 quent, early-morning traffic in the street below, 
 and by the empty ticking of a silly little French 
 clock on the mantel. All ears strained at the 
 crackle of a voice in the receiver. 
 
 " They don't answer? " Mr. Austen shouted, 
 aghast ; " they 've got to answer ! Try again ! " 
 
 Another five minutes lagged past. Then he 
 beckoned imperatively to Mrs. Eversham, and 
 thrust the receiver into her hand. She flashed 
 him a furtive glance of admiration. 
 
 "Hello!" she called: "Is that you, Jack? 
 Yes Polly." 
 
 Mr. Austen took the receiver from her. 
 
 " Mr. Suffern," he said in steely tones, " this is 
 Miss Austen's father, speaking . . . yes, her 
 father. I want my daughter here as fast as you 
 can bring her. If she isn't back, within an 
 hour, I '11 notify the police." 
 
 The listening women caught a word, now and
 
 294 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 then, of an indignant protest coming over the 
 wire " car " " breakdown " " impossible." 
 Mr. Austen cut it short. 
 
 " That 's not my concern ! You took her there 
 now you bring her back ! " He snapped the 
 receiver onto the hook. " Where did Isabelle 
 meet this man? " he asked, rising. 
 
 " Through Mrs. Eversham." Mrs. Austen 
 colored as she made the admission. "I tried 
 to". 
 
 " He 's scarcely the sort of man to introduce 
 to a young girl," he cut in, looking sternly at 
 Mrs. Eversham. 
 
 A contemptuous smile curled her lip. 
 
 " It would have been rather hard to avoid it. 
 Isabelle wasin my apartment, day and night 
 the poor child seemed to have nowhere else to 
 go." She looked defiantly at Mrs. Austen. " I 
 kept her under my eye, as much as I could, but 
 you really could n't expect me to chaperone her 
 every minute. Besides," her eyelids drooped 
 insolently " I have n't that protective parental 
 feeling." 
 
 Mr. Austen flushed. After a moment's 
 thought, he said: 
 
 " You are right, of course and my wife and 
 I both want to thank you for your help, to-night." 
 He glanced at the clock. " It 's late so we 
 won't keep you any longer."
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 295 
 
 She fixed him with a pair of amused eyes ; then 
 turned on her heel and went to the door. He 
 opened it and bowed as she passed, her head 
 high, her skirts drawn aside. 
 
 For a half hour, Mr. Austen paced the floor; 
 his wife stood by the window alternately, she 
 looked at the clock or peered into the street be- 
 low. Twice, cars stopped at the curb; she 
 watched, tense, while people stepped out, but 
 Isabelle was not among them. 
 
 As the clock ticked off its leisurely, uncon- 
 cerned seconds, the paralyzing fear crept over 
 her that what had befallen other girls girls 
 she had read about in the papers might al- 
 ready have befallen Isabelle. She had always 
 thought of them, somehow, as naturally inclined 
 to be bad quite as much sinning as sinned 
 against. 
 
 But Isabelle was not bad she had simply 
 been allowed too much freedom. Mrs. Austen 
 stared out of the window; in a sudden agony 
 of realization she saw that selfish absorption 
 in her own pleasures had brought this ter- 
 rible thing on her daughter. She tried, feebly, 
 to justify some of her neglect on the plea that 
 she had played cards to help herself out of her 
 desperate financial predicament; but, then, it 
 had been her own criminal extravagance that had 
 gotten her into it. If Isabelle A nervous
 
 396 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 chill convulsed her. Her frantic voice shattered 
 the stillness. 
 
 " She ought to be here, by now ! " 
 
 " I would n't worry I think she 's safe,'' her 
 husband reassured her. " I interfered in time 
 she '11 be here at any minute." But he spoke 
 with a conviction he was far from feeling. 
 
 " It 's fully an hour since you 'phoned ! You 
 ought to have found out where she was, and gone 
 after her ! " 
 
 " What good would that have done? If he 
 didn't intend to bring her back he certainly 
 would n't have dared to risk staying there." 
 
 " I forbade Isabelle to go with Mrs. Eversham, 
 when I found out her reputation ! " She spoke 
 in a distracted voice ; her white face twitched. 
 
 " Well when you live in an apartment house, 
 it 's almost impossible to keep children from 
 getting in with the wrong people." 
 
 She had expected him to reproach her, had 
 been ready for it; instead, he had been reason- 
 able, lenient. Her old ungovernable, hampering 
 pride suddenly gave way. 
 
 " Oh, Bob," there was a hysterical catch in 
 her voice " I wish we were out of it all I 'm 
 so sick of it ! I 'm so sick of it ! " 
 
 He went over and put his arm around her 
 shoulders; she leaned against him, her handker- 
 chief to her eyes. Presently, he said :
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 297 
 
 " You have this place on a lease, I suppose? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "It would have about seven months to 
 run? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Neither of them had been aware that an auto- 
 mobile had stopped below, delivered a passenger, 
 and darted away, so that they started violently, 
 their hearts pounding, when the door-bell rang. 
 
 Mr. Austen sprang to the door; his wife fol- 
 lowed, sick with suspense. If it should not be 
 Isabelle ! Then she sank, shaking, into a 
 chair, as she heard her daughter's voice. 
 
 The girl came in, sobbing wildly. Her father 
 took her in his arms and pressed her head to his 
 breast ; she clung to him in a frenzy of relief. 
 
 "Oh, Papa!" she cried; "if you hadn't 
 telephoned ! " 
 
 His arms closed tightly about her, his face 
 stern, terrible. 
 
 " Are you ? " Her mother put the vital 
 question, in a tense voice. 
 
 Isabelle nodded. 
 
 "But if Papa" She broke into a fresh 
 storm of weeping. 
 
 " I think perhaps you 'd better go to bed, now, 
 dear," Mr. Austen said, with infinite tenderness. 
 
 She lifted her pretty, tear-blotched face to his
 
 298 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 to be kissed. He thrilled as he touched her trem- 
 bling young lips. 
 
 " Try not to think any more about it to-night 
 you 're all right, now." 
 
 Three hours later, the elevator-boy helped 
 Allyn into the darkened apartment. . . .
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 WHEN Mr. Austen had learned that his 
 wife had gone through all her money, 
 that she had only a trifle over a thousand dollars 
 left, he had sat for a long time, thinking. He 
 had been shocked, disgusted, at first; but, by de- 
 grees, he saw that perhaps this experience was 
 what she had needed. 
 
 " The first thing to do," he had said, " is to get 
 the children away from here." 
 
 Mrs. Austen had acquiesced, fervently. 
 
 "We can sublet this place there won't be 
 any trouble about that. I figure that we have 
 between us about $1700 I guess I have 
 nearer eight than seven hundred left out of 
 my fifteen " he was referring to the money he 
 had received, the previous November, for his 
 scenario, " Labor." " There 's no absolute cer- 
 tainty of having any more, for quite a while 
 I 'm going to finish this book it 's sure to sell 
 and I won't have time to do any pot-boiling ; 
 so we '11 have to make what money we have go a 
 good way." 
 
 His wife had shown eagerness to agree with 
 him.
 
 300 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " It would be a little embarrassing, I think, 
 to go back to Flushing and haye to live on a 
 reduced scale. Besides, the Donnellys were a 
 bad influence for the children." His lips had set 
 in a hard line at mention of them. 
 
 " I don't want to ever see Flushing again ! ' 
 
 Mr. Austen had looked at her, and debated. 
 
 " There 's a place up in Montvale," he said, at 
 length, " about a quarter of a mile from my 
 studio, a beautiful old place nine rooms, lots 
 of ground it may lack a few conveniences, but 
 I think it would do. It rents for forty-five dol- 
 lars a month. I wonder how you 'd like it? " 
 
 " I 'd like any place," she exclaimed, " where 
 the children would be safe and I could have 
 peace ! And you 'd have your studio all to your- 
 self, to work in, and " she hesitated, the color 
 rushing into her cheeks "you could be home 
 with us, too." 
 
 A long look had passed between them. He 
 had taken her hand and stood gazing down at 
 it: 
 
 " Then we '11 go to Montvale." 
 
 It was Peggy's last night in America; on the 
 morrow, she was to sail for France. In response 
 to her aunt's invitation, she had spent her last 
 two weeks with the Austen family, in their new 
 home at Montvale. She had come to them a lit-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 301 
 
 tie timidly, a little dubiously it was impos- 
 sible, in view of Mrs. Austen's treatment of her 
 during the year, not to be a shade distrustful of 
 her new cordiality ; but when the latter had met 
 her at the station, and kissed her with unaffected 
 warmth, the girl's uneasiness had vanished. 
 She had marveled at the change : her aunt looked 
 years younger; the old, querulous, cynical ex- 
 pression had almost been replaced by one of 
 happiness. 
 
 They were in the kitchen, now, getting the din- 
 ner things out of the way. 
 
 " Don't bother to dry those dishes, Isabelle ; 
 they were rinsed in boiling water they '11 drain 
 dry. I 'm trying all sorts of lazy ways," Mrs. 
 Austen laughed, turning to Peggy, " now that 
 I 'm playing chief cook and bottle-washer, my- 
 self." 
 
 Her niece smiled appreciatively. 
 
 " It keeps you in the kitchen a great deal, when 
 you have not a servant." 
 
 Her aunt raised her shoulders in the old char- 
 acteristic gesture, but she smiled as she did it. 
 
 " We all have to do our ' bit,' now. Every- 
 body 's beginning to give up servants you 've 
 no idea the difference it makes in the bills ! Mrs. 
 Olcott next door lost her cook just before 
 you came; she went to work in a munition fac- 
 tory. I guess we 're through here, now," she
 
 302 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 glanced around. " Oh there 's a saucepan ! 
 It can wait till morning." She whisked off her 
 apron. " Come on out on the porch." 
 
 Allyn and Mr. Austen, with Anne on his lap, 
 were discussing the war, when the rest of the 
 family joined them. Peggy listened, with a full 
 heart. She was thinking how different this 
 earnest talk was from the careless talk she had 
 heard that day, almost a year ago, when she had 
 come among them a stranger. . . . 
 
 " I get sick every time I realize that Allyn has 
 enlisted," Mrs. Austen said to Peggy, in a low 
 voice, in which there was a ring of anguish. 
 " Of course, I 'd have hated him not to want to 
 go too," she went on, her blue eyes alight with 
 pride, " but the aviation branch of it is so ter- 
 ribly " She could not finish; Peggy turned 
 away from the ache in her eyes. 
 
 " Gee! Dad! I wish you were in it! " Allyn 
 exclaimed. 
 
 His father's face took on an intense sadness; 
 he stared, unseeing, at the far-away, darkening 
 hills. 
 
 " Oh, I 'm so glad you can't go, Daddy ! " Anne 
 cried, almost strangling him with a hug. " You 
 and I are doing our share, here ! " 
 
 There was a shout of laughter. 
 
 " Well, you need n't laugh ! My beans are 
 four inches high ! You did n't plant those beets
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 303 
 
 for me to-day, Allyn Austen ! " she accused. 
 Characteristically, she had commandeered the 
 services of the entire family, for the care of her 
 " war-garden." 
 
 " Do it to-morrow, sis," Allyn laughed, salut- 
 ing. 
 
 " Isabelle! Don't knit any more," her mother 
 commanded ; " you '11 put your eyes out in this 
 light!" 
 
 " I have to finish this to-night ; they 're sending 
 aw-ay the box to-morrow." 
 
 " Well, then, go inside and work where you can 
 see." 
 
 Isabelle left them. 
 
 Presently, patches of light appeared below 
 the shades of the living-room windows, and 
 struck across the porch. Inside, Isabelle was 
 humming softly. A silence fell upon them all. 
 The faint, clear, golden afterglow from the sun- 
 set melted into the deep crystalline blue of the 
 summer night sky ; the stars shone out with sud- 
 den brilliancy all over the heavens. The strid- 
 ent grating of crickets rose from the grass, 
 drowned by the occasional, long, minor bellow 
 of a bull-frog. A mournful, almost human, call 
 shivered through the night. 
 
 " There 's that screech-owl, again," Mr. Austen 
 remarked. 
 
 His wife shuddered.
 
 304 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 " I think they 're the most eerie things they 
 sound like lost souls." 
 
 After another prolonged silence, she said : 
 
 " Is n't this the sleepiest place you were ever 
 in? I can't keep my eyes open after nightfall." 
 She yawned. "Isn't that terrible?" 
 
 " You get up very early," Mr. Austen offered, 
 in explanation. 
 
 " Just think ! By this time to-morrow night, 
 Peggy '11 be 'way out on the ocean ! " Anne 
 slipped down from her father's lap, and went 
 over to her cousin. " Oh, Peggy I wish you 
 were n't going ! " she said, settling herself at the 
 girl's feet and resting her head against her knees. 
 " But you 're coming back? " 
 
 " I hope so, ma mie." Peggy's low voice was 
 tremulous with emotion. 
 
 Isabelle called out from the living-room. 
 
 " Peggy, come on in and sing something for 
 us!" 
 
 " I 'in afraid I cannot, to-night, dear I do 
 not feel in the humor to sing." 
 
 "Just one song Peggy," she urged. 
 
 " Then it will have to be a duet." She went 
 inside, Anne following. Isabelle was heard pro- 
 testing, there was laughter; then they began to 
 sing the " Barcarolle " from " The Tales of Hoff- 
 mann." 
 
 Mr. Austen settled down in his chair, leaned
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 305 
 
 back his head and closed his eyes; his wife 
 stretched out comfortably and propped up her 
 feet on a wicker tabouret ; Allyn leaned forward, 
 elbows on knees, chin in hand. He hummed the 
 music and his mother joined in. 
 
 " Your voice sounds very pretty, to-night," Mr. 
 Austen said, turning to her. " Why don't you 
 ever sing? " 
 
 Her shoulders lifted, in the dark. 
 
 " I can't sing Mary had the only voice in the 
 family." She referred to Peggy's mother. 
 
 " You sing very well." 
 
 When they had finished the " Nuit d' Amour." 
 they sang the duet from " Butterfly," and then 
 some things from " The Persian Garden." Peggy 
 sang softly, in order not to drown Isabelle's voice. 
 
 " Gee ! We '11 miss these soirees when you 're 
 gone, Peggy," Allyn said regretfully, as the girls 
 came out on the porch. 
 
 "Don't you think my voice is better, since 
 Peggy's been helping me with it?" Isabelle in- 
 quired generally. She turned to her cousin : " I 
 wish you were going to be here, right along." 
 
 Peggy smiled, marveling. The marked change 
 in her cousin's attitude toward her baffled her; 
 something Mrs. Austen had said, the day she ar- 
 rived, explained it, partially : 
 
 " I 've lost my whole family Isabelle and 
 Allyn have gone over, body and soul, to their
 
 306 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 father." She had spoken with her old flippancy, 
 but no bitterness tinged it. " Isabelle and he 
 are getting to be regular cronies ! " She had 
 laughed. " Has he told you that she 's learning 
 to do his typing? Takes care of his correspond- 
 ence it 's killing !" 
 
 Peggy decided it was probable that the girl's 
 new association with her father was responsible 
 for the change. 
 
 " Oh-oo ! " Mrs. Austen exclaimed, stifling a 
 yawn and rising stiffly from her chair. " I '11 
 just have to go to bed! Come along, Anne." 
 
 Anne went without protest, after ardently kiss- 
 ing her father and Peggy good night. Presently, 
 Isabelle followed. 
 
 "Well " Mr. Austen said, at length, in a 
 meditative tone, " my book is almost finished." 
 
 " I am so sorry not to hear the end of it," 
 Peggy remarked. " I will, of course, when it is 
 published, but I am so interested ! " 
 
 " Did I show you the letter I had, to-day, from 
 Mr. Hammond? " He drew some papers from a 
 pocket, and bent over into the light to look 
 through them. " Does n't seem to be here." He 
 reached into another pocket, and another. 
 " Humph ! " he said. " That 's funny I partic- 
 ularly meant to bring it up, to show you, but I 
 must have left it at the studio it 's the finest 
 letter I ? ve ever had about my work, and it means
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 307 
 
 a lot coming from a publisher like Hammond." 
 
 " I would love to see it," Peggy replied eagerly. 
 " Could n't we walk over to the studio it is not 
 far?" 
 
 "Would you aren't you too tired?" His 
 face was boyishly alight with pleasure. " I 'd 
 really like very much to have you see it. It '11 be 
 moonlight in a few minutes ? Will you join 
 us, Allyn? " 
 
 " Nope I 'm going to turn in I 've got 
 the sleep-bug, too." He paused in front of 
 Peggy. " I may see you over there before 
 long," he tried to keep the pride out of his 
 voice. 
 
 " You expect to go soon? " 
 
 " Well comparatively speaking I have n't 
 begun training, yet," he grinned, " but I ought to 
 get over, this year." 
 
 As Peggy and her uncle left the macadamized 
 road and turned into the little wood-path, that 
 was a short-cut to the studio, he broke the silence 
 that had held them since they had left the house. 
 
 " Does the family strike you as being happy? " 
 
 " Very ! " Peggy said it heartily. 
 
 " Well," he remarked, after a pause, " that 's 
 something, anyway." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " I mean that my sacrifice has n't been alto- 
 gether in vain."
 
 308 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 "Are you not happy, then, yourself, my 
 uncle?" 
 
 " ' Happy '? No ! There 's a certain satisfac- 
 tion, of course, in having done my ' duty,' and it 
 means a great deal to have the children closer to 
 me but " 
 
 They moved on, for a little way, in silence. 
 The path, mottled with moonlight, wound 
 through a thin growth of white birches; the 
 woods were very still; the only sound was the 
 faint swish, now and then, of Peggy's skirts. 
 
 " Look out for that boggy place, somewhere 
 here," Mr. Austen cautioned. 
 
 " It is a perfect night," Peggy said dreamily, 
 as she stood on the studio steps, waiting for her 
 uncle to unlock the door. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 When he had lighted the lamp, he called to her 
 to come in. 
 
 " Here it is," he said presently, going over to 
 her, a letter in his hand. 
 
 She had dropped into the big chair by the 
 fireplace. He stood watching her, as she read; 
 with a tightening of the throat, he thought how 
 utterly dear and desirable she looked, there, 
 under the soft radiance from the student- 
 lamp. . . . 
 
 When she handed the letter back to him, she 
 said:
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 309 
 
 " That is a wonderful letter but then, they 
 must have liked your book very much, to have 
 taken it before it was finished. I should think 
 that would make you happy " 
 
 He regarded her for a long moment, before 
 speaking. 
 
 " Yes but I wonder if you can understand 
 the kind of unhappiness that comes from fac- 
 ing a future in which you will have no one 
 with whom to share happiness; no one who 
 will be happy just because you are happy, and 
 not because your success will give them things 
 they want, things that mean happiness to them 
 
 clothes, luxuries Your aunt is doing her 
 best, doing wonderfully, but already she 's plan- 
 ning to have an automobile, if my book makes 
 any money, and to buy a fine phonograph, and 
 Oh, it 'o perfectly right, of course, and natural, 
 and I '11 be only too happy to give her things, but 
 
 well do you understand what I mean 
 Peggy?" 
 
 Their eyes met; the girl's filled with pain, at 
 the deep yearning in his. She nodded slowly. 
 
 " Of course you do ! You ' ve always under- 
 stood everything if you had n't, if you had n't 
 been fine, strong all through the family 
 would have gone to smash, by now Lord knows 
 what would have happened to it! When you 
 first came to live with us, you know, I was just
 
 310 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 ready to bolt ! I don't think you '11 ever realize 
 how much you 've done for us all, one way or 
 another ! " 
 
 " But I did nothing what else could I have 
 done? Sh.all we go back, now? " 
 
 "Go back? Yes I suppose so. . . ." His 
 brooding eyes searched hers ; she felt the hunger 
 in them : " I wish we might go on go on 
 together forever ! " Then, as though unable 
 longer to command himself, he abruptly flung 
 open the door. He did not even look at her as 
 she passed him and went out into the moonlight.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 IT was not until Venable had been in France 
 for several months, that he quite understood 
 why Peggy-Elise had wanted him " to want to 
 go. 1 ' He had felt it his duty, of course, but at 
 the time he did not entirely share her feelings as 
 to the ideals which should actuate him. He was 
 not indifferent; there were grave wrongs to be 
 righted : Belgium should be restored, France re- 
 gain Alsace-Lorraine, England be supported in 
 her championship of the smaller nations yet 
 none of these things drove him irresistibly to the 
 front, but rather a desire to justify himself in 
 Peggy-Elise's eyes, to win her respect, and, inci- 
 dentally, his own. 
 
 In France, a new spirit gradually began to 
 grow within him, even while his regiment was 
 still in training far behind the firing line. The 
 phase, in which he had thought first, of himself, 
 his success as an officer, and secondly, of the 
 cause in which he was enlisted, had given way to 
 one in which he thought of the success of Amer- 
 ica, as a nation. From thinking personally he 
 had begun to think nationally ; in the third phase, 
 
 311
 
 312 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 he thought internationally, concernedly, of man- 
 kind. 
 
 The " blue devils" assigned to the work of 
 training his regiment in the intricate details of 
 modern trench warfare told many stories, calmly, 
 without excitement, without passion stories 
 that caused Venable to turn cold with horror, at 
 first, and then to grit his teeth in somber rage. 
 He, his comrades, would show the world what 
 America would do ! Yet these men did not speak 
 of shattered villages, maimed and murdered 
 prisoners, bestially brutal acts of lust, outraged 
 women and children, as things done by the enemy 
 against the French, but as evidences of a mad phi- 
 losophy, a horrible thing not unlike a disease, 
 that was creeping slowly forward, threatening to 
 spread its venom over the whole face of the 
 earth. The menace was a menace to mankind; 
 that France happened to be in its path was inci- 
 dental; her sons would perish, if need be, that 
 not France, alone, but the world, might be saved. 
 Nor was this curious, impersonal feeling confined 
 to the French ! He met soldiers of many races, 
 men who had faced death in inconceivably hor- 
 rible forms who knew the effects of poison 
 gas, of liquid fire, from personal experience, who 
 had been patients in bombed hospitals, who had 
 gazed, stupefied, upon obscenely desecrated 
 churches in all these, he found something big-
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 313 
 
 ger than personal pride, bigger even than na- 
 tional pride, an almost religious devotion to an 
 ideal. These men, who went into battle with 
 flowers in their caps and songs upon their lips, 
 who suffered so silently, and died so simply and 
 nobly, were actuated, sustained, by a sublime 
 purpose. They fought, not that France or Eng- 
 land or Belgium might profit by it, but that hu- 
 manity might profit by it, that generations yet 
 unborn might have the boon of peace, of security, 
 that they themselves were denied. It was a won- 
 derful thing, this tremendous willingness to die 
 for others, even others they had never seen, never 
 would see, and it thrilled Venable as nothing in 
 his life had thrilled him. It smacked of that 
 universal brotherhood of man, that dream of the 
 Utopians, now, apparently, something more than 
 a dream. 
 
 " Yes,'' one English Tommy had said, " we '11 
 'ave to stop the bloomin' blighters 'ere, or wot 's 
 the use of 'avin' a 'ome to go back to? " 
 
 A French medical officer expressed a not dis- 
 similar thought. 
 
 "It is, as one might say, a cancerous growth 
 in the body politic, monsieur. You, I, all of us 
 we are like the white corpuscles, the phago- 
 cytes in the blood. We rush to the infected 
 point, we attack the poisonous bacteria, we die. 
 When enough of us have died, the cancer is over-
 
 314 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 come, and civilization is saved. That is all." 
 
 Gradually the immensity of the thing began to 
 grow upon Venable. There was a Scotch regi- 
 ment billetted near by. He talked with the men ; 
 all of them seemed to understand quite well the 
 thing they were fighting for, although none of 
 them said much about it. One old top sergeant, 
 who had been through the hell at Mons, summed 
 up his convictions briefly, but to the point. 
 
 " A mon that canna see the richt o' it, sir," he 
 said, " wouldna believe in God." Venable had 
 not thought much about God for a long time. 
 
 One day, on the outskirts of the tiny village, he 
 came upon an elderly priest, who, with the as- 
 sistance of a girl of twelve, was trying to drive 
 an unruly cow into the stable. Venable, with a 
 smile, went to their aid, and he and the old man 
 had a brief talk. 
 
 " You are American, yes? " the cure asked, and 
 seemed pleased when Venable replied in his na- 
 tive tongue. " The good God Himself has sent 
 you to help us ' Follette ' is a stubborn animal. 
 You see, monsieur, we must do our best, the little 
 Blanche and I, since the young men have other 
 work to do, God's work, monsieur." He smiled, 
 very sweetly and nobly, his face for the moment 
 transfigured. " Though so many will never come 
 back, we are glad, for we know that Christ Him- 
 self has come again into the world, not in the
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 315 
 
 flesh, as He came before, but in the hearts of 
 men. Through this so terrible war, monsieur, 
 love will come to rule the world. I am old I 
 shall not see it. But it will be as I say." He 
 spoke with the air of a prophet. Venable went 
 back to camp, strangely moved. These people, 
 unquestionably, looked beyond the tragedy of the 
 moment. 
 
 That night, he had a strange new mood of 
 prayer. He had not felt so, for fifteen years. 
 " Sell all that thou hast . . . and follow me," 
 came to him from some forgotten teaching of the 
 past. Had not these men, these mechanics, 
 farmers, shopkeepers, artisans, given all that 
 they possessed? Were they not giving their 
 lives? For his children, should he have any, his 
 people, no less than for their own? A feeling of 
 shame swept over him, as he realized how trivial 
 his own motives had been. He could think of no 
 adequate words, but a sense of gratitude filled 
 him, that he was able to do his part, however 
 small, in the service of humanity. He saw 
 clearly, now, for the first time, why Peggy-Elise 
 had " wanted him to want " to come to France. 
 In spite of a pricking conscience, he had felt that 
 there were other men, less talented men, whose 
 duty, more than his, lay in the foul, rat-infested 
 trenches selfishness, purely, as she had so 
 surely known; littleness, that held him earth-
 
 316 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 bound, without the vision to see, as she had so 
 surely seen. 
 
 It hurt him, now, to realize that he had been 
 even a little irritated, angry with her; it was 
 because of this feeling that he had not gone down 
 from camp to see her, until the day of her sailing 
 for France. They had lunched, hurriedly, at a 
 noisy hotel, and talked of his work and hers. 
 Instinctively Venable felt that she did not wish 
 to speak of their love ; it was not until they said 
 good-by, at the gang-plank, that the seething 
 emotions within them welled to the surface. 
 With Peggy-Elise, contrary to his past experi- 
 ence, they took the form of tears, silent tears, 
 dimming her final vision of him. Venable gave 
 his feelings expression it was characteristic of 
 him. Not to kiss her, to hold her in his arms, 
 caused him acute suffering. He assuaged it, mo- 
 mentarily at least, by drawing her to him and 
 kissing away her tears. Perhaps he even fancied 
 that he was consoling her, rather than himself. 
 
 They had passed each other in midocean, in 
 the early autumn, Venable en route to France, 
 Peggy-Elise hurrying back to New York for her 
 season at the Metropolitan. Just before she 
 sailed, she had told him, in a letter, that she 
 loved him, yet it did not entirely satisfy him, 
 for it came at the close of a long description of 
 her activities with the Red Cross. She had been
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 317 
 
 singing, in the hospitals and rest camps. Ven- 
 able had had a feeling of jealousy, at the time; 
 Peggy-Elise, he had felt, loved something even 
 more than she loved him. Now, at last, he was 
 beginning to understand what it was. 
 
 It was from the simple, brave faith of the peo- 
 ple about him that he learned his deepest lessons. 
 When his regiment, with others, went to the 
 front line, he spent much of his spare time ( when 
 his company was not on duty in the trenches), 
 talking with the old woman in whose house he 
 was billetted. The village was a scant six miles 
 behind the front, now; during the storm which 
 swept over France in the first few months of the 
 war, it had been for a time in the enemy's hands. 
 They had left cruel marks, not alone on stone 
 and timber and all growing things, but on flesh 
 and blood as well innocent, harmless flesh and 
 blood, that remained, showing the pitiful scars. 
 The old woman, Madame Chiche, fascinated him. 
 Her face held a fixed, unalterable look of terror. 
 It was some time before Venable learned the ex- 
 act reason for it; she seemed indisposd to talk 
 about herself, and spoke instead, with a stern 
 cheerfulness, of the victory that was to be. At 
 last, however, she told him the story. Her 
 neighbor, a younger woman, had a daughter, 
 Elise was her name. Venable gave a start, as 
 he heard the familiar syllables, and a picture of
 
 318 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 his Elise flashed through his brain. Perhaps 
 monsieur had seen her, Madame Chichi went on 
 the tall girl, with the corn-colored hair. She 
 was seventeen now, and of a beaute extraordi- 
 naire. When the war came, she had been but 
 fourteen, a child. 
 
 Venable had seen her. A flash of Madame 
 Chich6's terror leaped in his own eyes. 
 
 " You mean the the girl who is mad ? " he 
 asked, almost brutally. He had seen the child 
 in the village, with some of the school children. 
 She babbled incessantly of meaningless things; 
 Venable had felt a profound pity for her. 
 
 " But, yes. The poor one. When the Ger- 
 mans came they took her. It was here, in the 
 street, before this house. Remember, she was 
 but fourteen. There were ten of them who 
 shared in this crime. They had drunk the wine 
 from the cellar of the Maire. They were as 
 devils. The mother they forced to witness what 
 they did. She, also, went mad, and ran scream- 
 ing to the river. It was better that she did not 
 live. I, also, saw this thing. At the moment, I 
 said to myself, there is no God. But I know 
 better, now, monsieur. When the Germans had 
 gone, I brought the child to my house. Now 
 Sister Marie cares for her, at the ruins of the 
 convent, where she teaches the little ones. This 
 war, monsieur, I believe it is a scourge, to make
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 319 
 
 us think of others, we who have for so long 
 thought only of ourselves. Punishment that, 
 monsieur, is in the hands of the good God. He 
 will do what is right. For us, it is only to wait, 
 and help those who have suffered more than we 
 have. But this I will say, monsieur : , The burn- 
 ing, the destruction, the killing of our men, even 
 of our women, in the mad rush of the invasion, I 
 can forgive, even I, who am not God; but that 
 which these men did to that child, that, monsieur, 
 I cannot forgive. You will find, when you have 
 seen more, that the most terrible, the most un- 
 forgivable thing of this so terrible war, has been 
 the mad passion, the lust of these men. Passion 
 bah!" She spat upon the ground. "It 
 comes from the devil himself! " 
 
 This conversation produced upon Venable a 
 profound effect. His thoughts reverted to 
 Peggy-Elise; she had told him that he did not 
 understand love. Had he, through all these 
 years, confounded it with passion? His own 
 words came back to him with singular vividness. 
 He had prided himself upon being a pagan. " I 
 want marriage to be a source of pleasure, not of 
 annoyance." His pleasure. Peggy had accused 
 him of selfishness; now he knew that she had 
 been wiser than he. Love lay in giving, not in 
 taking. These people about him, understood. 
 He sought out the afflicted girl, where she played
 
 320 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 with the other children, and lavished upon her 
 the wealth of his newly awakened love. She 
 gazed at him, wide-eyed, not understanding. 
 Her mind was that of a very young child; she 
 prattled of dolls, and the things of infancy. 
 Only by gifts of chocolate, of flowers, could he 
 appeal to her; yet, in the end, she came to trust 
 him. At times, wild spells came over her; she 
 would run from. every one, even from the other 
 children, and going to the ruined chapel of the 
 convent would climb the altar steps and lie there, 
 weeping, refusing to allow any one to approach 
 her. On one such occasion, Sister Marie ap- 
 pealed to him for help. He went to the child 
 and spoke to her. To his astonishment, she 
 crept quietly, pitifully, into his arms and allowed 
 him to carry her to bed. 
 
 It was through this girl, who, while quite un- 
 like her, reminded him so poignantly of Peggy - 
 Elise, and through the other children little 
 waifs of the first invasion, for the most part 
 that Venable came to learn his final lesson. 
 These eager little tots, merry-eyed in spite of 
 the tragedy of their lives, shy as elves at first, 
 came gradually to regard him as a big brother. 
 When he showed them some American games, 
 told them stories of the Indians, and deftly 
 modeled little figures for them out of clay, they 
 elected him one of them. To his surprise, he
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 321 
 
 found awakening in himself a paternal feeling, 
 a love for children that had hitherto been utterly 
 foreign to him. He had regarded them, in the 
 past, as disagreeable little annoyances, to be se- 
 cluded in the care of nurses. The thought of 
 being a father had left him cold; that, too, had 
 been at variance with the ideas of Peggy-Elise. 
 He realized, now, that it had been but another 
 expression of his selfishness. She had been 
 right. One had to give, to children ; he had been 
 unwilling to give, of his time, his energy, his 
 comfort. Now he began to grasp the, to him, 
 surprising truth that in giving, as he was giving, 
 to these little ones, he was receiving in return 
 more than he gave. For his chocolates, his pic- 
 ture-books, the small labors of his hands, he was 
 being repaid a thousandfold in affection, in sheer 
 joy at seeing others made happy. 
 
 These things came to Venable during his 
 periods of rest. Throughout the days and nights 
 in the trenches he was the eager, intelligent, effi- 
 cient officer, caring with unselfish devotion for 
 the comfort, the welfare of his men; they, too, 
 were in a sense children, for the time being in 
 his care. Yet it was with a thrill of the purest 
 happiness that he came back to the village, and 
 realized how sincere was the joy with which his 
 little friends greeted him. " The big monsieur," 
 they called him, with inflexions that were inex-
 
 322 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 pressibly tender. Peggy-Elise had thought the 
 creating of such as these a nobler thing than even 
 the creating of a Phryne, a Victory. Perhaps it 
 was, Venable thought, since God, the master art- 
 ist, concerned Himself with it, had even con- 
 cerned Himself to create him. 
 
 The sector upon which Venable's regiment was 
 stationed had for months been a quiet one. 
 There was some sniping, some daily " strafing " 
 enough to keep either side aware of the other's 
 presence but nothing remotely approximating 
 a real battle. When the weather was bad, the 
 trenches were viciously uncomfortable, but the 
 men made the best of them, and joked light- 
 heartedly about their hardships. Venable had 
 been on two fair-sized raids, and had won com- 
 mendation for his able handling of his patrol, in 
 a rather tight situation. A listening post had 
 suddenly been attacked; prisoners had been 
 taken, two men of another company, surrender- 
 ing only when their ammunition had been ex- 
 hausted. The force of the enemy's attack not 
 being known, the patrol had been recalled, and 
 a heavy barrage placed along the opposing 
 trenches. Venable called for volunteers, went 
 through the curtain of fire, and returned with 
 the two prisoners and an addditional two of the 
 enemy. It had been a brave enough act ; but in 
 a conflict in which cowardice, not bravery, would
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 323 
 
 be a matter of note, he had neither received nor 
 expected more than the handshake of his bat- 
 talion commander. 
 
 When the storm at last did break, it was Ven- 
 able's fortune, or misfortune, to be at rest behind 
 the lines. It was late afternoon, and he had just 
 left his quarters and was going toward the ruined 
 convent for an after-school hour with the chil- 
 dren, when an orderly dashed up with the news 
 that the Germans had begun to deluge the 
 trenches and the country for miles back of them 
 with gas. A moment later, a gas shell of large 
 caliber exploded some hundred yards away, 
 along the bank of the river. A siren whistle 
 sounded the alarm. It was the first use of gas 
 on this sector, so far behind the lines, and Ven- 
 able did not have his gas mask with him. He 
 turned. Already the few people in the streets 
 were hurrying to cover. Then he glanced toward 
 the convent, in one wing of which, still intact, 
 Sister Marie maintained her little school. His 
 duty, his orders, in case of attack, were to affix 
 his gas mask at once; to get it, he would be 
 obliged to retrace his steps to his quarters. He 
 turned swiftly, then hesitated, stopped. Would 
 the children in the convent be safe? Would 
 Sister Marie know what to do? Would the un- 
 familiar warning be understood? A shell, with 
 its deadly fumes, bursting in or near the school-
 
 324 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 room, would consign those eighteen little souls to 
 a death too horrible to contemplate. They must 
 seek refuge in the deep stone cellar of the build- 
 ing, at once, and there, with moistened handker- 
 chiefs and doors sealed with wet cloths, wait un- 
 til masks could be supplied them. He hesitated 
 no longer, as a shell burst not fifty yards from 
 the building. Clearly, the Germans were using 
 its shell-torn tower as a landmark for their ar- 
 tillery, in their effort to smother the village and 
 the troops they knew to be in it. 
 
 When Venable burst open the door of the 
 schoolroom, he found the children huddled in a 
 terrified group about Sister Marie. She, think- 
 ing them the victim of an air raid, had gathered 
 them around her, waiting for the storm to pass. 
 Previous experience with such attacks had taught 
 her that they passed quickly, and that there was 
 less safety, in the streets, than beneath the heavy 
 stone roof of the building in which they now 
 were; of gas she suspected nothing. Venable, 
 already a bit faint from the fumes through which 
 he had been obliged to pass, in order to reach the 
 door, explained the matter in a few staccato 
 words. Sister Marie grasped the situation, at 
 once, and led her charges through a wide door- 
 way to the hall, from which access could be had 
 to the ancient cellar. On the way, Venable
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 325 
 
 snatched from the desk a jar of water, in which 
 there were some flowers. 
 
 " Take this for the handkerchiefs ! " he or- 
 dered, moistening his own in it as he spoke. 
 " I '11 get a bucket from the yard you must wet 
 your dresses and hang them over the door until 
 help comes." He sprang into the yard and re- 
 turned almost immediately with a pail of water, 
 from which the children were in the habit of 
 drinking, during the day. They had all gone 
 into the cellar, now. Sister Marie stood beside 
 the steep stone steps; her face was white, ter- 
 rified. 
 
 " Elise has run into the chapel ! " she said. " I 
 could not leave the others." 
 
 Venable thrust the bucket of water into her 
 hands; then he pointed down the steps. 
 
 " Hurry ! I '11 get her ! " he cried. His voice 
 was drowned in the roar of an explosion, close 
 at hand. He dashed into the chapel. 
 
 There was a jagged gap in its high, leaded 
 roof. A great blur among the benches showed 
 where the projectile had fallen. The air was 
 heavy with the deadly fumes. He saw Elise, 
 a huddled white mass, at the foot of the altar; 
 heard her choking cries. Then he staggered up 
 the aisle, pressing the wet handkerchief to his 
 nostrils. The white face of the Christ, upon the
 
 326 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 great crucifix over the altar, looked down pity- 
 ingly through the slowly mounting vapors. 
 
 Venable put his arms about the terrified 
 child. She lay quite silent, seeming to find com- 
 fort in his nearness. The gas fumes, heavy, 
 deadly, acrid, rolled over the steps of the altar. 
 Venable took the wet handkerchief and bound it 
 tightly over the girl's nostrils and mouth, telling 
 her as he did so that she must not attempt to 
 tear it away. Then he picked her up, and, hold- 
 ing his breath, groped down the aisle and through 
 the schoolroom to the open air. His lungs 
 seemed on fire, his eyes burnt like coals. A mo- 
 mentary vision of goggled figures in khaki rose 
 before his eyes, then he collapsed upon the grass. 
 
 Peggy-Elise came back to her work, a little ap- 
 prehensive, if the truth is to be told. Her suc- 
 cess of the previous season seemed like a dream. 
 She was singularly lacking in confidence; she 
 needed Giles Winthrop to encourage her, as he 
 had from the beginning. But Giles Winthrop 
 was gone and would not come back. 
 
 She went to the opera house, the night she was 
 to make her d6but in " Lucia di Lammermoor," 
 horribly depressed, her nerves jumping; she felt 
 that nothing but failure awaited her in this her 
 first coloratura role. Her triumph, that night, 
 created a furore in musical circles.
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 327 
 
 She found herself suddenly the rage; she was 
 photographed, interviewed, written up in the 
 women's magazines, invited everywhere. With 
 it all, she continued to live in her little room in 
 Patchin Place she had never been able to leave 
 it, because of the memories of Venable with 
 which it was crowded. That she made her home 
 in such humble quarters was laid to eccentricity. 
 People went down to Greenwich Village in the 
 hope of catching a glimpse of her. But her popu- 
 larity meant little to her, without the people she 
 loved. 
 
 Paolo Breschi was more enamoured of her than 
 ever. He implored her to come and live with 
 him. 
 
 " It will do you good ! " he urged. " Dio! It 
 is not natural at your age at any age to live 
 without love! There is nothing else in life! 
 And," he added naively, "I am a very good 
 lover." 
 
 Peggy smiled sadly and shook her head. 
 
 " Come and try it, anyway until we are 
 tired, yes?" 
 
 She had to laugh, then; he was so gorgeously 
 frank. She had a kind of affection for him, and 
 a certain respect. He had no conception of con- 
 ventional morality, she knew; he was, in fact, 
 gaily unmoral. He had his own Panlike code 
 of right and wrong; it would be wrong, for in-
 
 328 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 stance, not to use the senses you had been given 
 not to taste the last drop of pleasure they 
 could bring you! That was what they were 
 meant for what else? Peggy admired his sin- 
 cerity, while seeing, clearly, through his sophis- 
 try. 
 
 All through that bitter winter and spring she 
 thought of only three things ; they were her sing- 
 ing, her relief work, and Venable. She forced 
 herself to think of Venable least, in order that 
 she might retain the necessary courage to go on 
 at all. A ceaseless, surging desire to go to him, 
 to be near him, never left her; she tried to for- 
 get it in the manifold activities with which she 
 crowded her life ; but the focal point in each day 
 was the poignant moment in which she read the 
 casualty lists from France. 
 
 It was in early March that the impending ter- 
 ror of all those months became a reality, and 
 when the concrete fact finally forced itself upon 
 her unwilling mind, she sat gazing at the line of 
 type, quite dry-eyed. " Captain Gilbert Venable, 
 of New York," she read, in the list of wounded. 
 That was all. She sat still for a long time, with 
 a feeling of helplessness that presently became 
 maddening. Now, for the first time, she felt that 
 Venable needed her. Always, before, he had 
 only wanted her. Some maternal instinct, deep- 
 rooted, caused her to stretch out her arms; she
 
 PEGGY-ELISE 329 
 
 could have taken him in them as she might have 
 taken a child. 
 
 There was nothing she could do, it seemed, but 
 wait. She could not go to him ; if for no other 
 reason, her opera contract, her war work, held 
 her fast. Also, she knew the insurmountable 
 difficulties that would be placed in her way ; were 
 all the tortured women on this side to rush to 
 their men, the capacity of the transports would 
 have been taxed. She must suffer and wait, as 
 the other women suffered and waited, hoping for 
 the letter she felt sure he would write, or have 
 written, as soon as his condition permitted it. 
 A cablegram she did send, to Bosquet, but the 
 days passed and no reply came. After that, she 
 walked through life dazed, numb, sustained by 
 the knowledge that as soon as he could be moved, 
 he would be sent back to America for treatment. 
 The possibility that he might not come back at 
 all she refused to admit, even to herself, although 
 it stalked like a grim shadow, forever at her side. 
 
 It was on a tender afternoon, toward the end 
 of April, that the tension finally snapped. Com- 
 ing wearily from a long rehearsal, her body tired, 
 her brain preternaturally acute, she mounted the 
 steps to the little studio in Patchin Place, dread- 
 ing the long hours that lay between her and the 
 coming day. Thoughts of her former meeting 
 with Venable, here on these narrow stairs, swept
 
 330 PEGGY-ELISE 
 
 over her with a startling sense of reality ; it was 
 as though he stood at her side ; the air about her 
 throbbed with his presence, with an almost terri- 
 fying sense of his nearness. A chill of fear sud- 
 denly curdled the blood in her veins, her hands 
 were like ice ; had he come back to her there 
 in spirit? Was he was he ? She had 
 scarcely strength enough to open her door. 
 
 A figure stood near the window. All the bits 
 of color in the room, the green jar on the mantel, 
 the blue and gold of a strip of Chinese em- 
 broidery, the diapered sunlight on the table-top, 
 whirled about in a fantastic blur, like some mon- 
 strous firework. Then in a moment, everything 
 became rigid, clarified. 
 
 " Peggy-Elise," she heard Venable saying, in a 
 weak, uncertain voice, " Peggy-Elise." 
 
 He came toward her. Her heart contracted as 
 she saw his wasted face and hands, the look of 
 suffering in his eyes, but beyond all this, she saw 
 something more the something more for which 
 she had waited longed. 
 
 "Mon ame!" she breathed. With a look of 
 perfect trust, she laid her arms about his neck. 
 
 He gazed down into her rapt eyes. Suddenly, 
 the old whimsical smile slowly twitched up the 
 corners of his mouth. 
 
 " Will you marry me, now, Peggy-Elise? " he 
 asked weakly. 
 
 She drew his head down and kissed him. 
 
 THE END
 
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